Dirk Strider (Ultimate) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
uber_marionettist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
victory_road2019-06-24 12:51 am
uber_marionettist) wrote in victory_road2019-06-24 12:51 am
Entry tags:
[CLOSED to Ford Pines]
Who: Dirk Strider and Ford Pines
What: What if Sprout Tower... but while going ape shitt
When: I'll have to double check,
Where: Sprout Tower
Warnings: Suicidal ideation, obnoxious second person text
[Your name is DIRK STRIDER and you are NOT HAVING A BREAKDOWN. It's not a breakdown because you DON'T BREAK, do you?
You SPLINTER. You can FAIL, frequently and even spectacularly. But you DON'T BREAK.
So what are you doing instead?
> Re-asses
You are KICKSTARTING THIS NARRATIVE YOURSELF, even if you have to use second person to do it. That was the way it was back when you first began to hear it. 'Hear' it. The narrative was practically BEAMED DIRECTLY INTO YOUR HEAD, and you couldn't turn it off. Back then, you wanted to. Back then, you were feverish and sick and desperate for anything that could get you a moment's silence, a moment's sanity during the FRAGMENTATION PROCESS that DEVOURED YOUR MIND. Now you know better. Your head roars, but it's the roar of the abyss.
You need it back.
No. That sucked. Try again.
YOU NEED IT BACK, and if that means writing it yourself until you CONNECT, then THAT'S WHAT YOU'LL FUCKING DO.
Better.
You are also currently SCALING THIS TOWER, from the outside, because someone told you that you had to battle your way up from the inside and then climb back down, and that struck you as an incredibly tedious way to do it. You also wanted to see if you could do it. You can. It's only a sanjū-no-tō (which is to say, a three-tier tasōtō, you didn't even need to look that up) and dragging yourself up three flights of steps when you're this full of electricity and noise, your head this full of this roaring silence and abyssal static... so instead you're out here trying to learn the rules. You're playing by the rules because if you could break them, they wouldn't be rules. Even the rules you can break operate by other, deeper sets of rules. Those are the rules you care about. And the rules beneath those. And the rules beneath those.
You're going to take this place apart from the inside, burn it to the ground and sift through the ashes for whatever you can find. Best case scenario, you attract the notice of the local 'god,' maybe get kicked out and back on track, or else find something in its remains so you do it yourself. Worst case, you're a lonely God in an empty domain. Yeah, that sounds like motivation to try hanging yourself at the top. They even provided you with a rope to do it with.
Anyway.
It's a breathtaking structure, its ancient wood richly coloured and worn smooth by weather and time. You'd even go so far as to describe it as architecturally sublime. Especially when viewed against the backdrop of thick pine forests in one direction, a terrestrial sea in a thousand dappled shades of green, and clear lakewater in the other--water in which the tower itself is reflected against a slowly drifting, cloud-studded sky.
You have the perfect vantage from which to admire it, too, as you're two tiers up already. The first was the easy level, the one you can reach just by hopping up on the perimeter fence and leaping up to grab the edge of the first eave, at which point you flipped yourself up to appraise the distance from that level to the next. The second is a little trickier because that's not a distance you can just jump. You had to run up the wall and kick off it to snag the hanging eave and hope to fuck that you can still do a sick flip up instead of just throwing yourself out into open space like a loser.
Naturally, you pulled it off. No sweat.
Now there's another one.]
What: What if Sprout Tower... but while going ape shitt
When: I'll have to double check,
Where: Sprout Tower
Warnings: Suicidal ideation, obnoxious second person text
[Your name is DIRK STRIDER and you are NOT HAVING A BREAKDOWN. It's not a breakdown because you DON'T BREAK, do you?
You SPLINTER. You can FAIL, frequently and even spectacularly. But you DON'T BREAK.
So what are you doing instead?
> Re-asses
You are KICKSTARTING THIS NARRATIVE YOURSELF, even if you have to use second person to do it. That was the way it was back when you first began to hear it. 'Hear' it. The narrative was practically BEAMED DIRECTLY INTO YOUR HEAD, and you couldn't turn it off. Back then, you wanted to. Back then, you were feverish and sick and desperate for anything that could get you a moment's silence, a moment's sanity during the FRAGMENTATION PROCESS that DEVOURED YOUR MIND. Now you know better. Your head roars, but it's the roar of the abyss.
