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[Hold him closer, tiny dancer. He settles for the moment on a series of explosions tearing through buildings in what could be any action movie in any dimension in any time period, and stretches his arms out along the back and sides of the couch.]
I used to watch it, didn't always enjoy that, either. [Half-true.] But they're incredible athletes. Every muscle pin-tight. Spend their whole lives devoted to keeping their bodies in line.
I used to watch it, didn't always enjoy that, either. [Half-true.] But they're incredible athletes. Every muscle pin-tight. Spend their whole lives devoted to keeping their bodies in line.
I guess there's something to fucking neurotic twigs.
[Or making them cry. She had liked making the little ballerinas cry... She may also be calling the kettle black at the moment.}
[Or making them cry. She had liked making the little ballerinas cry... She may also be calling the kettle black at the moment.}
[He arches an eyebrow but doesn't look across.]
Can't say I remember enough about it.
[Ahem.]
Have you heard of Tanaquil Leclerq?
Can't say I remember enough about it.
[Ahem.]
Have you heard of Tanaquil Leclerq?
[As if that even needed to be said, and she ignores it duly.]
No, but I'm sure you were going to tell me anyway.
[Maybe zombies ate her father.]
No, but I'm sure you were going to tell me anyway.
[Maybe zombies ate her father.]
I don't have to.
[Of course he was going to but - such is the attempt he's making here, that he's willing to shrug and drop it. They can watch some city, somewhere coming down.
(And he remembers plenty)]
[Of course he was going to but - such is the attempt he's making here, that he's willing to shrug and drop it. They can watch some city, somewhere coming down.
(And he remembers plenty)]
[She bats at him lazily before turning her attention to the dog, scritching behind his ears one-handed.]
Get on with it.
Get on with it.
[Well, since permission's been granted.]
Best dancer of her generation, married to her choreographer. At the top of her game when polio left her paralysed from the waist down. I saw her interviewed, once, thirty years later? some retrospective.
[He chews on the back of his thumbnail, voice and focus decidedly flat.]
She said it took her ten years to decide not to kill herself. And then, she was okay.
Best dancer of her generation, married to her choreographer. At the top of her game when polio left her paralysed from the waist down. I saw her interviewed, once, thirty years later? some retrospective.
[He chews on the back of his thumbnail, voice and focus decidedly flat.]
She said it took her ten years to decide not to kill herself. And then, she was okay.
[She really should have known, and she starts laughing at herself faintly, leaning over to rest her forehead on his shoulder.]
I know there's no point, you know. I heard what you said to Karl, weeks ago. It's all I really wanted, for a long time. Was for Barbet to care about me enough that he'd shoot me. He's not here. There's no point. But it's not like something better has come up. [She's kept her tone low and relatively even, and although Rex looks up at her curiously - (she's only shaking a little) - he doesn't react too much. She laughs again, darkly.] Hn. A couple of times, I thought maybe Blonde was good enough. I liked him. He promised he'd ash me if I didn't breathe. That was good enough.
[And then someone's big mouth ruined that.]
I know there's no point, you know. I heard what you said to Karl, weeks ago. It's all I really wanted, for a long time. Was for Barbet to care about me enough that he'd shoot me. He's not here. There's no point. But it's not like something better has come up. [She's kept her tone low and relatively even, and although Rex looks up at her curiously - (she's only shaking a little) - he doesn't react too much. She laughs again, darkly.] Hn. A couple of times, I thought maybe Blonde was good enough. I liked him. He promised he'd ash me if I didn't breathe. That was good enough.
[And then someone's big mouth ruined that.]
[Get off, Rex. Spilling the dog into a furry puddle only half on his lap, Chase leans his head into Carla's, close enough to smell old traces of blood and sweat in her hair. Or maybe that's imagination, a confusion of the senses thrown up by the state of her skin. He reaches to pull her in a little more.]
You're a few months into it. You don't know what something better is yet.
[He catches his teeth against his lip, voice lowering to match hers, soft enough to be conspiratorial, although it's not. It's an admission.]
