terribibble | Ryslig IC Contact

[ He gives the naga an incredulous look as he sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. ]

What are they doing...?

They, ah. They...

[Okay. Okay. More tequila. He doesn't trust Rohan but he doesn't really trust anyone in Ryslig. He thought he could trust Marco and now he isn't even sure of that anymore. Rohan offered to listen and even if he has an ulterior motive... Fiddleford needs this.]

They're takin' memories. Blankin' things out. I didn't realize until... until I couldn't tell how much I'd lost already.

[And it's slowly destroying him, not being able to know for certain. He's kept a log of his time in Ryslig, sure, but what about things from before then?]

[ okay bud, you need to share. Rohan holds out his hand. Hmph. ]

It's not like I have experience with memories or anything. [ Said merely in passing. ]

Has he been taking them from you do you think? See, I get foggy on some details from home... Nothing that I feel is dire. If I've lost any myself... I don't think I would know.

[ That could cause an Existential Crisis. ]

Do you think that is what has happened to you?

I don't think he -- he didn't. Not personally. [He couldn't possibly believe Marco would stoop that low, even if he's feeling very uncharitable right now.] But I know. I know somethin's gone because --

[He reaches up convulsively to touch the gnarly ring of scarring around his throat. He remembers when he didn't have it. He remembers when he did, but in the middle, between those two points--]

I don't know. How I got this. It's just gone. I can guess at the time it happened but not what did it, and if I've lost that who knows what else is gone? It's gone -- it's all gone blue.

[Blue like the light Rohan forced him to remember that first time, blue like the ray, like forgetting.]

[ Rohan stays quiet for a hot few seconds. He appears to be mulling over what has been said and implied.

It's an uncomfortable thing to consider. And maybe he feels a twinge of sympathy. Not that he'd say it. ]

Feel free to not believe me on this, Fiddleford. You have no reason to after all I have done and pinned upon you in the last year and a half...

Memories are deeply personal to me. The memories of any person-- whether I like them or not.

... If I could, I could look at it and maybe see what is missing.

You -- that's -- mm.

[Rohan got his name right. Rohan got his name right. It seems a silly thing to get stuck on, but...]

That's... kind of you to offer. Honest it is. Y'know even if you're playin' me for a fool with all this it's helpin' to talk about it.

Just... don't know if I'd want you in my head. It's not you even, it's anyone, I wouldn't want -- y'know. All that's private. And messy.

[Did any of that even make sense? He isn't sure. It felt like it did in the moment but it also could have just been gibberish. He's feeling kind of jittery, and on top of that when he's tipsy his brain tends to go even faster than normal and far outpace his mouth.]

I've lived with a brain like a ripped-up quilt before, I can... I can manage it. Probably.

[ Snatching the bottle and placing it to his lips. ]

That doesn't make it right. Coping is...

Temporary. No matter how you rely on it...

Some wounds don't heal. I've been fortunate.

[Don't you dare make him and his very sensitive snake tongue indirectly kiss your gross Fog mouth, Rohan Kishibe. God dammit.]

It... the thing is --

I'm scared to remember what I might get back. Whatever gave me this scar. Anythin' else I lost. Remember when you brought back that -- that thing you had me draw for you? I'm still drawin' eyes whenever I let my guard down enough not to notice.

It's-- it's just a complicated issue. Is all. For me.

[He can't quite come out and say it was an addiction, not yet. Mainly it's because he's ashamed of how easily he's considering backsliding now that the option is open to him. He knows he shouldn't, knows it's better for his mind to be whole, but there's still that weak, cowardly part of him that wants to be blissfully unaware.

He hates that part of him more than he hates his snake brain.]

[ The tequila bottle finds itself on the table. Man, Fiddleford needs it more than he does. ]

I can't begin to understand what it all is or what it means. small>[ beat. ] I have that picture still. It's ancient but I have it.

Feel free to say no: What would you say if I [ airquotes ] "picked your brain" for a few minutes?

Not quite with my powers She gave me. More of a meditation... Kind of what I do at home. [ not really at all bc there's no face-opening or paralysis or just general horribleness. ]

... Can you promise me She won't get into my head, if you do?

[ Rohan taps his claws on the table cloth. Dull thump after dull thump. ]

I can. I won't let it get to that.

[ he's still gonna get high on your anxiety tho. ]

I think at this point we should be on the same page about this.

[What doesn't get high on his anxiety? But Rohan has a point. If Fiddleford was going to die here it would have happened by now.]

Alright... alright. If you think-- if you're sure.

