poly_chromatic | 012 x 210 // voice to partial video // bubbles abound

Entry tags:

oc - carla morir

012 x 210 // voice to partial video // bubbles abound

[The bubble Carla has found herself inside is a fairly large one. Filling up the majority of a room, she has been forced to retreat into her bedroom alone. It isn't an experience she's enjoying overmuch. After several years of isolation, she's really quite starved for physical contact, and even just a day of this is pressing harshly on her nerves. Then again, maybe that will be obvious:]

This isn't what I wanted. This isn't-- This isn't. [A miserable little sound, voice tiny but raising steadily in volume and vitriol,] What if she's angry with me... It isn't my fault. He isn't here. I can't--

Ladybird, Ladybird, don't do this to me... [It's almost a song, really, until her voice breaks:] You bitch. Fuck. You lying bitch.

[It's there that Carla apparently gives up on pulling herself together and the device is whipped unceremoniously across the room. It hits a wall with a crack and skitters across the floor. It lands face up, its camera flickering uncertainly on the doorway where an older pup whines pitifully, trying again to get inside but bouncing off of the large bubble keeping him out. When Carla eventually gets up to collect the phone, the wolf is pushed further and further away, whining getting louder. She pauses, crouched on the balls of her feet next to the device, the expression on her face lost somewhere behind the fall of her hair,]

...I hate this.

[Her hand engulfs the device and the feed goes black.]

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[ From elsewhere in the apartment, Blonde whistles for the pup, scratching it behind the ears when it comes to him. Still, the pup wants to see Carla, and so it quickly trots back to the door to try (and fail) to get in. Blonde follows, blinking in surprise when he finds that he can't move any further. ]

... The fuck.

Shush, shush, shush.

Don't laugh, Saya.

I'm not laughing.

Not yet, anyway.

Not at all.

{She remembers what her laughter sounds like, and she knows it doesn't come cheap.]

I would laugh.

[She's curled in on herself at the headboard, face hidden in her knees while she fiddles anxiously with the fresh metal in her neck. Her impulse, when she hears his voice, is to get up, go over to him and bury her hands in something. But that's the problem, isn't it. She can't reach him--(she hates this feeling, the separation, the loss, the emptiness. It's always there, she doesn't need to be reminded, she doesn't need her face rubbed in it.)]

You and I are different.

[There's a consideration, a pause]

Is he Barbet?

[Carla hisses, the sound sullen and not particularly human in nature. The reaction is so quick there is little point in denying the name is the cause.]

You don't know him. Why would you ask.

Edited (why do i keep doing that.....) 2012-03-07 20:49 (UTC)

I know him.

[The hiss this time is just the sound of an inhale between grit teeth.]

You don't.

{Although she knows perfectly well that denial will not make it true.]

I do. I broke his arm.

[This is the first time Saya's ever admitted to physical violence against another person]

...why?

[Her reaction is torn. Possessive over a man who is hers, horrified at the thought that he had been here, and pleased at the thought of his pain. He deserved it.]

[Saya doesn't look at all bothered]

Because I wanted to.

[She wouldn't be the first. Such an abrasive, arrogant prick. Carla had thought about breaking him, so many times, thought about ripping all of his sad little pieces apart, but she never had. What would she be without him. What is she now without him. Carla lifts a hand to her face, pressing the heel of her hand to her eyes with a grimace.]

He was just that polite.

I should have let you kill him.

But I didn't think you would.

I haven't.

[She's laughing at herself now, low and bitter. Her fingers curl against her face, pushing back into her hair with a jerk.]

I used to watch him sleep. And think how easy it would be. Maybe I could do it, here.

[She looks up abruptly.]

He was here. And... you knew it was him?

No.

Yes, I knew.

No? No.. It wouldn't be fair.

[It was his responsibility, he was the one who needed to put her back into the ground. It was his fault, he'd brought her back, he'd make her weep and suffer, it was his to account for. Killing him would be too easy.]

Where... did you find him? [She doesn't need to question why Saya knew his name. The bird had made that obvious enough, and had made a point of telling anyone who would listen just whose avatar her really was. A second thought follows close behind, one that makes her blood go cold,] He's gone now, isn't he?

Well he's not in pieces, Carla.

He found me.

He's not here.

[There's a part of herself that seizes up in fear at the thought of being near him again, of being dismissed and disdained. The constant hate and heartache that just his face inspired. He was already in her head, and having him removed from her life has been... painful. Just as painful, when all she has to focus on is her own stagnant place in the world, her own self-disgust, but she can breathe easier now.

She swallows roughly, curling in tighter on herself.]

I didn't want him here.

He's not here.

[Cold comfort. Her free hand fiddles anxious at the back of her neck.]

Fucker.

[ What a fucking picture they make right now. Carla curled up at the headboard, Blonde and the pup at the door watching her. There's another try to move closer, but of course it doesn't work. The puppy paws at the edge of the bubble, whining again and looking up at Vic like he might be able to fix it. ]

Shit.

Next time, I'll just kill him.

[There, Carla.]

[She isn't crying, but it would certainly be easy to mistake the sound as such.]

Get a tape.

Are you calmer?

[More of that same miserable little laughing sound.]

No. [Yes.] I'm still stuck in this damn bubble.

[There's no fixing it. That's just the way this place is, taking all the control out of her hands while it fucks with her over and over and over. The only comfort through most of it has been Blonde, but not today apparently. She gropes blindly for her phone, pokes at it enough to get him on speaker before abandoning it back into the mess of sheets and lying down on her side.]

