The grabbing is weird, but nothing is as weird as suddenly not being in the Belly. Immediately, panic shoots hot up through him. He struggles. THERE IS NO REASON FOR IT TO BE HOT, WET, AND DARK! The struggling turns into frantic clawing and digging.
Let him out, let him out, let him out!
The memory is teetering on one of the flimsy shelves of a tall and wide bookshelf in a dark world, reaching precariously for the spine of a book at the very top with the handle of the crutch he used to hobble around on. He's feeling mischievous. The book comes loose while someone is talking, and then the book drops right down on top of a purple head, right in the center of it...]
[ what the fuck in god's name is right. maybe you shouldn't have brought the scorn egg machine into the graveyard, huh? i'm never forgiving you for that.
viktor digs in as best he can. the mucosal lining of it all is slick against his fingertips, but he can gain purchase out of sheer panic (letmeoutletmeoutletmeout). he claws in and the entire area around him convulses, twitches, tightens. not being in the belly would be frightening, wouldn't it? terrifying even. if you're not in the belly, then wherever the hell are you?
viktor grasps onto that memory, just as fast as he's grasping onto these walls, trying to escape their confines. this precarious book, this mischievous nature - it's precious and fills him with the determination to keep going. the sharp pain of a book smacking atop of a head -
do you remember this person? do you remember this very precious person? the walls ooze slickly, seeping between your fingers. something scatters ahead from your fingertips - data...? it looks... it looks like numbers, letters, digits, symbols, from you. it anchors you here, makes the walls not so slick, makes it easier for you to grasp and pull, pull (letmeoutletmeout)...
purple.
was the head purple? or was it blonde? maybe brunette? who was that person?
viktor, you know that you remember. hold onto that. you remember who this person was, right? perhaps... perhaps another memory. remember something else. quickly. you feel as though that... that might help you inch a little further ahead. ]
He recoils for a second when he realizes whatever darkness he's digging through is organic. The feeling puts a lump in his throat, he wants to gag. The shuddering around him is worse. But he can't stay here.
Again, he starts struggling through the mucous. Maybe it was brown? Dark. Like Jayce's?
Who is Jayce exactly? He's not sure about that name now. Maybe it was Joshua?
Panic swells up in him again. He's... forgetting? He's forgetting. Or maybe he just never remembered? Distraught, writhing, he tries to think of another.
A woman with dark hair is coming into the room with her arms full of clothes, and he is so bewildered, but also amused. She is sheepish, but happy. She has stolen so many clothes for herself, and he laughs while trying to fight her over helping carry them inside so they can figure out where to put all of them. She settles on stealing his closet, too...]
it is quite a thing, to lose those memories? those precious things?
jayce, joshua, jordan...
lucien, loren, lyle...? no... no none of those seem right, you know in that space between your ribs, that beating muscle you call a heart, that those aren't the right names at all.
the woman with dark hair approaches with her clothes-laden arms, her sheepish expression something that you keep high up in your throat, closing now. you remember her. you remember. that's throné, isn't it? throné anguis... she's precious to you. these are your precious people.
the area around you constricts. a rumbling, familiar to you, rumbling. (comebackhere).
hold fast. hold tight. the data from your fingertips pulls faster, from your hands, from your arms now.
the book falls - a flash of purple - that's lucien. you know lucien - you have known him, beyond the void and in the sacred room of the church where you speak and pass what knowledge you can, where divided still there is something that breaks inside of you and melts.
a voice: "hold steady. i think... i think i'm getting something."
do you: > try another memory > climb some more and risk being constricted further
there is no wrong answer. any choice is right if you will it. ]
[Yes! YES! It's Throné! Throné who brought all of those clothes into their room to hoard, and she looked good in every one!
Yes! It was Lucien, and his stupid purple head that got the book--on purpose because he was being annoying.
The rumbling makes him tense. The Belly...? The data is such a jumble, and it all slips through his digging, climbing fingers. But he does stop when the darkness around him squeezes. He gasps, and then he tries to yell, but he doesn't know if anything comes out.
A memory. A memory. His memories. He doesn't want to lose them.
The door behind them is rattling furiously. A man's voice is yelling. He runs back to the table with a broad, tanned man while the machine they are with starts up, whirring. J-- says it isn't going to work, and he yells that it will, they don't have much time.
Crank it! That's what he had said--it's Jayce, and they are three seconds from discovering Hextech.]
I want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveLETMELIVEI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to liveI want to live
Do I even deserve to be alive?
well?
do you?
do you deserve to be alive?
(the man's name is jayce, the man's name is jayce and you clutch it so tightly in your heart, in the deep pit of your emotions and your desires, you hold it fast until you bore marks into it. these names, these faces, these people who have burrowed so far and fast into your life...
they're here, in your memories.
and they're there, up there, alive...
and they are waiting for you.
"almost there... you're almost there, come on... maybe you can't hear us... but come on, almost there..." ]
[The thoughts make him pause, horrified to hear them bounced back to him. He had not thought about them since, and he had not seen them displayed for everyone to see.
He had nothing to live for, that had been true. Creating Hextech--no one even knew his name. It was all Jayce, and he had preferred it because he just wanted to help others, not be praised.
But it's different here. It's different now. There are people important to him he wants to live for. He may not deserve to be alive, but fuck it, he is going to be alive!
All at once, he starts squirming and thrashing again, digging, clawing, climbing, yelling until his throat is hoarse from a sound that he can't even hear escape.]
Let me go!
[There is a boy with a lame leg and a cane on a bank, following a metal toy boat as it drifts down the polluted stream...]
