||[Nov. 29th, 2006|03:15 am]
The dancing may have been more spontaneous than the pre-determined tribal rituals he'd been used to memorizing, which had taken him slightly off-guard the first time it'd happened, but he'd developed a specific method to decompose and reconstitute artificial randomness patterns which had come in handy more than once since then. After a while moves became like people in any given clique, each more similar to the previous one than the last, and he could let the back of his mind take care of it while otherwise occupied. Which was good, because things seemed to be happening that were very probably going to be requiring most of his attention.|
Boko had found the pink jackal intriguing from the start. At first he'd been disappointed because of the false hope he'd gotten that this had been someone who'd recorded sounds and played them back as they'd been before realizing that the sounds he'd played back had been modified, "personalized" as others might have said. But then, of course, that made it something unique and irreplaceable also, and although he'd been annoyed that it'd meant more work for him rather than the contingency he'd imagined, that hadn't made his responsibility to keep it alive any less real.
Music could be almost more elusive than sculptures could be, and that was really saying something. Perhaps based on this kind of experience there could be something that needed saving residing within that creature's mind itself also, so he started to think about devising a way of approaching it. Fortunately, the fact that so many of the dancers would have been drifting near Profett and the Medusa on their own gave Boko a perfect excuse to surreptitiously inch his own way towards them, his gyrations looking deceptively casual given how carefully planned they'd been.
Undivided attention to everything around him should have been second nature, same as the rest of the time. Nothing was supposed to be able to blindside him. So why were the recent screeches and flashes coming from the pink jackal and music plant monopolizing his attention so much, more than it felt like anything ever had? His ears were sensitive and the noise was excruciating for him to hear, yet he felt irresistibly drawn to it, barely noticing the irony of the hypnotist being hypnotized as it seeped out of his nearly bleeding ears. Years of juggling practice had made him skilled enough at catching things when they fell in mid-air, but he still had to strain to try to have one or two to bring back because the only thing on his mind was Is it on, is it on, is this fucking thing on or not? because there's no way I can be missing this, I could never, that just wouldn't be...
The pain barely a footnote in his mind's rolling eye. It couldn't just be because it was a plant, could it? He was convinced he'd faded to translucent in his urge to get near but he was flashing red and yellow in his excitement without even realizing he was. Whatever was going to happen couldn't possibly matter, he could always deal with everything as it came, couldn't he?
Caught the quadruped out of the corner of his ear. Normally attention is a commodity he has in spades, and there's even something in what she's playing his subconscious would recognize from somewhere, and the fact that his conscious mind isn't registering it is what first tips off his plasmate that something's wrong, but there's no gaining back control or re-establishing neural communication channels in his current state. He'd have to be punished for it later in a way he wouldn't like, a skill Rome had had to work at perfecting but had gotten especially good at.
I can see no one's home so here's a message on your machine, you useless reptile. When someone's mind is being fucked with anywhere around you, you're the one who's supposed to be doing it. Keeping track if someone else is doing it to someone else not only for the sake of keeping track but maybe even to learn a trick or two, failing that. In any case, your mind certainly isn't supposed to be the one it's happening to, am I making myself clear enough...?