[Now clothed and thoroughly humbled, Camille makes a bid for the bearded man she'd ditched yesterday when next he trots by. She's in a dark long sleeved sweater, jeans, black ankle boots well broken in. Modern and indistinct, a dour dash between all regalia in peacocking hues.]
gale is near the bulletin board, reading it over and over, and then occasionally glancing at his glove - stained a little blue on the ends of the fingers. ]
Camille has indeed sobered some, had a bad run in with the tea after getting soup high. She's been cleaned up, wizened up, and when Gale darkens her doorway, swatted down.
Her mouth opens. Then closes, hand coming to to rub at her eyes.]
[This one hurt. And in spite of how wretched the ambience is, Camille still hauls her ass to the damn church after, eyes closed and holding back tears in the pews.]
They're just babies. [She sounds like the women of Wind Gap. But god, it's true isn't it?] Why the hell would they send Asa in there with just a fucking shovel?
[ he'll come sit down nearby, hands in his lap and twiddling his thumbs together. ]
It is cruel. But I expect the cruelty is the point. Emotion is a powerful thing - for spells, rituals, summonings and such. They are calling to something, and I fear what it is that will hear it.
She comes out of this with a weight on her shoulders untold. That heaviness hits hard. Sure, getting the news from a budget Ian McKellan may have softened the blow in a theatre. Sitting in Gale's skin and hearing his sentence read out, dismissive and pitying from his once beloved mentor? It's hard to take comfort in the disconnect.]
Gale?
[Moreover, the tadpole. What the fuck was that about?]
Gale, you're not going to go through with it. Are you?
[ good morning, Camille. Gale is coming to find her, actually - he's also carrying around a new giant book - taking it somewhere quiet to go take some notes, but first ... ]
Lucky for you, I'm sitting pretty comfortably in my own skin again.
[He'll find her already halfway through a smoke, still worse for wear but upright, clear-eyed, no tear tracks. Just a slump to her hunched sit and a hush to her already soft voice.
For now she's taking a lie down at the clinic (former theatre, home sweet home). There's a bandage over her former right eye and her arm is healed up, though she's swapped for a new sweater. She's groggy and miserable but she does sit up when she sees Gale come in.]
gale has a Visual Update to his design this week. the blue-black mark that normally sits on his chest is now faded and pale, like a scar, and the dark veining on his face has receded. ]
Oh, I don't know, once you eat one magically summoned meal the whole supply chain question really quite leaves your mind.
Anyway you may or may not smell Camille as she approaches. A faint stink to her sweater maybe, but also the vodka on her breath. Apologies. It's no secret that she's been crying, and she's got a new bottle hanging heavy in one hand.
She takes a seat at Gales's side in silence. Then offers him it. Whisky. Elysium brand.]
[ well. he's somewhere quiet, probably like the tea garden or something, and writing furiously. so at least he's not staring into the void like before.
One, it's probably empty. As long as they dodge the fucking dentistry and crematorium they should theoretically have a lovely, lonely time. Secondly, she's on a supply run.
So when she spots Gale in the tea garden she's got a smart satchel over one shoulder. It clinks as she approaches, no real need to guess the contents. Her misery is flat and low, but there's a softer thing skating over the top, drawing her close to him.
The man's lost too much in a week to be left alone. Maybe he'll need the space. Camille just can't bear to give it to him yet.]
Assuming they have been dragged out of the swamp and fussed over by their respective ducklings, eventually Camille will totter over to find him. He will spot her coming from a mile away, because she is glowing like a hot coal. She is also extremely slow, moving gingerly and clutching at her fresh stump. The worst of the scarring seems to be obscured by her clothing, but some burns curl up the side of her neck.]
[ gale is definitely not glowing! not at all. he's sitting somewhere, pressing a few fingers into his side where the injury was, though hopefully sealed over at this point. ]
Frankly Gale, if I tried to pitch this story to my newspaper, they'd send me to a mental institution. [She is just from Chicago...] I'd have to either pawn it as pure fiction, or get a new gig on someone else's planet.
WEEK 0: Saturday
[Now clothed and thoroughly humbled, Camille makes a bid for the bearded man she'd ditched yesterday when next he trots by. She's in a dark long sleeved sweater, jeans, black ankle boots well broken in. Modern and indistinct, a dour dash between all regalia in peacocking hues.]
Think I owe you an apology.
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Hello, Camille. I honestly can't imagine what for?
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W0 - MONDAY
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Hello? [That's a cat. There has not been a cat here before. Camille steps a little closer, crouching.
Realizing that it has wings.]
...
[She will not make any sudden movements.]
Nice kitty.
[Don't fly at her face please.]
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have fun finding your dead castmates gale (real) (not clickbait)
NOOOOOO
you get off easy this time...
THIS TIME
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W0 - FRIDAY
gale is near the bulletin board, reading it over and over, and then occasionally glancing at his glove - stained a little blue on the ends of the fingers. ]
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Gale...
[Also hoarse from smoke inhalation.]
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WEEK 1: Monday (NOT SPIDERS)
Except being a (former) southerner Camille goes for the peach.]
I can't even care if it's poisoned, at this point I just need something that isn't gruel.
[She takes a bite and her face...smooths out. Then her brows come together as she takes a slow chew.]
...Huh.
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gale will ... watch this. and then look mildly concerned as he sees her expression change. ]
Camille ... ?
