Oh, yes he will. One way or another, they'll be coming out bleeding. Neither one of them is safe. Camille's hand is hovering over self-destruct at all times and Daan is one bad day away from gifting his body to the devil. No one could come near either without taking hits, no matter how stable.
It's the fear though. That's the difference for her. Amma loved to hurt, squealing about it in a drugged up bliss as she spun around their lawn. Her mother loved hurt things, loved the control she had over them. Camille loves the kiss of a knife, cooling her fits and foul thoughts as she annotated them into spare spaces of her body.
Daan loathes it. There's a part of him that revels in it, but it's parasitic. Unnatural. Maybe it's gotten hooks in him, perverted more corners of his mind, but it's not finished. He's afraid of what he might do, he feels the pain he inflicts on others and feels wracking shame for it.
It may not hold him back. But it makes a world of difference. Her hand feels it's hovering over frostbitten meat, a deep freezer with the door closed and the chill threatening to creep up her bones. It's clumsy to keep the hold up. She sticks to it though. Won't leave.]
Maybe. [Her expression is unmoving. Voice soft, impossible to hear from outside the thin space they've carved for themselves.] We've got a lot of sharp edges between us Daan. I won't pretend it'll be easy.
But, from what I've seen, what you and Marina have given me...I don't know who could come out of that place with their hands clean. Coming from where you have and landing where you did. I can't blame you.
So it's okay. If the urge hasn't gone away. Things like these are...They're not fixed. Just managed.
It's easier to do when you've got people who give a damn.
[ Sharp edges... he wonders. Less like reaching for a pile of shards, and more like a flytrap. Or perhaps more like drosera -- sundew. Ros solis. Glittering brightest when reflecting the shining light of others near him, like a moon, drawing the unwitting in to the sweetness they all think they see of him.
A reflection of the world in the morning dew, the way it loves him like hands scoop up an injured rabbit, a bird with a broken wing, hands that place themselves on wounds to pry them open, see the disgusting fester within before they can kiss it better. The way there always has to be a twist, because there's always a price to pay. It's so baseline for him that it doesn't even come to mind that it doesn't have to be that way.
Manage his madness. Just as mad of a concept on its own, and she'd volunteer with scarred arm raised high in the grey and faceless crowd. He could almost laugh, but he's still in control for now. That semi-freshly carved out nihilist in him, deep in that pit of despair, cruelly wonders how many days it'll take until she leaves him with his labyrinthine desires and cocytus heart. Or worse yet, that she won't. ]
...Best revisited if... when we meet on the same side again. I think.
[ He can't promise anything, most of all when he's a ghost whose hands only pass through her like an icy wind, unable to hold onto any part of her. ]
[A yes was was far off a dream as a pot of gold. Just about as stupid, too. She didn't expect him to agree. Wants him to. Desperately. Wishes he were corporeal enough to coax along, not a mystical visitation. As if there weren't enough odds stacked against her.
But she said she wouldn't push, so she won't.
She lets his hand go then, flexing hers and running the fingers over her palm, plying for warmth. Then just as gingerly, runs the back of two fingers through that rogue flop of hair. The one covering his lost eye. Another wasted gesture that means too much to her and too little to the bitter world dooming them.]
[ He permits this, even as meaningless as it may seem. It's the little things, attempts. That 'flop of hair' used to be better-kept once upon a time, but now it hangs loose on the regular. All the better to see less of his marred face, unpleasant. ]
I should be telling you that, don't you think?
[ The living have it so hard rn. God bless. Camilles Georg who went through the entire fucking gauntlet is an outlier and is suffering extra for it.
He goes silent. To say this would be weird, and maybe even seemingly a bit disingenuine given what they'd just talked about, but his time is limited and this breach into the living side is quite significant in the grand scheme of things. ]
...Anything else I can do for you, talk about? With the caveat that it seems I fade if I try to explain much of anything I've been up to in detail.
[Incredible that tomorrow she will be sent to hell and receive 902348 burn damage but neither of them know that yet.
Practical as always, her motion is tabled and he opens the floor for more urgent matters. Camille clucks her tongue, looking around. Tucking her own hair behind her ear.]
I've been wracking my brains on what to ask without cutting the connection. Seems impossible to avoid. Boothill nearly wiped out just admitting that you could see us. Watch us on...something. Happy to hear you've got smoothie access but otherwise I couldn't wrangle an inch of copy out of you all.
[She thinks a moment.]
