[ There's something in her that wonders why she asked that. What was she thinking? What is she doing. She stares down at the piles of other people in front of her. In a way she isn't surprised, but at the same time-- Her art has always been hers. It is so intimate, so invasive, that she stole from him. Like a weed, creeping in. Anxiety blossoms under her breast bone. What is she doing. What is she talking about. Where is she. Her disorientation blossoms, not at all an unfamiliar sensation for her but it's not just about her any more. She's not alone in this, and where normally she would just sink in to it, so opheliac, she grabs on to Noctis instead.
Is that why she needed to know about the spare room in him.
She says something, some meaningless acknowledgement of what he says, but her desperate clutch at the bridge between them belies her nonchalance so thoroughly its a wonder she bothers.
[Tendrils creep into his mind, latching on, filling that empty space inside of him that he wasn’t sure he possessed but exists all the same. It’s disorienting at first, until he realizes that it’s not completely his — only then can Noctis allow her in without losing himself in the tangle, without turning it into an endless feedback loop of disarray.
Sleep. If she needs sleep, she can have it. His ennui from years past is now a tiredness that rests in the marrow of his bones. There’s enough to go around for the both of them, if she so desires it. And so Noctis offers this to her. The idea of rest, lapping at her feet like a low tide, beckoning her deeper.
Outwardly, however, there’s a matter of what to do. He doesn’t even quite catch the words she says, he wonders if they’re even important. He’s ready to stand, to lead her out if he needs to.]
[ When was the last time she slept. She doesn't remember now. Not unusual, all her hours of activity swirling into a confused miasma, muddy, not potable. But there's a quiet feeling seeping in to her that... she doesn't think is hers; clean and clear and cool. No, that didn't sound like her, at all. She pushes the stack of pictures that are his things across the table at him. His to do with as he pleased. She gets up, and is just about immediately diverted by the alien server and her bill. Annie stares at it dumbly for a second before stuffing her hand into her pocket and just handing over the entire fistful of credits.
The baffled alien takes them, consternation on its face as she wanders out. It warbles exasperation at Noctis, eyes rolling all around its head as it begins counting the wad of little coins in an irritated voice.
Annie is waiting outside for him, and only now seems to realize, ]
[Noctis may as well be dragged along physically, lingering behind but eventually following her same path regardless. A side glance to the alien with too many eyes is all he affords it, with the exception of a shrug of his shoulders that mean practically nothing. He picks up the papers strewn across the booth (all of them, not just his own), shuffling them into a messy stack that he carries with him out the diner doors.
He holds them in both hands, awkwardly, blinking as she asks him if he had been asleep.]
It's fine. [So yes, then. More importantly:] You all right? ....You left these. [He steps forward, offering her the sketches, his movement languid with the feeling of a drowsy sleep being pushed to the surface.]
[ That sounds like her. Leaving a mess behind. She holds the sheaves of paper and napkins in both hands, like it's something delicate she might drop and break, just as awkwardly unsure of what to do with them now. They'd served their purpose, giving the strange tides of her mind an outlet into the physical world... but what now. What did she do now. Go back to the tournament, go back to the Station, live all alone in some void box in space waiting for the infection in her psyche to take her over. A sigh, eyes closing. ]
I really gotta... get back to a routine.
[ A kind of answer. She opens her eyes, orienting her way back to the hotel. The lull of the sleeping prince on her thoughts makes everything feel liquid and slow... but she walks, her only focus now getting back, lying down. She leaves every door open behind her as she goes, a disruption.
She crawls into the unmade bed in her clothes, the pile of drawings tucked messily beneath a pillow.
Snickering echoes rise up from her almost as soon as her head is down. ]
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somnifacient) wrote2017-03-25 01:39 am
no subject
Is that why she needed to know about the spare room in him.
She says something, some meaningless acknowledgement of what he says, but her desperate clutch at the bridge between them belies her nonchalance so thoroughly its a wonder she bothers.
