The Above OC Is Having a Breakdown...

Having seen it all, more or less, there's nothing but quiet sympathy from Yurii as Ray begins to unravel before him. Ray had come to the clinic with a few things on his mind, but now that he's talking, she seems to have a lot more on her mind than Yurii realized. Normally he dealt with the wounds of the body, the organs, the skin and nerve endings and bones. It was rare for him to be asked to help someone's mind, their soul, something not physical. That can't be bandaged or sutured or drained or removed. Yurii allows Ray to let it out of their system, to get the words out and cry the tears that always come when they do. Perhaps not for the same reasons, Yurii knows the feeling well. A patient would be lost, he'd be numb, and then just two or three words about it will have everything rushing back as if being sucked into a vacuum in the past.

"This has been weighing heavy on your mind, no?" Yurii begins, soft and quiet. "I know it cannot be easy, but talking is good. Talking is the first step." Ironically enough, Yurii himself hated talking more than he needed to. He'd rather write a letter to a friend than try to speak to them in person. "The first step, is not to love the body, too difficult to wrap the mind around when we feel like this.  We should think of the body as what it is. Your legs, they carry you from one room to the other. They take you outside to feel the sun in spring. Your arms? Grab what you need, hold things, write things. Useful, arms are." Yurii takes a deep breath, hoping he's not doing more harm than good.

"Your stomach? Sustains you, provides nourishment. Important. Feeds the brain, heart, kidneys, lungs. Make it so your legs can take you outside to that sun and your hands grab the pillow when you go to sleep. Think of it like that. Neutral things, not good or bad." The doctor gives Ray a small smile. "Can you do that? Your turn. Pick a part of you and tell me something useful it does for you."

NP: Yurii is a doctor! He does it all, from trauma-unit type operations to physicals. Sometimes he loses patients, it weighs on him and sometimes it hits him like a truck :')

The detective stood side by side the doctor, watching as Yurii threw his head in his hands.  Novem was here because he needed to take a statement from the victim, Yurii was currently in a fit of despair due to his inability to save said victim.  

Novem kept a passive gaze on the doctor before letting his eyes fall on the dead covered body.  While Yurii had his moment, the detective couldn't help but think about how inconvenienced he was due to the turn of events- still he didn't voice out that little annoyance of his.  The kitsune could easily reanimate the body to get the answers he needed for his case, but not with Yurii here.  

A gentle hands finds it's way onto Yurii's shoulder, Novem's voice quiet amidst the two, "Let's step outside, yeah?" He give the rabbit a comforting smile before leading Yurii outside.  He'll listen to what he has to say, his anguish, his guilt, all of it, with the same understanding smile on his face the whole time. The stand in the cold together, a good place to clear ones head as the cold could be rather grounding. 

"It doesn't get easier.  As a doctor it's your job to save lives, so when you can't, you feel as though you've failed your job." Novem sighs, "I'm the same way. Both our jobs are about helping people, but if you keep this up- you'll just be doing yourself, and future patients a disservice.  It's not bad to grieve the loss of life, but you are not the party at fault, so don't take it so hard." With another comforting pat to Yurii's shoulder, Novem begins to move back into the hospital.  "Stay out here for a bit, good to clear your head before you have to get back to work." He give Yurii a wave without turning to look at the doctor, Novem still had to get answers from that body alive or not. 

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np:Novem, as well kept as he may seem is very mentally unstable, he tends to get violent in his outburst, throwing things off the table and kicking things while letting out frustrated cries. 

So this is what those concerned expressions Novem would always give Una would cumulate into if they didn't get properly taken care of. The demoness doesn't flinch as she stumbles across Novem mid-tantrum. It's an entirely different side to him, one she's not accustomed to. Una doesn't flinch, in fact, she's only more interested in what the man has got going on behind his saccharine demeanor. Angry tears roll down his cheeks, Una notes that this might be the first time she's seen him cry like this. Really cry, not a few tears eeked out of his eyes as he expresses his worries. This was a violent explosion of emotion, raw, and uncensored. No, this was something different, Una had never heard these things coming from Novem before. He's always been so composed, so cool. It's difficult not to smile at the sight of such a rare moment, privy to something no one else is privy too. Something that's supposed to be hidden is being shared in front of her, a new experience for Una.

"What happened?" She asks, this time not waiting for him to cast her the pitiful look he usually does when something needs doing. While she doesn't know for sure, she has an inkling. Someone failed. Big time. The anger and frustration he's expressing is palpable, the weight of failure heavy upon him. Not angry at himself, of course, but at the person who let him down. She moves closer, reaching to take his face into her hands, he casts her a look she's not used to him throwing her way in his anger, he's not to be touched right now. "Who made it so you're this way? Shall I punish them for you? Let me fix it, so that you may rest."

NP: while normally Una has no memories of what happened to her as a human, there comes moments of lucidity where she DOES and its painful :')

🅱ump

ramyune (pinging because uh)

Gossamer didn't like to approach people, especially when they were crying. He knew he didn't have the proper words to help anyone. He knew exactly what he came off as, but Gossamer didn't know how to be anyone else besides the jerk he was. However, that didn't mean he was completely useless at helping others.

