somnifacient | MENTAL LINK.

[ They have a day off from all the nonsense. Lip syncing and wrobo-wrestling are done, the final event yet to come. She pulls on him at some irritatingly early hour. She had, quite honestly, been waiting quite a long time by her standards: since she's been up, sleepless, drinking coffee in a shop all night. She wants for the company, and he has the misfortune of being the closest person to her in the Nest. Not so surprising for broodmates, not so surprising that she's not allowed herself to get as close with Lucina, who she viewed as in need of her guidance and protection... So Noctis it is. ]

( C'mon, get up. )

Edited 2017-04-15 03:52 (UTC)

[I'm up, I'm up, he used to say, blinking against the Eos sunrise. Stretching, rubbing at his eyes, crawling out of a tent into the early morning air. Helping Ignis cook breakfast, or training with Gladio. Taking photos with Prompto. Sleeping in had not been an option at the time, and while Noctis was willing to help (as always), it was difficult to shake off the heavy weight of slumber in those years past, and his companions always had to put in the effort to actually wake him.

Some things don't change. He feels someone tugging at his mind, and it only barely drags his consciousness out from under the surface of sleep. Her voice may as well be part of a dream, and Noctis manages back-]

(No. Go to sleep or something...)

[It makes sense in his head. It's early. Why isn't she asleep? Go to to sleep, Annie, and let him continue sleeping too.

She'll just have to try again.]

Edited 2017-04-15 13:58 (UTC)

[ She's never been very good about sleeping when she should. In her youth, she'd been blitzed out of her mind all the time without much appreciation for time beyond showing up in whichever class she was told to by her teammates. She never got into a good routine about it and now -- Well, now she has nightmares she doesn't want to engage with. Doesn't want to relive that day when blood rained from the sky as the Crafters slapped aside every pathos bearer that came at them, at least not any more vividly than she already does in her waking hours. So she's full of coffee instead, eyes burning from strain. ]

( Shut up, I'll get you a donut. C'mon. )

[ Visions of donuts dance in his head. ]

[Donuts. That's not fair.

Of course, it's more of Annie's secondhand feeling of... being awake that eventually pulls him out of slumber. Outwardly, he groans, feeling the tiredness in his bones. In the midst of this insane tournament, Noctis feel as if he could sleep for days; waking up early is ten times more of a chore than it usually is.

So he shifts, sitting up. Runs a hand through his hair.]

(Are you waking me up just for fun or did you need something?)

[The question is asked even though Noctis has already resigned himself to being awake.]

( Same difference. )

[ Warbles the bitch with the alien voice. ]

( I won't even make you drink the coffee this time. )

[A ping of tired amusement at that remark, dying just as quickly as it surfaced.]

(Since when am I at your beck and call.)

[He "says" as he gets up.]

(Where are you?)

( Since, like, IDK, maybe a little more than a week ago? )

[ Uh, so pretty much upon introduction. ]

( I'm only like a block away quit your bitching. )

[Yes, he hears that implication of "practically since we first met". Can you feel the mental eye roll?]

(Who's bitching?)

[Give him a minute or two, then. Sure, Noctis is slow at the start, but soon enough he manages to shake off (most of) the sleepiness plaguing him and his step becomes quicker. Annie won't have to wait long before he finds her.

Upon approaching, he calls out.]

Right. I'm here now. [fanfare?]

[ She's always hard to miss, but especially where she's holed up in this cafe. She's made a mess. She had started drawing idly on napkins. They're scattered around her from where she kept shoving complete and incomplete ones off the tabletop to start on something else. The alien running the cafe is giving the pair of them a filthy look. It had eventually given Annie a pad of paper to scribble on to stop her using up all the goddamn napkins, so there are intermingled sheaves of paper with larger and more precise scribbles on them. She's doodling on one when Noctis appears, working out the shape of the Sword of the Father. Shading heavily, her hand smudged with ink all the way up her forearm.

She looks up at Noct's greeting, surprised he's there. ]

There you are.

[ Like she didn't call for him. Maybe she didn't. She was used to parts of her mind wandering off from her and doing things on their own. She looks around for a moment, spotting her pack of cigarettes and starting a fresh one. There's already a cup packed full of butts. It's amazing she still has lungs at all. ]

[Noctis is mildly surprised at the mess he sees. He slides into the booth, having to sweep aside a couple of scribbled-on napkins in his seat, and looks at her with a wrinkled brow. Sketching? He leans forward on his elbows, trying to get a better glance of what she's working on.]

What are you...

