in truth, he doesn't know what he'd been expecting and it's not so much that it's overwhelming — marc is used to thoughts and feelings that aren't his lurking, floating just out of reach, pressing against his thoughts and his feelings. sometimes closer, sometimes further away. sometimes he can push them away, swallow them deep down into the abyss and the craters of his mind so that he's still marc.
sometimes he can't.
when lottie sends her thoughts his way, he's still him. they sit on the surface of everything he feels, not quite smothering so much as informing.
he knows how it feels to be someone else, the lingering memory of wants and desires, likes and dislikes left by choice. sometimes not left at all. sometimes what's left is nothing at all, a void where once there had been time and experiences, recollections deliberately void.
this is different. the sense of lottie is alien, wholly different to steven and jake, though it's not all her. it's others impressing on her, and she— panic. fear. a lack of interest once understanding sets in. names he doesn't recognise, impressions of places he's never been.
when she speaks in the present, drawing his attention physically back to her, he—
he breathes. his lips thin and he scowls. he wonders if she had received any impression of him throughout all of that, and though it's not the first time his mind has been touched and though it won't be the last—. )
What?( it helps and it doesn't. it sits alongside the rest of his thoughts, the ones he's been told aren't real (but they are) and the ones he's been told are real (but they're not), and he's not yet sure where to slot them, where to file them away.
no subject
in truth, he doesn't know what he'd been expecting and it's not so much that it's overwhelming — marc is used to thoughts and feelings that aren't his lurking, floating just out of reach, pressing against his thoughts and his feelings. sometimes closer, sometimes further away. sometimes he can push them away, swallow them deep down into the abyss and the craters of his mind so that he's still marc.
sometimes he can't.
when lottie sends her thoughts his way, he's still him. they sit on the surface of everything he feels, not quite smothering so much as informing.
he knows how it feels to be someone else, the lingering memory of wants and desires, likes and dislikes left by choice. sometimes not left at all. sometimes what's left is nothing at all, a void where once there had been time and experiences, recollections deliberately void.
this is different. the sense of lottie is alien, wholly different to steven and jake, though it's not all her. it's others impressing on her, and she— panic. fear. a lack of interest once understanding sets in. names he doesn't recognise, impressions of places he's never been.
when she speaks in the present, drawing his attention physically back to her, he—
he breathes. his lips thin and he scowls. he wonders if she had received any impression of him throughout all of that, and though it's not the first time his mind has been touched and though it won't be the last—. )
What? ( it helps and it doesn't. it sits alongside the rest of his thoughts, the ones he's been told aren't real (but they are) and the ones he's been told are real (but they're not), and he's not yet sure where to slot them, where to file them away.
he doesn't answer the question. )
What was that?