Work Text:
“Sikeology? Sykology? Sikeologie?” Cronus muttered and cursed under his breath as he attempted to search the husk - no - lap top.
He had found the documents folder easily enough, but there were so many cryptically named files, and just typing in the search bar had so far been futile.
Cronus tried one more spelling of the unfamiliar word and rapped his knuckles on the cluttered desk when “No items match your search” popped up again. Okay, scratch that. Better search manually… Not that that would be a problem, of course, but there was something ominous about this little room he’d found in the dream bubbles, and he had hoped he’d be able to find what he needed quickly, before absconding the fuck outta there.
The room was large, but annoyingly cluttered in a way that fostered a sense of claustrophobia. The bookcase was crammed full of books and the desk was haphazardly piled with notebooks and papers. Even and the floor was littered with clothing and various miscellaneous items. Upon first entering, Cronus had wrinkled his nose in distaste. How hard was it to just shove everything in a cupboard?
Now however, after searching and scrolling through endless strange little folder pathways, it was the window that was causing him discomfort. It was... eerie. Yes - that’s the word he wanted. That eerie orange glow from the window that made him feel slightly on edge. The light cast strange shadows around the room, shadows that seemed to unfurl and move ever so slightly in the flickering light, like the tentacles of some great leviathan, writhing and grasping in the deepest, darkest part of the ocean…
Just thinking about it now made his fins flare out, as they did instinctively underwater when diving deep down into the dark places. The membranes quivered in the air, trying to sense any tiny movement or sound that might suggest an approaching threat. All his instincts were telling him there was something coming, something waiting to pounce -
He whipped round, for what must’ve been the tenth time already, and yet again, there was nothing to see but the human “bed”, festooned with crumpled blankets and pillows, lit by the orange glow and casting strange shadows across the floor.
He shivered, and mentally told himself to get his shit together. It was just a “bedroom” - and a shitty one at that. He had research to do.
Cronus turned back round to the desk with a renewed feeling of purpose - right up until the moment that his knees smashed into the hardwood of the desk. Once he’d finished swearing, a tiny voice in the back of his head pointed out that he’d barely moved his legs. And yet it seemed the desk had creeped forward enough somehow to injure him -
Nope nope nope we’re not doin’ this -
It was the stupid small human’s fault. Her with her stupid small legs. Yeah.
It took what felt like an eternity - hunched over at the desk, sifting through folders and skipping over what seemed to be a complicated story about Wizards and an incredibly in-depth game walkthrough for Sburb - but eventually he’d found what he was looking for.
Under the folder labelled “PSYC NOTES”, he clicked through to find a very well organised series of folders with titles such as “Developmental Psychology”, “Social Psychology” and the like. Still, he quickly tired of reading through ancient experiments involving recalling stories of “car crashes”, humans being asked to press a button to shock another human, and what happened when you put a bunch of humans together in a “prison” - whatever that was.
However, before he could give up on the task at hand, he’d found a folder titled “Loneliness and Social Isolation”.
Not that he was lonely, of course. He spoke to people every day - hell, he’d spoken to Kankri about how serious he was about the whole “humankin” thing earlier.
...And if he was isolated it was only because everyone around him were such inferior idiots.
Still, with a quick look around him to check no one had entered the bubble, he clicked on the folder. Nothing wrong with a little curiosity, was there?
Humming tunelessly under his breath, he started clicking through the documents, videos, and academic papers - liberally highlighted and annotated with lavender text.
At first it was entertaining, if a little, well, alien to him. Apparently, humans thousands of years ago were these creatures called “monkeys” - but only certain types, not all monkeys… and monkeys still existed until the whole “end of civilisation” thing…. But apparently some human behaviours could be found in their simian ancestors. Wild. There was a grainy documentary video detailing an experiment where a tiny wriggler of a monkey had the choice to either go into a part of a cage where there was a pretend lusus made of fur, or a lusus made out of a wire-frame which dispensed milk. The monkey would always choose to cuddle itself up to the fur lusus, even if it meant going hungry, as physical contact was so important to humans.
