؟ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dramatispersonae) wrote2014-10-04 10:12 am
dramatispersonae) wrote2014-10-04 10:12 am
Shinji's Heart
You plunge into a thick and viscous liquid. It's all around you—filling your ears, your nose, your mouth. It smells like blood. It tastes like blood. But you're not drowning. Instead, you find each breath coming easily. It feels . . . calming. Familiar. And you drift . . .
who are you?
The thought strikes you—a message, from somewhere? But you're alone here. Here? W̳̜̹̼̲̱͕h̠̬͉̘̹̰͚e̯̳̯r̜̩̟͉e̯̜̳ ͍i̟͉͚̱̜s̪͓ ̝h̝̮e͕re?̠ W̙͕͉͉͍ͅh̤̯a̫͉̬͕͖t̮̩ ͈w̖̼̙̙̙̜a̫̩̪s̺ ̭̤̣t̳̲̩͈͔ͅhe̗ ̦̥qu͈ͅe͔̟̻sti̥̘͍̫͚ͅọ̠͇͍͕̦̠n̬̬̹͓̦͓?͎̮ ̣̲͚̫͔̪W̦h̭͉̙͞o̢̘̦̺͚͕̠̞ ̦̜a̤̳͉̩̩̖͟r͇e͙͜ ͎̹̜.͏ .͕͇͍͓̮͠ .̟̲͉̼̲ͅͅ ̱̠̞y͍͈o̞̙̹͍͠u̶̙̖? ̹̙Ẃ͔̰͔̪ͅh͉̼͍o̖̲͍͜ ̕am̘ ͇̬̝͉̹.̩͍͉̳̝ ̩̬̭͜.҉͎ ̭͓̹̰͍.͇̺̼̯̲̳ ̻͈͕̞̜I̵̥̥͚͔̬?͇͍̗̦̤̝
There is a deep sense of uncertainty. But the world seems to be slowly reforming around you. You can make out the edge of your own fingers (. . . or tentacles), drifting. Ah—they're attached to you. That's good. You have a body. Yes, you remember . . .
who are you?
The thought comes again. Is that a woman's voice? . . . should you answer . . .? Or should you just drift . . . It's safe here, and you don't have to think about anything. You don't have to be anything.
[please comment directly to the post—there will be no headers]
The thought strikes you—a message, from somewhere? But you're alone here. Here? W̳̜̹̼̲̱͕h̠̬͉̘̹̰͚e̯̳̯r̜̩̟͉e̯̜̳ ͍i̟͉͚̱̜s̪͓ ̝h̝̮e͕re?̠ W̙͕͉͉͍ͅh̤̯a̫͉̬͕͖t̮̩ ͈w̖̼̙̙̙̜a̫̩̪s̺ ̭̤̣t̳̲̩͈͔ͅhe̗ ̦̥qu͈ͅe͔̟̻sti̥̘͍̫͚ͅọ̠͇͍͕̦̠n̬̬̹͓̦͓?͎̮ ̣̲͚̫͔̪W̦h̭͉̙͞o̢̘̦̺͚͕̠̞ ̦̜a̤̳͉̩̩̖͟r͇e͙͜ ͎̹̜.͏ .͕͇͍͓̮͠ .̟̲͉̼̲ͅͅ ̱̠̞y͍͈o̞̙̹͍͠u̶̙̖? ̹̙Ẃ͔̰͔̪ͅh͉̼͍o̖̲͍͜ ̕am̘ ͇̬̝͉̹.̩͍͉̳̝ ̩̬̭͜.҉͎ ̭͓̹̰͍.͇̺̼̯̲̳ ̻͈͕̞̜I̵̥̥͚͔̬?͇͍̗̦̤̝
There is a deep sense of uncertainty. But the world seems to be slowly reforming around you. You can make out the edge of your own fingers (. . . or tentacles), drifting. Ah—they're attached to you. That's good. You have a body. Yes, you remember . . .
The thought comes again. Is that a woman's voice? . . . should you answer . . .? Or should you just drift . . . It's safe here, and you don't have to think about anything. You don't have to be anything.
[please comment directly to the post—there will be no headers]
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Who are you?
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. . . What? I'm—Nagisa.
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[Are you sure you're Nagisa? . . . what does it mean to be Nagisa . . .? it hurts—]
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I am Kaworu—Liberty.
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kaworu oͪ̈́ͮ͋͏͡͏̣̦͓͉r̘͉̰͍ͤ̍͊̀ liberty?
