stykera | Entries tagged with where did my plant go?

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 )

Stark always missed Zhaan. This was a fundamental part of who he was, much like his tenous hold on his sanity or his tendency to babble. Sometimes he missed her more than others. Usually this was just something he accepted, something that bothered him on some level but not an immediate one. Usually it was a wistful sort of emotion, occasionally something stronger. Sometimes it was more immediate. Like today. Today it wasn't even just emotional. Today it was almost physical.

Staying cooped up his transport pod was not helping Stark in the least, which was why he'd landed on this small commerce planet. Doing something, even if it was just wandering through a marketplace looking for something more palatable than food cubes, had to be better than being left alone with his thoughts right now. Unfortunately for Stark, this particular commerce planet happened, at the moment, to be hosting more than a few Delvians.

Had Stark known about the influx of Delvians, he probably wouldn't have landed at all. Right now he wasn't in any shape to be running into blue people when all he wanted in the world was one particular, beloved blue person. One he'd been missing for far, far too long.

It had been merely an annoyance when he'd spotted the first Delvian woman. He'd simply turned and headed in a new direction. It had happened again, and he'd turned again, thinkin perhaps he should just head back to the pod.

And then he'd turned and crashed into two Delvian Pa'us. Having one eye, after all, led to a distinct lack of peripheral vision to one side. He stumbled backward, stared, paled, whispered "Goddess help me" in a tone barely audible even to himself and began stammering out an apology.

One of the priestesses had grabbed at his shoulder to steady him as he stumbled. She smiled, dismissing the apology as unnecessary, as did the other. "Are you all right?" one asked, "you look...unwell."

"Could we help?" offered the other. "Come, sit, before you fall over." She motioned to a recently vacated bench as she spoke. The first Delvian who had spoken nodded her agreement, gently pushing tugging Stark towards the bench. Part of Stark was having very happy thoughts at the idea of these two Delvians. The vast majority of him was appalled at that part and trying not to flail or run screaming.

"I..." Stark began, toying with the mask buckle at his neck in his effort not to flail. "I. No. No. This is. I...That is, you're...you're not. And I, no. You're not, even if you look...I need to go. Now. Need to go now. Need to be somewhere else. Alone." Leaving two confused Delvian priestesses behind him, Stark turned and fled in the opposite direction hoping he could manage to avoid anymore encounters with blue women on his way back to the transport pod. Perhaps being alone was his best option right now.

[I couldn't leave Stark entirely out of sex week even though just contemplating including him felt vaguely wrong somehow. Establishy unless you happen to be in the UTs or you're taking a break from your pollen-fueled sexcapades to call an alien. He'd enjoy that.]

Inside his box, Stark dreams. What else is there to do when you were in forced stasis?

( Dream a little dream... )

But dreams, like all things, end.

[See? I can still be nice to the poor emo alien. Sort of.]

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.]

Current Mood: emo!

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]

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.]

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.]

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.]

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.]

Current Mood: crushed

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
1	2	3	4	5	6	7
8	9	10	11	12	13	14
15	16	17	18	19	20	21
22	23	24	25	26	27	28
29	30	31

Stark

Stark's Room, The Arms, Tuesday Night

A commerce planet, somewhere in spaaaaaaaaaace

In a box, on a base, in Scarran space

Room 203, Wednesday night

Room 203, Friday Evening

Room 203, Sunday Morning

Room 203, Tuesday Evening

Room 203, Wednesday Evening

Room 203 [All Day]

Profile

December 2024

Syndicate

Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Active Entries

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags