Sanity Report of Apathetic Nonchalance

[Apathetic Nonchalance]

Visual Aberrations

(I Need Some Sleep...)

A few days on the stuff in the jar, and Apathetic felt.. Well, just as he'd felt before, really. Okay, maybe he was sleeping a little longer, but that made total sense-- He'd had to take on extra hours at the casino in order to pay off the residual charges from 'the incident,' and the rate of patrons had increased, as it always did with the holiday events. After all, who could resist the allure of Gold Mountain decked out in orange and black, in addition to the customary gold? The gold did sort of ruin the 'spooky' overtones, but they were more about the glitzy, kitschy version of Halloween anyway.

Of course, he had to wear a full-body Domo-kun costume as part of the promotion, which aside from being ridiculous and cumbersome was heavy enough and hot enough to make him wonder if heat exhaustion was covered by his employee health-policy. Somehow, Apathetic doubted it.


He was making his umpeenth round of the slot-machines when he first noticed the... something happening to his eyes. There was no pain, not even a tingling sensation, and there weren't any odd flashes of light-- Still, sometimes, at the edges of his vision, he caught glimpses of what seemed like something moving, very quickly, from his field of view. The first few times it happened, Apathy dismissed it; after all, the casino was crowded. During his roughly-a-year of working at Gold Mountain, he'd come to learn that the customers, when not sitting contently at their machine/table/ect and gambling their money, tended to move quickly across the floor; impatient, usually, or feeling like they only had so much time before their common sense ordered them out of there. It made work for the floor-crew that much more hazardous, particularly if you were carrying drinks, and Apathetic had nearly been bowled over twice already.

After a while, though, those 'flickers' didn't go away, and Apathy was forced to admit that they weren't any of the patrons-- Not unless those patrons were stalking him, and could vanish in any given direction before he could get a good look. A few times, he caught flashes of colors, which oddly enough made him feel vaguely patriotic... Or, like he wanted a Firecracker popsicle. He assumed it was the latter, as the Domo-kun suit was hot enough to make him wish fervently for an ice-cube bath, and he tried to focus on his (tedious) task rather than the distracting flashes of color.


Of course, that was before he'd paused near the full-length mirrored wall to catch his breath, and though the Domo-kun head severely restricted his field of vision, his wide garnet eyes most definitely saw several brightly-colored things which looked like nothing more than old-school 8-bit sprites painted in Firecracker ice-pop colors, making faces at him from behind his back.

Well, if you could call the scribble across what Apathy assumed was its head a face, that is.


Apathetic didn't know what he'd just seen, but he did know that he'd seen it, and he did know what he should do about it.

"Becky! Tell the Boss I'm clocking out early!!"

 

[Apathetic Nonchalance]

The Girl with the Neon-Green Squiggle-Thing

(And A Depressed Duck)

Okay, so let me make the perfectly clear:

I. Am Not. Insane.

Okay? I figure that I probably shouldn't say so out loud, as one of the number-one signs of insanity is thinking you're completely and perfectly sane, but in my case I'm going to make an exception for this journal. All things pointing to the contrary, I'm not mad, crazy, loony, buggy, schizo, or any of the other infinite terms you could use to describe someone who's a little off their rocker. After everything I've been through, though, a little stress-induced trauma is excusable, so if I notice that kind of thing showing up in my habits I'll give myself a break. No-one else seems to, anyway.

Okay. So I haven't been writing much... I don't normally keep a journal, so I'm not too sure what I'm supposed to write in it. What I had for breakfast? Things that happen at work? Nothing really catches my attention except one, and if I write about that I'm pretty sure it'll label me C-R-A-Z-Y... But hey, if anyone's reading this besides me, it's going to be the cops and/or the shrink, and they're the cause behind all of this, so what the hell.

For a while, I thought I was hallucinating; after all, and I don't care who you ask, but it's not normal to see little red-white-and-blue creatures with an odd number of limbs, particularly not if there're three of them at the same time and they're different sizes. At first it was like they were trying to stay out of my way, and I couldn't get a good look at them; I thought they were flag-colored, but now it turns out that they're more like those Firecracker popsicles I used to love as a kid. I can say with assurance that's what they look like, as they're currently sitting in front of me... Well, bobbing up and down, but still. They're in almost constant motion, so I assume they weren't trying to stay out of my way-- They were probably just having fun or something.