[His coils shift nervously and his hands grip and worry at the hem of his shirt (which, for once, is fairly restrained). He could be making a very big mistake but... but at this point, what would it matter? When he's angry and hurt he tends to make extreme, snap judgments. This is one of those.]

[ Rohan makes no move to reach out or touch the naga. He flicks his hand to signal something. Then he shuts his eyes. It's a signal to follow along. ]

Close your eyes. None of that crazy stuff right now.

[ He opens them after a moment to check if Fiddleford has followed along. If he has, he will rise to his feet and let his hooves click deftly on the carpet beneath them as he rounds the desk. ]

Imagine a hallway. A long hallway... [ He coos in his buttery purr. ] Walk with me down it. At the end, there is a dip in the ground... A flight of stairs.

Do you see it?

Go down them... There is a light down there. Tell me when you see it. Breathe. Meditate. Focus...

M'not crazy. [It's a low, petulant mumble. He's still going to close his eyes and play along.

Meditation didn't work for him when Ford tried to get him to do it but he has a gut feeling that had more to do with Ford than it did the thing itself. That doesn't stop him thinking this is all a little... well... a little crystals and feathers and auras for his taste, but living in Ryslig for as long as he has means that he can no longer use that as an excuse to discount something. He bought gills from a witch with magical coins not a couple of months ago. This is benign by comparison.]

... I see it.

[More accurately, he is imagining it. He supposes it's some kind of metaphor. He breathes in, breathes out. His tail rises and falls with it. At least Rohan has a nice voice.]

[ Look, as an artist he has to find ways to get into The Zone.

From how he is instructing, it doesn't sound like he's making it up on the spot. Like he's trained the description into himself. ]

That light will lead to a door. It is muffled behind it. You have to open it.

Open the door.

[ Click-click. ]

Behind it is a book... Open that. Flip the pages. Really look into that encyclopedia of your memories.

[ His hands ghost their way along one shoulder to the other as he passes behind Fiddleford. Their tips spark up again with benign but hot lick of blue flame. ]

Inhale.

When you exhale, tell me the very first thing that pops into your head. Or that passes through.

[ His steps pause, facing the wall still and not looking anywhere near his "subject". ]

Go.

[The light touch to his shoulders almost takes him out of things. His shoulders twitch and his blue fluorescent glow flickers fitfully, but the lick of heat calms him down. Real heat always makes him feel like basking, and that's sort of the mental place he thinks Rohan wants him to get into anyway. Relaxed. He can never really relax anymore but he can manage to make himself comparatively less tense.

Alright. Door. Book. Pages. He breathes in deep, exhales through his nose, and says:]

My wife. My -- my ex-wife.

[Relationships and specifically relationship troubles are on his mind right now for some reason. Can't imagine what that might be.]

Edited 2017-08-07 09:53 (UTC)

[ That wasn't what he thought would pop up. ]

What was her name?

[ He needs to know.

He turns on his heel and leans over Fiddleford's shoulder. He flutters his fingers by each of his ears. More warmth. ]

Do you remember what she looked like? You've retained that from home...

[ Now, Rohan's got some weird shit going on in his head lately. He keeps a few beats quiet before standing back up and wandering back behind his desk. Not sitting down. ]

Was she pretty~?

Molly.

[He isn't sure if he likes that warmth on either side of his face, exactly, but he doesn't dislike it either. This whole thing is an exercise in feeling both vaguely uncomfortable and oddly relaxed, and the tequila and emotional turmoil are just adding to the singularly unusual mental space he's found himself in.]

She was -- yes. She was awful pretty. Dark curly hair and -- and --

I can never remember her eyes. [His voice has gone soft.] And I don't know if that's just on account of her hair covered them most of the time or if ... if I've just lost it altogether. I'm sure I must have seen them at least once.

[ Poor thing.

Poor Fiddleford McGucket.

Rohan never thought he'd feel BAD for the guy. Yikes. He doesn't feel bad for much for anyone. He still can't say that he gives a flying fuck about Fiddleford or his marital problems but another part of him says to mess with him.

Just a little. ]

You think? I would say so. [ Rohan's impish claws creep ever so slowly across the table, leaning his upper half forward and all the way over. He's a good foot away from the naga's face but he's still there. ]

Now... Open your eyes and let that go. Like a looo~oong breath of air.

Annnnnd... [ Rohan's eyes glow but not with the menacing and terrible pang of paralysis he's branded himself with. No, they still glow, never having abandoned the cat-like slit pupils, sharp at the corners from his makeup and just the way his face is (un)fortunately constructed. They are meant to invoke some kind of reaction.

