Dirk doesn't really know how much time passes like that. Emotionality is not something he bears gracefully or well; a more informed take might be that he's dissociated enough to completely lose his place in his body or reality itself. Dirk isn't informed, though. He only becomes aware of sound, and movement, and for a moment, it's all just too hazy and disconnected from any meaning or context to make sense.
What is he hearing? Where is he? Why is he here? Why is there movement? Why can't reality just leave him alone?
The disjointed, badly-cut pieces of reality begin to converge over that sentiment as if it never happened: overlapping a little here, leaving gaps there, but still they're coming together, and how broken it all is becomes even more obvious, and he pushes away from the source of sound and movement, and then he remembers the source, he recognises that source, and--
"Ra--what--why are you alive?" The first words out of his mouth are not graceful ones, or grateful ones. His mouth is so dry it's like he's been sucking off a jock for an hour. He swallows, and it's also dry--and tastes of blood. Which is grounding. In the same way a grain of sand is ground, so too the taste of blood is grounding. An aftertaste of a reality--but nothing more.
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timeasmymeasure
Beefed up this reply!
Date: 2024-08-11 01:10 pm (UTC)What is he hearing? Where is he? Why is he here? Why is there movement? Why can't reality just leave him alone?
The disjointed, badly-cut pieces of reality begin to converge over that sentiment as if it never happened: overlapping a little here, leaving gaps there, but still they're coming together, and how broken it all is becomes even more obvious, and he pushes away from the source of sound and movement, and then he remembers the source, he recognises that source, and--
"Ra--what--why are you alive?" The first words out of his mouth are not graceful ones, or grateful ones. His mouth is so dry it's like he's been sucking off a jock for an hour. He swallows, and it's also dry--and tastes of blood. Which is grounding. In the same way a grain of sand is ground, so too the taste of blood is grounding. An aftertaste of a reality--but nothing more.