Snippet #2241786

located in Father's Estate, a part of Father's Puppets, one of the many universes on RPG.

Father's Estate

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Character Portrait: Twitch
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Twitch



Rust. Thatโ€™s the taste Twitch recognized when he woke up. Often, he still had nightmares, snippets of what memories he had, memories of the near countless list of crimes he committed. He had learned how to stop screaming in the night, or tossing and turning. Through the years he had spent with Father, Twitch worked very hard to control any aspect of his life that was still his to control. One such aspect was how he reacted to nightmares in the night.

Now, when he suffered a nightmare, he remained stoically still, occasionally suffering night sweats or clenching at the blanket with his fingers. It was on his self-improvement to do list. He should just stop sleeping, but it was one habit he had been both reluctant and unable to let go of yet. One side effect was the taste he woke with. It wasnโ€™t really rust, but dried blood from grinding his teeth too hard, the taste just reminded him of rust. Like those old hacksaws dad preferred to use. Coated in rust and blood and ..

Twitch growled as he pushed off the covers and swung his legs off the side of the bed. He lingered there only a moment to swallow old, useless memories then he stood, meticulously making his bed and smoothing out all the wrinkles from the covers. Paying little attention to anything else, he gathered his clothing for the day, his own towel and bag of personal items, and headed down to the first floor bathing area. Twitch had his routines, taking a shower every morning before he dressed for the day was one such routine.

Routines were in place for many reasons, from being able to put himself on a type of physical 'auto-pilot', to a coping mechanism and more. Twitch used them to help maintain his emotions, keep them buried and suppressed deep enough that he nearly forgot about them. They supplied him with an amount of patience that otherwise would elude him. They allowed Twitch to focus on other things that were infinitely more important, such as an acute awareness of his immediate surroundings. He hated it when something interrupted his routines.

Twitch walked down the stairs to the first floor, clad in his black pajama top and bottoms, and a pair of black slip on shoes. Twitch found comfort in the stark colors of his room, of most rooms. The nice contract of white and black provided a strange relief and reminded him of where he was. Even if Twitch was certain that where he was now, was only marginally better than where he was not, it was a relief all the same. He made a small sound in the back of his throat as he picked a shower stall for himself and set the water to be hot enough to turn his skin pink. All the better to sanitize with, my dear.