eyemind | event } you're never gonna fit in much, kid.

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event } you're never gonna fit in much, kid.

WHO: Open to all passengers.
WHAT: Teen time!
WHERE: Anywhere on Navi.
WHEN: The next two weeks (Sept. 11-25).
WARNINGS: Add these to your comment subject lines as needed! And if your teen angst includes a body count, please report it on the death page.

When Navi wanders through this particular nebular cloud, you may find yourself feeling sleepy. Wouldn’t a nap be fantastic right now? Of course it would be. Treat yourself - you deserve it.

When you wake, however … that’s perhaps less of a treat. Where are you? (Or maybe who are you?) How did you get here? And why, when you look in the mirror, do you look so much older than you remember?

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He has...

Bobby waves. It was his sad little green sweater. He tore a hole in it and cried for hours. His 'mommy' had made it for him. He was such a sensitive little boy. Richard understood that deeply.

Flailing?

"...Is it the dreams?" How does he know? He just does, "The dreams about Bobby? I've been having them for weeks, mapping out every place the poor kid could be. I'm smart. That kind of sight. Or the other kind."

He pauses, "...Other kind."

Oh good, he's catching on. It would be very disappointing if the first human he's met under his own domain happened to be completely thick. What would he even do with that?

"Sometimes." Dreams were a method, yes, especially early on. "Dreams, visions, intuition. You'd be astonished how much information is left behind, unknown and undetected by those who lack the sight to see it. But not you, you know better than that don't you? That those aren't just dreams."

Are you behind the shadow men? Those tall monsters, like the ones in the painting, scratches and hands and darkness...

"I knew it." Richard grins, manic, and he looks terrifying at his size, "I knew it! It's where he is right? I found it. I found him so my mom'd be okay..."

"Behind them?" He asked casually. "Of course not. I am... in a cosmically vague sense, behind your ability to perceive them." He spoke aloud despite the question having been asked within, only because he wasn't certain he could master volume control at this juncture. Humans didn't respond well to the whole booming voices thing.

He would look terrifying, if Murmur knew what terrifying even was. Instead he was only intrigued. The intensity was something to behold. "Your mom?"

"...My mother." He swallows, "My mother was worried about Bobby. My father left me in charge and I think she worried I was next since I used to babysit him."

He hates it then. How much he'd babysit. Trying to make money to help his mother and sister.

"...His mother was also worried. I just- I dreamed and I had to find him you control psychic energy?"

"And this 'Bobby,' what happened with him?"

It's clear Richard is struggling with something deeply upsetting. What and why were still somewhat perplexing to the angel, but he didn't quite grasp the concept of familial obligation yet. Nor the distress caused by facing mortality.

"Control implies a willful application, while I am capable of that I would call my typical involvement more along the lines of influence. You, after all, hold the key. I am merely support."

"He died."

He inhales, "He's dead. His body's down by the river. I spent days mapping it out."

Green trees and streams. You made it up Richie. Stop talking about it. You made it up. You're making this all up.

His heart hammers in his chest at that and he looks away, "I don't want the key. Can you take it away."

He considers him for a time, studying him.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

There's an edge there, an unspoken implication in his tone that there's a strong chance Richard doesn't entirely know what he's asking for. To cut off a piece of himself, to seal it away... He's asking to be blinded.

Does he really understand what that will do to his experience of the world?

He just stares at the angel, feeling his age, feeling young but also old...

"What happened to me? If you're an angel you can tell me, I'm 16 but I'm..I'm old."

He gestures, "I mean how do I know you didn't do this?"

"Ah, that. You, too, are afflicted then?" There's a faint raise of an eyebrow at the accusation.

"I preside over Sight, the altering of time is a gift of others. Of course, I cannot convince you beyond my word that I am not inclined toward lying. What, precisely, has occurred here I am uncertain. All that I have been informed of is that we've lost time. Some a more significant amount than others."

Then, as an afterthought.

"Truthfully, your species hadn't even begun to invent a written language last I recall."

"We have thousands. millions." He looks bemused, "I speak some of it and I can read more of it. I speak Latin and Greek and my father speaks more languages. And obviously we're speaking English."

He beams.

"I've even studied aramaic."

"None of those words have meaning to me." It's not derisive nor condescending, he simply has no context. Humans have very little in the way of written language when he's currently from. Certainly vastly different cultures than what Richard knows and understands, and by far this technology was extremely far away.

"That is impressive all the same. I also rather enjoy study... not that there is much yet beyond the paths of stars and the foundations upon which the universe is built."

The path of the stars and foundations. He had dreams of that. Dreams of a great dragon doing math on a blackboard. It was a ridiculous dream. He knew it was math. The dream took two phases. First a cartoon dragon on the blackboard. Asking him numbers and equations.

Then it was dark.

Very dark.

"You helped build them?"

It was always math. The key to the universe had always been math. And that math that built the universe would come to be understood and unraveled in good time.

But not yet.

"No," He was quick to correct. "I am not an architect. I am a servant. I am... maintenance. I ensure, in essence, that things keep ticking away the way they are meant to."

And in time that task of keeping the universe tied together would become quite literal for him. Though he doesn't know it yet, he's already begun to see. Disturbing visions. Tears in the fabric of reality, creation falling apart consumed into nothingness.

"Because you see how they're supposed to go. The things eating away at the world." His eyes go foggy, gaze glassy, "The formulas and the music at the center of everything."

He shakes it off like a dog and looks at him, uncomfortable, "...Yeah. I should. Go."

His lips press together, "You're making my head hurt."

"Yes." He confirms quietly, watching while the pieces fall into place. His sight, being what it is, he can detect what it is that's disrupting Richard so. All the same he finds it perplexing, this power only lurked within Celestial beings or greater, he thought.

This Murmur didn't yet have a full grasp of the intricate workings of the universe, but he was certainly getting a crash course very quickly with this one. "Do as you will." He won't stop him.

However, as to that last part. "I don't believe that's my doing." No, that was coming from within.

"Yes it is. It has to be. You're loud." He bares his teeth, "...You're loud."

And so he turns, and leaves with a huff.

"That isn't me, Richard."

He almost sings it after him, but makes no move to stop him nor to intercept. Richard is free to go if he so insists. Of course, Richie never did tell him his name.

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event } you're never gonna fit in much, kid.

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