Richie Gecko (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notafuckingnut) wrote2012-04-12 08:20 am
notafuckingnut) wrote2012-04-12 08:20 am
[029] If I was a tree growing tall and green all I'd want is you to shade me and be my leaves
[VIDEO - (accidental) public]
[He doesn't want to be here.
That's obvious enough to anyone, receiver or no. He said yes to get the angel off his case, to make him go away, and he's here so he won't come looking for him, but that doesn't mean he wants this. He doesn't understand why he needs to, what he could possibly get out of it, and so what if he said it would be Good for him, that it would Help; he doesn't care if he graduates. Not really, not right now anyway. Not if you can leave without it, not if people that are supposed to matter don't stick around. He's defeated, and miserable, and apathetic, and abandoned, and PISSED, all roiling together in an incomprehensible and disjointed mess, the whole thing colored with a sense of wrongness that creeps at the edges of awareness and slips away just out of reach under closer scrutiny, and he feels like he's going to split apart at the seams but he can't articulate WHY.]
Why do you need to work in a greenhouse anyway, doesn't it all just grow? It's not like you need to help it with that, it can do it on its own.
[SPAM for Castiel]
[Knock knock on the greenhouse door; you're going to have to let him in.]
[A/N: Richie is completely affected because pshh sticking to the original plan, what's that? GIVE HIM YOUR FEELS.]
[He doesn't want to be here.
That's obvious enough to anyone, receiver or no. He said yes to get the angel off his case, to make him go away, and he's here so he won't come looking for him, but that doesn't mean he wants this. He doesn't understand why he needs to, what he could possibly get out of it, and so what if he said it would be Good for him, that it would Help; he doesn't care if he graduates. Not really, not right now anyway. Not if you can leave without it, not if people that are supposed to matter don't stick around. He's defeated, and miserable, and apathetic, and abandoned, and PISSED, all roiling together in an incomprehensible and disjointed mess, the whole thing colored with a sense of wrongness that creeps at the edges of awareness and slips away just out of reach under closer scrutiny, and he feels like he's going to split apart at the seams but he can't articulate WHY.]
Why do you need to work in a greenhouse anyway, doesn't it all just grow? It's not like you need to help it with that, it can do it on its own.
[SPAM for Castiel]
[Knock knock on the greenhouse door; you're going to have to let him in.]
[A/N: Richie is completely affected because pshh sticking to the original plan, what's that? GIVE HIM YOUR FEELS.]
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[Your feelings suck Richie. Right now Jim's picking them up so strongly that his own emotions might be indecipherable. He feels what Richie feels, and beneath that, anger and panic at Richie for having them so strongly.
All the mild frustration and depression and annoyance that was floating around hadn't bothered him that much, but this one got to him and he just wants it to go away.]
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[Defensive, and thank you, Profit, he absolutely needed your panic. It slips in, feeds in to the rest, exacerbates the paranoia that was holding at an even keel, and now he's everything else and suspicious besides, the sick sense of wrong pulling tighter around it all like a noose, leaving him feeling uncertain about...everything and consequently anxious.
It's a credit to how much he has to deal with this that he barely blinks at it, just scowls and looks put-out, like Jim did something obviously wrong.]
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[His tone's condescending, but none of it comes through in his feelings. He's hoping that being belittling will chase you off so he can stop feeling your stupid feelings.]
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[WHAT DO YOU SEE IN THERE get out get out get OUT. Panic increases, paranoia increases, both shooting up through the roof and warring with blatant anger, and a hand goes to his head because his headache's only getting worse, while the other reaches into his pocket, feeling around for the pen he knows is in there. It's reassuring, more or less, but he'll feel better once Jim's not there.
There's a sudden impulse for violence circling around in the mess somewhere, Jim. You might want to be careful.]
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Then again, normally, Jim would have no feelings on the matter. Instead, every angry, paranoid, stab that runs through Richie runs through him as well. The thirst for violence the other man feels? He feels as well. So instead of feeling that urge and avoiding it, he answers it in kind. Striding out onto the deck with a flawless arrogance. In the capacity to do harm, he considers himself more than human, he doesn't think he has anything at all to be afraid of.]
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And then he's there with the sound of wingbeats, and there's that sickening sound of puncturing flesh. It doesn't hurt, but now he's angry, and it's not anger like a regular human being - there's something hard behind it, hot like the sun. Wrath, with a capital W. And there's more, and you don't have to be effected to feel it, sheer grace like heat on pavement making the air around him tingle with static. He wraps his hand around Richie's wrist and he has a grip like a vise.]
