Deistic Academy (Multi Pantheon Advanced RP) discussion

vi. dormitories > violet ;; sam and emiliana

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message 1: by Turner [hiatus] (last edited May 27, 2018 09:21PM) (new)

Turner [hiatus]

Turner [hiatus]

It was a change of scenery. That was good - that was healthy - it should help her move on with her life, give her some direction… Of course, she was just picking and choosing the words her parents and therapist had been speaking at her for the past month. They assumed she was at some residential treatment center, a sort of emo rehab. Well, she couldn’t exactly tell them “I might be a god” -- that would’ve sent her right back to the hospital with a completely new diagnosis. So she’d sat through lectures about trying her hardest, through the humiliating lack of trust, drug tests, having to re-sit diagnostic inventories to get her paperwork straight. ”Have you had a bad conscience or feelings of guilt?” For lying constantly? Yeah, what a shocker.

The academy was… well, it was different.

Sam glanced up, then back at her feet, willing herself to make it just a few feet further down the hall to her room. ’It’s fine,’ you said. ‘I’ll just do it all in one trip,’ you said. “...Fuck,” she growled, gritting her teeth, her shoulders only protected from the straps of her mismatched duffel bags by the somewhat thicker straps of her over-burdened backpack. One trip. Why. Cause gods are intimidating as fuck and you’re some weird adult-child burden to them. Oh right.

The thoughts floated through her head in wisps, catching or disappearing in the buzz that clouded her mind. Finally - finally - she reached the door. The fingers on her left hand were turning red, pulsing painfully where yet another set of straps dug into her skin. ….And of course, the keys were in her left pocket.

Fuck everything, fuck everyone. What was I expecting. She let out a small bitter sigh, trying to reach across her body with her free hand to grab the ke-

First one duffel, then the other, then the bag - fuck it-- She let all of her luggage topple off of her, thudding to the ground, and hurriedly clawed herself free of each and every strap, muscles tensing, feeling almost claustrophobic. Fuck this. These are staying here. Hands clenched into fists for just a moment, and teeth clamped down hard on the tip of her tongue, drawing blood, before she relaxed again. A deep breath. Let those feelings go. Tension was replaced with weariness, and she was back to her comfortable state of merely existing.

“Fffff-” A long exhale and she reached for the key with a newly freed hand.

Turner [hiatus]

Sam was almost relieved when the door opened. Oh thank god - gods? - a person. Someone who could talk over whatever stupid self-destructive thoughts were running through her head. And someone who could help her with these damn bags. A wry smile made its way onto her face as the girl hefted her duffels. “Mmm,” she hummed her agreement to the first statement, then added, “Several, actually. The corpses of all my childhood hopes and dreams.” It was said with a thin smile at the ground as she picked up the last two bags.

Once she made it into the room she dumped her luggage on the empty bed. “Just kidding, those died about 10 years ago.” The sarcastic joy in her voice wasn’t as bitter as it could have been, too glad to not be talking to herself. “Comfortably buried, along with saturday morning cartoons and the concept of recess.” Freeing herself of her straps once again, Sam turned to her new roommate. “Thanks.”

The girl was… short. She thought she would’ve been roomed with another college student, but this girl looked straight out of cafeteria courtyard of Sam’s high school. The question was on the tip of Sam’s tongue before she stopped herself. Nah, she didn’t want to ruffle any feathers off the bat. Especially cause, despite her height, the girl looked pretty ferocious. Glancing past her, Sam’s eyes wandered around the room. Her room, for the next… however long.

Turner [hiatus]

Sam nodded to the girl’s dismissal and immediately turned to start rummaging through her bags, chucking shoes under her bed and stuffing clothes into drawers (nearly two thirds of all of it black -- primo emo bud, great job breaking the stereotype), draping cords and wires across the mattress, stacking the rolled posters, postcards, and cheap plastic-wrapped frames on the desk as she sorted out the mixed assortment. Her backpack, with its delicate precious cargo - her computer, her ipod, her phone, her speakers - sat on the standard-issue desk chair as she went. She was never great at packing. Okay at using space efficiently, but not particularly organized.

