It's a foot! A Dahut foot, attached to the rest of the Dahut that's currently balled up under this balled up coat. He doesn't seem to respond outside of that just yet, though. The emotional spread is, as always, slightly off kilter - like something very nearly human - and a tiny bit muted, though notably less so than Scien. The most notable thing right now is this funkyass cyclical panic, though! That's fun. It's just a feeling of panic that seems to fade a bit, flicker like an electronic about to shortcircuit, and then surge again, over and over.]
She's keyed into the sensations at once. Thankfully she's had enough troublesome run ins to know that her pulse is spiking due to his distress, not any of her own. And there's a strange squeeze on the emotional front, too. Is that just the mercurial transfer between them?
Rosamund moves to her knees and switches to a gentle hold on his shoulder. For her own part she projects a grounded warmth. Not quite maternal, but of a kind with it.]
Dahut, it's Rosamund. Can you hear me all right?
[She might try to edge the coat off his head a little. Eye contact would help, or at least she could gauge his mood better. He's giving off such a jumbled cacaphony right now.]
Goodbye coat... She can do that, he won't kick up a fuss. In fact, as soon as he hears another voice, it's like he remembers he's inhabiting a human body that is just sort of existing in the middle of the fuckin floor! Goddamn! He shifts a little, peeking out from under the fabric and letting her move however much she wants of it.]
Oh— Good day, Mademoiselle Rosamund... I don't seem to have made it to the seats.
Hey, that's all right. You have no idea how many times I've laid on the ground dying. Happens to the best of us!
[She will brush his hair aside and check for fever, even she's certain it's not a regular illness. Then she'll lift him slightly, set his head on her lap (very mindful of the brairs) and stroke the hair back in place.]
[These gestures are so soft and tendy my god. She won't feel any fever, though something cuts through the weird stop-and-go of his Panic Spin Cycle as she sets his head on her lap and brushes his hair back into place. A sense of loss and longing; something mournful and aching.
He'll just close his eyes for a moment, like he's reestablishing his bearings or maybe indulging in a bit of nostalgia.]
You should stop lying on the ground dying... It's not very comfortable. [PLEASE DON'T DIE ANYWHERE??? There's a little sigh after that, though.]
I think... being around sooo many people with all of those big, big emotions was a little much for me, ehe...
Not having a fever is both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because sickness in closed spaces is so dangerous. A curse because the cure just became that much more murky. And he is just bleeding loneliness, a grief that pricks her own heart in just the echoes.]
You mean that weird sharing thing that's going on? [She can imagine it could turn into something scary. It was already creepy to start with.] Was there anyone in particular that hurt to be near?
He opens his eyes again, fixing her with his freaky lil multicolored stare.]
That, most likely. [There's a little flicker of a smile; he'd nod, if he wasn't comfortably situated.] It's no one in particular, really... There are just a lot of emotions, you know? A lot all at once. Even I have trouble processing that.
[You don't have to tag this back, this can just be a lil cap on their time together ;;]
That's okay. Sometimes too much of a good thing can hurt you. Not that all the sharing is good, but. I think it's very sweet that you're so receptive.
[She will begin to stroke his hair anew, this time more to calm than correct. It doesn't seem like he's against the touch. She knows some people don't like to be coddled, and that's okay too.]
Why don't we wait a little while together? If you need to sleep, I don't mind. You don't have to talk. [She smiles.] Whatever you need, I'm happy to help.
Aha, I don't know that I'd call it sweet... Silly, maybe! [He would have made better modifications if he knew he was going to be flavorblasted by 38 other people's emotions...
He does seem to be fine with this, though. The tender sort of pang in his emotions surfaces again; his smile is a little nostalgic, and the wistfulness makes him seem both older and younger than what his face alone would suggest.]
...It's been a looong time since anyone's fussed over me like this. [A little blip of mother.] You're kind of heart to be donating your time... Thank you very much. [A smile! It's smaller than usual, but the sort with a warmth genuine enough to make his eyes crinkle.] I won't take up too too much of your time, or it'd just be greedy of me, ehe! Buuut... maybe just another minute or two. We can still talk! I'll just rest my eyes for a moment.
[And he will! And maybe he'll end up dozing a little in this comforting familiarity right after struggling with his stupid, complex heart, and maybe that's fine.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
w0man.....