Duly noted; it seemed… significant.
The orange light in the room flickered for a moment, as though something had passed by outside the window. Cronus shivered. Was it getting cold in here? He had no hairs on the back of his arms to stand up, as humans did, but it suddenly felt chilly enough for even a coldblood to feel it.
Another flicker and another gust of cold air. He didn’t turn around. There was nothing there, after all.
Keeping his eyes fixed to the glowing plasma screen in front of him, Cronus rubbed at his arms and hugged himself to try warm up.
But it’s not just that, is it? A little voice in his head whispered, Humans hug themselves and each other to feel comfort. What’s out there that you feel you need comforting - hmm?
Nothing. There’s nothing fucking out there. Just bubbles and dead people-
While we’re at it, when was the last time someone voluntarily hugged you? Or held your hand? (Has anyone ever done either of those things? Ever?)
Cronus’ fins flared up again, this time in anger.
Oh course they had! For example - uh - for example…
When he was little! When he was barely more than a grub, he’d had friends, hadn’t he? Proper friends - not just people who barely tolerated his presence. Him and Meenah would go swimming together, exploring the darkest, deepest oceans of Beforus - where the giant squid and kraken lurked. When it got too dark for him to see properly, or when he got too scared, she would reach out and grab his hand - moaning about how useless he was, but with a smile, not a scowl.
And Aranea - hadn’t she hugged him once? When he kept having those flashbacks - the strange dreams and throbbing headaches that made the scars on his forehead burn and itch. He’d told her about the dark wizard that had tried to kill him - about the prophecy he felt he had been born with, almost… It had been Aranea, hadn’t it? He could barely remember the face, but when he closed his eyes sometimes, he could just about conjure up those ghostly arms, squeezing him tight.
A memory of a memory whispered, “It’s going to be okay.” A hand, squeezing his, in the darkness.
But you gave up the magic thing, didn’t you? You let it go back then - back when you still had an inclination about what people wanted to hear, and what they didn’t. Someone had spoken to you - hadn’t they? Wizards, magic, and grand destiny… well that only elicits scornful laughter, doesn’t it? So you scrunched that part of you down to the tiniest it could be, and pushed it away.
#just so OVWER the vwizarding scene
Of course, that longing to be touched - to be told “it’s going to be okay” - that never goes away, does it? All those clumsy attempts at physical interactions. Reaching out for hands, or going in for hugs that were clearly unwanted.
What was it Meenah said the other day? Ampora you totally changed my mind about you, let’s start makin out immediately...not. Her general tone dripping with sarcasm tied up in a bow of disgust - but in that pause, that tiny, treacherous pause, part of you filled with light -
A hand in the darkness, reaching out -
And then snatched back.
The cruel sting of that rejection made his lip twist, and his hands balled into fists.
“Shut up,” he said aloud, his voice echoing strangely in the room.
Shut up - shhh -shhhut - shut uppppppp -
He shivered again, and risked a tiny peek over his shoulder at the room.
It was just as it had always been, cluttered and messy, with the orange glow illuminating it all -
Wait. Did the shadow from the window always cover the sill like that? Had it got darker over the bed?
Of course not. Don’t be stupid, he told himself sternly, before going back to his reading.
Next up were case studies on the theme of ostracisation of young children from groups of their peers. The conclusion detailed how children who were ostracised would never really be accepted by the group, and because they were not permitted to socialise, their social skills suffered enough so that even if they went to a new school, or a new group of friends, they could still stand out as the “weird kid”, and the cycle would continue. Ostracisation caused degraded social skills, which caused further ostracisation -
Doesn’t this all feel painfully familiar? The little voice whispered, stronger now, Every spurned advance twisting in your guts, and releasing that bitter bile that fills you to the brim these days. -
Cronus shivered and yanked his leather jacket out of his sylladex, trying to ignore the voice as he pulled the comforting garment on.
What was it you said the other day?
