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 Posted: Fri Dec 19, 2014 3:45 pm
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It had been a long week. Brand was, in fact, still sober-- he had been trying it out, as though it was going to get any more interesting.
So far, it was just painful.
Was it always supposed to be so very boring and monotonous? His body seemed to be wholly rejecting the idea, too; he hadn't been able to use any of his abilities, and he had recently developed an insane chill that wouldn't go away no matter what he did.
So it was that Brand, wearing about four sweaters, was huddled in the library in extreme misery trying to study. Why was he even bothering?
"Either I pass my classes and I'm miserable, or I'm happy and I fail, it seems," Brand lamented to no one in particular.
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Posted: Fri Dec 19, 2014 4:47 pm
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Hollandaise enjoyed the library. She liked to creeple watch and, sometimes, she would simply go into the stacks and run her thin fingers along the spines of books and envy them, in a way. Of course, right now she was doing neither. Her pen, her one, lonely writing utensil, had seen fit to spring out of her hand and roll underneath some other study table. Sighing, she went diving for it.
As she searched, skillfully avoiding feet and dust bunnies, she heard a voice. It was a sorrowful voice, which meant Hollandaise was curious. "Why can't you pass and be happy?" The Warder said from somewhere near his feet. With a creak of delight she retrieved her pen and sat on her heels, looking up at him curiously, eyes bright and owlish. Her long fingers reached out to pluck at the hem of one of his sweaters.
"And why," Suspicion coated her voice. "-are you wearing so many sweaters?" Was he some sweater hoarder? The reason why she found no sweaters she had likes at the store - that, is he had bought them all? (This was not the case. Sweaters typically had sleeves and Hollandaise could not wear many things across the leaves that grew over her shoulders.)
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Posted: Fri Dec 19, 2014 6:05 pm
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Oh, a pretty ghoul? Brand had been staring at his book, and was suddenly excited, expecting company.
Brand, at once, ceased his sulking and straightened, running a hand through his messy pink hair while he mustered a winning smile and-- wait. Where had the voice come from? He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "I'm hallucinating now, too," he lamented.
Actually, that was kind of exciting.
He tried to turn his book into a tin of wafers, but no dice; he was clearly sober and useless as far as a psychonaut was concerned.
Finally, as she sat on her heels, he saw her. Brand beamed. "Because my reality and the reality in which quizzes reside do not often match up!" He was, for example, just as likely to turn his pen into a stick of licorice as he was to actually answer a question.
"I'm freezing," he added, almost defensively. "I can wear as many sweaters as I want. What are you, sweater police?" he asked. He leaned his head into the palm of one hand. This would never do. Being sober was the worst.
"Why are you on the floor?" he asked.
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Posted: Fri Dec 19, 2014 6:50 pm
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"That does not make sense. You exist in this reality. Quizzes also exist in this reality. If you touch a quiz, do you implode?" Hollandaise tilted her head. It seemed a very messy thing, imploding or not imploding or not existing. Sighing creakily, she unfolded herself from the ground before answering him. Today, she had worn her old dress, the green-brown, the one with the ripped hem and the hole in the backside - because it was still a dress more or less. Hollandaise would likely wear it until it fell off of her body.
With a squeak, she dragged over a chair and sat in it, smoothing her ragged hem over the tops if her thighs. "I'm freezing always, too," she said mournfully. "But most sweaters I cannot wear. It is hardly fair." She crossed her arms under her chest and leaned back. "I was getting my pen." Said pen was now being gripped by her toes and she kicked her foot up to show him.
"What are you studying? What if you did it in your warm room or outside?" Today was clearly Twenty Questions Day.
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Posted: Fri Dec 19, 2014 8:54 pm
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Textbook shut and slid aside, Brand leaned forward and couldn't shake a soft, amused smile. That seemed to be his default expression. He even looked more well-rested than he usually did. For good reason.