You need it back.
No. That sucked. Try again.
YOU NEED IT BACK, and if that means writing it yourself until you CONNECT, then THAT'S WHAT YOU'LL FUCKING DO.
Better.
You are also currently SCALING THIS TOWER, from the outside, because someone told you that you had to battle your way up from the inside and then climb back down, and that struck you as an incredibly tedious way to do it. You also wanted to see if you could do it. You can. It's only a sanjū-no-tō (which is to say, a three-tier tasōtō, you didn't even need to look that up) and dragging yourself up three flights of steps when you're this full of electricity and noise, your head this full of this roaring silence and abyssal static... so instead you're out here trying to learn the rules. You're playing by the rules because if you could break them, they wouldn't be rules. Even the rules you can break operate by other, deeper sets of rules. Those are the rules you care about. And the rules beneath those. And the rules beneath those.
You're going to take this place apart from the inside, burn it to the ground and sift through the ashes for whatever you can find. Best case scenario, you attract the notice of the local 'god,' maybe get kicked out and back on track, or else find something in its remains so you do it yourself. Worst case, you're a lonely God in an empty domain. Yeah, that sounds like motivation to try hanging yourself at the top. They even provided you with a rope to do it with.
Anyway.
It's a breathtaking structure, its ancient wood richly coloured and worn smooth by weather and time. You'd even go so far as to describe it as architecturally sublime. Especially when viewed against the backdrop of thick pine forests in one direction, a terrestrial sea in a thousand dappled shades of green, and clear lakewater in the other--water in which the tower itself is reflected against a slowly drifting, cloud-studded sky.
You have the perfect vantage from which to admire it, too, as you're two tiers up already. The first was the easy level, the one you can reach just by hopping up on the perimeter fence and leaping up to grab the edge of the first eave, at which point you flipped yourself up to appraise the distance from that level to the next. The second is a little trickier because that's not a distance you can just jump. You had to run up the wall and kick off it to snag the hanging eave and hope to fuck that you can still do a sick flip up instead of just throwing yourself out into open space like a loser.
Naturally, you pulled it off. No sweat.
Now there's another one.]
no subject
Granted Ford's genre is equally dumb and his personal writing style is equally erudite, but his native universe doesn't work on quite the same narrative rules. He used to think he was the main character of a story but not in so literal a sense.
Now he's plenty content to wander around the area of Johto he's settled closest to. Despite bringing a Fire type with him (Hot Sauce the Salandit is perched on his shoulder) he isn't actually planning to scale the tower in earnest. He's done it once already. He's more just wandering to wander, not having yet grown used to the idea of having settled anywhere at all.
When he sees movement on the outside of the tower he assumes it's a Pokémon at first. He realizes pretty quickly that's not the case, and that's what makes him correct his course to actually walk right up to the base of the tower. Another man might ask 'what are you doing?' or perhaps 'are you okay?'. Ford Pines is not another man. He's Ford Pines, and that means what he does is cup both hands around his mouth and say:]
Anything interesting up there?
[He wouldn't know, he's never been. Maybe there's a frisbee from fifteen years ago snuggled up out of sight. Could be a veritable treasure trove.]
Dirk pausing his crisis because he got a dialogue cue
No, really. Hold up.
You stop your ascent and crouch on the edge of the roof, perching on scalloped tiles warm from the sun. They're radiating enough of that heat back that you can feel it, mostly in your hands, which hang a few inches above the weathered surface. Even in the shade, the sun itself is intense enough that you can feel sweat beading along your hairline, your sick ninja digs sticking to your back.
It's not that you weren't expecting an audience, but... you kind of weren't expecting an audience. When you flipped your acrobatic fucking pirouette off the handle (and out the window) of that house at the beginning, no one stopped you. No one even noticed.
So the fact that you're been spotted is.... well, it's intriguing, actually.
You don't want to make a habit of yelling down at old people from stories in the air, though, and shaking your head is too unclear at a distance.
So you raise your arm to about chest height, bend your hand at a right angle, palm flat, then swing it back and forth in a scissoring motion to sign a negative. See if he gets it.]