We exchanged our monsters and I recognized the name, they do not know you were the match.
I swear to you I am not bluffing, nor do I have any insight into why what you were told would be the case. And I don't see what I would gain by lying to you about that?
No. I have no idea who the other half of your Chimera is. But yes, I did understand you were the Chimera, you mentioned a we when discussing the poisoning of Cloud.
As for your monster partner, I don't know that it is even possible at this point in time. From what I am given to understand, you may now be entirely free of the cult's influence in that regard. Here--
[ pulling out his notebook, turning it around to show her something:
—been monitoring everyone's conditions upon arrival, and after a month of consistent results, it seems safe to conclude this much: no one here has a connection to their monsters. They lose their power and forego the ability to grant themselves a wish, but in turn, can no longer be possessed and manipulated by the cult in such a way.
Could it have something to do with this place? Meanwhile, they've only been getting themselves into more trouble lately, which is a headache, but I can't discourage their efforts. ]
[She takes the notebook in one hand. Better to read it with, though her brain still splutters on it. She has to give it a second go through to make sure she's not misunderstanding.]
Are you saying — it's over? [She looks to him. Forgive her, there's too much going on and too many sparking ends in her head to keep it cool. Water is welling at the edges of her eyes.] No one else? I'm not gonna...I'm not going to hurt anyone again?
[ he'll let her take it as long as she wants, stepping back to give her some space, toying with one hand in the other - pulling at the bandages slightly in a nervous tic motion. ]
I believe so. It was not a certainty, but -- everyone was discussing what was to be done. I did not think it was any kinder to leave you to your fate with the monster.
... I would like to see you live, Camille. I think you deserve that.
[She watches him, air caught in her chest. Eyes flicking to the hand — what happened while I was out? — then to his own gaze. The sincerity in it cuts her nearly as deep as the glass did.]
I'm...
[Grateful? Frightened? Certain you made the wrong call? Send me back, the rest of them need to live more?
Her hand flies to her face and she turns away, but there's no disguising the sudden flood of tears. Words scream at her from across her body, scars tingling with accusations. She never considered herself at risk of suicide. Just rending her own skin. Living seemed like a non-negotiable condition. She could spiral all she wanted, but she'd put up with carrying on. But did she want to live?
Now that the question's been asked and answered for her, she isn't sure she agrees. Not at this price.]
I'm sorry. [A failed attempt at a collected response. She heaves and tries again.] I'm sorry. I'll — fuck. Jesus Christ, I'm sorry, give me a second, I'm...
[She should be saying thank you. The words are too big. They're blocking her up, damming the thin slit her throat has closed to.]
[ he stops fidgeting with the bandage and presses a hand over the mark on his chest, where it's still glowing slightly from the effects of the swamp - burning into the skin.
to be dragged kicking and screaming back into life and being unsure if grateful is the correct emotion is not unfamiliar. after all, his own actions had been a desperate seeking of relief. The orb, the potentiality of massive destruction, Mystra's forgiveness or lack thereof, the tadpole, the isolation and fear and rotting from the inside out. and then to finally decide to let go of the struggle, to feel the thud of the knife into his chest and all that power and energy start to unwind and still find himself here was something of a system shock. he isn't sure he would thank anyone for it. he does not expect a thank you.
but ... to condemn camille to death for something she had no choice in was an equally wretched choice. it's also so easy to tread down a garden path of who is deserving. that way lies only madness and pain and misery, a devil's bargain of weighing the price of a life against another. one at a time. whoever you can.
he isn't sure she wants him in particular for any sort of comfort - after all, he is at least partially the cause of the distress to begin with - but he steps in a little bit, raising a hand like he's going to put it on her arm. ]
Nothing at all to be sorry for, Camille. All the time you need, of course.
[The step in and the hand up don't send her flinching away. She looks back to him with half her face veiled, by hair and hovering hand alike. It's not a fit that can stop easily. Too fresh. The inciting sentiment too grand for her grim trains of thought. They each derail in spectacular collisions, no survivors.
And of course there is Gale. He'd supervised the slitting of her throat. Helped arrange the plan, organized the kids. But there's also the Gale that was doomed. Arcane bomb ticking away in his chest. It's gone off once already, and his sad carcass was dragged here and resuscitated to wait on a new chopping block.
She doesn't want to think of him as a villain. Because he's not. He's running on the same borrowed time as the rest of them, with the same mixed blessing she now has.
Camille doesn't turn away. She lifts a hand in turn. Catches his. Winds her fingers through his own, grip soft over his knuckles, palm dwarfed against his. She still paints a perfect picture of misery, all red blotches and tear tracks, but she holds fast.]