Rosamund bends down to peruse it. Delicately, with one hand, she prods a safe looking lump.]
no subject
It's a foot! A Dahut foot, attached to the rest of the Dahut that's currently balled up under this balled up coat. He doesn't seem to respond outside of that just yet, though. The emotional spread is, as always, slightly off kilter - like something very nearly human - and a tiny bit muted, though notably less so than Scien. The most notable thing right now is this funkyass cyclical panic, though! That's fun. It's just a feeling of panic that seems to fade a bit, flicker like an electronic about to shortcircuit, and then surge again, over and over.]
no subject
She's keyed into the sensations at once. Thankfully she's had enough troublesome run ins to know that her pulse is spiking due to his distress, not any of her own. And there's a strange squeeze on the emotional front, too. Is that just the mercurial transfer between them?
Rosamund moves to her knees and switches to a gentle hold on his shoulder. For her own part she projects a grounded warmth. Not quite maternal, but of a kind with it.]
Dahut, it's Rosamund. Can you hear me all right?
[She might try to edge the coat off his head a little. Eye contact would help, or at least she could gauge his mood better. He's giving off such a jumbled cacaphony right now.]
no subject
Goodbye coat... She can do that, he won't kick up a fuss. In fact, as soon as he hears another voice, it's like he remembers he's inhabiting a human body that is just sort of existing in the middle of the fuckin floor! Goddamn! He shifts a little, peeking out from under the fabric and letting her move however much she wants of it.]
Oh— Good day, Mademoiselle Rosamund... I don't seem to have made it to the seats.
[THANKS SIR.]
no subject
Hey, that's all right. You have no idea how many times I've laid on the ground dying. Happens to the best of us!
[She will brush his hair aside and check for fever, even she's certain it's not a regular illness. Then she'll lift him slightly, set his head on her lap (very mindful of the brairs) and stroke the hair back in place.]
Tell me what happened, okay?
no subject
He'll just close his eyes for a moment, like he's reestablishing his bearings or maybe indulging in a bit of nostalgia.]
You should stop lying on the ground dying... It's not very comfortable. [PLEASE DON'T DIE ANYWHERE??? There's a little sigh after that, though.]
I think... being around sooo many people with all of those big, big emotions was a little much for me, ehe...
no subject
Not having a fever is both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because sickness in closed spaces is so dangerous. A curse because the cure just became that much more murky. And he is just bleeding loneliness, a grief that pricks her own heart in just the echoes.]
You mean that weird sharing thing that's going on? [She can imagine it could turn into something scary. It was already creepy to start with.] Was there anyone in particular that hurt to be near?
no subject
He opens his eyes again, fixing her with his freaky lil multicolored stare.]
That, most likely. [There's a little flicker of a smile; he'd nod, if he wasn't comfortably situated.] It's no one in particular, really... There are just a lot of emotions, you know? A lot all at once. Even I have trouble processing that.
no subject
That's okay. Sometimes too much of a good thing can hurt you. Not that all the sharing is good, but. I think it's very sweet that you're so receptive.
[She will begin to stroke his hair anew, this time more to calm than correct. It doesn't seem like he's against the touch. She knows some people don't like to be coddled, and that's okay too.]
Why don't we wait a little while together? If you need to sleep, I don't mind. You don't have to talk. [She smiles.] Whatever you need, I'm happy to help.
no subject
Aha, I don't know that I'd call it sweet... Silly, maybe! [He would have made better modifications if he knew he was going to be flavorblasted by 38 other people's emotions...
He does seem to be fine with this, though. The tender sort of pang in his emotions surfaces again; his smile is a little nostalgic, and the wistfulness makes him seem both older and younger than what his face alone would suggest.]
...It's been a looong time since anyone's fussed over me like this. [A little blip of mother.] You're kind of heart to be donating your time... Thank you very much. [A smile! It's smaller than usual, but the sort with a warmth genuine enough to make his eyes crinkle.] I won't take up too too much of your time, or it'd just be greedy of me, ehe! Buuut... maybe just another minute or two. We can still talk! I'll just rest my eyes for a moment.
[And he will! And maybe he'll end up dozing a little in this comforting familiarity right after struggling with his stupid, complex heart, and maybe that's fine.]