text | in spacetext no one can see you crying like a toddler.

[borndying]

Who cares if you die?

( feel free to interpret that however you please, denizens of the EXTREMELY POORLY NAMED tranquility! all possible interpretations are acceptable in harry's current state of complete emotional breakdown. he probably doesn't care if any of you die, for instance, and may bitterly resent you for having an actual answer to this question.

who cared when norman died? who really cared. people mourned the man who'd contributed so much, but that man was an idea. an image carefully cultivated. harry knew enough to know better, but even he wouldn't pretend to have known his father, and who's going to care when harry dies? just like norman did.

harry's legacy is just disappointment and isolation. his best friend is his only friend and he's pretty sure they're totally not friends any more, also. everything sucks and he broke a bottle when he got back to his room and he can't be bothered to clean it up, he's just going to sit here and hate all of you, publicly and violently, and

you know, by text, because he looks even shitter than usual. )

Comments

[unmakes]

didn't see the fast one coming. i mean i guess that makes sense, it came at me backwards (the world's most gangrenous cock in human form shoved me down the stairs in my own freaking house, busted the back of my skull in on the bottom step), but... idk. it was way easier. one second i landed, and a few seconds later i was standing over my own body and like gross puddle of blood and all that

second time was way worse. i mean it was this huge stupid voodoo mess and i kind of actual literal rotted to death, so it had this fun 'my everywhere hurts like a mothereffer and also my organs are falling apart as i lay here and think about all the shit i wish i did while i actually had a body' thing going on.

the actual moment i guess wasn't so bad. you just close your eyes. probably worse for people who think there's straight-up nothing after death. i personally was just not psyched about doing the whole ghost thing again

[borndying]

Sounds about how it looked last time I saw it.

[unmakes]

[ not a single comment about the gangrenous cock. guess this is that serious after all.

so there's a pause before she answers again. ]

could be worse. at least you know what you're in for. pretty sure thousands of dead jesus freaks each day openly weep into their ectoplasmic sleeves over how not-heavenly the afterlife actually is

[borndying]

I'm gonna die rotting from the inside out like my father did and my best friend isn't going to lift a finger to help me.

[unmakes]

wow, speaking of bullshit

do you want me to punch him for you

i can totally do that

[borndying]

I want another sandwich.

[unmakes]

do i actually get to come in this time

i can close my eyes or something

[borndying]

( it takes him longer to answer this. he really does kind of want another sandwich, and she's - being nice, and not trying to force anything from or on him, and she probably wouldn't be horrified, but he doesn't do well with that. and he doesn't want to deal with anyone looking at him. and he does kind of want to be hugged and petted and told it's all gonna be okay, even though it's definitely not because everyone is a liar who hates him secretly.

he doesn't really want her to punch peter. he wants to try and punch peter again, but he doesn't want someone else to get involved. he wants his friend back, but he doesn't. none of this makes any sense. his head hurts so fucking bad.

that part is the booze. )

just for a minute.

[unmakes]

hell yes. this one's gonna have egg

[ she probably doesn't need to say '10 mins' this time. either way, it's like 11 or 12 minutes before there's a knock knock-knock again. ]

Eyes are closed, [ she says, which they are, because lying would be a dick move. this sandwich is both bigger and better, complete with a fried egg and space cheese. ]

[borndying]

( it's dark, in harry's room. he steers her around the broken glass, but she can probably feel the dampness on her feet, touching the bottom of her clothes - the room is pungent, to put it delicately, with the stench of alcohol and stale, sickly sweat, mingled with the sweeter smell of marijuana smoke, not recent, soaked into the fabric of clothing and bedding. some of it is recent mess - the glass, the spilled drink - but he's had time to settle in like this. this is just how he's been living, lately. )

Thanks.

