(no subject)
The Setting: an old, eclectic, expensive-looking gated mansion that Crawford calls--for now--home, at what might be called the outskirts of the Nexus; something vaguely suggestive of Frank-Lloyd-Wright-does-American-Victorian. In the Nexus, one need only know where and, perhaps just as importantly, when to look, and anything can be found.
The Scene: Crawford has just returned home, via PINpoint due to a dubious confidence in his ability to walk, from a session of the good Doctor's tender ministrations; not the first, and not nearly the last, but an intensive and exhausting experience nonetheless.
The Problem: See above. Brad finds himself quite unable to muster the physical, emotional, or psychological strength, presently, to even remove his shoes before collapsing on the couch, because the bedroom is now too far away to walk stumble to, and he is not thinking clearly enough to use the PINpoint device a second time.
The Result: Brad Crawford is lying, sleepless, on a couch in a over-the-top mansion in a forgotten corner of the Nexus, utterly out of control. No polite masks, no calculated contrivances, no internal monologue, and above all no defenses. And sane, all too terribly sane for what he has been through this lovely evening.
::rambling to himself:: Dead. Dead. Deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead . . . do they dream? let this cup--fire, and light--it overfloweth . . . cracks in the pavement. Ecce Homo, little one, but do not stare . . . confluence and conflagration, and dead-dead-dead-dead-dead-- . . .
::half question, half statement:: They come . . . ?
((this thread is open to any and all Schwarz members who wish to come play--if you want justification, I'm open to the idea of his psyche "bleeding into" what y'all are calling "Radio Schwarz". HOWEVER!!: Brad may still be sane, but he will not act like it; ALL of his defenses are down, and that includes his defensive, secretive, manipulating, dispassionate front. He may be more than human, but he is also human, and the human parts of him really really want to be crazy now to cope with the trauma.
ADDITIONALLY: if any Schuldigs show up (or Nagi to a lesser extent, since I gather that Nagi is now weakly telepathic?), they will "hear" (indecipherable) traces of the chaotic turbulence that is Brad's Vision leaking out (not quite projecting, but not requiring active listening), and they SHOULD NOT try to actually read his mind, because they will succeed, and they will be traumatized significantly--if you're not comfortable with that, just don't read his mind; if you read his mind, you are implicitly giving me permission to fuck with your character's sanity. Of course, if that sounds like fun, I strongly encourage you to take advantage.
Also, it's Friday night, so mun will at some point become too drunk to continue, so sorry in advance if I disappear without notice midthread; I will continue those in the afternoon.))
The Scene: Crawford has just returned home, via PINpoint due to a dubious confidence in his ability to walk, from a session of the good Doctor's tender ministrations; not the first, and not nearly the last, but an intensive and exhausting experience nonetheless.
The Problem: See above. Brad finds himself quite unable to muster the physical, emotional, or psychological strength, presently, to even remove his shoes before collapsing on the couch, because the bedroom is now too far away to walk stumble to, and he is not thinking clearly enough to use the PINpoint device a second time.
The Result: Brad Crawford is lying, sleepless, on a couch in a over-the-top mansion in a forgotten corner of the Nexus, utterly out of control. No polite masks, no calculated contrivances, no internal monologue, and above all no defenses. And sane, all too terribly sane for what he has been through this lovely evening.
::rambling to himself:: Dead. Dead. Deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead . . . do they dream? let this cup--fire, and light--it overfloweth . . . cracks in the pavement. Ecce Homo, little one, but do not stare . . . confluence and conflagration, and dead-dead-dead-dead-dead-- . . .
::half question, half statement:: They come . . . ?
((this thread is open to any and all Schwarz members who wish to come play--if you want justification, I'm open to the idea of his psyche "bleeding into" what y'all are calling "Radio Schwarz". HOWEVER!!: Brad may still be sane, but he will not act like it; ALL of his defenses are down, and that includes his defensive, secretive, manipulating, dispassionate front. He may be more than human, but he is also human, and the human parts of him really really want to be crazy now to cope with the trauma.
ADDITIONALLY: if any Schuldigs show up (or Nagi to a lesser extent, since I gather that Nagi is now weakly telepathic?), they will "hear" (indecipherable) traces of the chaotic turbulence that is Brad's Vision leaking out (not quite projecting, but not requiring active listening), and they SHOULD NOT try to actually read his mind, because they will succeed, and they will be traumatized significantly--if you're not comfortable with that, just don't read his mind; if you read his mind, you are implicitly giving me permission to fuck with your character's sanity. Of course, if that sounds like fun, I strongly encourage you to take advantage.
Also, it's Friday night, so mun will at some point become too drunk to continue, so sorry in advance if I disappear without notice midthread; I will continue those in the afternoon.))