The man who stands in front of you is someone you respect. You remember just a few months ago that it was impossible to trust him, to let him get to know you, but he had a steady, persistent way of speaking. He’s the ideal man - cool, composed, smart, and caring. Yet now when he turns to you, it’s easy to feel as though you’re being scolded and admonished.
Maybe you are.
But instead of being able to face that care, you are instead consumed with guilt. The suffering end of a call out. The self-pitying end of it. You bow your head to him, and take your leave - and you wish that you could have something to show for your efforts when you go back.
[ blinks rapidly and i assume by tuesday they will have had some experience with memshares already so the fact that it happened at all isn't particularly shocking, but... ]
Seems like you got exactly what you wanted out of this arrangement, then. A place to live, a roommate you admire, getting to work with who you wanted...
[ what more do you want that led you to this place, mineo? ]
[ Vlad doesn't get to finish his question because hey, here's your FUCKING incel lore!!!
Vlad is 24 and dying. He's lost track of time here long ago, the days all blurring together in a foggy haze of hospital white.
He still remembers so vividly how he ended up here--the accident, the blinding pain, the panic and frantic ambulance calls, entire crowds of doctors and nurses gawking at him.
Now, however, everything seems to be going faint. He can hardly focus either his vision or his mind. He's long since been moved to a quarantine room, the room retrofitted with geiger counters, and every doctor has since become a nameless creature hidden in a hazmat suit. They used to try to explain to him what they were doing--or trying to do--to figure out what was wrong with him, how to fix it, but every test had failed. If they'd ever reached a diagnosis, he didn't know--words had long since gone gooey in his ears, so difficult it was to listen or pay attention.
They don't try to talk to him anymore, explain what they're doing or why. Vlad figures it's both because his mind has become too weak to understand or hear it, and because he's already been deemed a lost cause. All they can do now is hide him away where he can't infect anyone else with his mysterious disease and wait for him to die.
He has so many regrets. So many things he wished he'd done. Now the only thing he wishes is for death to take him swiftly. And even then--what a pathetic death it would be, utterly alone. Would anyone even realize Vlad Masters had died?
Almost distantly, he can hear the beeping of his heart monitor. Normally, he pays it no mind, just a distant background noise. But now, each heartbeat comes so slowly, the sound of it comes as a surprise each time. Maybe this is going to be it. He shuts his eyes.
Another beep. Except this time, it doesn't stop. Ah, he's flatlining. Good. The life of Vlad Masters was short, painful, pathetic, and pointless...but at least it's finally over.
Except that it's not.
Vlad opens his eyes. The room, for the first time, looks vibrant and crisp. Breathing is no longer painful and laborious. He feels...great. He sits up.
His heart monitor is still flatlining, but here he is, feeling the most alive since the accident. He looks down at himself and--oh. Oh dear.
His skin is blue. He's glowing. Frantically, he grasps for the metal cart by his hospital bedside and stares at his reflection in the brushed chrome. His hair is black again, his face is completely clear, and his eyes--sclera and all--are deep red.
Then he blinks and--a familiar face stares back in the chrome. Pale skin, blue eyes, face fully healed, and hair freshly turned white. The heart monitor is beeping again at a healthy, steady rate.
Vlad is 24 and alive. ]
i can't believe that vlad is dead and i'm sitting here with this goddamn incel lore
mineo blinks - trying to make sense of exactly what he just saw. the feeling of dying, of knowing that your life is nearly over and not being able to do anything about it, and then - the resurgence.]
[ Vlad sighs heavily, a hand pressed against his temples like this is a huge inconvenience. Which it kind of is. He was trying! to keep this a SECRET!!! ]
In a sense, yes, I suppose you could call it that.
Not that it makes much difference in this place, seeing as how I can't access any of that here, but...it's the principle of the matter. I'm sure you understand.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
week 2, tuesday for variety [1/3]
welp!]
Oh - hey, Vlad-san... Just passing by.
[NOT FAST ENOUGH!]
no subject
The man who stands in front of you is someone you respect. You remember just a few months ago that it was impossible to trust him, to let him get to know you, but he had a steady, persistent way of speaking. He’s the ideal man - cool, composed, smart, and caring. Yet now when he turns to you, it’s easy to feel as though you’re being scolded and admonished.
