@Lucky Hope things clear up soon for you, man!
Prosaic Member
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- Last Seen: 18 days ago
- Joined: 7 yrs ago
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- Prosaic 7 yrs ago
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Recent Statuses
2 yrs ago
It's my birthday so I'm making it everyone's problem.
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2 yrs ago
I figure my presence on this site is more of a curse than a blessing.
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2 yrs ago
Be the superhero roleplay that you want to see in the world.
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3 yrs ago
Don't mind me, just making another reappearance.
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3 yrs ago
By no popular demand, I'm back.
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Bio
Years after writing my original post and funnily enough, I'm still Prose!
I'm twenty something, I like superheroes, magic and well... anything that happens to catch my eye. Sometimes I take random breaks from this site and reappear when you least expect me. Sorry about that. It's the mental health. I thrive in high casual settings and I like to write the same characters over and over so expect to see them regurgitated across different threads.
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4 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Interested!
@Romero Awesome, thank you!!
Advanced Roleplay admittedly makes me nervous bc I usually stick to Casual so I'll try my damnedest.
Advanced Roleplay admittedly makes me nervous bc I usually stick to Casual so I'll try my damnedest.
Hope this looks alright! :)
"It's all very wrong." He could hear himself speaking but he could not quite process the words that were escaping him, they sounded like silent curses. "He ah- he never hurt anyone. I couldn't imagine wanting to hurt someone who had done nothing." He was no longer afraid of what he was staring at because the longer he looked at it, the more he could detach the idea of it being connected to a person. It wasn't Stanton any longer.
Keandre did not much buy the idea of a person in relation to a spirit but if he had, he might have been inclined to believe that as long as a spirit did not inhabit a body, the body no longer belonged to the spirit. This was not Stanton. The revelation was one he made sense to him, at least in the moment. It gave way to him feeling at ease with the broken body, the disjointed art piece that had been made of the doctor. He had never much liked art either.
He looked away.
"Je ne comprends pas l'art." He murmured before he heard Linda address him, her voice was insistent and quiet. It rather reminded him of his mother, which inspired a fleeting resentment in him. He forced the desire to snap at her down but settled on responding just a touch too sharply. "You don't need to take care of me." These patterns of quick anger had probably become familiar to Stanton but he had not had as much time to grow on Linda with his whiplash emotions. He didn't need to make a bad situation worse by fighting with someone who sought to help him.
He choked down the irrational anger, keeping his expression politely impassive. "This is not the worst situation I've ever been in." This was a lie, it was, in fact, amongst some of the worst situations he'd ever been in. It was dark, it was chaotic, it was too much to thoroughly comprehend in such a short amount of time. He had entirely shut down from whatever flight response he was supposed to have when facing the corpse of a--
Would I have called Stanton a mentor or a friend? Not as if it matters now.
The cops had taken to-- whatever it was cops did in this situation. He had some manner of respect for the quick response from the both of them. He had always sort of liked Russell, but it was a passing respect. He would never have spoken to the man outside of this office. He thought they were probably similar in some manner and that was likely why he hadn't found his presence absolutely disdainful. Serena seemed sharp but he didn't know that they had much in common, at the very least, she was probably competent at her job with how eager she was to jump on this case.
Little observations like that did wonders in keeping him calm. What didn't do wonders in him keeping his cool was the sight of Emily going to dust the strange dark powder along her---
Oh, ew.
This held his attention a moment before Linda offhandedly addressed it. Too late, the girl's gone and ate it. Eugh. "Is there anything I can do to help?" She seemed a bit overburdened, after all.
I'll get cracking on a CS either tonight or tomorrow!
He's somewhat put off as soon as they enter the building, noting the absence of a receptionist.
He might find the silence, the emptiness peaceful if it didn't make the hair at the back of his neck stand so readily. He was not one to speak, not unless he had a reason to or unless he was making niceties but here and now, he almost asked if anyone else felt off. He passed a glance around the room, well-lit, warm and not quite inviting somehow. His gaze instinctively traveled to Bernard first, maybe because he didn't quite trust his own assessment but it was hard to make out anything damning in the older man's expression.
He pressed his tongue to his teeth and then his gaze traveled to Linda. Nothing there either. Maybe it's just paranoia. I didn't want to come today. I'm making up reasons to leave early. As the elevator came into view, he tried to qualm his discomfort and kept close to Linda. Stanton will be there when we arrive. I'll project my daddy issues on him again and it'll be fine. However, as the doors slid open and he saw his own reflection in their passing, he realized his nails were digging into his palms.
He stepped into the elevator, feeling claustrophobic and uncomfortable, he took to a corner. As the elevator moved through the building, he watched the faces of the other patients. He couldn't read any of them. I'm overreacting, I'm overreacting, it's the disorder, it's the paranoia, it's- The doors slid open and he saw the hallway stretch out before them. Dark. He wasn't afraid, not really, but he felt wrong. His head turned up as he looked down the hallway, flickering bulbs, hissing as they struggled to stay lit.
The ones that couldn't stay lit were what caught his attention. Burnt out. A power surge, maybe? One strong enough to take out the whole hallway? He knew it was silly reasoning, the same desperate reassurances he liked to give himself when he was scared or sad, the same desperate reassurances he'd given himself when he'd lost people close to him. But I haven't lost anyone, have I? As they walked down the odd, disjointed hallway, he started to feel as if someone had pitted him.
And then he saw Stanton.
A sharp inhale, a gasp. "Mon Dieu." He doesn't believe in God, he never has, but it makes him feel better to invoke the name of something larger than him. "Notre Père qui es aux cieux, que ton. Nom soit sanctifié, que ton règne vien-" He cut himself quiet with another little inhale. No, no, no- His hand came up to his mouth and he just froze to stare at the face of the man who he had started to trust.
Trust, it was a funny thing, isn't it? He found his thoughts moving slowly, like rusty cogs turning. Not given easily but lost like that. Weird.
He entirely misses the exit of the dark figure, too fixated on the corpse before him.
Then, quietly, in English, he spoke again. "This is an ah- awfully theatrical way to kill someone." His voice sounded wrong to him, slightly detached. "Who would.. want to hurt him?" He hadn't stopped staring, just sort of stuck there.
Okay, I am, in fact, exhausted so I'm probably going to nap but I'll try to post Kea tonight.
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