[SEMI-OPEN] Better not be the one who falls in love again

[plasticasshole]

Who: Connor and an open prompt (with other closed prompts later)
When: April!
Where: Aefenglom
What: Meteor shower for now
Warnings: None yet


Everyone wants to fly with the fireflies; (April 3rd)
[It's beautiful, honestly. Connor has never seen a meteor shower, nor has he seen the insects that accompany it. They land on him, and he might glow a soft pink or blue in places, or even green. The emotions that accompany the colours don't bother him as much as the folks pushing him towards anyone whose colours match, but he just lets it happen. He was going to meet new people anyway, right? Strangers get small, polite smiles.]

I'm sorry. We could take this time to get to know each other better, and they'll leave us alone?

[Of course, people who know him get a different response-]

Oh. Well, it could probably be worse.

[He's joking. Made (hopefully) obvious by the way he nudges the other person playfully. The Full Moons are nearing, he's feeling a little bit sassy.]

Wildcard;
(I'll write a prompt out if we plot something, or you can write your own! I'd rather keep memory share stuff to the event post when it goes up, but anything else goes! My plurk is novicecity if you want to plan something! As for which colour Connor gets, I'll either RNG it or you can pick~)

Comments

[hearthebell]

[L bristles noticeably when Connor invokes Myr; it's even more noticeable, given his reclined and formerly slack posture.

Obviously, he doesn't want this to get back to Myr. He's here to escape the crushed, deflated feeling that comes with the faun's disappointment when he falls short, turns out to be weak in ways he should have been more resilient, exercised better judgment. Whether or not Myr intends it (and he almost certainly does not intend it), that disappointment has a way of absolutely devastating him and making him feel smaller than he ever has.]

That's your tack...? You're threatening to tell Myr? That's pretty cheap, as they go.

[plasticasshole]

Clearly effective, though.

[And Connor has no problem with cheap if it works. He leans in, eyeing L.]

I'll make a deal with you. Try to cut down on the alcohol and the pills, and Myr will never have to know. You'll feel better for it, and Myr will be none the wiser. That seems like a good deal to me.

[hearthebell]

How is any of that enforceable?

[L asks, more mystified than angry, because he knows how clever he is. Connor must have some idea, for all that he treats L like an idiot in moments like these. He can "try" without actually succeeding, he can "cut down" while still imbibing a dangerous amount.]

And how can you pretend to know, to my face, what will make me feel better?

[plasticasshole]

You're right, it isn't.

[Looks like he'll have to just tell Myr anyway, then. Maybe Myr will have better luck here.]

But look at yourself. Surely being this intoxicated doesn't feel good? You're destroying yourself from the inside out, how can that feel better than- than not doing that?

[He's experienced what it's like to be intoxicated and he hated it, personally. And the idea of doing something to damage himself like that and enjoying it? He... doesn't understand. And it bothers him that he doesn't understand.]

[hearthebell]

[Something about Connor's earnestness, his willingness to conceded something to L in his low and miserable state, seems to get through to the detective. With an effort, he sits up again, even though the room lurches and punishes him for it.]

Of course... you wouldn't understand...

[It sounds like L's allowing it to dawn on him, rather than openly judging or mocking Connor.]

Back when there were fewer colors in my life, I didn't see a point to any of this. I hated it. Now that there are too many... it still doesn't feel good, but it helps.

[plasticasshole]

[Colours? Connor doesn't get it. But he goes silent for a moment, before attempting a small smile.]

I admit, I only know what it feels like to be drunk or high through my Bonds. I found it unpleasant. It causes errors in my system, you see. And it feels similar to how I feel when I've lost a lot of blood.

[So of course he wouldn't like it, he supposes.]

I've never had my senses overwhelmed the way you have. I guess in that case, it makes sense that you would want to drown everything out, even for a little while. But... I worry about you. I worry about what it's doing to you.

[hearthebell]

If it didn't make sense, fewer people would resort to it, even knowing the risks and the drawbacks.

[This is not, after all, a tendency unique to L. It's astonishingly human, really, the need to cut off pain, deliver some kind of chemical assurance that all will be well even if it's temporary and leaves one feeling very sick afterward.

It turns out that geniuses aren't really any less susceptible to it. Perhaps more so, since they do know the risks and drawbacks, and perhaps assume themselves capable of outsmarting all of them in the end.]

I can't tell you not to worry, but... I deserve one night a week where there's no one here to hate me for drowning.

[plasticasshole]

[Connor just looks down at his hands. For a long moment, he's silent. This is hard- extremely hard- but...]

...Alright. You win. But under one condition. If you think you've taken too much- enough to even potentially be fatal- contact me.

[He thinks L is probably smart enough to know where his limits are, and he's already expressed that he doesn't want to kill himself. But it doesn't hurt to have the offer on the table.

And now he just sits there and looks deeply uncomfortable with himself for agreeing to allow this to happen.]

[hearthebell]

[L's in it, always, to win, but it's true that some victories ring so very hollow.

His eyes are glassy and blank as he stares back at Connor, giving him, well... what he thinks he wants. And though the SQUIP's approach would probably be different, more forceful and domineering... this is probably the right approach from Connor, for this moment, for this absolutely bleak and difficult situation.]

Connor? So you know... that isn't how I'd do it. If that was my choice... I'd also choose to feel something. At the end.

[plasticasshole]

[It's about as good as he'll get if he's looking for reassurance. It's still not much. It feels heavy in his chest as he stands up, not only restless about leaving L here alone like this but also trying to ignore the negative thoughts creeping into his mind. You've failed him.]

I would rather you just didn't die at all, Linden.

[He knows it isn't his name. He has nothing else to call him, though. Maybe later, he'll ask for his real name. For now, he just wants to go back to his pool and sulk underwater for a good while.]