"How do you know which reality you're in?" he asked, in return. He was more than happy to offer a question for a question. "Have you had the opportunity to ask your true heart, is this where I am?"
Psychonauts had a very different way of looking at the world around them. Instead of viewing reality as unyielding, in fact, it was far more malleable. Brand looked forward to being stronger, one day.
He tried not to grimace at her torn clothing. He was, after all, a bit obsessed with fashion and being well-dressed. "Do you only have the one dress? Why can't you wear sweaters?" He reached one hand across the table, palm up. "May I?" he asked, with a smile, asking to see her hand.
He wanted to know what her skin felt like, to see if it could be warmed. He was curious. Curious, sober Brand.
"Ugh, I don't know. This and that," he said. He didn't really want to talk about that. "Nowhere is warm," he lamented. "Why, do you find it warm out?" Perpetual autumn, that wasn't warmth for Brand.
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Posted: Sat Dec 20, 2014 11:02 am
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"The only heart I know of is inside my chest and it does not speak except in terms of exertion." How many hearts did he have? Zar had two; perhaps this boil had five that all beat in tandem excepting one - the speaking one. Hollandaise paused and imagined a heart that beat out sentences and dripped dark, half-congealed blood out of its mouth as it spoke, each syllable a wasted bit of life, each word a bloody wonder, bubbling liquidly out, barely understandable. When he asked his heart what was real, how could he understand it? She blinked, realizing she had been staring at his chest. "I think," she said slowly. "That I am here and you are here and for now, isn't that all that matters?"
Warily, she held her hand out to him. No leaves grew on her palms or forearms; there was nothing for him to pull or pluck. She still did not like creeple to touch her threre, but elsewhere she was fine with, even enjoyed the small bits of warmth gleaned from another's skin. "I have a few dresses now. But this one is still useful, even in its disintegrating state. Sweaters never sit well on my leaves and branches." She sighed lightly, the sound very like the wind whistling through bare trees.
"No, it is cold outside, but there are trees, which are beautiful. Plants are lovely." She scraped her toes along the floor. "I am always cold, my room has a draft. Sometimes, I think of sneaking into someone else's room. Oh... what is your name?"
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Posted: Wed Jan 07, 2015 4:50 pm
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Brand gave a noncommittal shrug of one shoulder; he had already lost interest in discussing the heart or her heart or whatever. Brand imagined Psychonauts had only one heart. Then again, he'd never disected them, and he supposed if they wanted more than one they could have it. That would be tricky, though; would have to rewire the insides, too, to use the hearts properly or they'd just die-- interesting.
Brand was stroking a thumb along his chin, contemplating this. "Do you think so? I think that's maybe a very simple way of looking at things," he said, with a new smile, as though it was cute of her to think so.
He was not entirely sure she could even say where here was if she didn't understand the layers of reality and how impresionable it is. He was kind of even more a jerk when sober, apparently? Probably because he was miserable.
"Do you have a name? Did I ask? I'm Brand, of the Ravensdales," he said, bowing his head.
"Could you not outfit your room so that it's warmer?" he additionally asked. He missed the cozy accomodations of his family home.
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Posted: Fri Jan 09, 2015 1:37 pm
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"There is a usefulness in simplicity, is there not?" she said brightly. "Something easily understood gives a peace of mind that complex concepts cannot. Plants are simple creatures, calming things that accept what comes to them." she trailed off into silence, one hand fiddling with her own leaves. She was not as simple as a plant, more's the pity. And Hollandaise no longer knew how to become as such.
Slowly, she realized he was speaking. Brand, what an odd name. "My name is Hollandaise. And my room refuses to become warmer - I am unsure why." She swung her feet slightly. "I do not like it in any event. I try not to stay there, but not everyone appreciates me inside their rooms. Sometimes, I do not care about what they think, regardless." Hollandaise hummed a bit, the sound creaky and vaguely off-key.
"The same question could be asked of you - can you make your room warmer?"
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