[b]Persephone:[/b]

The guy stands up off the sofa immediately, and flinches away when you pass. No, definitely not an assassin. He’s clearly more scared of you than you are of him. Look at his eyes as you pass and see the dilated pupils and pink mist you’re familiar with. You could fit your thumb in the bags under his eyes. 

You saw it in a lot of middle-class first-timers. Outside of prison, it’s a kind of CPTSD that hasn’t been common since trench warfare. He’s been living in terror for more than a week but less than a month, by your count. No safe place to sleep, no people he trusts to watch his back. 

More than a week. It takes that long for the physical symptoms to accumulate like this. It’s his body trying to maintain its adrenaline high so long after its run out of reserves, and now it’s ripping up floorboards to make ceiling. Even high-stress workaholics have about two or three days of buffer, as long as they don’t sleep in their offices and take weekends off. 

Less than a month. He’s not fully burned out yet. He’s still twitchy and jumpy, which means his mind and muscles are still receptive to the fight-or-flight juices. That won’t last. You know what the crash feels like. It’s worse than going cold turkey after a 10-espresso-a-day habit. 

The problem is that it’s more than the fatigue and the fog of a stimulant crash. The brain also goes into an intense depression, because it’s been pushed beyond breaking. For a while, it loses the ability to regulate mood, recycle dopamine and serotonin. 

If he can be handled through the crash when it happens, it will be the first chance of recovery. The mind can acclimate to its new sense of risk, even though he might spend the rest of his life with his back to the corner wall of restaurants. He’ll settle into a new normal.

Without that help, he’s going to be at a serious risk of self-harm. What happens when the brain withdraws from such an intense survival impulse. Knowing this doesn’t make you responsible for it. It’s just part of your assessment of a person who would break into your apartment despite clearly being terrified of you.

“Please. I need your help, and I don’t know anyone else I can trust.” He says. “My name is Marco Alvaro, and I’m a whistleblower. I have important information about [i]Aevum [/i]police that everyone needs to know. A lot of very dangerous information. You’re the only person I think I can trust right now, the only person they’re scared of. Please help me.”

He says this like he’s spent the entire time on your couch drilling it, over and over and over. His entire body braces when he runs out of script. In case he needs to argue. In case he needs to beg. In case he needs to run. He tries to stare at you defiantly, but always those bloodshot eyes are darting back to windows and doors. 

[b]November:[/b]

You don’t get all that subtext, Black. Just the rehearsed speech, and a much more complicated risk to manage.

[b]3V:[/b]

“Dr Rolfe, fun? Maybe.” Ferris snorts. She’s very annoyed, but her jab still betrays personal respect. She’s implying doctors can’t be fun, but takes for granted Gavin is a real and valid example. If you’ve already picked up on that insecurity, Ferris must have. “I’m sure he needs his rest, though. Feel free to join us for breakfast, but we might be a while, so it might be better if you don’t wait up.”

Translation; She doesn’t want to leave you alone with Gavin. 

Gavin gives you a nervous look, shrugs helplessly. “Breakfast sounds lovely, Dr Ferris.” At least brave enough for that bit of snark. 

“I’ll just need to get properly dressed, if you don’t mind?” She’s still holding the towel shut, not trusting it to stay tied on. “I didn’t know you played, though, Gavin. I used to love running Age of Atlantis. I’m sure there are better systems, but none matched it for that feeling of hopeful optimism. I’m sure I’ve written some one-session games I’ve never had a chance to run…” 

Of course she would rather run games than play them. Add it to the pile of radiating top energy. Still, another insinuation. Just because you can’t see her doesn’t mean she can’t hear you.

Or maybe the feeling of being eavesdropped on pales in comparison to one of the saviours of the species offering to run a game for you.