She... needs to sleep. ]
no subject
Sleep. If she needs sleep, she can have it. His ennui from years past is now a tiredness that rests in the marrow of his bones. There’s enough to go around for the both of them, if she so desires it. And so Noctis offers this to her. The idea of rest, lapping at her feet like a low tide, beckoning her deeper.
Outwardly, however, there’s a matter of what to do. He doesn’t even quite catch the words she says, he wonders if they’re even important. He’s ready to stand, to lead her out if he needs to.]
Hey… why don’t you get back to your room?
no subject
The baffled alien takes them, consternation on its face as she wanders out. It warbles exasperation at Noctis, eyes rolling all around its head as it begins counting the wad of little coins in an irritated voice.
Annie is waiting outside for him, and only now seems to realize, ]
Did I wake you up?
no subject
He holds them in both hands, awkwardly, blinking as she asks him if he had been asleep.]
It's fine. [So yes, then. More importantly:] You all right? ....You left these. [He steps forward, offering her the sketches, his movement languid with the feeling of a drowsy sleep being pushed to the surface.]
no subject
I really gotta... get back to a routine.
[ A kind of answer. She opens her eyes, orienting her way back to the hotel. The lull of the sleeping prince on her thoughts makes everything feel liquid and slow... but she walks, her only focus now getting back, lying down. She leaves every door open behind her as she goes, a disruption.
She crawls into the unmade bed in her clothes, the pile of drawings tucked messily beneath a pillow.
Snickering echoes rise up from her almost as soon as her head is down. ]
( S̴̰͓͎̲̤͎̀͂̈́͂̌̃̕͟͢͞͝l̴̦̱̟̙̗͙͎̟͓̑̋̂̏̀̄͆͝ẽ̷͉͚̭͈͈́́͑͛͜ę̵̡̩̯̣̌͛̎̋͗̀͢p̡͇̼̖̮̖̦̤̳̈̽̔̔͋̍͟͡.̷̨͓͚̠̦̖͇̻͌͆̓͘̚͢͢͡͠ S̴̹͙͇̠̜̠̒̔̓́͂̏̆̚͞͡l̴͉̝̯̞̳̰̫͊̿̈́̃̿̆̈̂̐͡e̞͕̼͚̯̲̭̺͛̅͒̆̍̆͊͜͜ę̜̘̣̮̻̤̝̇̔̿̈̄p̵̛̳͕̭̲̱̼̙̤͚̊͛̄̑̿ å̘̱̗̬̳̩͉̙͋̍̐̐̓͘͜h̸͎͈͔̙̟̙̲̊́̀̀̈́́̔̆̊͜ả̷͔̫̲̯̥̝͚͖͑̈͆̎͜ͅh̷̨̲̥͇̱̿̾̅̔̀̓̕á͕̝͙̪̬̤̆̊͊̈́͘ͅh̵̡͍͍͓͖̠̼͙̊́̌̈́́̔̚,̵̛̛̹̮̰̯̘͖̖̹̭̝̇̆̀̀́̓̚͝ o̶̧̩̘̞̺͖̻͒̅̽̂͊̄̓͞͠ĥ̺̟̩̯͓͉̹̤̹̈̊̀̔̔̑̂͢ y̵̡̧̦͚̮̜̪̌́̏̍͋̽̂e͖̲͉̫̮̠͉̥̮̺̍̔̏̎̋̃̈̚͞ș̸̨̛͙̙͉͍̋̏͌͋̆̒̅̌̚ s̷̡̙̻̖̳̹̹̳͉̦͂̒̑̏̏͝͡l̗͙̬̮̯̘͔̇̇̏̊̽͆͂̚̕͟͞ḛ̮̫̥͓̂͑͑̈́̂͘ͅę̧̫̰͇̗̺̬͙̝́̈̍͌̕͞͡p̡̦̟̯̬̲͔̙͂͑̄̀̃̄͢.̶̨̧̼̞̥͎̯͑̔͛̉̋̾̚͝ )