Maybe you are.
But instead of being able to face that care, you are instead consumed with guilt. The suffering end of a call out. The self-pitying end of it. You bow your head to him, and take your leave - and you wish that you could have something to show for your efforts when you go back.
You know you won’t. ]
no subject
a long-suffering sigh]
... come on....
no subject
Your...supervisor, I take it?
no subject
.... close, I guess.
My roommate...? But... someone I admire. We do work together. It's complicated now that I'm explaining it.
no subject
no subject
.... Someone I wanted to work with - and then I moved into the office, so I guess we ended up living together.
But I do think that we'd have a way easier time if he was here... though I don't know if there's anything he'd want so much he'd agree to be here.
no subject
Seems like you got exactly what you wanted out of this arrangement, then. A place to live, a roommate you admire, getting to work with who you wanted...
[ what more do you want that led you to this place, mineo? ]
no subject
I did.
But I didn't make any progress on what actually brought me to him.
[it's too bad. also lisa give me a memshare hewwo i need incel lore]
no subject
[ Vlad doesn't get to finish his question because hey, here's your FUCKING incel lore!!!
Vlad is 24 and dying. He's lost track of time here long ago, the days all blurring together in a foggy haze of hospital white.
He still remembers so vividly how he ended up here--the accident, the blinding pain, the panic and frantic ambulance calls, entire crowds of doctors and nurses gawking at him.
Now, however, everything seems to be going faint. He can hardly focus either his vision or his mind. He's long since been moved to a quarantine room, the room retrofitted with geiger counters, and every doctor has since become a nameless creature hidden in a hazmat suit. They used to try to explain to him what they were doing--or trying to do--to figure out what was wrong with him, how to fix it, but every test had failed. If they'd ever reached a diagnosis, he didn't know--words had long since gone gooey in his ears, so difficult it was to listen or pay attention.
They don't try to talk to him anymore, explain what they're doing or why. Vlad figures it's both because his mind has become too weak to understand or hear it, and because he's already been deemed a lost cause. All they can do now is hide him away where he can't infect anyone else with his mysterious disease and wait for him to die.
He has so many regrets. So many things he wished he'd done. Now the only thing he wishes is for death to take him swiftly. And even then--what a pathetic death it would be, utterly alone. Would anyone even realize Vlad Masters had died?
Almost distantly, he can hear the beeping of his heart monitor. Normally, he pays it no mind, just a distant background noise. But now, each heartbeat comes so slowly, the sound of it comes as a surprise each time. Maybe this is going to be it. He shuts his eyes.
Another beep. Except this time, it doesn't stop. Ah, he's flatlining. Good. The life of Vlad Masters was short, painful, pathetic, and pointless...but at least it's finally over.
Except that it's not.
Vlad opens his eyes. The room, for the first time, looks vibrant and crisp. Breathing is no longer painful and laborious. He feels...great. He sits up.
His heart monitor is still flatlining, but here he is, feeling the most alive since the accident. He looks down at himself and--oh. Oh dear.
His skin is blue. He's glowing. Frantically, he grasps for the metal cart by his hospital bedside and stares at his reflection in the brushed chrome. His hair is black again, his face is completely clear, and his eyes--sclera and all--are deep red.
Then he blinks and--a familiar face stares back in the chrome. Pale skin, blue eyes, face fully healed, and hair freshly turned white. The heart monitor is beeping again at a healthy, steady rate.
Vlad is 24 and alive. ]
i can't believe that vlad is dead and i'm sitting here with this goddamn incel lore
oh?
mineo blinks - trying to make sense of exactly what he just saw. the feeling of dying, of knowing that your life is nearly over and not being able to do anything about it, and then - the resurgence.]
Was...
Was that a second chance...?
[he doesn't even know how to articulate it.]
THE KEEPER OF THE LORE
In a sense, yes, I suppose you could call it that.
i can't stand this
well mineo at least watches vlad's expression before frowning]
... if you don't want people to know, I won't tell.
no subject
Not that it makes much difference in this place, seeing as how I can't access any of that here, but...it's the principle of the matter. I'm sure you understand.