terezi pyrope (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tongue3y3s) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
asgardmeridiem2013-09-07 06:29 pm
tongue3y3s) wrote in asgardmeridiem2013-09-07 06:29 pm
Entry tags:
retinas are bleeding for the enterprise
Who: Dave Strider chronologistics and Terezi Pyrope tongue3y3s
What: Nightmares are really shitty and TZ has just about had it with this bullshit, ergo: bedroom invasion. Scoot over, Dave. Unfortunately Dave isn't having such a hot night either.
When: Night of day 322, beginning of 323.
Where: El Casa de Strider.
Rating: PG-13. Mentions of violence and horror, bad language.
[Living alone isn't too bad. It's nothing like the vast solitude she had growing up with nothing but scalemates, but on the other hand she's spent a couple human years existing in extremely close quarters with other people. Suddenly now that it's back to her and her lusus, everything is...
Way too quiet.
It gets a little worse every night, in different and unnerving ways. She has off-thoughts of violence directed at strangers and friends alike which is not terribly unusual for a troll, but most frighteningly are the murderous twinges she feels toward nothing at all; alone, she ends up frustratedly tearing the arm off the stuffed dragon Nepeta gave her, which ultimately does little to improve her mood. Miserable from her lack of restraint, blaming it on her higher position on the hemospectrum, Terezi resolves to get the toy repaired as soon as possible and bites at her knuckles to remind her of restraint. Sleeping is hard, heralded by uncomfortable dreams, and when she decides not to sleep, the dark grows progressively more hostile. Unsure what to make of it, she initially believes her body is losing its ability to cope without sopor, even though it's been nearly a sweep since she slept with the slime's reassurance and she's been doing as fine as a troll can in its absence.
Today, a tree full of multicoloured fruit sprouted in the middle of her apartment. She follows the instructions and selects an apple, deciding on chance after flipping her caegar and then ignoring the results. It doesn't go away afterward, which she doesn't think she'll mind so much until night falls and the branches creak and the leaves whisper to her and she wonders, shivering next to her lusus in the mess she's made of her pile, what would happen if she took up the egg and threw it against the nearest wall.
Terezi flies from the mass of pillows and blankets like she's been burned, nauseous and appalled that such a thought could ever be produced by her thinkpan. She knows immediately that she can't stay here, first and foremost, that she must get as far away from her lusus as possible lest she do something she'll never forgive herself for.
Secondly, she thinks she really needs to not be alone right now.
There's only a loose handful of people who might understand, from the trolls left in the city, but Kanaya and Sollux are gone and Karkat and Nepeta... well, she hasn't been speaking to them so much, even if it's stupid. She doesn't have a moirail--before now she never really wanted one, but she admittedly believes that one would be useful in a situation such as this. In the end, the decision falls to her only quadrant, even if she doubts Dave will be expressly comfortable with her Troll Issues. It's not like she has to tell him; she merely can whine for company and treat it like any other of her whims.
No time is wasted: Terezi packs nothing more than the necessary sanitary items in a small satchel, pulls on her pants, shoes, and glasses and then, pausing only to grab her cane, slips out the window of her never-used bedroom without even bothering to comb her hair.
She can't bring herself to go back out into the other room to say goodbye to her mother. Touching the egg right now, she thinks, would make her vomit.
The trek to Freyr is silent and eerie and her hands are shaking by the time she lifts one fist to knock at Dave's window, the points of her teeth sinking anxiously into one inky black lip. Her nostrils flare while she waits, surveying the darkness for a threat that just doesn't seem to be there, no matter how she tries to pinpoint it.]
chronologistics and Terezi Pyrope tongue3y3sWhat: Nightmares are really shitty and TZ has just about had it with this bullshit, ergo: bedroom invasion. Scoot over, Dave. Unfortunately Dave isn't having such a hot night either.
When: Night of day 322, beginning of 323.
Where: El Casa de Strider.
Rating: PG-13. Mentions of violence and horror, bad language.
[Living alone isn't too bad. It's nothing like the vast solitude she had growing up with nothing but scalemates, but on the other hand she's spent a couple human years existing in extremely close quarters with other people. Suddenly now that it's back to her and her lusus, everything is...
