Red and blue are pretty standard Slurpee colors - or Slurpee variations, as we see here.
[His voice still sounds like he's watching paint dry, by the way. He takes a few good slurps of his own.]
Watch out for brain freeze.
[But to answer her question:]
I'm kinda fixated on blue, yeah. Always have been. I mean, it doesn't belong to me or anything, but. [Slurp break.] Kinda does.
[He takes a long lock of his hair between two fingers, squinting at it to see if he can make out the color from a close distance. He knows from the last time he looked in the mirror that it's properly faded to a light denim, and that his dark roots are showing again.]
I dye it with Kool-Aid, actually. Most of the time.
[The paint-drying tone is nothing new to Val. Dera is still engaging verbally, even if his inflection leaves some enthusiasm to be desired; she can work with this!]
Cool Aid! [Whatever it is, Rudy would probably like it. Where are the other three, anyway?] Does a pretty good job, I’d say.
[Another slurp. It was already too late for the brainfreeze warning. As far as Val’s concerned, this is the tradeoff for actual temperature sensation.] Do tell more about your “ownership” of blue? Inquiring minds want to know.
[Herself, of course. But she thinks Kade would get a kick out of it, too—much as Kade gets a kick out of anything, which is… often lacking. What came first, the color or the depression?]
Oh. Well, I mean...No, you can't own a color, but. I've just always liked it--
[Dera and Valerie are too far away from the wall of TVs to still see them. (Un)fortunately, they happen to be standing in an aisle of reflective services. For a moment - none too brief - they all light up with the same image. Eyes with white-colored lashes and irises of such a haunting, light blue that they almost look pink instead.
[Dera stumbles backwards, flat on his ass, eyes wide at the makeshift screens.]
H-hey, woah...what...? What was that? That...
[He looks like he's seen a ghost. So this is where the nightmare begins.]
[Gold eyes watch the "screens", now back to being freezer doors instead. His mouth is open and stammering, but he makes no sound.
["Jesus Christ. Pull yourself together. It's just a dream. You'll wake up soon." He prepares himself for the sleep paralysis that will no doubt be kicking in the second he "wakes up".
[His voice is idle as he answers, still watching the screens in case Those Eyes(TM) decide to return...
[A large part of him wishes they would.]
Yeah, I do...I knew...him. That's my...[His mouth feels dry. The would-be Slurpee has already been discarded. He takes a minute to light another cigarette, hands shaky.]
[Oh hello, that’s new information! “Friends,” Dera says, and yet he looks none too happy. Shame about the not-quite-Slurpee.]
“Were” friends?
[A flicker of piqued interest in Val’s eyes. Maybe she’s projecting (okay, well, she is), but she can’t imagine Kade would be thrilled to see her face like that. Blue and red, ever a classic....]
["What went wrong?" Dera swallows down a lump in his throat. Valerie might observe a single tear from each eye when he blinks. He still looks stunned. His voice comes out hoarser than usual.]
[It’s rather flat, by Val’s standards. (Which, to anyone else, is about a baseline expressiveness.) Not quite disappointed, but not particularly amused. It takes her a moment to remember that’s something normal people don’t come back from.]
Well. [A moment longer, to consider how to even respond. Sensitivity might be appropriate, especially with those tears in his eyes.... What would Cyrus say, here?]
[The eyes don't return. Dera wipes at his own, sniffling - nearly burns himself with the cherry of his cigarette, but manages to avoid it. He takes another long drag. It feels way too real.]
This...
I-I should have woken up by now. This is...weird, I...
I don't wanna be here anymore. [An afterthought:] No offense.
[Now is probably a terrible time to take a Slurpee sip. Should she be helping him up? Probably better than just staring…]
[Val extends a hand, though she doesn’t kneel down to help any further. She looks around the Dream-Mart, instead. Interacting with real people is a strange experience indeed.]
I don’t know. Pinch yourself, maybe? Dreams are strange....
[Dera doesn't respond directly, but takes the advice to heart. Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, he turns his palm upward and presses the cherry against it. It burns. He holds it there a few seconds too long anyway.]
Shit. [A belated response as he drops the cigarette and shakes his hand. Sure enough, there's a round little burn right in the center of his palm.
[Val is frowning somewhat. Alcohol is something that someone she knows does have, inexplicably, and it does not seem particularly good either. It does not seem good for her, specifically.]
[Dera pushes himself up from the ground, ignoring Val's hand. It's not meant to be rude, he's just...starting to get a little edgy. His response is dry and flat, and doesn't come out until his back is turned, his legs already moving toward the liquor aisle a few rows down.]
Drink. [A pause. He considers the response after he's already made it - corrects it.] I take that back.