As he walked down the hall, Gossamer quietly scoffs at Carmen's shaking form, but he doesn't acknowledge him otherwise. Instead, Gossamer pulls a stool into the hallway and summons his harp. He began to play a tune, or tries to. The melody itself often stops and starts, as Gossamer was making it up as he went along. He audibly "tsks" as he starts over. But the reaper didn't need to play steadily in order to use his power. He was hoping to use his influence on a person's emotions to calm Carmen down.

Gossamer had no idea how strong his influence would be on a god, but he felt that it would be worth a shot. He continues to play, for both of his sakes. It was quite hard to ignore Carmen in pain, after all. Gossamer was lower on the "deity" chain, making it easy for him to fall under Carmen's influence. Gossamer's toxic personality wasn't helping either, but with his own magic, he was able to ignore his urges to hurt Carmen even more. Gossamer only hoped that Carmen would cut it out soon.

~~~

Gossamer can be very obsessive about the beauty of himself, others, and his own music. He might lock himself in his room, playing a serenade so feverishly that it affects everyone around him, including himself.

        The music became dreadful after some time. Listening to it, the honeyed voice with which the demon sang and the strings he delicately plucked, it was easy to mistake, at first, that the melancholy was a sham, an act, and that eventually it would teeter off into silence. Somber silence, but silence nonetheless. Beautiful as it was, someone still had to put an end to it. If that someone was to be Maribelle, then so be it.

       Knocking on Gossamer's door, she listened closely with an ear to the wood. Not that she needed to do that, she heard the music loud and clear before arriving. The harp made her heart twist and writhe within her chest, but she dared not to be distracted, lest it continue on. And once she was permitted -- in her mind, more so -- she slowly opened the door to reveal the man draped beside his instrument, and for a moment, she watched him rather than spoke.

       When she at last said anything, it was done coldly, betraying the moroseness produced from within the chamber. "You are a knight." The noble girl said, her voice the softest hiss. Whether she was aware of any desolation from him or not, she did not express anything more than a rigid and half-doubtful stare. "Yet still, you stay up here and you play your songs -- and they're mesmerizing in one way."

       "Come on." she insisted, taking a step towards him, "Surely you have some work to do. Retainers like you, don't you have typical, low-effort jobs to do? Not only protecting your liege, but paperwork, organizing, fixing schedules... anything? Bah. Even a mosquito knows that in the face of duty, your emotions and hardships matter not. So you might as well fill the void with something pressing, and keep yourself busy."

@ NP: maribelle's got the trauma. she's also prone to panic attacks, nightmares, hallucinations, and all around just. not very nice feelings idk.

Rain pattered on the windows outside of a small cafe, nestled in the middle of a city somewhere. The noticeable yet delicious smell of coffee beans wafted through the air, along with the scent of freshly baked goods. 6s had sat at a table to finish some work that was due in a few hours, only to have a woman much taller than him sit beside him at the booth. They didn’t think much of this, until her breaths began heaving, and she began shaking. 6s immediately realized what this was (from personal experience)— a panic attack.

Normally, 6s would be the one being comforted by others upon having such a breakdown as the one unfolding before her. Nevertheless, they’d lived through these before, and knew Maribelle would make it through. Frantically, 6s scrambled through her shoulder bag to find something that may be of comfort to the woman quivering next to her. Snapping his fingers, he pulled out a one-use hand warmer package, and placed it in Maribelle’s spare hand. 

6s began shaking herself, mostly out of uncertainty in the situation. They crouched down into Maribelle’s line of vision, and began counting with their fingers, as well as their voice, starting from 10, down to 1. Slowly but surely, this began to slow Maribelle’s breathing back to a normal and stable rate. 

“There. You’re okay, you got this.” 6s smiled, grabbing a water bottle out of her shoulder bag. “It hasn’t been opened. Drink some.” He placed the bottle of water in Maribelle’s hand, before sitting back down in the booth without crouching. 

“If you need someone to talk to, or need something else such as a snack, please don’t hesitate to tell me.”

—-

np: 6s would most likely have breakdowns related to the trauma she went through, which could manifest in a way of physical (just, all around glitching), or panic attacks. pls ping me too !!

elwyn

Usually, Shura would avoid cramped and crowded cities like this, but he knew to take his chances when he had to. His survival depends on these chances, on what planets to land on, and on where to fly next. His life has depended on chance. At least it does now. The angel groans at the surrounding chatter as he rests his staff on his shoulder, the head on his tail squinting its eyes as it cranes around. If he had ears, the loudness of his surroundings would have made them fall.

Though there is one sound he manages to pick out: staticky feedback.

Turning his main head to the source of the sound, he finds a limbed phone on the ground convulsing, the screen flashing patterns of red, green, and blue. Their eyes are wide in fear, similar to whenever something would brush against his ankles. Ah, yes. He recognizes this. He recognizes this far too well.

