4'10" OF RAW, CONCENTRATED ANXIETY (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darkov) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2018-06-02 02:06 pm
darkov) wrote in maskormenacelogs2018-06-02 02:06 pm
all efforts great and futile [OPEN]
WHO: Martin, various
WHERE: assorted, mainly MF, not...Heropa...hisses at the sun
WHEN: June
WHAT: Life, threaded in any format
WARNINGS: maybe some stomach-sick stuff
o1. some dog days
As the temperature rises and the days grow longer, people start to spend more time outdoors. And not just people -- pets, too. Martin's aware that dogs and cats are beloved companions here, but most seemed relegated to behind chain-link fences or peering out living-room windows. Strays he has encountered tend to stay out of his path -- save for that fever-dream week of repeats that, honestly? Martin's not sure was even real. The odd lack of consequence doesn't leave him convinced such things were ever true, but instead just another symptom of being so far estranged from the places and things he belongs to.
With so few clouds in the sky today, all Martin wants to do is get back to the house as quickly as he can and draw the shades. The sun seems so much bigger and brighter now, and coupled with the rising heat it makes for an unpleasant trek back from soccer practice. He's memorized the journey back, needing only a bit more patience to see him the rest of the way while cheap, plastic sunglasses keep trying to slide off his face and hair sticks to the back of his sweaty neck.
But remember the thing about there being a lot of dogs? It's actually a problem. Martin, like all Darkovs, are strongly disliked by most any animal they may encounter, be it the stench of their rotten blood or some secret understanding of their foul nature. In any case, it makes unpleasant encounters a guarantee, and all Darkovs are instructed to avoid disrupting the fauna for such a reason. Who knows what their blood could do to a rowdy creature?
It's why, upon seeing someone approaching down the sidewalk with their pooch, Martin freezes mid-step. This isn't the first time he's had to evade innocent dogwalkers before, but this time, traffic is still passing along the street near him, inhibiting his escape. As stranger and increasingly curious animal get closer and closer, Martin anxiously searches for an out. No alleyway here, just--just this door. Hastily, he yanks the shop door open and darts in, just as growling and barking begins.
Once he's pushed the door shut, he holds his breath, watching the angry animal through the glass as it's tugged away, only daring to exhale when he can't see it anymore. His head droops with relief for a beat before he realizes he just-- just walked into a random place. He's not sure what.
Slowly, he turns around, gawking.
Where is he, and who is even in here??
o2. a dash of mortality
One of the few pathways Martin's learned to get around by has a cemetery tucked away a light stroll away from the streets. He's been there a couple times, finding it a decent diversion that's devoid of many people for the most part -- save for the occasional funeral or well-meaning visitors who can, you know, magically prune grave sites.
That last part might be a bit specific, but it doesn't mean it's an isolated event: On this overcast day, Martin's been sitting near one of the marble monuments carved with dozens and dozens of veteran names, practicing spelling and trying to read them out. But before he knows it, there's a line of cars looping through the greenery nearby, and several folks in black making a trek to a fresh site.
Martin turns away from the memorial, sitting cross-legged on the ground and watches from his distance in silence, only partly understanding the proceedings. Turns out, he may not be the only one who's here and able to observe, because he gets that uneasy feeling of empty space being filled up nearby and whips his head around to face it.
o3. one of the staples of childhood happenings
This early in the month, school is still in session. This leaves the nearby park pretty empty of most kids, save for the littlest and their parents. Martin has a soccer field all to himself, and he's set himself the task of trying to get better at this. Rex went to the trouble of signing him up for a youth team, so he has to at least try to be decent. Though...he's not sure what good will come of this. The game's reminiscent of agility drills back home, but those have purpose. This is just for fun.
But...is this fun? He's not really sure. When it's with that gaggle of other kids and teens on the team, it's pretty stressful: he's afraid of messing up, mishearing instructions, or getting tripped up trying to avoid tripping someone else up. When it's by himself, it's just...kicking a ball from foot to knee, knee to foot...
Fun wasn't exactly emphasized back home; it was just conjured and found on its own, mostly by his other, more spirited cousins. Now, if Danielle or Ivan were here, then, maybe...
Martin bumped the ball up by the knee, then winds up and lands a kick that launches it toward an empty net. Instead of sinking straight in, however, it beams one of the goalposts and is sent flying elsewhere --
Toward an innocent bystander.
(You, o volunteer to thread.)
o4. thrusting all the creative onus on you
[if u have a prompt idea slap it down or ping me at whyellewhy on plurk COME AT ME.]
WHERE: assorted, mainly MF, not...Heropa...hisses at the sun
WHEN: June
WHAT: Life, threaded in any format
WARNINGS: maybe some stomach-sick stuff
o1. some dog days
As the temperature rises and the days grow longer, people start to spend more time outdoors. And not just people -- pets, too. Martin's aware that dogs and cats are beloved companions here, but most seemed relegated to behind chain-link fences or peering out living-room windows. Strays he has encountered tend to stay out of his path -- save for that fever-dream week of repeats that, honestly? Martin's not sure was even real. The odd lack of consequence doesn't leave him convinced such things were ever true, but instead just another symptom of being so far estranged from the places and things he belongs to.
