stykera: (sad)
Stark had been unwilling, at first, to accept the fact that the ever-increasing list of disappearances might grow to include someone he cared about. That was what had kept him, so far, from trying to contact Moya. That, and the fact that regular contact was just not something Stark had ever excelled at.

But his concern had overcome any hesitation and he had taken his comms out and tried to call Moya. He held his breath, waiting, without even realizing it until he let out a sigh of relief when Pilot's voice finally came through.

The relief didn't last long )
stykera: (kick the stark!)
Time passed on Moya. A few solar days at most while they traveled back to the water planet. Stark was still distraught, not paying attention to the passage of time or to anything else. He didn't notice the comings and goings of anyone else on Moya. He wandered the corridors occasionally, ignoring his comms and the DRDs and most attempts at interaction and the reports of developments in the war between the Scarrans and the Peacekeepers. The war that might have been averted already if only he had better prepared Yondalao or if only he were able to do what it was everyone wanted him to do and deliver Yondalao's spiritual remains to the other Eidelons. "I'm not worthy. I'm not worthy. I'm not worthy. Can't do that, can't do that. I can't do it." Repetitions along those lines were all he said when he bothered to speak at all. Sometimes, even when he did speak, he was barely understandable. The others weren't sure if he was talking to himself or a voice in his head. It amounted to much the same thing as far as they were concerned, and Stark babbling was at least somewhat normal, even if the rest of his behavior wasn't.

He would have spoken to the others if he could have. He wanted to. If he were able to, he would have told them everything. He would have tried to explain what was going inside his head. He would have tried to tell them all that what was left of Yondalao was nearly unbearable to be carrying around inside of himself but that he was trying. And yes, he was occasionally carrying on conversations with the voices in his head but if they had half as many pieces of others inside of them as he did his shipmates would do the same thing. Some of the voices were helpful. Others, particularly those acquired when he had lived among Scarrans and Peacekeepers, were not. And some of them were just loud and distracting. And one, the one voice he wanted most of all, was nearly silent and that only made matters worse. If Zhaan were here, even just in his head, it would be easier. He knew that. If Zhaan were here the others would never have forced him into this situation in the first place. She wouldn't have allowed it. He knew that, too. Of course, the others knew nothing of all of this. All they knew was that something was wrong. Even if he had tried to explain, they wouldn't have understood. None of them were Stykera. None of them had had the the remains of a spiritual leader, and with them one of the last hopes for peace in this end of the galaxy, forced into their heads.

"I don't know how," was his last quietly desperate statement before he stopped speaking entirely.

[Poor wee Banik. We're almost at the end though. Hopefully.]
stykera: (bad day)
A long delayed continuation. During which things get even worse, because this is Farscape. )

[I don't even know why this is taking such a ridiculous amount of time for me. Also, I hate that they did that to Stark in PK Wars. It was just CRUEL. Dialogue and such taken from a transcript of hour 2 of PK Wars. Stark's internal babble, all me. Will the next installment take two months? I HOPE NOT. Someone just poke me with a stick or something, will you?]
stykera: (kick the stark!)
Having landed on Arnessk, Stark and the travelers from Moya headed in what they hoped was the direction of the Eidelon temple.

And one of them was molested by a crazed wild woman but that's not really important here. )

[Life sucks in the UTs, yes it does. Particularly for anyone who's ever spent time on Moya. Dialogue pulled from a PK Wars transcript. More unpleasantness to come, because Kemper and Rockne are crueler than I could ever be.]
stykera: (lost boy)
Stark had been even more scarce than usual for the past week or so. How he'd managed that was anyone's guess, but he'd done it somehow.

He still wasn't about to go out and look for company, but he had at least managed to get himself to the construction site this week, unlike last week. Not that he had talked to anyone, but he'd at least been there. And now he was back to hiding in his room, as he was prone to doing. At least the door was open, though only a tiny crack and that may have been unintentional.

[Sometimes I need to remind myself my characters are still alive. This is one of those times. Also, open if anyone feels inclined to poke at an emo alien.]
stykera: (thumb)
Having returned from his trip to LA with Molly, Stark was now back in his room. Still wearing the hat Molly had convinced him to buy (he'd decided against an animal hat, eventually), he was currently sitting on his bed.

He'd had fun, in spite of himself, even with a silly hat. The hat had even, he thought, helped distract from the mask. Not that the mask itself had even been that unusual out there. He had seen a lot of costumes and masks while out doing "tourist-y" things. And they'd done a lot. There were the Tar Pits and the Zoo (which made him miss Creature Languages classes) and the Botanical Gardens (which had threatened to make him emo again) and the Walk of Fame (which was just names on a sidewalk to him, but the people there had been fun to watch) and Grauman's Chinese Theater. And one day had been spent almost entirely watching the Barry Plodder at Wizarding School movies, which he'd been told weren't even all out yet, Fandom time.

