Lapis Lazuli (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oceantier) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
interstellar55552016-06-16 09:38 pm
oceantier) wrote in interstellar55552016-06-16 09:38 pm
Entry tags:
And I need your love the most
Who: Lapis and characters who participated in her plotline
What: Lapis deals with the aftermath of being controlled by Lesedi and taken down by Gold.
When: Backdated like whoa until shortly after the festival attacks.
Where: Various -- mostly Agent Apartment.
Warnings: Probable angst/trauma dealings
A. Closed to Signless - For three days after Gold arrives and hands it over to Signless, Lapis' gem lies quiet, inert, going wherever Signless goes without any signs of life.
Not until the third day does it awaken.
Light blooms in its core, flushing outward until the whole stone is alive with it, gleaming. Rising into the air from its nest on Signless' mattress, it floats from the bed, light blossoming into the shape of a young woman and flourishing into detail -- toes, fingers, and trailing ribbons that stir in an absent breeze. She uncurls like a bird hatching from an egg, stretching, feet grazing the floorboards, then coming to rest.
For a moment she only stands there, eyes slipping open like she's awakening from a dream, gaze hazy and distant.
And then suddenly, she's awake.
With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, her eyes whisk about the room, wheeling around at the four walls like an animal who's suddenly found herself in a cage, desperate, panicked. Her feet brace against the floor as though she means to run -- somewhere, anywhere -- hands clapping over her ears, eyes squeezed shut as her voice escapes in a shriek.
---
B. Closed to Frisk - If Frisk asks for her, they'll be allowed in during the time between when she awakens from her gem and when she first ventures outward -- during the time when she sequesters herself in Signless' room. Why Frisk is allowed and no one else is hard to say . . . but this is how it is.
---
C. Open to Agent Apartment - For a few days she doesn't emerge from Signless' room at all.
When at last she does, it's at night.
While the rest of apartment supposedly sleeps, generally around 2:00 in the morning, she slips from Signless' room, a shadow nearly silent on bared feet, taking residence in the empty common room. For a few hours she can be found on the couch in one of two ways:
C1. In a pool of lamplight, wedged into a corner of the couch, feet tucked up underneath her, a small pile of magazines around her. Mostly she seems to be studying pictures instead of reading the text. Exhaustion is imprinted in her face, dark in hollows beneath her eyes, readable in the wilting curve of her neck and shoulders.
C2. Asleep, curled into a half ball, her neck striking a bad angle with the couch arm. Thought Gems weren't supposed to sleep? She apparently is . . . but it doesn't look peaceful. Her eyebrows knit, features tensed, limbs pulled as close as she can manage.
With something between a yelp and a shriek, she'll wake up suddenly, eyes enormous and dark, unfocused.
---
D. Open to Agent Apartment or Undertale - She wends her way up to the roof. It's late -- more than enough late for the city to be quiet, but even at this hour there is still plenty of light from nightlife, still the honks and beeps of cars. The stars are invisible, swallowed in the light pollution, and the beach is far away.
She leans against the edge of the roof and stares down at the street below, then out at the skyline of the city itself. The wind stirs the ribbons at her neck, but otherwise she doesn't move, silent and still.
---
E. Closed to Oscar - She doubts he wants anything to do with her. There seems no reason why he should.
She wants to know what's happened to him, wants to know if he's okay, but she doesn't go. Doesn't contact. In the limbo that the silence between them creates, it's akin to Schrodinger's cat paradox: She doesn't have to look under the box to find out his status. She doesn't have to run the risk of finding out that things are not as well as she might hope. She doesn't have to face the rejection she's sure is coming.
If he comes to find her, she'll be in the apartment . . . but he'll have to have convinced someone else to let him in.
---
F. Closed to Steven - At night she leaves the apartment building from the roof, slipping into the form of a small, blue bird and winging through the sky in staccato bursts, landing at nearly every other building.
Wrong. Wrong. This is wrong; she shouldn't be doing this. She can't do this; she's going to be found, going to be caught again.
At least five times she stops on a foreign roof, suddenly back to herself again, crouched and burying her face into her hands as her chest contracts so tightly she can barely breathe. I can't. I can't. I can't.
