minecraft is unrealistic
Who: Héctor, anyone
What: His spirit is as dead as he is.
When: July 25th
Where: Enso
Warnings: Mild injury, and a truckload of d e s p a i r to start with.
It's mid afternoon, one year and then some after he first arrived on the beaches of the island. The thirteenth month. Thirteen's been said to be an unlucky number. Certainly it's not doing him any favors.
As good and kind as everyone is... it's just not enough. Not every day. There's only one thing that ever will be, one thing which he always seems to be denied, one way or another. Granted, not much about his situation is new, when it comes down to it, but then neither are these deep black moods. There were no failures this year. No bridge. Nothing to try. Everything's perfectly fine until he can't fake it anymore, because everything is not fine.
He had four pleasant days with his family, after so long dreaming of them. Was that it? Is that all he'll ever have? And there's no reason for it, seeing as there's very little he can do someone else can't do better. Of course, if he hadn't been so stupid, he would have had many years with them before being drawn to this world, not only four days... stupid, stupid, stupid. He's always been stupid. It explodes outwards as anger first, for a few minutes, but that's hard to sustain for him. So...
He's just lying on the ground, in the leaves underneath a tree, no smile on his face and cracks spiderwebbing through all the bones of one hand. Don't punch trees if you have no padding on your hands, you won't like the results. He doesn't want to get up, he doesn't want to goof off, joke around, play games, none of that. There's... nothing. No point at all.
What: His spirit is as dead as he is.
When: July 25th
Where: Enso
Warnings: Mild injury, and a truckload of d e s p a i r to start with.
It's mid afternoon, one year and then some after he first arrived on the beaches of the island. The thirteenth month. Thirteen's been said to be an unlucky number. Certainly it's not doing him any favors.
As good and kind as everyone is... it's just not enough. Not every day. There's only one thing that ever will be, one thing which he always seems to be denied, one way or another. Granted, not much about his situation is new, when it comes down to it, but then neither are these deep black moods. There were no failures this year. No bridge. Nothing to try. Everything's perfectly fine until he can't fake it anymore, because everything is not fine.
He had four pleasant days with his family, after so long dreaming of them. Was that it? Is that all he'll ever have? And there's no reason for it, seeing as there's very little he can do someone else can't do better. Of course, if he hadn't been so stupid, he would have had many years with them before being drawn to this world, not only four days... stupid, stupid, stupid. He's always been stupid. It explodes outwards as anger first, for a few minutes, but that's hard to sustain for him. So...
He's just lying on the ground, in the leaves underneath a tree, no smile on his face and cracks spiderwebbing through all the bones of one hand. Don't punch trees if you have no padding on your hands, you won't like the results. He doesn't want to get up, he doesn't want to goof off, joke around, play games, none of that. There's... nothing. No point at all.
no subject
Their headflaps ripple.
"Sharing perspective with non Geth is difficult. Our goals are limited."
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Oh, there's plenty, but not much of it good. Pain, loneliness, things he doesn't want to think about, let alone bring up...
"I'd bet you most people here would like your 'video games' once you explained them."
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"Yes. We have shared them."
Way ahead of you there, buddy.
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Many of which he's willing to teach them, but... not today, probably.
no subject
They have been nearly banned from Galaxy of Fantasy multiple times.
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"No way you could teach yourself to hold back? Give everyone else at least fifty fifty odds to win?"
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"This would not be dishonest?"
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Bones count as organic, do they not?? Who needs skin.
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Hector has not said anything to indicate he was created via artificial means, so they would consider him organic.
"Thank you."
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At least he's done some good today, despite the extreme lack of effort. No smiles. No jokes, no friendliness. Oh, well, maybe the robot doesn't notice... which is for the best.
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"Acknowledged."
They continue to sit there, staring at him silently, unblinkingly.
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"Are you waiting for something...?"
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"We are not." They headtilt, chattering.
"Would you prefer to be left alone?"
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no subject
(They are experiencing difficulty articulating concern.)
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I miss my family. I think you know how that feels.
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Yes. Our family consists of the dead, and those who destroyed them.
(They will also be blunt.)
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'Those who destroyed them' are also family?
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(Parents murdering children. Think about that one for a moment.)
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He looks down, shoulders sagging, and can't speak for a moment.]
Never too late to disown them.
no subject
We will not.