[ That's. Nice to know, maybe. That the items really do actually do as they promised and it's not the place trying its damnedest to convince them of a lie. And pretty powerful to boot too, if you can just kill a person, claim the item, and revive them once more in the same breath.
He thinks maybe it's not that easy though. ]
...Can't ever predict how life and events will turn out, can we...?
No. [She shrugs.] Though it would be nice if I could still believe this was all a fever dream. I don't like having learned so much about the big wide universe.
[There are people who would revel in the knowledge. Camille's just not one of them. Most of the wonder here has been used as a form of torment. From the pestilent curses to metal hearts and magical detonators, cursed cults and body horror, akuma, devils and chainsaw men?
God, she wants nothing more than an unremarkable life.]
...You ran away. [Sudden change of subject. But it had hurt. Even if she might have done the same.] I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spook you.
Camille is quiet a moment, chest tight. She thinks of the promise she'd made him. Broken in three days or less. I didn't do it myself, but I let it happen anyway. Got wasted, her precious sobriety dashed to bits in anticipation of a grim last resort.
Stiffly, she shakes her head.]
I saw nothing. Just a sweet, endless nothing. Then I woke up.
[She stands then. Maybe she ought to go. There's an odd tension in the air here, and she's exhausted. Bone deep tired, too much feeling and too many people, too many marvels for one day. She puts too much on their shoulders. Daan especially.
[ Tension... well, it's more just that he doesn't know -- he just doesn't know, and it results in a pretty big divide between them. It's not just her, it's with everyone. Like a breaking chasm, widening sea. ]
I just don't know what to do, what to say, what to think or what to feel.
[ Right when he thinks he's reached some kind of equilibrium at the bottom, something else comes in and pulls the rug out from under him again. And none of it brings him any happiness or closure. He should be more glad, right? Like everyone else was. Perplexed, but nonetheless glad to see someone return.
[ Oh boy. Me having this tag open for like an hour looking at it like I don't know how to write this without being dramatic and I also am not sure which type of drama it'd go down. He gives off every aura of an animal frozen in front of bright and glaring lights, tension pulling the muscles in his shoulder and neck tight and the way he looks at her when her hand is to his cheek is -- it's something. Like looking over the edge of a cliff.
For you? ]
What do you want?
[ It's not a rude gtfo type of what do you want. It is an actual question -- what do you want? ]
He's stiff under hand. She shouldn't have done that. But he's all knots, all slate grey misery. Locks and chains. Every time she sees him he's clammed up a little more, and when he does loosen up it's lashing out. How can she not try to unwind him, even just by an inch?]
...For things to be better for you.
[In whatever way he wants. In whatever way might help.]
[ It's not going to happen. Better? Better? His thoughts spiral so badly it winds the breath out of him.
Better? How? The Baron and Elise are dead. I don't know if I'm even in his will. Their blood is still in the basement -- I don't know if I can even return to Rondon. It's a crime scene. I was all over there, my eye, my own guts. Even if I brought her back, whole again, would it be to live a cursed existence? Scrutinised by the police? And I -- I'm not the same anymore. I'm not the man she agreed to marry. The Baron's hands are clean in comparison to mine. Where would I go? What could I do?
At the same time, there's a second thought, quieter and lower, rolling at a pleasant purr.
There's only two choices for someone like you. Roll over and die, or accept that you belong here. Put on the mask and smile! She's nice, isn't she?
He reaches up and grabs Camille's wrist, the one resting on his cheek and grips onto it just a little bit too hard. ]
I think it'd be better that you put your well-intentions elsewhere, Ms. Preaker.
[The feedback is enough to wind her, and it's not even her own thoughts.
The Baron. Elise. And something else sitting beneath them both, with a voice like and unlike that sarcastic drawl she knows.]
Why?
[Camille doesn't move. The pinch around her wrist is alarming. Just not as much so as the rest. "Two choices?" Who the fuck is that?]
So you can go give up too? [Her eyes stay hard on his.] Okay. Why don't we make it a double feature? Take both of ourselves out of this race? What's left for us anyway? Nothing among the living, and nothing while we're dead.
Or doesn't life keep "surprising" us? Just like you said? I'm standing here again, aren't I?
[ It's a weird thing to hear over a thoughtshare, the rumbling and pleased noise that only seems to increase the more Camille pushes him. Accusing him, surely. He's going to be sick. ]
So what're you getting at? That maybe I've lost my damn mind and it's my turn to follow in your footsteps now?
[ Maybe it'd sound more effective, more aggressive if he didn't sound terrified. Really fulfilling that Fear part of the title, folks. His Mind is at like, at 20 right now (out of 100). ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[She shakes her head.]
Never did find my soul mate.
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...
It's just entirely gone?
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[She tilts her head. Extends her hands, turns them over. Empty palms, both.
Then she holds them up as if she made a card disappear in a crap magic trick.]
Far as I know? Vanished.
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Is dying... the answer? is a thought that comes across, but clearly, not everyone just gets to be brought back like Camille. ]
Did they tell you how they managed your revival...?
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Still, she leans, gripping the edge of the seat. Pretending her gut isn't still twisting in and out of knots about it all.]
You didn't look at those gifts in the swamp, did you? One of them promised a free revival.
[She smiles. It's grim. Then she can't meet his eye anymore. Waste of a free pass if you ask me.]
I didn't know. I expected someone might take me out. Kanda offered, if I was ever feeling off my game again.
I'd just never imagined they'd bring me back.
