unpocoloco | Daybreak IC Inbox

[There's a laugh first. Then his eyes go down to the floor, hand rubbing at his neck.]

I, uh... I don't know. [He shakes his head.] I had beliefs before and I've talked to enough ghosts by now too that I don't really think there's nothing? But I've never seen anything or been anywhere. Not that I can remember anyway.

Kind of wonder sometimes if, maybe, since I managed to stick around in this sense that I've completely ruined any chance of anything else... [He's quiet, thinking of all too many painful thoughts. He shakes himself out, trying to pull back that cheer.] But hey, who knows! Either way, I've still got now. Makes it more like life, to enjoy it while it lasts.

[Wow, none of this is comforting. Thank you, Héctor.]

Right... Except you only get half the time and way fewer benefits. Hey, remember how like literally one fucking minute ago you told me not to bottle shit up because it'll save time feeling fucking awful about it? Thought you might've been onto something there.

[He opens his mouth, draws a breath, and points a finger up like he's going to argue. No words come out. His jaw works and then he slumps a little.]

... Do you really want to be dumped with an existential crisis after you just got everything else off your chest? And I mean... this isn't even something that affects anybody! [Until they die. And then find the afterlife devoid of him. He makes a face.] I'm dead, I died, there's downsides, I don't want to worry people. It's just what it is. You don't lose your wallet, get given some change and say, hey, this isn't my wallet. You just do what you can with the change. Even if you maybe miss the wallet.

[He shrugs weakly, and his voice borders on a mumble.]

I already have an existential crisis half the time anyway...

[his ptsd was fun like that sometimes. Before Daybreak, he'd gotten used to working up to as bets as he could get, but ever since coming to this place... He feels like he's slipping. Maybe motor-sledding down a steep mountain and crashing spectacularly against the base. Something. Who can say!!!

But...whatever. He sighs, makes one more pass at his face, then ducks around Héctor so that he can flop onto his back. Damn, there's good beds here.]

I dunno. Shit is shit. Feels unfair, like... You don't fucking deserve this. You want shit, you have dreams. You're...too fucking good.

[He frowns.] That's one of the least reassuring things you've ever said.

[But he can't say Maverick never says things that don't worry him. They get what they give it seems.

He waits a moment, considering, and then flops back too.]

I'm not that good. But thank you, I guess.

[He stares up at the ceiling, hands on his chest and legs hanging over the edge.]

Everybody dies. Nobody knows when it will happen. There's no guarantee and it's not owed to us. Twenty three might not seem like a lot but there are people out there who get even less. I... tell myself that. And I tell other people when they get upset. Like I've got some kind of otherworldly knowledge that makes me see it all clearer.

... I wanted more. I want more. Play for families I know, stay in town, sleep in my bed. Walk the streets without being afraid I'll be turned into a monster or be torn apart. I want to kiss my wife without being afraid of screwing up or... thinking how disgusting I look. I missed my little girl growing up. I'll miss my grandchildren if I ever have any. And I'll never grow old with Imelda. It's all just gone. Like that. The future was right there and the door slammed. When I actually sit down and think about it, not trying to make anyone else feel better either about this or something else, I want to scream.

[And scream, and scream.]

But it's my own fault. My fault I left. My fault I didn't go home sooner. My fault that I made family feel like I was the kind of guy who would just... leave. Heck, maybe the whole thing with Ernesto is my fault too, I don't know. All the stupid things I did or said, it's totally possible. There's nothing to scream at except me. I'm flighty and stupid and selfish, self-absorbed, don't even care sometimes, I'm not... good. And I'm scared. I don't want to disappear. And even if there's... still something after for me... even if I have somewhere to go while I wait for everyone else to live out their lives... I still don't want to die.

That... that's probably the majority of that whole mess. I think.

Edited 2019-09-24 19:52 (UTC)

[The idea that that wasn't reassuring is pretty laughable, but mostly because he doesn't really know when the fuck he's said something that actually is reassuring. He just speaks his mind and sometimes makes people want to punch him. It was a good distraction, but not particularly reassuring. People should go to someone else for that. Case in point, he doesn't have anything reassuring to say now as he listens to Héctor let his worries out.

Finally, when it seems he's done, Maverick pushes himself back up to a sitting position.]

I used to do that a lot. Felt good, dunno why I stopped. Just got older, I guess.

[Whatever that means... Did he even listen to all that? Because he's not really reacting, or so it would seem. He hops onto his feet and heads towards the door, gesturing Héctor over to him.]

