♕ 001 spam/text

[broughtwhiskey]

open spam - anywhere.
[Disoriented is a word for what Philip feels upon waking on the Barge. There's a dull throb of pain in his chest and his head, things he know he should be dead from, and his shirt is still slick with blood. He also recognizes the room he wakes up in with everything where it should be, but he knows it should burned out. The view outside the windows, however, aren't looking out into the streets of Woodbury, but an infinite void. He isn't sure if this is what death is supposed to be like, but he has a feeling it's not because it feels very much alive.]

[He's willing to stay as long as it takes to change and clean the blood off his face, but no longer than that. He doesn't feel particularly keen on lingering in a room with this many reminders right now. Already he's trying hard to not think of what just happened, the large amount of nothing he just left behind once more. He looks for any of his weapons before leaving to find them gone. So perhaps not everything is in its place. But no matter. He can improvise if the situation calls for it.]

[Stepping outside into the hall, he still doesn't know what to make of any of this. but if there's one thing he knows, it's that he needs to get his bearings and so he sets off to learn the layout of wherever the hell he's ended up.]

text.

[Later, after he's had the chance to explore and numerous explanations and perspectives on what this place is, he only has one question:]

How many of you are here?

Comments

[broughtwhiskey]

[Um, how about no? >B|]

Philip. Have you been here a while, Scott?

[It's not an abrupt transition, but there is something about Philip's demeanor that shifts. A small subtle change to something a little more personable.]

[semifreakingnormal]

[what if we don't tell anyone???]

Yeah. I mean, more than a year now, I think. At least that long.

[It's really hard when you go home for a period of time in the middle. Scott doesn't quite notice the shift, just feels that it's a little...easier to answer.]

[broughtwhiskey]

[The answer is still a big fat no.]

I suppose it's easy to lose track of time in a place like this. [Philip adopts a more relaxed stance, resting some of his weight back and onto one hip.] I'm sure it moves faster than the time you've spent staring at the clock in a classroom.

[That is a(n abnormally) normal thing for teens to do normally, anyway.]

[semifreakingnormal]

[Scott chokes on a little laugh, but he does nod. Some things about him are still normal...even if half the time he's eyeing the clock in class it's because he's afraid someone is dying.]

Most of the time, I guess. But it can drag sometimes.

[broughtwhiskey]

That seems hard to imagine with all I've heard, [he says as a small invitation for Scott to elaborate.]

[semifreakingnormal]

Yeah, that's what I said. But it's like, there are things happening all the time, so you'd think that the time in between would be great. But sometimes it just feels like you're waiting for the next thing to hit. So it's not always that...restive.

[broughtwhiskey]

Seems like an awful thing to subject yourself to willingly. [He's not sincere in offering sympathy, but it would be hard to tell he isn't from his tone and body language.] You must have a pretty good reason for dealing with it.

[semifreakingnormal]

[His response mutes a little, from the quiet nod to the way he glances off into some middle distance.]

Some things are worth worse.