[Welcome to our last thread forever Lowe, make sure it's worth your while.
Camille doesn't come until it's the middle of the damn night. She is bleary eyed, hair mussed, fresh off a crying jag. She looks, frankly, like hell. And if smell can pass the barrier, she absolutely reeks of their grape wine.]
That thing with your face. [Is this what a fucking Ditto is supposed to be? Her immunity to the pokemon bandwagon is not serving her well at all.] You look like a haze.
Thursday night reminded me of something, you know?
That final evening, when I reached for the Moon Tower. I only remembered a brief moment of darkness, then waking up here. But then I recalled the whispering voice, a mask held to my fingers.
[The one that brought his wife back as a stitched up horror show. She thinks of his books. The bare glance she took at the contents. All sorts of wretched curses and transformations.
She thinks of what she saw of Marina's.
She thinks of Elise.
She thinks of that purring, wretched voice. It makes her want to vomit.]
Is that really the only choice left to you? Daan, come on.
I could be choosing death. And that, well. I didn't want that. Darling Karlach... if she hadn't told me she loved me, hadn't asked me to stop her... but who am I to deny a loved one their peace and long-term happiness?
Oh, not romantically, she told me that much. I think that iron cowboy's had her heart since the first day. I do love and respect such loyalty. The only sad thing about her living is that she won't get to be together with him.
[Camille closes her mouth. Covers her face. What she really wants is to scream. It's the most words she's ever heard from him outside of a fit. Does this even matter? The sequence of events? Nitty gritty details?
What he did or didn't feel for Karlach?]
...I just...Fuck you. Fuck you, really and truly. I can't fucking believe you.
You're all so insistent on that. Almost insulting, actually, like you couldn't believe I could smile a day in my life.
But no. Daan. Daniël. Or neither of these things. Whatever you want to call me. What's in a name? Even my own parents couldn't keep that story straight.
I think you could smile beautifully without the mask on.
[Never did see it. But he had the muscles in him. She imagines they're atrophied, hanging limp in the sad turn of his frown. So much about him implies erosion. It's like watching someone on life support wander around without the IV drip. He was exhausted, miserable. But a good man. Or he'd wanted to be once.]
I wouldn't trust your parents with a hard-boiled egg, much less a kid. No offence. [One of a few things they had in common.] Did this start there? This thing that's been whispering to you, was it with you as a kid?
[ ...He hums, but doesn't finish that thought, actually. ]
Sure. I haven't been keeping track really, but it may as well be for as long as I can remember. Yellow eyes, always around the bend, in the shadow of the woods...
[She swallows. Easy now. Don't lose your cool again. It never ends well for you, and definitely not for him.]
So it was always coming for you. [She presses her thumbnail into the palm of her hand. A bright and shallow sting.] That can't have been easy, having something tailing you all the time.
Why does night follow day? Why did the Baron kill Elise and then himself? Why did I find the same sign on their flooring in Prehevil? Why did my mother and father leave?
Not all questions get an answer. And they never will.
Though, maybe if wherever I go, it's always there, then the problem is myself and it lies in me.
[The finger nail scrapes and draws no blood. Just scratching imaginary itches. It's not enough. What's in the camp ground proper? She never went up to the radio tower.]
...That pit lies in all of us. Anyone can slip down it, if they're not careful. If things don't let up.
[And they never did for Daan. Camille's pressing her lips together, moving forward.]
It's not that you're the problem, Daan. You're not just the horrible things that have happened to you. And you weren't born to be a problem. Nobody gets to pick their starting ground. They don't control the things that other people do.
You kept choosing to try finding something better. It's nothing wrong with you Daan, it's the world you were living in. You needed a way out.
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WEEK 4: Saturday (CW: Alcoholism Relapse)
Camille doesn't come until it's the middle of the damn night. She is bleary eyed, hair mussed, fresh off a crying jag. She looks, frankly, like hell. And if smell can pass the barrier, she absolutely reeks of their grape wine.]
...Your turn, I guess.
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Hmm? Oh, yes. It was something like that, wasn't it... A pretty awful time I was having.
[ His features are amorphous and unclear. Blank. But he can talk because we monsterhouse it up in here friends. ]
Is this what it looks like from the other side?
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No shit.
