Bash Kingswood ⚔ Sebastian "Bash" de Poitiers (forgery) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-06-25 22:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, * terri, c: sebastian kingswood |
WHO: Bash Kingswood
WHEN: June 25th
WHERE: His house.
SUMMARY: Bash stews on recent events.
WARNINGS: General angst.
Even though it had been a few weeks since the incident at the Faire, Bash couldn’t seem to get his mind off of it. He found himself checking his surroundings often, watching time creep by just to prove that he remembered it instead of it fading into some growing string of lost moments. Questioning his own sanity was unsettling. At times, he wondered if he was safe to keep going to work considering the line of duty he was in. If he lost his mind at the wrong moment, he could hurt someone, though he wasn’t entirely sure that Sebastian de Poitiers would know how to use a glock. It still wasn’t rocket science. He couldn’t shake the loss of time or the damage that he had so inadvertently caused that day. He was reassured by the fact that Denver had come home that night and Alex hadn’t taken up any offers to hit him. He was ultra aware of how these dreams could shake his reality…they could impact real relationships that mattered to him if he wasn’t careful. The worst part of all was the feeling of being out of control. He had no way to micro-manage the dreams, waking or asleep. He couldn’t feel when they were coming on, and he had no way of waking himself up in the middle of them because he wasn’t himself and he didn’t know that there was any other reality. There was no way to wake oneself up if you could not convince your mind that something was wrong in the first place. Bash knew that the man he dreamed about - his alter-ego or whatever he happened to be - wasn’t a particularly bad man. He had done some bad things at the bidding of his father, the King. He had done nearly worse things to protect Mary, whom he loved in a multitude of ways. He knew that the romantic love didn’t last. He knew that beyond that, their friendship had grown strong and unyielding. That was the part of his dreams that he related the most closely with. It was what he understood. He’d always had a close relationship with Annie...closer than he’d ever really been able to explain, but what he’d felt for her had always bordered on brotherly and protective. The Bash of France had devoted himself utterly to Mary, sometimes at the expense of loyalty to his own country, but she was his chosen sovereign and her will was his guide. In his own way, he supposed he had devoted himself to Annie. They had been roommates for several years, and in that time he’d come to do her bidding whenever she asked, though their friendship had never been one-sided. He had always been glad for her relationship with Alex, and never jealous of it. He wondered now how much of the initial foundation of his friendship with Annie had been them and how much had been these repressed dreams driving them into the same social circle. Either way, he wouldn’t have changed it. Annie remained one of his best friends, and one of the only people he would sit through long episodes of “girly dramas” with. What scared him was not that he might somehow develop feelings that his dream-self had been harboring. No, he was still wholly devoted to Denver. His worry was that at some point, he’d start to lose little bits of himself. That his time would become split instead of Him and his time asleep. He had spent a whole afternoon as the other man without ever realizing it, and he was committed to making sure that didn’t happen again, no matter what it took. He didn’t care if he had to have people that he cared about watch him carefully. He didn’t care if Lyra had to taze him, or if someone had to make him bleed to bring him back to himself. He would not lose more days to the drama of French Court. Dreams were one thing, but sleep walking he could not abide. Shutting a leather-bound journal shut, he covered the ink on those pages that detailed everything he remembered from his dreams. Perhaps if he could understand the other Bash a little better, he could understand what triggered the dreams. He tucked the journal into his desk drawer and put it out of sight. He only ever retrieved it if he had more accounts to detail in the pages, his notes scrawled in the margins as he tried to make sense of everything. He would put the puzzle together, bit by bit, and hopefully that would help him manage the rest. Bash de Poitiers could live in those pages, but he would not take over Bash Kingswood’s life. |