I vwill say that it gets vwery frustrating after the first few epochs trying to make heads or tails vwhat people are evwen LOOKING for. I mean, in ANY quadrant.
So it’s not for lack of trying, hmm? If you’re anything, you’re persistent.
(If you’re anything)
Was it getting darker in here? Cronus scowled at the keyboard in front of him to see if he could turn the brightness up, but the controls were alien to him.
Let’s see… Rufioh and Horuss have been together for longer than you can remember, so they’re off the table.
Who cares? A mutant or a sweaty horse freak? I can do better than that.
Meulin’s technically single - but she still spends far too much time with Kurloz, and you’re scared of him aren’t you? Admit it.
He is legitimately scary - everyone says so! And again - a chick who squeals every word or a creepy mime guy? I can do better than that!
Then there’s Latula and Mituna. Latula just scurries - or skates - right past you, right? Or throws a “hi!” over her shoulder as she goes past, but never lets you start a conversation. I wonder why that is?
And Mituna -
We’re friends. Sort of.
Really? That’s funny.
WHY 4R3 Y0U 70UCH1N9 M3?
Cronus almost punched the desk in frustration - but managed to remember how much it’d hurt his knees just in time. Instead he settled for gnawing at his thumbnail. Why was he engaging with a voice inside his fucking head? Still, he refused to let it win -
I don’t care! An airhead “gamer girl” whose whole MO is so try-too-hard - and for some ridiculous reason, she’d gone for Mituna fucking Captor. Who, frankly, is probably better as a friend-
(a friend?)
(1 FUCK1N9 H473 Y0U)
-than anything else. I can do better than -
Damara then.
She only speaks in East Beforean! And can usually be found smoking a blunt and flicking everyone her middle fingers! Hell, she’s almost as much of a pariah as I am!
So you admit you’re -
She’s surly and closed off anyways. I can do better -
Porrim and Aranea - now they’re some high-quality babes. But neither of them give you a second glance, do they? Of if they do, it’s to badmouth you until you leave.
So? Both of them have been with basically everyone!
Not you -
And both of them are prone to lectures and droning on. “High-quality babes”?? Yeah right! I can do -
Meenah then. You’re both highbloods right? Not that you care about that stuff anymore of course. Surely she’d be happy to hang out with a fellow highblood -
Oh wait.
(Ew. … #no).
Well who the fuck is she anyway? The empress of nothing! I don’t actually give a shit that she’s not interested. It doesn’t hurt me at all. Besides, I can -
I -
And then there’s Kankri.
Kankri with his vow. And obvious (and pathetic) red crush on Latula. Kankri who always has Porrim hanging around him like she was his fucking lusus.
Kankri who speaks to you. Kankri who defended you about the humankin stuff. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To learn more about these humans and their weird psychology nonsense that definitely doesn’t apply to you?
Cronus exited the document swiftly, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding in his chest. It was stupid, really - of course, the reason he was getting worked up was because of the whole humankin thing. Yeah. Besides, he might not have the best relationships with the other Beforan trolls - but who cares?? They had proved themselves to be worthless. Beneath him. Same with the humans and the Alternian trolls. None of them deserved his friendship - or anything else for that matter…
Maybe he should just quit now – he could just tell Kankri he’d done the research – hell, the little guy was likely to say something like “I’m proud of you for making an active change blah blah blah,”- the usual Kankri babble. Cronus tended to zone out after a while, but he was banking on getting a few conversations out of it.
He went to stand, but something made him pause.
What was -? Oh.
It was suddenly much darker in here than it had been before, with the shadows leaving the entire bed and most of the floor in darkness… But that didn’t make sense, did it? The orange glow was still there outside, almost mocking him with it’s warmth in the cold little room, so why had the darkness advanced so much? It was almost as if -
The laptop let out a notification ping, and Cronus nearly jumped out of his skin.
Somehow, another folder had opened, and was pulsing gently on the screen, inviting him to click through.
He laughed nervously. This time the sound didn’t echo. Instead, it seemed to get pulled into the vacuum of the darkness.