I'm not too sure about their 'fun,' though, since it's sometimes at a pretty bad time. A few times so far, they've appeared when I wasn't expecting them, and something happened; I've spilled hot coffee on important papers, nearly run myself off the road, and scared a few people when I forgot that no-one else could see them and started yelling at them in public.

Well, no-- Other people can see them. At least, I guess other people who have something of their own can, because I met this girl in a park, that small one down by the police-station, and she had one too. I think they're the same kind of creature, because hers was smallish and weird-colored and went through stuff, like mine, except it was green. I think it looked kind of like a vegetable, but she seemed to like it, and I didn't want to offend her in case she took it as an insult. Ruri - that's what she said I could call her - didn't seem to mind either her creature-thingy or mine; she seemed to adapt pretty well, but then she also said she was on medication, and something about the police... But hey, I know what happened to me was basically a big misunderstanding, so that's probably it. She seemed normal enough, anyway. Well, who knows? Maybe we'll meet again. At least I know now that if I'm crazy, I'm not the only one.

... And now they're giggling again, which they seem to do a lot. Maybe I'm just paranoid, or maybe they just like the sound of giggling, but sometimes I could swear they're giggling at me. It's probably not a good sign to feel as though your hallucinations are mocking you, is it?

Well, they're not really hallucinations anymore, or at least they're more than normal ones. Maybe I should name them, like that girl did? But what kind of name can I make out of "Physostigmine"?  

[Apathetic Nonchalance]

A Shadow in the Wind

(But It's Still Laughing)

I'm not sure, but sometime within the last two days, Stigma's gone from mildly cute and irritating to vaguely suspicious and spooky.

Yes, Stigma. The rainbow-gremlin things, okay? I said I was going to name them, right, and now I don't have to say/type/think 'rainbow gremlin' or whatever, which was taking up unnecessary time and space. And the official chemical name of the medication isn't exactly any shorter, so I named them Stigma. They seemed to like it, but then, they seem to like almost anything, so I'm not sure if it's that big a deal.

Well, anyway, I'm glad they like it/seem to like it, because I've already gotten used to calling them that, and I'm not going to change it now.

Maybe the Halloween thing rubbed off on them, though. I left the TV on while I went out, hoping to keep them busy, and it looks like they watched hours on end of the 'Haunted'-type shows on the Travel Channel-- I guess it's probably because they can't really change the station, but they didn't seem to mind. I came back and they dropped out of the ceiling making 'WooOOooOooOoo' sounds, and I nearly fell over myself in the entryway. I'm glad I hadn't been drinking, because if they'd done that while I was hung over I probably would've had a stroke.

After a day or so, though, I noticed that something was different about them-- They still bounced around and giggled and stuff, but it was almost like sometimes I'd come in the room (or wherever) and they'd stop giggling, then start again, like they were talking about something they didn't want me to hear. Can they talk? Well, maybe to each other; I guess that would make sense.

The thing that's really bothering me, though, is that... Well, they never used to cast a shadow, and they've been staying out of areas with strong light lately, but I could swear that they've been casting a shadow. They only answer me with giggles and innocent 'I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about' behaviour, but I know that 'shadow' is way bigger - and differently-shaped - than they are.  

[Apathetic Nonchalance]

Life's Little Surprises

(Sugar, And Spice, And...)

Things had been quiet lately. If Apathetic could indulge in an older (very old) cliche, things had been... too quiet. Stigma hadn't appeared in several days, and - strangely enough - Apathetic had begun to worry.

All right, maybe it wasn't so strange. If he were going to be honest about it, he'd gotten attached to the odd little things, whatever-they-weres; he still wasn't quite sure, but it didn't bother him as much as it used to that he didn't know. After all, he supposed that there were a lot of things he didn't know, and this was just one of them; besides, he wasn't sure that knowing where they came from would have done anything, anyway. He had taken those pills, they'd shown up, and well, it's not like the pills were bad for him or anything.

