shellphones | (no subject)

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Type: Accidental Video
Sender ID: 🖕nunya🖕(Sidestep)
To: Public
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Warnings: Mention of death and torture. Threads are likely to end up going deeply traumatic places.

(It's a typical day on Nogard, though many people who see this might be elsewhere.

Many have probably heard by now that Chris is dead. Has been dead for several days, in fact, after being captured and tortured by Ganon.

Except... they're not?

That's definitely a shot of a very panicked looking Chris running... somewhere, not paying attention to the shellphone clutched in their hand or noticing that it's recording.

Several people can be heard yelling in surprise in the background as Chris darts past them.

...The fuck are they even running from? It doesn't sound like they're being chased.

The hand holding the shellphone bumps into something, and the video cuts out.)

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(They cross their arms, looking away.)

I'm not even a real person.

(The fuck do you even care, asshole?)

What's a real person anyway? Cause I've had to adjust my definition plenty since gettin' here.

[ Which they know, given they made fun of him for having to work on it. Maybe that makes more sense in retrospect. ]

Someone... made you, right? From scratch, like an angel? Or like the professor?

[ It occurs to him after he says this that he doesn't actually know for certain how much Chris already knew about Turo. ]

Not me, clearly, if you ask anyone from my world!

(The words are spat out with a snarl.

So he knows about Turo then.)

Grew me from the remains of some kid the cops murdered, apparently. Brewed a whole big batch of us in oversized fishtanks and dosed us with drugs til we turned into something useful or died.

[ He can't help flinching a little. He's not sure what to say to any of that; he can't do anything about it and he can't argue the fact it all seems horrifying.

He's been having nightmares just based on the glimpses he saw.

He's also not sure if the added context makes it make any more sense to him, or not. If they were made from a dead person are they more like a saint after all?

He doesn't actually ask, though he supposes they'll know he's wondering all the same. ]

Can't pretend I know what any of that is like. But I'm not from your world, and you seem as much like a person as anyone.

[ Whether they're a person he trusts is largely a separate issue. ]

A creepy, gross one, maybe. (Yeah, they see those thoughts, and it stings.

...This is why they don't tell people they're a telepath. And especially don't tell people they're an alpha telepath.

They know they're disgusting and inhuman and their powers are creepy and invasive, they don't need other people telling them.)

[ The inhuman part doesn't seem to bother him that much; he really has been working on that. But the telepathy does not play well with his general paranoia. Nor does the idea they used to be working for Ganon, even if it would be fairly hypocritical to judge. ]

Never said that. I'll give you really annoying.

[ He is trying to break the tension a little. Whether or not it's likely to work. ]

You don't have to.

(Though they're taking his thoughts in the most uncharitable way possible.)

[ He huffs a little a scrubs a hand down his face. He's doing his best here. Kind of, at least. ]

Look, if I didn't like you at all I wouldn't have come to get you or told you where your rat-thing was.

[ Even if that was also an excuse to talk to them. ]

(And they're being their worst. Is it really surprising?)

Whatever. (Just because he's stupid now doesn't mean he'll be stupid forever. They know he'll turn against them eventually.)

[ It's not, but this is... getting nowhere. ]

Alright, well, you can glare at me just as easy while I get things done, I guess.

[ And he'll head back towards the gardens, at least if they actually follow. ]

(And they will! If only because leaving now would feel like letting him have the last word. Like losing.

Congrats, Faulkner, you've acquired a shitty immature child!)

Whatever.

Uh-huh.

[ He'll go ahead and start watering plants, and various other little tasks. At some point he'll pause to eat a strawberry in front of them; it does in fact look pretty good. Judging by his general response it also tastes good, which he's at least mildly proud of. ]

(They scoff, and don't say anything, instead just sulking around like a creeper. A creeper who won't help with anything, so they're also an asshole.

They do an admirable job of resisting the lure of strawberries, despite how hungry they are. Faulkner eating one does not make them crack, but they do sulk at him, as if angry that he gets to have strawberries when they don't even though it's pretty clear they are, in fact, welcome to have some strawberries and it's their own stubborn refusal keeping them from enjoying the delights of fruit freshly picked from a garden.)