She paused as the other girl asked the question, turning back around. She let out a short laugh. “Ha- yeah. Yeah, I’m Sam, hi.” She gave a small half-wave, nudging the bag at her feet to shift its contents, not making a move for a handshake. She wasn’t super big on touching people. “You’re-” She snapped her fingers, as if it might help her remember. “Fuck -- it begins with an A, right?” She grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, I got the email, I’m just shit with names.” Her whole memory could be spotty - maybe intentionally, at times - but even before all her personal shit had started, names had never been her forte.

Turner [hiatus]

Yikes. So apparently she’d hit a nerve… Congrats, found the first landmine of the relationship, great job. Fuck. Sam hesitated, toes curling in her boots as she clenched her jaw. Well how the fuck was she supposed to know? Ugh, so much for easy going conversation. Or even comfortable silence. Her brow furrowed for a second, debating on if she should say something about it. On the one hand, if she said nothing and stayed bitter? That was no good. But if she did say something and it grew into a Big Deal? ...No, the solution here was to get the fuck over it. For Sam to get the fuck over it, cause she couldn’t make Em do it.

Relaxing her jaw, Sam let out a short breath. “Cool,” she muttered casually, her tone level and nonchalant even as she turned back to her job on the bed, praising herself for her maturity. Emotional maturity. Yeah, like every other 21 year old -- good job being more mature than a high schooler, top marks. It wasn’t like you spent eight fucking years in therapy or anything. Sam bit her tongue again. You’re being too hard on yourself. Think rationally. Why was this always such a struggle?

She wrestled with her own thoughts for a few minutes, long enough to empty one of the bags and crumple it up to stuff under the bed. She wanted to zone out - to put on some headphones and just fill her head with sound - but that would be rude wouldn’t it? She needed this to be a good start. How could she fix this?

...How about ignoring it? That worked weirdly well whenever she fought with her parents. Why acknowledge it if you can pretend it never happened? Sam licked her lips nervously before speaking up again. “So what’s the deal with the academy?” Her voice was wary, but not of her roommate. Rather, she was understandably cautious about a school that claimed to be full of reincarnated gods, even if something under her skin felt the truth to the statement. She kept her back turned to Em, once more sorting through clothes and shoes and- and a fan, and a shower caddy, and a single pillowcase -- what the hell? This bag was a mess.

message 6: by Turner [hiatus] (last edited May 19, 2018 08:23PM) (new)

Turner [hiatus]

Hearing Em’s bed shift, Sam faced her new roommate, and ended up meeting her gaze head on. An eyebrow raised at the casual response.

"If you don't like it, why'd you come?"

Sam held up a hand. “Woah woah woah, back up a second. Did you hear what you just said?” It wasn’t a mean tone of voice, but it wasn’t entirely a joke either. “Fucking gods? That wasn’t weird to you when you got here?” She rolled her whole head with her eyes. “I mean - I get it, in theory -- it, y’know… it feels true enough, but-” She shook her head shrugging. “I dunno, man, it’s fuckin weird. Like… if you’d told me this two years ago?”

Who are you kidding, it’s in your brain, you still would’ve wanted to die. She looked away, staring across the room at the windows, and shook her head again. Her tone was still that resigned bluntness. “I was getting that goddamn letter for ages, and it made no sense. Eventually I stopped seeing it as spam-” Yeah, when you didn’t fucking die when you were supposed to, “-and gave them a fucking call.” Why come here? “I came ‘cause it was still here, and I was still alive, and the letters were still coming.” Sam looked back to Em with a ‘what can ya do’ sort of shrug, body language relaxed but eyes still wary, not trying to censor herself but still watching like a hawk for the girl’s reaction. “It’s not like I was going anywhere else with my life.” It was this kind of crazy or that kind of crazy, and at least here she could have fucking drawstring pants and her own computer.

She leaned her waist back against the edge of her raised bed and drummed fingers against the wood grain. Her head tilted gently to the side as she trained a mildly curious gaze on Em, lips curving wryly. “Now are you gonna share why you’re here? Or should I just zip it.” She wasn’t about to force the girl to say anything, but she wasn’t going to pretend she wasn’t at least slightly curious.

Turner [hiatus]

Better than the alternative? Okay, so not a good relationship with the parents? Bad home life? Maybe something wrong at school or in the neighborhood. Good to know. Sam nodded slightly, casually, glancing to the pile of stuff on her desk even as she stored that information. Fair enough.

