✨ℜeggie "ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀꜱᴛ" ℳantle✨ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mantlepieces) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2016-05-25 01:27 pm
mantlepieces) wrote in maskormenacelogs2016-05-25 01:27 pm
I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole
WHO: REGGIE MANTLE and YOU!
WHERE: Heropa, Nonah, Maurtia Falls... or anywhere!
WHEN: May 25th - 31st.
WHAT: After a year and a half, Reggie finally made his first trip home... and back again. Needless to say, a lot has changed.
WARNINGS: References to canon-typical death/violence/suicide ideation/zombies, possible mentions of underage drug use, drinking, self-harm, and/or sexual implications. Spoilers for Afterlife With Archie #9.
▸ HEROPA | NONAH | MAURTIA FALLS;
& feel free to PM or plurk me for a custom starter,
or wildcard it and tag in with your own prompt!
WHERE: Heropa, Nonah, Maurtia Falls... or anywhere!
WHEN: May 25th - 31st.
WHAT: After a year and a half, Reggie finally made his first trip home... and back again. Needless to say, a lot has changed.
WARNINGS: References to canon-typical death/violence/suicide ideation/zombies, possible mentions of underage drug use, drinking, self-harm, and/or sexual implications. Spoilers for Afterlife With Archie #9.
- INTRODUCTION
┍ [ He has to be sedated when he first arrives; Reggie is manic and hysterical, yelling nonsense -- calling out for someone named Sabrina, asking where she went, if she'd heard him, that he'll do it -- grasping at the air and pulling his hair out, his mind refusing yet to make any of the connections required to remind him where he was. While they don't know what's wrong with him, why he's acting so out of his mind, in the Porter lab they're always prepared for almost anything. Reggie responds to the sedation, calming and collapsing to the floor, and not twenty minutes later he remembers where he is -- where he'd been -- as the dull reality of what must have happened hits him like a cold splash of water along with a year and half of displaced memories.
When he's finally "well" enough again he's given his papers and sent on his way, though Reggie doesn't know where to go. ] ┙
∎∎∎∎
▸ HEROPA | NONAH | MAURTIA FALLS;
& feel free to PM or plurk me for a custom starter,
or wildcard it and tag in with your own prompt!
HEROPA ▸ OUT WITH THE BAD
[ For instance, Reggie doesn't think he'd be able to find "home" even if that's where he wanted to be right now; he's still woozy enough from the sedation that walking in a straight is its own effort -- yet his mind is restless. He's never felt like this before when he was here, like an animal in a cage, but then, before, he hadn't-- he hadn't known what was waiting for him, not like he does now.
Reggie looks rough, at least compared to the vain, very obviously deliberate way he usually tends to put himself together; his hair is messy and probably not recently washed, his clothes have the worn-and-dirty look of being one outfit of maybe three that's been basically lived in for weeks, or months, and he has the shadow of stubble on his jaw. He should eat something, or maybe sit down; his body feels empty and numb except for the slow and steady heat burning inside him, consuming him with thoughts of unfinished business, of relief, of impatience, of... Midge. She had finally almost been his and now she's so far away again, as if none of it had even happened. Even the universe is cock-blocking him now, apparently.
A year and a half, and then... how many months had it been? Four, maybe five? He's managed a long time so far being apart from everyone, some of the few people in life he actually cared about -- what's waiting a little longer? He knows how to fix things now. So he gets himself some takeout -- something filling, full of salt and grease and added flavor and a milkshake to wash it down with -- to eat while he walks, wanting to stay on his feet and work off the sedation faster.... until: ]
-- Urk.
[ There's a horrible lurch of his stomach and Reggie suddenly has to run and bury his head in a garbage can
where he belongsso he can lose his lunch into it; too much food on too empty of a stomach, most likely. ]Ack. Gross. Is this what passes for poetic these days? [ He groans miserably, then looks bitterly skyward and gesticulates irritably: ] Would you spare me the damn symbolism?
no subject
[A flask is offered over by the woman in the far too heavy for this weather animal print coat now standing next to the can. Scotch, whiskey, whatever his liquor of choice may be he'll find inside. The perfect enabler.
She'd been in the hotel. Been in her room, just slowly pulling at threads on the mattress, tearing it apart in slow, relentless habit. But she's not surprised to be here now, not shocked or disgusted at the kid vomiting next to her.]
Before talking. Your breath reeks.
no subject
Even from a stranger, which is probably something he should reconsider in the future. Reggie wipes his mouth and reaches for the flask, taking a small swig just to rinse and spit with first before taking a longer, grateful drink -- though it stings, and he winces, when he finally swallows. ]
Thanks. [ He smiles weakly, though his eyebrow arches upward in vague skepticism. ] I probably needed that more than the food, anyway.
no subject
[ He's not her type, not really. She tilts her head- and yeah. Just too young. The countess might get her kicks off him, but this isn't heading towards that kinda social visit. But she can feel the pull, the tug only a lost soul brings.
So. She gestures for him to keep the flask.]
no subject
[ He shakes his head slowly, then takes another drink from the flask when she lets him keep it while he looks her over. Not that she's his type exactly, either, but... like with many 18-year-old boys, he doesn't necessarily let that stop him, situation depending.
