[he lazily rolls onto his other side (in much the way smoke would roll rather than the way a person would roll) and looks kind of irritatedly towards the guy near his door. ...whether or not that's because he's always irritated should perhaps be considered.]
[ for his part, he seems to be in a pretty okay mood. he doesn't usually need to trek around in people's minds to get a sense of what they're like; he doesn't particularly want to. but some people's heads are ugly and dark enough to be interesting. ]
It's me. [ a little wave. ] Don't roll out the red carpet just yet.
[it would be incorrect to say that Zelman tenses up. rather, the room tenses up, a shuddering whisper passing through it. it belongs to someone who is both Zelman and not Zelman. which is weird as fuck.
oh, and Zelman turns into wisps of smoke, rematerializing a lot closer and standing properly.]
Prying eyes. Most of them are dead.
[he tilts his head back, looking at something up there...] Not by my hand. Not usually. Time kills better than anyone.
If this is a metaphor for something, it's a pretty fucked up metaphor.
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Oh.
[he lazily rolls onto his other side (in much the way smoke would roll rather than the way a person would roll) and looks kind of irritatedly towards the guy near his door. ...whether or not that's because he's always irritated should perhaps be considered.]
It's you.
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It's me. [ a little wave. ] Don't roll out the red carpet just yet.
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The one with the grin. I remember.
Would it be any less fucked up if it were literal?
[he glances up at his burning ceiling, still pretty tense.]
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Probably not. It's interesting to see what symbols Paradisa decides to associate with us, anyway.
Are you sulking?
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[always thinking. he never stops thinking. the papers flutter a little, a couple of them changing.]
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Hell of a place to be bored. Your own head.
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[he starts tapping at the floor, distractedly. he has a thing or two against sitting still, it would seem.]
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Seems kind of a waste,that your head is filled up with shit you don't actually want.
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[--he looks up.] That's not true. That's a generalization. Exaggeration. A lot of it's up there. [up near his strange flame of a ceiling.]
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Away from prying hands, I guess.
[ speaking of, he ambles on in, hands in his coat pockets as he looks at the walls. ]
Gotta tell you, a shrink would have a field day inside here.
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oh, and Zelman turns into wisps of smoke, rematerializing a lot closer and standing properly.]
Prying eyes. Most of them are dead.
[he tilts his head back, looking at something up there...] Not by my hand. Not usually. Time kills better than anyone.
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Are you always like this?
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There are good days and bad days.
It's usually cleaner. I wasn't expecting company.
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Ever tried professional help?
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[this exact face. B|]
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