[Dead, but still walking around, still aware, and the world rotting around him; Matt doesn't have to dream this second-hand to know how it feels. He remembers perfectly clearly his own dream, the one where he was sure Kannagara itself was rejecting him, like a bad transplant.
And he doesn't try to imagine the person he knows (knew? is it past tense now?) who was golden and glowing and always, it seemed, leaving, by choice or not, here and at home, but an imagination less active than Matt's would probably still see C.C.'s hair and smile and mercurial nature as reflections of someone else's.
He's seen himself dead in his mind's eye more times than he can count; this, too, isn't a new feeling, but the horror of it never dims, even as he feels the curiosity spark: why? why show me this?
Matt's seen Lelouch in passing, on the network and in person, but they've never actually talked, and it's only when Matt starts to surface from sleep that he realizes this didn't turn into a dream about being small. Or not only a dream. He sends his
( ... )
I'm Matt. You've been here a while, you just don't remember. Which I know sounds crazy... but, um. Not crazier than how people are alive who shouldn't be.
[He rubs at the back of his neck. If Lelouch doesn't remember all of the dream, that's gonna be a hell of a non sequitor.]
[video | private]dramatic_capeMay 1 2011, 20:23:51 UTC
[ ...The wheels are spinning in Lelouch's mind... dirty city... hobo-looking guy... ding ding, we have reached a conclusion! ]
I can't talk to you anymore. I don't know what drugs you're doing, but I don't have any money and I can't help you. Also, you should probably check into a rehab center as soon as you can.
[He's especially indignant because sometimes he is, but not now, and honestly, he feels indulging in a little weed is no more than a sane response to some of the shit that goes down here.]
I got de-aged, too, once. I was eight. Just because the stuff that happens here oughta be impossible doesn't mean you hafta be on drugs to believe it.
And he doesn't try to imagine the person he knows (knew? is it past tense now?) who was golden and glowing and always, it seemed, leaving, by choice or not, here and at home, but an imagination less active than Matt's would probably still see C.C.'s hair and smile and mercurial nature as reflections of someone else's.
He's seen himself dead in his mind's eye more times than he can count; this, too, isn't a new feeling, but the horror of it never dims, even as he feels the curiosity spark: why? why show me this?
Matt's seen Lelouch in passing, on the network and in person, but they've never actually talked, and it's only when Matt starts to surface from sleep that he realizes this didn't turn into a dream about being small. Or not only a dream. He sends his ( ... )
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Who are you?
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[He rubs at the back of his neck. If Lelouch doesn't remember all of the dream, that's gonna be a hell of a non sequitor.]
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I can't talk to you anymore. I don't know what drugs you're doing, but I don't have any money and I can't help you. Also, you should probably check into a rehab center as soon as you can.
Reply
[He's especially indignant because sometimes he is, but not now, and honestly, he feels indulging in a little weed is no more than a sane response to some of the shit that goes down here.]
I got de-aged, too, once. I was eight. Just because the stuff that happens here oughta be impossible doesn't mean you hafta be on drugs to believe it.
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