Number FIVE ☂ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
somebadnews) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
westwhere2021-10-17 08:48 pm
somebadnews) wrote in westwhere2021-10-17 08:48 pm
Entry tags:
famous last words
WHO: Five and Winnie
WHEN: fresh out of lockdown/somewhere between October 19-22
WHERE: palace grounds
WHAT: mirror business, seven years of bad luck etc.
WARNINGS: language, tantrums, (maybe) doom
The undead that attacked the tower might have been what did it. Either Five had finally absorbed too much anguish, or he couldn't balance what was already there, but he'd increasingly holed himself up in his room since then. He's at his limit of what he can suppress, and he already suspects there's a campaign against him after he snapped a few too many times. But he hasn't given up on solving this himself. He has to trust that his family will manage to not get themselves killed while he puts all of his energy into getting rid of the curse. (It's a big ask, but he's hoping they'll have enough sense to tell him before they risk their lives on another bad decision.)
As long as they can manage to not have something catastrophic happen for just a few more days, he can get something to work. In the apocalypse he only had his own survival to distract him from his math, but here he has to make a conscious effort to ignore everything else so he can work out the variables. He's mostly ruled out the alternatives, and he hasn't had any brilliant insights since his last idea fell through.
It's slow going. He finds it monumentally difficult to concentrate, and he keeps going back to correct mistakes he wouldn't have made if it weren't for his handicap. He won't admit it, but the only time he was able to think clearly was when Winnie separated his soul from his body. He hasn't told anyone else about that experience since, but as terrifying as it is to think that she could have ended his existence, he wishes he could have been able to write something down back then.
Five only leaves when he needs to grab some coffee, and maybe something else for energy. He exits the room with barely a glance up, vaguely noting the people moving by. He hears passing rumors of Bonaccorso being poisoned and barely suppresses an eye roll. Of course he was.
Hunched with his hands in his pockets as he makes his way through the halls, he sees a familiar blonde woman coming towards him. A completely irrational panic flashes across his face before he quickly schools it to an impassive frown. He doesn't blink away, but he's paying careful attention to how close she gets to him.
"We keep running into each other." He tries for a casual tone, but he looks too tense to fully pull it off. "I thought we talked about that."
WHEN: fresh out of lockdown/somewhere between October 19-22
WHERE: palace grounds
WHAT: mirror business, seven years of bad luck etc.
WARNINGS: language, tantrums, (maybe) doom
The undead that attacked the tower might have been what did it. Either Five had finally absorbed too much anguish, or he couldn't balance what was already there, but he'd increasingly holed himself up in his room since then. He's at his limit of what he can suppress, and he already suspects there's a campaign against him after he snapped a few too many times. But he hasn't given up on solving this himself. He has to trust that his family will manage to not get themselves killed while he puts all of his energy into getting rid of the curse. (It's a big ask, but he's hoping they'll have enough sense to tell him before they risk their lives on another bad decision.)
As long as they can manage to not have something catastrophic happen for just a few more days, he can get something to work. In the apocalypse he only had his own survival to distract him from his math, but here he has to make a conscious effort to ignore everything else so he can work out the variables. He's mostly ruled out the alternatives, and he hasn't had any brilliant insights since his last idea fell through.
It's slow going. He finds it monumentally difficult to concentrate, and he keeps going back to correct mistakes he wouldn't have made if it weren't for his handicap. He won't admit it, but the only time he was able to think clearly was when Winnie separated his soul from his body. He hasn't told anyone else about that experience since, but as terrifying as it is to think that she could have ended his existence, he wishes he could have been able to write something down back then.
Five only leaves when he needs to grab some coffee, and maybe something else for energy. He exits the room with barely a glance up, vaguely noting the people moving by. He hears passing rumors of Bonaccorso being poisoned and barely suppresses an eye roll. Of course he was.
Hunched with his hands in his pockets as he makes his way through the halls, he sees a familiar blonde woman coming towards him. A completely irrational panic flashes across his face before he quickly schools it to an impassive frown. He doesn't blink away, but he's paying careful attention to how close she gets to him.
"We keep running into each other." He tries for a casual tone, but he looks too tense to fully pull it off. "I thought we talked about that."
no subject
When it dies down he looks around them, but all he sees are the scattered objects that the wind knocked over. The horrible thought that he might have just doomed them all finally gets him moving. He clenches his fists and tries to push back against time, but after several seconds the faint blue glow just shudders and sputters out and he breathes out a heavy sigh. He can't undo it. Because his previous mistake is still pulling away his energy.
"Shit." He wraps his arms around himself and tries to hold onto some of his body's warmth. Somewhere during that power serge he had wound up on the floor, and he's slow to push himself back up to his feet. The cold seeps into his bones and he glances to the broken mirror first, then Winnie.
"I didn't...," he starts, but doesn't continue as he fails to suppress his shivering. He can't defend himself, so he doesn't try. "Do you... what was that?"