feels like a terrible idea to walk into the sadness room?
yelling back, instead, still just with this fucking door open, because, I don't know, once you see your own damn hole in the ground, you're just a little fucking curious aren't you?]
the grief hits him like a truck. it's six different intensities, ranging from furious to despondent. there are words being spoken, but he can't understand any of them - save for one. his name. his name, long may he reign.
they loved him. the angel most of all, and when he gets close to the grave, it's her he can hear clearly.
[literally he does not know what he expected out of this
just really an insatiable desire to feel his own fucking pain, isn't it. selfish, to want to see just a little beyond the veil. Are you sure you don't want to keep pretending a while longer? Just trying to close the damn cursed tome after you've already opened and absorbed the words.
right. well. he's here. guess it really is as good as it gets. just like he'd said to vira: all you can really hope for is at least someone bothering to put a stick at the head of your grave, right? so at least there's that.]
[there's a distant hello?! that molly can hear, but it's probably drowned out a bit by the feeling of sorrow that washes over him.
not all exits are equal, but his - his meant something. there's a conflicting emotion - bullshit, no death means something - and then a third emotion, quieter, gentler. he'll be remembered. that's all it means.
a little bit of fear. a little bit of adrenaline. but he wasn't scared, so much, when it happened, was he?
[he tilts his head a bit at the hello?! and there's a moment where he's trying to pinpoint if if it's-- who was it he was talking to again?
it's easy to just stand here and let it pull you into the earth, isn't it. maybe it'd be easy to just listen to it for a while, how there's something comforting about how fucking familiar some of these emotions feel. how you don't realize how far you've managed to drift until you look up and you can't see the shoreline anymore. might be nice to just be remembered. at least then you wouldn't have to fig--
The jolt of fear works rather well. Shaking his head, blinking a bit.]
Back in the game. Time for that later.
[anyway, golf club?
mollymauk voice: this dead ass purple bitch in the hole ain't using that! YOINK!]
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Or, rather. He doesn't, exactly? The landscape jags a familiar shape through his memory, the tinge of snow, a road, but-- not this exact tableau.
Of course, he knows the coat.
He doesn't step in though, quite yet, because. Well. He recognizes that name that's being screamed. And the voice?]
Grace? GRACE!
[Just's just try shouting? Standing here with this door open. Looking at his own fucking grave.]
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he can, however, hear MOLLY? MOLLY, WHERE ARE YOU? below him.]
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hm.
feels like a terrible idea to walk into the sadness room?
yelling back, instead, still just with this fucking door open, because, I don't know, once you see your own damn hole in the ground, you're just a little fucking curious aren't you?]
NOT A GODSDAMNED CLUE.
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anyway, he's still not in the room, but:
I'M IN A WEIRD HOTEL ROOM HALLWAY!]
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also molly: what if i just go take a lil peeksie
...
hm.]
I'LL BE RIGHT BACK.
[He'd gotten an axe out of the other room, so. Stepping in. Fuck it.]
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the grief hits him like a truck. it's six different intensities, ranging from furious to despondent. there are words being spoken, but he can't understand any of them - save for one. his name. his name, long may he reign.
they loved him. the angel most of all, and when he gets close to the grave, it's her he can hear clearly.
it happened again.]
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just really an insatiable desire to feel his own fucking pain, isn't it. selfish, to want to see just a little beyond the veil. Are you sure you don't want to keep pretending a while longer? Just trying to close the damn cursed tome after you've already opened and absorbed the words.
right. well. he's here. guess it really is as good as it gets. just like he'd said to vira: all you can really hope for is at least someone bothering to put a stick at the head of your grave, right? so at least there's that.]
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not all exits are equal, but his - his meant something. there's a conflicting emotion - bullshit, no death means something - and then a third emotion, quieter, gentler. he'll be remembered. that's all it means.
a little bit of fear. a little bit of adrenaline. but he wasn't scared, so much, when it happened, was he?
also: sticking out of his grave is a golf club.]
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it's easy to just stand here and let it pull you into the earth, isn't it. maybe it'd be easy to just listen to it for a while, how there's something comforting about how fucking familiar some of these emotions feel. how you don't realize how far you've managed to drift until you look up and you can't see the shoreline anymore. might be nice to just be remembered. at least then you wouldn't have to fig--
The jolt of fear works rather well. Shaking his head, blinking a bit.]
Back in the game. Time for that later.
[anyway, golf club?
mollymauk voice: this dead ass purple bitch in the hole ain't using that! YOINK!]
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he now has a golf club. the wind blows, whipping his coat a bit - both the one he's wearing and the one on the marker.
there's the distant sound of --loot this room now that I feel better! from above him.]
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hm. backup coat?
then decides that perhaps it'd be best to leave that one. skitters off back into the hallway.]
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grace walks out of the elevator, armed with some shit.]