Twenty-four hours.

Yeah, twenty-four hours.

[ He's leaning against the doorframe now, watching her. ]

If you want something special to eat, I can go and get it for you.

[ Maybe it'll keep her occupied enough that she won't claw at her own skin again. ]

Don't leave.

[Yes, she just turned down food.]

[ That's definitely surprising. Still... ]

All right. [ Pause. ] I could get you something out of the kitchen? I'd be right back.

[She shifts, bringing her knees in closer to her stomach as she picks at the bedding.]

It's fine.

[It isn't, but she is fixed in the center of this barrier. They'll have to play a ridiculous game of rearrangement if she gets up to collect that food. It's better if she just stays put, maybe. Maybe the food just offers no comfort in this particular situation.]

I didn't... put anything out for the dog.

I'll do it.

[ The dog is, for the moment, content to stare at Carla from the door with his head tilted to one side. He's fine. ]

Just... let me know if you need anything.

[She can't have what she needs and this isn't what she wanted. She had traded with that Ladybird to have her pulse back, demeaned the last of herself under that bug's giggling watch so that she could exist again, so that she could have an identity and assertion all her own. But it does her no good cut off from the rest of the world. What is she on her own. Who is she who is she who is she. They're questions she doesn't have to ask when she's beating a man unconscious, when she has a body to pleasure. Her place and her impact are direct and obvious. Her past can't affect the marks she leaves on others, they won't know what a worm she really is--(She wonders what Blonde will do, when he figures it out, when he catches up to the secrets Saya and Chase have whittled out of her. Maybe he'll laugh, maybe he'll leave, and she wouldn't blame him because that is what she would do with something like her.)

Twenty-four hours. She can't even stand herself for twenty-four hours. The longer it goes on, the more she craves a touch, a breath, a brush, and she only has herself. A dead woman in a defective body, and she tries to put up with it for as long as she can, reminding herself that it will be over soon as she talks quietly with a few people on the network. But it's never over. It's never done. There's always more. She won't come out unscathed, her willpower is nothing resembling that strong, but the metal in her neck is a reminder to try, a reminder to remain aware of what she does. She won't need any stitches when midnight comes, that is the only triumph she thinks she can realistically aim towards.]

[There's a desperation in that woman's voic-- a vibrating despair-- that unsettles him. It reminds him too much of his own past. The physical agony of being dissected alive each day. The more insidious agonies of being so physically isolated. Starved, confined, bleeding and always alone. Begging for comfort of the simplest sort.]

[He nearly speaks. But what to say? He has no heartening words. This woman is clearly suffering a psychological collapse. Her own willpower will determine whether she crumbles or not.]

[Instead, he'll stare unblinkingly for a long moment. And the network device will click off.]

[No, they're not so different in many ways, she and Karl. Love is poison.]

[ There are many people who wouldn't call Mr. Blonde loyal, but they don't know Vic Vega. Four years in prison when he could have kept his mouth shut -- that's loyalty. And he's loyal to Carla, gives her what she wants and gets things in return, and so he doesn't leave the apartment that day except to take the dog out. Still, he's not used to sitting around (it was always either work or having his schedule planned out for him, tick-tock-tick-tock, move along), and eventually he falls asleep. His door is open, though -- which at some point prompted the dog to push into his room and jump up onto his bed.

At least he didn't let the beast up himself. Still, if Carla wanders over, she'll be greeted with brown eyes watching her from Blonde's feet and Blonde himself asleep, lightly snoring and still half-dressed. ]

[She watches the clock like a hawk for midnight to come, and it is barely 12:01 before she's broken free of the other bedroom, skirting quickly through the living room. She might normally have knocked on his door, at least perfunctorily, and certainly would have evicted Rex off the mattress, but she can't be bothered right now. She offers the mutt her hand briefly, tolerates the snuff and lick, before she's taken her knee up onto the bed. They made a strange trio, but it was so much better than being alone.]

[ He stirs, of course, shifting to look at her. He doesn't have to ask what time it is, not with the curse suddenly gone and her crawling into bed. Instead he just shifts, muttering at the dog to move without actually bothering to make the dog move. ]

Hey.

[She curls into his side silently, an easy feat when he's as big as he is, but that doesn't make the relief any less welcome. Their dog doesn't jump down, even with the movement going on above, just situates himself across their feet.]

I hate this place.

[A complaint lacking in vitriol, all things considered.]

What's the matter?

I know.

[ Sometimes they hate it, sometimes they love it -- or that's how it is for him, at least. One hand slides into her hair, lazily stroking. She needs contact right now, and he'll give it willingly instead of making her seek it out and take it from him. ]

Just a curse, Raphael.

[Oh but she does sound miserable.]

[Hates this place, but at this point... it's not like she wants to go home either. There's no one like Blonde or Chase to help her. There's just Eva who gives her bemused smiles and thinks about shooting her sometimes, and there's Barbet who won't speak to her anymore and has disavowed any care he may have secretly fostered for her. It's all over. It's all ruined, and she was meant to die within a few months. That's why Ladybird had left things broken: hands that shake, a face that doesn't age, a body that burns through calories like a Reanimate, sleepless nights, heightened smell and hearing. But she's outlived her expiration date again. If this is living.

She holds onto him tighter, shifting over to bury her face down into his shoulder. She feels miserably pathetic, but Blonde hasn't held it against her so far. She mumbles something that might have been 'I'm glad you were here' but she would really prefer he not listen to that too closely.]

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012 x 210 // voice to partial video // bubbles abound

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