This is an inappropriate manner in which to deal with another person, Richie.
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At last, it is easy for him to distinguish his feelings again, because the hot wave of righteous power that fills his mind is all too clearly not him. Instead, as he contemplates the fact that but for a brief second of intervention from a superpowered warden, Richie's weapon would have been forcing itself through him, tearing into his flesh and draining the blood from him? He feels an overwhelming sense of indifference.
And that is definitely his own mind speaking.]
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Without and within, nerves already strung too tight thrumming like discordant notes on a piano as Cas fills the space to brimming, and he tries to pull away on instinct but he can't, and he'd panic or shout but there's no room left in his own head for it, only anger like none he's ever felt before.
Richie's grip on the pen loosens, plastic falling to the floor between fingers slick with all-too-human blood, and it's a few long moments before he can find the means to speak again, though it's little more than petulant mumble.]
He wouldn't get out of my head. I couldn't...it wasn't my fault.
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No one can get out of anyone's head, now. These things must be tolerated. You must be patient. You can't immediately react with violence.
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This clearly got out of hand. Let's blame it on the flood and be done with it.
[He smiles, and the lack of sincerity is even more obvious during this flood than it would be otherwise. Now that the immediate anger's gone, he just doesn't care what becomes of either Richie or his warden.]
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[But the receding of Castiel's Presence seems to have eased up most of his anger and frustration, for the time being, anyway, because he just feels...empty now. Hollowed out. Like his skin's too big.
It's quiet, for once, and consequently the arguments and complaints don't have much of the venom they would ordinarily.]
You can't just...be in there and expect to get off like it's nothing. Because it's not nothing, it's an invasion of privacy. It's not public fucking property.
[He's getting your feelings quite well though, Cas, and he can actually figure out that they're yours, since Profit's...emptiness and he knows what's his own right now. Which would be why he's giving you a doubting look, like he's trying to figure out what to make of you because YOU SHOULD STILL BE ANGRY.
Seth would be.]
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It was the flood, not him, that caused this. Do you understand?
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It occurs to him that if he concentrated hard on this indignation, on this rage, on this desire to blame Richie for what had passed here, he might be able to send the other man violent again. Drive him back into attack mode and get him dragged off to level zero, because he clearly wasn't safe to be around.
There wasn't any practical reason why he should do it, there was nothing at all to be gained, but the idea interested him.
A thin vine of temptation crept across from Jim, before he began to focus on that sense of mild indignation, and building it up into anger again.]
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But he could've stopped it. He didn't have to be in there.
[Emptiness filled, familiar emotions creeping back like invasive vines, clamoring over the alien to fill the spaces between, fan his own reticence, and if he'd taken the time to stop and think he might have recognized that he was being played, but why would you question what's there ordinarily? Jim's forgotten by now anyway, obscured by the angel, he's got no reason to assume it's anything other than himself at work. The wrongness is back with the negatives to feed from, and it coats it all, oily, greasy, soaking in the indignation and fanning the flames. It's a conspiracy, intention, the man was out to get him, to cause this, and fists clench again. He's lost his pen, there's nothing to jab with, nothing to gain silence from, but he'll step forward anyway, try to move around Castiel to get to the hated man behind him.]
He's trying to get me into trouble, can't you see it? Why're you being fucking Mister Magoo? I get you're a screw, doesn't mean you gotta be an ass about it.
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You can't control what he does. You have to adjust to him.
[He looks over his shoulder to Jim, studying him; at this point it's probably not safe to take his eyes off Richie for Jim's sake.]
Please cease.
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[Jim replies, shortly, and sharply. The irritation in his tone is evident, but still controlled, unlike the feelings of rage he's trying to feed. He focuses on past memories, on the worst days of his life, on unforgivable things, and he feeds his own anger until--
Until he's sick at himself for even bothering. Richie might be driven out of control by all of this, but only at the cost of Jim's own civility.]
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And then it's like hitting a brick wall. Helpless and sick and he stumbles back, confused, and the rest of it's still there but it's secondary. He glances from angel to the man behind him and back, and for a moment it looks like he's going to sock one or the both of them, but he just takes another step back.]
Fine. Whatever. I'm done, okay?
I'm done.
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Where would you like to go on the ship? I can take you there.
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Doesn't matter. Anywhere.
Not here.
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Are you all right?
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...What did you just do?
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Couldn't we have just walked? I would've been fine with that.
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We can walk next time. I figured you'd rather move quicker than that.
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