But anyway, he has Midge -- well, almost -- and a girlfriend, and also doesn't have money, which he just assumes she'd be expecting. ]
Where'd you come from, anyway? I thought I was alone.
no subject
[The can was starting to smell. Sally gives it a dirty look and steps back, a little closer to the street.]
There's a bar over there. We'll talk there about why you're calling me.
no subject
[ Reggie frowns slightly, though steps away to follow her, glancing in the indicated direction. Well, he's never one to turn away a drink or two. ]
Look... we can get a drink, but before you go getting any big ideas you should know I'm broke.
[ Was accepting the flask some kind of code or something? ]
no subject
[ Her smile isn't exactly friendly, but she's enjoying her own play on words. ]
Bad week? Or life?
no subject
[ Reggie considers asking if she just means drinks, or drinks and... but it doesn't seem like the moment to ask, so he doesn't.
He's quiet for a moment, then laughs dryly. ]
It's that obvious? How bad do I look? [ After a moment, though, he shrugs. ] I'm not sure I even know anymore. Maybe both.
no subject
[ Ghost jokes. She has to enjoy what she can. But it's a quick walk to the bar and a corner booth, a bottle of whiskey soon sitting between them as she lights up a cigarette. ]
So lemme guess: another kid with something better waiting on the other side.
no subject
[ There's something oddly freeing about unloading this on a stranger -- someone not in a position to judge him directly, at least not in a way Reggie can't just walk away from if he has to -- even if he doesn't intend on getting too detailed or personal, necessarily. There's a middle-ground, which is actually quite broad for something he also used to avoid altogether.
Reggie pours himself a generous helping of whiskey, taking further relief in the steadiness he feels like it gives him. Warmth, comfort, calmness... god, he's missed alcohol. ]
Who are you?
no subject
[ She's known that look he'd been given her. Gotten it from every man at the bar for decades. But better to just squish that little shit of a thought now, over a sip of whiskey. ]
Just a girl that knows a thing or two about being stuck. Not sure if it's a nightmare or a dream come true.
no subject
That's a pretty familiar feeling. Like the ancient proverb goes: A little of column A, a little of column B. [ He smirks in a half-amused-but-mostly-tired sort of way, taking another drink himself. ] Reggie. Are you new around here, Sally? Don't remember ever seeing you before.
[ He pauses, then takes another sip. ]
And if you're not a hooker, what are we doing here? Seriously just making conversation?
no subject
[The whiskey gets left alone as she takes a long drag of her cigarette. She's not sure teenage problems should hit on her radar, so hopefully there's a little more. He's an import that comes back. Makes her normal way of ending a conversation a little awkward if this is all just a matter of not getting his nuts off.]
Words are the way the world gets to know us, kid. How we show who we are. What's wrong with a little conversation between stuck souls?
no subject
[ But now that he's back, a lot of his secrets feel less like urgent secrets; the reasons he was keeping them for so long don't all apply anymore. He glances across the table at her again, curiously. ]
Can I have a smoke? [ Then he pauses, before adding: ] So what's your story, Sally? Bet it's something good.
[ Though not "good" as in "pleasant," per se. ]
no subject
A long line of holding on to the wrong dreams. Over and over. But I'm not the one loosing my lunch on the street.
no subject
But he accepts the cigarette and lights it, dragging on it with the careful slowness of someone who's maybe smoked a few times here and there, but isn't actually a smoker. ]
I ate too much on an empty stomach. You ever done that before? [ His guess would be "yes." ] Maybe that's part of your problem, though -- gotta do more than just hold on to 'em.
no subject
[ It's a sharp, hard laugh followed by an expert drag on her own cigarette. ]
Dreams, kid. Those are the real drug. Drag you down until you don't know what's up anymore. 'Til you'll use anything to get just a small hit of what it was like when you had 'em.
no subject
Is he already drunk, or is what she's saying actually making a good amount of sense? Especially now... it's an apt enough description of how Reggie feels when he thinks about the past, or about Midge. ]
Hell, that's almost inspirational -- as far as dreams are concerned, sometimes the so-called "next best thing" can actually be just as good... or almost. [ He pauses. ] But drugs are actually attainable, so I guess that's the difference, huh?
[ Or more accurately, the appeal. The selling point, as it were. ]
no subject
[A small smirk, then she lightly scratches the side of her neck, thinking, with her free hand. Too young for some things, but they had time, didn't they? And she'd been called.]
Guessing you've got an open afternoon. And night.
no subject
[ With an easy roll of his shoulders, Reggie shrugs slowly after a moment's pause. ]
Seems like it -- haven't been here long enough to make any new plans yet. Why, you looking to fill it or something?
no subject
[ So paying the bill now, sending the sign it's her plans or a parting of ways. ]
no subject
Sounds like my kind of medicine. [ He begins to stand. ] Where to?
no subject
[Slash live in/collect bodies near. You know how it is.]
It's not like that. Just only so many places they don't ask questions. 'Specially for our kind of weird in a place like this.
no subject
I'm not that weird. [ ImPorts as a whole, though? Yeah, fair enough. Reggie just likes to consider himself above that kind of stigma. ] But I'm all for a little more privacy. Just in case -- I mean, sometimes you don't really know what's going to happen.
[ Now that he's back, in fact, he can feel that dull itch of addiction settling back in under his skin. Not a problem back home, only here... but what a problem it was. ]