...You can have one you know.

[ He knows they'll probably insist on refusing, but come on. Just eat a fucking strawberry Chris, they are partly for you.

He even mentioned that to Keigo before when he was planting them. Though he didn't spell out the fact that it was somewhat meant to be a peace offering. ]

Need a second opinion on whether they taste normal. Still gettin' used to the whole using magic.

(They catch that bit of thought and hunch up a little, as though trying to protect themself from Faulkner's care.)

...Whatever. (They snatch a strawberry.) Fuck you, Faulkner.

Fuck you too, buddy.

[ His tone is mild. He can take being sworn at if they're going ahead and eating something. That's a small win.

...Though he tries not to think too hard about seeing it as a win. Which probably doesn't help. But hey, at least the strawberry's good? ]

They taste right, or no?

(They pop the strawberry into their mouth and bite down.

...And for a moment, their eyes widen in a way that's probably alarming: it looks like they might tear up almost, but they shake their head, turning away.)

They're fine. (It might be incredibly obvious at this point that Chris is trying very hard to not be overwhelmed. Nothing is going how they expected it to, and even if that's a good thing--they expected things to be horrible--it's still not good for their stress.)

[ And that's at least somewhat familiar.

...He can't really judge when he recently had a breakdown over a date going better than expected and finding that overwhelming.

But that doesn't mean he's actually sure what to do for someone else. Especially someone that he does have a lot of questions for sooner or later. ]

Okay. Glad they didn't turn out weird.

Yeah.

(Their voice is slightly throaty, and they very pointedly aren't looking at him.

Give them another minute or two, and they will quietly steal another strawberry.)

[ Well, that's a start. That's something. For the moment he'll just keep picking at garden tasks and hope they steal more strawberries. He's a little worried talking to them too much more too soon will scare them off. ]

(Once they realize he's not gonna comment or bother them, they will, in fact, start stealing more strawberries while admiring the plants.

Their attention drifts. Though the minds of a lot of things that live in gardens are too small or too shallow for them to read, the sense of living things going about their day unbothered is ...soothing.)

[ The longer he just waits the more he finds things to be anxious about, unfortunately. That said, finding things to do keeps that part of his mind relatively quiet, and he's glad they're eating.

At some point Angel will come and try to bother him to play, nosing at him with one nose while carrying two sticks. ]

I'm workin'. You should make Chris throw those for you.

[ And he'll nod in their direction. Looks like they're not getting out of some attention. ]

(They sense Angel coming and immediately reach out to touch his mind, to ground themself in the unfettered essence that is a dog... dogs? Cerberus minds are weird.

Maybe that's what protects them from accidentally drawing his attention away from Faulkner.

Of course, then Faulkner directs Angel toward them anyway.

They look up, startled.)

Pretty sure he needs two people to throw those sticks. (Fuck you, you're not getting out of this.)

[ And well, the biggest thing Chris will glean from the dog minds is this: as much as they do want attention, it's more about pestering Faulkner because their human has been seeming unhappy. Maybe throwing a stick will help.

Angel's attention is fairly easily redirected all the same, and he'll sniff at Chris a lot because Chris hasn't been around lately. ]

Guess you've got me there.

[ Even if he wasn't so much trying to get out of this as just hoping it might be a good distraction. ]

(Chris smells of fear and blood and death and dark magic. More specifically, they smell scared and distressed and there are lingering traces of bad injuries from bad magic despite them being okay now.

Normally there'd also be the smell of--usually unscented--soap and the various foods they like to keep on their person, but they are both unwashed and also have no food on them other than the strawberries they've been eating. They probably smell like those too.)

Come on Dick, grab a stick.

(They say, as they reach out and try to take one of the sticks from Angel. Well, apparently they can still try and be funny, at least?)

Edited 2025-09-01 06:06 (UTC)

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CW: I keep forgetting to warn like a moron, but this thread is likely to get worse

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