Well, that he knew of. He'd been sleeping a little longer, dreaming a little more vividly, and there had been some slightly unnerving moments when he'd been struck with a profound sense of equilibirum-loss and needed to lie down with his eyes closed until the world stop revolving around him, but otherwise nothing to worry about. It was almost as though the creation/appearance of Stigma had been the main effect, and everything else was just a side-effect... although, Apathy supposed that anti-psychotics might not work too well if the person wasn't psychotic to begin with.

Then again, Apathetic was worrying, as he drove his recently-waxed car over the pavement, about a giggling troika of hallucinatory tie-dyeds, so maybe there was something to it after all.

"I can't believe it, but I almost wish Stigma'd show up dancing on the dashboard like usual," he mused aloud, having gotten into the habit of speaking to nothing while he was alone, just in case Stigma was around and hiding.

"I can't fit on the dashboard anymore," said a high, light voice, which piped flutingly through the vehicle from the formerly-empty passenger's seat. Apathetic froze, then cautiously turned to regard his suddenly-appearing passenger, who shimmered transparently in the colors of the rainbow-- Sitting in the bucket-seat was a young girl with softly-wavy hair, wearing a fur-trimmed cape and looking like something out of a fairy-tale. He tried to keep one eye on the road and one eye on her, not quite sure of how she'd gotten into his car while he was going roughly fifty miles per hour. "... Okay, now who are... ?"

Cocking her head slightly to the side, she took in his nonplused expression with her ruby-garnet eyes, then smiled. "Teeheehee!"

"STIGMA?!" Apathy blurted, eyes wide, and he reflexively jerked the wheel hard right.


In roughly a half hour, Apathetic - who had, remarkably-enough, escaped unscathed - looked mournfully at the remains of his once-shiny car, which was now wrapped around a utility-pole, as Stigma stood beside him and blinked innocently. "This," mused Apathy dourly, a hand pressed to his temple, "is not going to be easy to explain."

"That's all right, A-pa-pa," reassured Stigma, patting Apathetic lightly on the arm, apparently ignoring the fact that her transparent hand passed right through him. "They probably wouldn't believe you anyway." Apathy sighed heavily, then glanced down at the girl, who looked up at him with a bright and cheery smile.  

[Apathetic Nonchalance]

Hazards On The Job

(Warning: May Contain Nuts)

Life is a strange thing, isn't it? People can get so set in their ways that they forget it could ever possibly change, up until the moment that Change itself blindsides you with a frying-pan to the head. Then, right when you're getting settled in, you realize that this new routine - however bizarre it might have seemed in the beginning - is now something you've grown used to, or even grown fond of.

Then, crazy women try to stab you with sporks, and everything seems a little bit more strange.

No, I'm not kidding, and I'm not seeing things again. Well, nothing that I haven't been seeing for some time now, anyway, and that I'm already used to. Remember the incident with the car that happened a little while ago? When Stigma first appeared looking like... well, like a person rather than three little rainbow-sprites? Well, I've been working extra shifts at Gold Mountain to pay off the repairs, since it DID get totaled pretty bad, and then today - tonight, rather - I was just wandering around and CRASH! That stupid champagne-glass pyramid we had to build went up in an explosion of glass. Thank god Stigma's immaterial, or she could've been hurt; she was sitting on the counter at the time. Also, I spilled the drinks I was carrying.

Anyway, the next thing I know, Stigma's tearing up and saying some woman was throwing things at her (and that's what broke the glass), then I nearly get preforated with sporks! Yeah, those things! I'm not sure if it was Stigma or me that was her target, but she actually chased us out of the building. I didn't get her name, and don't know much about her besides the fact that she throws (and apparently talks to) sporks, and she can see things like Stigma is, or used to be, or whatever. She had one of her own, actually-- A weird little blowfish-looking thing.

Y'know, I was starting to be a little more relaxed about this whole 'seeing things' bit, but at the least, it seems that you don't necessarily have to be sane to see them. I mean, Stigma's one thing, but some kind of Spork-Ninja and her plastic shuriken? You're kidding me, right?  

