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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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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