Right. Enough of that. Keep reading.
The next few articles were about how lonely people might act in a way that was seen as socially unacceptable - or couldn’t quite understand unspoken social cues. Standing too close to someone or too far away, talking too loud or too soft, butting into conversations they weren’t a part of, not making eye-contact - making too much eye contact.
A strange clicking sound made Cronus start, until he realised it was his own teeth chattering.
He snapped them closed and tried to keep his jaw rigid. For some reason he found himself wanting to draw as little attention to himself as possible.
Bit out of character for you, don’t you think?
See, not that he was lonely or anythin’, but it’d been fine straight after they’d all died. Which was an odd thing to say, granted, but there’s nothing like a near-death – or, more accurately– a death experience to draw people together.
They’d laughed and cried in relief, checked out each other’s spooky clouded eyes, and spoke animatedly about what was to come...
Didn’t take long for things to revert though, did it? The status quo came rushing back in like the tide to the shore.
Not that he felt ostracised, but the cliques and friendships were already formed, and Cronus had found himself once again alone. To cap it off there was no Meenah. She’d gone, and no one knew when – or if - she’d be coming back.
Even when they finally encountered fresh blood – the strange “dancestor” trolls, and the aliens – the “humans”, he still couldn’t seem to get anyone to talk with him, and his attempts to strike up a relationship – any type of relationship – had failed miserably.
he just flipped me off
she vwalked avway vwhile i vwas saying stuff
Of course, by now, you’re bitter. All that highblood rage you’ve been suppressing – that rage you scrunched up into a tiny ball and done your best to shove away,
Of course, he was a nice guy, and nice guys don’t flip out and go on a murder spree, no matter how much the fury coursed through their veins –
But you can’t get rid of it, can you? Not entirely. It’s still there, just under the surface.
That deep, dark oceanic trench, calling him, pulling him in –
So it comes out in different ways. In righteous anger against your peers.
oh, nice. you alvways knewv howv to tvwist the fork.
In your acidic comments and defensiveness.
I’m not defensive.
No?
(Ostracisation leads to degraded social skills, which causes further ostracisation)
Fuck off.
It comes out out in petty cruelty.
1 D0N7 W4N7 Y0UR H4ND 7H3R3
He shuddered. Humans were whack. Maybe Kankri was wrong - Cronus wasn’t like that at all.
This time the nervous laugh bubbled out of him before he could stop it, and it seemed as though the echo was back -
Heh heh heh hehhhh -
It had to be an echo. Just as it had to be a breeze in here. Because he refused to believe that what he’d heard just then was a low chuckle directly behind him. Just as the cool air that had hit the back of his neck had to just be a cold breeze -
Sure - if you want to believe the afterlife has a “breeze”?
Because the alternative was too awful to contemplate.
Cronus sat absolutely still while his heart thumped furiously in his chest.
Isn’t it fun how that silly old thing’s still going?
And tried to swallow, his dry mouth causing his throat to crackle which only made him freeze up further.
Without turning his head, he tried to see if he could see the door in his peripheral vision.
If I want to get out of this fucking bubble I’ll have to move eventually.
Slowly does it…
He braced his hands on the desk, and began to push up with incremental slowness -
Something brushed his wrist.
Cronus was too startled to scream - instead he gasped sharply and then choked, coughing frantically until, his face purple and his eyes streaming, he managed to get his breathing in control just enough to look down at his wrist and saw -
Nothing.
There was nothing there.
Cronus bit the bullet and looked round. Nothing there either - just the messy room, it’s contents shrouded in shadow. The orange glow still danced and flickered outside, letting in just enough light for Cronus to see the outline of the furniture, and the contents of the desk before him.
You’re a highblood. Are you really going to let a little bit of darkness stop you from what you’re doing? Pathetic....
