Welcome to Gaia! ::

There's a rustle of leaves and he half-turns before he remembers he shouldn't, then turns anyway. He fills his lungs, but it makes him cough, dizzied. Horace sees her again. "Are you happy, Horace? You're so pathetic and ******** up," she sighs, sounding for all the world as though he were the simplest of inconveniences. Maybe he is.

"Why would you ever matter? You aren't enough. This is what you get; it's what comes to you." Her voice is gently condescending, and that's nothing new either. She talks to him like he's some dumb house cat who can't understand words, but responds to a soft tone. "There's nothing waiting for you." For this one, and only this one, he reacts first, shoving her. His fingers pinch into her shoulders and she punches him quickly, in the throat. Just like before. But this time, he doesn't stay, doesn't find the fight he's looking for in her. Horace pushes away and runs again. Branches snag at his clothing, at his skin and hair, fallen from his topknot. Each small pain makes the forest circle back in on him in a dazed whirl of green. He pushes himself, keeps going, gasping for breath. Everything, everything they've said he's heard before; he's folded up their words into a sharp square and tucked them against his chest and the edges cut him. He tells himself it's normal to bleed this much.

It takes him, finally, where he needs to be and Horace lies there, curled on the floor, shaking. The room tilts and swirls dizzily around him and he almost vomits. Tile is cool under his hands, familiarly rough. There are faces here, ones he recognizes, ones he has yet to let down, to disappoint. The thought makes him feel sicker and he does vomit, dry heaving since there's nothing left in his body. When disappointment is inevitable, there is always tomorrow, he thinks, and passes out.