But always one thought in the wake: I have to see him. I want to see him.
So it goes every few minutes. But every few minutes, in spite of her hesitation, she shifts back. Presses on.
She knows exactly which window to choose at Pride; she memorized it long ago. Clinging to the window ledge on small bird feet, trying to swallow back the sound of her own pounding heartbeat, she taps at the glass with her beak and silently pleads with the boy inside to answer.
---
G. Closed to Greg - The young woman is red-haired, a small starfield of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Unlike most of the others her age, she's alone at the signing, quiet, not taking selfies or chattering with anyone. In fact, she looks almost . . . unhappy? Definitely weighted, her thin shoulders drawn inward. Her eyes linger on Marty's empty chair, then back toward Greg in his.
Though she's there almost the full time, she doesn't enter the line until nearly the end, when she's almost the last. She waits there, eyes cast downward, until it's her turn.
There's nothing in her hands.
What: Lapis deals with the aftermath of being controlled by Lesedi and taken down by Gold.
When: Backdated like whoa until shortly after the festival attacks.
Where: Various -- mostly Agent Apartment.
Warnings: Probable angst/trauma dealings
A. Closed to Signless - For three days after Gold arrives and hands it over to Signless, Lapis' gem lies quiet, inert, going wherever Signless goes without any signs of life.
Not until the third day does it awaken.
Light blooms in its core, flushing outward until the whole stone is alive with it, gleaming. Rising into the air from its nest on Signless' mattress, it floats from the bed, light blossoming into the shape of a young woman and flourishing into detail -- toes, fingers, and trailing ribbons that stir in an absent breeze. She uncurls like a bird hatching from an egg, stretching, feet grazing the floorboards, then coming to rest.
For a moment she only stands there, eyes slipping open like she's awakening from a dream, gaze hazy and distant.
And then suddenly, she's awake.
With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, her eyes whisk about the room, wheeling around at the four walls like an animal who's suddenly found herself in a cage, desperate, panicked. Her feet brace against the floor as though she means to run -- somewhere, anywhere -- hands clapping over her ears, eyes squeezed shut as her voice escapes in a shriek.
---
B. Closed to Frisk - If Frisk asks for her, they'll be allowed in during the time between when she awakens from her gem and when she first ventures outward -- during the time when she sequesters herself in Signless' room. Why Frisk is allowed and no one else is hard to say . . . but this is how it is.
---
C. Open to Agent Apartment - For a few days she doesn't emerge from Signless' room at all.
When at last she does, it's at night.
While the rest of apartment supposedly sleeps, generally around 2:00 in the morning, she slips from Signless' room, a shadow nearly silent on bared feet, taking residence in the empty common room. For a few hours she can be found on the couch in one of two ways:
C1. In a pool of lamplight, wedged into a corner of the couch, feet tucked up underneath her, a small pile of magazines around her. Mostly she seems to be studying pictures instead of reading the text. Exhaustion is imprinted in her face, dark in hollows beneath her eyes, readable in the wilting curve of her neck and shoulders.
C2. Asleep, curled into a half ball, her neck striking a bad angle with the couch arm. Thought Gems weren't supposed to sleep? She apparently is . . . but it doesn't look peaceful. Her eyebrows knit, features tensed, limbs pulled as close as she can manage.
With something between a yelp and a shriek, she'll wake up suddenly, eyes enormous and dark, unfocused.
---
D. Open to Agent Apartment or Undertale - She wends her way up to the roof. It's late -- more than enough late for the city to be quiet, but even at this hour there is still plenty of light from nightlife, still the honks and beeps of cars. The stars are invisible, swallowed in the light pollution, and the beach is far away.
She leans against the edge of the roof and stares down at the street below, then out at the skyline of the city itself. The wind stirs the ribbons at her neck, but otherwise she doesn't move, silent and still.
---
E. Closed to Oscar - She doubts he wants anything to do with her. There seems no reason why he should.
She wants to know what's happened to him, wants to know if he's okay, but she doesn't go. Doesn't contact. In the limbo that the silence between them creates, it's akin to Schrodinger's cat paradox: She doesn't have to look under the box to find out his status. She doesn't have to run the risk of finding out that things are not as well as she might hope. She doesn't have to face the rejection she's sure is coming.
