lostcarnival | DAY 173: WELL FUCK

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the psiioniic

DAY 173: WELL FUCK

Who: Psi and Labor Crew
What: Change of Plans...
Where: The Dining Hall
When: Day 173, right after breakfast.

Doesn't matter who you are or what you are doing. After breakfast on day 173 Psi is hunting down members of his crew, using the radio if he has to. He's already been doing headcounts at breakfast every morning, visually checking up on everyone even if he can't ask them personally if they are alright. Headcounts mean shit to him right now, however. He's clearly stressed, has been for the past few days, but he's managed to not scream at anyone at least. That might be changing now.

"Listen to me." He says, nervously looking around to make sure no one is paying attention to them. "Evening radio check-ins are now mandatory. I don't care what you are doing, if I can't see you, I better be hearing your voice on the radio."

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Papyrus looks around too, not sure who they're supposed to be keeping this secret from. The other carnival folks? The servants? The manor itself? Do the walls have ears?

It's a strange mental image, a delightful distraction from the fearful notion what he knows what this is about. There were multiple people not at breakfast, and one of them... Well.

He lowers his voice far enough that only sentient furniture should be able to hear. "Is this... on any specific frequency? I'm already reading stories on my channel. You can hear my voice all night."

Edited 2017-10-12 17:22 (UTC)

"Oh. That's right." Psi says, shaking his head as though to dislodge whatever made him forget about Papyrus' bedtime stories in the first place.

"I'd also like everyone to stick with a buddy, but I guess with the room pairs being outside our control that's just not possible all the time."

"Look, make sure if you see anyone on our side doing anything suspicious that you tell me. We don't need anyone getting in trouble. Understand?"

It might be an overwhelming experience, right hours of Papyrus trying to do voices for the characters. Too much to acknowledge in the relative light of what passes for day in this realm.

"Anybody... else, huh?" He glances back toward where they'd eaten, where he'd noted the multiple missing faces. "I understand! And will call you! On your channel. My radio will be with me the whole time!"

He notices the as Papyrus glances over to the table and suddenly the pieces click for him. Sans was missing. Sans was Papyrus' brother. Here he was freaking out about "anybody else going missing" when one of the people missing was obviously someone Papyrus would care quite a bit about. The Psionic suddenly feels like a total jackass. He feels even worse when he realizes he can't tell Papyrus they're trying to get him back. They have no plan, no leverage in a situation like this. They were trapped.

"...We have to trust the Ringmaster to handle this." She was the only one who could really do anything here. As mad as he is at her for bringing them here, he has to believe she would do something.

Papyrus nods, and out of habit fixes a confident smile in place. Knowing that, if something goes wrong, he should go to his boss and ask her for help... The feeling of being trapped in a small realm he can't escape, as people mysteriously disappear... It's like he's back home! And openly expressing the feelings of fear and helplessness just aren't done. Especially since such displays make it harder for the people around to hold onto their own hope...

"Yeah! I'm sure she can!" He grasps around for something a little more substantial, since it seems Psi's not very great at shouting motivational encouragements. "Like... in Hell! Everything worked out."

Psi looks surprised by that response, and then he smiles, weakly. Despite that he doesn't look happy, though at least he doesn't look as stressed and panicked as before. She did come for them, it was true, but how much trauma would those they lost suffer this time? When would she decide enough was enough? He laughs, nothing more than a soft exhale of sound.

"How can you seem so confident?"

It's hard to tell if that's a sigh or a laugh, but he's at least trying to smile. And making the effort is at least the first two steps. Papyrus' smile gets that extra notch brighter and more sincere.

"Well, I practice. A lot! I think lots of unpleasant, nervous, angry things... but, if I said them all, it would just discourage everyone. They'd be sad, and not want to be around me..." Something about his voice says: he's speaking from experience. He doesn't give any sign whether it's his own experience, watching watching someone else be negative and lonely, or both.

"So I don't dwell on that! I focus on the positives. Lots of good things happen all the time! I want to encourage them to keep happening." Papyrus considers for a moment, then winks. "Some of it is, I admit, natural skill. But don't let that discourage you! Practice is still a very big piece."

And the Psionic has no idea how to respond to that, the thinking so different from his own. The thought that all this time Papyrus' natural positivity was simple the skeleton pretending, he didn't know how to handle that.

"Doesn't that... Feel sad?"

Papyrus tilts his head like he's confused.

"What would feel sad? Pushing myself not to dwell in sadness... is what I'm doing?"

The Psionic just looks away. He can't even imagine it. Which is hypocritical considering how frequently he simply pretends his problems don't exist. Still, he feels there's a difference between feelings and circumstances. Circumstances could be forgotten, but his feelings were always present. When he was sad he acted sad, and when he was happy likewise. He couldn't just force his feelings to change. He didn't think anyone could.

"And the sadness just... Goes away?"

"Not immediately. Sadness... It's still around, as long as whatever caused it is still around."

And believe him, right now there's plenty of present, active causes for sadness.

