notafuckingnut | [029] If I was a tree growing tall and green all I'd want is you to shade me and be my leaves

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[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.]

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[Castiel can be seen in the picture. He's cautiously optimistic and a little concerned, and hopeful, and there's just endless oceans of patience. Under that is sort of a constant guilt, but it's separate from everything else.]

Yes, it all just grows. But there are steps one can take to make it grow as much as it can. Also, sometimes many of the plants contact illnesses which need attention.

[Cas' feelings cut through some of Richie's own, but it's like drops of water wearing away a rock; he can feel them as part of the whole, but he can't distinguish them as separate, and it does little to quench the rest, though it does even them out a bit, act as counterbalance.]

Why not just grow more?

[Wichita is irritated because she can feel his irritation, and honestly doesn't have any qualms with that emotion in particular.]

You need to water them, too.

[It's a good emotion. A safe one.

Have some defensiveness on the side, though that one you can see and hear too.]

I know that. But you can set up things for that. Machines with tubes and shit.

Because each individual flower - each bloom, even - has value, inherently. Things that are alive have value. While it might be easier to toss something out and gross a new one, you should always try to bring the plant back to life first. That plant does not deserve to be given up on.

[It's obvious how passionate he feels about this.]

[That translates better; it soothes over some of his discomfort, replaces it with a little hope, and he's not sure why he's starting to feel better, but he is, and it cuts down on at least a little of the instinctive opposition.]

...I guess. It's just a plant though.

[Reluctant.]

So what d'you want me to do?

Perhaps. But all plants are different, even two of the same kind. By simply giving up on one, you're losing anything it could contribute - even if that's only color.

[He pauses. A moment of trepidation flits through him; he didn't actually think this was going to work. But it's gone, replaced by a burgeoning confidence in this plan and himself.]

The first thing you should do when you arrive is check to make sure nothing's dead. If nothing looks that way, there's a box which I've set aside for you to plant what you want. If something does look brown or wilted, you can check if it's still alive by checking the stems. They should be green and pliable, but firm, like this one.

[He indicates a nearby rosebush, showing the healthy stems.]

And I suppose if you were caged, placed out of reach of food and water, you would be able to fend for yourself as well.

That's different. If somebody did that to me it's a felony. Plants grow fine outside.

Outside, yes. You're asking why greenhouses need workers, I'm telling you: when any living thing is removed from an environment where it can provide for its own needs, either someone else has to tend to those needs or they'll die.

[He pokes at another nearby plant, snapping a leaf off idly, though he at least watched the angel first.]

Uh huh. And if they're not?

[Confidence is even easier to take, and he soaks it in like sunlight, standing taller, the usual slouch minimizing; okay, maybe this isn't the best game to be playing, Castiel, even if you're not aware you are.]

Can't you get a machine to do it for you?

To a degree, yes.

You're an idiot.

[Raistlin is also completely affected, and he is enjoying the negative emotions coming from Richie, and he is returning a feeling of glee with a tint of malicious hatred back to Richie.]

And?

And what? Better to confer that responsibility on a machine than an apathetic imbecile.

Sorry, not everybody gets off on hanging pot around their room and calling it "magic".

[Hate. Pure, unadulterated, unbridled, hate. With a hint of fear, since he's still not sure about that whole...death thing. But the twisting, slithering wrongness is still sliding around.]

Hey, my warden told me to be there, you don't have to be like that.

[Raistlin notices the wrongness...and wants to push further to figure out the cause. He also notices the hate and fear, and enjoys it.]

No, and neither do I. However, most people are aware that if plants are left untended, weeds grow or, without rain or watering, the plants wither and die. With pruning, the plant can grow stronger, and with the right tending, more potent for whatever potions need to be brewed or spells cast. I doubt you'd understand this, however, since I suspect the only way you understand to get what you want is by beating whatever's in front of you with your fists.

[Cause = boy be crazy. But poke at it enough and that will be evident enough anyway.]

Bullshit. Fuck you, that's not even...

I don't do that.

[Sure you do, and there's that feeling again. It twists and shifts and pries, pulling in tighter, slipping through the cracks, and uncertainty seeps out. Defensiveness too, because he knows the right answer, even if most of him doesn't agree, and it only pisses him off more.]

[Have some wheezing laughter, then some wheezing, then Raistlin pulls out his new inhaler and, after using it for a few puffs, he answers.]

Don't you? Odd, I seem to have a distinct memory of you attacking me in the hallway when we first met.

[Even so, he knows how to handle plants, and talking about him still makes him feel good about it. He has a plan, and it's a good plan, and not too dangerous, and it might work. That's a good feeling.]

If not, your next step is to establish how badly the plant has been injured. If the step is brown and weak to the touch, then observe the roots. If they are similarly weak, the plant may be entirely dead and might have to be replaced. However, there are cases where though the stem is dead, the roots are still alive, in which case the plant can be preserved. In which case, cut away as much of the weak plant as you can, and allow the stems to rebuild themselves.

Get off the network.

[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.]

Why. I'm allowed to be on it.

[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.]

No, that's not true. You started it, it was self-defense. You were being a dick and walked into me.

[Wrong. Another untruth, though one he's equally convinced of, and it twists again, loops in on itself, pulls and pushes and pries things apart and the headache he's been nursing ever since this whole fucking thing started kicks up a few notches, dragging anxiety up as it does, making him more defensive because he can't put words to why, and it's a vicious circle that's only likely to get worse the more Raistlin pokes at it. ...The fact that he's actually GLEEFUL about Richie's discomfort doesn't really help, since he feels the sudden urge to laugh and that, at least, he KNOWS doesn't make any kind of sense.]

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