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[ That's. Nice to know, maybe. That the items really do actually do as they promised and it's not the place trying its damnedest to convince them of a lie. And pretty powerful to boot too, if you can just kill a person, claim the item, and revive them once more in the same breath.
He thinks maybe it's not that easy though. ]
...Can't ever predict how life and events will turn out, can we...?
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[There are people who would revel in the knowledge. Camille's just not one of them. Most of the wonder here has been used as a form of torment. From the pestilent curses to metal hearts and magical detonators, cursed cults and body horror, akuma, devils and chainsaw men?
God, she wants nothing more than an unremarkable life.]
...You ran away. [Sudden change of subject. But it had hurt. Even if she might have done the same.] I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spook you.
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[ Just a nasty little nightmare. ]
...It's been a rough time. I'm sure you'd understand, or at least have a guess without me having to spell anything out.
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[The people. More tragic and gracious than any she'd known.
Camille nods, solemn.]
I saw the bulletin. I didn't want it to be true. [Her own eyes gleam anew, wetness lining the edge.] She was a sharp kid. Sweet, too.
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...No shot at some rumours of a manner of afterlife?
cw: mention of alcoholism
Camille is quiet a moment, chest tight. She thinks of the promise she'd made him. Broken in three days or less. I didn't do it myself, but I let it happen anyway. Got wasted, her precious sobriety dashed to bits in anticipation of a grim last resort.
Stiffly, she shakes her head.]
I saw nothing. Just a sweet, endless nothing. Then I woke up.
[Feels like coming back empty handed.]
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... I see.
Thank you for the information.
[ It's hard to read how he feels about it but it's not, like, sarcastic or anything. ]
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Sorry I didn't find anything more.
[She stands then. Maybe she ought to go. There's an odd tension in the air here, and she's exhausted. Bone deep tired, too much feeling and too many people, too many marvels for one day. She puts too much on their shoulders. Daan especially.
There's reasons for that though.]
I didn't want to leave you. For the record.
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I just don't know what to do, what to say, what to think or what to feel.
[ Right when he thinks he's reached some kind of equilibrium at the bottom, something else comes in and pulls the rug out from under him again. And none of it brings him any happiness or closure. He should be more glad, right? Like everyone else was. Perplexed, but nonetheless glad to see someone return.
Where's that for him? ]
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[She's been talking about it to a few people. It doesn't feel good, being back. Being chosen.
She hesitates. Then moves closer. One hand to his shoulder, the other to his cheek. Her expression is stony in its solemnity.]
You don't have to be anything for me. If you can't put a name to it, I don't mind. I can't either.
I just know that...I don't want you to be alone.
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For you? ]
What do you want?
[ It's not a rude gtfo type of what do you want. It is an actual question -- what do you want? ]
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He's stiff under hand. She shouldn't have done that. But he's all knots, all slate grey misery. Locks and chains. Every time she sees him he's clammed up a little more, and when he does loosen up it's lashing out. How can she not try to unwind him, even just by an inch?]
...For things to be better for you.
[In whatever way he wants. In whatever way might help.]
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Better? How? The Baron and Elise are dead. I don't know if I'm even in his will. Their blood is still in the basement -- I don't know if I can even return to Rondon. It's a crime scene. I was all over there, my eye, my own guts. Even if I brought her back, whole again, would it be to live a cursed existence? Scrutinised by the police? And I -- I'm not the same anymore. I'm not the man she agreed to marry. The Baron's hands are clean in comparison to mine. Where would I go? What could I do?
At the same time, there's a second thought, quieter and lower, rolling at a pleasant purr.
There's only two choices for someone like you. Roll over and die, or accept that you belong here. Put on the mask and smile! She's nice, isn't she?
He reaches up and grabs Camille's wrist, the one resting on his cheek and grips onto it just a little bit too hard. ]
I think it'd be better that you put your well-intentions elsewhere, Ms. Preaker.
cw: considerations of murder/suicide
The Baron. Elise. And something else sitting beneath them both, with a voice like and unlike that sarcastic drawl she knows.]
Why?
[Camille doesn't move. The pinch around her wrist is alarming. Just not as much so as the rest. "Two choices?" Who the fuck is that?]
So you can go give up too? [Her eyes stay hard on his.] Okay. Why don't we make it a double feature? Take both of ourselves out of this race? What's left for us anyway? Nothing among the living, and nothing while we're dead.
Or doesn't life keep "surprising" us? Just like you said? I'm standing here again, aren't I?
cw: considerations of murder/suicide
Oh, you like that thought, don't you? You dirty fucking degenerate. ]
I need you to leave.
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Who is talking to you?
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[ He'll be the one to step away then, half throwing her own wrist back at her and squirming out from under the one on his shoulder if he must. ]
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The rest of her is roiling. Ready to snap. Funny how easy it is to flip your position when someone else feeds you your own bullshit.]
I am listening! Maybe I'm hearing too much, Daan. Care to enlighten me?
The second voice in your head. The one telling you to roll over and die or put on the mask — who is that?
Because it's not you, and it's full of shit.
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So what're you getting at? That maybe I've lost my damn mind and it's my turn to follow in your footsteps now?
[ Maybe it'd sound more effective, more aggressive if he didn't sound terrified. Really fulfilling that Fear part of the title, folks. His Mind is at like, at 20 right now (out of 100). ]
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YEAH...yeah.... Cw: suicidal thoughts, self harm/alcoholism mentions
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