Asch the Bloody (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dissonates) wrote2012-07-08 10:21 pm
dissonates) wrote2012-07-08 10:21 pm
Entry tags:
[Voice]
[Silence.
There's too much of it. It burns into his mind, the echo of emptiness in the corner of it, that ache he can't seem to brush aside no matter how he tries to distract himself. He's tried going outside, he's tried burying himself in that braille stuff Xion gave him, he's tried striking up conversations with his housemates (even the animals), but he runs out of things to say far too quickly and in the back of his mind it's always there. The silence, the echo. The fact that something is missing.
Dead.
And then he's had enough.
The journal's camera is partially obscured when the feed flickers on, and what it does show is his face - eyes, a flash of red hair, his bangs down - just enough to make it seem like he's not quite himself. His voice, too, is softened; it's not as open and friendly as Luke would have been when greeting the village, but it lacks the usual anger or pent-up frustrations of the socially-awkward soldier. If anything it sounds... hushed, weary, tinged with a bit of desperation. He needs this. Whether or not he wants to do it is irrelevant.
It hurts. The silence hurts, more than last time when Luke had been sent home, and he honestly hadn't thought it would.]
Tell me about your day. Tell me a story. Talk about anything. Today I'm listening.
[He might not care. He might not be nice about it. He might not even remember it later. But he'll listen.
He just needs to hear something, so he can forget about the nothing in his head for a while.]
((Asch is blind, so all tags must be voice/action or he cannot respond to them!))
There's too much of it. It burns into his mind, the echo of emptiness in the corner of it, that ache he can't seem to brush aside no matter how he tries to distract himself. He's tried going outside, he's tried burying himself in that braille stuff Xion gave him, he's tried striking up conversations with his housemates (even the animals), but he runs out of things to say far too quickly and in the back of his mind it's always there. The silence, the echo. The fact that something is missing.
Dead.
And then he's had enough.
The journal's camera is partially obscured when the feed flickers on, and what it does show is his face - eyes, a flash of red hair, his bangs down - just enough to make it seem like he's not quite himself. His voice, too, is softened; it's not as open and friendly as Luke would have been when greeting the village, but it lacks the usual anger or pent-up frustrations of the socially-awkward soldier. If anything it sounds... hushed, weary, tinged with a bit of desperation. He needs this. Whether or not he wants to do it is irrelevant.
It hurts. The silence hurts, more than last time when Luke had been sent home, and he honestly hadn't thought it would.]
Tell me about your day. Tell me a story. Talk about anything. Today I'm listening.
[He might not care. He might not be nice about it. He might not even remember it later. But he'll listen.
He just needs to hear something, so he can forget about the nothing in his head for a while.]
((Asch is blind, so all tags must be voice/action or he cannot respond to them!))
≈ voice.
...Uh, there was this one time I think I sort of destroyed the planet on accident, I could tell you about it.
≈ voice.
...what...]
Excuse me?
[IS HE SERIOUS]
≈ voice.
Ahahah. Uh. So there's this crazy video game thing that my friends and I were playing, and there were meteors coming at the earth. Right before I got here there was one totally headed straight for me, and I bit into this weird blue apple thing and bam, suddenly I was here.
So I'm still pretty convinced that I died and destroyed the world and this is some weird afterlife thingy.
≈ voice.
One thing he can combat, however-]
...whatever that means... this isn't the afterlife. Believe me, I'd know.
≈ voice.
...by the way, hi. I'm John.
≈ voice.
[Rambling people make him uncertain 8|]
Do you think it's possible to die when you're already dead?
≈ voice.
[He ponders this. And don't mind his rambling, Asch, he's just a thirteen year old goober.]
That's... a really serious and deep question. I'm not sure, I guess it would depend on the circumstances? Like I've... never really been dead, to my knowledge, so I wouldn't know for certain if being dead allowed me to still die. Feels like it would defeat the purpose a little.
≈ voice.