He had to stop himself from looking under the desk like a grub, but the voice was right. This was nothing . He was just getting worked up because of all the stupid shit he’d been reading about what happened inside human brains. And hey - maybe he could embellish the story later, right? Tell Kankri he’d found this - this - dark presence or something. Say he’d been bravely - no - nobly searching through the dream bubbles. Keeping everyone safe. Fighting off monsters -
Yeah. Yeah that’d be good.
The laptop pinged again, and this time he barely even jumped. The cursor on the screen hovered over the next document.
What the hell, right? While you’re here...
Hunching over the screen, Cronus started scanning the next few documents. They seemed to be about what lonely or isolated might do to get attention - hurt themselves, hurt others... One video clip was of a youth mental health advocate passionately preaching about how easy it was to take someone aside and ask if they were okay - or what was wrong.
“They’re attention seeking because they need attention. It’s a basic human instinct. Don’t dismiss this - reach out to someone, you could very well save their life.”
With a jolt, he realised that was exactly how it’d felt like when Kankri had jumped in the other day?
Like being saved from sinking inexorably down to the bottom of that great yawing oceanic trench…
sounds like another desperate cry for attention imo
I feel I sh9uld jump in here -
It felt amazing, didn’t it? Amazing...
and shameful.
Because Meenah was right, wasn’t she? Meenah, who hasn’t seen you in fuck knows how many sweeps.
to be honest, she might be right. sometimes i think i might only be saying im a human to get attention. maybe i should givwe it up.
Meenah who used to clutch his hand in the darkness –
look at you all frontin in that stupid getup
with your slicked hair and that dumb little wand in your mouth
What must you look like to her now..?
(just like that, shes out of my life again.)
Part of him suddenly felt like slamming the laptop shut and booting it across the room - but this was a dream bubble, so there was no telling...
Who might hear?
What might hear.
What that might cause . It might change the bubble to a whole new place, or attract other people to come see what was going on. The last thing he needed right now was a bunch of fucking gawkers coming by to see what he was doing.
“Loneliness and rejection hit the same area of the brain as physical pain,” the mental health advocate continued, “And a lot of people - especially men, and older men at that - feel too ashamed to admit that they’re lonely, or that there’s a problem. For some, they end up experiencing this cognitive dissonance that occurs when they tell themselves - 'I’m not lonely, I like being on my own and having my own space'. Or 'It’s not that I don’t have friends, it’s that everyone round here is so dull and inconsequential.' Some might even go as far as thinking, 'People don’t deserve my company', or 'I’m too good for these people', and by thinking these things which soothe their egos, find themselves ever more isolated and socially inept."
In the silence of the bubble, the darkness felt as though it was wrapping around Cronus like a cloak. He could feel it, but this time it wasn’t the shock of his wrist being grabbed, it was… softer. Like a comfort blanket. He could feel it settling round his shoulders.
“Loneliness also has a detrimental affect on both mental and physical health – and the latter often surprises people.” They continued, their voice suddenly sounding tinny and far-away in his hear-ducts, “As well as an increased risk of depression, dementia, cognitive decline and suicidal ideation, loneliness in older people is also linked to a higher risk of heart disease; stroke; high blood pressure; and disability. Loneliness increases the chance of mortality by 26%, making it as harmful for your health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day.”
A humourless bark of laughter broke the silence and made Cronus jump, before he realised it had come from himself.
He was already fucking dead, so he’d avoid most of the physical effects.
Is that an admission?
According to this fucking chump he’d be at risk of depression and basically losing his mind though. Great! –
And you haven’t already?
Forever and for-fucking-ever in this nightmare afterlife, with the same group of people to shun and ignore him until his brain basically melted to mush. Hooray.
The darkness tugged at him once more, a questing tendril wrapping around his ankle -
Thaaaaat’s right. You’re getting it now.
all these cats and kittens, im telling you. theyre alvways drawvn to the freaks and rejects. you havwe to be 8ROKEN in some vway to get a little concupiscent attention.
Isn’t that what you said to Meenah? You’re not broken enough?
See, I think you got it all wrong.
I think you’re too broken.
“SHUT UP!” he screamed, the sound coming from the bottom of his stomach and tearing its way up his throat so the words came out hoarse and anguished.
