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[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

[it's not a very nice place, Zelman's head.

the room is large, but still very much a room. the walls are all old, chipping plaster and peeling wallpaper and an odd rust, here and there. there's warping from water and old, dark stains from what's probably (most likely) blood. but that's all if you really look at it--the biggest and easiest thing to notice is that the walls are plastered in pictures and papers, clippings and photographs. taped up, tacked on, strung up in a few places, they show everything. at eye level, they're a strange mix of things about Earth and things about Paradisa, and sometimes things that wouldn't make sense to anyone. many of the photographs are out of focus, a lot of the writing has bled together.

that's not the worrying thing. what's worrying is what's written over them and under them and around them. every thought, every observation, every connection has been mapped out with marker or string or blood (only on bad or very very very good days) until the entire thing is like some convoluted artistic nightmare; scribbles and writing are layered on top of each other. lines are drawn and then more pictures are pasted over. many of the pictures with people in them have been X'd out or torn apart. the floor is littered with old paper, half-burned scraps, and ashes. it's somewhere between genius and an absolute mess.

looking up, the room just keeps going. the walls go up and up and up, plastered for what seems like miles. there might be a ceiling, but from here it just looks like the tiny flicker of a candle's flame, burning strangely clear despite the distance. is it really a ceiling...? the air is heavy, but the place feels... empty. it feels angry and arrogant and... unimportant. none of these things are important. all of these memories are useless, trash. uncared for.

and then there's the strange, oppressive feeling that someone, or something, doesn't want you here. you do not belong here, in this place so empty of sentimentality, so devoid of comfort. there's no joy to be found, here. just millions of empty memories and the scribbles of someone about as loving as a mechanical clock.]

[if you decide to venture into Zelman's room, he'll be there--a version of him anyway, barefoot and without a hat, flickering in and out a little as if he's composed more of flame than flesh. he's lying around on the floor, on his side, nearer to the far wall. his back is to the door. he's curled up a little, one arm protectively over a small box of newspaper clippings and photographs and stray pieces of scribbled-on paper. it's not much compared to the rest of the room, but one immediately gets the feeling that these things are important. precious. much more significant to him than anything else.

the contents of the box are spilled over a little onto the floor in front of him, but he doesn't seem to care. he's gazing absently at nothing, absolutely still except for the fingernail he keeps scraping across the floor. it makes a sound like a wire being tightened. again and again, a constant sharp scraping that is probably the only thing keeping him awake.

he looks a little annoyed, a little vacant. but mostly? bored out of his mind, no pun intended.]


[[ooc: gah, length. inner!Zelman is not a very nice person (just like his room!) but if you can handle that, feel free to look around or try to talk to him or whatever floats your boat.]]

Comments

IT'S A WONDERFUL LATE TAG ;w;

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

[there's whisper that floats down through the room; unlike with the other visitors, this one doesn't rumble through the walls or move things around. it just... speaks. incomprehensible to most, as it's the sound of Blood running through his veins. it only makes sense to him.

he stops scratching at the floor.]

I wondered if you would be here.

So glad you think so *A*

[bedninja]

[It isn't a 'language' that Pharos knows, for obvious reasons. For all the years and years and years on the Earth doing his 'job', he knows the languages of the dead far better than he does the living. Zelman's blood speaking like that... it's not something he'd ever hear under normal circumstances.

But then again, the Castle almost never called for normal circumstances.]

I am afraid that I could not quite resist but to visit. [His fingers stop moving as well, stilling against the wall. No more added sound.] Though I will leave if that is what you would prefer. Is this a place that you would rather I not be?

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

[he shifts, as if made of smoke, into a sitting position. he's facing Pharos properly now, his legs crossed. he's still between him and the box, but has no immediate intentions of getting up.]

I'm not sure. [he doesn't look irritated so much as uncertain.]

[bedninja]

...It is yours, is it not?

[His smile evens out, a small and pleasant expression, as he draws away from the wall, finally looking over at Zelman. Just in time to watch the way he seems to move here; fire and smoke and so very alive. Like a candle that could be blown out at any moment, a living flame, but one that would set anyone that got too close on fire before it ever let that happen.

It suits Zelman well.

He wanders over, and plops himself onto the ground as well a few feet from Zelman, legs out straight in front of him..]

If it is yours, then there is nothing here that I can see without you allowing it. So simply do not allow me to see anything that you would rather I not.

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

[for most people, he'd want them out because he doesn't like people snooping around in his head. they're his thoughts, not theirs. no one needs to know how he really works; that takes the magic away from the trick of it all.

but he doesn't mind so much with Pharos. here he's just... unsure. mostly worried, perhaps, of what he would think. Zelman knows that he isn't always the neatest of people. it's been a while since he's cleaned in here. but if anyone deserves to see it, he thinks, it would probably be Pharos.]

Most of it is... unimportant. I don't care.

[he glances backwards at his box, at the few pieces scattered around it. one of them is a tarot card, notably. three guesses which arcana it is.] But I'd rather you didn't look in the box.

[bedninja]

[Just seeing a Magician's tools doesn't give the person the knowledge of how to use it. A lot of people could probably see this place, and make no sense of it whatsoever. Pharos certainly doesn't know what to do with this place, though it does nothing to assuage his curiosity.

His gaze follows Zelman to the box, briefly looking over the few items that have spilled (been left?) out. It lingers on the tarot card very briefly, his smile widening ever so slightly. That wouldn't happen to be a Death card, would it? Because he will be so very flattered if it is.

But oh. Zelman doesn't want him looking. So he pulls his eyes away, looks back to Zelman, and bobs his head.] If you do not want me to, then I will not attempt to do so.