There had been plenty of things to do that allowed him to aggressively ignore his issues of the past few weeks. He would have to find a way to thank Molly properly for that, and for giving him a chance to get off the island.

Of course, now his distraction was over and he was back here, trying not to lose his hold on himself again.

[Door's shut, post is open, alien is less emo than last week but we'll see how long that lasts]
stykera: (soda pressed)
Stark still hadn't given up on talking to himself. It was easier than talking to other people at least. Not that he wouldn't talk, given the opportunity, he just wasn't up to seeking out company at the moment. Going out, however briefly, on Wednesday to do something other than work had clearly been a fluke of some kind.

So now he was back in his room. Or still in his room. Quietly arguing with himself while sitting in a corner, head against the wall. Someone passing by the room might have heard the occasional soft thud of a mask hitting a wall, if they were listening.

[Door's not open, post is. I'm around, even.]
stykera: (lost boy)
Stark had managed to get himself out of his room on Sunday night for clinic duty. That had gone relatively well, aside from the manic cleaning. And at least cleaning things in the clinic was productive, unlike sitting in his room.

Unfortunately, a lack of productivity was not motivating Stark to leave his room again. He was really going to have to work on that, since he knew on some level that being alone in the room wasn't helping anything. So he would work on getting out of here. Eventually. Just as soon as he was done doing whatever it was he was doing. What he was doing seemed mostly to involve muttering to himself, but at least the pacing had stopped. That was progress. Probably.

[It is hot and I am bored. Open, if you like.]
stykera: (my side!)
Stark was still in his room, much to the surprise of, well, nobody. He was also still pacing and still talking to himself. Not constantly, but on and off as he had been since Monday. Not even Stark mid-breakdown could keep that up for days on end. Sometimes he was huddled in a corner of his room, being very still. Verys till except for the humming. He hums when he's nervous, sometimes. Not that he was nervous, exactly, but it was close enough.

He'd even slept a bit, though not much and not well. Of course, sleeping meant waking up and waking up meant facing reality. And sometimes Stark hated reality. This was one of those times. Freaking out being easier than dealing with anything, Stark was just going to continue freaking out. He'd had practice with this, after all.

Were he thinking clearly, Stark might have wondered at how easily he'd fallen back into this broken persona. He’d thought, once, that being here and being safe for so long might have eliminated that possibility. Sometime later this would occur to him and the realization would not be a pleasant one.

Hopefully, the pacing and the babbling and the humming weren't loud enough to bother anyone.

[Still crazy, whee. Also open for another hour or so.]
stykera: (emo tear!)
It had been dark when Stark left the clinic last night. It was always dark when he left the clinic, and most of the buildings in town were dark by that time as well. That didn’t stop him, many nights, from taking a longer route back to the school; a route that led him past a certain shop owned by a certain blue plant. It was dark tonight, that shop. Nothing out of the ordinary there. It was late, after all. But something had seemed wrong. It was too dark, too quiet, too something. But it was late and he was tired and his mind was not always reliable and surely he would have known if something were truly wrong, so he returned to the school and his room. He could check in the morning.

Standing outside in the early morning light, he had seen that something had indeed been wrong. Something was still wrong, very wrong, and he hadn’t even known. The shop was empty. No, not empty. It had been empty before, when she simply wasn't there. No, now it was abandoned. Deserted. And he knew now, without having to see for himself, that the home upstairs would be the same. Zhaan was gone. Again. And if she was gone, truly gone, then he was alone. Again. And this time he hadn’t even been given the chance to say goodbye. Unwilling to face this reality, he made a soft despairing noise and turned and fled towards the school.

He managed, somehow, to keep himself together until he’d returned to the relative safety of his room. Then, with the door shut and his face buried in a pillow, he screamed. Only the once, then he was on his feet once more, pacing frantically and speaking rapidly. If anyone were listening, the words might have been recognizable as a supplication, though one in a language no one here was likely to understand. It seemed likely the rest of the day was going to continue in this fashion. He certainly had no thoughts of leaving the room unless it was absolutely necessary.

[So, Stark hasn't been crazy for a while. This seemed as good an excuse as any. He's in the room all day, talking to himself or an unnamed higher power...he's not sure which it is either. Mostly establishy, though if you want crazy interaction, that can happen.]


stykera: (Default)

March 2012

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