[That's much more than Donnie's able to process of anything externally.
In a heartbeat his mind is filled with numbers, running, shifting, formulas and complex calculations that simultaneously seem like gibberish and yet make complete sense. It's too fast to parse, although in some instinctual effort to focus he can make out some of the information, process it as more than just a blur of mathematics before it's all too swiftly ripped away like he's caught in some wild rapids consisting entirely of codework.
And there is encoding, a background to the shuffle of numbers, adjusting, readjusting in subtle sync, maintaining a careful order to the numerical chaos, keeping things flowing, moving, functioning. It's a temporary solace, a promise that all other processes will make sense.
It slips from his focus, another heartbeat, another rush.
Everything is a rush. A blissful world both beautiful and terrifying, but at its fringes he can tell something's going wrong. He can't quite determine 01100101 01110010 01110010 01101111 01110010 the source he can't focus it's too much this isn't rightwhat'shappeningmyheadisgoingtoexplodestopSTOPSTOP--
His fingers pull away from the device, more an act of gracious gravity than by his own power. Donnie's not even aware he's falling, his mind abruptly going blank like a power cord's been pulled. His eyes remain aglow, the same if fainter hue of magenta that accompanies his brand of ninpo.]
no subject
In a heartbeat his mind is filled with numbers, running, shifting, formulas and complex calculations that simultaneously seem like gibberish and yet make complete sense. It's too fast to parse, although in some instinctual effort to focus he can make out some of the information, process it as more than just a blur of mathematics before it's all too swiftly ripped away like he's caught in some wild rapids consisting entirely of codework.
And there is encoding, a background to the shuffle of numbers, adjusting, readjusting in subtle sync, maintaining a careful order to the numerical chaos, keeping things flowing, moving, functioning. It's a temporary solace, a promise that all other processes will make sense.
It slips from his focus, another heartbeat, another rush.
Everything is a rush. A blissful world both beautiful and terrifying, but at its fringes he can tell something's going wrong. He can't quite determine 01100101 01110010 01110010 01101111 01110010 the source he can't focus it's too much this isn't rightwhat'shappeningmyheadisgoingtoexplodestopSTOPSTOP--
His fingers pull away from the device, more an act of gracious gravity than by his own power. Donnie's not even aware he's falling, his mind abruptly going blank like a power cord's been pulled. His eyes remain aglow, the same if fainter hue of magenta that accompanies his brand of ninpo.]