He stood so fast he knocked the chair over, and spun round to grab it. There was that ugly fucking orange glow outside. Still flickering away, yet somehow the whole room was in darkness now.
Fucking dream bubbles, fucking humans, fucking STUPID WRONG IDIOT VOICE -
The pressure around his ankle tightened, and twisted up higher until it caught the back of his knee, making his leg buckle -
Tired. You’re just tired.
He was tired. And his eyes were stinging -
Just the screen…
Yeah. He was fine, obviously. He’d just been staring at this fucking screen for too long. That was it. Maybe he should quit now - that was plenty of stuff about how human brains worked. Obviously it didn’t apply to trolls, but humans could get really fucked up. Funny that. He tried to twist his mouth into a cruel smile, but that was worse, somehow.
He took a deep, shaky breath, and reached down blindly in the darkness for the chair. He sat heavily - his legs bent and buckled again the moment the chair was in place - and pulled out a cigarette.
‘I just need to think for a second ….’
He blinked, and realised he must’ve spaced out a little; he’d chewed the limp cigarette down into a disgusting mush. He shuddered at the bitter taste and spat it out, suddenly grateful he was alone,
Better this way
and no one was around to see that.
He’d just decided it was time to shut the laptop down and go find someone to bother - to speak to, because of course, he was a delight. It’d make anyone of those idiots’ day to talk to him.
Yeah.
Except when he reached out to shut off the stupid fucking lying screen, he saw another document, pulsing patiently under the cursor. This one was titled “examples - tv/ books/ other media”. And he‘d clicked on it before really thinking about it.
This appeared to be another very well organised list of… notes? There were strange titles with dates beside them and the marker “TV” or “Film” or “Book” beside each entry. Confused, Cronus scrolled down and stopped at a random entry:
Notes On a Scandal by Zoë Heller (2003) Book (Later, Film).
Huh. Okay. It seemed to be a quote from the book:
“Being alone is not the most awful thing in the world. You visit your museums and cultivate your interests and remind yourself how lucky you are not to be one of those spindly Sudanese children with flies beading their mouths. You make out To Do lists - reorganise the linen cupboard, learn two sonnets. You dole out little treats to yourself - slices of ice-cream cake, concerts at Wigmore Hall. And then, every once in a while, you wake up and gaze out of the window at another bloody daybreak, and think, I cannot do this anymore. I cannot pull myself together again and spend the next fifteen hours of wakefulness fending off the fact of my own misery.”
Cronus took in a little sharp breath. Some tiny survival instinct was trying to get his attention, and point out that it felt as though something had just wrapped its way around his waist, tethering him to the chair, but he couldn’t stop scrolling now - not when the words on the screen were busy pushing glass up under his fingernails and closing his throat up with unshed tears.
“People like Sheba think that they know what it's like to be lonely. They cast their minds back to the time they broke up with a boyfriend in 1975 and endured a whole month before meeting someone new. [...] But about the drip drip of long-haul, no-end-in-sight solitude, they know nothing. They don't know what it is to construct an entire weekend around a visit to the laundrette. Or to sit in a darkened flat on Halloween night, because you can't bear to expose your bleak evening to a crowd of jeering trick-or-treaters. Or to have the librarian smile pityingly and say, ‘Goodness, you're a quick reader!’ when you bring back seven books, read from cover to cover, a week after taking them out. They don't know what it is to be so chronically untouched that the accidental brush of a bus conductor's hand on your shoulder sends a jolt of longing straight to your groin. I have sat on park benches and trains and schoolroom chairs, feeling the great store of unused, objectless love sitting in my belly like a stone until I was sure I would cry out and fall, flailing, to the ground. About all of this, Sheba and her like have no clue.”
Is it ringing a bell yet?
so i take it even after a billion sweeps here with a boat load of eligible spook shorties to mack on
Cronus swallowed painfully and tried to find some tiny spark of hope in the darkness… but when was the last time someone had even looked at him without a sneer of disgust?
you still never got any action
A few sweeps backs Kankri had accidentally brushed his arm while going off on some needlessly complicated rant - and the electric touch of that brief connection had drove him mad for weeks after.
