In and out, like the tide upon the shore, soaking the sand of his mental landscape beneath it in roiling spume - Jim’s waking hours are spent in varying states of awareness. Sometimes, he is more lucid, other times…there is a hunger, inside him. Bit by bit, the layers of his mind seem to warp, unable to keep the hunger buried in the core of his being any longer - and equally as unable to satiate it. There seems no end to the craving that seeps from the dark, yet his mind clings to what Was, however precarious, dangling over the precipice. The howling void looms, buffeting the edges of his mind, sharpening its golden edges into razor sharp points - yet still, Jim is held back from plunging completely into the dark, clinging to the shreds of his psyche.
There is a moon beside him.
Another consciousness, nestled against his own - flaring when there is the touch of familiar hands, the scintilla of something greater than the self burning hot, a flare to drive the shadows back, tendrils winding deeper into Jim’s mind, until he can no longer tell the difference between him and Them. In these moments, conscious thought ebbs stronger; the moon forces the waves to bend to its gravitational pull, allowing Jim to surface for air, amid the howling chaos.
He cannot control the hunger, yet the hunger cannot control him, either. Not while the moon holds him in its orbit, reflects the light he cannot hold within himself back at him. Jim and the hunger are at an impasse, a war neither can win.
But Jim cannot curb the impulses completely.
There is a monstrous shadow that oozes beside Jim, silent as death, but ever present; if it’s odd to see two Gnosia docile in each other’s company, well, they do make a strange pair. Jim touches the shade’s clawed hand, raises it to his chest, and slashes it across his shirt, wordless understanding passing between them.
The routine is the largely same, with only a few variations - someone is passing by when they hear Jim’s timed cry of pain; he stumbles around the corner, holding a hand to the slash on his chest. Is he bleeding? It’s too dark at night to see, from here - but Spock, just behind him, a wraith in his robes, is clear enough. ]
No! Spock, please listen to me - you have to listen to me! You’re not yourself - !
[ Jim is backed into the next alley, out of sight, the pleased hum echoing in his mind from all around - from the hunger and the beast, leashed to his moon. Was the performance convincing enough to lure in another victim? ]
( ooc: this option will initiate a jim & spock tag team encounter! )
[ open ] it takes two
In and out, like the tide upon the shore, soaking the sand of his mental landscape beneath it in roiling spume - Jim’s waking hours are spent in varying states of awareness. Sometimes, he is more lucid, other times…there is a hunger, inside him. Bit by bit, the layers of his mind seem to warp, unable to keep the hunger buried in the core of his being any longer - and equally as unable to satiate it. There seems no end to the craving that seeps from the dark, yet his mind clings to what Was, however precarious, dangling over the precipice. The howling void looms, buffeting the edges of his mind, sharpening its golden edges into razor sharp points - yet still, Jim is held back from plunging completely into the dark, clinging to the shreds of his psyche.
There is a moon beside him.
Another consciousness, nestled against his own - flaring when there is the touch of familiar hands, the scintilla of something greater than the self burning hot, a flare to drive the shadows back, tendrils winding deeper into Jim’s mind, until he can no longer tell the difference between him and Them. In these moments, conscious thought ebbs stronger; the moon forces the waves to bend to its gravitational pull, allowing Jim to surface for air, amid the howling chaos.
He cannot control the hunger, yet the hunger cannot control him, either. Not while the moon holds him in its orbit, reflects the light he cannot hold within himself back at him. Jim and the hunger are at an impasse, a war neither can win.
But Jim cannot curb the impulses completely.
There is a monstrous shadow that oozes beside Jim, silent as death, but ever present; if it’s odd to see two Gnosia docile in each other’s company, well, they do make a strange pair. Jim touches the shade’s clawed hand, raises it to his chest, and slashes it across his shirt, wordless understanding passing between them.
The routine is the largely same, with only a few variations - someone is passing by when they hear Jim’s timed cry of pain; he stumbles around the corner, holding a hand to the slash on his chest. Is he bleeding? It’s too dark at night to see, from here - but Spock, just behind him, a wraith in his robes, is clear enough. ]
No! Spock, please listen to me - you have to listen to me! You’re not yourself - !
[ Jim is backed into the next alley, out of sight, the pleased hum echoing in his mind from all around - from the hunger and the beast, leashed to his moon. Was the performance convincing enough to lure in another victim? ]
( ooc: this option will initiate a jim & spock tag team encounter! )