[ DID SHE SPEAK IT ALOUD AND THE DEVIL LISTENED? ]
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W1 - WEDNESDAY
Camille. Are you, ah ...
[ okay so he's a little awkward. ]
Good mornin
Camille has indeed sobered some, had a bad run in with the tea after getting soup high. She's been cleaned up, wizened up, and when Gale darkens her doorway, swatted down.
Her mouth opens. Then closes, hand coming to to rub at her eyes.]
Hey Gale.
[awkward indeed.]
GOOD MORNING
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WEEK 1: Sunday
They're just babies. [She sounds like the women of Wind Gap. But god, it's true isn't it?] Why the hell would they send Asa in there with just a fucking shovel?
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It is cruel. But I expect the cruelty is the point. Emotion is a powerful thing - for spells, rituals, summonings and such. They are calling to something, and I fear what it is that will hear it.
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W2 - MONDAY
enjoy.]
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She comes out of this with a weight on her shoulders untold. That heaviness hits hard. Sure, getting the news from a budget Ian McKellan may have softened the blow in a theatre. Sitting in Gale's skin and hearing his sentence read out, dismissive and pitying from his once beloved mentor? It's hard to take comfort in the disconnect.]
Gale?
[Moreover, the tadpole. What the fuck was that about?]
Gale, you're not going to go through with it. Are you?
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W2 - FRIDAY
... I spoke to Aerith quite a bit about the afterlife.
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[Bright, too. Sunny dispositions were becoming a scarcity around here.]
What did she say about it?
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W2 - SATURDAY NIGHT
[ her little side-pen. her banishment bubble. ]
Are you in there?
[ as in. are you sane right now. ]
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W3 - MONDAY
Still feeling like yourself?
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[He'll find her already halfway through a smoke, still worse for wear but upright, clear-eyed, no tear tracks. Just a slump to her hunched sit and a hush to her already soft voice.
She juts her chin at the book.]
What you got there?
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I know you are busy dying on main but I'm clearing my inbox on the train
WEEK 4: Tuesday
she was stunned and she accepted his help on the pavement outside the ferris wheel but also now that she has some wherewithal —]
You were there. [— she's keeping a stiff and wary distance.] I remember you were there, I didn't imagine that part.
[He handed Rondo the glass.]
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Yes. And for what it is worth, I am very sorry …? I believe I should start with that.
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cw: mentions of self harm, suicidal thoughts
cw: yeah same
Grits teeth, i love this for them
WEEK 4: Friday
Can't the overseers do something? Track it down?
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They are unreachable on these nights-- it's funny, I've never asked them why. I would only assume they are unable to intervene.
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1/2
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W4 - SUNDAY
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For now she's taking a lie down at the clinic (former theatre, home sweet home). There's a bandage over her former right eye and her arm is healed up, though she's swapped for a new sweater. She's groggy and miserable but she does sit up when she sees Gale come in.]
...You doing good?
[Dumb question.]
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WEEK 5: Monday
Anyway they can be at the shopping district, for what I do not know. Camille is unfortunately cursed and will reach to hold his hand without warning.]
Kind of eerie, seeing a place that serves burgers with no land in sight.
[What's in the beef.]
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gale has a Visual Update to his design this week. the blue-black mark that normally sits on his chest is now faded and pale, like a scar, and the dark veining on his face has receded. ]
Oh, I don't know, once you eat one magically summoned meal the whole supply chain question really quite leaves your mind.
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W5 - FRIDAY
he's sitting somewhere having a crowdstrike outage, with tara on his lap and not saying or doing anything which is probably a little creepy. ]
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Anyway you may or may not smell Camille as she approaches. A faint stink to her sweater maybe, but also the vodka on her breath. Apologies. It's no secret that she's been crying, and she's got a new bottle hanging heavy in one hand.
She takes a seat at Gales's side in silence. Then offers him it. Whisky. Elysium brand.]
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W5 - SATURDAY
the emotion is, overwhelmingly, guilt. ]
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One, it's probably empty. As long as they dodge the fucking dentistry and crematorium they should theoretically have a lovely, lonely time. Secondly, she's on a supply run.
So when she spots Gale in the tea garden she's got a smart satchel over one shoulder. It clinks as she approaches, no real need to guess the contents. Her misery is flat and low, but there's a softer thing skating over the top, drawing her close to him.
The man's lost too much in a week to be left alone. Maybe he'll need the space. Camille just can't bear to give it to him yet.]
Keeping busy, I see.
WEEK 6: Thursday
Assuming they have been dragged out of the swamp and fussed over by their respective ducklings, eventually Camille will totter over to find him. He will spot her coming from a mile away, because she is glowing like a hot coal. She is also extremely slow, moving gingerly and clutching at her fresh stump. The worst of the scarring seems to be obscured by her clothing, but some burns curl up the side of her neck.]
You too, huh?
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Quite the pair we make.
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W6 - SATURDAY
Ah. Camille. Quite the day?
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With a no shit sherlock energy:]
Could've gone worse.
[A beat.]
I'm...I really don't know what to say, Gale.
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W7 - SATURDAY
... So, what's next for you, Camille? Chasing another big scoop? This whole adventure would certainly make for quite the story.
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Frankly Gale, if I tried to pitch this story to my newspaper, they'd send me to a mental institution. [She is just from Chicago...] I'd have to either pawn it as pure fiction, or get a new gig on someone else's planet.
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