Maybe a different kind of paralysis. Maybe something you can't look away from. Maybe you see something or somebody else with his glowing green eyes set in their head where they aren't supposed to be. ]

Now.

[He opens his eyes but instead of letting out a slow breath he takes a very sharp one in, a kind of rough wheeze. Those eyes are the wrong shade but they still resonate with something deep within the darkest parts of his brain, something that makes him freeze, makes his heart skip a beat, makes his tail begin to rapidly expand and contract as his breathing goes shallow (once he remembers to breathe again in the first place). It's a good thing he's not holding the tequila because if he was he might have dropped it.

He knew he shouldn't come here. He knew he shouldn't have trusted Rohan, because now it's going to happen again, he's going to get dragged back into the bad places within his mind again, and then drowned or ripped to shreds or strangled or something again. He looks into those bright green eyes and he doesn't see her because he could never remember her eyes and he never will and he's starting to accept that. But he's seen Marco's, he's seen Marco's so many times, and Marco's are green, so green, but they were never slitted like that, were they? He can't remember anymore. He's lived for so long never fully trusting his own brain and thought he was past that but clearly he isn't, not anymore. He could well believe his memory can't be trusted here.

But wasn't that Rohan just a minute ago? He has to get a handle on this. He doesn't feel like he can get a handle on it.]

I don't -- I don't --

[ Rohan doesn't know who or what Fiddleford sees. He just knows that he is transfixed on something in the general direction of his face. Seeing that he is indeed startled by something, he plays along. ]

What's the matter, Fiddleford? It's just me. [ MARCO, OBVIOUSLY. ]

I'm sorry...

[The lights in his eyes sputter. His mouth moves but no sound comes out at first.]

You --

[The blue glow flickers, strengthens, blazes.]

You are not!

[ He isn't going to break character, nope. Even in the face of that blinky glowy eye business. ]

You're supposed to be relaxing. It's alright. [ To which he leans a little further over the table. ] Just know that it's okay. I'll never do it again.

[ Against his better train of thoughts, a bit more of a tilts and Rohan presses his lips to the naga's for juuuust a second here to silence him.

... gross this is a mistake no noooooooooooooooooo immediate regret ]

[See, Fiddleford has already had enough experience with being hurt by men who then proceed to tell him it's fine and they won't do it again and he should just suck it up. That's the major driving force behind his dogged insistence on hating Stanford Pines, no matter how many times the Stanford Pines he knows now tries to tell him he's sorry.]

It's n--

[He doesn't expect the kiss and so it goes on for longer than it really ought to. He almost leans into it, because no matter how Marco hurt him he does still love Marco, and he's always had a hard time letting go of loving people. He wants to believe the best particularly in the people he cares for, which means that even when they hurt him he'll hold on with both hands until his self-preservation instinct is screaming at him far too loud to ignore.

It's doing that now. He pulls away.]

Don't.

[His experience with Ford has taught him that it's safer not to forgive. Forgiving is in his nature, sure, but where has it got him so far? Fucked over every time. In his less-kind moments, when he's tired and bitter and petty, it's easy to think Why should I?

Ryslig sure has done a number on him, hasn't it.]

[ That didn't do anything for him either. He might be on the Sin Train lately but Rohan has enough brain cells in his head to know when he needs to rinse his mouth out with bleach. ]

But why?

[ He sits back a tiny bit, arms still on the table. If the hypnotism thing is APPARENTLY work, he might as well keep brain-picking.

That was the goal, right?

He kissed an unfortunate looking man in the name of Science. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. ]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, FIDDLEFORD HADRON MCGUCKET. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 011.23.581.321 * teslacoils has joined 011.23.581.321 >> teslacoils has posted an AUDIO MESSAGE. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN01. <teslacoils> Lab hours are 10 AM to 6 PM Mon-Wed, 7 PM to 3 AM Thur-Fri, special appointments available. <teslacoils> I am no longer associated with the Fourth God. <teslacoils**> But I will answer any questions you might have about him with the honest truth.

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addiction stuff from this point on i guess?

thumbs up emoji

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ever made a series of Mistakes

rohan kishibe was a mistake

that's been a fact since the 90s

ROHAN DO NOT TAKE ADVANTAGE OF A TIPSY AND EMOTIONALLY VULNERABLE HICK

too late honestly

we did it folks we finished ryslig everyone can stop it's over it's done

@mods close the game