Post by enchilada on May 14, 2019 23:17:39 GMT
Hardships make it abundantly clear who you are.
That’s what they said, anyway, they? They. And Dhaunmyr didn’t really know who he was. It was ironic, really, although he had no idea, that a bunny rabbit had a better sense of identity than him, who’d been himself for fifty years.
But, that gave the question. Who had be been for fifty years? Had he actually been himself in that time, or was that something he’d never really experienced until now?
Dhaunmyr had always had a similar haircut, that was longer now in the front, and he had a different parting, but it wasn’t so terribly changed. But it felt more important than it had before. It was less of a thing he had to look after, because people just had to have decent hair, more of a point of pride. It was perfectly blunt, straight, it was slicked back on one side, perfectly against his head, that wouldn’t come down unless he brushed it.
Which he had. On both sides, it fell to frame his face. For once, he was just looking at it, plain, unaltered. The mirror showed him someone he wasn’t sure he recognised. Shiny, with very slightly lighter points on his face. His eyes were scared, trembling always, bright blue like the sky he’d only just really met with. Dhaunmyr felt that he looked strange, ghostly. There was a disconnect, here. Failed to make it mine.
Where? He was thin, but he already knew that. They say I’m-Maybe it was just the lighting. Dhaunmyr looked around, behind him, over his shoulder. There was a full-length mirror in the wardrobe, he was kneeling in front of it, silver-backed hairbrush in his hand. The reflection in the little round mirror behind him was so much smaller, so much more vague. He had no idea what to really think.
And it didn’t help with the question.
Was it how he looked? Well, he knew he didn’t look exactly how he wanted to look. There was at least one thing he wanted to change, first.
He turned back around, trailing a finger over his cheekbone, lips parted just slightly.
But I throw up all the time.
Why was he struggling tonight, today, whatever— it was... she hadn’t sent any kind of correspondence. Neither had he, granted, but he sort of... didn’t expect to have to initiate, that someone would find him to give him a message. Maybe she was more patient when he wasn’t there.
But did that change who he was? He didn’t think so, that was just a casual yearning, that was a want, he didn’t want who he was, that wouldn’t have made sense.
Dhaunmyr touched the mirror with a shaking hand. It was so... intangible, the reflection was barely him. Kara didn’t feel this way. She was self assured, and strong, she never faltered. Dhaunmyr always faltered, he had no strength in his body or his soul. And, sometimes, you had to be okay with that.
Maybe he needed some soul-searchy bullshit. Some forced hardship. The coolness of the glass on his fingertips was almost numbing, like... like. Well, it was how he felt in that moment. Cold and flat, numb and empty. Dried up mascara tears were hours smudged and dried, his eyes still felt puffy. Who was he supposed to be with a look like that? Unexplainable. If someone walked in, he’d have nothing to say, his tongue wouldn’t make the shapes it would have to, no movement. Frozen solid. But his breath still fogged the glass. Do you fake it for me like I?
So close, every pore, every detail. He wondered if his eyes were really that blue or just surrounded by contrast, and whether, to someone else’s eye, he really looked that starved. Was that it? He was the peak of coping in silence with mechanisms that would kill him. The world would defeat him, swallowed whole by the weight of it all, just like he was sure everyone in the Underdark was counting on, like they always had.
No.
Dhaunmyr... was Dhaunmyr. He wasn’t just Dhaunmyr, no. He laughed at the idea of being just Dhaunmyr, being anything less than Dhaunmyr fucking Vivacity. His broad shoulders rose and fell with his barely-there chest; he didn’t bother recounting his ribs.
Dhaunmyr Vivacity was loud, and he was bubbly, and kind, and generous — but what did he want to be? He took to his feet, finally. Strong, and brave. With enough courage to do the right thing without a second thought. He could let people know what he was thinking, he didn’t have to cloud it with pointless words. And he belonged to no one.
All he had to figure out, then, was how to be that man he wanted to be.
Hardships? Why? When? How?
He couldn’t answer any of those questions, and his head was heavy, and his arms were tired, and all Dhaunmyr wanted was to be anybody else, if Dhaunmyr could only be anybody else, he’d...
Maybe he wouldn’t be the man he wanted to be, but he’d be the one he could have been. Going out, maybe married, stable, happy.
But nobody said that couldn’t come, he had to remind himself of that. When you let nobody close, it was hard to expect...
He laughed again, almost desperately. Dhaunmyr couldn’t dwell on it any more, he was who he was. And who he aimed to be wasn’t anybody different, just someone improved, someone, somehow, better.
There had to be more to it. He was simplifying it too much. Himself, Vivacity, how to... be. He was being ridiculous, it was impossible. Stop it, stop thinking that for a mere second of a spark, you could possibly feel any better. There’s a slippery slope, and then there’s a twenty foot deep, straight down pit. No climbing out of that one, idiot. You can’t make something without worth suddenly have a shred of point to it. He was pointless, his life was pointless, he... not so dark, tonight, was all he could beg of his thoughts.
As he climbed into bed, to sleep, just for something to do, just something simple, the easiest possible time sink, he shook it all off.
It makes me sick
That’s what they said, anyway, they? They. And Dhaunmyr didn’t really know who he was. It was ironic, really, although he had no idea, that a bunny rabbit had a better sense of identity than him, who’d been himself for fifty years.
