anidiotchild | 六

[Simon clicks on the video feed, but for a few seconds, it's evident that the communicator is lying at a strange angle, showing the surface of a table in one of the common rooms. There's a pile of dry rice on the table that Simon's currently organizing into shapes - flowers, mushrooms, cats, little boats - on the tables surface, and he moves the communicator to get it all in better few, his expression somewhere between earnest and panicky and very serious as he glances at the camera briefly, like he's got something important to talk about.

He's probably been seeming a little off the longer we've been waiting for repairs to get finished, mumbling quietly to himself or saying something almost entirely without context, but by now, he's lapsed into full on unintentional imitation of his sister because of Wonderland's influence, and sanity is not really in the picture today.]

It's a charade. They're just going through the motions. Anterior insula, anterior cingulate cortex, and inferior frontal cortex, they're there, they feel, they can be quantified, but they don't function. [He starts changing the shapes in the rice designs so that some mirror each other, while others don't, looking a little misshapen instead. There's a petal missing from one, the second boat is lopsided. He's basically babbling at this point, not looking at the camera and speaking quickly, like the words are in a rush to get out.]

They make them see things that aren't there. Tell them it's better because they understand, no one else does. That they're a king in the graveyard, but they're wrong. The mirror neurons are firing. They hear, but they don't listen. They don't comprehend. [He makes a bit of a face, continuing the rearrangement, brow starting to furrow in fierce concentration.] It takes time. [He shoves the rice back into a pile before digging his fingers into his temples for a moment, kneading the skin there as if to ward off a headache.] It shouldn't. They're damaged.

[And now he seems frustrated, and almost desperate, like this is all really important but he can't figure out a way to make you all understand.] It's broken. It doesn't make sense.

[He picks up the communicator, staring into the video feed for a long moment, brow furrowed slightly, expression once again serious and focused.]

It's problematic. [And he clicks off the feed.]

[ooc: Simon's still on the ship, but seriously everyone come talk to him. :3]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nothing makes sense.

[Partially because she has literally no idea what he's talking about, but.]

You're the only problematic things around here. Making noise.

[You're getting a vaugely withering look, Morgana.]

The noise is everywhere. Can't stick your fingers in your ears when it's not coming from the air.