[Awful, awful time. Her eyes skate over his amorphous face and her gut does a lurch.]
Can you cut that that out?
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You'll have to be a bit more specific than "that".
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That thing with your face. [Is this what a fucking Ditto is supposed to be? Her immunity to the pokemon bandwagon is not serving her well at all.] You look like a haze.
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Oh, you don't like it? Fair enough.
[ The features shift and now, it's more like a mask of a cat-like face with a permanent grin and yellow eyes. ]
Better?
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...Is this the thing you were listening to? The cat?
[That purring still makes her skin crawl. There's nothing else it could be.]
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I don't think this is the first time I've given in.
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That final evening, when I reached for the Moon Tower. I only remembered a brief moment of darkness, then waking up here. But then I recalled the whispering voice, a mask held to my fingers.
I'd just been about to accept.
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[The one that brought his wife back as a stitched up horror show. She thinks of his books. The bare glance she took at the contents. All sorts of wretched curses and transformations.
She thinks of what she saw of Marina's.
She thinks of Elise.
She thinks of that purring, wretched voice. It makes her want to vomit.]
Is that really the only choice left to you? Daan, come on.
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I could be choosing death. And that, well. I didn't want that. Darling Karlach... if she hadn't told me she loved me, hadn't asked me to stop her... but who am I to deny a loved one their peace and long-term happiness?
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The rest doesn't.]
Daan, lay it out to me straight or don't lay it out at all. What happened?
Are you saying she confessed to you? Thursday? Yesterday?
[He's not her partner, is he?]
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[ He hums. ]
But it doesn't matter, does it? Love is love.
[ PRIDE WILL NEVER BE OVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ]
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I meant about the murders. Did she...
[Camille closes her mouth. Covers her face. What she really wants is to scream. It's the most words she's ever heard from him outside of a fit. Does this even matter? The sequence of events? Nitty gritty details?
What he did or didn't feel for Karlach?]
...I just...Fuck you. Fuck you, really and truly. I can't fucking believe you.
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Oh? Now we've moved onto disparage? Suppose I'd take them over a scalpel in the neck, but keep at it long enough and it'll really start hurting...
You can ask your questions, Ms. Preaker, but you'll have to be clear about them.
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Oh, okay. Okay, sure. Sure.
[She laughs. Throws her hands down, inhales. Seething.]
You want an interview? Let's go for it. Starting question: What's your name? You don't sound like a "Daan" anymore.
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But no. Daan. Daniël. Or neither of these things. Whatever you want to call me. What's in a name? Even my own parents couldn't keep that story straight.
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[Never did see it. But he had the muscles in him. She imagines they're atrophied, hanging limp in the sad turn of his frown. So much about him implies erosion. It's like watching someone on life support wander around without the IV drip. He was exhausted, miserable. But a good man. Or he'd wanted to be once.]
I wouldn't trust your parents with a hard-boiled egg, much less a kid. No offence. [One of a few things they had in common.] Did this start there? This thing that's been whispering to you, was it with you as a kid?
no subject
[ ...He hums, but doesn't finish that thought, actually. ]
Sure. I haven't been keeping track really, but it may as well be for as long as I can remember. Yellow eyes, always around the bend, in the shadow of the woods...
no subject
So it was always coming for you. [She presses her thumbnail into the palm of her hand. A bright and shallow sting.] That can't have been easy, having something tailing you all the time.
Why did it pick you?
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Why does night follow day? Why did the Baron kill Elise and then himself? Why did I find the same sign on their flooring in Prehevil? Why did my mother and father leave?
Not all questions get an answer. And they never will.
Though, maybe if wherever I go, it's always there, then the problem is myself and it lies in me.
no subject
...That pit lies in all of us. Anyone can slip down it, if they're not careful. If things don't let up.
[And they never did for Daan. Camille's pressing her lips together, moving forward.]
It's not that you're the problem, Daan. You're not just the horrible things that have happened to you. And you weren't born to be a problem. Nobody gets to pick their starting ground. They don't control the things that other people do.
You kept choosing to try finding something better. It's nothing wrong with you Daan, it's the world you were living in. You needed a way out.
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And yet, that seems to make you unhappy too.
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[She comes closer. Hands splayed to the barrier.]
I'd like to see your face, Daan. May I please?
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cw: self harm mention, abusive parents
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