[Apathetic Nonchalance]

An Unexpected (?) Twist

(Not A Good Day)

So. I haven't seen the spork-lady in a while, which I thought was a good sign-- Hey, it's always a positive thing when no-one's threatening you with plasticware, right? And we met Ruri again, which was good, because it gave Stigma someone else to talk to; you know how she is, and I think she's getting a little tired of only being able to talk to me. Let me tell you, though, sometimes I'm glad she's immaterial, because sometimes I think that's the only reason she's stayed out of trouble as much as she has. She's a sweet kid, but not too good at long-term consequencing, and with the way she sometimes just vanishes and wanders off without warning...

Well, it's strange, but sometimes I feel kind of like a parent, or at least a court-appointed guardian or something. Which leads into my next, and decidedly unpleasant, topic, which is my latest run-in with the law.

Yes, okay, there was a few minor times before the whole 'supermarket incident,' and there was the 'supermarket thing' itself, and the cops who showed up to take my statement on the scene after the car-wrecking thing, but I've mostly been staying on the low-profile side, so I haven't seen them in a while. Unfortunately, weird things continue to happen to me, particularly at work, and there've been two brawls in a relatively short amount of time-- One sparked by the spork-woman, and another by an accusation of cheating. The latter, more recent, was something I managed to sneak out on, but apparently my involvement, however minimal, was the last straw-- I got a call last night from the police, telling me that I was being reported as 'potentially dangerous' and to come in for a psychiatric evaluation.

Maybe I was just a little on-edge, but I don't think they had to do what they did! Which is to say, they not only added on to my medication, but they said I had to start reporting in to 'an authority' on a regular basis! Yeah, they're making me go in for periodic checks... Specifically, to the Happy Home. That name is just a warning-flag right there; I mean, 'Happy Home'? It's a lunatic asylum, people! I've been plagued by nightmares of the hospital from Jacob's Ladder, but I still have to make my drop-in there soon-- Within the week, as it were.

... I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I? *sigh* And on top of it all, I'm not very confidant in this new medication. Aside from it being a sedative, which in itself I have a few problems with, it's weirdly-colored and strange-- Both of which were applicable to Stigma when I first got her meds. I'm not sure what this means, but I have a vague idea and I'm not too sure I'm okay with it.

Not that anyone cares. *double sigh* I should probably start thinking about actually going... I have to clear my schedule. At least the medication seems to come from this 'Happy Home,' so maybe I'll be able to find more stuff about where it comes from...  

[Apathetic Nonchalance]

Meds, Round Two

(Sharp Pointy Metal Things)

It had been hours since Apathetic had first decided that he'd start his new medication, and as yet nothing much had happened. Well, regarding the medication, anyway. Oddly enough, he'd somehow recalled that he owed some people money, or favors, or that he'd offered to help a neighbor mow the lawn, and a myriad of other pointless divergences otherwise distracted him from the task at hand-- Which is to say, taking the syringe lying on the kitchen counter and doing with it what it was intended to do.

Apathy seemed aware of this, and for the past few minutes - fifteen or so, at Stigma's last count, for the little 'hallucination' had watched curiously as Apathetic had gone about the 'chores' - had simply been sitting on the stool at the kitchen-counter, one elbow propped up against the smooth surface, supporting his chin as he regarded the syringe. It looked so bland, just sitting there... Well, maybe not bland, it was orange and black after all... And just what kind of medicine, really, was orange and black in color?

But still, he had to take it sometime. Court-order, damn it all.

...

"Y'know," said Apathy, standing suddenly, "I really should put in a few extra hours at work. I've been slacking lately and at this point I don't think I'll be getting that bonus, and you know I really want my car back in working..."

"A-pa-pa!" called Stigma, reaching for his arm; she passed right through it, of course, but it had the desired effect, which was stopping Apathy before he could make a break for it through the door. Regarding her... creator, was it? ... sternly, she said, "You said that if you don't take your medicine, the police will put you in jail!"

"Well, maybe not jail, exactly..." stalled Apathetic, but Stigma wrinkled her nose in protest, cutting him off.

"Or whatever. And you said if that happened, I couldn't go with you."

"Jail... or wherever... is no place for a little... girl-person," he tried to explain, before again being cut off.

"Whatever!" Stigma seemed determined to finish, and so she continued, "And I don't want you to go away, so you take your medicine right now!" And she crossed her arms, leaving Apathetic to blink at her in half-bemusement, half-surprise.

