[ prp ] the inner workings of my mind ( x & mimsy )

[its me debz]

The letter had arrived on a Frightsday in August.

Its envelope was blank: devoid of postage, names, or return address. Instead, there had been a symbol in the center if it, standing in for all other markings.

He was familiar with it, this little symbol, a familiar Ⓧ. It was his sign, his calling, and his name.

X knew who the letter was from, and even his face without eyes could see it. Sharp, slender fingers opened the envelope and withdrew its contents. He unfolded the crisp, white paper, idly noting how the pen had been viciously pressed into the paper. Mimsy had been writing with a vengeance-- with a grudge-- and themes of irritation & bitterness & resentment were clear throughout the letter, each word decisively chosen to be as chastising as possible.

He was well versed enough in her language to read between the terse sentences.

She had thought herself to be dying, and had written a will at someone else's rather insistent behest.

There was more to this story, and X found himself irritated that he had not been included in this portion of her life. Folding the letter again, he'd placed it into a pocket deep inside of his coat. It remained in his safekeeping, for it was not every day that someone begrudgingly left you all their documents of importance.

He collected them, of course. They'd been in the forest where they had met, where she had adventured (quietly, lonely, with science in her heart), tucked beneath the roots of a tree, tucked beneath a stone outcrop. One by one, he tucked the various items into his pocket (an artifact, quite fortunately, allowed for the extra space required.), each one handled more gingerly than the last.

--

That had been three months ago, and X still held them on his person. It was not often he thought of matters of the heart, but he'd determined that he'd lacked the callous streak required to follow through with Mimsy's requests for destruction.

He strode through the Haunted House, his white claws dragging along the walls, causing a dull thrum as his nails peeled back paint. It was a quiet evening, and it was not until the next roomed that revealed itself that he took pause.

A forest, and a familiar one, in all the wrong ways. The roots were gnarled, black, and huge-- like they might be if he were still a scareling. But X had not been a scareling for a long, long time, and still the forest loomed, the sky overhead a cloudly and staticky grey, an illusion to cover up the ceiling beams.

It was, in that moment, that X realised he was not alone.

Quote:

Rolling a 5: ALL PLAYERS AT ANY POINT CAN FORFEIT THEIR ATTACK TO ROLL 2d12. If you roll odd, you do this damage to your opponent. If you roll even, you do this damage to YOURSELF - no modifier, you can ONLY DO THIS ONCE. You feel an uneasy unsettling feeling, as if something is coming, but you can't place what or when.

nothing yet

 

[Nothing Yet]

Deterring mental frustrations with projects of standard busywork had begun to feel like a pathetic distraction from realities that Mimsy still didn't want to face. The void created by a deficiency of challenging tasks was easily overtaken by persistent doubt and envy and unfulfillment, spreading until they infected the validity of her research. It became increasingly difficult for her to believe herself, and she was useless if she wasn't right, so she clung to hope for experiments not contained on their horrendous little petri dish of an island, disconnected by a lack of portal access.

The glorified goalpoint of portal travel felt disappointing and lackluster when she finally reached it and ventured out to update her data. Whether it was the product of an inflated idea of what this would bring, or something more aligned with the fact that most activities had suddenly lost their appeal to her, she did not seem to be enjoying herself in any capacity as she worked to gather and label.

There was no visible excitement or drive in her motions, propelled only by resignation and willpower, no glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. She moved methodically, everything calculated to expend the smallest possible amount of energy. Each sample was mentally catalogued and filed away in a spreadsheet of necessities. It was obvious that she had no intentions of going beyond her requirements today.

And at the moment, she had no intentions of ever going beyond her requirements again. Several dozen steps down a muggy corridor, she'd begun to consider the possibility of refusing to even meet her requirements. When she reached the end of the hall, stopping in the doorway that appeared to lead outside, she was feeling a moderate amount of commitment to the idea of sitting down and waiting out the rest of her existence here, where nothing was asked of her. Where she'd never feel abandoned, resting in the palm of FEAR and Insanity.

