068. Tea For One

[samson]

[Brock's been quiet for the past few days, and with good reason. It's kind of hard to care about the day-to-day of a bunch of people in a magical wonderland when your wife is dead. Then again, he can't really keep all this shit to himself forever, so he pens a filter.]

[Maladict]
So, hey. All my other friends are idiot douchebags, so maybe we could talk or something. Like, it's... stupid... but you been there for me a lot, you know? So, uh. Whatever. Just, uh... yeah.
[/filter]

[...which, naturally, goes unanswered.

So after a few more hours, Brock's voice comes over the journal unfiltered this time. He is generally pretty blasé about everything, and when he's not, he's openly furious. But this time he's just very obviously inebriated and annoyed, so that's a thing.]

In case anybody's not too busy talking about stupid bullshit. My wife is pretty dead. So. I'm taking a vacation from being Brock "Solves All Your Problems" Samson for, like... two weeks -- no, a month. Don't bother me.

Oh, Maladict is gone too. So that's another person gone who actually helped anyone in this stupid place. Good fuckin' luck, Paradisa.

[There's a pause here. Maybe he meant to make a filter, but more likely he doesn't actually care.]

Vriska, come to the cabin. Bring a paintbrush. I'm gonna teach you art therapy.

- - CABIN - -
[And for anyone who decides to drop by -- Vriska or otherwise -- Brock is in the cabin. Painting. Poorly.

There are a bunch of easels set up in the living area, all with canvases that he obviously tried really hard on but the paintings are objectively bad. There are also a lot of empty beer cans, so that's a thing. All this along with the beard that Brock has been growing for the past several days is probably an extremely sad scene.

That's not even taking into account the body of his wife wrapped in a sheet in the bedroom.]

Comments

Dictated

[wizard_redfive]

[Dairine recalls that voice from the fiasco with Bunny. The implication that no one but him and his friends helps people around here ticks her off, and for a second she opens her mouth to tell him off.

But then she closes it. He just lost his wife. She remembers how she had acted right after her mother died. It had been pretty bad. This was probably just the way he was dealing with grief, so she decides not to comment on it. Arguing with him in this state would do no good.

Besides, she knows she can help the castle's residents. She doesn't need to prove it.]

Thanks for the notice. [Guess she'll be letting Nita know they'll have to work double time.]

Dictated

[samson]

[As for Brock, he doesn't even recognize her voice apart from being one he's heard before over the journals. But there are a lot of voices coming from the pages all the time. That's what this place is like. Constant noise.]

Yep.

Dictated

[wizard_redfive]

[It can get that way, that's for sure. Dairine is decent at sorting through the noise though, after a few years of sifting through light-years' worth of telepathic messages. Picking up familiar voices seemed pretty easy compared to that.]

Well, take your time. [She's not sure what else to say besides that.]

Brock

[wagers]

[She's been moping in her room rather than the outposts, eyes falling every so often at the place where she had left Molotov's for that brief time. She's sucking in a breath as she listlessly flips through the journal... and, oh. Brock.]

Wait, really? [HOW COME.]

Vriska

[samson]

'cause being all sad about stuff is shitty, and getting it out there helps.

[He doesn't usually swear in front of kids, but he is pretty drunk ok. It's fine.]

Brock

[wagers]

[Excuse you, not!Dad, she's like almost 16! And even if she was sticking to her intro age, thirteen was practically a teen! Teen. Not kid!]

I guess??

dictated

[sworn]

[When it comes to the death of a spouse, Vereesa can relate all too well. Unlike in her own case, at least Brock's wife will return to him in time. It doesn't make the situation any better, but--

For a moment, Vereesa feels incredibly bitter about it, almost as if he has no right to mourn. Molotov's death isn't permanent while Rhonin's is. He will have his wife back while Vereesa will continue to be a widow until her last breath. All he needs to do is wait.

...No. She pulls herself from such selfish thinking, as difficult as it is. Death is death, whether it is permanent or only temporary. There is still pain, there is still mourning. She certainly didn't feel this way when Brock himself died, and she should feel no different now.