'I didn't think she'd take it this seriously,' was his first thought; his second was 'How do I argue with that?' He didn't really consider that she might be upset by what he said; after all, she rarely seemed upset by anything, loud noises aside. He glanced from the syringe, lying on the table, to Stigma, who looked bound and determined to somehow make him use it, and mentally threw up his hands in defeat. What the hell; he had to take it anyway, right?

Picking up the needle, he tried very, very hard not to think about the suspect liquid inside, instead busying himself rolling up his sleeve and grabbing a cleansing-dipped cottonball with which to swab the area. Deciding that looking at what he was doing was better than jabbing randomly at his arm with a needle, he somehow managed to administer the dose with a minimal amount of fuss and pain.

Of course, it didn't help when a beaming Stigma, hugging him around the shoulders as best she could, said, "Hey A-pa-pa? If you keep taking this, will I get a little brother or sister?"

Apathetic then decided to go to sleep.  

[Apathetic Nonchalance]

A New Arrival

A Fresh Face

(The Card's True Colors)

As Apathetic proceeded up the stairs to his apartment, a gloved hand running over the railing as he wound his way up the outdoor stairwell, he gave a small shake of his head; he might have been musing to himself, but he was in actuality reacting to the young girl next to him, who had just been asking a question as to the viability of a fish out of water. The mistaken impression was perfectly understandable, though, given that the aforementioned girl wasn't visible, audible, or otherwise detectable to anyone else, and even those who could see her would have noted her as different-- Her vivid coloration, for one, marked her as unique, as did the fact that she was floating along a good three inches off the ground.

Yes, Apathy had just come back from a day at the aquarium, where he'd ventured at the behest of the "invisible" girl at his side, so he wasn't exactly new to strange happenings. Inexplicable things, he'd found, cropped up around him with an odd sort of regularity, and so it was that Apathy wasn't too nonplused at these bizarre events that had begun to typify his life. While trying to explain to Stigma, which was what he called the girl at his side, that the phrase 'fish out of water' did not refer to a literal fish, he fished (pun unintended) his keys out of his pants-pocket, unlocking and opening the door to his apartment. It was a hot day out, and he'd foregone his usual jacket-including outfit; it, along with a certain oddly-colored playing-card in its pocket, had remained at home.

Things had been quiet, at least for this week, and Apathy was pretty relaxed as he closed the door behind him, Stigma preceding him into the apartment as he slung his backpack onto the short bookshelf in the crowded entryway, sidling into the kitchen. A single syringe, filled with an odd black-and-orange concoction, lay resting on the counter, and it was as he picked it up that he happened to glance into the rest of the room.

Apathetic, as mentioned, was pretty used to odd things happening around him, and he'd wound up with Stigma after being given some pretty dodgy medication, so it was natural that, when he spotted the ten-year-old boy sitting cross-legged on his sofa, he suspected that the latest round of meds were having another set of "side-effects." The boy, who'd apparently been sitting there and watching Apathy since he'd walked through the door, was wearing a deep-blue sweater and pinstriped pants; as Apathetic blinked, the boy gave a little wave and an accompanying smile, apparently not the least confused.

Apathy, unfortunately, couldn't say the same, and after another moment of thought looked accusingly down at the syringe, still lying innocuously in his hand.


Well, there was a bit of a muddle after that, as Apathy tried to determine a) who this boy was, b) what this boy was, and c) what exactly he was going to do about it. Contrary to expectations, it was a little tricky to figure even one of those questions successfully; between the boy's lassaiz-faire demeanor and Apathy's skepticism, it was a good hour before it was established that the former had, somehow, emerged from the card which the latter had held on to. Neither was really sure why or how, but apparently the card - aside from definitely not being a standard-issue Casino card - was somehow magic-- Enchanted, or ensorcelled, or something. Apathy had never paid too much attention to the mechanics of magic, but something had placed that card in that deck, at the right time and place to cause a ruckus, and something had enabled that card to turn into... Well, into a kid.

"Kinda weird, isn't it?" smiled the boy, who despite his words didn't seem - at least to Apathy's eyes - to think the day's events all that unusual. In fact, the course of the conversation had demonstrated the extent of the boy's at-home-ness-- He'd apparently gone looking around the apartment earlier, and cheerfully informed Apathetic that the slice of dobash cake in the refrigerator was now no more. Also, Apathy apparently needed to buy a new carton of milk, as well.

