He was caught between wanting to sleep and to go see if Skwisgaar's daughter was okay, on the other hand he was scared if he went to sleep the first person he'd run into would be Magnus. He feared the man stabbing him again, molesting him, or forcing him through another one of the previously blocked doors. Toki still didn't have it figured out; he thought about the room he'd found Magnus and the child in, it wasn't a place he had ever seen in his life. It belonged to somebody else; he hadn't known the last leader of the church very well at all, Nathan had been closest to him, but right now he wished the man was still alive so he could ask him more. He wanted to learn, all five of them did, but there was little they could learn from outsiders. It was all based on the shit theory of self discovery. His brain felt like a battle field and if it wasn't for his near immortality he was pretty sure his body would have given out months ago from what was going on. He didn't even watch the news anymore; he left the room anytime it came on the TV, he would wander off to his own room where he would drink and stare at the pictures of his parents that hung on the wall. He couldn't figure out who that man was or why he'd made him feel so sick, almost nothing had ever made him feel that way before and the things that had made him feel that way, he didn't want to think there. Alcohol kept him from thinking so much about it; the screams and whispers were like background music to the chaos raging on inside of his head. Whatever war he was fighting with himself, with the souls dwelling inside of himself he was losing it. Magnus had been right; this was his place.
Whatever that middle world was it didn't belong to Toki even though by the rights of prophecy it was his. He held the key to that place, he was supposed to do something. He didn't know what that something was, but he knew he wasn't supposed to let a rage prone dead guitarist take rule over that place. That wasn't right, that wasn't how things were supposed to be; he knew the girl wasn't the only person that Magnus was torturing while Toki was away or even when he was there. He cut, stabbed, and beat anything within his reach. He finally had victims he could hurt in every way humanly possible and never worry about them dying.
Toki knew he should sleep; he should find a way to get rid of or stop Magnus, he should check on Skwisgaar's daughter and maybe the other children too. Just he was scared; he was scared of what more Magnus could do to him or what he could show him this time around, he was scared that the next time he'd see the small girl she'd be in worse shape and it'd be his fault for letting things get this out of hand.
He could feel his mind shattering; he wasn't sure just how much more abuse he could take before he'd finally just give in. After what Magnus had done to him and what he'd made him see he had spent nearly an entire day not speaking or really doing much of anything. The most he would do was break down crying every hour or so, he would get frantic when Skwisgaar would leave him for too long. He felt bad the older musician had had to look after him like that, again. He surely understood how Skwisgaar could find it annoying that he had to look after somebody like Toki so often. He wondered just how much longer that could last, he didn't even know what he'd do if Skwisgaar got tired of watching after him and keeping him from slipping completely. Even with him around he knew it wouldn't take too much more for him to break into a million pieces. His mind had never been an entirely stable place, but he used to have happy places and areas to hide in. Just time and drudged up dramas from his childhood made all of the light and color go away until there was nothing but darkness and the cold winters and damp cement beneath his bare feet and heavy metal collars around his throat digging into his skin making blisters.
He touched his fingers to the off colored white scar that wrapped around his throat. He had spent too much of his life being chained up like a filthy dog that nobody wanted around. Even when he'd found a home he'd bee placed in the background more times than not. He craved attention too much to be so solitary.
He looked over to the bottle of vodka on his bedside table then to his guitar placed on the floor next to the table. He eyed both objects several times before deciding on the guitar. He hadn't played offstage for a long time, he never really had played much. When he'd been a boy and found his first guitar buried out in the snow he had played it as much as he could until his parents stole it away from him. As he played the first note he remembered his mother smacking him hard across the face then being forced to burn the acoustic instrument while his father kept a death grip on the back of his neck. For a moment he had figured they'd throw him into the fire as well. It would be awhile until he'd get his first electric guitar, it was the one thing he valued more than his life. On the streets he'd hide it in and behind empty dumpsters, hold it close to himself when he would sleep at night. He would play it to calm himself down from panic attacks and anxiety attacks after a 'business' transaction with another strange older man in an alleyway or motel room. When he'd joined the band he played with Skwisgaar a lot, any opportunity to spend time with the man who had given him a place to live, new clothes, and a family. When things had begun going south he played less; they fought more, everything was competition. When Skwisgaar played to calm his anxiety Toki played just to play alongside him only to have it turn into a competition where he couldn't keep up. On rare occasions they'd fall into harmony and it was peaceful, but Pickles had gotten irritated having to hear both guitarists playing nearly every hour of the day when all he wanted to do was drink in peace or watch the TV. So Toki had played less than he already had been, saving it mostly for fits of depression, then he just didn't play at all. Nobody seemed to care if he played, Skwisgaar constantly insulted his playing and his hands and his everything really.
It wasn't that he was really lazy or dull in the head or didn't care about guitar. It was just a lack of motivation or reason. He was alone now though, he was for once and for the mean time completely disgusted by the idea of getting drunk again and the harsh whispers of souls was beginning to get to him. He didn't recognize what he played; it wasn't anything he'd heard on any album or that Skwisgaar had written. He smiled thinking about hanging with the few friends he'd had back in Norway as a teenager, he would go to their homes and listen to albums. He mostly learned from listening to older rock and metal bands, he practically studied Iron Maiden like it was a course in college. If he wanted to he could still play every single one of their songs, but things like that never seemed to impress. Playing felt strange, he couldn't remember the last time he had done so. He needed to play anyways, they were recording and they supposedly would be needing him soon. He wasn't sure how coherent or sane he would be by then though. A cruel part of his mind told him it didn't matter, Skwisgaar was still a much better and more well practiced guitarist. He would just cover rhythm and probably bass too since not much seemed to change with Murderface even with the apocalypse, the near wiping out of the human race and finding out they were more than human. Toki wasn't sure if it was practiced denial with a dash of ignorance that kept him thinking nothing was different than how it had always been or he literally just didn't give a fuck about any of this. He seemed to be the only one not working on music, not working on whatever he was supposed to be or do.
Toki wouldn't mind taking that route; he wasn't fond of what he did.
The music the guitar produced was melancholy, he didn't expect anything else. For whatever reason it seemed to settle the souls, their harsh pained whispers had faded into near silence making him feel some sense of relaxation and peace. This beat meditation.