[His words trail off into nothing when he notices the shape of a familiar sword, upside-down from where he sits, but easily discernible to Noct of all people.]

Wait, how do you- [Know about his father's sword? Confusion flickers through him, even though the answer should be obvious. Another unfinished sentence, and Noctis frowns.]

You been digging through my head? [He sounds almost offended! As if they weren't already figuratively connected at the hip via mindlink.]

[ She makes a big looping gesture over her head as Noctis comes to sit, and the big alien brings her yet another steaming cup of whatever this stimulant drink is. It's not quite coffee, but the color is similar and it has the same effect. Her skin buzzes with it. She's used to feeling this way, eyes greasy from going unrested, mind winding huge arching loops around her. She's even more formless than she usually is. Everything about her already discomfiting interior world now turned sideways, flickering, discolored. ]

Eh?

[ She's not even really following what he's talking about. She'd just been doodling, it was what she did. A lot of the drawings are her, her life, her things, wet weeping skies and twisted flesh, mouths filled with too many grinning teeth. A lot of the drawings are now Noctis. They're almost simple to differentiate. The tale of Eos comes in stark colors and strong lines, white hands reaching out from the darkness, long strands of white hair loosed in tragedy with only the scythe of a moon to cast light.

Annie looks down at what's in front of her, as if seeing it for the first time. It's nothing that makes any sense to her, obviously so... ]

Guess so?

[ Sticking her cigarette back in her mouth, she leans over and gathers up some of her mess, looking at the different things that have spilled out of her. She certainly finds it easy to separate them. One pile for Annie, one pile for Noctis, a few that must be shreds of Lucina or Murphy, sketchy and incomplete. All of it separated back out again, no longer one haphazard explosion around her. ]

Do you like them?

[ Maybe something vulnerable in that question. She's not concerned about approval for her artistic skills. She's wondering if this really offends him, when it's something she needs.

Lunafreya's beautiful, beatific face stares back at Noctis from the top sheaf, simple details, simple shading, except for the immaculate details of the light in tears on her long lashes. ]

[Noctis only watches as she piles up each individual sketch, delegating them to whose head they belong in. He catches glimpses of his own face, of Eos (moonlight, hands grasping in the dark), as well as images twisted with wet flesh and teeth (he knows they’re hers and he’s right. She puts them in a different pile). The pang of nostalgia rises up, impossible for him to sweep aside — yes, he wants to be offended that something so personal would work its way through someone else’s hand. His own experiences, raw and revealing, given life on paper, staring up at him in quiet censure.

He looks at Annie, and it’s almost laughable how easily her question overrides any grievance. It’s as if she hadn’t been really looking at them until now, and Noctis finds himself hesitating once more.]

They… [Luna’s face, portrayed in both elegance and simplicity, destroys the last of his will to cry foul. The sorrow of something lost, falling into the swirling dark, rolls off of him in waves.] …ache. [Simultaneously nonsensical as it is sincere. It hurts, and yet—]

Does this help you?

[He already knows the answer.]

[ She holds out her lighter. ]

You can get rid of them. I do it all the time, if it's something that hurts.

[ The first time she has openly admitted with words to a fact he is already very aware of. That she hurts, that she's always hurt. At somewhere around the age of thirteen she had tried to crack her own skull open, possessed in the grip of her own impossible existence, tiny human mind driven beyond its limits by the snickering laughter of what lived within. She'd painted out a memoir upon recovery, and turned it into a mighty pyre on the Academy lawn as soon as she was done. ]

[Eyes shifting to the lighter, Noctis' eyes widen slightly. The thought never even remotely crossed his mind (except now, he can feel the idea thrumming through Annie, like it belongs to him all the same), and he pauses.]

I can't do that. [He can't. Watching the sketches dissolve into flame, eaten alive, would only prove to make the pain more poignant. To Noctis, it would be less cathartic, and more a cruel dismissal of what should always remain important to him.

He even reaches for the stack that "belongs" to him, his hand stopping just short of actually taking the sheaf. Instead, it hovers a mere inch above, asking for permission.]

May I?

[ She doesn't understand that. Holding something tight despite the pain it causes. That's her. Would rather hold her tongue out over the lighter flame than dwell on the depths. And then there's Noctis, full of love and duty. She can feel their fundamental differences clashing, the somber light in him and the wild wretchedness in her. The vulnerability comes into her face. ]

I... could do something nicer.

[ A beautiful pale girl, her hair unwound in a field of blue flowers... Blood seeping at the edges. She stares at him, realizing that... the girl must be dead. Drawing her tears, her reaching hands, her shredded body disappearing into the dark. More than that, she realizes how much Noctis loves her. An emotion Annie herself has never understood, it is like admiring an exotic creature through the water and glass of an aquarium. ]

Do you have room for anybody else, in there?

