[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). ]
[It's like an animal, this thing revving motor over the tight shock of his protests. Purring.Some kind of cat?
What the hell is going on here?]
No, you aren't listening. I want you to live.
[She wants so badly to step in again. Put her hands on him. Don't leave. Keep him tethered to the world she's been nailed to. The return isn't worth her while if he goes. I need you here.
Her hands fly to her hair, crooking into the thick curls, scraping her scalp. Her eyes are glossy, cheeks flushing.]
I don't think you're possessed, I think you're on the edge. But you can still walk back. [God, there it goes. One tear for now. More impending. She dashes it away at once and hurries on.] I don't know what's talking to you, but it's fucking lying to you Daan. I was there last week. I laid out on the rocks drunk as a skunk, waiting for someone to come finish me off.
And the second they did, I realized I didn't want it after all. Not until it was too late. I did want to live, you hear me? You don't know until the last minute. Until you're already going down.
So fucking listen to me, goddammit. Don't crawl away and die alone somewhere, thinking no one would give a shit and you have nothing to live for. Because it's not true.
[ Me like do I tag this as sort of suicide allusion, it's not exactly suicidal ideation nor thoughts... I feel like this entire post could just include a blanket cw for anything but anyway. His expression is somewhere between a mixture of a wince and a grimace. ]
You're wrong...
[ If I wanted to kill myself, I would've been gone weeks ago. If I had the guts -- the moment I learned it wasn't fucking over. But I can't. ]
I'm not... [ There's nowhere to go. ] I'm not going to crawl off to die.
[Nowhere to go. No guts. She can all but feel the cold rock on her back as the liquor pumps through her, back where it belongs, tingling in every inch of skin, the starry sky above sent spinning like a whirling dervish.
And didn't feel so sweet to give in?
Camille closes her eyes. Reworks her jaw, her thoughts. Clears her face of wet tracks and threats of sniffles.]
...Good. [She wets her lips and opens her eyes. He's horribly beautiful in his fright. Drawn pale like porcelain, soft hair sticking to the sweat of his brow.] Because you can't. Not now.
[She wants to hold him. She wants to run. Fuck, she wants a drink. A razor. There's space yet, she can make room. New words can rise and she can stick to turtlenecks. Her skin is buzzing for it. He looks so hollowed and she's the one who scooped him clean.
Will that be the word of the day? "Scoop"?]
There'll be somewhere to go, Daan. We just can't see it yet. Doesn't mean it's not there.
[ Everything is really too much all of the time. He's just a dirty stone from the woods that people picked up and polished. He sits pretty on a shelf and people comment on that for him, like the translucency of his surface is a quality to be adored. He's clean enough on the surface, nice enough to look at and keep around.
Some strange sentimentality people project on him that keeps them from skipping him over the waters to drown under the still surface of some lake in the woods. ]
Then Camille turns. Walks away. Leaves. Even paced in the footing, even as her breath quickens, face heats.
He fucking hates you.
How can he not? After a display like that? Snapping at him, like it's his fault she's back to walking the earth and he's letting her down by, what, feeling the same damn misery she is?
And he has that thing whispering to him. It's not like the abstract urges she'd felt that week. It's alive, with thoughts and sentiments that make too much sense to ignore.
The moment she's out of his sight, she bolts. Far, far, far. Not even a full day back and she's shot one good thing dead to the ground.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.
no subject
Who is talking to you?
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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). ]
no subject
What the hell is going on here?]
No, you aren't listening. I want you to live.
[She wants so badly to step in again. Put her hands on him. Don't leave. Keep him tethered to the world she's been nailed to. The return isn't worth her while if he goes. I need you here.
Her hands fly to her hair, crooking into the thick curls, scraping her scalp. Her eyes are glossy, cheeks flushing.]
I don't think you're possessed, I think you're on the edge. But you can still walk back. [God, there it goes. One tear for now. More impending. She dashes it away at once and hurries on.] I don't know what's talking to you, but it's fucking lying to you Daan. I was there last week. I laid out on the rocks drunk as a skunk, waiting for someone to come finish me off.
And the second they did, I realized I didn't want it after all. Not until it was too late. I did want to live, you hear me? You don't know until the last minute. Until you're already going down.
So fucking listen to me, goddammit. Don't crawl away and die alone somewhere, thinking no one would give a shit and you have nothing to live for. Because it's not true.
no subject
You're wrong...
[ If I wanted to kill myself, I would've been gone weeks ago. If I had the guts -- the moment I learned it wasn't fucking over. But I can't. ]
I'm not... [ There's nowhere to go. ] I'm not going to crawl off to die.
YEAH...yeah.... Cw: suicidal thoughts, self harm/alcoholism mentions
And didn't feel so sweet to give in?
Camille closes her eyes. Reworks her jaw, her thoughts. Clears her face of wet tracks and threats of sniffles.]
...Good. [She wets her lips and opens her eyes. He's horribly beautiful in his fright. Drawn pale like porcelain, soft hair sticking to the sweat of his brow.] Because you can't. Not now.
[She wants to hold him. She wants to run. Fuck, she wants a drink. A razor. There's space yet, she can make room. New words can rise and she can stick to turtlenecks. Her skin is buzzing for it. He looks so hollowed and she's the one who scooped him clean.
Will that be the word of the day? "Scoop"?]
There'll be somewhere to go, Daan. We just can't see it yet. Doesn't mean it's not there.
no subject
Some strange sentimentality people project on him that keeps them from skipping him over the waters to drown under the still surface of some lake in the woods. ]
Fine. I heard you.
But I really do need you to leave right now.
no subject
Then Camille turns. Walks away. Leaves. Even paced in the footing, even as her breath quickens, face heats.
He fucking hates you.
How can he not? After a display like that? Snapping at him, like it's his fault she's back to walking the earth and he's letting her down by, what, feeling the same damn misery she is?
And he has that thing whispering to him. It's not like the abstract urges she'd felt that week. It's alive, with thoughts and sentiments that make too much sense to ignore.
The moment she's out of his sight, she bolts. Far, far, far. Not even a full day back and she's shot one good thing dead to the ground.]