We've been trying to look for what you asked for. Hasn't shown up yet. Maybe someone else will pop in tomorrow with a new gift that fits the bill. Otherwise...any oblique hints about astronomy you could drop?
Ah. The Jamba Juice. [ Beat pause as if waiting to fade away, but he doesn't. ] That's funny, given the name of the place was censored out in Karma's first letter to me.
[ WHY!!! ]
You can afford to be more direct with your questions. I can hear you out, just that my answers might not be so clear, I think.
With your vague hint though, nothing immediately comes to mind...
[I would love if he vanished invoking smoothies tbh.]
Really? God forbid we hear about the forbidden fruit blend.
[but hm.]
All right. The moon phases and the colours of the stars. I've been hearing that they might be important but I'm not sure how. The moon phases seem regular but the colours are a jumble. Any idea what's going on there?
[I know the march of time and plot revelations is killing me.]
God. I wish. Nothing to do with the nervous system has surfaced yet, and we're still muddling around with how the scriptures are supposed to fit together. It's a work in progress. Just not great progress.
[and at this point Camilles Georg doesn't know enough yet to say anything insightful or new i'm so sorry lowe]
[ I'm sorry also this is so funny. Granted he wouldn't have been able to say anything anyway. ]
Mm. That's fine. Even if it feels like we have no time... any time is still time.
[ He had three days. Even just one more day, maybe, and things could've been much different. Maybe. He hopes. Wonders? Can't hope about a reality that doesn't exist. ]
...Frankly, I don't like having to run to them for petty favors. I never feel like it's worth their time. I spent too long not trusting them, full stop.
Well for the record, I spoke to the overseers a decent amount. Not every day, but it's how I know they'll welcome little chatter even for a short while.
Pestilence deigned to visit me when I felt like I was on my deathbed, fresh out of the swamp, barely saved from getting bisected. If we can hold a conversation like that, I doubt you'll have an issue.
[The fact that Pesto deigned to visit him probably spoke more to his own charm than any of his medical difficulties, or reluctance on Pesto's part. Camille earned no such privileges.
She's never been all that endearing to begin with. The traits that made him so appealing looked grating on her. People liked a man who was hard to get, a bit caustic. A dose of reluctance sweetened the deal. Any woman who behaved the same was just a bitch.]
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Oh, yes he will. One way or another, they'll be coming out bleeding. Neither one of them is safe. Camille's hand is hovering over self-destruct at all times and Daan is one bad day away from gifting his body to the devil. No one could come near either without taking hits, no matter how stable.
It's the fear though. That's the difference for her. Amma loved to hurt, squealing about it in a drugged up bliss as she spun around their lawn. Her mother loved hurt things, loved the control she had over them. Camille loves the kiss of a knife, cooling her fits and foul thoughts as she annotated them into spare spaces of her body.
Daan loathes it. There's a part of him that revels in it, but it's parasitic. Unnatural. Maybe it's gotten hooks in him, perverted more corners of his mind, but it's not finished. He's afraid of what he might do, he feels the pain he inflicts on others and feels wracking shame for it.
It may not hold him back. But it makes a world of difference. Her hand feels it's hovering over frostbitten meat, a deep freezer with the door closed and the chill threatening to creep up her bones. It's clumsy to keep the hold up. She sticks to it though. Won't leave.]
Maybe. [Her expression is unmoving. Voice soft, impossible to hear from outside the thin space they've carved for themselves.] We've got a lot of sharp edges between us Daan. I won't pretend it'll be easy.
But, from what I've seen, what you and Marina have given me...I don't know who could come out of that place with their hands clean. Coming from where you have and landing where you did. I can't blame you.
So it's okay. If the urge hasn't gone away. Things like these are...They're not fixed. Just managed.
It's easier to do when you've got people who give a damn.
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A reflection of the world in the morning dew, the way it loves him like hands scoop up an injured rabbit, a bird with a broken wing, hands that place themselves on wounds to pry them open, see the disgusting fester within before they can kiss it better. The way there always has to be a twist, because there's always a price to pay. It's so baseline for him that it doesn't even come to mind that it doesn't have to be that way.
Manage his madness. Just as mad of a concept on its own, and she'd volunteer with scarred arm raised high in the grey and faceless crowd. He could almost laugh, but he's still in control for now. That semi-freshly carved out nihilist in him, deep in that pit of despair, cruelly wonders how many days it'll take until she leaves him with his labyrinthine desires and cocytus heart. Or worse yet, that she won't. ]
...Best revisited if... when we meet on the same side again. I think.