"All right," sighed Apathetic, feeling the beginnings of a migraine starting to kick in, "let's say I believe this... Because honestly, I'm not seeing another explanation. Let's say you're not just some kid who randomly decided to break into my apartment and raid my fridge-- That you are, in fact, a magical card-originating being of some kind."

"Sure thing," agreed the boy, amiably kicking his feet back and forth, his highly-polished wingtips making rhythmic impacts against the couch's base.

"And for some reason, you decided to... appear. You're definitely real, in the sense that I'm fairly sure I'm not hallucinating, and you're substantial, seeing as there's no way you could have eaten my cake without the ability to at least pick up a fork."

"Agreed," he nodded, looking curiously at Stigma as the multicolored girl sat across from him on the coffee-table, mimicking his movement by swinging her own legs.

"Is it safe to say that the 'magic thing' is responsible for you being able to see Stigma?"

"I don't see why it shouldn't be," smiled the boy, who had established his ability to see Stigma when he'd first asked who the girl was that was staring him in the face. "I didn't know that I wasn't supposed to see her."

"Most people don't," explained Stigma, sinking slightly through the coffee-table as her attention wavered. "Well, except some people... But only a few. And they've all been like A-pa-pa," she added. "You know... They have to take medicine to see me."

"I see," nodded the boy, and Apathy had the vague idea that the child was drawing a line between hallucinatory drugs and the people who tend to take them. Though tempted to clear up the misunderstanding, Apathetic decided to leave it for later, seeing as there were much more important things at hand; for example, there was the tiny matter of...

"Somewhere to sleep?" The boy blinked, his features assuming a thoughtful expression as he glanced around the 'living room.' "Well, I guessed that the room in back was yours, so I figured on just sleeping here on the sofa... Unless that's where you sleep?" he asked Stigma, who shrugged lightly.

"I don't really sleep," she said in reply, "and sometimes if I try, I get bored and start falling through the floor... So I don't know why you can't sleep on the couch, unless maybe it's too small or something? It's kinda lumpy..."

"No, no, it's okay," assured the boy, patting the sofa-cushion upon which he sat. "I took a nap on it earlier today, while I was waiting for someone to come home; it's cool, although it could maybe use a few more pillows..."


Apathetic, who had been observing the exchange with an arched brow, rolled his eyes briefly ceilingward as he gave his head a small shake. Apparently, it had been decided that the boy would be staying; if he thought about it, though, Apathy really couldn't think of another option. Since the boy had apparently come from the card, Apathetic had taken resonsibility for it since it left the Casino, and while he certainly hadn't expected this, it's not like he could just kick the kid out. Besides, it would probably be good for Stigma to have someone to talk to, besides him...

"Oh!" Stigma's exclamation drew the attention of the two males in the room, Apathetic still standing by the couch and the boy now examining the knickknacks on the bookshelves. "Do you have a name? Or, you know, something we can call you? I mean, he's Apathy (but I can call him A-pa-pa), and I'm Stigma (like I said), but..."

The boy fell silent for a few moments, then finally shook his head and exhaled his latest breath in a sigh. "Nothing," he said, giving a shrug; "I don't think I have a name, and I guess if anyone I should know. I guess you could just call me Seven or something, but..." He shrugged again, a dispirited look falling over his formerly-sunny face, and - almost in synch - both he and Stigma looked over to Apathetic, who was still leaning against the armrest of the sofa. They seemed to be expecting him to 'fix this,' but he wasn't all that sure he could name a kid; heck, 'Stigma' was just a shortening of the meds he'd been on when she'd first appeared...

At last, though, as he cast his mind about for ideas, his eyes happened on the left sleeve of the boy's sweater, which featured a vertical line of peach-colored hearts running from the shoulder to just above the wrist. 'Well, he DID come from the Seven of Hearts...' thought Apathy, before finally suggesting, "What about Valentine? You know, association with hearts and all..." Apathetic was a bit unsure about the name, but his doubts were quickly relieved when the boy was at once all smiles again, bright-violet eyes oddly relieved, as he gave a jaunty nod and ran a hand through his short, mussed-strawberry hair.