Y0UR3 571LL 70UCH1N9 M3 4ND 1 D0N7 UND3R574ND WHY 7H15 15 H4PP3PP1N9 -
Cronus realised he was shaking, his fights balled so tight his nails were cutting into his palms. Stupid fucking humans and the stupid fucking ways their minds worked.
youre right. my feelings really are real. not fake, like the huge disappointing fraud that magic turned out to be.
No. Fuck no. It was time to give up this fucking humankin nonsense because it clearly wasn’t working and he was nothing. Like. Them.
He gasped, in sudden pain, as though a tendril of darkness had punched through his chest and was now twisting -
Shhhh it’s nothing…
Loneliness and rejection hit the same area of the brain as physical pain, remember?
He scrolled up furiously, and was about to close the document, when the first entry caught his eye:
A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness (2011) Book (Later, Film)
This one had an asterisk next to it, and the note: “Also relevant to documents: Grief, Broken Families (H - Drive)”
That vice-like pressure was back around his throat, but it wasn’t like he was trying to hold back the tears anymore…
Shhhhhh, just read on...
Okay he’d just read this one. Just this one. Then he’d close the document. Because it was a dumb stupid document , and he’d probably laugh at how pathetic these humans were. Yeah. That was it.
He squinted at the screen as his breath came in short little gasps. Was it darker in here somehow? Was the screen dimming?
Clutching one hand to his chest to try and stifle the pain, as though to protect his heart from being torn out, he read on:
“There was once an invisible man, the monster continued, though Conor kept his eyes firmly on Harry, who had grown tired of being unseen. [...]
It was not that he was actually invisible, the monster said, following Conor, the room volume dropping as they passed. It was that the people had become used to not seeing him. [...]
And if no one sees you, the monster said, picking up its pace, too, are you really there at all? [...]”
No, the screen couldn’t be dimming because there was that little battery marker in the lower right hand corner. Full to the brim.
Are you really there at all?
Finally, his fins, which had been valiantly trembling to catch his attention, finally got it, as they were folded and crushed into the side of his head as the darkness closed in.
“And then one day the invisible man decided, the monster said, its voice ringing in Conor's ears, I will make them see me. "How?" Conor asked, […] How did the man do it?"
[…]”
He was alone, out in the darkness of the Furthest Ring. The perfect place for a trap -
“He called, it said for a monster.”
Cronus got out one strangled little cry before the tendrils - tentacles - enveloped him completely. He tried to fight the darkness, tried to suck in a breath -
If you’re thinking you’re safe because you’re dead little Bard… well allow me to disabuse you of that quaint hope.
I’m gunna die. Double -die. And no one will ever know or even care. No hand reaching out to save me -
Is that self-pity I hear? What makes you think you’re entitled to even a shred of pity?
what the fuck else i done to you??
you ignored me.
Like a petulant little grub. “You ignored me”.
“But I’m in pain. It’s more than that.” He knew he wasn’t speaking aloud, but he felt he had to push back - fight it somehow. “That thing the human writer said. ‘The drip drip of long-haul, no-end-in-sight solitude’. I -”
Oh I know, don’t worry.
It’s sweep after sweep of wandering in lonely circles through the same dream bubbles you’ve seen a billion times. Of creeping on the edge of conversations you knew you’d never be asked to join. Of trying to corner people that were too weak, or too nice to tell you to fuck off. Of making up stupid stuff like the humankin nonsense - and even managing to fool yourself about it, because it meant someone would pay attention to you for more than five fucking seconds -
“‘Feeling the great store of unused, objectless love sitting in my belly like a stone until I was sure I would cry out and fall, flailing, to the ground,’” He recited, clutching desperately at his flimsy defence as though it might save him.
It’s stalking Mituna so you could get him alone. It’s exerting a petty, twisted power over someone, just because you can - because, in fact, it’s the only thing you can do.