Come on, let's go.

[He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he was going to get. It wasn't this. Even being told to fuck off with all that would have been more expected.]

You used to... what?

[He frowns. Maverick gets up and he follows, bewildered.]

Uh... okay?

[Conversation over he supposes.]

[It's fine. It's all fine, and it will continue to be fine as long as Héctor follows him even while he doesn't explain. He isn't silent, but his intention to not reply is exceedingly clear with how he starts to whistle to himself while making his way through the inn. He stops at a staff only door to take out his ring of keys and odd keychains so they can get through and go up the stairs. Up, up, up and onto the roof.

Compared to the rest of the place, it's patchy and unkempt; the Maverick to the inn's warm, friendly, reassuring Ramona. View's alright.]

Heeeere we go! The ol' screaming grounds. Go on, let 'er have it! Or if you're shy, I can scribble down some soundproofing, but all open as fuck up top, I dunno how much it'll fucking work.

[standing in the rooftops everybody scream your HEEEEART OUT!!!]

[Ooookay. He's getting that there's something up, and he's following and he's not asking (yet), but the bewilderment isn't fading any time soon.

They get out the door, to that patch unkept place that makes him think of singing songs with the poor, crazy, and lonely, around burning garbage cans, pretending he was one of them when he was little better than a ghost. Aching, bittersweet, with the sky above full of stars. The air is wonderful. It does remind of Maverick.

He blinks at the kid. Then at the roof.]

You- I mean I--

[He's done gritos. He's done those a thousand times and shown then off. But those were joyous. Maverick is asking something else entirely. Pretty much the exact opposite of anything he's ever done. Even playing guitar in his youth to make himself feel better, he was trying to grasp happiness not... everything else.]

Are you sure this isn't going to, I don't know, get...someone to...

[His face goes blank as he remembers, eyes glassy. He remembers just one time when his cries weren't quiet, when he called for mercy and called for blood. He remembers then because no one heard. And no one came. He shivers. For a moment his body flicker with light.

The way he and Maverick push themselves forward through things is so very opposite. But what has he got to lose? He's got no other ideas. The worst case is that he goes right back to what he did before. Pretending he's got it under control. He's okay. He's not aching inside every day and flinching at movements in the dark, not mourning anything.

Again his body flickers, sporadic, spasmodic, but it doesn't come with real pain like he's fading out. Just memory. He walks ahead, looking up, drawing one breath, then another.

He turns his face up to the sky...

What rips out becomes less a scream, and more of an agonized howl. He can almost hear the monstrous overtones that once wove with his voice. And he can feel it, the cut of a psychic blade, the gnash of teeth, the digging in his arm, every wound ever inflicted by those hunting him down, the anger, swinging his guitar to smash it, running bare foot across the Outlands, hating and hating and hating one thing even more than the secrecy. He screams until his throat is in pain and the flickers of his body grow too great.

His voice catches. Like a string cut puppet, where he was, a skeleton drops to its knees.]

Edited 2019-09-25 00:39 (UTC)

[He goes to answer, but he's held back by the odd flashes of light. It's unfamiliar magic, and most magic is unfamiliar to him, but he can't help but to think it's as beautiful as it is weird. It reminds him of a lighter being held up and waved in a gentle, reverent arc. A breeze would pass by, and the flame would flicker at the sudden resistance, and then it would come back strong just like before. Maverick shifts his weight so he's standing on the back of his heels, watching, waiting, and chewing at the inside of his cheek. Just gotta give the guy a moment.

When Héctor does let loose, he inhales sharply and closes his eyes as if that's what's letting the anguished cry fill him up inside. Like the magic, one could find it beautiful if looked at from a certain angle. He remembers the old days, the days where his biggest problem was that he'd fight with Ramona five times a day, then go around smashing things before coming here to scream until his lungs hurt. Things were a lot simpler then... He's come a long way and still survived. Héctor's howls are a reminder of everything he'd gone through, too. Sure, he might be a dead guy, but...he was still a survivor. He was standing here as very loud, very heartbreaking proof. The temptation to join in is there -- it had been his plan -- but now... It felt like it would take away from the power of it. The reclamation.

Mav opens his eyes again as he's left listening to an echo and a ring, and he's over as fast as his heart is beating.]

Hey.

[Before now, and with any other skeleton, he would have hesitated, but his hand instinctively goes to grip the man's bony shoulder as he drops beside him.]

