She's sat down with her knees up behind the theatre. Less foot traffic here, manageable distance from where their dear gambler got punched through a clown stage.]
You don't need to call me "Ms." anything. Camille's fine, Daan.
[Next time they can sit in sexy brooding silence.]
Dinner and a show. [She sighs, rubbing at her forehead.] I don't know what this will mean for next week. Is it always going to be a "monster" effect, or are people going to start losing it?
I don't really want to think that we will, but I can be the grim realist. I don't think it's impossible, but that's why I'm walking around and checking in.
Want to avoid anything unnecessary. And just about everyone I've talked to has agreed, even before all of this.
Good to know. [Even if they've got spanners in the works. It's a miracle that forty people even get along decently, in these circumstances.] I suppose if we notice someone acting off we report it, track it. Maybe quarantine them if need be.
[Even though no one could tell the difference with Boothill. Not until he let them see it.]
...How are you holding up, though? Doctor checks in on everyone but no one's checking on the doctor?
Lucas and I have... discussed the possibility of having to turn one of our facilities into some kind of holding cell. Maybe the refectory cellar, given it's relatively easy to manage its one in and out.
...
No need to worry about me. When I ask, others tend to ask in turn -- that's pretty nice of all of you.
No, no. [She laughs lightly, giving his knee a pat.]
It's an old story. Gothic horror, from the master of the genre. Man wants to get rid of an annoying friend, some kind of imagined slight. He plies him with wine, says he's got this extra rare sample in the cellar: one whole cask of Amontillado. Unheard of!
So, the pest buzzes along after him, none the wiser, and once he's inside our fair murderer chains him to the wall and then, very hauntingly, walls him in brick by brick, serenaded by his screams and laments all the while.
So. Don't know where we'd get the chains or bricks, but we do have the cask.
[ Huh. He considers this for a minute. Me genuinely debating whether Poe and therefore The Cask of Amontillado should exist on his not-Earth but while similar-ish stories probably exist Poe does not. Anyway. ]
Really? [She looks to him, genuinely surprised. She's no voracious bookworm herself, but she'll thumb through a good non-fiction when she gets the chance.] What do you do for fun?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
W0, sunday
Which is why when he sees Camille, he's definitely coming over to check on her. ]
Ms. Preaker, how are you feeling...?
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I'm fine.
[not well...
She's sat down with her knees up behind the theatre. Less foot traffic here, manageable distance from where their dear gambler got punched through a clown stage.]
You don't need to call me "Ms." anything. Camille's fine, Daan.
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[ He asked and then proceeds not to believe her. How rude. He's standing a few feet away now, stopped, not moving on. ]
...
If that works better for you, then I can do that.
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You look like hell. Sit with me a minute.
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[ Wryly, but like. He gets it.
He comes over and sits down. ]
What's on your mind?
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[Do you have places to be, Daan? Like twenty meters to the left????]
...I'm just thinking the day over. How pointed it all is, the fake zombies popping up and the movie posters. The new rules.
I think we found the real reason it's going to take a few months to knock us all off.
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[ YMMV and all, but it often helps better than nothing. ]
...Mhm. It looks that way, doesn't it?
No mass extinction. More like a gradual disappearance.
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[Next time they can sit in sexy brooding silence.]
Dinner and a show. [She sighs, rubbing at her forehead.] I don't know what this will mean for next week. Is it always going to be a "monster" effect, or are people going to start losing it?
[She already knows of a few loose cannons.]
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I don't really want to think that we will, but I can be the grim realist. I don't think it's impossible, but that's why I'm walking around and checking in.
Want to avoid anything unnecessary. And just about everyone I've talked to has agreed, even before all of this.
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[Even though no one could tell the difference with Boothill. Not until he let them see it.]
...How are you holding up, though? Doctor checks in on everyone but no one's checking on the doctor?
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...
No need to worry about me. When I ask, others tend to ask in turn -- that's pretty nice of all of you.
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[Perhaps she should use less references....]
Maybe people just like you.
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[ Or a murderer given why he brought up the cellar in the first place, but probably more this one. ]
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It's an old story. Gothic horror, from the master of the genre. Man wants to get rid of an annoying friend, some kind of imagined slight. He plies him with wine, says he's got this extra rare sample in the cellar: one whole cask of Amontillado. Unheard of!
So, the pest buzzes along after him, none the wiser, and once he's inside our fair murderer chains him to the wall and then, very hauntingly, walls him in brick by brick, serenaded by his screams and laments all the while.
So. Don't know where we'd get the chains or bricks, but we do have the cask.
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[ Huh. He considers this for a minute. Me genuinely debating whether Poe and therefore The Cask of Amontillado should exist on his not-Earth but while similar-ish stories probably exist Poe does not. Anyway. ]
...
I don't read much.
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For fun? I don't know. Make casual conversation?
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[my guy]
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Could be a nice idea. Give the kids an option too. Something fruity, maybe.
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[ Marina like why the FUCK are you giving me milk. ]
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