[ It feels like it's been a slow-motion trainwreck of a summer so far. That's the opposite of last summer, which was great until it abruptly wasn't. So maybe it's a sign that it'll keep being steadily bad, instead of suddenly crushing.
Max has spent the last few days doing...something with Will. Should Basil have asked, she's responded with an embarrassed grumble that he'll see soon, that it's just a project she's helping him with. But it's been clear that she's distracting herself. Every waking moment, it's been something, out of fear that she'll fall back into a crushing depression the moment she wakes up on the 4th and expects to hear fireworks and screaming.
It's technically been over a year. If she's counting chronologically, it had actually been the anniversary of Billy's death shortly after this new year started. Shortly after she met Basil. But months tended to blur and fly for Max when her mood drops, and it certainly proved that way in her initial arrival in Felfri and adjustment in Ryslig, as death refused to let her go for all but a month. The weather shoots her back to those summer days, and the already gaping feeling of loss when she thinks about Steve put her in just the right position to close her eyes and feel El's weight against her, or the back of Billy's hand on her cheek—see the tendrils tear into his body, the hole in his stomach. Hear his weak apology, smell his blood, so thick she could taste it in the air.
So yes. With this, and with the trees, and with Steve, and with Trish, Max is desperate not to sit and feel it. This also means, consequently, though she has her new Walkman, she tends towards listening to it with company, rather than alone in her room. It's an echo back to the old Max. The energetic, active one, who sought people out instead of pushed them away. She tells herself it's not pretending when she genuinely wants connection. The idea of losing someone else keeps reaching down her throat and clawing at her insides. It's been planted in her head that one by one, they're all going to vanish, and she'll be stuck all alone. So she starts making plans. Going out, seeing people.
It means she doesn't have to come home ("home") to a mansion with two less occupants—one against his will, and one by choice.
Today, she's adjusting her skateboard while she sits in the grass next to Basil's garden. She doesn't even have to ask, he approaches her—which has her feel some kind of way, which...also has her feel some kind of way. Funny and fuzzy, and overwhelmingly guilty.
A small wrench in her hand, she tilts her head at the Jellyragoras, somewhere between amazed and grossed out. ]
Oh, I guess magic's just normal for you, isn't it? [ She teases, reaching out a hand toward the plant but stopping short. ] Can I touch it?
[ It is, for the record, much nicer for her after dark, too. Moreso than usual, what with the hot temperature, and how long days last and how short nights are. That used to be a joy for her, a California girl born and bred; either warm San Diego beaches or green Hawkins fields, where she'd listen to the waves or feel the blades of grass tickling her freckles.
Now, she longs for the day to end, so the heat won't beat down on her, exhausting her body and frustrating her mind. ]
cw: ptsd mentions, depression
Max has spent the last few days doing...something with Will. Should Basil have asked, she's responded with an embarrassed grumble that he'll see soon, that it's just a project she's helping him with. But it's been clear that she's distracting herself. Every waking moment, it's been something, out of fear that she'll fall back into a crushing depression the moment she wakes up on the 4th and expects to hear fireworks and screaming.
It's technically been over a year. If she's counting chronologically, it had actually been the anniversary of Billy's death shortly after this new year started. Shortly after she met Basil. But months tended to blur and fly for Max when her mood drops, and it certainly proved that way in her initial arrival in Felfri and adjustment in Ryslig, as death refused to let her go for all but a month. The weather shoots her back to those summer days, and the already gaping feeling of loss when she thinks about Steve put her in just the right position to close her eyes and feel El's weight against her, or the back of Billy's hand on her cheek—see the tendrils tear into his body, the hole in his stomach. Hear his weak apology, smell his blood, so thick she could taste it in the air.
So yes. With this, and with the trees, and with Steve, and with Trish, Max is desperate not to sit and feel it. This also means, consequently, though she has her new Walkman, she tends towards listening to it with company, rather than alone in her room. It's an echo back to the old Max. The energetic, active one, who sought people out instead of pushed them away. She tells herself it's not pretending when she genuinely wants connection. The idea of losing someone else keeps reaching down her throat and clawing at her insides. It's been planted in her head that one by one, they're all going to vanish, and she'll be stuck all alone. So she starts making plans. Going out, seeing people.
It means she doesn't have to come home ("home") to a mansion with two less occupants—one against his will, and one by choice.
Today, she's adjusting her skateboard while she sits in the grass next to Basil's garden. She doesn't even have to ask, he approaches her—which has her feel some kind of way, which...also has her feel some kind of way. Funny and fuzzy, and overwhelmingly guilty.
A small wrench in her hand, she tilts her head at the Jellyragoras, somewhere between amazed and grossed out. ]
Oh, I guess magic's just normal for you, isn't it? [ She teases, reaching out a hand toward the plant but stopping short. ] Can I touch it?
[ It is, for the record, much nicer for her after dark, too. Moreso than usual, what with the hot temperature, and how long days last and how short nights are. That used to be a joy for her, a California girl born and bred; either warm San Diego beaches or green Hawkins fields, where she'd listen to the waves or feel the blades of grass tickling her freckles.
Now, she longs for the day to end, so the heat won't beat down on her, exhausting her body and frustrating her mind. ]