[And then he tilts his head back, staring up into the endless hall of pictures above them.]

There is quite a lot here... You seem to keep quite a few unimportant things.

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

Mm. [Death it is. he takes a moment to reach back and put some of those things back in their box properly. there's a playing card, a crayon drawing, several pieces of paper with bits of writing on them, all tucked quickly (but carefully) into the box.

when he's done he'll just bring it forward, onto his lap, and hold it there. it seems the safest place.]

Sometimes they add up to important things... [he glances up as well, towards his ceiling.] Some of them used to be important, but aren't anymore.

[bedninja]

[He doesn't look again when Zelman starts putting his things back in his box, mostly keeping his eyes occupied with looking around the place more. He recognizes a few people from the Castle on the walls, but mostly just in passing. When Zelman is done, he looks back, and smiles. Despite his curiosity, he does well not to peer at the box.]

...Then are the things that are still important kept elsewhere? [He doesn't have to ask if they're in the box. He suspects they might very well be. It doesn't seem unlike Zelman to make sure all his important things were in one place, where they'd be easy to keep safe.]

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

Some of them are up there. [he points upwards. there was a time, very long ago, when many things were important. he can't keep all of them in his heart, but he can leave reminders for himself here and there.]

More are scattered around... But the box is for things I won't want to get mixed in with everything else. They're too important.

[bedninja]

[Another brief glance up, at the very small, flickering light that serves for an end of the tunnel. Most of the people that were down here... he didn't know many of them, couldn't make many of the pictures out, but... Zelman was old. One of the oldest people he knew. if these were things that were important and unimportant alike, then perhaps... the things that were important and unimportant in the beginning were further up. And the room grew longer with the years.

He wonders if that light up there is the blood that Zelman talks about sometimes. The blood he shared with that important person.]

...Are the items in that box really only things, Zelman?

[Hey, he said he wouldn't look. Didn't say he wouldn't ask about it.]

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

No. I don't need things.

[he looks down at the box, his fingers tightening around the corners.]

There are... ideas. A few people. Some other things, but it's hard to describe.

[bedninja]

I see no reason that you should need to describe it. It is how it is whether you try or not, is that not so?

Whether I know what is in your box, I know it is important to you. The details behind them do not matter if you do not wish for me to know them.

[He glances down this time, though it's more at Zelman's hands.

...Joshua had been right about body language, hadn't he?]

Though I will admit to being curious about all of it, even if you are unable to describe it.

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

I would be too.

[he thinks about that for a moment before he reaches into his box and starts to look around for something near the top. he doesn't give any explanation as he carefully picks out that tarot card again, looking at it for a moment. once he seems to have settled on something, he holds it out for Pharos to take.]

Here.

[bedninja]

[Leaning a little closer in an obviously curious way when Zelman starts looking around; though he keeps his promise, and does not attempt to look in the box, though he very much wants to.

He doesn't seem to have expected that, however, and reaches out with both hands, taking the card offered to him and holding the edges of it carefully as he looks at it. It wasn't the same as the cards he was accustomed to seeing... but it wasn't really so different, either. Most weren't.]

...Is this me?

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

[just holding the card will cause the air around Pharos to change, after a moment. the air is barely tense at all, feeling more of comfort and restfulness. like finally getting to sit down after a very, very long day.]

Yes.

[bedninja]

[His eyes widen slightly when the air begins to change, and lifts his head to look at Zelman again, staring quietly while it settles in. It wasn't something he'd ever felt before; the comfort, yes, but... not this strange feeling of rest.

Pharos wonders if it's something he'll be capable of feeling again.]

Is this how I make you feel?

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

[he gazes right back at him, mostly observant. quiet. probably thinking more.]

Sometimes, yes... and sometimes it's more of an idea.

[bedninja]

[He's thinking as well - watching Zelman curiously while he works that out. Tries to find the meaning in the words when he's usually so bad at it.

...but it's not difficult to figure this one out, because it's a thought he's so familiar with. Zelman didn't think of him necessarily just as "Pharos". He acknowledged and accepted that he was a concept. That "Pharos" was just part of him.

The thing that was how Pharos made him feel but was also an idea... perhaps that's what being dead would feel like for Zelman. Or maybe it's what it did feel like for him.

It takes a moment, but a smile spreads across his face, and Pharos holds the tarot card out to return it to Zelman once more.]

...It is not an inaccurate idea.

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

[somehow, that gets him to smile a little. it's a very tired smile, but it's progress from what's been an otherwise blank, bored, or absent look so far.]

That's good.

[he'll take the card back and carefully place it back in the box, where it belongs.]

[bedninja]

[His own smile widens and brightens significantly when Zelman smiles, and Pharos sets his hands on the ground, seeming rather pleased with himself.]

I must admit... I find myself very honored to be among the things that are important to you.

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

I thought you might be. I'll keep it safe.

[he sets the whole box down on the ground next to him, but rests his hand on the rim. there used to be a lid to it, but he's not sure where it went.]

[bedninja]

Thank you.

[As promised, he still does not look into it; though he still isn't done asking his questions. He draws his legs up and crosses them, imitating Zelman's posture. Mostly just for the sake of seeing if he could.]

Is Asuka in your box as well?

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

[oh, he... figures he can say. if Pharos is asking, it's probably painfully obvious. plus, it's hard to lie in here.]

Yes.

[bedninja]

[Juuuust a wee bit. Asuka is one of the few people that Zelman shows any concern for at all, as far as he can tell. ...Asuka and himself, of course, and he is so very happy about that.]

I cannot say that I am entirely surprised.

how did I miss this tag... my turn for lateness. D:

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

It's getting easier to tell. [he looks particularly frowny about this point. stupid human-like affection.]