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poly_chromatic2013-02-17 11:20 pm
dropkick) wrote in poly_chromatic2013-02-17 11:20 pm
Entry tags:
( [audio] backdated to Saturday )
Aria--
Dom--
M----
Not a fan of these weekends. Too crowded and too many cases of mistaken identity.
Most of you're better off just heading inside somewhere to stay warm. Probably won't be here long. Assuming the pattern sticks as usual.
[ pause, considering saying something else, then decides against it and turns the audio off. ]
[ooc: do not want to miss 4th wall but ridiculous placeholder ;_; rl so crazy ..... /just wants to rp u_u anyway open post! anything goes...]
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[ Isn't it, she thinks. But truth is, she doesn't know; she doesn't know a lot of things really. What's the saying? Ignorance is bliss? Something like that. ]
1/2
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[...don't go.]
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not even her own. especially not her own.
tate though.
what he did isn't forgettable, isn't forgivable.
but he's the only familiarity she's found here and yeah, okay, fine. maybe she's scared of it. apparently being dead isn't the immunity she'd so desperately imagined it as -- needed it to be.
at least they're out of that house. ]
Dunno.
[ Pause. ]
People're telling me I don't have much of a choice.
[ and telling him to go away won't do anything outside the house.
but even that logic is a coverup.
in spite of everything, a part of her somehow still aches at the thought of saying it again. it makes no sense.
why can't she just hate him through and through.
why. ]
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Now there is no house. A whole world under a roof and now a whole world around. As much as he liked birds, he had no idea what to do with a chance at flight.
On Halloween they went to the beach, that was the first time in how long?
There he goes again, lost in his head. The sweet time with the dark, salty air comes with the bitter dried blood of his own victims. Some of them. His mouth moves a few times. It's the first time he realizes he might be breathing real air and changing it into carbon dioxide. Except it means nothing.
Violet's here. They're having an exchange. What to say. What to do.
DO NOT FUCK IT UP.]
Oh yeah? See anybody you know?
[Meet anybody. Know anybody that would be caring, attentive...exactly to her liking? The very idea turns his doubt solid. At least that is something to stand on.]
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shows how much you know. it occurs to her she's not much better than her parents. disgusting.
but she loves ...her mom.
she wanted to love her dad.
maybe she loves tate too, like some kind of function of her non-life -- something she can't help even if she rejects him right out.
it says something though doesn't it, that when she first thinks of tate ever it's not his role in all the bad things that comes to her; it's her arms around him, holding him, and then a whiplash effect of memory.
tate telling her to closer her eyes. and then as if from far away, tate telling her not to die. tate whose life was overblown with death, for once, telling one person -- telling her -- to live.
for fuck's sake. she doesn't realize she's clutching her own head, the device having clattered to the ground between her feet.
see anybody she knows?
no.
but she hears him all the time. ]
No.
I haven't seen anyone.
[ just a girl and her radio thing and all the voices in her head gone a hundred fold through the tiny speaker.
where are--
no. don't ask.
don't ask him; you shouldn't want to know. fuck you violet. even dead you're going to keep making wrong decisions. fuck. ]
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Would it be a stretch? He will be repeating himself like the dumb drowned nurse upstairs. Would it be justice then?
Violet may like him better punished. Except when you're dead you can't bleed. That doesn't mean you can't suffer. Those times wandering and knowing she was near but not so close as on the screen in the weird piece of electronics was somehow not so terrible. At least then she didn't speak to him, didn't appear to look his way.
Don't beg. Don't plead. She doesn't need reminders of how she went out of her way to banish him.]
Me neither.
[No Moira. No Hayden. No Ben. No Vivian. No Thaddeus. No Nora. Not yet anyway. Just them. How can it be so unfair? That's just it, Tate. That is punishment. All the love that could have been had taken away for every for all the destruction.]
I found a book store.
[His voice is flat.And a book about killer avian specimens.]
You'd like it.
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Where?