Hey, hey. All good?

[His breath shudders. He's not tired in the way of sleep but he's tired in other ways, eyes half-lidded and head hanging. He can hear the echo of his own scream too. He feels dizzy, scraped raw in a phantom throat and some place deeper.

Maverick's hand falls on his shoulder and only then does he move. He lifts his own hand, placing skeletal fingers over top. Though he doesn't look quite yet.

Slowly, he starts to bob his head.]

...Si. I think so. I just need a minute.

[A minute passes and he climbs up to his feet. He feels off balance, but not in a bad way, somehow. Not entirely.]

Not a bad plan. Scream it out.

[He nods, but when he realizes Héctor probably wasn't aware of that, he hums a vague agreement. He can imagine the dizzying feeling of old, and he has no idea what kind of bizarro spin comes with shedding your skin on top of it. When Héctor is ready, he straightens back up to match and shoves his hands in his pockets.]

Yeah. It's --

"Maverick? Était-ce vous?"

[Oh, oops. He half-jogs over to the edge and waves down at the woman calling curiously up to them from below.]

Merde... Qui diable d'autre, Emilie?! All good! [Which must be acceptable because Emilie doesn't reply, and there isn't anyone coming through the roof access.] Haha! Probably scared the shit outta some guests and newer employees. What the fuck ever. She'll set 'em right... But, uh.

[He trudges back over, an eyebrow raised. He's as curious as he is tentative.]

Most people wouldn't take "screaming my guts out" so seriously. What the fuck happened? Did you mean to make your... [bones get exposed]

[It's a very bizarre feeling. Even used to it, that hasn't changed.

He listens then startles at the sound of the other voice. He doesn't know the words exactly but they're close and spoken in tones that let him guess. His heart would be pounding were he alive. To speak of scaring.

That... that might've been a bit much at the moment. All things considered. He scrubs at his face. ]

Mmm. No.

[Not the greatest sign that his screaming is more serious. A little bit of regret is creeping in for how much he's got to explain. But that's part of the point. No taking it back.]

It's a... I don't know what you call it. It's... [He hopes he doesn't regret this comparison.] you know when you find it harder to speak sometimes? It's like that.

When the Hollow found me. Got it's teeth in mm- me, my soul... it changed me to one of them f-for that little while. I was found. I was... tortured. [The word comes out flat. Small and blunt and not at all what it was.]

Sometimes, when I think about all that... my power just goes. I panic, and I protect myself. I had trouble at first, changing back, but Imelda helped me. It's why she started talking to me again.

I'm okay now. I swear I am. I dug deep and it went automatic, no big deal. Thanks for covering me.

[To his credit, Mav really isn't concerned at all anyone else. He'd hastened to reassure the worker so that things would go back to this miniature world that was just the two of them on the roof. As much as he was sure about getting back there, he's not prepared for what he hears when he is.

He doesn't know a lot about Hollows -- what Héctor's told him, really, and then it wasn't by name. He has to guess that much. He remembers the first time he saw Héctor like this, and how disjointed he seemed to be with the world around him. He'd been sneaking around, and at the time Maverick had been worried about the possibility of him being a stalker, some unknown after someone else in the dorms, but now, knowing... Of fucking course he'd hobbled to hide. Of course his nerves had been frayed. And then Maverick had taken those frayed ends and set literal fire to them.

He doesn't regret it entirely, especially given everything that's happened since, but man. He sure was tactless. What else is new? Look, here he goes again with an awkward brush-off of a situation too complicated for his emotional stupidity to address the way it should be.]

You're good, dude.

[It's more than understandable to him, who had already been labeling him a survivor in his head. More than that, it wasn't really any of his fucking business. Without him dragging Héctor up here and making him do weird shit, it's likely he never would have known. Héctor acted as some fucking kind of martyr like that. For a second, there's the temptation to reach out and run his fingers through the man's hair, like he'd done for Mav back in the dream, but he's not nearly as vulnerable or tall enough to accomplish it. He lamely shifts his weight to one foot instead, and maybe that moves his brain into the right thoughtspace or whatever because something clicks.]

...Nothing fucking happened, did it? That's... That's why you don't think anything will happen to my boyfriend. Some asshole did that shit to you, and the school just -- they didn't fucking do enough. [Of fucking course he was still holding onto a scream like that.]

[An awkward brush off to Maverick does wonders for him. His smile pulls, tight with the strain of memory but genuine for every inch of it. He's grateful.