It was the instant before her miserable wallowing would have crossed into absurd melodramatics that she felt a crunch beneath her foot, markedly different from the crinkle of the damp leaves that had fallen into the hallway, and her gaze fell to a wrinkled sheet of paper. Muted signs of curiosity began to return as she lifted the toe of her boot, uncovering a portion of two illustrated coniferous trees...and a symbol. One corner of her mouth twitched.

She slowly put her foot back down, closed her eyes, and tilted her head towards the ceiling.

"Are you here?" Her short, sighed words were scratched raw with a furious defeat, voice akin to a child's after an unsuccessful tantrum for acknowledgement. That injured tone had been used so frequently in the past that it would be easily recognizable now, in spite of many absent years.

Of course he was here.

This was the forest (which she took one blind step into), where nothing was asked of her. Where she'd never feel abandoned, because she would never be alone.

astrazilla

 

[its me debz]

He heard her footsteps long before he heard her voice. He knew the tone; it tasted of defeat and echoed like buried sorrow. It was as distinct as the smell before rain.

"You are not a stupid girl," X chided, his voice carrying through the room, and while he could not see Mimsy, he felt her. She was here, not all of her, because of the pieces that were absent, but.

She was here.

"Do not ask a question that you already know the answer to. It's redundant, and you are above it."

With the walls gone, X idly dragged his claws against the trunk of a large tree, peeling back the bark to reveal the pale white beneath it, the scratching sounds growing louder as he approached. An apt metaphor, he supposed, on the nature of vulnerability.

He prided himself in the ability to pull Mimsy's out from within her with just his name in her head. Slipping into his shadow form, X slunk through the many shadows of the monochrome forest, quietly moving until he found hers.

And there he sat, quiet, unmoving, watching.

Waiting.

nothing yet

 

[Nothing Yet]

"Thank you." To most anyone else, Mimsy's two-word response would have been 'I know'. These were rare circumstances - she had no sense of superiority, of knowing that she knew better than he did. The qualifications were almost balanced, in her mind, and his were more numerous.

The assurance helped, and with her attention focused on the sound of something scraping against bark, she had little time to feel more and more dejected. A coiling anticipation took its place, soaring as the sound stopped. Instincts warned of something close, and her shoulders tensed, despite the lack of fear in her expression.

She shivered.

"I am too old for hide and seek now." The words were still hoarse, and it was hard to prevent them from sounding too sullen. "Don't you think so too? My understanding of this game is too strong."

She set her tools and containers of specimen aside, taking care to ensure their extended safety, and moved to settle her thin frame into a gap within the contorted roots of a grotesquely large tree. Sitting this way was more difficult than she remembered; it took her some time to find bends in the roots that hugged her long, bony limbs in the same way they'd once held her shorter frame, built with a different variety of awkward shapes.

Silence had been a necessity for her concentration, but she held onto it for just a little longer, staring at the shadow of her outstretched hand.

"You always know where to find me, so it must not be a very amusing game for you," she abruptly began again, flexing her fingers. "And it is a tremendously unfulfilling game, in the long run. There is no ultimate victory, no progress made. Let's play a different game."

Her pulse moved so quickly that she'd begun to feel dizzy. Disoriented. Almost euphoric. They were only symptoms of tachycardia. Its onset went unquestioned.

"I feel as if you have something of mine," she murmured, punctuated with the slightest hint of a frown. She'd stopped moving her fingers, but her hand remained in front of her, shaking.

astrazilla

 

[its me debz]

"It is only a childish game in name," X replied, his shape solidifying before her. He slipped out of the shadow of her quivering hand, standing at his full height, the toes of his shoes almost touching hers. His shadow covered her entirely, like a blanket of grey and gauze. Darkness shaded Mimsy's curled up body, nestled between the roots of the tree as it was.

