warriorscribe | Snowblind Inbox

Ughhhhh. [He rubs his face.] Seriously? The stuff I'm doing is really what's going to push people over the edge.

[Which...apparently it did upset some people big time.

He leans against something, sighing loudly. Even though he's trying to sound like he doesn't care, there's something of real fear in his voice when he gets to the 'evers'.]

Bored, boring, everything is boring and everyone is boring and it's going to be this way forever and ever and ever and ever and ever...

[His voice softens considerably at the audible fear. He remembers the dread he felt when he realized he had an eternity of loss ahead of him. But he hadn't been alone. He'd had a companion. He still does, albeit a different one and not near him. He's found the strength, somehow, to carry on for someone who isn't with him, as long as he knows he's alive.]

It doesn't have to be. We can't change "forever" but we can change the "boring" - or address the problems with what you find entertaining, at the very least.

We can't change forever. [Here's a truckload of bitterness in his tone.] All we have to look forward to is this. Snow for the next ten thousand years. A few bazillion more deaths of the people that we know. Maybe a dash of anomalies for fun.

What can be entertaining in this place!? It's already been forever, I'm gonna lo-- [He shouldn't be dumping this on Enoch. Especially after trying to play off how much he didn't care, and how cool he was about it. He swallows, catching up to his words.]

And you didn't really think deaths were entertaining at all, of course.

[He sighs.]

What can you think of that you enjoy?

[And he expects the answer to not amount to much. He's much more familiar with what depression is and can do by now. He's been there, at times, himself, that point where nothing seems to help at all. And it's something most of them likely have by now...]

Well, if I'm being completely honest, some of them were funny. At one point. [Hundreds of years ago probably.]

I don't know.

[Not much of an answer, no.]

I just...people are interesting, even if I've seen this song and dance before. Sometimes they do something different. They're the only thing that changes. Sorta. If you say something outrageous and they get angry, that's the most excitement I've seen in ages.

[...he really didn't meant to reveal that much to him, but once he started, he figured he might as well keep going.]

[That...he thinks he can work with! Maybe.]

Aside from asking them to volunteer embarrassing moments from their lives, you might like starting constructive debates. Put up for discussion a topic that people are divided on but that has no objective or overwhelmingly good answer. The most bullheaded on either side won't change, but you might see something interesting in the middle - and those open to hearing what the other side have to say will often become better people for it.

[That's...actually not so bad.]

So basically instigate a fight and see people tear each other apart from it?

[He sounds a little too excited about that. Also he seems to be missing the point of what Enoch just said.]

[Cue facepalm. Peter, no.]

That's not the spirit of it at all. It can't be just a fight, it needs to be something people can learn from. It isn't about watching them "tear each other apart", it's about where they are at the end. About watching them better themselves through opposition.

[You just gotta take the fun out of everything, don't ya?]

People can learn from a fight.

[It's sullen.]

How about...tear each other apart emotionally and then they learn from it?

...Peter, I don't understand how you can miss the point so entirely. Deriving pleasure from someone else's pain isn't like you. Why do you cling to it? Why do you want it?

I--

[He falls silent a moment, not quite sure how to answer that. Or how he could answer that.]

...I don't know.

You don't need it to enjoy yourself.

[He lets out a weary sigh. He needs to convince Peter of this. It's gone on too long, and he can't keep allowing it. He's nearing a limit, he can feel it (with the self-awareness gained haphazardly over the centuries here), and anything that can be resolved should be.]

Would you care to guess what memory of you is strongest to me?

[A nod. He sighs, there's a part of him deep inside that truly is begging, screaming for help.]

Uh...I don't know. Karaoke nights?

The tower. Do you remember it?

[He does. He can never forget it, no matter how long ago it was. It may no longer be a raw wound, but it still aches to probe.]

You were relatively new here. You knew very few people. And when all of these strangers or near-strangers were hurting worse than they ever had, though you knew nothing about any of them, you used the the charge in your Zune - limited so far as you knew - to lift their spirits with music.

That's what I remember. That the sight of their pain moved you to give something you didn't believe you could replace.

Yeah, I remember.

[It seemed so incredibly far away, but that wasn't something anyone could forget.

When he listens to Enoch speak, his hands grip his tablet more and more forcefully until his knuckles start to hurt, half out of surprise, half out of the pain of remembering who he used to be, and how upset he would be with himself if he knew...who he'd become.]

I...

It was no big deal.

[He's quiet though, this has hit him harder than he'd expected.]

As it should be. It can be second nature again. In fact, it might be still, waiting for you to simply act on it again.

[Why else would he so vehemently cling to all of this?]

[There's a long pause.]

Why haven't you given up on me? You said you care because you must, but there's got to be something more. Something more, some secret on why you really haven't you given up at all on any of this stuff?!

[This stuff, meaning the town, people--mortals, everything.]

Edited 2017-12-23 16:07 (UTC)

I-

[He knows. He knows exactly why. The reason the nightmare of his dead, flooded world did not fill him with despair, but with an urgency to return to Norfinbury. To the reason he still had left.]

I have someone to fight for. A cherished friend who keeps my love and hope alive. Your reason doesn't have to be a living person, or a person at all. It can be an object, a memory, a motto...find something that makes it easier to be true to who you really are, and cling to it. That's how we get by.

Edited 2017-12-24 05:12 (UTC)

[Someone to fight for. Something to fight for.]

You're...lucky.

[The words are honest, and a little raw. He hasn't listened to his music in...forever, literally, he's tried his best not to think about the Guardians but that dream...it reminded him of being so stoked to save the Galaxy, to have actual friends, all of it...the music, dancing with Gamora, flying with Rocket...giving it all up to save everyone from his dad...]

...it was all such a long time ago.

I know. You're not the only one left from that time. Even if you can't find comfort in mortal company, be it yet or ever, you'll have the rest of us. You're not alone. And I know how easy it is to feel like you are.

[Despite everything, he was afraid there would come a point that he'd no longer be able to take comfort in mortal company. Maybe that point was now, maybe not. He just...as much as he berated them, it was also out of a sense of...loss. As if a random mortal person was offending him by their mere existence because they had the potential of him liking them, and then feeling their loss when they inevitably died.

But...he didn't want to have to just hang out with all immortals, either.]

You guys have to promise not to be boring.

[It's a joke, because he does feel alone, and doesn't want to say how scary it feels.]

[It's a balance, Peter - he can help. Dealing with mortals is easier with someone who won't leave around. It will probably never be easy for him or Peter the way it is for Castiel, but having someone helps. He knows this.]

I'll see what we can do.

Good.

Because like, ten thousand years of watching wallpaper peel isn't exactly my idea of fun.

[Can he do this? It's not like he has a choice. He still sounds terrified, under his bravado and pretend-casualness.]

...how old are you again, exactly?

I've lost track of time. I was about four hundred when I arrived. Angel and Rhys have-...

[...That is a shitty way to tell time.]

...No. I don't remember how long we went without them, either.

Honestly, I'm not sure anymore. I've stopped counting.

...right.

Yeah. [Probably not the best, no.]

Maybe I should stop counting. Maybe it'll make things easier.

[But there was some part of him, some part that reveled in the horror of it all, that made him want to wallow in self-pity at every passing year.]

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