With so few clouds in the sky today, all Martin wants to do is get back to the house as quickly as he can and draw the shades. The sun seems so much bigger and brighter now, and coupled with the rising heat it makes for an unpleasant trek back from soccer practice. He's memorized the journey back, needing only a bit more patience to see him the rest of the way while cheap, plastic sunglasses keep trying to slide off his face and hair sticks to the back of his sweaty neck.
But remember the thing about there being a lot of dogs? It's actually a problem. Martin, like all Darkovs, are strongly disliked by most any animal they may encounter, be it the stench of their rotten blood or some secret understanding of their foul nature. In any case, it makes unpleasant encounters a guarantee, and all Darkovs are instructed to avoid disrupting the fauna for such a reason. Who knows what their blood could do to a rowdy creature?
It's why, upon seeing someone approaching down the sidewalk with their pooch, Martin freezes mid-step. This isn't the first time he's had to evade innocent dogwalkers before, but this time, traffic is still passing along the street near him, inhibiting his escape. As stranger and increasingly curious animal get closer and closer, Martin anxiously searches for an out. No alleyway here, just--just this door. Hastily, he yanks the shop door open and darts in, just as growling and barking begins.
Once he's pushed the door shut, he holds his breath, watching the angry animal through the glass as it's tugged away, only daring to exhale when he can't see it anymore. His head droops with relief for a beat before he realizes he just-- just walked into a random place. He's not sure what.
Slowly, he turns around, gawking.
Where is he, and who is even in here??
o2. a dash of mortality
One of the few pathways Martin's learned to get around by has a cemetery tucked away a light stroll away from the streets. He's been there a couple times, finding it a decent diversion that's devoid of many people for the most part -- save for the occasional funeral or well-meaning visitors who can, you know, magically prune grave sites.
That last part might be a bit specific, but it doesn't mean it's an isolated event: On this overcast day, Martin's been sitting near one of the marble monuments carved with dozens and dozens of veteran names, practicing spelling and trying to read them out. But before he knows it, there's a line of cars looping through the greenery nearby, and several folks in black making a trek to a fresh site.
Martin turns away from the memorial, sitting cross-legged on the ground and watches from his distance in silence, only partly understanding the proceedings. Turns out, he may not be the only one who's here and able to observe, because he gets that uneasy feeling of empty space being filled up nearby and whips his head around to face it.
o3. one of the staples of childhood happenings
This early in the month, school is still in session. This leaves the nearby park pretty empty of most kids, save for the littlest and their parents. Martin has a soccer field all to himself, and he's set himself the task of trying to get better at this. Rex went to the trouble of signing him up for a youth team, so he has to at least try to be decent. Though...he's not sure what good will come of this. The game's reminiscent of agility drills back home, but those have purpose. This is just for fun.
But...is this fun? He's not really sure. When it's with that gaggle of other kids and teens on the team, it's pretty stressful: he's afraid of messing up, mishearing instructions, or getting tripped up trying to avoid tripping someone else up. When it's by himself, it's just...kicking a ball from foot to knee, knee to foot...
Fun wasn't exactly emphasized back home; it was just conjured and found on its own, mostly by his other, more spirited cousins. Now, if Danielle or Ivan were here, then, maybe...
Martin bumped the ball up by the knee, then winds up and lands a kick that launches it toward an empty net. Instead of sinking straight in, however, it beams one of the goalposts and is sent flying elsewhere --
Toward an innocent bystander.
(You, o volunteer to thread.)
o4. thrusting all the creative onus on you
[if u have a prompt idea slap it down or ping me at whyellewhy on plurk COME AT ME.]
no subject
he peers her way sidelong.]
...Does that work for you? [a pause. he blinks.] So-sorry. I mean-- Never mind.
no subject
But the situation here, in this universe — it has forced her hand on that issue a little. Who knows if that's for better or for worse. ]
What, you mean relying on other people? [ His question makes her pause too. After a pause: ] More often than not. I'm not perfect. I make mistakes. Having someone at my back — it helps. Even when I don't want to be helped.
no subject
[it's a sensible response, of course. yet it's the sort of thing Martin still has doubts will do much good for him. he tends to just make things worse -- for others, for himself.
but it does ring truer than he first thinks, because:] ...That's why Darkovs are kept together.
no subject
[ A little pause. ]
I miss them a lot.
no subject
[it's a small, cracked little sound. Martin keeps his head down, not able to look back her way without losing a bit more composure than is already threatening to be lost.]
no subject
It's awkward and hesitant when she reaches out, crouching down to slowly put her arms around him in a loose embrace — tentative, as if the rusty gesture could shatter them both into little pieces. ]
no subject
after a hesitation, he sinks back against her, his chin tucking down to his chest and his knees drawn up to himself, hugging his arms to become as small as he can. he's still heart- and homesick, but his gesture has a lot of home in it, so he lets himself take some of that for himself.]
no subject
In that moment, she knows she would kill or die for this child in a heartbeat.
It's quiet, barely there when she finally speaks: ]
I'm so sorry, Martin.