[Edginess, as it turns out, is also something Val’s familiar with. It’s always the blue ones, isn’t it? It occurs to her prodding that subject was what prompted the dead friend’s face. Something to revisit....
[For now, though, she’d prefer not to be on standby as Dera drowns himself.] Really! Nothing at all?
[Val crosses her arms behind her back and follows, keeping close behind. There’s a trace of her usual dramatic swing in her inflection, but if Dera’s been listening closely, he might notice that it’s ever so slightly tempered.] No hobbies, no passions? Just QVC and smoking and drinks?
Not ever? Even as a kid? [Absently Val is glad there’s not a bottle of ✨ liquor ✨ in sight.] Nothing that, I don’t know, maybe you’ve wanted to try? Besides drinks and drugs and what have you.
[This is beginning to sound like a lecture. Dera's tone will definitely sharpen now; again, though, it's not really Val's fault. He's an addict with a craving all of a sudden; always how it seems to work.]
I did shit when I was a kid, sure. [But what, exactly? His favorite game of "try to make sure my best friend doesn't hurt and/or kill himself"?]
Listen, I...get up, and I go to work, and I come home, and I...sit. And smoke, and drink, and try to sleep.
I know it's pathetic, but I don't have anything else left in me at this point.
[“Did shit.” Mmmhm, very specific. Dera saves himself some extra prodding by continuing after that.]
That is pathetic. [Again, no judgment, just like saying smoking is bad. Sky is blue. Aisle is empty. Maybe a smidge flat, if only by the Valerie standard.] There is absolutely nothing in that big wide [real] world of yours that you’d rather be doing?
[Oof. It's true, but it stings all the same. No one actually wants to be told how pathetic they are. If he could smoke ten cigarettes at once, he would.]
There's plenty of shit I'd rather be doing. [He snaps this a bit. It's a mixture of irritation and rapidly building anxiety.]
It's not that simple. I'm not...okay. I don't have the energy, or the money, or the time.
[A voice: almost feminine-sounding, but male nonetheless; young, tinny, taunting, vicious.]
"I like being miserable."
[Dera stumbles back again, but doesn't fall this time; catches himself on one of the empty shelves.]
[Val notices Dera’s steadily-increasing tension, but he’s not trying to hurt himself anymore, so she doesn’t particularly care. She’s about to pry at his answer when a voice… well, it sure is a voice, all right! And Dera apparently recognizes it.]
Huh! [Val looks up and around, as if the voice might have come from somewhere specific. Are there security cameras in here? Hard to tell, as is the job of a security camera. The voice sounded strangely disembodied, though.]
[She cups her hands around her mouth anyway, still scanning the ceiling.] Hello? Who is this? [It’s a blind coinflip of fate that she doesn’t address “Dera’s dead friend” by those exact words. Could be someone else....]
[He cuts himself off, the word choked and desperate. The burnt palm is reaching for her, as if to stay her that way.]
Please. Don't do that. I'll answer anything you want.
[Mercifully - cruelly - the voice does not return. Dera wonders if he hears the echo of a familiar laugh, but...no. That was probably just his imagination.]
[Hm? Val lowers her hands, looking aside at Dera. He really seems to mean that.]
[She pauses a moment, and when the voice indeed does not return, answers:] Oh, I wasn’t going to question them. [Or at least, it wasn’t her first intention.] Just ask them to stop bothering you! It’s terribly rude. [She should know, after all. She’s done similar multiple times!]
I don’t need to read your data to know this person’s quite upsetting to you.
[Huh. Said friend doesn’t look or sound too gone, to Val, but… real people, real standards. Real death, and all the permanence that entails. How depressing.]
[The tears and the helplessness strike her, but in a… detached sort of way, almost more intellectual than anything. Val has some human intuition that oh, this means upset, they need help. But she barely knows the guy, and she’s never been particularly capable of helping much of anything.]
[So, after a pause: an echo.]
That really does suck.
[Maybe it would strike some as odd, but...when it comes to Dera, a simple acknowledgement of grief's inherit suckiness...is actually a good bit more comforting than what most people have to say (which is, usually, either nothing, or...some platitude he's tired of hearing).
[Sniffling a bit, he twists his lips to the side in a half-frown (the other half not being a smile - make no mistake) and gives Val a blue-nailed thumbs up.]
Nope, I'm. Ah.
[He wipes a bit at his eyes again. His cigarette has gone out. Another for the floor. He doesn't light the next one just yet - probably should check and make sure this place has more before he keeps wasting them.]
You said, uh...read my data? Like on my phone or something?
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no subject
Red and blue are pretty standard Slurpee colors - or Slurpee variations, as we see here.