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ah. that's right. ]
—Hello? Here I am. I'm Clear.
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[Wouldn't it be better just to drift . . .?]
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it's tempting to just stay like this, but he struggles to push through into existing]
Where am I?
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Existing seems so very painful.]
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I'm Susan Pevensie. How do you do?
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[Existing seems like quite a lot of work.]
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I am Maribelle, also called Lavender of Sapphire, friend to a few dear ones...! Decide for yourself who you are!
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There are two things that seem off about your body. One—there is a tight, constricting presence around your neck. A close inspection will find a few loops of red string, tied so firmly that it digs into your skin. It's tied in a bow, but no matter how you tug and pull, it won't come undone.
The other thing of note is that there is, somewhere on your personage, a small card—an ID card, with your picture. But . . . the rest of the information on it is jumbled:
N͙͚͖̘̱͇͚̩̭̭̗̯̫̟͖̭͈ͅa̰̖̬̣͓̗̠͕͈̙̠̤̼ͅͅm͚͖̠̗͈͍̫͍̗e̦̞̞̞̝̳̳͔̞͓͕̣̗̬̖̠̬͖̺:͙̘̺̘̯̝ ̹͕̰̻̘̭͎̫͔͈̙͖̮̤ͅ?̳̲̱͈͔̱̣̲̖̹
̞͈̳̬͙̳̟̬͕͓͎͚͔̗̭̘̲̘͕D̺͓̺͙͎̭̤̗͚̱͖̜͎̜̫̙̠ͅ.̖̹͖̳̖͕̺̮̻̹̪O͔͙̫̼̩̣.̦̠̼̭͖ͅB͚̝̱̝̯̙͍͚̙̱̪͚ͅ.̲̦͈̦̗͙̜͔͇͔̭̙̩̯̜:̤̠͍͚̱͙̗͎͕ ͎̤̙̝̼̗̩̼̰̺̪?̟̘̝͎̠̯̖̫͎͕
͕͓͓̬͍̘̦S͙̻͈̜͔͈̣̼͎̺̟͖̩̼̙t̬͎̖̪̭̠̰̫͇ͅͅa̭̬̳̜̲̰̠̞̜ͅͅt͍̹̙̤̱͔͇̣̳̞̲̼͎̺̤ͅu̗̹̼͚̝̻̻͙̭͕̮͔̖̘͉͔ͅs͈̲͔͚̤̗̫̖̪͙:̱͍̫̯̝ ͇̯͙̳̮͈̖̠̲̟A͉̤͓͔̰̫͓̬̮ͅͅl̯͕̗̣͕̹̮̥̪͍̲o̥̥͚̬͉̪̙͇n̹̘͔̣̬e͙̟̻̻͇̹͍̗̲̺̯͖͚̻̤̣͍?͇̠͍̜̖̲̳̥͖̭͚̯̪̙̘ͅ
̞̫̭͔̱̫͎̲̟̘͈h̥̘̘̝͙̖͍͎̮̱̺̟̗̤̲͖͚̤e̖̯͇̹͉̼̫̬͔͎l̮̯̯̮̦̩͔p̥͔̣͕̙̳͈̭̞͇̰̘̯̱̹̰
Movement catches your eye—one of the computer screens lights up, words scrolling rapidly across it, before freezing in place, glitching occasionally:
what is more important?
> my perception of myself
> other peoples' perception of me
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Existing seems so very painful.]
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...Snow...?
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Existing seems so very painful.]
are you sure?
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[it takes him a minute to actually say that, though. everything is disorienting.]
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Existing seems so very painful.]
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Me? I'm Noel—no, wait . . . Phoenix. That's it, I'm Phoenix.
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noel oͪ̈́ͮ͋͏͡͏̣̦͓͉r̘͉̰͍ͤ̍͊̀ phoenix
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There are two things that seem off about your body. One—there is a tight, constricting presence around your neck. A close inspection will find a few loops of red string, tied so firmly that it digs into your skin. It's tied in a bow, but no matter how you tug and pull, it won't come undone.