There's something to be said for an overprescription of morphine when there's nothing to be salvaged but a couple of weeks of pain. You're stuck here whatever I care enough to do, and you've got options. There's a chance something better might turn out to be more than a shot to the head.
You're a few months into it. You don't know what something better is yet.
[He catches his teeth against his lip, voice lowering to match hers, soft enough to be conspiratorial, although it's not. It's an admission.]
There's something to be said for an overprescription of morphine when there's nothing to be salvaged but a couple of weeks of pain. You're stuck here whatever I care enough to do, and you've got options. There's a chance something better might turn out to be more than a shot to the head.
[She makes an agitated sound, because she hates doing this and would rather claw it out than talk to him, but she doesn't have enough energy for that and maybe it's easier in the comfort of her own home. She had said a lot of things curled in Vic Vega's shoulder, here or in their bed or in their shower, that would never have crossed her lips on the other side of their threshold. She had told him, long before Chase had understood it for himself: I don't know who I am.]
It's just a bigger cage. I'm still a fucking toy.
It's just a bigger cage. I'm still a fucking toy.
[He scoffs faintly, the breath mussing her hair.]
You always were. Life isn't something people control. You're the underline to that point. You miss autonomy because you've decided to give it up. You're not looking for ways to live, you're looking for ways to die. Can't do that here? Zkuste něco jiného.
You always were. Life isn't something people control. You're the underline to that point. You miss autonomy because you've decided to give it up. You're not looking for ways to live, you're looking for ways to die. Can't do that here? Zkuste něco jiného.
I gave it up.
[And she hates herself for that, it's debilitating. It closes off everything else, even when she tries to think about 'ways to live' she thinks about bugs who deserve whatever comes to them in their helplessness. He had tried to explain that to her earlier. It hasn't penetrated.]
[And she hates herself for that, it's debilitating. It closes off everything else, even when she tries to think about 'ways to live' she thinks about bugs who deserve whatever comes to them in their helplessness. He had tried to explain that to her earlier. It hasn't penetrated.]
[The only reason Carla Morir is even somewhat amiable about this curse is the very simple fact that her leg is not broken and her arm is not sprained. She has four perfectly healthy limbs to work with here, and she is in the mood for gratitude: even if they are very pink. She is very pink, all over. There's even a thick stripe of it through her mane and that skull on her ass has pink hearts for eyes. More pink than she was interested in, really, but once she's gotten Rex to shut up already and stop barking at her like a maniac, she decides that she is going to go out and stretch her unbroken legs while she has the chance. Her mood is good, maybe she'll even harass a few people while she's out. Pony battling sounds fun...]
Maybe this place gives you the opportunity to change your mind.
[Maybe, if he knew how she lived when she felt in control, he'd be less encouraging. Even now this is less of a motivational speech than a laying out of options, none of them the one she's pining over. It's an option, but behind the door there's an empty room and an arrow pointing back to where she's come.
It's an option. One way to drive herself insane.]
[Maybe, if he knew how she lived when she felt in control, he'd be less encouraging. Even now this is less of a motivational speech than a laying out of options, none of them the one she's pining over. It's an option, but behind the door there's an empty room and an arrow pointing back to where she's come.
It's an option. One way to drive herself insane.]
[She doesn't know about that. Even if she changes it, she still remembers what she's done. It was always the memory that was the worst, not the sleepless nights or the broken body. It wasn't even Barbet's rejection. It was her own begging and crying. She shudders. The woman she'd most like to be can't stand the creature she's been, and without her own inherent confidence, Carla will never get back to herself.
She doesn't know what this place is, all she can really say is,]
I don't want to go back.
[Which is one foot in to some door, whatever it is.]
She doesn't know what this place is, all she can really say is,]
I don't want to go back.
[Which is one foot in to some door, whatever it is.]
[There's something like a nod at that, his cheek still set at a lean against the dark crown of her hair, too high for her to monitor his expression. But there's something like a nod, and his chest expands with a breath drawn in only to facilitate a sigh.
