Booker DeWitt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
amonglions) wrote2014-03-20 12:25 pm
amonglions) wrote2014-03-20 12:25 pm
Eighth Baptism [Video/Action]
[Oh look, it's everyone's favorite alcoholic dad! ...Except he looks even worse than he usually does this time. The bags under his eyes age him tremendously and there's a lack of of his normal bite that just makes him look off. What the hell's going on with him?]
Still can't sleep. [Booker deflates a little on screen at admitting it. Talking about his problems is not something he just does. But he's run out of options, this is a cry for help if ever there was one.]
Been tryin' everything for it. Everything and anything. But it just.... this isn't somethin' that tea before bed can fix. [He sounds just a little more angry and a little less defeated at that though.]
Those damn dreams just don't want to stop. I can't get them to stop. [They're awful. All of them reminders and none of them offer any relief or goodness. It's all blood and death and faces that he's starting to see when he's eyes are open too. It's getting worse and Booker has no idea that he is making it worse by refusing to sleep or relax.]
I haven't slept in days. Trying to avoid it but I just....
[Except he knows that's not a good idea. He knows people need to sleep. And he's about as normal as they come. No super stamina here.Ignore the Vigors.]
no man can just keep goin'. It doesn't work like that.
How am I supposed to do this? I heard there's someone 'round here who can make you forget...things. Maybe that'd work, but I don't know.
[He both wants that blank slate and is afraid of it. He's lost his memories before and discovering them again was more painful than he cared to admit....but the release might be enough to make the dreams go away. At this point, he thinks to himself, he'd take a lobotomy.]
Don't know much of anything.
[He's etching around actually asking the question so....a deep breath for fortification and:]
I need help.
[And - because he is the most mature - Booker slams the journal shut after that. And runs away from it.]
--
Action
[After making his plea to the public of Luceti on his journal, Booker feels a bit....antsy. Maybe he just wants to avoid talking to anyone in his house at the time, or maybe he just wants to find something to do. He used to be a detective - albeit, a pretty unemployed one - but still. He used to have a purpose. Something to do every day that would offset the drinking by himself and the...well, everything by himself.
He can think of just one thing he could do.
And he heads to the Items' Shop. Since the store is so out of sorts, Booker is left to go through the piles of junk to try and find something. He keeps looking until he finds a - yes! A guitar.
Wait, a guitar? This doesn't look like any guitar he's ever seen. It's...well for starters, it's blue. Like, really blue. And second it's shaped weird. The strings don't sound right when he pluck out the first few random notes of a song he has in his head and...
there has to be a normal guitar in there somewhere. He keeps looking. And keeps making the store look like a damn tornado hit.]
Still can't sleep. [Booker deflates a little on screen at admitting it. Talking about his problems is not something he just does. But he's run out of options, this is a cry for help if ever there was one.]
Been tryin' everything for it. Everything and anything. But it just.... this isn't somethin' that tea before bed can fix. [He sounds just a little more angry and a little less defeated at that though.]
Those damn dreams just don't want to stop. I can't get them to stop. [They're awful. All of them reminders and none of them offer any relief or goodness. It's all blood and death and faces that he's starting to see when he's eyes are open too. It's getting worse and Booker has no idea that he is making it worse by refusing to sleep or relax.]
I haven't slept in days. Trying to avoid it but I just....
[Except he knows that's not a good idea. He knows people need to sleep. And he's about as normal as they come. No super stamina here.
no man can just keep goin'. It doesn't work like that.
How am I supposed to do this? I heard there's someone 'round here who can make you forget...things. Maybe that'd work, but I don't know.
[He both wants that blank slate and is afraid of it. He's lost his memories before and discovering them again was more painful than he cared to admit....but the release might be enough to make the dreams go away. At this point, he thinks to himself, he'd take a lobotomy.]
Don't know much of anything.
[He's etching around actually asking the question so....a deep breath for fortification and:]
I need help.
[And - because he is the most mature - Booker slams the journal shut after that. And runs away from it.]
--
Action
[After making his plea to the public of Luceti on his journal, Booker feels a bit....antsy. Maybe he just wants to avoid talking to anyone in his house at the time, or maybe he just wants to find something to do. He used to be a detective - albeit, a pretty unemployed one - but still. He used to have a purpose. Something to do every day that would offset the drinking by himself and the...well, everything by himself.
He can think of just one thing he could do.
And he heads to the Items' Shop. Since the store is so out of sorts, Booker is left to go through the piles of junk to try and find something. He keeps looking until he finds a - yes! A guitar.
Wait, a guitar? This doesn't look like any guitar he's ever seen. It's...well for starters, it's blue. Like, really blue. And second it's shaped weird. The strings don't sound right when he pluck out the first few random notes of a song he has in his head and...
there has to be a normal guitar in there somewhere. He keeps looking. And keeps making the store look like a damn tornado hit.]
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[Booker + talking about it = never been done. So a total stranger asking after his dreams like that is just...well, it's bizarre.]
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[They're a nice little personal hell that he either doesn't want to give up because he thinks he deserves it, or is too embarrassed to talk about because men don't talk about things. Ever.]
I can't sleep, that's the short and the long of it. Isn't that enough?
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So what's it gonna be?
[Somehow the idea that all you want out of this is a description of the dreams is ... well a little unbelievable.]
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I've known my share.
[He doesn't sound like he's has the most pleasant of encounters with priests.]
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Well. Of course he would know that. Booker's whole post is about how he doesn't cope. So:]
You know I haven't. Don't try and play me.
[He practically growls it he's so high-strung at the moment.]
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Not playing you. I imagine you have done something for so long to bottle up those emotions, it just stopped being effective.
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What? That can happen?
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Yes idiot.]video
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God damn it.
[Then he has to consider how much he should be trusting this guy.]
Are you even telling me the truth?
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Your question is a bit amusing. If you are already choosing to disbelieve me, what difference would claiming to be telling the truth do?
[He taps a gloved finger to his mouth]
I am, by the way, though whether you choose to believe that is up to you.