[ His heart. All the pairs she had known had mated for life. Felice had turned into a wrecked shell of herself when Grace had died, they'd all watched her turn from Disney princess to a skeletal creature of hurt, fed on liquor... Wanting to die and join the one she loved. Noctis had been on his way. ]

[His hand retracts, resting on the cool surface of the booth.

Room for anyone else? A question he never thought he would live long enough to consider. He'd accepted Luna's sacrifice for what it was, a long time ago, but the scarring was still there. Ten years of sleep, embraced by the Crystal, could not heal all of his wounds.

The surprise is clear on his face. The way his eyes widen, the manner in which he sets his jaw to avoid biting at his lower lip. Was he expected to consider making room, floating in the far reaches of space, universes away? It may as well be a revelation, the way the question blossoms uncomfortably in his mind.]

I think she’d want for me to. [As honest an answer he can give, without saying I don’t know.

Noctis shifts uncomfortably in his seat.]

Eventually, I guess. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.

[ 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.

She... needs to sleep. ]

[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.]

Hey… why don’t you get back to your room?

[ 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, ]

Did I wake you up?

[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. ]

( S̴̰͓͎̲̤͎̀͂̈́͂̌̃̕͟͢͞͝l̴̦̱̟̙̗͙͎̟͓̑̋̂̏̀̄͆͝ẽ̷͉͚̭͈͈́́͑͛͜ę̵̡̩̯̣̌͛̎̋͗̀͢p̡͇̼̖̮̖̦̤̳̈̽̔̔͋̍͟͡.̷̨͓͚̠̦̖͇̻͌͆̓͘̚͢͢͡͠ S̴̹͙͇̠̜̠̒̔̓́͂̏̆̚͞͡l̴͉̝̯̞̳̰̫͊̿̈́̃̿̆̈̂̐͡e̞͕̼͚̯̲̭̺͛̅͒̆̍̆͊͜͜ę̜̘̣̮̻̤̝̇̔̿̈̄p̵̛̳͕̭̲̱̼̙̤͚̊͛̄̑̿ å̘̱̗̬̳̩͉̙͋̍̐̐̓͘͜h̸͎͈͔̙̟̙̲̊́̀̀̈́́̔̆̊͜ả̷͔̫̲̯̥̝͚͖͑̈͆̎͜ͅh̷̨̲̥͇̱̿̾̅̔̀̓̕á͕̝͙̪̬̤̆̊͊̈́͘ͅh̵̡͍͍͓͖̠̼͙̊́̌̈́́̔̚,̵̛̛̹̮̰̯̘͖̖̹̭̝̇̆̀̀́̓̚͝ o̶̧̩̘̞̺͖̻͒̅̽̂͊̄̓͞͠ĥ̺̟̩̯͓͉̹̤̹̈̊̀̔̔̑̂͢ y̵̡̧̦͚̮̜̪̌́̏̍͋̽̂e͖̲͉̫̮̠͉̥̮̺̍̔̏̎̋̃̈̚͞ș̸̨̛͙̙͉͍̋̏͌͋̆̒̅̌̚ s̷̡̙̻̖̳̹̹̳͉̦͂̒̑̏̏͝͡l̗͙̬̮̯̘͔̇̇̏̊̽͆͂̚̕͟͞ḛ̮̫̥͓̂͑͑̈́̂͘ͅę̧̫̰͇̗̺̬͙̝́̈̍͌̕͞͡p̡̦̟̯̬̲͔̙͂͑̄̀̃̄͢.̶̨̧̼̞̥͎̯͑̔͛̉̋̾̚͝ )

( Oi, where the fuck are you. Doesn't matter. Get your shit, we're bouncing. )

(What? What happened?)

[A thread of confusion. This sounds ominous.]

( Murphy's losing his shit, says we gotta go. Not down to play around over whether he's just fucking crazy or not. He's getting the creepy dead bitch, and I'm in charge of you. )

[ Tell us how you really feel Annie. ]

[Creepy dead bitch? Annie...

But he doesn't really have the energy to question this, nor is he naive enough to think this might be an overreaction. He trusts Annie to make the right call, because despite everything, why wouldn't he?]

(Better safe than sorry. Can't say I'll miss this place.

Are we meeting up at Alfa?)

KING to sacrifice	DUTY to bear
KINSHIP to cherish	LIGHT to cast

MENTAL LINK.

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