video. open to all lockets.

[cerebral]

I need help. [Charles looks more like how he'd been when he arrived in the Drabworld nearly two years ago - longer hair, a full beard, only this time he was dealing with piecing his mind together bit by bit rather than recuperating from years of substance abuse. While he talks, he continually looks off at something at the corner of his eye, blinks, before refocusing on the locket again.]

Not with getting anywhere, or anything like that. Look - I can't be the only one who was wounded during the battle. I was before then. I'd gone through something some weeks before, but... I don't know. I don't know if everything made it worse, or if it kept it from getting better. [He runs a hand through his hair out of nervous habit. Wherever he is, there's not a lot of people surrounding him and with good reason. There are times when his telepathy threatens to overwhelm him again and it's better to be away from large crowds right now.]

It's my head. My mind. [There's a deep sigh, before he pushes forward because fuck his career as a spy - ] You remember when you shared memories with one another? I can do that naturally. And because of everything - I can't sleep very well, not very well at all.

[There's more to it than that but doesn't want to get into the nitty gritty; he's sure people can infer. Mumbling - ] Where can any of us even go right now? [A moment later and he clears his throat.]

I would also...I'd like to know who's still here. Even if we haven't met in person before. Fuck, even if we hated each other. It's a wild new world and, God - [He smiles for the first time, bright and abrupt, in spite of everything that happened.] There was mention of a party? I need a party. A week's worth.

Comments

video;

[desperate_times]

I find a shot of whiskey helps me sleep at night, but I'm guessing you'd need something a lot stronger than that.

[It was a bit of a joke, maybe. It's her way of being sympathetic.]

[cerebral]

Whiskey and I probably shouldn't be on speaking terms when it comes to this particular matter. [He smiles, though, not in the least offended.] Maybe once this has been sorted.

[desperate_times]

You don't speak with whiskey. You let it do all the talking, gorgeous.

[She smiles.]

Especially at a party.

[cerebral]

[He laughs. It's nice, though, to be doing something so normal and pretending otherwise for a while.]

Somewhere a few people who know me too well for their own good are probably thinking "that's his problem." In my younger days, you probably would, too.

[desperate_times]

[Sometimes life is so bizarre they just have to pretend they have normalcy now and again.]

Younger days? You don't look that old. Unless you're immortal or a vampire or something like that.

[cerebral]

No [he gives a quick laugh] though that's the sort of clarification needed here. I meant in my twenties I used to be under the delusion I was charming and interesting when I met attractive women in bars.

[desperate_times]

[She smiles.]

That sounds like every twenty year-old man I've ever met, so don't be too hard on yourself.

I'm Chloe. You got a name?