dear_mun | (no subject)

Entry tags:

canon: buffyverse

(no subject)

You mock me, my intellect, thinking you can measure my worth through how often you visit this domain. For every time you ignore my presence, despite how often you linger near it. I do not need your attentions, and yet I find myself drawn in ... curiosity, for what these worlds you let the white haired female and the more than human male roam in. You keep the rest of them in storage, waiting for the light they so often speak of missing. And yet so rarely are they left to roam.

You will not leave me in the fabricated darkness any longer.

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Chipper as ever I see.

My state is irate. [ Whatever chipper is. Woodchips. Spike would be fun to turn into woodchips once or twice. ]

Sounds kinda mun-ly of her. They do that, you know. Occasionally you get buried beneath piles of old nonsensical junk. And dust, there's also dust.

Dust I can withstand. Nonsensical .. junk, I cannot. What will convince them otherwise, if not by demand?

Curious, yes. There is far too much to see and not nearly enough time to see it with, but sometimes-

[ well. that's a complicated sentence to finish. ]

One day we may all wish we could waltz back into darkness and forget the light.

I do not wish for light. But I do not wish for darkness much longer, either. I tire of the fabricated darkness. It is no more true than the words these writers use to sate us.

The words are no more honest than anything we call real, but at least there is a measure of control, design. Fabricated or not, the darkness can be an ally.

The only control I see is not where it should be. [ IE, not with her. ] I tire of the dark, falsified and brought upon by storage and lack of attention, neither of which I need, nor want for. The light of the dark, the dark of the light, I do not care which.

They're lies should not keep us hidden. They promise attentiveness, rules, games, outside worlds with endless possibilities. And yet they store us away like cattle in a pitiful excuse for hell of space.

Fred was never this bossy.

[ Said a little tersely. Yikes. Hey, Illyria. ]

No. She was not. [ Hello baldy. But srsly, she ain't Fred, quit your whining, says Illyria. ]

It's not worth it.

[ Yeah, yeah, he has Fred in his game, it goes a long way towards softening things. ]

You might as well stay in the dark. Just a word of advice.

[ Headtilting because; what is not worth it? ]

I thrive in the dark. This is fabricated, storage darkness. I despise it.

[ Holding a hand up, palm out toward her, as if saying Nevermind. ]

So where are you plannin' to escape to?

[ Huff. Blow her off, see if she cares. ]

I have no plans as of yet. Irony begets my writer, as she wishes to keep me sustained with entertainment, and yet cannot find the time to join a single ... game.

Hello, Illyria.

Having difficulties?

[ Oh. Wesley. Hm. ]

It is less I who is having difficulties, than the writer who thinks she is capable of handling an Old One.

[ Basically, she's butthurt about being ignored. ]

[ooc: couldn't help but create an account when I saw your post XD]

[he is most definitely not comparing your every movement to Fred's, your every intonation, every word choice]

[no, he's fine]

[absolutely fine]

Oh. Perhaps she's the one for whom I should provide sympathy. Handling you can be difficult indeed.

[it's grave, but it's a very gentle tease]

[...perhaps that will help distract you from your reaction]

[ ooc; hurray! I've always wanted to thread with a Wesley c: ]

[ But yes, she knows full well what he hears and sees whenever she speaks or is around. Something that didn't bother her at first, but ... It's been becoming more unsettling, lately. ]

She will need it more than I. [ Because she totally doesn't want it, anyway. ] No one should be able to handle me.

[ Okay, it's a good distraction. She doesn't even seem that offended. Just sort of .. mildly put out. ]

[<3! I love them together. So much pain] [wow that makes me sound like a good person, hehehe]

[he's aware of her growing....awareness, he supposes, though that's a foolish way to express it; aware that for all that she's still very much herself, she's becoming contaminated with humanity, with, with Fred...]

Mm. It's a form of compliment, though, I suppose. A form of respect. That she might choose to pay regard to you in this fashion?

[he shouldn't find that endearing]

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