St. Peter's Asylum discussion

Rowan was on her own way to her dorm, eyes tightly closed, feeling her way with her hand on the wall. Because Troy was beside her, because she couldn't bare to look at the ghost anymore. She was sucking in pained breaths through her teeth as if readying to scream herself, but then she heard the other cries. Her head snapped up, eyes flying open, hair whipping back and forth as she looked around wildly for the source of the screams. Her first thought: Troy. She was reliving her past, his screams, all over again.

For a moment she was overwhelmed by panic, but then the girl paused. It wasn't Troy; the cries were too high in pitch, the voice was too young. They were, in fact, coming from behind the door her hand rested on. She finally reacted, curling that hand into a fist and pounding on the wood. "Hello?" she yelled over the noise. "Hello? Who's in there? What's going on?"

She was right, it was a boy. A young boy. Rowan shuddered--what could possibly make him scream like that?--before pounding harder. "Let me in!" she called. "I can help you! Let me in!" Guilt was what made her say those words, guilt and pain and compassion. If she couldn't help Troy, maybe she could help this boy. He sounded like he needed it.

"You do so!" Rowan said forcefully, voice still raised. "You're screaming your bloody head off in there! What can I do?"

((This won't go anywhere if we just continue like this...))

Again, guilt made Rowan respond and not just walk away, as he said. "You're not! What's going on?" She had stopped knocking, but she refused to move away from the door. "Do I need to get a nurse?"

"Right now? I'd have to leave to do that!" Rowan tried the knob and found it unlocked. "Do you want me to come in? We might not have to get a nurse at all; I can he;p you through it!"

"Okay. I'm coming." Rowan eased the door open and stepped inside, surprise lighting her features as she saw the boy with his ear pressed against the wall. She went to sit on the bed. "I'm Rowan," she told him, trying to smile but failing--screams, both his and Troy's, mingled in her head and were cracking her walls. "What's your name? Can you tell me what's going on?"

"Oh." Rowan nodded. "I'm sorry, Tom." She shot a glance at Troy, almost as if to make sure he was there, still there and just as ready as ever to drive her mad. That one glanced affirmed it--he was there. And the blue-green of her eyes filled with a sort of pain borne of memories (or was it madness?) before she turned back to Tom. Out of curiosity, she said: "Is it better, when I talk? Does it fade a little?"

"Oh," Rowan said again. "Then what should I say?" She looked about the room again, carefully avoid Troy, before allowing her eyes to settle on the older boy.

"You play?" Rowan felt a smile ghost across her lips. "That's great. It's nice to have some light in your life, isn't it?" She again found her eyes flitting to Troy: the only person--or was he a thing?--that stopped her from bringing light to her own existence.

Rowan nodded. Very nice, she thought, almost dreamily. Very nice, Tom. And then she smiled, listening to him, finding it almost easy to ignore Troy as he sat on the bed next to her and slid his hand over hers.

Rowan nodded, legs crossing eyes focused on the boy. His playing was lovely, she would give him that.

((Sure.))