The other thing of note is that there is, somewhere on your personage, a small card—an ID card, with your picture. But . . . the rest of the information on it is jumbled:
N͙͚͖̘̱͇͚̩̭̭̗̯̫̟͖̭͈ͅa̰̖̬̣͓̗̠͕͈̙̠̤̼ͅͅm͚͖̠̗͈͍̫͍̗e̦̞̞̞̝̳̳͔̞͓͕̣̗̬̖̠̬͖̺:͙̘̺̘̯̝ ̹͕̰̻̘̭͎̫͔͈̙͖̮̤ͅ?̳̲̱͈͔̱̣̲̖̹
̞͈̳̬͙̳̟̬͕͓͎͚͔̗̭̘̲̘͕D̺͓̺͙͎̭̤̗͚̱͖̜͎̜̫̙̠ͅ.̖̹͖̳̖͕̺̮̻̹̪O͔͙̫̼̩̣.̦̠̼̭͖ͅB͚̝̱̝̯̙͍͚̙̱̪͚ͅ.̲̦͈̦̗͙̜͔͇͔̭̙̩̯̜:̤̠͍͚̱͙̗͎͕ ͎̤̙̝̼̗̩̼̰̺̪?̟̘̝͎̠̯̖̫͎͕
͕͓͓̬͍̘̦S͙̻͈̜͔͈̣̼͎̺̟͖̩̼̙t̬͎̖̪̭̠̰̫͇ͅͅa̭̬̳̜̲̰̠̞̜ͅͅt͍̹̙̤̱͔͇̣̳̞̲̼͎̺̤ͅu̗̹̼͚̝̻̻͙̭͕̮͔̖̘͉͔ͅs͈̲͔͚̤̗̫̖̪͙:̱͍̫̯̝ ͇̯͙̳̮͈̖̠̲̟A͉̤͓͔̰̫͓̬̮ͅͅl̯͕̗̣͕̹̮̥̪͍̲o̥̥͚̬͉̪̙͇n̹̘͔̣̬e͙̟̻̻͇̹͍̗̲̺̯͖͚̻̤̣͍?͇̠͍̜̖̲̳̥͖̭͚̯̪̙̘ͅ
̞̫̭͔̱̫͎̲̟̘͈h̥̘̘̝͙̖͍͎̮̱̺̟̗̤̲͖͚̤e̖̯͇̹͉̼̫̬͔͎l̮̯̯̮̦̩͔p̥͔̣͕̙̳͈̭̞͇̰̘̯̱̹̰
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Ikari-kun?
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Uh, I'm Lyra.
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Existing seems so very painful.]
is your name your existence?
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it's a bit of a struggle, coming back to himself]
Billy. I'm Billy Kaplan.
[sounds a little doubtful on this point]
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Existing seems so very painful . . . Instead, if you could just—]
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There is solid ground underfoot here now, though, and you are no longer alone.]
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turning to look.]
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[All of the other lights dim down—the ground underfoot is a platform of stars. The cardreader gives a little click and buzzes with expectation.]
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[can I try that card reader again?]
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Where am I supposed to go? Tell me where to go? Someone please tell me what I need to do. WHY DO YOU PILOT EVA? (Because everyone tells me to) It's for the sake of mankind. You pilot Eva for others? Is there something wrong with that? I'm doing the right thing. The others like me. (I do it for myself.) I'm lonely. I want to be relied on. I want to be happy.
Is this the happiness that I wanted? It's fine if I can disappear. I don't want to disappear! Why do I exist? For whom do I exist? Am I happy being alive? I want to be happy. Do you hate enduring pain? Is that why you run away? Why not run away from something that hurts? I'm tired of running away. I don't want to do things just because others tell me to. I'm not the only one that gets hurt. I don't want to be alone. Nobody accepts me. That's not true. Piloting eva gives me an identity, a purpose. I had no value before I became a pilot. I perceive no value in myself: therefore, I hate myself. I need a reason to exist. I want to be worth the attention of others
What I think is me, is me.
What I recognize as my self is myself.
I don't know what makes me myself.
Without others to interact with you can't recognize your own image.
When there are others I can perceive myself as an individual.
[. . . Then abruptly, it all crashes to the ground, with an explosive, electric noise, wires popping, lights flashing so bright it stings your eyes and leaves spots. It becomes very quiet.]
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[Shinji is standing in the centre, wearing a silver collar with a red lock, looking pale and worn, wearing loose grey medical robes. The area between you and him is just a vast expanse of black—you have to take one step forward into nothingness.]
"Even if I know myself, I don't know where to go forward from here. I can't deal with it. I don't know how to deal with this. I don't know how to go into the future. Past this. I can't cross this . . ."
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∞
[There is a single small figure curled up, arms wrapped around himself, in the middle of nothing & everything.]
Re: ∞
DIDN'T
WANT TO SEE THAT
FOR SOME REASON???]
[Taking a moment to recover, breathing deeply, then tromps toward said small figure]
Re: ∞
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Re: ∞
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