Waiting For The World To End

<epiele|online> [It's presession. You /should/ be safe enough not to have to stuff your grief away until never, so that you can live. But you still aren't feeling anything.]
<epiele|online> [You've been numbly working your way through the CF moderation queue for - sixteen, eighteen hours now, and you were awake long enough before then. You haven't slept; the idea literally has not crossed your mind.]
<epiele|online> [Skye comes in and out, the last time making sure to press a mug of tea and a bowl of something with a hard-boiled egg sliced thinly on top into your hands, and you eat, because the food is there.]
<epiele|online> [She hasn't slept either. You suspect it might be because of you.]
<epiele|online> [You're waiting for the world to end. Or your world to end. Whichever comes first.]
<speNih|Online> [He's right.  You haven't slept, and it's because you're worried about him.]
<speNih|Online> [You don't begrudge him this.  You're doing it to /yourself/, after all.]
<epiele|online> [You'll be useless when you break, for a few days at least, you say to yourself - so while you're in the period immediately after, why /not/ try to get as much done as you possibly can?]
<epiele|online> [And there's plenty to do.]
<epiele|online> [The CF moderation queue is always, /always/ endless, and the threads about Mindblogger's passing are attracting posts at an absolutely furious rate.]
<epiele|online> [There's the occasional dull ping of emotion trying and failing to get through the numbness, but otherwise...]
<speNih|Online> [This isn't healthy.  This isn't /good/.  You're very, very worried.]
<speNih|Online> [It may be a coping mechanism, but it's not one that you think... well.  You withdrew, when you were grieving, and look where it got you.]
<speNih|Online> [The best you can do for him now, though, is stay quietly nearby and silently reinforce the idea that he is not alone.]
<epiele|online> [You manage to peel yourself away from the queue long enough to look at your own private messages.]
<epiele|online> [The usual people trying to ask you for favors or even just attention. Those you can ignore easily enough.]
<epiele|online> [The hate is properly directed towards their idea of you, not towards /you/, and you mentally step aside, as always, and let the endless torrent of vitriol pass by harmlessly.]
<epiele|online> [But then something catches your eye.]
<epiele|online> [Someone offering you sympathy.]
<epiele|online> [You're... not the one dead, nor the next of kin. But someone remembered that you were close to her, and -]
<epiele|online> [and -]
<epiele|online> [Something hits you and you finally tear up, /finally/, and you drop the laptop back into your sylladex with a reflexive action and /sob/.]
<speNih|Online> [You jolt in the kitchen, halfway through washing the pot you used to make dinner, when you hear him sob.  You wipe your hands on your jeans and hurry out to the main room.]
<speNih|Online> [You would normally call out his name to warn him, but you're... a little deficient in that right now.  You instead try to kneel in his line of sight, obviously concerned and sympathetic.]
<epiele|online> [Throw a hand out in no particular direction. "I - didn't want to /interrupt/ you - " and /now/ there are tears, there weren't any before, why weren't there any before, and you curl up in the hotel bedspread and the hotel velour blanket and the sheet and cry.]
<speNih|Online> [You ease next to him and gently wrap your good arm around him, and then pull him closer and hook your chin on his shoulder.]
<epiele|online> [There's honestly only so many ways to describe crying, and the narrator has already gone through most of them, but you cry. More. And you appreciate the comfort she's trying to provide, but all the same...]
<epiele|online> [It's not Zeimah, and Aelf's still dead, and /you/ still can't stop the people you love from dying, slowly on the inside or more quickly and explicitly, and the /helplessness/ is what presses down on you like a great weight, moreso than the loss.]
<epiele|online> [How did you grow to /care/ about her?]
<epiele|online> [Because]
<epiele|online> [Because it was watching her disintegrate under the sharp eyes and the sharp tongues of the Seers that helped you realize that you were not only acting for yourself when you wanted to leave.]
<epiele|online> [Alex was the one who stood beside you - you could not trust /her/ with those plans, she would have collapsed halfway through the working - but the Mindblogger should have been less broken, and /would/ have been less broken had you not done more, sooner.]
<epiele|online> [You did what you could, and what you could ultimately wasn't enough, and now you're here in a hotel room with your sister's mother and the other woman you - no, you're not even going to /go/ there.]
<epiele|online> [...does Echo /want/ you to hate her? Fuck.]
<epiele|online> [This was supposed to be about Aelfrida Smithson.]
<epiele|online> [But it's not, anymore. Because you keep wanting to prove that - that you give a damn, that your damns are worth a /thing/ in the world outside yourself.]
<epiele|online> [And Sburb smacked you in the teeth again. No, scratch that, not the teeth. The gonads.]
<epiele|online> [It would explain why you're rolling around crying like this.]
<epiele|online> [You can give all the damns in the world, and...]
<epiele|online> [And yet...]
<speNih|Online> [You swipe his cheeks, and swipe them again, when they get wet with tears, reflexively making silent "shhh, shhh" noises.  You offer him a tissue, either to blow his nose or shred with upset hands.]
<speNih|Online> [You give a damn about him and you give a damn about his upset.]
<epiele|online> [Can the damns make you feel better? Later, they will, but in the thick of it, they just... make it worse, because -]
<epiele|online> [You don't /deserve/ being pitied?]
<epiele|online> [What?]
<epiele|online> [You disengage for long enough to blow your nose. And then blow your nose, again. And some more.]
<epiele|online> [...and then you're back to crying.]
<speNih|Online> [You debate going to get a glass of water, but... no, he's crying again.  He needs you here more.]
<speNih|Online> [You rub what you hope are soothing circles on his back, and hope that he can weather this one out, too.  Better out than in, but that doesn't make it feel any better in the moment.]
<epiele|online> [It's a while longer until you feel like you've cried all the tears you're /going/ to cry.]
<epiele|online> [At least now.]
<epiele|online> ["...thank you for that, I think?"]
<speNih|Online> [You give him another squeeze and hustle for the kitchen, fill a glass with water, and hand it to him in no time flat.]
<epiele|online> [You drink. Swipe at your face with your sleeve. "She was my coworker in the Seer Network. I would've, and did, look after her like one of our own. And she's... gone now." Sniffle. "At least she was /happy/."]
<speNih|Online> [You sit and listen.  You're not /sure/ who the "she" is, but....  You offer him another tissue and nod.  Dying happy is better than dying afraid or despairing, you can say that much.]
<epiele|online> ["But never mind that she was the Mindblogger for /how/ many years again, they still... turned. Against her. For a Folly. The first time she ever legitimately rolled Seer."]
<epiele|online> ["It would be ironic, if..."]
<epiele|online> [You shake your head.]
<speNih|Online> [You smile sadly.]
<speNih|Online> [That filled in a few blanks.]
<speNih|Online> [It's... you're sad for him.  They were close, and she was snatched away by the Game and there had been nothing he could do about it.]
<speNih|Online> [Feeling helpless is awful.]
<speNih|Online> ["she's sorry" you write.]
<epiele|online> [Tears come to your eyes again. "I know."]
<epiele|online> [scene]