"I like the sound of that," he proclaimed, back to his former sunny attitude, as Stigma beamed and gave a quick burst of applause in appreciation. "'Valentine'... Sounds a bit distinguished, doesn't it?" He affected a pose of refinement, then gave a lopsided, roguish grin, somehow managing to retain the poise while regaining his boyish appearance. "Doesn't match me too well, though, right?"

Unable to help a grin himself, Apathy shook his head, this time with a mock-exasperation; "Join the club, kid," he said, and grinned as Stigma giggled behind her hands. Well, what the heck-- At least things seemed off to a good start.

 

[Apathetic Nonchalance]

E.N.S.

(Empty Nest Syndrome)

The trek home wasn't so bad, he thought; after all, he'd finally gotten a new car, so he didn't have to walk or catch the bus. Which was good, since things had gotten weird in the past month or so; Halloween always brought out the weirdos, but the last thing he needed was to be ambushed by a vampire while crossing the street, and it wasn't as though they'd completely disappeared: Things might have quieted down somewhat, but there were still vampires a-plenty, although there seemed to be fewer of them on the Island than he'd expected. Perhaps, he thought, it had something to do with the sun and sand; he'd heard that vampires weren't too big on the beach.

So, okay: Car. That was a good thing, and overall life was quiet. Apathetic supposed that was the problem, which was kind of a strange experience for him, considering how long he'd wished for something approaching normalcy. It seemed like only yesterday that he was idly wondering if he'd ever manage to shake off the more bizarre aspects of his life...

Fishing his keys from his pocket, Apathy couldn't help a small sigh as he let himself into the apartment, which was quiet and (mostly) neat, and conspicuously lacking in 'invisible' hallucinations and Card-origined kids.

"Hoshi dropped by while you were out," said Telos, as the dark-haired TANT boy, about ten or so in age, glanced up from the counter, where he had been absorbing one of the leather-bound books from Apathetic's shelves. "She dropped off something in the fridge, but..." Telos paused, wrinkled his nose, and shrugged. "I don't think you want to eat it. The color seems a little... off."

In the kitchen, Amobarbital drifted slowly through the ceiling, the striped umbrella falling at its own sweet pace, as though completely ignoring gravity altogether. As Telos, used to such a thing, spoke, Bit descended from the ceiling-fan, floated down to the tiled floor, then vanished through the linoleum, only to reappear (floating in the opposite direction) through the coffee-table in the living-room.

Sigh. Things were so quiet now that Stigma and Valentine were gone.

"Well," said Apathy, dropping his stuff in the stubby hallway and closing the door behind him, "at least she keeps trying, right? Whether or not she ought to..." he added, the last line muttered under his breath, with all the passive-aggressive resentment of one who had been forced to try dubiously-edible edibles one too many times. Telos arched a skeptical eyebrow over the top of the book, the cover and binding of which seemed old and musty, bearing no title or author at all, and the 'bowl' of Bit's umbrella-top began vanishing through the ceiling as Apathetic pulled open the white-enameled door of the fridge. Hoshi's latest concoction wasn't too difficult to spot, being a large round Tupperware container that took up most of an entire shelf; it might have been a place of honor, or possibly the other foodstuffs were too afraid of it to get any closer.

The plastic was pink, but the cover was clear... and, while Apathy couldn't actually guess what the substance was supposed to be, he did have to agree with Telos' initial appraisal. He was almost sure that nothing edible could be that exact shade of mouthwash blue.

Somehow, the sight only served to depress him further. It reminded him of the time Stigma, having just learned to interact with actual objects, knocked over his Scope and replaced the spilled liquid with laundry-detergent. Valentine had laughed his head off, with Telos looking down at his "older brother" in a mix of disdain and alarm, with Bit spinning silently over it all.

"Sure is quiet without the other kids around," said Apathetic, straightening as he shut the door on the unidentified food-thing. "Bit," he added, eying the blue-and-blue umbrella as it drifted horizontally across the room, apparently preparing to exit through the wall, "don't even think about it, buddy. You know Mr. O'Hare doesn't like it when you surprise him like that."