"But... hmm. It's like dogs who want a bone, making a ruckus, howling for attention, tugging at my sleeve and asking for one! Even if I wanted to my bones away, and I almost never do, the more I stay with them talking about it... the longer it takes for me to get the bone! They're very silly like that! And I'm not falling for it. I politely but firmly close the door."

Papyrus nods, decisively, like that's all there is to it. Briefly acknowledge the emotions, all the aches and wants and downs, then decide what to do independent of them. His frustrated outbursts with his brother, reflexively blaming Sans for his own failures, surely don't point to any failure with this idea.

He doesn't really get it. The metaphor doesn't help either, but he supposes there's really no point in him understanding it. As long as Papyrus is alright, that's something he can appreciate. He puts a hand on the skeleton's shoulder.

"I'm glad you've found a good way to deal with it all."

"So am I!" Papyrus chirps, bright and earnest.

Without some way to push that stuff aside, well. A kind of sad resignation runs in the family. His own grumpy, belligerent teenage years were one thing, especially since it was just him and Sans at that point.

He reaches up, pats the top of Psi's hand. "It might not work for everyone... but, it might. So if you ever want, ask! I'm happy to give advice."

Foster has already had a bit of an interesting morning, so when Psi practically sneaks up behind him, he just turns and regards his supervisor for a moment--the kind of pause Psi gets when he's about to say something contrary.

But he doesn't.

"Is this because of Reira?" is all he asks. His tone is cool, even. The mare he's been given the reins to stands next to him, eyeing Psi out of one large brown eye, grey ears swivelling like she's listening in. Then:

"Okay."

Psi sits on his horse that he can barely control looking absolutely shocked. He 100% expected this to be a bigger deal than that. Compliance? From Foster? He looks the man over again, as though to make sure he's really there.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Actually, that's probably a dumb question. Brain holes. He doesn't need to hear about it again. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"No, nevermind, just make sure you actually even if you're agreeing sarcastically."

Foster's nose wrinkles up the instant Psi asks how he's feeling--but he doesn't fight him. He just blinks, slowly, then looks up at Psi with lizardlike laziness.

"What are you going to do?" he asks, his tail swishing at his hocks. His horse's tail is equally restless, but when she attempts to move her head away, Foster declines to slacken the reins, so she resigns herself to standing. She snorts into his hair.

But his question is not 'or else what?' Not this time, anyway. Because things have definitely taken a turn for the worse.

So what is Psi going to do?

Edited 2017-10-14 03:47 (UTC)

He sighs, dropping his hand to give Foster an exasperated look.

"Going to do with what?" he asks, still wondering if there actually is anything he can do to help Reira in the back of his mind. That can't possibly be what Foster is asking him though. He's probably just trying to be a smartass.

I'd say what the Psionic's horse is doing here, but I don't know a single thing about fucking horses so use your imagination.

"Not with," Foster corrects him. "About."

'With' is kind of a meaningless question, unless Psi is asking what he'll do with himself. Or with Foster. It's better to make use of him for such things when you can, after all... but he has more than enough experience with Psi to know the troll is too weak to do it.

It's frustrating. He knows that in Portland, Psi had more than enough willpower to assert himself that way. But he can't complain... not this time, anyway. Psi is at least starting to return to one use for him, after all.

....it's kind of a relief.

He just hopes it continues.

Oh yes, about. That's much better. Not.

"What can I do?" he asks, still clearly agitated. When he'd talked with the other supervisors this morning everyone agreed there was nothing to be done. He didn't like it, but he didn't have many other options.

"Isn't that your responsibility?" Foster asks. It's either cool or coy, and unfortunately, his horse's decision to abruptly put her two-foot-long face in front of his doesn't help to clarify that.

He tries to push her out of the way, his claws curling around her nose as he tries to and angle her out of the way, but she snorts hot breath and horse snot into his fur in response.

"Anyway," he says around his horse's face. "If nothing is your choice, then I guess your mind is already made up! So I guess I shouldn't have said anything."

The horse head in the way is still not making his intentions any clear.

The Psionic just watches the spectacle before him. Normally he'd find it at least a little funny, but now he can't. He's too stressed, to on edge and his anxiety has found his sense of humor and trampled it underfoot, much like it seems this horse would like to do to Foster.

"If you want to say something to me fucking say it, otherwise fuck off. I don't have time for your bullshit today."

Foster doesn't look even a little fazed by that. "You don't have to stay here and listen to me!" he reminds the Psiionic brightly. "You can leave any time!"

In truth, people's refusal to simply walk away from him is somewhat baffling; when he's having a good day, like now, it occurs to him to remind them.

Most of the time, though, what another being chooses to do is as incomprehensible as life on entirely different plane. Reality shifts and wavers; nothing is constant or real. He is subject only to the whims of the universe, he is denied such luxuries as motives or choices. After all, nothing can decide nothing. The fact that Psi lets it get to him so constantly is bizarre.

Especially now. When he has such better things to do.

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