[ He can't promise anything, most of all when he's a ghost whose hands only pass through her like an icy wind, unable to hold onto any part of her. ]
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Fair enough.
[A yes was was far off a dream as a pot of gold. Just about as stupid, too. She didn't expect him to agree. Wants him to. Desperately. Wishes he were corporeal enough to coax along, not a mystical visitation. As if there weren't enough odds stacked against her.
But she said she wouldn't push, so she won't.
She lets his hand go then, flexing hers and running the fingers over her palm, plying for warmth. Then just as gingerly, runs the back of two fingers through that rogue flop of hair. The one covering his lost eye. Another wasted gesture that means too much to her and too little to the bitter world dooming them.]
Until then, doc. Stay out of trouble, will you?
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I should be telling you that, don't you think?
[ The living have it so hard rn. God bless. Camilles Georg who went through the entire fucking gauntlet is an outlier and is suffering extra for it.
He goes silent. To say this would be weird, and maybe even seemingly a bit disingenuine given what they'd just talked about, but his time is limited and this breach into the living side is quite significant in the grand scheme of things. ]
...Anything else I can do for you, talk about? With the caveat that it seems I fade if I try to explain much of anything I've been up to in detail.
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I'll do my best.
[Incredible that tomorrow she will be sent to hell and receive 902348 burn damage but neither of them know that yet.
Practical as always, her motion is tabled and he opens the floor for more urgent matters. Camille clucks her tongue, looking around. Tucking her own hair behind her ear.]
I've been wracking my brains on what to ask without cutting the connection. Seems impossible to avoid. Boothill nearly wiped out just admitting that you could see us. Watch us on...something. Happy to hear you've got smoothie access but otherwise I couldn't wrangle an inch of copy out of you all.
[She thinks a moment.]
We've been trying to look for what you asked for. Hasn't shown up yet. Maybe someone else will pop in tomorrow with a new gift that fits the bill. Otherwise...any oblique hints about astronomy you could drop?
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[ WHY!!! ]
You can afford to be more direct with your questions. I can hear you out, just that my answers might not be so clear, I think.
With your vague hint though, nothing immediately comes to mind...
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Really? God forbid we hear about the forbidden fruit blend.
[but hm.]
All right. The moon phases and the colours of the stars. I've been hearing that they might be important but I'm not sure how. The moon phases seem regular but the colours are a jumble. Any idea what's going on there?
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[ Hm... ]
What were they all again? I don't think the thing I'm considering is related...
Green, purple, blue, orange...
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[But hmm. Enters moon mind palace and bends time a little to give more shits about it—]
Green, magenta, blue, orange, red, and then...light blue? Periwinkle, for some reason. Breaks any kind of pattern I was thinking to make with it.
Not that I'm good with symbolism or astronomy in the first place. I only know a few things about colour theory, too. Layman's knowledge.
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[ He'd say more, but he's watching his opacity. ]
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Thank. Much appreciated.
What about you? No inquiries? I guess we're the less mysterious bunch, but I'd be remiss not to ask.
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...Made any progress on finding out what to do with the components and disrupting the ritual?
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God. I wish. Nothing to do with the nervous system has surfaced yet, and we're still muddling around with how the scriptures are supposed to fit together. It's a work in progress. Just not great progress.
[and at this point Camilles Georg doesn't know enough yet to say anything insightful or new i'm so sorry lowe]
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Mm. That's fine. Even if it feels like we have no time... any time is still time.
[ He had three days. Even just one more day, maybe, and things could've been much different. Maybe. He hopes. Wonders? Can't hope about a reality that doesn't exist. ]
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[She pats at her pocket. Remembers, swearing under her breath.]
Like cigarette access. Damn.
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...Frankly, I don't like having to run to them for petty favors. I never feel like it's worth their time. I spent too long not trusting them, full stop.
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[ Soon to be one......... ]
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I've uh...never been great at chatter. Much less being good company. I don't think they're too fond of me either.
We can't all be Karlach.
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You're all you've got on this side. I wouldn't write yourself out because it's just what you think.
Be sad if you want to, but it's easier to not do it alone.
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Pot, kettle.
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Pestilence deigned to visit me when I felt like I was on my deathbed, fresh out of the swamp, barely saved from getting bisected. If we can hold a conversation like that, I doubt you'll have an issue.
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She's never been all that endearing to begin with. The traits that made him so appealing looked grating on her. People liked a man who was hard to get, a bit caustic. A dose of reluctance sweetened the deal. Any woman who behaved the same was just a bitch.]
I'll keep it in mind.