frustration and uncharacteristic anger. it's deep, but fragmented, a knife splintered to pieces. some, deeper than others. it wavers for a moment, crests.
and then falls to a numbing calm. eerily deafening.
percy is just standing at the desk. there are books on the floor, a sketchbook at a poorly-cocked angle so the pages are spilling out. there's a splintering cup in his hand and (thankfully, just) water on the floor :(
[ there's a moment where the sound of his name gets a ping of recognition and he turns. it's futility-grief-relief-shame all in one fastball special as he turns to look at him. ]
I tried to write a letter.
[ he swallows ]
To Chang Geng. For the... [ and he pauses, chews the words. a breath. they don't come and then they do. communicate. he promised he would. ] —box.
[ the porcelain crunches in his hand, and then drops in pieces.
[ his hand is dead weight, but he will let go, he pointedly looks away. something vibrates on the corners of his emotions, sharp and jagged. there should be a good and proper answer for this, but instead his voice is cold: ]
I asked myself... why bother? When you did the right thing?
[ his brow twitches once. twice. he looks down at the paper and he just sort of... grabs at the paper left on it. he can't. really read it bc none of us can mcfucking read right now, not unless he focuses, so he's left just sort of. curling fingers around the paper until it crumples.
his knuckles go white.
a wash of regret. the cup. the papers. the books. his letter. ]
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no subject
frustration and uncharacteristic anger. it's deep, but fragmented, a knife splintered to pieces. some, deeper than others. it wavers for a moment, crests.
and then falls to a numbing calm. eerily deafening.
percy is just standing at the desk. there are books on the floor, a sketchbook at a poorly-cocked angle so the pages are spilling out. there's a splintering cup in his hand and (thankfully, just) water on the floor :(
he doesn't really. say anything. ]
no subject
[that annoyance is immediately gone. it's faded purely into concern, worry, as emet-selch steps a little closer and peers down at him, brow furrowed.]
Percy, what is it.
no subject
I tried to write a letter.
[ he swallows ]
To Chang Geng. For the... [ and he pauses, chews the words. a breath. they don't come and then they do. communicate. he promised he would. ] —box.
[ the porcelain crunches in his hand, and then drops in pieces.
cold again, quiet. silence. ]
no subject
[he'll just take percy's hand himself, if he has to. leave it. don't get porcelain shards in your hand you've been injured enough recently.
the concern continues to emanate, muted a bit with focus.]
What happened when you did?
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I asked myself... why bother? When you did the right thing?
Why waste my time?
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[the focus is still primary in his own emotions-- just trying to pay attention to percy's, to figure out what's going on.]
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far off as he eyes trail over emet's shoulder. ]
Did I...?
[ his brow twitches once. twice. he looks down at the paper and he just sort of... grabs at the paper left on it. he can't. really read it bc none of us can mcfucking read right now, not unless he focuses, so he's left just sort of. curling fingers around the paper until it crumples.
his knuckles go white.
a wash of regret. the cup. the papers. the books. his letter. ]
no subject
[something doesn't seem right, about this, it's just-- putting his finger on what.]
Try this again later, as well, and ensure whether this response repeats itself.
no subject
[ he stands there. numbly. his voice is steady, oddly calm, but there's an edge to it. ]
I'm fine. I think.
I'm fine.
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[he's standing next to him, by now, not reaching out to touch but certainly close enough.]
Just- speak to me. Whatever is going through your mind, put voice to it, and mayhap we will see what is causing this.