[His voice still sounds like he's watching paint dry, by the way. He takes a few good slurps of his own.]
Watch out for brain freeze.
[But to answer her question:]
I'm kinda fixated on blue, yeah. Always have been. I mean, it doesn't belong to me or anything, but. [Slurp break.] Kinda does.
[He takes a long lock of his hair between two fingers, squinting at it to see if he can make out the color from a close distance. He knows from the last time he looked in the mirror that it's properly faded to a light denim, and that his dark roots are showing again.]
I dye it with Kool-Aid, actually. Most of the time.
no subject
[The paint-drying tone is nothing new to Val. Dera is still engaging verbally, even if his inflection leaves some enthusiasm to be desired; she can work with this!]
Cool Aid! [Whatever it is, Rudy would probably like it. Where are the other three, anyway?] Does a pretty good job, I’d say.
[Another slurp. It was already too late for the brainfreeze warning. As far as Val’s concerned, this is the tradeoff for actual temperature sensation.] Do tell more about your “ownership” of blue? Inquiring minds want to know.
[Herself, of course. But she thinks Kade would get a kick out of it, too—much as Kade gets a kick out of anything, which is… often lacking. What came first, the color or the depression?]
universe fuckery begin!
[Dera and Valerie are too far away from the wall of TVs to still see them. (Un)fortunately, they happen to be standing in an aisle of reflective services. For a moment - none too brief - they all light up with the same image. Eyes with white-colored lashes and irises of such a haunting, light blue that they almost look pink instead.
[Dera stumbles backwards, flat on his ass, eyes wide at the makeshift screens.]
H-hey, woah...what...? What was that? That...
[He looks like he's seen a ghost. So this is where the nightmare begins.]
Shit...
no subject
[Huh, new chara— You good there, Dera?]
[Val stares down at him. Back to the screen-not-screens. Back to Dera.]
What was that? [Idle curiosity.] You recognize them?
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["Jesus Christ. Pull yourself together. It's just a dream. You'll wake up soon." He prepares himself for the sleep paralysis that will no doubt be kicking in the second he "wakes up".
[His voice is idle as he answers, still watching the screens in case Those Eyes(TM) decide to return...
[A large part of him wishes they would.]
Yeah, I do...I knew...him. That's my...[His mouth feels dry. The would-be Slurpee has already been discarded. He takes a minute to light another cigarette, hands shaky.]
We were friends.
no subject
[Oh hello, that’s new information! “Friends,” Dera says, and yet he looks none too happy. Shame about the not-quite-Slurpee.]
“Were” friends?
[A flicker of piqued interest in Val’s eyes. Maybe she’s projecting (okay, well, she is), but she can’t imagine Kade would be thrilled to see her face like that. Blue and red, ever a classic....]
What went wrong?
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He killed himself.
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Oh.
[It’s rather flat, by Val’s standards. (Which, to anyone else, is about a baseline expressiveness.) Not quite disappointed, but not particularly amused. It takes her a moment to remember that’s something normal people don’t come back from.]
Well. [A moment longer, to consider how to even respond. Sensitivity might be appropriate, especially with those tears in his eyes.... What would Cyrus say, here?]
That’s unfortunate. [Probably not that!]
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[The eyes don't return. Dera wipes at his own, sniffling - nearly burns himself with the cherry of his cigarette, but manages to avoid it. He takes another long drag. It feels way too real.]
This...
I-I should have woken up by now. This is...weird, I...
I don't wanna be here anymore. [An afterthought:] No offense.
no subject
It is pretty inexplicable, isn’t it…?
[Now is probably a terrible time to take a Slurpee sip. Should she be helping him up? Probably better than just staring…]
[Val extends a hand, though she doesn’t kneel down to help any further. She looks around the Dream-Mart, instead. Interacting with real people is a strange experience indeed.]
I don’t know. Pinch yourself, maybe? Dreams are strange....
cw: self harm (I guess I use CWs now idk)
Shit. [A belated response as he drops the cigarette and shakes his hand. Sure enough, there's a round little burn right in the center of his palm.
[Dreams don't usually hurt like this...
["Stay calm."
[A glance at Val.]
Ever had a hard drink?
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[Wait. Wait, that’s not what… she meant....]
[Val is frowning somewhat. Alcohol is something that someone she knows does have, inexplicably, and it does not seem particularly good either. It does not seem good for her, specifically.]
What do you do for fun?
[Non-sequitur? Deflection? Yeah.]
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Drink. [A pause. He considers the response after he's already made it - corrects it.] I take that back.
Nothing.