What a great kid. What really wonderful friend. He does lighter.

Even if he's got to answer that question. His mouth presses and he shakes his head. At first that seems all he's going to give.]

I've hardly told anyone. Two people know? And the higher faculty who worked on... repairing me. My body from that, and my soul to turn me back to normal. I can't remember who was there.

I assume the high seers knew. I was angry at them. I was angry for a long time that they let it happen. But I don't know. I might have killed someone otherwise. I wanted... to hurt my- my girl. From the outside it was just stopping a monster. Just helping Daybreak, just... studying. They need people for Nightfall. And that person might need daybreak. It's not as though anyone else, anyone normal got hurt from it. And I don't even know if Imelda and I would be speaking if not for what happened. I even got an apology.

I should be grateful... but it was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I couldn't pass out cause of how I am. Being hollow ruined my memories, took all the good from them, just left it all aching... a hunger I can't describe. I had no way to escape, on top of being pinned down. It was just being vivisected and stitched up over and over for days. I would've given up on seeing my daughter... the reason I got out of the ground to begin with. It was the one single time that I wanted to die.

[It's an odd roil in his already-anxious stomach, because how could he still want to be so wary about Akechi's fate when shit like this was going on and leaving him outraged when nothing had been done? He knows Akechi's reasons and intimate details of his life, but it didn't make what he'd done better. The way Héctor's captor had kept him from going out and hurting anyone didn't make the horrific treatment of him better.]

Fuck that... Fuck that, and you know why? You fucking said, back when all those kid copies of us were around, you fucking said I didn't have to feel bad because shit worked out for me and I was happy, no matter what happened to make it that way. Why the fuck would you have to be fucking grateful that horrible shit happened to you?! Be happy about what your happy about and be furious as fuck about the rest! You were tortured! God, no wonder you need to fucking scream!

[He isn't good at initiating contact, and he's not sure making a sudden movement towards him would be a good idea while he's agitated and ranging like this... Still, there's a little step and lean, an awkward twitch of his arms towards Héctor as he gets the urge to throw them around him in a tight hug.]

[He winces a little at first, like maybe he's done something wrong. Ay, everything is raw again, it feels, and he knows that'll go, that it's a resetting of bone so to speak and it'll heal better later, but not yet.

But it's not that he's misspoken, not exactly. His head lifts as he listens to Maverick, watching with that uncertain tired look. He remembers that, Maverick cursing a storm and hurting himself in the process. It wasn't advice he'd turned on himself. Of course not. He's never been very good at that.

There's still a voice, small but insistent, that Rex is a boy. Just a screwed up boy. He shouldn't be angry. But Dios, he wants that permission to be. As if he knows even what the heck to do with anger when he has it besides let it fizzle out.

Then Maverick leans close and for that, it seems enough permission. He steps into the hug willingly, bends to it, arms wrapping around tight. Another thing to be not-grateful for, that in all that pain he was never actually touched, never had that ruined, just felt the slicing and sifting in his guts by phantom motions of energy. This didn't send him back. It was safe. Maverick was safe.

It's that thought in mind that brings the glow back. His first two breaths are shuddering, just shy of a quiet sob, but he manages a breath steady enough after and that glow of him focuses. He's a skinny man and still a corpse, the difference it makes isn't much except for where how his clothing sits on him and less boniness than there was a moment before. He hugs tighter that way. He sniffs, swallows hard, laughs once at himself, and then speaks, voice rough and quiet.]

Thank you, Maverick. [A tear slips, and another. What an evening...] This was... good to get it out. Sorry about, you know, being a mess.

Edited 2019-09-25 14:10 (UTC)

[At the very least, Mav appreciates the extra padding of skin. This kind of hug is much, much better, even if he can still feel the bodily wheeze that happens when someone's upset and worse, that warm wetness of a tear soaking into his shirt. To compensate, he chuckles, and there's an edge of soft amusement in his tone when he mumbles back.]

Oh, come on. Who fucking isn't, in this family? [mm -- ] Wait, no, Mama's not a fucking mess, I take that back. Must be a guy thing.

[And then, even gentler,] Gracias, Esqueleitío.

[This family. His heart swells.]

Oh, it's definitely a guy thing.

[That gentle whisper makes that heart ache. But it's good. It's a reminder that it's there, even down to bones, in that phantom way.]

De nada, mijo.

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belated cw: torture ment, suicide ideation ment.

torture mention

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