Anyway Camille is hunting down all the little ducklings she's spied around so far, taking stock of the placards and who is sleeping where. Accountability is important.
Marina will catch her as she draws up to the church, giving a casual wave.]
You were a Sunday regular too, then? [She kind of dresses like it, though that might be more her time and place than god-fearing modesty.] I'm at the theatre. Something homey about all the confetti and balloons I suppose.
[Early this morning, Marina will find the neatly folded Enchanted Princess Bride dress in her living space, complete with tiara. There is a handwritten note declaring:
[ oh! nope nope nope! marina is darting over, stumbling a little bit. she slows to a walk when she gets closer, concern already on her face.
yeah, that's a mood. ]
You're soaked... hey...
[ concern etched in her brow. ]
Don't have much at the church, but... can dry your clothes there for a bit if you want. F'you don't mind wearing a drop cloth for a while. I can shoo the boys.
[Camille flinches as she sits up. Living her pathetic normie life, regretting being a smoker today! She covers her mouth to mask a few more coughs, but will follow along after Marina.]
[ just kind of hanging out wherever with her chin on her knees staring into the Void. there's a stick in her hand and she's just. free-handing circles in the dirt, smudging them with her shoe and then repeating when she runs out of space.
she really looks like she's trying to just work through the psychic damage of a 9 hour trial of horrors that ends in someone turning into a monster. there are oozing, rotating lines around her arms - just words that say moonscorched moonscorched moonscorched over and over again. ]
Camille approaches, bland snack in hand. She will hold it out to the younger girl as she takes a seat, pretending not to notice the text. Watching that stick make its rosie posies again and again.]
but she will look at the snack and reach out and quietly take it from her with a little "thanks." she will pause in her drawing to nibble while camille talks and takes a moment to reply. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine. It's... not far off from stuff I've seen... there's differences, but...
[ somehow, this is worse, maybe, with how long she got to enjoy knowing people. the impending doom of it saddles her with conflicting feelings about how she's seen this place. ]
[They are inside one of the abandoned islander's homes. Camille picks up a framed photo of a bipedal goat. I'm godmodding it to look like Rauru or whatever his name is.]
[ rauru!? HELP I LOVE THIS. marina is just walking in behind her - she's got some new clothes on, a nice fitted linen dress and a soft sweater. some solid boots as well. she peers over her shoulder curiously. ]
yeah this one really hurts. it hurts more than she thought it might hurt because every death sucks—but she's just staring kind of shell-shocked at the sight of it. that's three of them. that suuuure is three of them.
a child. a dog. and the literal embodiment of the sun so like.
[Camille is in the church. Head down. No prayers today, sorry goat-god. It's simply hard to shake instinct: in the bottom of Missouri you brought your miseries to the Lord. Camille hasn't ever bought into the deal, but lightyears away from home any sliver of familiarity helps.
She lifts slightly when the door opens, lethargically tossing her hair aside to see who it is.]
[ marina is here, her skirt pinched at either end to make a basket of it. inside, flat, smooth stones that she is bringing over to the altar, candles and all. she gives her a tight smile. ]
You know it. Figured I'd finally turn in what I'd been working on.
[ glances at wherever she happens to be settled, previously head down. ]
The police clap Amma's twiggy preteen wrists in handcuffs, and they march her out the door of your crappy apartment with a firm hand on each arm. She's defiant but hot in the face, eyes wet and cheeks red. She looks at you with a clear burn, the sear of a laser, and you feel your skin sizzle.
When she's gone your editor and mentor, Frank Curry, swoops in with his wife to save you from the silence. They assume the space on your couch. They're here for you in your hour of need. You manage just fine, talking.
You slip a knife up your sleeve when they aren't looking, and you go to the bathroom.
You lock the door. You slip your shirt off and look at your handiwork in the mirror. Words you've carved into your skin from age thirteen to thirty, neck to wrists to hips and down to the webbing between your toes. There's a patch on your back left blank, nothing written there. It's been too hard to reach with finesse.
Today, you grind the knife around in that smooth circle, shredding your last patch of clear skin below the neck. When you're ready to start on your face Curry breaks into the bathroom.
He gets the knife out of your hand, and in short order you are in their care and living in their basement. Sharp objects under lock and key.
unfortunately she does not and cannot hate her and just goes to the pyre as soon as possible, pretty much not caring what kind of state she might be in - monstrous or not. shifting or not. ]
[ ok but yes? marina is crouched in a dark skirt and some boots, wide-eyed with great interest at the spigot because like. well. that is some pretty interesting stuff. she can see what's dripped into the bucket and reaches out to just dribble a more substantial amount into it. not a lot but enough to at least get a better read on.
she hums. ]
Tree blood. Cursed tree blood.
[ she has no idea. ]
Being real, though... I've never seen something like this before. Wonder if it's responsible for that.
[ points at the grotesque figure that has a plaque saying "i am what i am" near it. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
WEEK 0: Monday
[CHAR WE WILL FINALLY PC nothing is in our way
Anyway Camille is hunting down all the little ducklings she's spied around so far, taking stock of the placards and who is sleeping where. Accountability is important.
Marina will catch her as she draws up to the church, giving a casual wave.]
Hey. This you?
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marina perks up as she hears the voice, turning. ]
Oh, hi. Yep. That's me - back to church... from humble beginnings, I suppose.
Where're you?