WHY W0N7 7H3 W31RD 70UCH1NG 570P -
The part of him still conscious shuddered. What could he even say to that? How do you defend so reprehensible an action?
“...Because I can do it. And you can’t stop me” He replied to the darkness, the truth opening the floodgates for the darkness to fill him up, weighing him down like stones in his pocket, and tugging him down to the bottom of the ocean, “Because this is the only fucking way I ever feel like a person anymore -”
vwe alvways had a good thing together, didnt vwe?
“Only way I feel like I exist -”
1 W4N7 7H47 Y0UR H4ND 70 N07 83 0N MY 80DY PL3453
If you drown out the protests (if you squint) you can almost see it as friendship.
Y0UR MU51C 15 5H17 4ND 1 FUCK1N9 H473 Y0U
The lies we tell ourselves are often the best of all.
1M 50RRY
When did he become so bitter and twisted? He mused, as he settled into the sediment, and felt the first particles of himself begin to wash away.
yo that was some scuzzy repartee there even for you crodog
When did he become the worst fucking character in the shitty melodrama of their (after) lives?
(a monster)
He deserved this. He deserved worse . At least this was gentle…
Lost at the deepest part of the ocean, with that emptiness inside him finally filling up.
The hollowness, the grief and disgust at himself -
If there was nothing but pitch-black darkness, maybe he wouldn’t have to feel the gnawing hunger anymore…
He could just …. Be gone.
Good riddance to bad rubbish. That’s right. Shhhhh. Don’t fight it.
“But there are harder things than being invisible,” a soft voice said, reading the rest of the quote, “Conor was no longer invisible. They all saw him now. But he was further away than ever.”
Mmm…
…
....
Wait -!
That voice - speaking aloud in the void somehow -
Cronus tensed, pulling himself back together. Was that an orange glow he could see?
With herculean effort, he wrenched himself up, clawing at the tendrils around his throat and face.
It was! That soft flickering orange glow - no longer eerie. Now it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen -
Sat exactly where he’d been at the desk, Cronus’ eyes flew open.
He let out a raw cry of triumph, and felt the monster - the thing - skittering away to hide from the light.
“It’s a beautiful book.”
Cronus nearly fell out of the chair as the soft voice spoke again from behind him.
He staggered to his feet, and turned to see the human - Rose - her arms crossed across her chest, while her face remained gentle and reserved.
“If you’d like to borrow it some time, you might find it… helpful.”
“I was just - just- ” Cronus didn’t have an explanation.
What could he say? That he’d overheard the human with the light hair and orange robes was “Rose”, and knew a lot about “psychology” - which was basically how human brains worked?
That he’d mooched around the dream bubbles, sometimes following her, sometimes just stumbling on blindly, until he reached the room he was certain was hers.
That he’d had the fucking audacity to search through the laptop of the Seer of Light , the loremaster of the horrorterrors, and the matesprit of the other rainbow-drinker Maryam - because he’d wanted a reason to have another conversation with Kankri?
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Rose said, her voice quiet - but firm, “I know how it feels to be an outsider looking in - oh , and that reminds me; I also have the audio recording for this musical -”
“Shut up,” Cronus snarled, his fins flaring in agitation, the highblood anger once more clawing its way up his throat even as tears continued to drip off the tip of his nose. Rose simply raised an eyebrow.
“And there you go - lashing out because you don’t want to admit there’s a problem. Textbook.”
“I don’t have a problem,” he yelled back, slamming the laptop down on the bed and turning to stalk out of the bubble.
He’d been through enough - and he didn’t have to fucking explain himself to anyone -
“Sure you don’t,” came Rose’s reply, “but if you ever wanted to talk about the problem you don’t have, I’m about.”
Cronus paused.
But… she didn’t mean that. Did she?
He held his breath, and turned back.
A hand reaching out in the darkness –
No, he thought, looking back at Rose, her calm, serious face shining gently in the orange glow that illuminated her room.
From the light.