Jay Merrick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deadeyedchild) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
applesaucedream2015-06-29 02:12 am
deadeyedchild) wrote in applesaucedream2015-06-29 02:12 am
Ark Awaits [open to multiple]
He is awake.
He doesn't have a body, and he remembers dying - again - he remembers slipping out, Tim unable to keep him there in spite of his hardened insistence that he wasn't going to let it happen, he remembers all of that, but he can't account for himself now. All he knows is he's awake.
Jay clings to that awareness as hard as he can. He doesn't know where he is, if it's a where at all, if he's alive or if this is just the suspension of afterlife, but he's still conscious, he's still him. Formless and adrift in the void. No arms to reach, no hands to grasp, but he tries, tries to stretch out fingers and hold onto something, even if it's just the continued knowledge of self, of me, Jay, I am Jay Merrick, and no one is going to miss me.
Even as an abstraction he can't escape his bent toward bleak self-deprecation.
There's something pulling at him - or maybe he's the one pulling, hauling himself into a defined space, someone else's space, still abstract, but not formless. He knows this sensation. A dream. He's dreaming. Or someone else is dreaming. He's just a stowaway.
Easier to hold a shape in a dream, though, and it doesn't take long before the memory of a body fills in the gaps, and there he is again, eyes that see, senses more or less intact - looking down at his arms, his hands, his legs and feet. Hand over his face and through his hair. All here. One piece.
He looks up, focus drawn naturally to the dreamer.
[Jay is free-falling through the dreaming, and if you want, he can get scooped up into your dream! The 21st is the current IG date at the time of post, but feel free to date your entry later as that changes. Will add a closing date at some point, when I have that figured out.]
He doesn't have a body, and he remembers dying - again - he remembers slipping out, Tim unable to keep him there in spite of his hardened insistence that he wasn't going to let it happen, he remembers all of that, but he can't account for himself now. All he knows is he's awake.
Jay clings to that awareness as hard as he can. He doesn't know where he is, if it's a where at all, if he's alive or if this is just the suspension of afterlife, but he's still conscious, he's still him. Formless and adrift in the void. No arms to reach, no hands to grasp, but he tries, tries to stretch out fingers and hold onto something, even if it's just the continued knowledge of self, of me, Jay, I am Jay Merrick, and no one is going to miss me.
Even as an abstraction he can't escape his bent toward bleak self-deprecation.
There's something pulling at him - or maybe he's the one pulling, hauling himself into a defined space, someone else's space, still abstract, but not formless. He knows this sensation. A dream. He's dreaming. Or someone else is dreaming. He's just a stowaway.
Easier to hold a shape in a dream, though, and it doesn't take long before the memory of a body fills in the gaps, and there he is again, eyes that see, senses more or less intact - looking down at his arms, his hands, his legs and feet. Hand over his face and through his hair. All here. One piece.
He looks up, focus drawn naturally to the dreamer.
[Jay is free-falling through the dreaming, and if you want, he can get scooped up into your dream! The 21st is the current IG date at the time of post, but feel free to date your entry later as that changes. Will add a closing date at some point, when I have that figured out.]
no subject
Or something. He doesn't know how to explain it. Not really his forte.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs again. "I wish you didn't have to find out like this, or..." Or at all. "I just wish I hadn't made a mess of everything."
He doesn't just mean her dream, of course. But it's that, too, and since that's all she'll have context for presently, it'll do fine as a scapegoat.
no subject
Greta gives his arm a gentle squeeze, as if to anchor him, or to defy the idea that he might become insubstantial and vanish before her eyes. If this is all that's left of him, it's still something.
"You haven't made a mess of anything," she insists, albeit gently. It's probably just as well that he interrupted this particular dream, anyway; it only would have made her ache in the morning. So will this, of course, but at least it will be on someone else's behalf instead of her own. "There's nothing to forgive." She might add that it was only a dream, but if that's all Jay has anymore, she won't dismiss it.
She pulls in a considering breath - is this a good idea? - before adding, "Listen. I don't know if you can--can control where you're drifting, but if you can find me again..." she ducks her head a little, searching out his eyes, "you're welcome here." If this was a story, she'd think herself a complete fool for inviting a ghost into her head, but he's already here and she doesn't think she's come to any harm. Jay's a good lad. Besides, what's the alternative?
If some part of him is still here, maybe the Rift will restore him again. And if it doesn't, she won't have him adrift and alone forever.
no subject
For a moment he's tempted to take her hand or something, would that be weird? but it turns out to be moot. He feels himself starting to get pulled back, away, somewhere else, or maybe nowhere.
"Shit," he hisses. "It's happening. Uh. If I - I don't see you again, uh, thank y-"
Mid-syllable, he unravels and is gone.
no subject
And then he's gone. There's no art to it, no sound, no dispersement into mist; he just blinks out of existence, and her fingernails tap against the wooden table top as her fist closes on the nothingness he's left behind and drops.
She freezes, waiting for something - for him to find his way back, perhaps. But moments pass, and he doesn't. There isn't even any sound from the garden. The house is dusk-dim and quiet, and she is alone.