And at last, for all he's tried to unravel her for her own sake and his, a point of empathy.
Something he won't argue with.]
Neither do I.
And at last, for all he's tried to unravel her for her own sake and his, a point of empathy.
Something he won't argue with.]
Neither do I.
[Nature has even seen fit to equip Chase with his own pony-battling melee weapon, protruding through the floppy blonde hair which is the only outwardly familiar feature on today's form.
(One of the only familiar features. The other consists of five pale lines of scar tissue on what can only appropriately be described as his rump, and would be recognisable to a select few).
He doesn't look primed for battle, however. In the park, in the drizzle, resolutely thumping a hoof into a faintly reflective puddle, he looks like he might just be sulking.]
(One of the only familiar features. The other consists of five pale lines of scar tissue on what can only appropriately be described as his rump, and would be recognisable to a select few).
He doesn't look primed for battle, however. In the park, in the drizzle, resolutely thumping a hoof into a faintly reflective puddle, he looks like he might just be sulking.]
[What a sulky pony... She approaches him quietly, lowering her head to find her way into eyeline, one pink eye of the grinning skull peeping out at him from beneath a dark forelock.]
Having fun?
Having fun?
[Her good arm is pressed between them, inhibiting her movement, so she doesn't really try besides turning her head slightly to be able to see out from under his chin, reticent with the thought that they are both ridiculous cowards.]
I'm not taking up drinking.
[She will always have the worst sense of humor.]
I'm not taking up drinking.
[She will always have the worst sense of humor.]
[He blinks up, blue-eyed from under absurdly long eyelashes (well, some things never change) not quite sure how he managed to be self absorbed enough to be snuck up on by a horse.]
What did you come as, the Grim Reapony?
What did you come as, the Grim Reapony?
Are you about to lecture me on self-abuse?
[It's a wit he usually appreciates.]
You're missing out on some painful mornings. [And he shifts, enough to turn his body in towards her.] And I'm cutting back.
[He's not, he's merely cultivating a less showy habit. But he still believes he could.]
[It's a wit he usually appreciates.]
You're missing out on some painful mornings. [And he shifts, enough to turn his body in towards her.] And I'm cutting back.
[He's not, he's merely cultivating a less showy habit. But he still believes he could.]
Your pony puns suck.
[She whinnies when she laughs, nose scrunching. In addition to her ridiculous pink fur, it's all very inappropriate to her person. Oh well, she circles around him slowly, eyeing his band-aids. Or whatever.]
[She whinnies when she laughs, nose scrunching. In addition to her ridiculous pink fur, it's all very inappropriate to her person. Oh well, she circles around him slowly, eyeing his band-aids. Or whatever.]
Edited 2012-06-04 00:14 (UTC)
That's a sweeping judgement considering how many you've heard.
[All this circling makes him nervous and before she's half way round him he's turning too, trotting on the spot to bring his head round to meet her.]
It looks better in tight jeans.
[All this circling makes him nervous and before she's half way round him he's turning too, trotting on the spot to bring his head round to meet her.]
It looks better in tight jeans.
[When there's space, her fingers end up around his collar, toying it back out of the state she'd rumpled it into.]
You could just drink paint thinner.
[No, she's not going to lecture. He can drink himself sick, if he likes, just as long as he shows up to make an ass of himself now and then.]
You could just drink paint thinner.
[No, she's not going to lecture. He can drink himself sick, if he likes, just as long as he shows up to make an ass of himself now and then.]
I'm not expecting them to get better.
[Her eyes flicker up like a good girl before shaking her head at him with another laugh, not quite touching her nose to his.]
I like your scars.
[Also known as 'fuck your pants.' She'd liked his bruises too though, so this is not an overall surprising assessment from her.]
[Her eyes flicker up like a good girl before shaking her head at him with another laugh, not quite touching her nose to his.]
I like your scars.
[Also known as 'fuck your pants.' She'd liked his bruises too though, so this is not an overall surprising assessment from her.]
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