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You were a Sunday regular too, then? [She kind of dresses like it, though that might be more her time and place than god-fearing modesty.] I'm at the theatre. Something homey about all the confetti and balloons I suppose.
[this is a joke she is not clown-kin]
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lore slams you bc you know whats up ((spoilers, cw: child murder/violence))
eats! it up! also wtf why is this my old tag draft /edits
The ways in which dw betrays are myriad and infinite
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WEEK 0: Thursday (package drop off)
You'd pull it off better than me anyway.
-C.
That is all.]
WEEK 0: Friday
Just pure desolation.]
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yeah, that's a mood. ]
You're soaked... hey...
[ concern etched in her brow. ]
Don't have much at the church, but... can dry your clothes there for a bit if you want. F'you don't mind wearing a drop cloth for a while. I can shoo the boys.
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[Camille flinches as she sits up. Living her pathetic normie life, regretting being a smoker today! She covers her mouth to mask a few more coughs, but will follow along after Marina.]
You heard the news?
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W0 SATURDAY
she really looks like she's trying to just work through the psychic damage of a 9 hour trial of horrors that ends in someone turning into a monster. there are oozing, rotating lines around her arms - just words that say moonscorched moonscorched moonscorched over and over again. ]
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Camille approaches, bland snack in hand. She will hold it out to the younger girl as she takes a seat, pretending not to notice the text. Watching that stick make its rosie posies again and again.]
You pulled a lot of weight today. You doing okay?
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but she will look at the snack and reach out and quietly take it from her with a little "thanks." she will pause in her drawing to nibble while camille talks and takes a moment to reply. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine. It's... not far off from stuff I've seen... there's differences, but...
[ somehow, this is worse, maybe, with how long she got to enjoy knowing people. the impending doom of it saddles her with conflicting feelings about how she's seen this place. ]
What about you?
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ARE THE BUTTONS CIRCULAR WITH VERTICAL RIDGES MARINA ARE THEY MADE OF PLASTIC MARINA
curses you to live until endgame
takes you with me
loops arm in arm
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Cw: negative rl religion talk???
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sweats, tries to close off some of these SCREAMS IN MEMSHARE
WEEK 1: Monday
...
[Camille considers something unseemly.]
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Shilling for your thoughts? What's up, Cam?
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Hot goat.
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WEEK 1: Friday
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yeah this one really hurts. it hurts more than she thought it might hurt because every death sucks—but she's just staring kind of shell-shocked at the sight of it. that's three of them. that suuuure is three of them.
a child. a dog. and the literal embodiment of the sun so like.
this is miserable. ]
They're joking, right.
[ dead inside, completely. ]
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[Despite the posters. Despite the shit sense of humour.
Camille puts her hand at Marina's back, swallowing something thick in her throat.]
If it turns out to be anything but possession, I don't know if the asshole will make it to Sunday.
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WEEK 1: Sunday
She lifts slightly when the door opens, lethargically tossing her hair aside to see who it is.]
Come to pay your respects?
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You know it. Figured I'd finally turn in what I'd been working on.
[ glances at wherever she happens to be settled, previously head down. ]
What about you?
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WEEK 2: Monday (1/2)
2/2 (REWRITE) ((SPOILERS, CW: self harm, gore, mental health issues, attempted face gore))
The police clap Amma's twiggy preteen wrists in handcuffs, and they march her out the door of your crappy apartment with a firm hand on each arm. She's defiant but hot in the face, eyes wet and cheeks red. She looks at you with a clear burn, the sear of a laser, and you feel your skin sizzle.
When she's gone your editor and mentor, Frank Curry, swoops in with his wife to save you from the silence. They assume the space on your couch. They're here for you in your hour of need. You manage just fine, talking.
You slip a knife up your sleeve when they aren't looking, and you go to the bathroom.
You lock the door. You slip your shirt off and look at your handiwork in the mirror. Words you've carved into your skin from age thirteen to thirty, neck to wrists to hips and down to the webbing between your toes. There's a patch on your back left blank, nothing written there. It's been too hard to reach with finesse.
Today, you grind the knife around in that smooth circle, shredding your last patch of clear skin below the neck. When you're ready to start on your face Curry breaks into the bathroom.
He gets the knife out of your hand, and in short order you are in their care and living in their basement. Sharp objects under lock and key.
It's better that way.
cw: extremely intense body horror/self-mutilation/loss of autonomy
they are such a fun and upbeat pair
sometimes you are miserable gals. together.
OUR misery, comrade
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w2 saturday
unfortunately she does not and cannot hate her and just goes to the pyre as soon as possible, pretty much not caring what kind of state she might be in - monstrous or not. shifting or not. ]
Cam.
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[Very sorry to report that this is the man waiting for you.]
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WEEK 3: Monday
Camille crouches in front of the stuff, brows knitted.]
What do you think this is? Really?
[She's the witchy one.]
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she hums. ]
Tree blood. Cursed tree blood.
[ she has no idea. ]
Being real, though... I've never seen something like this before. Wonder if it's responsible for that.
[ points at the grotesque figure that has a plaque saying "i am what i am" near it. ]
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WEEK 7: Thursday
Camille runs her finger over the dust of an ornate wooden frame. Contemplates the results, rubbing it away between two fingers.]
No shortage of cheap spooks around here, huh?
[Also praying we do not find Pyramid Head.]