Dirk Strider (Ultimate) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
uber_marionettist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
silph_co2020-04-04 08:42 pm
uber_marionettist) wrote in silph_co2020-04-04 08:42 pm
Switch on, switch off, robotic [Closed]
Who: Dirk Strider and Carly Nagisa
Where: Lapras Mech Lab
When: At some point after Carly talks to Connie
Summary: Carly said she would have words with Dirk. Dirk never said he'd listen.
Rating: cw for suicidal ideation, breaks with reality, self loathing, etc
Blocking every number on his Pokegear was the second thing Dirk did after ensuring Carly herself was locked out of the lab. He has no regrets about that.
It also guaranteed him some fucking privacy during his inevitable offscreen reactions. Eventually, though, the dust settles and the sutures have been tied off.
And there's something about being alone in a place that he can't escape, that wasn't his choice.
It fucks with him.
That's normal.
For him.
But this is different. Better? Worse? Just different. Bigger than that jail, smaller than this game. It's not a matter of scale.
And it's lacking the amenities of the ferry, sure, but far enough from the sea he can't smell or see or hear it. It's not a matter of location.
It's a matter of isolation.
There's no one to see him, hear him. Not even any of his other selves. No one.
And nothing real.
He remembers being young, sitting alone in his room, or atop the spire or down by the ocean, closing his eyes in the shower or even submerging himself in that infinite seawater. And trying to feel that. 'Real.' To feel certain enough, to know whether he was, or else whether anything around him was 'real.' To prove or disprove it, to push with his mind until whatever breakthrough would dispel the falsehood or bring him into the reality that he knew had to exist, somehow.
The uncertainty would eat at him for hours, the lack of breakthrough frustrating to the point of archeronian agony. But to know, categorically and conclusively, that it is not...
And to not know, but to fear that he is not...
The thing about being alone, truly physically and existentially alone, is that you start to do strange things. Like lying on your back on cold concrete flooring, staring at the ceiling. Trying to 'feel' your own reality.
In a way, he's already sure he is not.
Or he wouldn't have slipped this far out of control.
Where: Lapras Mech Lab
When: At some point after Carly talks to Connie
Summary: Carly said she would have words with Dirk. Dirk never said he'd listen.
Rating: cw for suicidal ideation, breaks with reality, self loathing, etc
Blocking every number on his Pokegear was the second thing Dirk did after ensuring Carly herself was locked out of the lab. He has no regrets about that.
It also guaranteed him some fucking privacy during his inevitable offscreen reactions. Eventually, though, the dust settles and the sutures have been tied off.
And there's something about being alone in a place that he can't escape, that wasn't his choice.
It fucks with him.
That's normal.
For him.
But this is different. Better? Worse? Just different. Bigger than that jail, smaller than this game. It's not a matter of scale.
And it's lacking the amenities of the ferry, sure, but far enough from the sea he can't smell or see or hear it. It's not a matter of location.
It's a matter of isolation.
There's no one to see him, hear him. Not even any of his other selves. No one.
And nothing real.
He remembers being young, sitting alone in his room, or atop the spire or down by the ocean, closing his eyes in the shower or even submerging himself in that infinite seawater. And trying to feel that. 'Real.' To feel certain enough, to know whether he was, or else whether anything around him was 'real.' To prove or disprove it, to push with his mind until whatever breakthrough would dispel the falsehood or bring him into the reality that he knew had to exist, somehow.
The uncertainty would eat at him for hours, the lack of breakthrough frustrating to the point of archeronian agony. But to know, categorically and conclusively, that it is not...
And to not know, but to fear that he is not...
The thing about being alone, truly physically and existentially alone, is that you start to do strange things. Like lying on your back on cold concrete flooring, staring at the ceiling. Trying to 'feel' your own reality.
In a way, he's already sure he is not.
Or he wouldn't have slipped this far out of control.
no subject
"I never said someone couldn't do both," is what she says quietly- but not so quietly that she sounds cowed. "And the fact is, most people don't mean to be 'bad' friends. I'd even say a lot of friendships are like that, or start like that. And stay like that for a while."
But... "...That's why learning what to do to change things is important. So that both sides can learn. I'm not going to say what Jane or anyone else specifically does or doesn't do. But people are shaped by the experiences around them, and the people they interact with. And the things you expect from your friendships... ...aren't what you should be expecting. That's all."