[ it's a dumb question; she doesn't know the City's geography from jack but she won't ask him to meet her somewhere; she won't ask for his help.
but she would like somewhere else to be.
it's not that she can feel the cold; she can't. but even without a heartbeat being out in the open makes her feel vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with being animated. she tugs down at her sleeve.
for all she knows the bookstore has one topic: dead not-quite-boyfriends and the lost causes who think they can save them. well. more likely something to do with dead other things. but details. she lets her one question hang in the air, as if that somehow makes it less pathetic she's asking him anything in the first place. ]
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[They call it a square. He hasn't been around this many people since high school. The noise reminds him of anxieties he forgot. Isolation and quiet isn't something you can pull around yourself out in public. Keeping to himself outside of snide remarks and rude questioning had been taking up his time.
Now all he can think about is what to say in the right way that would continue their conversation just a little longer. He is not so careful or patient.]
I could take you.
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Why did we get out?
[ How?
She doesn't ask because she trusts him so much -- though maybe, definitely, an ache in her heart wants to, the absenteeism of growing up shortly replaced by a weird magnetism then aborted. She asks because she can't think to ask anyone else, and Tate was in the house long before they moved there. He might not know but neither does she and he's the one she's talking to. For now.
Avoiding saying yes or no to meeting, to going to the same place in a weirdly recurrent way is a transparent stall for time but she doesn't care. The dead have all the time in the world. Even if they'd rather not. ]
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I don't know. I don't know why it's us.
[Just them. That alone must mean something. He's quiet for a moment to gather his thoughts. Ignoring means there was no answer. No answer means no refusal. No refusal means there may be hope. Isn't that just what she is, what she has been?]
People keep saying it's at random, people pop up then disappear back to where they were. This never happened to me before.
[And neither had he met a girl that looked at him the way Violet has. Had. She can't see him through the network device as he stands with one arm crossed, the other holding the weird phone as he's looking out around him.
Where is she?]
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Don't say yes. Don't ask him for anything. Don't.
The thing is, Violet had already cared for him before she knew the other things, and even when she knew half of them she slipped her arms around him and pressed her face into his shoulder like he was the one safe thing left. If she adopts the defense mechanism she used with her parents, she can call it a last resort but as many things as Violet may have wrong with her, stupidity was never one of them. If she loved something in Tate, she loved it and that's that. But then she hated as much or more and now here they are. She hated him for having cared about him, in a sense; it would be easier to tell him to go away if there was nothing attached to it. But there was nothing easy about it; it was simply what she knew she had to do then. Out the corner of her eye she thinks she sees her mom and her head whips around only to find no one there.
Same as being alive, part of her remarks and she tells it to shut up.
I don't know. I don't know why it's us.
He's being honest.
She grips the device tighter.
. . .This never happened to me before.
Why didn't she meet him sooner?
Biting her lip, she wishes she could feel it more. ]
I'm gonna look for the bookstore.
[ Even without Vivian here she can't just shed what she intended for Tate -- that he know he did something even Violet couldn't forgive.
It's not go and it's not I miss you and I hate you for that too. It's not even maybe. It is the most she can let herself offer -- her possible location, assuming they even would wind up in the same shop. Maybe there are ten bookstores offcenter of the City's square, twenty, thirty, or just one.
If they run into each other, she'll take it from there. And if not. Well.
They've spent their lives being alone in one way or another right?
What's another day or two.
Forever.Another day. Or two. ]
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Already he's trying to form a game plan. The need to even see her at all is starting to make him feel more on edge. It's hard to train his mind to not get his hopes up, if she'll see him at all it would be a triumph. A few rays of light in the dark tunnel he's been lost in. What good would it be when there will only be more pitch black after? He can't think that way or else he would resign to numbness.
They'll be out in the open. Neutral ground for the most part. Is that what it is? Does she not feel safe? All of his crimes were against other people.]
I would never hurt you, Violet.
[He relies on his voice to punctuate the seriousness. The irony is that he knows he has already. If his actions didn't mean anything to her, things would be the same he desperately wants to believe. Violet's lived her life in defiance of her parents this far. What would be another?
Parents are severely flawed people. They're a child's introduction to order and authority. No wonder the world is so messed up. People like Constance or Ben have their run of the house destroying the home as much as making it. Tate saw Violet as a fellow refugee. What about right now? Can't they even stand on the same ground like that?]