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camppetoskey2018-07-09 11:09 am
Week 6
Last week had been pretty brutal, leaving scars on everyone in camp. A murder driven by paranoia-induced visions, committed by and against two of the youngest members of camp, has left everyone reeling. If this is the way murders will go, what's to happen next?
The humidity is dropping off some, but the heat is staying strong. The campers will need to find new ways to beat the heat. A delivery is due this week though, so maybe the camp's deliveryman will have some ice cream?
The WiiU and current games are all here, but there are no new games. Sorry everyone, you're stuck with what you have. Usagi and Boa are now gone from the Mii menu, but that strange faceless Mii is still there, staring as always. His grin seems to have grown though, and the Mii menu music has changed as well. The other Miis seem scared of the grinny Mii, and they are staying far away from him. Now the only selectable Mii is grin-face. How weird.
The counselors have said they need 'more time' to end this, but just how much time do they need? Can the campers really stall long enough for the counselors to finish their plan? And how does that knowledge sit with them, knowing that each delayed week means less campers will make it in the end?
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The dead from your world? [Is his assumption, based on what Lenka's managing to get through.]
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[There's a waver to his voice that isn't quite laughter and isn't quite tears and isn't quite anything at all. He sits back on his heels with a small splash and scrubs at his face again, ignoring the futility of it just for some sensation other than the numbness of lake water and the mild ache of running solidly into magical thin air. It helps, a little.]
I didn't know you could have hallucinations like this. I just thought... they would stay things that I didn't want to see. [perhaps unusually, he's not thinking his words through at all, just letting them fall where they will] Isn't that what they're for?
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...The hallucinations make it hard to know what's real and what isn't. So long as we're distressed too much to think straight, they've done their jobs.
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[He's still not completely sure what he's doing in the lake; it's as unclear as everything else, he didn't even quite register the water beyond the familiar sound of it -- something he'd heard for years, sometimes in his dreams, the rain and the dark. At this point, with the more high-strung emotions draining away he's too tired to make sense of it.]
... Thanks. For the barrier.
[Go figure, defense is still the best offense when it comes to this place. Something like that.
At least he can be grateful for that much: in that sense, the new visions are less dangerous than the old, the ones that would have him believe there was an enemy around every corner. Sometimes, speaking to him in full daylight, their forms melting and twisting seamlessly into something a lot bigger and more familiar. Constantly trying to hold himself back and differentiate the realities is almost more tiring than this.]
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[It's really coming in handy in this place, for so many uses he really hadn't thought of before.]
Was the hallucination... something unhappy?
[There's so many ways seeing the dead could go.]
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[There's a little of that lost quality in his voice again.
He's not sure what he's feeling, at the end of the day; there's grief, bloody and raw and sharp, but he doesn't know where it's coming from or where it's going -- it's been a year, shy a few months, since he was last able to see anyone in that vision. He'd finally been able to stop thinking about it, too busy with all he needed to do and to be. They visited him only in dreams anymore.
(Maybe, just maybe, it's his refusal to stop and smell the mourning roses the last two weeks catching up to him in a perfect storm of events. But he hasn't processed any of it that far yet, and probably won't.)]
I thought I'd forgotten what most of them looked like. The people from home.
[There's something about the way he says the word home, like he's afraid to use the phrase itself for fear that something will crumble. The concept of it. The nonexistent traces of it.]
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It can feel like that sometimes. [It's been even more years for him.] That doesn't seem to stop the hallucinations.
[Aya.]
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Never mind the feeling like he's tearing out pieces of himself all over again, if he leaves the faces and their unnecessary beckoning behind. That's been this whole camp, anyway. He should be used to it; and there's no surprise, just a dull sort of acknowledgment.]
If Sol is sending us these-- [he doesn't know, honestly, if they aren't a part of every week then why--] Maybe it doesn't understand the difference. Maybe it's just...
[Maybe it's just his thoughts trending darker, when he remembers the memory stones and the thought that their memories are being extracted and used in this way is... a little much, right now.]
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[He doesn't really believe that, not one bit, not after the visions he's still plagued with. It seems more likely to him that like with much else, this is yet another facet of camp life Sol really has little true control over.]