[ the boy follows the boat, teetering, tottering along...
there's a light there... in the water... in the dirty, filthy polluted water. there are voices coming from the water, ripples. ripples coming faster and faster.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
The grabbing is weird, but nothing is as weird as suddenly not being in the Belly. Immediately, panic shoots hot up through him. He struggles. THERE IS NO REASON FOR IT TO BE HOT, WET, AND DARK! The struggling turns into frantic clawing and digging.
Let him out, let him out, let him out!
The memory is teetering on one of the flimsy shelves of a tall and wide bookshelf in a dark world, reaching precariously for the spine of a book at the very top with the handle of the crutch he used to hobble around on. He's feeling mischievous. The book comes loose while someone is talking, and then the book drops right down on top of a purple head, right in the center of it...]
no subject
viktor digs in as best he can. the mucosal lining of it all is slick against his fingertips, but he can gain purchase out of sheer panic (letmeoutletmeoutletmeout). he claws in and the entire area around him convulses, twitches, tightens. not being in the belly would be frightening, wouldn't it? terrifying even. if you're not in the belly, then wherever the hell are you?
viktor grasps onto that memory, just as fast as he's grasping onto these walls, trying to escape their confines. this precarious book, this mischievous nature - it's precious and fills him with the determination to keep going. the sharp pain of a book smacking atop of a head -
do you remember this person? do you remember this very precious person? the walls ooze slickly, seeping between your fingers. something scatters ahead from your fingertips - data...? it looks... it looks like numbers, letters, digits, symbols, from you. it anchors you here, makes the walls not so slick, makes it easier for you to grasp and pull, pull (letmeoutletmeout)...
purple.
was the head purple? or was it blonde? maybe brunette? who was that person?
viktor, you know that you remember. hold onto that. you remember who this person was, right? perhaps... perhaps another memory. remember something else. quickly. you feel as though that... that might help you inch a little further ahead. ]
no subject
He recoils for a second when he realizes whatever darkness he's digging through is organic. The feeling puts a lump in his throat, he wants to gag. The shuddering around him is worse. But he can't stay here.
Again, he starts struggling through the mucous. Maybe it was brown? Dark. Like Jayce's?
Who is Jayce exactly? He's not sure about that name now. Maybe it was Joshua?
Panic swells up in him again. He's... forgetting? He's forgetting. Or maybe he just never remembered? Distraught, writhing, he tries to think of another.
A woman with dark hair is coming into the room with her arms full of clothes, and he is so bewildered, but also amused. She is sheepish, but happy. She has stolen so many clothes for herself, and he laughs while trying to fight her over helping carry them inside so they can figure out where to put all of them. She settles on stealing his closet, too...]
no subject
it is quite a thing, to lose those memories? those precious things?
jayce, joshua, jordan...
lucien, loren, lyle...? no... no none of those seem right, you know in that space between your ribs, that beating muscle you call a heart, that those aren't the right names at all.
the woman with dark hair approaches with her clothes-laden arms, her sheepish expression something that you keep high up in your throat, closing now. you remember her. you remember. that's throné, isn't it? throné anguis... she's precious to you. these are your precious people.
the area around you constricts. a rumbling, familiar to you, rumbling. (comebackhere).
hold fast. hold tight. the data from your fingertips pulls faster, from your hands, from your arms now.
the book falls - a flash of purple - that's lucien. you know lucien - you have known him, beyond the void and in the sacred room of the church where you speak and pass what knowledge you can, where divided still there is something that breaks inside of you and melts.
a voice: "hold steady. i think... i think i'm getting something."
do you:
> try another memory
> climb some more and risk being constricted further
there is no wrong answer. any choice is right if you will it. ]
no subject
Yes! It was Lucien, and his stupid purple head that got the book--on purpose because he was being annoying.
The rumbling makes him tense. The Belly...? The data is such a jumble, and it all slips through his digging, climbing fingers. But he does stop when the darkness around him squeezes. He gasps, and then he tries to yell, but he doesn't know if anything comes out.
A memory. A memory. His memories. He doesn't want to lose them.
The door behind them is rattling furiously. A man's voice is yelling. He runs back to the table with a broad, tanned man while the machine they are with starts up, whirring. J-- says it isn't going to work, and he yells that it will, they don't have much time.
Crank it! That's what he had said--it's Jayce, and they are three seconds from discovering Hextech.]
no subject
like food escaping from the jaws of a predator, narrowly wiggling, climbing through a gullet, desperate to leave, to survive...
sounds familiar, doesn't it? familiar... final... thoughts...
well?
do you?
do you deserve to be alive?
(the man's name is jayce, the man's name is jayce and you clutch it so tightly in your heart, in the deep pit of your emotions and your desires, you hold it fast until you bore marks into it. these names, these faces, these people who have burrowed so far and fast into your life...
they're here, in your memories.
and they're there, up there, alive...
and they are waiting for you.
"almost there... you're almost there, come on... maybe you can't hear us... but come on, almost there..." ]
no subject
He had nothing to live for, that had been true. Creating Hextech--no one even knew his name. It was all Jayce, and he had preferred it because he just wanted to help others, not be praised.
But it's different here. It's different now. There are people important to him he wants to live for. He may not deserve to be alive, but fuck it, he is going to be alive!
All at once, he starts squirming and thrashing again, digging, clawing, climbing, yelling until his throat is hoarse from a sound that he can't even hear escape.]
Let me go!
[There is a boy with a lame leg and a cane on a bank, following a metal toy boat as it drifts down the polluted stream...]
no subject
there's a light there... in the water... in the dirty, filthy polluted water. there are voices coming from the water, ripples. ripples coming faster and faster.
faster and faster and faster.
viktor yells—and the water suddenly rises up in one great all-consuming splash. numbers and letters, words, memories, his name, the faces of those he loves. all at once. everywhere. ]