thirty-seven ➢ psychic spam & voice

[patheticvillain]

[Open season to any psychics around: a bad dream. Or a memory, but fantastical enough to masquerade as a simple dream. It's about justice, and games, and a carnival death. It's about entertainment, and about despair.]

[He kills the girl in the memory-dream. He remembers doing it, and he remembers feeling ashamed and weak. She had his secret. She knew, somehow, the worst thing he'd ever done in his life, the worst sin he'd ever committed - and she was going to tell.]

[He lured her to the roof, and he walked her off the edge. And they found him out. Of course they fucking found him out.]

[There was no escaping judgment, of course. Nobody before him had, and it was vaguely satisfying to realize that nobody after him would, either.]

[A deck of cards, taller than him, boxing him in by suit. Fluorescent green spades and clubs, fuschia hearts and diamonds - they make his eyes hurt. He's staring down four aces, lashed by his ankles to the floor as the cards fan out and begin to circle him. They're on tracks; he can hear the tracks but not see them. What he sees are the sharp edges of the cards whizzing past himm, circles getting tighter and tighter. He can imagine them cutting pieces off his skin, chunks out of his flesh, slicing bone, as they come closer and closer--]

[And then they're here, and they do, and it hurts more than anything's ever hurt before, and he's laughing and screaming and dying--]

[And he wakes up. Sulkily turns on the network and speaks plaintively, too shell-shocked by his own mind and memory to censor himself.]

I dreamed about that goddamn bear again. Let me into the pub.


( ooc; cassel is a super high school level gambler from dangan ronpa! he was also super murdered by monobear. feel free to pick up on that if your character has psychic powers. more info here. )

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[notsoneedy]

[Ugh. That scream back feels like a little knife right to inside of her brain. She winces, hard, in the physical world.

Thinks back again, as hard as she can "Who ARE you?"

She's used to picking of fragments of other people's thoughts but most of the time it's like white noise. Like trying to eavesdrop across a crowded room. It's never really been this direct, this clear, this singled out before.]

[patheticvillain]

[For a minute he thinks about lying. Making up a false name. But that's stupid. She's in his head. She'll be able to figure it out no matter what he does.]

["Cassel," he says tentatively. "Why are you in my head?"]

[notsoneedy]

["You got into mine first," she retorts, and the defensiveness that comes along with it should be an answer all its own, maybe. She thought she was under attack. She was only trying to defend herself. Flight or fight.

It's the story of her life, really.]

[patheticvillain]

["I didn't mean to," he offers, and for once it's the truth. He thought he was safe in his own head. It seems like he isn't safe anywhere.]

["How much did you see?"]

[notsoneedy]

["Enough," she spits back, but it's all rough around the edges, tinged by her own fear. She backs up a little, retreats. After all he did apologize. "You were scared. Of a secret. Of someone telling it. And I saw...pain."]

[patheticvillain]

[Nothing for a while, just staticky silence. Then:]

["Did you see the secret?"]

[notsoneedy]

["No. I'm not that good. I'm surprised we're even talking right now."

Well. 'Talking'.]