[Camille draws a long breath. Weariness has gripped her. As has the liquor. She closes her eyes a moment, turns her head. Another breath. It's such a chore, carrying on. She's so, so tired.
They're fire and ice. Same predicaments, only flipped, and their temperaments edge away from either like repelling magnets in kind.]
You'll be mad tonight. Maybe mad tomorrow. And then Monday will come, and you'll feel like shit. Maybe it'll rise and fall stronger than mine did. I think you've got a hotter head running the show. Might make a bigger ruckus, fight harder to hold on.
But you'll find time when you're yourself. And I don't think it'll be the same answer. Not exactly.
If this is the bender that kills me, Karlach, I'll be the most pathetic baby drunk that ever lived. They don't even have one spirit in the cellar.
[She props her chin her hand. Watching her back. There's tears again, silent types now. Where the last had raced these creak down the curve of her cheek. She doesn't seem to notice them.]
I love you, though. [It comes out so easy. When it's the least useful, when the ears are the deafest.] I don't have much for friends. Or any. I don't make them any more. It's too hard. And it hurts.
Sometimes, it hurts with you. But it felt nice. To be there for somebody else for once, when shit's tough. To have someone asking me to dance.
she's - less. it's less, now. the horns, the fangs, all of it. it's easing up. she looks a little more like herself, engine chugging, blood dripping slowly from her side to the ground.]
I love you too. [she says, finally. easy. it is, for her. even when there's a monster trying to dig at her spine.] Sometimes all you need is someone to reach.
[Karlach slides back into herself on a slow roll, but Camille is grateful for any change. She smiles as the words come back at her. Often longed for, rarely heard. The blood drips from her side and Camille wants to press cotton to the wound. Keep her together.
The best she can do it put a hand to the barrier. Let her fingers linger where it thickens on air. A saving grace and a cuck in one.]
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[Camille draws a long breath. Weariness has gripped her. As has the liquor. She closes her eyes a moment, turns her head. Another breath. It's such a chore, carrying on. She's so, so tired.
They're fire and ice. Same predicaments, only flipped, and their temperaments edge away from either like repelling magnets in kind.]
You'll be mad tonight. Maybe mad tomorrow. And then Monday will come, and you'll feel like shit. Maybe it'll rise and fall stronger than mine did. I think you've got a hotter head running the show. Might make a bigger ruckus, fight harder to hold on.
But you'll find time when you're yourself. And I don't think it'll be the same answer. Not exactly.
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Yeah, okay. Whatever makes you feel better. That's what I'm good for.
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Doesn't matter what I think.
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[She sits too, slowly, folding legs and hunching. Leaning forward. Her head begins to pound and she blinks have a drowsy drag to them.
Yet she stays on it.]
And it was pretty even stevens, if you'll recall. Tit for tat. I think any one of these people would come running for you the second you asked.
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... You make sure you find someone to make sure you don't choke tonight. [dodges,]
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If this is the bender that kills me, Karlach, I'll be the most pathetic baby drunk that ever lived. They don't even have one spirit in the cellar.
[She props her chin her hand. Watching her back. There's tears again, silent types now. Where the last had raced these creak down the curve of her cheek. She doesn't seem to notice them.]
I love you, though. [It comes out so easy. When it's the least useful, when the ears are the deafest.] I don't have much for friends. Or any. I don't make them any more. It's too hard. And it hurts.
Sometimes, it hurts with you. But it felt nice. To be there for somebody else for once, when shit's tough. To have someone asking me to dance.
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she's - less. it's less, now. the horns, the fangs, all of it. it's easing up. she looks a little more like herself, engine chugging, blood dripping slowly from her side to the ground.]
I love you too. [she says, finally. easy. it is, for her. even when there's a monster trying to dig at her spine.] Sometimes all you need is someone to reach.
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The best she can do it put a hand to the barrier. Let her fingers linger where it thickens on air. A saving grace and a cuck in one.]
Sorry I wasn't so good at reaching back.
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You didn't have to. Love's not transactional.