[She gets up anyway, but only gets as far as the kitchen table, which was less than arm's length away in the first place... Rex, of course, has given a cursory yip before being silenced. This does not stop him coming to mush his nose into Chase's knees as soon as the door is open enough for him to do so, however.
[Chase puts a hand down to rub between Rex's ears. The dog is much more pleasant company without a looming owner threatening to use it as a weapon. Now that Chase has walked him once or twice he's used to the greetings, too.]
Somebody likes me.
[Next time he'll break in with more style, Carla. For now he'll turn and collect the loaded paper bags before Rex can get his head any further into them. The kitchen table is also his destination.]
[She frowns faintly, looking down at Rex when he comes to sit beside her chair, also watching Chase raptly and also hoping something delicious is coming out of those bags for him.]
Well enough.
[One sprained elbow and one broken leg, and a host of other enjoyable maladies that are not quite so immediately obvious while she has clothes on. Obviously it's been wretched, lonely and aching and struggling more than normal with basic every day tasks. It's been delightful.
[Echo-echo. He keeps his words markedly clipped, every silence an indicator of things he's not saying.
The next bag: things in cans, and a fresh butcher's wrapped pack of fillet steak, blood just soaking the edges of the paper. He drops it near her, picking up an armload of the cans for packing onto those empty shelves.]
[She starts chewing on her lip, as soon as he's set that package down. She would gladly eat it, just the way it is. It wouldn't bother her in the slightest, it was what she'd been fed on for years: a savage little doll perched at a human's table, pretending to be decent with her knife and fork and plate. She'd be gagging all the while as Barbet fried up eggs or bacon, the smell absolutely toxic to her. He told her not to complain. Sometimes she listened, sometimes not and he would grow sour with her until she apologized for it. He might ignore her for the rest of the day, either way. But at least he hadn't thrown her food on the floor for her to eat, right? He was due some gratitude and manners.
She's too busy staring at it to pay any attention to Chase right now.]
[What a domestic scene. A couple more opened doors discover plates, and in a drawer by the sink, cutlery. He leans over her to put both down in front of where she stands, next to that bloodied package.
Rex is turning figure-eights around his legs and it takes Chase crouching with a can of food to draw the dog's focus off the same prize.]
There's chow-mein in the other bag. Should still be hot.
[A pervert and his zombie pet. What does that make Chase?
Carla is still staring at the package of meat intently. She could just take it up in one hand and pull it apart with her teeth, who needs cutlery, just let the blood run down her face. It would be emotionally satisfying, that's what it would be.]
[She exerts some will, reaching into the bag with the warm food, getting hold of the container in one hand to lift it up. The other arm is set on the table, cast and all. That damn thing has been a nuisance all week, but from the bleary pieces of information she'd gathered before Karl carried her back here, it could come off in another week or so. Maybe she'd call her vampire friend back up to pry it off of her, just to continue her staunch avoidance of the hospital during its normal hours.]
[No response. He presses his hands to his thighs, straightens, comes back to the table. There's no attempt to help her, the pieces are already in their place. All he does is fold his arms in silent observation, letting her struggle.]
[It's a poorly coordinated effort, but it's not unsuccessful. She plucks the stupid cardboard container open with her nails, turning it over to dump the contents onto a plate. He already knows what she looks like trying to wield an instrument of any delicacy, she's no better with the fork than usual. The slightly sticky noodles are easier to get wrapped around the prongs of the fork than something else might have been, at least.
He's still standing there staring though. It's tempting to just fling the plate at him and be done with it. It's too bad she's hungry--(and too tired to be angry anymore.)]
[In more ways than simple avoidance. He turns a chair and drags it with it's legs complaining from the friction with the floor to drop it at angles next to her and sit. He reaches for the butchers meat, unpicking the tape holding the soggy paper with blunt fingernails.]
So why, exactly, are you so afraid of me?
[He takes the wrist holding the fork and guides it into clearing space on the plate, onto which he deposits the meat, matter-of-factly, watery blood and all.]
[She's silent for a moment, fixated on the steak once more, jarred from the weak comfort she had been taking from being able to eat.]
When have I ever been afraid of you.
[She doesn't think it's him that frightens her. She sets the fork down, toying the meat up in her fingers, leaning forward to tear off a piece with her teeth. It's never really him, the fear is always of herself; her reactions to familiar things, her weaknesses. (You sound like him sometimes, especially when you're being haughty.) She swallows without chewing much.]
[And it's not a haughty response, it's just all he's been able to come up with. And no, perhaps not him precisely, but whatever it is he's come to represent. Or what he could.]
You'd rather go to some backwoods underground surgeon than let me know what you've done to yourself. Rather do that to yourself than talk to me about it. You're keeping me at arms length from what you are.
