puΗsuΚoΚ ΚΙΙΙΎ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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abraxaslogs2024-05-12 06:31 pm
stations) wrote in abraxaslogs2024-05-12 06:31 pm
πΏππβπ‘π π€πππ ππ’πππ π¦ππ’ βπππ (open.)
Who: Jack Townsend & Others.
When: Post-Event.
Where: Thorne, the Horizon, Nocwich.
What: a catch-all for open & closed starters that take place after the event wrap-up.
Warnings: bigly angst, such dramatic, depression, themes of grief and loss, mental illness, possibly some violence.
πβππ π¦ππ’ π‘ππ¦ π¦ππ’π πππ π‘, ππ’π‘ π¦ππ’ πππ'π‘ π π’πππππ
πβππ π¦ππ’ πππ‘ π€βππ‘ π¦ππ’ π€πππ‘, ππ’π‘ πππ‘ π€βππ‘ π¦ππ’ ππππ
πβππ π¦ππ’ ππππ π π π‘ππππ, ππ’π‘ π¦ππ’ πππ'π‘ π ππππ
ππ‘π’ππ ππ πππ£πππ π
π΄ππ π‘βπ π‘ππππ ππππ π π‘πππππππ πππ€π π¦ππ’π ππππ
πβππ π¦ππ’ πππ π π ππππ‘βπππ π¦ππ’ πππ'π‘ πππππππ
πβππ π¦ππ’ πππ£π π ππππππ, ππ’π‘ ππ‘ ππππ π‘π π€ππ π‘π
πΆππ’ππ ππ‘ ππ π€πππ π?
When: Post-Event.
Where: Thorne, the Horizon, Nocwich.
What: a catch-all for open & closed starters that take place after the event wrap-up.
Warnings: bigly angst, such dramatic, depression, themes of grief and loss, mental illness, possibly some violence.
πβππ π¦ππ’ πππ‘ π€βππ‘ π¦ππ’ π€πππ‘, ππ’π‘ πππ‘ π€βππ‘ π¦ππ’ ππππ
πβππ π¦ππ’ ππππ π π π‘ππππ, ππ’π‘ π¦ππ’ πππ'π‘ π ππππ
ππ‘π’ππ ππ πππ£πππ π
π΄ππ π‘βπ π‘ππππ ππππ π π‘πππππππ πππ€π π¦ππ’π ππππ
πβππ π¦ππ’ πππ π π ππππ‘βπππ π¦ππ’ πππ'π‘ πππππππ
πβππ π¦ππ’ πππ£π π ππππππ, ππ’π‘ ππ‘ ππππ π‘π π€ππ π‘π
πΆππ’ππ ππ‘ ππ π€πππ π?
no subject
( He is, of course, taking that no to be a direct answer to only that last question, and refusing to think any more deeply about it. )
And maybe that's why you're here. Maybe you get some- some kind of weird, sick fucking joy out of that β seeing other people being as miserable as you are. Maybe it makes you feel less alone, or something. Well, newsflash, you're still alone. You're going to push away or lose everybody, every single person, because you keep doing shit like this, and you're always gonna be alone, you- Fucking! Asshole!
( At some point, somewhere along the way, his voice raises in octave and in pitch. He can hear it, bouncing off the walls back at himself. He can hear, plain and clear, the way it cracks miserably toward the end. He can feel the burn in his eyes, the fury of unshed tears, the wrenching ache of it.
The truth of it hurts so fucking much, he can barely breathe. )
Oh, god.
( She's gone. )
forgive me for continually giving you no substance
He's tried to push people away dozens of times, in excessively terrible ways, but they were still there while he was settled into his coldest state. That kind of sticks with you after you wake up having a dirt nap from the Singularity's crater still with your wrists bound from when you got marched to it.
He had come here expecting violence and now he doesn't exactly know what the actual Hell he's exactly supposed to do. That Lucifer may currently be one of the few Thorne Summoned with the steadiest emotions and that says a lot about Thorne as a whole.] Uhhm. [Helpful.]
i forgive u my child
( He sounds hoarse, his throat thick, his vision blurry.
If Lucifer gave him more, if he were more responsive, if he were even vaguely antagonistic, this would have devolved into violence. He was teetering on a precarious ledge, and one smart-ass comment would've had a box cutter in his hand in a heartbeat.
But Lucifer's being so fucking passive, offering nothing, instigating nothing, it's throwing him entirely off-kilter. It's not enough to push him across the line, and he wants to be pushed. It'll be so much easier to lash out than to break down. )
Say something, fuckass!
( Mark this down as the first and only time Jack will ever voluntarily give Lucifer that order. )
no subject
Perhaps an offer of distraction [since Jack hasn't resorted to violence yet so he has to think on his feet here] but do you want inane distraction? [Or will that just feel like he's not doing anything to 'get Sabine back' and
well
Jack will burn out, eventually, but maybe burnout is what he needs.
What the fuck does Lucifer know?????]
no subject
Inane distraction. Putting out a hand?
What?
What? )
I-
( What? He is so unbelievably fucking confused about what any of that means, about the motivation behind it, and the fact that he can feel an embarrassing, hot streak of tears finally escaping does not help him process it any better.
And so he just flat out asks: )
Why are you here?
( Honestly, genuinely, what the fuck is this shit? )
no subject
And now I'm not exactly sure why or what I'm doing here. [So. They're both equally at a loss, if it makes you feel even fractionally, temporarily, better, Jack.]
no subject
Great.
So now Lucifer's even robbed him of that, and not even on Jack's terms.
His shoulders slump. His eyes close, and for a second, it's all he can do to remain standing in shuttered, empty silence. Accepting this profound let-down of a realization, and absolutely despising it. Eventually, he drags a hand up to his face to grind his palm against his cheeks, to resentfully scrub away the evidence of tears.
He licks his lips. They feel simultaneously sticky and dry when he pries them apart, and his throat catches on the words whenever he gets around to making them. )
Just get out. Just leave me alone.
no subject
no subject