“‘Chummy…’ I mean, that wasn’t really my goal here.” There was sardonic amusement in her tone as she turned back to her new roommate, eyes flicking over the girl as she took in the stance. Her lips quirked a bit. Real power spread right there. “But I’m not a fan of passive aggression, so we should go ahead and lay down some ground rules. We don’t have to be besties, but I’d like to at least have the room be neutral territory.” She raised her brows, as if daring the girl to disagree. Em shouldn’t: Sam was being logical. Rooms should be safe spaces, or at least free of threats. “You’re welcome to go first, if you’ve got anything. I know I’m basically crashing your space.”

message 8: by Turner [hiatus] (last edited May 27, 2018 08:19PM) (new)

Turner [hiatus]

Sam’s face remained impassive as Em gave her single rule. Right. ...Sam had a feeling there were plenty of other things that would push invisible buttons for this girl, but she wasn’t being gifted a guide to those triggers. She’d just have to keep track as she stumbled all over them. You’re gonna fuck this up. Living here is gonna be miserable. She silenced the nagging thoughts as Em finally met her gaze, a brief spark of hope flickering in Sam’s eyes for just a moment at the admission. Okay. So maybe they could manage this. Maybe it wouldn’t be all walking on eggshells.

Sam folded her arms over her chest, nodding. “Nah it’s cool, don’t worry about it.” She shrugged. She might have just had more roommate experience, had a better idea of what she needed. “On my end, though... “ She glanced away, keeping her face cool as part of her immediately assumed glaring was imminent. “I keep kinda weird hours. I’m usually up pretty late-- if that’s gonna be an issue I can try to keep to the common areas instead of the room.” A finger traced over the curve of the mermaid tattoo under her sleeve. “Honestly though, if I ever do something that you realize doesn’t work for you, just let me know. I mean -- I’m not gonna stop existing, but hopefully we can work it out so we don’t hate each other.” And hopefully this girl wasn’t gonna be an asshole who took advantage of the very generous offer Sam was making. If she got hit with a binder of petty grievances… the sigh slipped through her lips at just the thought. Hopefully Em saw the gesture of goodwill for what it was. Besides… Sam had a feeling Em would rather throw a punch than a book.

Turner [hiatus]

Sam nodded in pleasant surprise to Em’s final warning. Nice, so that at least was a spoken rule now, not just something to guess at. “Thanks for the heads up.” She turned back to her things, a small grim smile making its way onto her lips. A small sign of mutual respect, an opened line of communication: she could do this. Life at this academy was going to be a hell of a lot better than her last dorming situation.

message 10: by Turner [hiatus] (last edited May 27, 2018 10:23PM) (new)

Turner [hiatus] TWO DAYS LATER

I can’t do this.

Sam lay on her bed, staring at the wall. The sheets made her uncomfortable. She’d been able to ignore it the first night, being exhausted from the move, and the second night she’d still been focused on figuring out daily stuff like the location of the dining hall and library, and how to get the right temperature of water from their shower. But tonight? Tonight she couldn’t look at the fabric without remembering the last time she’d slept on it, before the academy. Days of sleep, and nights of goofing off and showing friends around Philly -- and weeks of skipping meds -- all culminating in a terrified night of panic, a belt on the pipe that ran along the edge of her dorm room, and finally the blood that ran down the shower drain even as she woke scar-free.

You don’t belong here.

She glanced to where the room’s wall met the ceiling. No pipes.

You’re not special, you’re just a fuck-up. you fucked it up you fucked it up can’t get anything right Your only ability is failing at everything you attempt.

She shifted restlessly onto her back to stare at the ceiling, hands balling into fists in her comforter, trying not to move too much, hyper aware of every sound, every shift of fabric. Silent. Stay silent. She held her breath, squeezing her fists so tight her nail beds began to hurt. Her toes curled until they burned, but she wouldn’t move her legs. Breathe. Focus. She closed her eyes, reminding herself of how far she’d come and how much better she was. That was years ago. She was better now. She’d be better now.

You can’t get away even if you try. You’re in hell. This is hell and it’s your existence and you can’t leave. Permanent purgatory, constant suffering. This is hell. No, shut up, stop being so melodramatic. Get the fuck over it already. Move on.

