i. mothman ; god knows what is real and what is fake
[How can something so familiar manage to dig into the point between his shoulder blades and fuck him up so completely?]
[It's not what he knows. He knows it's not, because this thing has eyes and wings and he knows this because he's glimpsed them around the corner. Not the thing, the faceless thing that stalks his dreams and inhabits his waking moments, even now, not his little strand of nightmare. It's just something new that's hounding and haunting him. It chases down his spine. Strands him behind a tree, pinning him in one spot where he knows if he tries to get free, it'll only rip him to pieces.]
[Breathe. Breathe. Breathe until it all fades away, makes it a little easier.]
[Eyes shut. Breathe. Heart rabbiting in his chest. Words stop in his lungs. Fumble for his Stone with nerve-numb fingertips, feel it slip and hit the ground, slick with sweat. Drop down, paw about at the leaf litter in desperate search - ]
[The act leaves him doubled over, crouched on the ground, eyes wide as he tries to stave away the encroaching feeling of terror that he knows will leave him rooted to the spot for longer than is welcome, or ideal.]
[He needs to move.]
[He needs to move.]
[Or someone else needs to move him for him.]
ii. denny ; no surprise we're so easily bored
[But on the plus side - Denny is fully operational once again. Tim, when he isn't being waylaid by a cryptid that's managed to crit-fail him into panicked submission, has taken the time to restock the place.]
[He's busy doing maintenance things, for the most part - things like putting cups and plates back on shelves, popping in with newly washed carrots and potatoes to peel them and leave them for someone better at cooking to deal with, wiping down tables, and so on and so forth. He's very intent on his work, though he'll stop and look up to say hello if you're interested in chatting.]
[Mostly he just wants to forget these past couple weeks happened, if that's okay.]
tim wright | ota | i'll match your formatting
[It's not what he knows. He knows it's not, because this thing has eyes and wings and he knows this because he's glimpsed them around the corner. Not the thing, the faceless thing that stalks his dreams and inhabits his waking moments, even now, not his little strand of nightmare. It's just something new that's hounding and haunting him. It chases down his spine. Strands him behind a tree, pinning him in one spot where he knows if he tries to get free, it'll only rip him to pieces.]
[Breathe. Breathe. Breathe until it all fades away, makes it a little easier.]
[Eyes shut. Breathe. Heart rabbiting in his chest. Words stop in his lungs. Fumble for his Stone with nerve-numb fingertips, feel it slip and hit the ground, slick with sweat. Drop down, paw about at the leaf litter in desperate search - ]
[The act leaves him doubled over, crouched on the ground, eyes wide as he tries to stave away the encroaching feeling of terror that he knows will leave him rooted to the spot for longer than is welcome, or ideal.]
[He needs to move.]
[He needs to move.]
[Or someone else needs to move him for him.]
[But on the plus side - Denny is fully operational once again. Tim, when he isn't being waylaid by a cryptid that's managed to crit-fail him into panicked submission, has taken the time to restock the place.]
[He's busy doing maintenance things, for the most part - things like putting cups and plates back on shelves, popping in with newly washed carrots and potatoes to peel them and leave them for someone better at cooking to deal with, wiping down tables, and so on and so forth. He's very intent on his work, though he'll stop and look up to say hello if you're interested in chatting.]
[Mostly he just wants to forget these past couple weeks happened, if that's okay.]