poly_chromatic | 062 x 260 // voice;

Entry tags:

oc - carla morir

062 x 260 // voice;

[Her voice is deep, melodious. She doesn't sing, but she does chant the little spell with a lilting air.]

Ladybird Ladybird, fly away home. Your house is on fire, your children shall burn. Ladybird Ladybird, fly away home. Your house is on fire, your children shall burn. Ladybird Ladybird, fly away home. Your house is on fire, your children shall burn.

[And her tone changes with a snap, shouting:] Come look at me, you fucking bitch.

[Breath.]

I bet you're happy.

[Then quietly,] He was supposed to be the one to suffer.

[[ooc; Losing her shit after being cured of the plague, like I promised. Anyone who wants to just jump straight to action is welcome to. The folks she'd go to know who they are. For the rest, the doors are unlocked at the flat. Action threads come with a tw: self-harm.

This is also forward dated a few days, because I really don't tend to tag on weekends.]]

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I'm going to kill myself.

[It's just a fact. If she could die here, she'd have done it already.]

[He's not even bothered by it.]

Of course you are.

I'm just waiting here, until then.

[Sort of trying to live, but she's still troubled. She can only distract herself for so long before the city drags the misery back out of her. Before her heart is hurt again and she questions the point of trying to resuscitate it again.

She's gotten better at being hurt, it doesn't always drive her down. But she has her limits.]

And so you suffer more, by living. Or by being forced to live.

[That was definitely it and her hand goes up to her throat, nails crawling through the red wounds she's already laid there.]

I've died... twice. Someone shot me, and Barbet brought me back. And I poisoned myself, here, and the City brought me back.

Make it three for three. Why not? Go on.

[She's knows what you're doing Flagg, you're not the first.]

It's worse to be undead.

[Her smile is cold and furious and lovely.]

I've done that twice too.

[He doesn't care if she sees through it or not. This is all somewhere between antagonism and flirting.

He smiles back, brightly.]

And everybody knows the undead are always hungry.

[She shudders slightly. She preferred not to think of herself as a reanimate anymore, but she hadn't really escaped all of its trappings.]

It's not something you forget.

How could you ever forget? There are those things which never leave us.

So I'm dead and broken and I'm hungry.

In my experience, those things so very often go together.

What is your experience.

[Her tone is flat, but it would be nice to stop talking about herself too.]

There was a dying man in a dying town. The town was dying on its own--but, then, everything was dying there, and the desert was creeping in--but he was hurrying himself along by eating devil grass. Stupid name, but it's what they called it. He ate it for the dreams and visions it gave him. It drove him mad and it killed him.

But a little spit and a little show and he was back on his feet. Long enough to play messenger, at least. Not much more than that, but long enough for that.

What was the message?

Sweetheart, that's only for the man it was sent to.

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