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driftfleet2016-03-21 01:52 am
heavenonearth) wrote in driftfleet2016-03-21 01:52 am
Entry tags:
i have become comfortably numb
Who: Castiel & You Poor Unfortunate Souls
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Waystation
When: Todayish..?? From like the 19th through the 21st. Text post is on the 22nd. Also a warning that this post contains drug use/references, cursing, and potential Unhappy Talk about painful subjects/depression what have you.
action;
[ it's easy, you know, to drown all of your shit out when you've got a bright, loud, roaring space station of extravagance, entertainment and debauchery to keep you occupied every moment of the day that isn't spent sleeping. good food, good drugs, good company - after living so long in a near-literal hellhole it'd been such an easy thing to give into temptation and drown his troubles in the usual ways, to have a good time, laugh and eat and distract himself with pretty lights and pretty people.
but space is quiet, once you're out in it, and soon enough they've drawn far away from the starlight and cas finds himself cut off from his sport. sure, he can still drink and get high, but that's not really the same, and without all the noise and bustle and activity of the station to drown out all of his thoughts it becomes.. more difficult to face certain realities that he's yet to come to terms with. dean's gone, probably dead back home, and cas hasn't stopped thinking about those crotes, about the hard bite of their teeth into his throat and their foul, suffocating breath. there's no going back home. not for him. and even if he could, there's nothing to go back to. it's all dead and gone, all his fault, and facing up to the hulking mountain of mistakes that his life has been, well -
- he's not strong enough. back home the weight of it was straining him, bending him, but then at least he had purpose, at least he had that thin sliver of hope. here? well, here it's a wash. here there's no more hope, and he's not bending, he's breaking.
so when that snap comes, he's gone from the red fish, disappearing to the waystation where he can blow all his newly acquired funds on booze and whatever cheap stuff is in these vending machines that will fuck him up properly. losing track of time is easy, days pass and he doesn't return to the ship, forgets to eat half the time, sleeps under benches, wanders aimlessly, but spends most of his time passed out beside one of the more remote vending machines, the lit cigarette loose in his hands burning down to his knuckles. ]
[ ooc; he's got some fellow shipmates coming to the rescue, so feel free to come across him any time, when he's relatively sober or less so, whatever's comfortable! he'll be there a couple days just moping about, so any time in that period is fine! ]
text;
So tell me, what do you guys do for a bad hangover, eh? Gotta be some homespun remedies we've got access to, right? These protein solids really aren't doing the trick.
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Waystation
When: Todayish..?? From like the 19th through the 21st. Text post is on the 22nd. Also a warning that this post contains drug use/references, cursing, and potential Unhappy Talk about painful subjects/depression what have you.
action;
[ it's easy, you know, to drown all of your shit out when you've got a bright, loud, roaring space station of extravagance, entertainment and debauchery to keep you occupied every moment of the day that isn't spent sleeping. good food, good drugs, good company - after living so long in a near-literal hellhole it'd been such an easy thing to give into temptation and drown his troubles in the usual ways, to have a good time, laugh and eat and distract himself with pretty lights and pretty people.
but space is quiet, once you're out in it, and soon enough they've drawn far away from the starlight and cas finds himself cut off from his sport. sure, he can still drink and get high, but that's not really the same, and without all the noise and bustle and activity of the station to drown out all of his thoughts it becomes.. more difficult to face certain realities that he's yet to come to terms with. dean's gone, probably dead back home, and cas hasn't stopped thinking about those crotes, about the hard bite of their teeth into his throat and their foul, suffocating breath. there's no going back home. not for him. and even if he could, there's nothing to go back to. it's all dead and gone, all his fault, and facing up to the hulking mountain of mistakes that his life has been, well -
- he's not strong enough. back home the weight of it was straining him, bending him, but then at least he had purpose, at least he had that thin sliver of hope. here? well, here it's a wash. here there's no more hope, and he's not bending, he's breaking.
so when that snap comes, he's gone from the red fish, disappearing to the waystation where he can blow all his newly acquired funds on booze and whatever cheap stuff is in these vending machines that will fuck him up properly. losing track of time is easy, days pass and he doesn't return to the ship, forgets to eat half the time, sleeps under benches, wanders aimlessly, but spends most of his time passed out beside one of the more remote vending machines, the lit cigarette loose in his hands burning down to his knuckles. ]
[ ooc; he's got some fellow shipmates coming to the rescue, so feel free to come across him any time, when he's relatively sober or less so, whatever's comfortable! he'll be there a couple days just moping about, so any time in that period is fine! ]
text;
So tell me, what do you guys do for a bad hangover, eh? Gotta be some homespun remedies we've got access to, right? These protein solids really aren't doing the trick.
Text
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Wow. That's pretty great. I hope you didn't wake up with any unfortunate splinters for all your trouble.
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