have_your_lives | (no subject)

[It's the silence that snaps him awake - more dissonant than any actual sound could ever be. It's like he's been struck deaf inside his own head. No, worse than that; while a person might have encountered a lack of sound before in their lives, Schuldig has almost never had any lack of thoughts to listen to. Listen, hell; they've practically fought their way into his head to be heard at times.

And now - nothing. They'd shut him down once or twice like this at Rosenkrüs, as a punishment; they'd always had their ways of controlling their psychic charges. It was always effective. The absence of what should be there is isolation, vulnerability, and paranoia all rolled together in one convenient package...and it's far worse now because he's not at Rosenkrüs anymore, Esset should be in complete disarray, and this should not be happening to him now.

He's out of bed in moments and only further incensed to find that his clothes - and, far less surprisingly, his gun - are gone, and an angry rummage through the closets and drawers reveals nothing he'd wear unless Crawford ordered it. And then he sees the phone.

Anyone listening will hear him jabbing at some numbers before he listens at the earpiece. Then, when he doesn't hear a dial tone or a call being completed, he snarls into the phone.]

You've shut me down, so you know what I'm capable of. And now I've seen what you're capable of. But unless you plan on keeping me locked up here forever - and I can guarantee you, that's never worked out well for anyone before - then it's time to talk business. You give everything back, and I do mean everything, and then you tell me what you want done, and we have an understanding.

But why bring only me? [And then, Schuldig finally focuses long enough to notice the photograph next to the phone.] ...and what is this?

[Housemates, feel free to find Schuldig tearing his room apart, still looking for his things or any devices which might be blocking his telepathy. Be warned, he's likely to be angry and at least mildly violent. Also he's only wearing boxers, so there's that.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

So you're used to being just a pawn, then? Well, I suppose at the end of the day, most people are. At least you know it.

None whatsoever. And yet people seem to think that they're entitled to it.

I'm used to being treated as a pawn. We'd nearly won the game before I woke up here.

It's a very human trait to want meaningless things and then get offended when those things are denied. I can't imagine why your sympathy would be worth anything even if you were inclined to give it.

Oh~? I'd offer you my congratulations, but I'm afraid you've been entered in a new game now. Everyone starts with a blank slate here.

Isn't it? Those who want sympathy really only want someone to pay special attention to their plight and offer them pity and empty words. I really couldn't care less for that sort of thing.

Ah, well. If you can win one game, you've got the skills to win others.

Neither could I.

That's what I'm hoping. Unfortunately, as you've probably figured out by now, the town doesn't exactly let you keep any particularly special skills you may have.

Oh, I've noticed.

Still, it just makes the game all that more entertaining, don't you think? Of course, I don't know what they took from you, but being a normal human isn't all that bad. [This is a lie - he hates it. He's just learned to deal with it.]

You must not have been much better than one if being reduced to that has so little impact on you.

Hmm, maybe~. I try not to be defined by my powers, though.

And what do you try to be defined by?

Mind. Soul. Imagination. Powerless doesn't have to mean helpless.

Hah! Really? You sound like an after-school special.

Hee hee. Maybe so. Enlighten me, then - how are you going to handle being reduced to nothing but human?

Like handling garbage - distastefully and for not a second longer than I have to.

Interesting. Well, try to get used to the feeling. You're stuck with garbage . . . for now, at least.

So it would seem.