It was so familiar in a far off way. This was how she used to hide.

In the past.

There was something missing about her, but he couldn't rest a finger on it, nor its origins.

"It is only a game if you mistake my intentions." It was true that it had been a game, once upon a time. Back when she was a child scientist, brighter than all the rest. Back when she had suffered at the hand of her caretaker's negligence. Back when she was not a warrior.

He was still the predator, and she was still the prey, but his intentions were no longer quite the same. Her terror was exquisite, but there was more from her he craved. The princess had grown up and her demons had not moved on, and any prince in her life would be no match for him and his. Mimsy was his, not as a possession or a claim to be staked, but as a companion, because no other was worthy of him.

"You have run the parameters with a faulty premise. Recalculate." X took that moment to sit in front of her, cross legged, his pale, unfeatured face even with hers.

"Do you know what it is that is in my possession?"

Nothing Yet

 

[Nothing Yet]

The shadows at the edges of her hand began to move, and Mimsy just watched, eyes following the movement of the shadows until they weren't really shadows anymore. Seeing him didn't startle her like it might have before, and the shade he cast on her seemed to bring a relief of sorts. The heavy pressure of her melancholy lessened.

"Have I mistaken your intentions?" she asked, though the implication was apparent that she had. "I suppose it would be too simple for me to ask what those intentions might actually be, wouldn't it?"

She reached to touch the side of his hand, slowly running her fingertips from one end to the other, walking a blurry line between inquisitive and affectionate. It would have been impossible for her to identify anyway, even if she tried.

It wasn't any easier to pinpoint the something she'd referred to, and she puzzled over it for a moment, hitting walls in her memories and managing only to scratch off residual pieces that lead to assumptions. Even those seemed a little strange. There were things that she was so very sure she experienced, sensations that she could clearly remember, that couldn't possibly be real.

Could they?

"Forgive the absurdity, but I feel as if you have my heart. I am aware of how nonviable that is, especially considering the fact that I most certainly have a pulse, but I can't ignore the memory." She frowned again. "At least...I think that it is a memory."

This was not the image of stability that she wanted to present to him, but it couldn't be helped this time.

astrazilla

 

[its me debz]

"Perhaps. They have...evolved." In him was a hunger for every facet of her, inside and out. In fact, his desires did not stray so far from Mimsy's own: he wished to extract from her the darkest of pieces, so that he may shed a light on them. However, instead of wanting to analyse them completely, he wanted to see how far the blackness went, instead.

But he knew already, of course. He had always known the answer to that.

All the way through.

"You never needed to fall down the rabbit hole," he replied cryptically, and they both knew that was a yes to both of her questions. Letting the ghoul slide her hand along his, X splayed his fingers wide to give Mimsy additional surface to touch. "That is where your story began, after all. At the bottom. You were born in shadow, and so you are in need of elevation, of ascension."

She had to see how deep she was. He had to witness her revelation. She may have had a story all her own, but the one she wrote with him was his to consume and no one else's. It would consume her: X wouldn't settle for anything less.

I feel as if you have my heart.

This was not the Mimsy he had cultivated, but it was his Mimsy nonetheless. She looked the same, spoke the same, and thought the same... minus the parts of her that had cautioned her against him. Last time her pulse had fluttered wildly, but this, Mimsy was calmer, almost lethargic.

X smiled.

"If you mean it in the most metaphorical of senses, I believe we are both in agreement that you have none. Whatever you possess, in its stead, is irrefutably my own." A pause. "As it has always been. Nothing has changed."

And then he laced their hands together, his grip uncomfortably tight. "However, there is something else in my possession that you bequeathed unto me under duress. It is of great enough import that you left it in my care, instead of someone else's."

nothing yet

 

[Nothing Yet]

"Evolved," Mimsy repeated, the word slipping through a smile of amusement. "Quite rapidly, if my timeline is correct. I do not mean to imply any doubt, of course - this is a rare case in which I can truthfully state that I empathize."