Way too quiet.
It gets a little worse every night, in different and unnerving ways. She has off-thoughts of violence directed at strangers and friends alike which is not terribly unusual for a troll, but most frighteningly are the murderous twinges she feels toward nothing at all; alone, she ends up frustratedly tearing the arm off the stuffed dragon Nepeta gave her, which ultimately does little to improve her mood. Miserable from her lack of restraint, blaming it on her higher position on the hemospectrum, Terezi resolves to get the toy repaired as soon as possible and bites at her knuckles to remind her of restraint. Sleeping is hard, heralded by uncomfortable dreams, and when she decides not to sleep, the dark grows progressively more hostile. Unsure what to make of it, she initially believes her body is losing its ability to cope without sopor, even though it's been nearly a sweep since she slept with the slime's reassurance and she's been doing as fine as a troll can in its absence.
Today, a tree full of multicoloured fruit sprouted in the middle of her apartment. She follows the instructions and selects an apple, deciding on chance after flipping her caegar and then ignoring the results. It doesn't go away afterward, which she doesn't think she'll mind so much until night falls and the branches creak and the leaves whisper to her and she wonders, shivering next to her lusus in the mess she's made of her pile, what would happen if she took up the egg and threw it against the nearest wall.
Terezi flies from the mass of pillows and blankets like she's been burned, nauseous and appalled that such a thought could ever be produced by her thinkpan. She knows immediately that she can't stay here, first and foremost, that she must get as far away from her lusus as possible lest she do something she'll never forgive herself for.
Secondly, she thinks she really needs to not be alone right now.
There's only a loose handful of people who might understand, from the trolls left in the city, but Kanaya and Sollux are gone and Karkat and Nepeta... well, she hasn't been speaking to them so much, even if it's stupid. She doesn't have a moirail--before now she never really wanted one, but she admittedly believes that one would be useful in a situation such as this. In the end, the decision falls to her only quadrant, even if she doubts Dave will be expressly comfortable with her Troll Issues. It's not like she has to tell him; she merely can whine for company and treat it like any other of her whims.
No time is wasted: Terezi packs nothing more than the necessary sanitary items in a small satchel, pulls on her pants, shoes, and glasses and then, pausing only to grab her cane, slips out the window of her never-used bedroom without even bothering to comb her hair.
She can't bring herself to go back out into the other room to say goodbye to her mother. Touching the egg right now, she thinks, would make her vomit.
The trek to Freyr is silent and eerie and her hands are shaking by the time she lifts one fist to knock at Dave's window, the points of her teeth sinking anxiously into one inky black lip. Her nostrils flare while she waits, surveying the darkness for a threat that just doesn't seem to be there, no matter how she tries to pinpoint it.]
no subject
She continues to resist the urge to touch him, and leaves a pointed foot and a half of space between them when Dave starts to move.]
no subject
When he flops down on the bed, he swaps the bowl of popcorn for the laptop sitting on the floor. It's put on the edge of the mattress as he settles down. He skims his finger over the touch pad, bringing the screen to life. The laptop's background is some SBAHJ compilation.]
So you have your choice between talking human wrigglers, jolly green giant in a red cape and matching underwear, or human Will Smith punching aliens.
no subject
[Uncharacteristically tentative and mild, Terezi inches onto the bed next to him, careful not to touch. She sniffs carefully at the pixellated laptop screen, then licks her teeth and says:]
Human Will Smith is the obvious choice, although I believe the aliens should rip him a new hole for his organsacs for such inhospitable behaviour.
no subject
Man, okay, look. The aliens should have thought twice before shooting off and blowing up New York fuckin' City like a bunch of extraterrestrial rednecks with playing baseball with loaded shotguns, then he wouldn't have had to punch them. Simple as that.
[There are a couple of clicks before he loads up Independence Day, and he flops back into his pillows.]
no subject
She's caught somewhere between wanting to keep the space between them and wanting to just give up and curl against his chest with her nose in his shirt and her arm around his waist. In the end, she freezes and does neither.]
no subject
Yeah, and afterward they wanted to go and have tea parties. Would you like a crumpet, Mr. President?