Nope, no eyes closed, look at the ceiling again. She counted her breaths. Four seconds in, hold for eight, release for eight. Repeat. You can’t sleep right now. Go let off some steam. Move. Take a walk. Nature always made her feel better. A walk would be great. Grab a blanket and her portable speakers, go lay on a table in the quad. Look at the stars -- if the sky was clear enough. Be a part of something that wasn’t her own body and her own head. It was a smart thing to do. Sam started to move her legs, as though she might get up, and immediately stopped.

Shhh, no, too much noise. Stay. Go to sleep. If you get up, it becomes a Thing. If Em wakes up you become that crazy girl who -- shut up, no, fuck what she thinks, do what’s good for you but she’ll hear it, she’ll wake up, don’t wake her up. She won’t wake up oh my god not everyone is as light a sleeper as Mom But what about her family what if it’s a trigger, don’t want to make her mad, she’s small but she would fucking annihilate me. Get the fuck up. Get the fuck out. STOP. THINKING.

She couldn’t do it. Her head was spiraling and the worst part was the she knew it was, and still it ran a mile a minute. And she knew what she could do to help herself, but it was so hard to overcome that fear. That irrational fear of burdening someone -- she didn’t even like Em -- well, she didn’t not like her -- but she shouldn’t think so much about what other people thought, she should be putting herself first, it was okay to put herself first--

Constantly, thoughts poured into her head, spinning enough to make her dizzy. Sam’s skin hummed, trembling, as though the frantic energy in her head possessed her. She felt stretched tight like a rubber band and she needed to snap. She thought of the hair tie on her wrist, the hard spot where it was glued into a ring, and she wanted to snap, to break that tension without breaking skin. She was restless and she was confined and the more she thought about it the more trapped she felt. Her pajama pants felt twisted around her legs like vines, and she wanted to kick them free, to jump out of bed, but--


It took more self control than she thought it would just to slip from her sheets quietly, and once free she shook out her arms in the open air where they wouldn’t rustle against fabric. Her ponytail had shifted and loosened, and pulling her hair to tighten it only made it bunch awkwardly. She stepped carefully to the end of her bed, slowly lifting a hoodie from the end to cover her tee, lips pursed as she tried to keep the hard plastic zipper teeth from scraping against the frame of the bed. Quiet. Quiet. At least the task had her focused on something else, so determined to get out of this room and into the open air.

message 11: by Turner [hiatus] (new)

Turner [hiatus]

Sam stiffened in surprise as Em shot up - you did it, you fucking woke her and now she’s gonna be pissed - freezing for a moment before her gaze became guarded, tongue sharpened and ready to snap back if Em complai-

But she was already up and at the door, and Sam was taken aback by the sudden unexpected offer. Her thoughts seemed to still once the silence was broken, though perhaps the comment itself was so out of left field that it just interrupted the cycle. Sam hesitated for just a moment. No, this was good. Company was good, it kept her out of her head. Hopefully. But Em was already out the door and Sam hurriedly stuffed a thin blanket in her messenger bag with her speakers, slipped on her flip flops, and slipped out of their room just before the door closed.

She didn’t run, but her pace was a bit speedier than normal as she caught up to her roommate, hanging back to let the younger girl lead. She bit her tongue, shifting a hand on the strap of her bag to subtly roll the hair tie on her wrist up and down, the scratch of the nub comforting. She should say something. She should ask where they were going. She should speak. Sam wasn’t necessarily chatty in everyday life, but she wasn’t silent either. In this sort of situation she should be speaking, but she couldn’t figure out what to say. And Em wasn’t a mean person, per se, but she wasn’t exactly jumping to be nice all the time. It felt like an odd shift in roles and it was confusing. But maybe it wasn’t a shift, maybe she just didn’t know Em. They’d only met a couple days ago, she obviously didn’t know everything about her -- no, Sam should be open to this, it made sense, she shouldn’t have judged so quickly-

She should say something.

“So where are we going?” Her voice came out more hoarse than she’d expected, as if she’d actually managed to get some sleep in the two hours since they’d turned out the lights.

message 12: by Turner [hiatus] (new)

Turner [hiatus]

Only dark thoughts. Oh shut up, you emo motherfucker.

"I'm good." Sam followed without complaint. They seemed to be heading outside, and that was the best Sam could hope for. She needed to feel the starlight on her skin and smell fresh air again. No walls, no ceilings to pen her in? It sounded perfect.

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