Maybe it was too strong a word, but she did know the feeling, at least. It was occasionally troubling to think about, especially when she considered how quickly and readily she abandoned some priorities in favor of others, and it grew increasingly difficult to convince herself that it was normal. That it was human nature. Her smile turned wry when she realized that this meant that it was not exclusive to humans, and her excuse began to finally crumble with the discovery that she had only succeeded in acting in parallel to the most significant inhuman entity that she knew.

"Ah, yes. You are correct." Her fingers dipped down into the spaces between his, and skipped upward until her fingertips gently pressed against his. "Born curious and mad, named miserable and flimsy with an otherworldly accuracy, destined for the vorpal blade, left seeking the exit to a world that is incapable of comprehension."

That particular analogy was vast and extensive by now, pieced together over decades of comparisons and discoveries. It was an odd comfort, like a recollection of a better time, despite the recent holes and fissures she had to leap over.

Those fragments and fractures were proving to be more and more disruptive, it seemed. She smiled back, accompanied by a little laugh, and glanced downward to hide the shame that crept into her eyes. The bones in her hand began to ache, but her muscles relaxed, offering the weight of her extended arm. Lead me, it said, to hide her fear of his disappointment.

"That is not quite true," she admitted, closing her eyes. "I am afraid that I cannot explain it, but I remember something. Portions of it are more faint than others, and the clearest of all of the moments...well. There is simply no other way to describe it: I vividly recall the sensation of the removal of my heart, and I have some certainty that it was at your hand."

She considered how foolish it was for her to say that. Her heartbeat was clearly audible in her ears, and the only scar on her body was on her wrist, far from her heart. Yet the feeling was persistently real in the absence of proof, much to her chagrin.

"I have no other memory of anything that might be in your possession, especially under duress. When did I do this? Was it within this decade? Has it endangered you? Why is it important? Did I...is it..."

Mimsy was no longer calm. Her shoulders shook with anxiety and her breaths were short with panic, and she silently began to plea that this was not related to what she was most afraid of.

astrazilla

 

[its me debz]

A contented hum reverberated beneath his breath. His human girl was such a clever thing, when it suited her, as obtuse as she often was. It was the price the brilliant paid.

"Born miserable and flimsy, perhaps. When you had been merely... human, doubly so. But you are more now, aren't you?" X coaxed her down a path that he had been cultivating for decades. The road to hell was paved with good intentions, and his intentions were the best. There were many people that cared for Mimsy Kercher's fate, but it was only he who knew the inevitable. The darkness swallowed everything, in time.

His grip loosened as she talked, and he splayed his fingers to hers-- the length of his claws far surpassing her stubby human ones in comparison. Mimsy was by no means small, but any human would be dwarfed by his presence.

Without warning, the demon released her wrist, and with a cool, white digit he raised her chin, the point of his claw pressing into the softness there. "If I had done that, here, you would have perished. Even with the new-found resilience granted to you by the nature of being a hunter, the slick along my fingers red as I removed the organ that I desired would have signified the end of your life. But." X slid his hand down Mimsy's neck, his touch light, and he felt the anxiety beneath her skin, thrumming erratically, fleetingly. She felt as though she might burst. "In this world and time, I have not removed it."

His tentacles flared from his back: a wispy collection of digits that were not quite corporeal. One of them smoothed her face, the touch cool-shadow-wind against her skin, a blot of darkness that caressed her cheek.

"It is quite important that you remember, for the things I possess define a portion of your life. But there is no need to fret, Mimsy."

He cradled her, then, holding her close. There was no heartbeat in his chest, and his skin was cool without being clammy, the fabric of his suit fine silk worn at the edges-- X was far too fond of his woods. He was an all enveloping presence: smelling of the woods, of ozone. Of darkness.

"I will help you, just as I have for many years. It was in August, and they are documents from your life before entering the care of Deus."