(carolena) lady of sorrows (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dignity_misery) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
poly_chromatic2012-09-14 01:56 pm
dignity_misery) wrote in poly_chromatic2012-09-14 01:56 pm
Entry tags:
035 x 530 // video
[[ooc; This is the continuation of a plot which revolves around Carla's suicide (also mentions of necro-slavery and abuse.) That is a blanket trigger warning for anything she might talk about in this post or the comments below. Carla will be remaining in the psychiatric ward another week after this. Visitors are welcome, as are any network replies, you don't need to know her, it's a public post.]]
[Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail at the crown of her skull. With her hair pulled back from her face, it's easy to see the exhaustion there, rings deep around her eyes. She's curled into a chair by the window of a very empty room. She's a self-violence risk, and there are fresh scratches on her shoulder and her stomach and her legs that attest to it. With her hair pulled up, it's easy to see the scars carved into her neck, neatly sewn, many months healed but large, from behind her ears round to the dip of her throat, flecked with smaller incisions that had healed on their own. This isn't the first time she's caused herself harm, some have been messier than others. An empty room offers no tools and no incitement.
When she speaks it's to no one in particular. Maybe someone suggested to her to try recording her thoughts. Maybe she just feels like talking.]
Last time I woke up dead... I was chained to the floor. I knew why. I'd seen Reanimates come-to before, all they want to do is scream and eat. I'd have ripped Barbet apart, if he hadn't chained me down. [She lowers her chin to her knee, still staring out the window.] I would have, but I was never as far gone as the others. They knew that, I could see it on their faces when they'd come inside, little pricks of curiosity. It was winter, they all wanted to hide with him. He'd give them dry clothes and put hot water bottles on their heads. He was always kinder to the dead than the living. Barbet tried to keep us apart, so that I wouldn't act like them, but it didn't matter. We were always aware of each other.
I remember that Rigid was afraid. She was getting old... and she didn't want to be sold for snuff, or titled the Raggedy Anne. We all wanted to die. She just didn't want to be tortured first. I don't remember why I hung on anymore. I was never going to go back, I was already dead. Maybe... maybe it was the others. We all shared emotions, we couldn't help it. When one of us reacted, all the others fed off of it, and they all loved him. He spoiled them and they loved him, because he didn't want anything from them.
He spoiled me too. He could have given me over to the trainers. I never forgot that. I knew there were reasons not to go outside.
And I loved him, somehow. I didn't feel that way, before he brought me back. I admired him. He didn't let anyone corrupt him, or change him. He never lied about anything, he never pandered. I wanted everything to do with him. I wanted to be part of it, so that he wouldn't forget me. [She gives a hoarse little laugh, miserable and self-effacing.] I hate... the idea of being forgotten, being that meaningless. But he didn't like to forget. He had walls of pictures, books full, shelves full. He wanted to keep all of us as beautiful as he found us. That's... all he cared about. He only loved his work, so he must have loved me. Whatever's that's worth.
[There's a moment of silence, her expression pensive, reaching for something.]
I still miss him. It doesn't matter what I hide behind, I always miss him, in the end. There's nothing that makes it stop.
...and I don't want that to be all there is. I don't want it to be there anymore.
But I don't want to forget either.
[Her head dips to one side, tucking her cheek in against her shoulder. She reaches up to mess with her hair briefly, rough and frustrated, before her hand darts out to turn the camera off, but it hesitates for a moment. She says slowly,]
I'm fluent in French, and communicable in Spanish. I want to learn something else.
[Now it's going off.]
[Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail at the crown of her skull. With her hair pulled back from her face, it's easy to see the exhaustion there, rings deep around her eyes. She's curled into a chair by the window of a very empty room. She's a self-violence risk, and there are fresh scratches on her shoulder and her stomach and her legs that attest to it. With her hair pulled up, it's easy to see the scars carved into her neck, neatly sewn, many months healed but large, from behind her ears round to the dip of her throat, flecked with smaller incisions that had healed on their own. This isn't the first time she's caused herself harm, some have been messier than others. An empty room offers no tools and no incitement.
When she speaks it's to no one in particular. Maybe someone suggested to her to try recording her thoughts. Maybe she just feels like talking.]
Last time I woke up dead... I was chained to the floor. I knew why. I'd seen Reanimates come-to before, all they want to do is scream and eat. I'd have ripped Barbet apart, if he hadn't chained me down. [She lowers her chin to her knee, still staring out the window.] I would have, but I was never as far gone as the others. They knew that, I could see it on their faces when they'd come inside, little pricks of curiosity. It was winter, they all wanted to hide with him. He'd give them dry clothes and put hot water bottles on their heads. He was always kinder to the dead than the living. Barbet tried to keep us apart, so that I wouldn't act like them, but it didn't matter. We were always aware of each other.
I remember that Rigid was afraid. She was getting old... and she didn't want to be sold for snuff, or titled the Raggedy Anne. We all wanted to die. She just didn't want to be tortured first. I don't remember why I hung on anymore. I was never going to go back, I was already dead. Maybe... maybe it was the others. We all shared emotions, we couldn't help it. When one of us reacted, all the others fed off of it, and they all loved him. He spoiled them and they loved him, because he didn't want anything from them.
He spoiled me too. He could have given me over to the trainers. I never forgot that. I knew there were reasons not to go outside.
And I loved him, somehow. I didn't feel that way, before he brought me back. I admired him. He didn't let anyone corrupt him, or change him. He never lied about anything, he never pandered. I wanted everything to do with him. I wanted to be part of it, so that he wouldn't forget me. [She gives a hoarse little laugh, miserable and self-effacing.] I hate... the idea of being forgotten, being that meaningless. But he didn't like to forget. He had walls of pictures, books full, shelves full. He wanted to keep all of us as beautiful as he found us. That's... all he cared about. He only loved his work, so he must have loved me. Whatever's that's worth.
