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( OPEN ) you believed in all your lies, didn't you
WHO: Malik Ishtar and Others (You!)
WHERE: Around, mostly in Freshens
WHEN: Mid to late April
WHAT: Malik is suffering the effects of the dreaded Magatus Mark
WARNINGS: Malik’s dubious mental health, teen angst, mentions of self injury in first prompt.
Magatus was disorienting in its newness. The blacking out that came after was more familiar to Malik than should be considered normal, but when he awoke and discovered that he hadn’t gone on another attempted murder spree and that things were relatively okay, he had ventured forth with a kinda-familiar person to see about getting rid of the new glowy mark on his skin.
He didn’t find the answer.
So he had left, huffing and pouting as he does, only to find that in the following days in returning to the city, the mark had started to spread. And sting. Like it wanted to remind him that it existed, and about the faint voices from the forest, whispering to him. He handled that the way he handled most other things: by ignoring it and hoping it went away. Like most other things, it didn’t go away, and it got worse.
ONE.
The mark had started on his forearm and had spread down towards his wrist. The glow was obnoxious, but not quite as bad as the sting. Malik had taken to picking at it, scrubbing it, and rubbed the skin red and raw. Still, the mark persisted. Even after wrapping it in bandaging (mostly to keep from ruining himself further), it still glowed.
He felt like people stared at him. Like they knew. Doesn’t matter where he was going or what he was doing, he couldn’t shake the feeling of silent persecution. It was really only a matter of time until he snapped at an unfortunate passerby:
“Stop looking at me!”
TWO.
Things continued to get worse. Malik found himself feeling ill and groggy. As completely wrong, delusional, and irrational he could be, he didn’t actually attribute this directly to the mark. More than he was getting sick in conjunction with being cursed. Being kicked while he was down, because that was definitely par for the course as far as he was concerned.
A simple illness requires a simple fix. Except with how tired and disconnected Malik felt, something as simple as getting cold medicine from the pharmacy inside of Freshens seemed a lot more arduous than it should be.
In fact, he doesn’t even know if he’s in the right aisle. Or the right store. Or the right plane of existence, as he stares blearily at children’s gummy vitamins.
Some of the store patrons plainly ignore him. Some get a bit unnerved. Because he just continues to stand there, unresponsive.
THREE.
The nightmare wasn’t over yet; in fact, you could say it was just beginning. A long, long series of nightmares. Everything Malik has been trying to push away, trying to ignore, hoping that it’ll solve itself and disappear on its own following him all hours of the day, beyond wakefulness and into his dreams. Everytime he drifted off, he had a nightmare. His cold was getting worse. The mark had spread further still. He was at rock bottom again, emotionally, despite making feeble attempts to put himself on the right path. However, he’s too exhausted, mentally and emotionally, to scream and tantrum about how unfair that is. He’s tired, he looks tired, as he zombie shuffles through Freshens, again, to get… something? Maybe? Out of his room, at least, so he doesn’t fall asleep again.
“Stupid… trees, stupid curse, stupid cold, stupid everything.” He repeats, several times as he goes up and down the grocery aisles. “They always want to make it my fault… I didn’t curse myself, it’s their fault.”
He picks a package of cheap, offbrand cookies from a nearby shelf and starts to tamper with the packaging. He’s unaware of anyone watching or scrutinizing his behavior. He keeps going, eating cookies as he does so: “Anytime I do anything, something goes wrong, that’s not my fault.”
In a stunning twist, he seems to recognize that people - at least one person - is watching him. This does not stop his cookie thievery, and instead he glowers, “The hell do you want?”
FOUR.
( choose your own adventure, or I’ll write something for you.)
WHERE: Around, mostly in Freshens
WHEN: Mid to late April
WHAT: Malik is suffering the effects of the dreaded Magatus Mark
WARNINGS: Malik’s dubious mental health, teen angst, mentions of self injury in first prompt.
Magatus was disorienting in its newness. The blacking out that came after was more familiar to Malik than should be considered normal, but when he awoke and discovered that he hadn’t gone on another attempted murder spree and that things were relatively okay, he had ventured forth with a kinda-familiar person to see about getting rid of the new glowy mark on his skin.