He takes the phone into his awkwardly-placed hand and takes off out of the crowd, all six of his wings flapping in tandem until he reaches the roof of an apartment building. It was quiet. Calm. Nice. Placing the phone down, he lets out a sigh. "There. I do not know if you need it, but... you may appreciate it up here. It is a lot less stuffy and loud than down there." The phone blinks as their screen returns to normal, and they look up at him. They lean back and watch the setting sun.

And all is well.

=======

@np:

Pirates. Something he knows all too well. Every waking hour, he watches around for any signs of them. Any signs of anyone ready to take him again. To capture him again. But sometimes, he gets false alarms.

Not that he recognizes their falsity.

Eyes widening, he is quick to draw his staff and point it at the approaching individual, his fingers gripping the ground. His burrisk, that hound of his grief, begins to bark. "Stay away..." His voice begins at a whisper before it becomes a pained howl. "Stay away from me!"

LocalSnowi
Desolate had only planned on an average walk with his fiancé under the golden sun that bathed the woods they trod upon. Just simple time he could spend with one he considered absolute treasure to him, and at first everything was completely peaceful. Clawed fingers interlocked with Seuchon's, his eyes were mostly covered by the curled mane of hair he had, though it didn't seem to impact his sight too much. He gave a bubble of laughter at a joke Seuchon made, playfully bumping sides with the taller man which nearly threw the both of them off-balance. The boots helped with keeping him upright, but he still was getting used to the talons on his feet-- besides, it had only been a few months that he had even them.

However, when Seuchon fell silent and perked his ears, thats when Desolate tensed and stopped in his tracks, quick to pick up on the others alertness.

His hand inched towards the hidden blade he kept in the side of his belt, but then Seuchon begun to move once more, straying off the path and through the treeline. All Desolate could do in turn was follow, and that was exactly what he did. As his head raised after his face got berated by branches and thistles, his eyes widened, seeing Seuchon frozen up and a staff pointed at the two of them.

At first, he wished to defend the man he wandered with, but as he heard the shakiness in the angelic beings tone, both Desolate and Seuchon shared a glance that read it all-- something was wrong. He lifted his hands, husky voice dropping to a soothing murmur as he stood his distance as to not spook the angel any further. "Aye, it's alright. We aren't here to hurt you. Are you alright?" Shura seemed tense at first, still holding up that weapon that had Desolate on edge, but soon enough the pair were sat down next to Shura to offer comforting words and pleasant stories-- anything to calm down the distraught stranger they stumbled upon. "You don't gotta be afraid. You've been through some stuff, I can tell-- I won't pry, but we're here for 'ya, alright?" Desolate would say, Seuchon giving a slight nod and a toothy grin. "Nobodies gonna harm you, we'll make sure of it. Right, Des?" Seuchon would speak, elbowing Desolate's side lightly. Desolate hesitated, but then nodded, giving Shura a small pat on the shoulder. "Yeah. It'll all be okay."
---
Seuchon is owned by my boyfriend!! not me!!
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@NP: Desolate is easily triggered by the sound or sight of clocks, which he typically destroys on sight in a panicked rage which leads into a mental breakdown. Have fun!! <3

acheronprairie (pinging just to let you know)

Clocks, especially stop watches, were a special item where Iowa was from. Any innocent pocket watch could end up being a treasure hidden by the goddess of time herself. Or, that's how the stories went. Either way, it was something Iowa wanted to talk about with her new "friend." The Recluse Wanderer could hardly be called that, since he had only approached Iowa out of what could be read as pity. Still, the act of kindness meant a lot to the teen. After being by himself for a good while, Iowa was very insistent on staying by the Wanderer's side. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him.

Iowa was trying to explain the strange stories surrounding clocks before it was snatched thrown into the ocean. He wanted to protest, but one look at the Wanderer's face turned her anger into concern. She wasn't sure what was wrong, but Iowa assumed that it had to do with her pocket watch. Which meant they couldn't go get it, but that was fine. They needed to help their friend first. But how?

Her first idea was to distract The Wanderer. He stands in front of them, waving her arms around. 

"Ahhh, I'm sorry! How about this? I'll show you something even cooler! Like a magic show!" That was usually used on toddlers who were throwing a tantrum and not adults, but he couldn't think of anything else. Hopefully her frenzied movements and her failed attempts at making anything out of ice would distract The Wanderer for long enough...

~~~

She'd probably breakdown from regretting her actions. He'd probably spend the time using his powers aimlessly and recklessly.

---

When Gidget breaks down, it's from constant pressure from his typical stressors, those being him reminded of him being a robot and the constant feeling of anxiety he gets from knowing Trina and Gunther are constantly trying to get him.

He'll clutch his head tightly, drop to his knees as his eyes will start to glitch out, sometimes panting loudly or even screaming if he's facing enough pressure. Every so often he'll fire an energy blast from his finger. After the worst of it, he'll just start crying heavily.