[There's a moment of silence, her expression pensive, reaching for something.]
I still miss him. It doesn't matter what I hide behind, I always miss him, in the end. There's nothing that makes it stop.
...and I don't want that to be all there is. I don't want it to be there anymore.
But I don't want to forget either.
[Her head dips to one side, tucking her cheek in against her shoulder. She reaches up to mess with her hair briefly, rough and frustrated, before her hand darts out to turn the camera off, but it hesitates for a moment. She says slowly,]
I'm fluent in French, and communicable in Spanish. I want to learn something else.
[Now it's going off.]
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But eventually he does stop by this new room. Such is his life that he's visited friends on psych wards before, if not on this one. He knows the routines, lays his watch in a dish and leaves the white coat at the nurses station before coming down to knock at the frame beside her open door. It's just an announcement: he comes in anyway, with a white envelope to leave on the smooth-edged cabinet beside the bed.]
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When Robert arrives--(and she knows it's him before she turns)--she gets out of the chair, turning to press her back into the window instead, watching him.]
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Is there anything you need?
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No.
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[ video ]
So you were a just a doll? How quaint.
[ He owned so many. Did the ache ever ease? Wanting to possess, but never, ever, getting exactly what he wanted. ]
[ video ]
...Diva. You're back.
[ video ]
[ perhaps she ripped her up once or twice. It's a shame she didn't stay that way. ]
[ video ]
My name is Carla.
[ video ]
It suits you. [ a small name for a small woman. Did madness lie beneath it, like her Karl? What endless possibilities... ]
[ video ]
[Her name was an unfortunate match for her. Carolena Marianna Morir: The Free Woman, Bitter in Death. Some have mentioned what a bad omen the family name Morir might be.]
I'm sure Karl has been taking care of you.
[ video ]
[ video ]
[She should probably qualify that last part, because she's really not the marrying type.]
[ video ]
A wedding?
[ oh dear, oh dear. Little Karl has been playing behind her back it would seem.
She'll punish him later, curse or no. ]
[ video ]
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mislaid child. If she thought to steal him, she may need to think twice of her. ]
[ video ]
[It was a kinship, of sorts.]
Comment not here
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Today -- today Andy has presents! There's a box of doughnuts and a couple of books in his hands, as well as a small bag. He's stayed in the hospital a few times (appendix and tonsils) and knows how dreadfully boring it can be.]
Hey, Carla! I got you some stuff.
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She came here voluntarily, and as such was able to discuss certain parameters with the staff. They're not to sedate her unless circumstances are dire. She can scratch, she can cry. She cannot leave without twenty-four hours notice, and to remain lucid that entire period. Lucidity involves not trying to fuck any of the orderlies -- looking for distraction and power and self-denigration all in one place.
She turns when Andrew comes in, pressing her back against the window. If he'd known her longer, seen more of her meltdowns, he would know it's a familiar stance for her to take, a layover from Barbet and Warehouse. The windows were as close to freedom as she could get. It comfort her. ]
Keep your voice down.
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[Andy lowers his voice to just above a whisper with an apologetic smile, setting everything down on the bedside table. Her being so close to the window makes him worry -- is that safe? Can she jump from that?
He has no idea how to deal with someone that's been suicidal, even managed the attempt, and thinking about that night still puts him in a cold sweat. Still, he tries to act as normal if he can, if not more fussy.]
Um. I brought you stuff to keep you entertained. This place has to be boring.
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Carla pulls one of her feet up into the windowsill with her, wrapping her arms around her shin. She watches Andy lethargically. He's always awkward and tense. It makes something churn in her throat, that she could really make him squirm if she wanted to. Whoever is observing the room from surveillance would have to come stop her, if they noticed. Would they notice, it might be a chance she's willing to take.
...She's very still in the window, not breathing, not twitching.]
Alright.
[Begin your display, boy.]
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[He'll pass over the doughnuts; those are pretty self-explanatory, yup. The little bag he picks up, shaking out a handheld gaming device carefully. It's black and has little dinosaur stickers on it. It looks relatively new, Andy having picked it up while here.]
And I thought this would be pretty good to cure boredom. I set some high scores already, but I'm sure you can beat them with enough practice.
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Russian sounds like it might be interesting.]
Why are you here.
[It's not a smooth transition, but she doesn't sound angry, nor even particularly vulnerable. It's just a question, one she obviously doesn't have an answer for.]
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Um, well... You're my friend and I didn't want you to be alone, so...
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[She turns her head to the side, staring out the window across the quiet lawn.]
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Uh, I didn't want you to be alone...
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[She's not answering that for him, she's asking him.]
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Is it wrong I want to know you're okay, though? You scared the crap out of me, Carla...
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[She hadn't been scared. Though she is now.]
What frightens me... is needing others. Being incomplete without the people around me.
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You're... one of my friends, Carla. I don't feel obligated, but that doesn't mean I'm just going to leave you alone.
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[She doesn't understand, and she doesn't care how hurtful these questions sound.]
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I don't think you'd talk to me as much if we weren't.
I know that you can be a nice person. You like to eat a lot, which is totally cool with me. [But not his wallet. /sob] I know that I like hanging out with you, even when you insult me.
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[And she's not a nice person. She's cruel and she's miserable and she's staring at him sullenly.]
I just wanted to fuck you.
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You've been sticking around an awfully long time for someone that isn't interested.
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[Sad thing: she's not really joking.]
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You're pretty and everything, and I like you a lot, but not in that way.
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It's pathetic.
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Okay.
Do you want me to stop by tomorrow, at the same time?
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Fine.