If he comes to find her, she'll be in the apartment . . . but he'll have to have convinced someone else to let him in.
---
F. Closed to Steven - At night she leaves the apartment building from the roof, slipping into the form of a small, blue bird and winging through the sky in staccato bursts, landing at nearly every other building.
Wrong. Wrong. This is wrong; she shouldn't be doing this. She can't do this; she's going to be found, going to be caught again.
At least five times she stops on a foreign roof, suddenly back to herself again, crouched and burying her face into her hands as her chest contracts so tightly she can barely breathe. I can't. I can't. I can't.
But always one thought in the wake: I have to see him. I want to see him.
So it goes every few minutes. But every few minutes, in spite of her hesitation, she shifts back. Presses on.
She knows exactly which window to choose at Pride; she memorized it long ago. Clinging to the window ledge on small bird feet, trying to swallow back the sound of her own pounding heartbeat, she taps at the glass with her beak and silently pleads with the boy inside to answer.
---
G. Closed to Greg - The young woman is red-haired, a small starfield of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Unlike most of the others her age, she's alone at the signing, quiet, not taking selfies or chattering with anyone. In fact, she looks almost . . . unhappy? Definitely weighted, her thin shoulders drawn inward. Her eyes linger on Marty's empty chair, then back toward Greg in his.
Though she's there almost the full time, she doesn't enter the line until nearly the end, when she's almost the last. She waits there, eyes cast downward, until it's her turn.
There's nothing in her hands.
D
Lapis disappearing being a prime example of why there's that worry.
Still, Connie tries her best. She wraps herself up in her blanket and does all the tricks she's even slightly heard about. She counts sheep, she rewrites the ending of Unfamiliar Familiar in her head, she puts her head under the pillow. Yet after what's probably hours of trying this, Connie sighs and pushes back her blankets. Quietly as she can, to avoid waking up anyone, she makes her way through the apartment and heads to the roof.
Maybe just being alone will help.
Except, when she opens the door to the roof, she's not alone. There's a familiar figure in blue, and Connie freezes in the doorway as she spots her.
no subject
And in turn she freezes too as though she doesn't quite dare to move.
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“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
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"You don't . . . have to apologize to me."
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no subject
She's still trying to sort it out -- that division between worlds. She's not always sure where she stands. She needs to keep talking -- to make herself keep talking -- and hope that the dream wakes her up from the nightmare.
"Yes." She's honest; it's not really her nature to do otherwise, even when it doesn't always give the proper social grace. "But . . . it's okay."
Because she has the sense that Connie will try to back out anyway, she adds quickly, "Really."
She forces conviction into her voice. She owes Connie this.
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“Do.. you want to talk?”
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"I told you I wouldn't hurt you. I promised."
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One of her hands curls against her arm, and Connie swallows. There’s a lot she could say here, but how it isn’t Lapis’ fault, how Lesedi is to blame for all of this, but it doesn’t come out. What comes out instead is, “It…. was scary. It was like the time when you took the ocean. All I could think about was almost drowning again. I know it wasn’t your fault, but… still.”
With that off her chest, she lets herself breathe again. “Were you scared too?”
no subject
The question that follows, though, is nothing that she expected, and she blinks upward, surprised by it -- even though her eyes don't stay.
". . . Yes," she answers after a moment, voice quiet. "Not . . . for the same reasons."
Hesitation, and she adds, "I didn't . . . know it was you. I mean -- I did, in the sense I know it now. But not then. I thought you were Gems. I thought you were coming for me. They told me that's who you were. They twisted everything -- what I saw, what I heard. I had to believe them. There wasn't another choice."
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“I thought it was something like that… I knew me and Agent 3 on our own couldn’t be that scary to you. So…” It had to be something else. Connie shifts her feet. “But I didn’t know how we could help you, either. It’s horrible, to be powerless like that….”
no subject
There's more -- the voices, the fact that they linger even now, whispering on the edges of her consciousness. But she's not sure they're something she wants (or is ready) to give.
no subject