039 || dictated;

[workaphilic]

[It's very, very late when the journal opens. Or very early, depending on your perspective. But there's none of the grate to his voice that usually accompanies his insomnia; instead he sounds lively, nearly amicable.]

Rise and shine, residents. Don't complain, if you're awake now you either were before I started or you're stupid enough to leave your journal open when you sleep.

[Gladstone whines in the background.]

Shut up, you don't get to complain either, after all you've put me through.

[In the background: noise of cabinets, and food (or something, it can be hard to tell with him) tumbling into a bowl.]

Here is my question, Paradisa:

How much worse could it get?

[A pause, and something occurs to him. He continues, now with his mouth full.]

I'm not being rhetorical. It's not the preface to an uplifting speech, either. Really think, and really answer. It's important.

Comments

dictated

[wilder]

[...My goddess does he hate the inability to sleep. But he'll answer]

Doesn't that depend on what 'it' is?

[heloise]

The Castle could disallow all decent music and drive bees into extinction.

Dictated

[schrodingersghost]

Are you completely insane? Never challenge the power of worse! That's like inviting something horrible to happen!

[peacockherald]

_{[ This is what he gets for having a young lover keeping him up all night. of course he's happy to fall right asleep, but Van's a bit slower with such tasks these days. ]}

A bit of a dreary question for a bedtime story. Any answers are bound to bring on bad dreams.

[workaphilic]

[He makes an impatient noise. Fine, he'll elaborate.]

Your overall satisfaction with life in this world. How much worse off could you potentially become?

[workaphilic]

I was asking you, Madonna Lucrezia.

[workaphilic]

Maybe that's exactly what I'm doing.

[so, you know, insanity not impossible.]

[wilder]

Oh, my life here huh?

Hmmm...well it could be a lot worse, I'd imagine!

[schrodingersghost]

Why would you want to do that? Do we not already have enough to deal with around here?

[heloise]

Lucrezia.

You will tell me yours in return.

[workaphilic]

[Noisy crunching.]

Your problem, not mine.

[workaphilic]

How's that?

[wilder]

Welllll, no one's actively trying to kill me for starters! If that started up, I'd imagine that'd suck.

[inafadingcrown]

[Well, she was up anyway...]

Why do you ask? [Genuinely curious over here]

[workaphilic]

Do we? Most residents are more than content, given the circumstances.

[workaphilic]

Why would I do that?

[workaphilic]

[Reminding:]

You'd come back to life.

[workaphilic]

[brightly:]

I'm curious.

[peacockherald]

_{[ Sometimes he forgot how... prickly you were. If prickly was even a word that could be properly applied to Sherlock. ]}

Well, since I suppose you did ask, yes, I think it can get worse. The Castle puts us through times of hardship, but they always end. What if the torture never stopped? What if we lived horrors again and again, day after day, without pause or rest. Just horror and blood and terror, and death not even a release.

[wilder]

Yeaaaah- been there, done that. It still sucked.

[gottaknockhard]

Assuming there's a limit?

[workaphilic]

Yes, what if?

[It's not so much that he's inappropriately excited for such a scenario, but that he's not appropriately put off by it.]

But that's an easy answer. Be more specific to yourself.

[heloise]

Because you wish to know mine.

[workaphilic]

[And now urging:]

But in comparison to being hunted down in your home world. How much worse would it be?

[workaphilic]

Assuming the limit is the limit of Paradisa's influence.

[Interpret that however you want.]