[He turns one piece of popcorn between his fingers before reaching back to hold it up to her.]
no subject
a very shy, chaste kiss
to the very tip of his finger.
And then she preemptively turns bright teal in the face, and her sightless eyes hood as she turns her face down toward the bedsheets.]
no subject
He touches the tips together, feeling as the ridges meet ridges, and finally reaches back to draw his knuckle over her temple just once before going after another handful of popcorn.]
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
It's funny. He'd been entirely ready to settle down for some classic (human) film, but laying back like this, Terezi at his side, it's hard to not feel the exhaustion stewing in his bones. Bill Pullman brings his swaggers onto the screen -- Pullman always brings the swag to the yard, and it's always better than yours, fuck yes -- and Dave reaches down to rest his hand over her knee again.
(In time, probably when Judd Hirsch starts rambling conspiracy theories, she'll feel sleep-induced twitching in his fingers.)]
no subject
The night's earlier nightmares are almost forgotten, far from her mind as she curls up around her matesprit and falls asleep with him in his bed. She's even forgotten to make a pile.]
no subject
He doesn't have to look down to know he's standing in his brother's blood.
He moves forward, feet padding wetly along the floor until he reaches the open floorplan, and suddenly he's not in the Freyr apartment anymore, but his old apartment. It's an unusually warm spring day, and the sky is gold with falling meteors and rising flames. It bathes the apartment in a lazy, nostalgic amber color, casts the shadows of every smuppet and puppet along the walls and carpet.
The carpet... it squishes beneath his feet. Puddles between his toes.
Sticky.
He sees the glint of the sword peeking out from the other side of the couch. He feels his skin crawl from the glare of every beady puppet eye watching him through the golden haze.
If the sword's comin' out, it's comin' out clean.
A gloved hand is stretched toward him, palm up. Blood is settled into the ridges of the fingertips, sticky and dry and motionless.
His brow furrows.
This isn't right. This isn't how it's supposed to be.
(In the waking world, his body gives a weird twitch as his eyes dart to and fro behind his eyelids.)]
no subject
no subject
This ain't how it's supposed to be. Ain't how Bro died--
The fingers suddenly twitch, and the dying light plays off of the blood like playing off of the surface of a shiny marble. Dave takes a step back, listening to the carpet as it squelches beneath his foot, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of orange and blue --
Cal is sitting placidly on top of the flatscreen, glassy dead eyes baring down on him like the biggest asshole on the planet. The puppet's mouth opens, as if to cackle --
Cackling does fill the air, but it isn't Cal's. It's low and croakin, almost choked, and coming from the body laying mangled in the middle of the apartment living room.
Dave follows the tug in a fitful sort of way, hands clenching tight.]
no subject
All she is aware of at the moment is the fact that she is laying with her matesprit in a pile of pillows, and the thick smell of panic in the air.
no subject
This is your fault.
And it is.
If you hadn't been such a fuckass, I wouldn't have had to bail you out.
But he had had to, anyway.
How's it feel, knowing you're the reason someone died?
It --
Dave moves so fast that it doesn't occur to him until after he's got the tip of his sword pointed directly at the center of Terezi's throat that he's even on his feet.
Everything falls unnaturally still.
Air trapped in his lungs, eyes wide as fucking saucers. There is a goddamn sword pointed at his girlfriend's throat, as if he is about to prepare some really intricate troll sushi, and yet...
he
still
can't
fucking
move.
He should probably try to breathe soon.]
no subject
in the space of a held, tense breath
pushes the sword away from her throat.] Coolkid, [she breathes, leveling him with a stare,] It's okay. Shoosh, Dave. It's just me. Terezi. Your matesprit, remember? I'm not going to hurt you. [She says it calm, low, without making any sudden movements toward him. Just talking.]
no subject
Terezi is pushing the sword away, and after blinking at her a few times, the sword starts to come down.
(It won't occur to him that his eyes are wide as saucers, pupils dialated, until much later.)
His brow pulls into a light frown, and he looks down at his feet, wiggles his toes, as if feeling for something there.]
Yeah... [A fucking dream, and he feels like he's about to hurl.] ... okay.
[The tip of the sword meets the hard floor with a sound that cuts through the silence, and makes him jump a little.]