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[She trashed the apartment this morning. The anxiety mounted above and beyond what could she could handle, that knot of glass and tar inside of her chest unbearable, the crying inside of her head pulsating too heavily. It's been building there, behind her eyes and deep in her stomach and lungs, for weeks now. She's been counting down to this day, or maybe it's been creeping up to her. Climbing over her, choking her.

The wreckage is inevitable, furniture overturned and porcelain shards scattered across the floor. Her dog is clawing at the bathroom door now, and for some reason that she doesn't understand, she has this to share with the network,]

CAROLENA MARÍANNA MORIR
09/08/1986 — 03/26/2011
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR .

[[ooc; This post is a catchall for Carla's suicide. This is a blanket trigger warning for the entirety of this post and any comments that may follow. She will answer any network comments, but it will be timelined to before her final episode. Action from folks involved in this fiasco are welcome, as well as any initial visitors on Sunday (it takes 24 hours for the dead to wake up.)

By the way, it's her birthday. She's 30 today.]]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Alright, that's really freaky.]

Er, Carla..? What's going on?

Carla?

[ Not asking if everything's all right. He can all but sense it's not. ]

[She sounds hoarse, not quite laughing.]

Bon anniversaire pour moi.

[He really wishes he had retained some of the lessons from his high school French class.]

It's your... anniversary? Is that what you meant?

[Silence. Silence. Silence.]

Hello.

[She's reading a magazine and sitting in a nearby chair when Carla wakes up.]

That's what I said.

Carla, really. What's going on?

What are you doing?

[ There's a tautness in the question. ]

I don't know. I was...

[There's a pause, long, empty.]

Sitting here, and I thought I would... write it out.

[ The explanation isn't much to go by. But it makes the skin on his nape prickle, for reasons he can't yet say. ]

Are you all by yourself?

[ Other than the dog? ]

I'm alright.

[She's picking glass shards out of her knuckles.]

[She was chained to the floor last time this happened. Barbet had known, what the virus would do to her. He had expected an animal, one that froth and snap. She hadn't disappointed him, she'd thrashed herself into exhaustion trying to reach him, had been able to smell his pulse so overwhelmingly, his blood and his flesh. She could have eaten him then, ripped him apart and screamed, lost herself right then and there in the first few moments. But he'd been ready, and he'd watched her. She doesn't remember his expression, sometimes she wonders if it was pained. Is that flattering herself? She thinks it must be.

It had taken her a few days to speak. To ask him what he had done.

This isn't quite the same. Her hands are restrained, that's familiar, but the anger isn't there, rage bubbling under the surface, there's just... exhaustion. She takes in a deep breath that she doesn't need.]

Nothing.

[She makes a little sound the might be a laugh, or it might be a sob instead, take your pick.]

[Saya sets the magazine down, her eyes a little paler than usual when she looks over at Carla]

Happy Birthday.

[With her, it's hard to tell, but it sounds suspiciously more on the sob side.]

Carla... Do you want any company?

[Her expression is blank, eyes unfocused. This is like every morning, truthfully, this slow crawl back to consciousness. Blonde once said he'd never seen anyone wake up like she does, like being stared at by a corpse. But when Saya's words penetrate her fog, her expression twists and there's a clatter when she tries to jerk one of her hands up towards her face. She gives an indignant little cry before thrashing half-heartedly.

It stops quickly enough, teeth grit and eyes closed.]

[ The little voice in his head says, It's just mood, give her space, you can treat her out to something nice tomorrow. He first ignores it, then listens to it. Foolish, foolish. ]

[ He's going to pitch a sanguinary fit when he hears the news later on. ]

If you're sure.

[ OOC: Action for the visit on Sunday night? ]

[There's a thud, her foot colliding forcibly with something.]

Do I sound lonely?

[There's something snide in her voice, antagonistic.]

[Saya watches impassively from her side of the room, her arms very slightly crossed]

Dramatics? I brought candy.

Er, no, I just thought...

If you want to be left alone, that's fine. I'll leave you alone.

I don't feel right wishing you a happy birthday when it's like I'm looking at a grave marker.

[This time she's laughing, the sound low and half-hysteric, her voice strained.]

What a spineless little bug.

[She won't show her face. She looks drawn, sleepless and tense, flecks of blood across her face and her hands.]

That's what it is.

I am.

[She doesn't sound like she's lying, she doesn't sound like she's got a knife poised. She doesn't. She thinks she's alright. Upset, but alright. Even when she does bring the poison to her lips, she thinks she's alright.

Just deserving.]

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