thoughtformed | (no subject)

WHAT: Ryoji's dream mind
WHO: Whoever needs to chill
WHEN: Every night, ladies & gents, Thurs - Sun.
note I probably won't be replying to this! If you'd like to float around in Ryoji's head, or need more details on it, just let me know. It's sort of a chance for some characterization on anyone who wants some dream quiet time. If you want something specific, or details, like I said, give me a hollar.

There isn't much to say other than the darkness is comfortable. It's quiet, loving and without judgment, joy or anger. There's nothing but silence and stillness. It's hard for the human mind to comprehend just how dark it is with the absence of light, or how the silence is affected by action and the life that scatters in the background, but this, perhaps, is what it would be like. It isn't anything that could be imagined. Even as it happens, it's difficult to allow it to penetrate the senses. But it doesn't really seem to matter, because it's nice here in lifelessness.

Gentle, accepting, and enveloped in death.

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Jack was no stranger to the complete silence and darkness that pressed in all around him. It was something he had experienced many, many, many times before, but there was something very different about this. It was the way that it lingered and filled his heart with peace that Jack enjoyed the most. That was what had been missing all those times he had died. Nothing really stuck.

And yet... even in this peace and darkness... something wasn't quite right. It was uncomfortable and didn't fit right. It was like he had changed into the wrong clothes and couldn't get them off. Was it that he didn't belong here?

There's a certain feeling of inevitability to Mello ending up here, and for once, he doesn't mind overly much.

Not at first, anyway.

Shinjiro's breath was loud in his ears. After his own dreams -- after so much of his waking life -- this was a welcome place, and more than a little familiar. A place of quiet, of respite, with nothing around to remind him of... anything... was exactly what he needed.

Among other things, it was a very good place to cry, where no-one else could see.

Curiosity killed the cat. Sometimes quite literally.

Knowing the truth about Ryoji — who he is, what he is — hasn't changed Nathan's opinion on his friend. The irony isn't lost on him, being mates with Death, but it doesn't really mean much to him. At this point, it's easier to assume that everyone he meets in New Moore has some mental secret and psycho comic book shit going on.

So the darkness isn't exactly a surprise. The silence is, though. "Ryoji," Nathan calls out, but only his own echoes return. "Oi! I get it, you're being a little freak as usual, hiding and waiting to jump out. I'm letting you know right now, mate, I've got balls of steel, it's not going to work on me!" After a few minutes of total silence, Nathan just rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Right, right, death, being alone, all that rot. Whatever, man."

The longer he stands there, the more his mind wanders. But it's not his own deaths that come back to him — those can honestly be boring to dwell on. Instead, it's Jamie that springs to mind. Someone for whom death was permanent, not a fleeting moment and a fucking fantastic story to tell over drinks.

Nathan rocks back and forth on his heels, still restless despite the peace and quiet. He doesn't talk about Jamie — it's not that it's a secret, or that it hurts too much, he's just never sure what to say. The kid showed up for a few days of Nathan's life and managed to make a bigger impression than anyone. Sharing a shite dad does wonders for a friendship.

If asked, how would he even describe Jamie? Barely knew him a week. He was a good kid, he'd probably say. Generic and ironic, considering the circumstances of their first meeting (you hit dad with a toaster and then you put him in the boot of the car). And then he was gone. Quick as he came, up in flames. It's bullshit. He was young and, yeah, alright, maybe a little fucked up, but he's a Young. It's practically a genetic trait. He would've had time to sort himself out, but of course, the brother who got in that car wasn't the immortal one. Sometimes it makes the short list of things Nathan regrets.

Nathan lets out a low whistle and scuffs at the floor. He doesn't normally think of this shit. But it feels strangely alright here, so he allows himself to uncover long-buried memories of Jamie.

"It'd be ace if you had ghosts here," he says to the darkness after a long while, and laughs despite everything.

For nearly the entirety of his long, uncomfortable life, there had always been one constant. The drumming. Hundreds of years of it's constant company in his head. It takes him a while to realize what it is, exactly, that is off about the darkness surrounding him. For him, more than most, it is a deafening silence. So great a contrast to his life that he is lost in that alone.

Beautiful, peaceful quiet. It was enough to drive him mad, if he had not already been driven there by the drums. He closed his eyes, not making much difference in the darkness, and let the silence of death envelop him in it's welcoming touch. Funny, he thought to himself, that he should have feared death for so long, when it offered such relief from the taunting noises of his life.