☆ eleventh | written

[outwalks]

Soft, sickly, those dashed out of your right minds-there's something you need remember.

Think. Do you know?

[ The journal's camera is obscured. The text's all anyone can see. How suspicious. ]

For those who do and those who don't, ask yourselves: of what are you most afraid?

[ ooc | Backdated to this afternoon. All responses are anonymous

Comments

[falenandawn]

Of what are we most afraid?

[outwalks]

Just so.

[falenandawn]

.....Would it not vary for each person?

[millennialism]

Individual answers are accepted.

[falenandawn]

[So very, very confused....] But why would you need to know?

[millennialism]

[ There is no answer-at least, not any meant for Frey to understand: only a circular, scattering pattern of lines criss-crossing lines. ]

[falenandawn]

[Frey stares at the lines, curious.] Care to tell me what those are...?

[millennialism]

[ More patterns! No words! Whatever else they are, it's clear that they are The Patterns Of Ignoring Frey. ]

[falenandawn]

[A rasied eyebrow. Frey begins to draw some squiggles of his own.]

[millennialism]

[ If no one stops them, they'll go on like this all dayyyy. Although bits and bars of the other's will begin to disappear behind private filters, one by one, after they've reached some completion. The Fourteenth may need them later, after all. ]

[falenandawn]

[Then so be it! Frey's bored and has been stuck inside all day to spare his dignity after the genderswitch. He will probably keep this up as long as Allen does, maybe sketching some familiar faces from home, or... a beaver? Yes, a beaver in a happi coat.]