(Untitled)

[skidrowseymour]

[OOT: Martine has something to tell Seymour.]

After waking up, Seymour left his cubby. He hasn't gone back since.

He's in the media library in one of the pod rooms. A book is on-screen (To Kill a Mockingbird) - to serve as a handy 'do not disturb' sign for anyone who might enter

Comments

[thepathofpins]

Martine, on the other hand, barely left. Stayed to wait long past when she knew he wasn't coming back.

It's (guilt horror shame failure hate) a sense of responsiblity that draws her out, gets her dress on, braids her hair, moves her feet. Everything sick in her head feels like it's drained down to her stomach and it's all lead.

The last time she snuck up on him while he was trying to sleep she made him scream. (Please not this time.)

She stands at the doorway as she watches him try to settle and thinks of before, and if he hates her, and if he'll scream, and how many things could go wrong and are wrong and she's broken.

Martine opens her mouth to say something but can't think of anything to say, anything worth saying, and shuts it tight as she stares at the floor.

And hums. It's not loud, it's not right, but it's -

Someone show me a way to get
outta here
'Cause I constantly pray I'll get
outta here
Please won't somebody say I'll get
outta here

- mostly.

[skidrowseymour]

Seymour hears that outta here when he sleeps. He hears that I constantly pray I'll when he walks. He hears that please won't when he tries to think, tries to focus on anything other than the past someone show me a way.

It's no change, to hear it now.

It's a change to hear it in someone else's voice.

He keeps his eyes closed. But Seymour knows that ignoring something won't make it go away.

"Someone gimme my shot or I'll rot here...."

[thepathofpins]

Martine doesn't know any more to add onto it, and this isn't his world where she could keep singing anyway. So she lets it trail off, staring at the floor, and starts something else. Softer, down tempo.

Go to sleep, Michel my little brother
Go to sleep, you will have your milk

Remember when everything broke before?

[skidrowseymour]

Oh, Seymour is tired of (everything) things breaking.

He sighs as he listens. She's not a good singer. He isn't, unless the music's on him.

A world without music. No songs. They don't guide. They don't help. They don't explain or clarify.

Blankness. Nothing. Not even anything broken. Just a wasteland (inside).