He didn’t find the answer.
So he had left, huffing and pouting as he does, only to find that in the following days in returning to the city, the mark had started to spread. And sting. Like it wanted to remind him that it existed, and about the faint voices from the forest, whispering to him. He handled that the way he handled most other things: by ignoring it and hoping it went away. Like most other things, it didn’t go away, and it got worse.
ONE.
The mark had started on his forearm and had spread down towards his wrist. The glow was obnoxious, but not quite as bad as the sting. Malik had taken to picking at it, scrubbing it, and rubbed the skin red and raw. Still, the mark persisted. Even after wrapping it in bandaging (mostly to keep from ruining himself further), it still glowed.
He felt like people stared at him. Like they knew. Doesn’t matter where he was going or what he was doing, he couldn’t shake the feeling of silent persecution. It was really only a matter of time until he snapped at an unfortunate passerby:
“Stop looking at me!”
TWO.
Things continued to get worse. Malik found himself feeling ill and groggy. As completely wrong, delusional, and irrational he could be, he didn’t actually attribute this directly to the mark. More than he was getting sick in conjunction with being cursed. Being kicked while he was down, because that was definitely par for the course as far as he was concerned.
A simple illness requires a simple fix. Except with how tired and disconnected Malik felt, something as simple as getting cold medicine from the pharmacy inside of Freshens seemed a lot more arduous than it should be.
In fact, he doesn’t even know if he’s in the right aisle. Or the right store. Or the right plane of existence, as he stares blearily at children’s gummy vitamins.
Some of the store patrons plainly ignore him. Some get a bit unnerved. Because he just continues to stand there, unresponsive.
THREE.
The nightmare wasn’t over yet; in fact, you could say it was just beginning. A long, long series of nightmares. Everything Malik has been trying to push away, trying to ignore, hoping that it’ll solve itself and disappear on its own following him all hours of the day, beyond wakefulness and into his dreams. Everytime he drifted off, he had a nightmare. His cold was getting worse. The mark had spread further still. He was at rock bottom again, emotionally, despite making feeble attempts to put himself on the right path. However, he’s too exhausted, mentally and emotionally, to scream and tantrum about how unfair that is. He’s tired, he looks tired, as he zombie shuffles through Freshens, again, to get… something? Maybe? Out of his room, at least, so he doesn’t fall asleep again.
“Stupid… trees, stupid curse, stupid cold, stupid everything.” He repeats, several times as he goes up and down the grocery aisles. “They always want to make it my fault… I didn’t curse myself, it’s their fault.”
He picks a package of cheap, offbrand cookies from a nearby shelf and starts to tamper with the packaging. He’s unaware of anyone watching or scrutinizing his behavior. He keeps going, eating cookies as he does so: “Anytime I do anything, something goes wrong, that’s not my fault.”
In a stunning twist, he seems to recognize that people - at least one person - is watching him. This does not stop his cookie thievery, and instead he glowers, “The hell do you want?”
FOUR.
( choose your own adventure, or I’ll write something for you.)
no subject
In this moment, this is the first time Malik isn't reading this like pity, or as a disingenous comment, like he has so many times before. It doesn't matter that they aren't close. He's hit that point where he's ready to change, he needs to support, and for there to be someone who isn't afraid of him or doubting his abilities, it means a lot. ]
Thank you.
[ That's all he can really say. He's still processing this revelation: he has the ability to change for the better. He can pull himself out his hole and towards the light. ]
no subject
[ It's a simple exchange— thank you, and you're welcome— but things can sometimes be that simple. For all the insecurities Minato holds close to himself about not being able to reach people on the account of not knowing them well enough, it's a revelation for him too. He doesn't have to understand everything. He just has to understand enough, to be able to relate in some way, and just that much is fine. ]
no subject
I suppose your work here is done. I should also go, I have things that need to be taken care of.
[ A short wave. Thank god no one walked in on them this whole time. ]
See you around.
no subject
[ That's change already, Minato thinks as he watches Malik leave. Motivation, direction, and more importantly, for Minato, is what he takes to be a promise to see each other again, and he'll hold Malik to that. ]