paradisa | (no subject)

Entry tags:

delirium

(no subject)

[The message to evacuate had somehow gotten lost between a tumble out of the dryer and a visit in the lobby with dancing chalk.

That was okay. Evacuations made her her itch and her skin run away. It was better, to just try and avoid the fast and quite.]

...don't like that gunk, not really grape... ape ate ace face facilitatory ish ed mmm...

...bring back some of the rocks. Not from those caves, though, the sand is slimy...

[Her journal is being toted around by one cover, and occasionally the sounds of her muttering waft quiet words onto the pages.]

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What are you doing?

[It's terse. The stress is making him a bit (more) of a jackass.]

What am I doing?

[Serious question here. Tell her. She's forgotten where she's going.]

If you have to ask, you shouldn't be doing it. Just this once, try to resist the urge to wander, would you?

[She gets a stubborn voice. She can do whatever she damn well pleases. Because-

Er. Cuz!]

I just lost a shoe! Both shoes. But not my feet I found my feet. Kinda. How many toes on the right? What if we all had toes on our heads instead...

Focus. [No, that's a pointless thing to say to her. Switch gears.] You'll lose much more if you go parading about the halls. At least have the sense to go somewhere.

'M not allowed at the line because I get fuzzy and then solidify.

Fine, then go somewhere else. Force them to let you stay in the clinic, I don't care.

[He really sounded worried. It brought a tinge of confusion to her vague, meandering tone.]

Did you eat too many cans?

No. I'm fine.

[He's really not.]

Unless you're eager to be laid up with the others, you'd do well to listen to me and be done with it.

If you knew everything there'd be no point for you.

[She hums that out, still shuffling her way along.]

Where are you?

[He's silent for a few seconds. That's true, but he doesn't have to be happy about it.]

Clinic.

Why?

[There's flopping as the book bounces against her leg.]

Because the alternative is wandering the castle like you, and I think I've already made my opinion on that abundantly clear.

[That's not even close to the real reason, but he's not good at these feeling things.]

[A hum of acknowledgement followed by a long silence except for the flop flop flopping of her journal.]

Figured out a destination yet?

[The flop flop from the book continues, but when she answers her voice comes twice - once from the book and once from the hallway near him.]

The labyrinth isn't allowed?

[Oh. Good. (Unexpected pang of relief.)]

Not today, no.

[The shuffling is slow and lazy. It takes her a while to follow the meandering strong of a path that brought her closer.

But, finally, she stops to stare at the mural spread across one wall.]

There aren't any zombies. Not that there were any. I think. Or not they way they should be it wasn't their fault.

[He shuts his journal.]

They're comatose. Poisoned.

[It seems like a relevant thing to say. He doesn't know what a zombie is.]

Oh? [She wanders along the wall, hand trailing over the scene.

But, hey. There's one of her favorites. She'll just stop wandering now, and settle down next to him.]

Oh. Dreaming when there was no Dream.

[He's calmer now. The last thing he needs is someone else to fret embarrassingly over.]

Yes. Not very pleasant, obviously.

Is it?

[Her hand scratches over the floor near his foot.]

There could be streamers add. Those flowy ones tat sparkle and crackle and catch on fire.

Could be. Still, I think they'd much prefer not to be comatose.

[A shrug. Just another one of those things that will pass.]

Can we go to the embassy?

No.

[Well. That's that, then.]