( his hand on her arm, making sure she doesn't stand in the glass, is trembling. )

[unmakes]

[ she's not gonna say a word about it - about the dampness, slick under her flats, nor the weed smell because let's be real, she totally blazed it in the garden with a superhero and an angel in her first month here so she has zero room to judge. it's dark, that much she can actually feel, not to mention vaguely see through her eyelids. just from what she's picking up on so far, he's better at this whole wallowing thing than she ever was.

she's also not gonna comment on his shaking hands, beyond the fact that she has no idea exactly where she's headed so she kind of has to ask: ] Just let me know when to sit down.

[borndying]

Over here.

( the spare bed is clear, or at least more clear than some of the other spaces in the room - there's paper underneath her when she sits, but he doesn't seem to be particularly concerned about it. some of it is actually the notes he's been taking since he arrived, some of it is just semi-crazed rambling, he's that kind of ~damaged genius~. it's all a work in progress. sort of. )

[unmakes]

[ she moves most of it before she sits, less a careful thing and more a sweep to the side, then she's sinking down and pulling her legs up cross-legged. the sandwich plate is offered out now, just generally into the air in front of her since she no longer has any exact idea where he's at. no candy this time, mostly because she's almost out and he already got literally twice as many as she's given anyone else so far.

if and when he takes the plate, she scoots back to lean against the wall just for something a little more grounding if her sense of sight isn't gonna be a thing.

one of their phones goes off just then, but hers is on the bed rather than in her hand or pocket so she can't be sure which. doesn't matter either way, it's just a reminder of how fantastic his talks with everyone else are going, so: ]

You kinda walked right into that, y'know. [ her head tilts a little, aiming her closed eyes vaguely at her lap. ] The whole '~I'd care if you died~' thing. I mean, I'm just saying. Like - I get where they're coming from, and I have pretty much no idea how well you actually know them, but. [ but it's what they're expected to say. someone feels bad? tell them you care, even if you don't really know them. but she doesn't put it like that, instead shifting to: ] I haunted my own funeral. It was a whole bunch of, like - "Oh, she touched my heart, I'll miss her ever so much-" [ she puts on a dry false-accent for that to show exactly what she thinks of it. ] And I was sitting there like, 'I met you like three times and all you did was judge me for pulling out after freshman year. Why are you even sitting here pretending?'

[ he doesn't care. that's what he said to pretty much everyone else, and she's honestly surprised he hasn't said it to her yet too - but momentum won't quite let her stop. this isn't something she's really said to anyone because it sounds so stupid and selfish. ]

People showed up to check out the house, or to ~make sure Danny was okay~, or - I don't know, just out of some kind of stupid morbid curiosity.

[ there's her real answer to his burning question, she guesses. she wants to say it's different now, that the second time she died she had people right there beside her who definitely gave a shit, but they're not exactly here anymore now are they? ]

[borndying]

( he does say it, kind of reflexively, ) Fuck 'em, I don't care, ( but he sits down beside her, while she's talking, and eventually he just kind of leans against her shoulder and lets the flow of it, bitter and honest, wash over him.

he doesn't want to hear about what he should and shouldn't be doing, he just wants - he doesn't really know. but sally isn't asking him to know, she's just sitting here with him and talking about how bullshit it all is and it really is, so he can handle that. this as much understanding as he feels able to reach for. he's just going to sit here for a little while, holding the plate and the sandwich and being beside her. )

[unmakes]

[ she didn't expect him to sit with her, but sally's not complaining. it actually makes her feel a little better about this, selfish as that is. like her being here is actually accomplishing something, even if there's a high possibility that it really really isn't.

so when she feels his head on her shoulder she exhales a slow sigh through her nose and lets her head drop down to lean against his. she's not done bitching, don't worry. just give her a second to work up more steam. because if talking about how bullshit dying is happens to be what he's in the mood for, she can definitely deliver. ]

Bet you're real freaking pissed at your dad, right? [ it's hereditary, he mentioned to someone, among some other shit. her voice is a little quieter now that he's right here, but not in a terribly sensitive way. she doesn't wait for an answer. ] Danny tried to exorcise me. Like, 'banish the spirits into the beyond', straight out of shitty B-movies. Because apparently it wasn't bad enough that he up and murdered me in the first place.