Foster Van Denend (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
control_freak) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lostcarnival2017-06-03 12:26 am
control_freak) wrote in lostcarnival2017-06-03 12:26 am
Entry tags:
Oh Hell No [Closed]
Who: Taako and Foster
When: After Rex's Birthday Party
Where: Lakeside
What: Taako tries to figure out what Foster's problem was. Foster has to explain black people to some kind of space elf, I guess.
Warnings: Foster is trying to explain black people, racism, and genetics to an elf. I don't know, it'll probably be kinda... dicey.
Hours later, Foster was still at the lake. After escaping the party (he'd attended, he'd been there, he had obeyed his supervisor's order(s), even if in letter only and not by spirit), he'd found his way there, somehow, at some point. How or when, he didn't know. It didn't matter.
If he'd had an idea in mind when he steered himself here, when fate(?) had driven him here, again--
Mmh. Was that it?
He couldn't immerse himself in the water now, could not sink into its dark swallowing depths, not without committing himself to its final definition--not without submitting himself to the water's judgment and abandoning himself to drown.
Was that what he'd meant to do on his way here? He couldn't remember.
Over time, it didn't matter. He sat by the water's ledge, on a bank of clay, his hooved feet dangling in the water--he was cooling off, literally and otherwise. He was still agitated, but not in any emotional way. Just... his brain was scrambled up, snarls and turbulent echoes. A condition he was treating, intuitively, with silence and water.
When: After Rex's Birthday Party
Where: Lakeside
What: Taako tries to figure out what Foster's problem was. Foster has to explain black people to some kind of space elf, I guess.
Warnings: Foster is trying to explain black people, racism, and genetics to an elf. I don't know, it'll probably be kinda... dicey.
Hours later, Foster was still at the lake. After escaping the party (he'd attended, he'd been there, he had obeyed his supervisor's order(s), even if in letter only and not by spirit), he'd found his way there, somehow, at some point. How or when, he didn't know. It didn't matter.
If he'd had an idea in mind when he steered himself here, when fate(?) had driven him here, again--
Mmh. Was that it?
He couldn't immerse himself in the water now, could not sink into its dark swallowing depths, not without committing himself to its final definition--not without submitting himself to the water's judgment and abandoning himself to drown.
Was that what he'd meant to do on his way here? He couldn't remember.
Over time, it didn't matter. He sat by the water's ledge, on a bank of clay, his hooved feet dangling in the water--he was cooling off, literally and otherwise. He was still agitated, but not in any emotional way. Just... his brain was scrambled up, snarls and turbulent echoes. A condition he was treating, intuitively, with silence and water.
no subject
Well, he's kind of involved whether he wants to be or not, by this point, but maybe he can just try and ease his way right back out of the path of whatever oncoming clusterfuck this guy's life is.
"Well, if that's all, then I guess I'm... gonna go? Unless you've got some other racially-charged fuckin' discourse you wanna throw at me here."