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[Edginess, as it turns out, is also something Val’s familiar with. It’s always the blue ones, isn’t it? It occurs to her prodding that subject was what prompted the dead friend’s face. Something to revisit....
[For now, though, she’d prefer not to be on standby as Dera drowns himself.] Really! Nothing at all?
[Val crosses her arms behind her back and follows, keeping close behind. There’s a trace of her usual dramatic swing in her inflection, but if Dera’s been listening closely, he might notice that it’s ever so slightly tempered.] No hobbies, no passions? Just QVC and smoking and drinks?
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[He comes to a stop at the liquor aisle, which proudly advertises ✨ LIQUOR ✨; however, the shelves are empty. Dera laughs. It doesn't sound happy.]
Well. Shit.
[Shit. He'll really be chugging on that cigarette now.
[He turns back to Val, waving away her question, half-mumbling a response.]
No, I don't...do shit. Ever. I mean, sometimes a party or something if I have to. I don't know.
no subject
[All right. Now that sounds pretty sad.]
Not ever? Even as a kid? [Absently Val is glad there’s not a bottle of ✨ liquor ✨ in sight.] Nothing that, I don’t know, maybe you’ve wanted to try? Besides drinks and drugs and what have you.
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I did shit when I was a kid, sure. [But what, exactly? His favorite game of "try to make sure my best friend doesn't hurt and/or kill himself"?]
Listen, I...get up, and I go to work, and I come home, and I...sit. And smoke, and drink, and try to sleep.
I know it's pathetic, but I don't have anything else left in me at this point.
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[“Did shit.” Mmmhm, very specific. Dera saves himself some extra prodding by continuing after that.]
That is pathetic. [Again, no judgment, just like saying smoking is bad. Sky is blue. Aisle is empty. Maybe a smidge flat, if only by the Valerie standard.] There is absolutely nothing in that big wide [real] world of yours that you’d rather be doing?
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There's plenty of shit I'd rather be doing. [He snaps this a bit. It's a mixture of irritation and rapidly building anxiety.]
It's not that simple. I'm not...okay. I don't have the energy, or the money, or the time.
[A voice: almost feminine-sounding, but male nonetheless; young, tinny, taunting, vicious.]
"I like being miserable."
[Dera stumbles back again, but doesn't fall this time; catches himself on one of the empty shelves.]
Jesus Fuck-- no, I can't do this.
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[Val notices Dera’s steadily-increasing tension, but he’s not trying to hurt himself anymore, so she doesn’t particularly care. She’s about to pry at his answer when a voice… well, it sure is a voice, all right! And Dera apparently recognizes it.]
Huh! [Val looks up and around, as if the voice might have come from somewhere specific. Are there security cameras in here? Hard to tell, as is the job of a security camera. The voice sounded strangely disembodied, though.]
[She cups her hands around her mouth anyway, still scanning the ceiling.] Hello? Who is this? [It’s a blind coinflip of fate that she doesn’t address “Dera’s dead friend” by those exact words. Could be someone else....]
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[He cuts himself off, the word choked and desperate. The burnt palm is reaching for her, as if to stay her that way.]
Please. Don't do that. I'll answer anything you want.
[Mercifully - cruelly - the voice does not return. Dera wonders if he hears the echo of a familiar laugh, but...no. That was probably just his imagination.]
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[Hm? Val lowers her hands, looking aside at Dera. He really seems to mean that.]
[She pauses a moment, and when the voice indeed does not return, answers:] Oh, I wasn’t going to question them. [Or at least, it wasn’t her first intention.] Just ask them to stop bothering you! It’s terribly rude. [She should know, after all. She’s done similar multiple times!]
I don’t need to read your data to know this person’s quite upsetting to you.
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Well. Yeah. He was my best friend.
[More than that. A million times more.]
He’s gone forever and it sucks. It sucks.
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[Huh. Said friend doesn’t look or sound too gone, to Val, but… real people, real standards. Real death, and all the permanence that entails. How depressing.]
[The tears and the helplessness strike her, but in a… detached sort of way, almost more intellectual than anything. Val has some human intuition that oh, this means upset, they need help. But she barely knows the guy, and she’s never been particularly capable of helping much of anything.]
[So, after a pause: an echo.]
That really does suck.
Want a tissue?
no subject
[Sniffling a bit, he twists his lips to the side in a half-frown (the other half not being a smile - make no mistake) and gives Val a blue-nailed thumbs up.]
Nope, I'm. Ah.
[He wipes a bit at his eyes again. His cigarette has gone out. Another for the floor. He doesn't light the next one just yet - probably should check and make sure this place has more before he keeps wasting them.]
You said, uh...read my data? Like on my phone or something?
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