But, that gave the question. Who had be been for fifty years? Had he actually been himself in that time, or was that something he’d never really experienced until now?
Dhaunmyr had always had a similar haircut, that was longer now in the front, and he had a different parting, but it wasn’t so terribly changed. But it felt more important than it had before. It was less of a thing he had to look after, because people just had to have decent hair, more of a point of pride. It was perfectly blunt, straight, it was slicked back on one side, perfectly against his head, that wouldn’t come down unless he brushed it.
Which he had. On both sides, it fell to frame his face. For once, he was just looking at it, plain, unaltered. The mirror showed him someone he wasn’t sure he recognised. Shiny, with very slightly lighter points on his face. His eyes were scared, trembling always, bright blue like the sky he’d only just really met with. Dhaunmyr felt that he looked strange, ghostly. There was a disconnect, here. Failed to make it mine.
Where? He was thin, but he already knew that. They say I’m-Maybe it was just the lighting. Dhaunmyr looked around, behind him, over his shoulder. There was a full-length mirror in the wardrobe, he was kneeling in front of it, silver-backed hairbrush in his hand. The reflection in the little round mirror behind him was so much smaller, so much more vague. He had no idea what to really think.
And it didn’t help with the question.
Was it how he looked? Well, he knew he didn’t look exactly how he wanted to look. There was at least one thing he wanted to change, first.
He turned back around, trailing a finger over his cheekbone, lips parted just slightly.
But I throw up all the time.
Buttery and sweet and warm and hot.
Doesn’t it smell like winter?
Or,
More like
Cinnamon pastries that you can’t remember the taste of,
Brief, almost undetectable in the air,
Warm drifting winds melt the ice,
The snow in windowpanes that cling to white painted wood in corners and on edges
It doesn’t last long.
Doesn’t it smell like winter?
Or,
More like
Cinnamon pastries that you can’t remember the taste of,
Brief, almost undetectable in the air,
Warm drifting winds melt the ice,
The snow in windowpanes that cling to white painted wood in corners and on edges
It doesn’t last long.
Why was he struggling tonight, today, whatever— it was... she hadn’t sent any kind of correspondence. Neither had he, granted, but he sort of... didn’t expect to have to initiate, that someone would find him to give him a message. Maybe she was more patient when he wasn’t there.
But did that change who he was? He didn’t think so, that was just a casual yearning, that was a want, he didn’t want who he was, that wouldn’t have made sense.
Dhaunmyr touched the mirror with a shaking hand. It was so... intangible, the reflection was barely him. Kara didn’t feel this way. She was self assured, and strong, she never faltered. Dhaunmyr always faltered, he had no strength in his body or his soul. And, sometimes, you had to be okay with that.
Maybe he needed some soul-searchy bullshit. Some forced hardship. The coolness of the glass on his fingertips was almost numbing, like... like. Well, it was how he felt in that moment. Cold and flat, numb and empty. Dried up mascara tears were hours smudged and dried, his eyes still felt puffy. Who was he supposed to be with a look like that? Unexplainable. If someone walked in, he’d have nothing to say, his tongue wouldn’t make the shapes it would have to, no movement. Frozen solid. But his breath still fogged the glass. Do you fake it for me like I?
So close, every pore, every detail. He wondered if his eyes were really that blue or just surrounded by contrast, and whether, to someone else’s eye, he really looked that starved. Was that it? He was the peak of coping in silence with mechanisms that would kill him. The world would defeat him, swallowed whole by the weight of it all, just like he was sure everyone in the Underdark was counting on, like they always had.
No.
Dhaunmyr... was Dhaunmyr. He wasn’t just Dhaunmyr, no. He laughed at the idea of being just Dhaunmyr, being anything less than Dhaunmyr fucking Vivacity. His broad shoulders rose and fell with his barely-there chest; he didn’t bother recounting his ribs.
Dhaunmyr Vivacity was loud, and he was bubbly, and kind, and generous — but what did he want to be? He took to his feet, finally. Strong, and brave. With enough courage to do the right thing without a second thought. He could let people know what he was thinking, he didn’t have to cloud it with pointless words. And he belonged to no one.
All he had to figure out, then, was how to be that man he wanted to be.
Hardships? Why? When? How?
He couldn’t answer any of those questions, and his head was heavy, and his arms were tired, and all Dhaunmyr wanted was to be anybody else, if Dhaunmyr could only be anybody else, he’d...
Maybe he wouldn’t be the man he wanted to be, but he’d be the one he could have been. Going out, maybe married, stable, happy.
But nobody said that couldn’t come, he had to remind himself of that. When you let nobody close, it was hard to expect...
He laughed again, almost desperately. Dhaunmyr couldn’t dwell on it any more, he was who he was. And who he aimed to be wasn’t anybody different, just someone improved, someone, somehow, better.
There had to be more to it. He was simplifying it too much. Himself, Vivacity, how to... be. He was being ridiculous, it was impossible. Stop it, stop thinking that for a mere second of a spark, you could possibly feel any better. There’s a slippery slope, and then there’s a twenty foot deep, straight down pit. No climbing out of that one, idiot. You can’t make something without worth suddenly have a shred of point to it. He was pointless, his life was pointless, he... not so dark, tonight, was all he could beg of his thoughts.
As he climbed into bed, to sleep, just for something to do, just something simple, the easiest possible time sink, he shook it all off.
It makes me sick