Fortunately, none of this will ever be known to her friend. She thinks of the first comforting words she can muster.]

I am here if you need anything at all.

dictated

[samson]

[Nah, he'd agree with Vereesa about it, really. His mourning is pretty half-assed as it is; he's more pissed than anything else.]

Yeah, I'm okay. Just tired of babysitting people, I guess.

[sworn]

They don't deserve babysitting in the first place.

[Oh WHOOPS she meant to think that and not actually say it out loud. Light...]

That is, you shouldn't worry about others when you've more important matters to consider.

dictated

[secondchances]

[Steph feels terrible for hoping that Molotov's death doesn't end up permanent like some others--she shouldn't even be thinking about that.]

Sorry, Brock. Take your time. [You know, with the screw everyone thing.]

dictated

[samson]

[It's crossed Brock's mind, too -- hence why he is keeping her body in the cabin so he can check on her periodically.]

Planning on it.

Brock

[gottaknockhard]

[This is a lot of news to take in, and Spike spends a while thumbing through the journal trying to gather what happened before he gets back to this page. Brock's friends are shitty when they have a reaction this delayed, but what could he expect?

Bad timing. To think he'd been expecting something like this ever since he had a pleasant conversation with Molotov. It's that kind of thinking that leads to him speaking up, at least to acknowledge that he pays attention some of the time. And if he needs anything, Spike figured he'll ask.]

Yeah. No problem.

Spike

[samson]

[It's something he's going to miss now that Maladict's gone. She acted like a man and dressed like a man, but she was always more emotive than Spike or Ezio. Orpheus was like that, too -- somebody who was a little more level-headed than him, and not afraid to actually talk.

Oh well, though. He'd gotten along without people like that before and he'd just have to do it again.

Also, since Spike isn't a minor like (he thinks) Stephanie is --]

You mind bringing over some beer or something?

[assassino]

[A long pause.]

Christ.

[samson]

[That's pretty much it.]

Yeah. Not good.

[onlyanapple]

Lot of that going around, lately. Death and leavings and such.

[He doesn't sound AMUSED at least, perhaps even a little unsettled.]

I hope we don't have another serial killer loose again.

[samson]

[Crowley are you for real......]

It was a big freakin' monster.

[dog_eat_dog]

Not many people could have helped, Brock. Bloaters kill people all the time; taking them down is next to impossible.

[samson]

Oh, that's funny, 'cause me and a thirteen-year-old managed fine.

[Vriska isn't thirteen but. Who cares.]

[hellofist]

[She could spend some time talking to him over the journals, getting an idea for how he's doing and what happened, but what's the point? She'd seen his body language clear as day when he'd talked to her about his wife, she knows he's not going to be doing well at all.

So instead Brock's only warning that he'll have a visitor is the the sound of a motorcycle engine getting louder and louder before it cuts off just outside his house. She does knock, but manners are not her strong suit. Nope, she just pushes the door open and heads right in, only slightly surprised to see the cabin in such a state.

That's a lot of beer, Brock. It's a good thing you're bear-sized.]

Brock?

[Look she didn't even call you Brook, how nice of her.]

[samson]

[Brock heard the motorcycle.

Even in this state -- or perhaps because of it -- he's still got his instincts. So by the time Cass pushes the door open, Brock isn't even in the main living area. The cabin is basically just one large room with a small bedroom built up in the corner, so there aren't many places for him to hide. He's not even up in the rafters -- he's to big to go Spider-manning around, anyway.

He is behind the door, though, which he slams shut once Cass is far enough inside the cabin. His knife is drawn, all eleven inches of sawtoothed steel, because he doesn't actually recognize her.]

What.

dictated;

[ofhope]

My condolences.

dictated;

[samson]

[Not sure if genuine.......]

Right.

dictated

[willrememberthat]

[Oh, god. Someone had died. Killed by that thing. Clem and Ben would be dead too, if it weren't for Joel.

This is terrible.]

I'm sorry.

dictated

[samson]

[He doesn't even recognize this voice... he'd spoken to Clem before, when she was younger, but he's not making the connection.]

It's alright. It happens.