I'm no saint, Gale. I've got a lot to be sorry for.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
That last one sticks when he mentions her partner. Camille goes stiff, jaw tight.
Is he bluffing me?]
...When I asked them who they'd trust to tell, your name never came up.
[They will come back to her own bullshit in a moment. This is worse. The very idea makes her gut twist.]
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I'm-- sorry, I'm afraid I don't quite understand.
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Did they tell you who they were?
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I swear to you I am not bluffing, nor do I have any insight into why what you were told would be the case. And I don't see what I would gain by lying to you about that?
I'm not trying to hurt you by telling you now.
no subject
[God. She puts her hands over her face a moment.]
I was the Chimera that week, Gale. I didn't murder Cloud alone. I thought you meant...Christ.
I'll leave my "partner" alone, whoever they are. I'm not going to drag anyone down with me again.
no subject
No. I have no idea who the other half of your Chimera is. But yes, I did understand you were the Chimera, you mentioned a we when discussing the poisoning of Cloud.
As for your monster partner, I don't know that it is even possible at this point in time. From what I am given to understand, you may now be entirely free of the cult's influence in that regard. Here--
[ pulling out his notebook, turning it around to show her something:
—been monitoring everyone's conditions upon arrival, and after a month of consistent results, it seems safe to conclude this much: no one here has a connection to their monsters. They lose their power and forego the ability to grant themselves a wish, but in turn, can no longer be possessed and manipulated by the cult in such a way.
Could it have something to do with this place? Meanwhile, they've only been getting themselves into more trouble lately, which is a headache, but I can't discourage their efforts. ]
no subject
Are you saying — it's over? [She looks to him. Forgive her, there's too much going on and too many sparking ends in her head to keep it cool. Water is welling at the edges of her eyes.] No one else? I'm not gonna...I'm not going to hurt anyone again?
What makes you so sure?
no subject
I believe so. It was not a certainty, but -- everyone was discussing what was to be done. I did not think it was any kinder to leave you to your fate with the monster.
... I would like to see you live, Camille. I think you deserve that.
cw: mentions of self harm, suicidal thoughts
I'm...
[Grateful? Frightened? Certain you made the wrong call? Send me back, the rest of them need to live more?
Her hand flies to her face and she turns away, but there's no disguising the sudden flood of tears. Words scream at her from across her body, scars tingling with accusations. She never considered herself at risk of suicide. Just rending her own skin. Living seemed like a non-negotiable condition. She could spiral all she wanted, but she'd put up with carrying on. But did she want to live?
Now that the question's been asked and answered for her, she isn't sure she agrees. Not at this price.]
I'm sorry. [A failed attempt at a collected response. She heaves and tries again.] I'm sorry. I'll — fuck. Jesus Christ, I'm sorry, give me a second, I'm...
[She should be saying thank you. The words are too big. They're blocking her up, damming the thin slit her throat has closed to.]
cw: yeah same
to be dragged kicking and screaming back into life and being unsure if grateful is the correct emotion is not unfamiliar. after all, his own actions had been a desperate seeking of relief. The orb, the potentiality of massive destruction, Mystra's forgiveness or lack thereof, the tadpole, the isolation and fear and rotting from the inside out. and then to finally decide to let go of the struggle, to feel the thud of the knife into his chest and all that power and energy start to unwind and still find himself here was something of a system shock. he isn't sure he would thank anyone for it. he does not expect a thank you.
but ... to condemn camille to death for something she had no choice in was an equally wretched choice. it's also so easy to tread down a garden path of who is deserving. that way lies only madness and pain and misery, a devil's bargain of weighing the price of a life against another. one at a time. whoever you can.
he isn't sure she wants him in particular for any sort of comfort - after all, he is at least partially the cause of the distress to begin with - but he steps in a little bit, raising a hand like he's going to put it on her arm. ]
Nothing at all to be sorry for, Camille. All the time you need, of course.
Grits teeth, i love this for them
And of course there is Gale. He'd supervised the slitting of her throat. Helped arrange the plan, organized the kids. But there's also the Gale that was doomed. Arcane bomb ticking away in his chest. It's gone off once already, and his sad carcass was dragged here and resuscitated to wait on a new chopping block.
She doesn't want to think of him as a villain. Because he's not. He's running on the same borrowed time as the rest of them, with the same mixed blessing she now has.
Camille doesn't turn away. She lifts a hand in turn. Catches his. Winds her fingers through his own, grip soft over his knuckles, palm dwarfed against his. She still paints a perfect picture of misery, all red blotches and tear tracks, but she holds fast.]
I'm no saint, Gale. I've got a lot to be sorry for.
[Her grip tightens.]
But I guess now we've got one thing in common.