[He crumples the soiled paper on one hand, rolling it across the table.]
You wanted to sleep with me because you think we have the same classification system when it comes to sex. Maybe I'd lose interest.
[She continues staring down at the plate, tilting her head at the food like it's changed form and she doesn't really recognize what it is anymore.]
Maybe.
[She can agree to all of that, it's not really untrue. She begins to poke lethargically at a pile of noodles with her fingertips.]
I'd call it convenience.
[It had all spared her feeling vulnerable, at the time, but that feeling always returns to her. She never really addresses it, just slathers it over with something else until her head is unbearable again.]
[At the far end of the large table, there's a ceramic bowl filed with miscellaneous junk. A place to throw keys, rubber bands, toothpicks, receipts, whatever else. She leans forward to pull it towards herself, sorting through for a pair of kitchen shears which are summarily taken to that piece of steak to hack it down into approximately (large) bite-sized pieces.]
Of course I'm not.
[She was Barbet's unwanted burden, his regret, his responsibility to be suffered until the end. An end he'd insisted had to be on his terms and not her own. She puts the scissors down irritably. She was the undead wretch with no claim to anything in life, let alone one of her own. She had been convenient to Blonde, a place to live and a place to lay low, company in bed and a confidant with more secrets than he had. She misses him. She's tired of it. That was why she had left Chase and his prying to black it all out instead; the latter was far more convenient to her. Cheap and easy, and ultimately unsatisfying. She picks up one of the pieces she's cubed, presses into her mouth without any particular relish.]
[There's nothing like a self-destructive mind to take a meaning and warp it until it suits, until it reaffirms the worthlessness that's already become pattern to it. Chase can follow the process as if it's visible in synaptic flashes across her face.]
You go out and make yourself convenient to half the city. [He's not blind.] It's remarkably obliging. And you get them to confirm exactly what you're good for. Which is exactly why I had no intention of having sex with you.
[It's why he'd resisted the dubious charms of her younger self, and why this odd back and forth between them had come to blows and kisses more than once, but no further.]
There's nothing wrong with you except not being somebody else. And the only one in this place who knows that, is you.
I don't predicate my self-worth on sex, don't be fucking ridiculous.
[Except when Barbet is involved, when he won't let her touch him at all and it's just one more way he chained her up and isolated from her own humanity and then somehow expected her to keep it.]
No, your own opinions have nothing to do with how you like people to treat you.
[It's not just the sex. The two casts she's locked into make their own point, and after making his Chase rests his elbow on the table, heels of his hands pushed against his eyes it some attempt to feel less weary of all of this.]
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☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
Carla gives him a bland look.]
That could have done with more finesse.
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Somebody likes me.
[Next time he'll break in with more style, Carla. For now he'll turn and collect the loaded paper bags before Rex can get his head any further into them. The kitchen table is also his destination.]
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He likes most people.
[And it's all Blonde's fault for turning their hellbeast into an attention hungry house pet. And then leaving her alone with it.]
What are you doing here?
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[Yes, there is, and he's methodically unpacking and finding places to put it away rather than allow it into her reach.]
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I live here.
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On your own. [A glance down at the leg.] Practically immobile. How's that working out?
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Well enough.
[One sprained elbow and one broken leg, and a host of other enjoyable maladies that are not quite so immediately obvious while she has clothes on. Obviously it's been wretched, lonely and aching and struggling more than normal with basic every day tasks. It's been delightful.
At least she didn't say 'fine.']
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Of course.
[Echo-echo. He keeps his words markedly clipped, every silence an indicator of things he's not saying.
The next bag: things in cans, and a fresh butcher's wrapped pack of fillet steak, blood just soaking the edges of the paper. He drops it near her, picking up an armload of the cans for packing onto those empty shelves.]
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She's too busy staring at it to pay any attention to Chase right now.]
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Rex is turning figure-eights around his legs and it takes Chase crouching with a can of food to draw the dog's focus off the same prize.]
There's chow-mein in the other bag. Should still be hot.
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Carla is still staring at the package of meat intently. She could just take it up in one hand and pull it apart with her teeth, who needs cutlery, just let the blood run down her face. It would be emotionally satisfying, that's what it would be.]
...The girls have been feeding him.
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He's still hungry.
[Like her.]
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[She exerts some will, reaching into the bag with the warm food, getting hold of the container in one hand to lift it up. The other arm is set on the table, cast and all. That damn thing has been a nuisance all week, but from the bleary pieces of information she'd gathered before Karl carried her back here, it could come off in another week or so. Maybe she'd call her vampire friend back up to pry it off of her, just to continue her staunch avoidance of the hospital during its normal hours.]
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He's still standing there staring though. It's tempting to just fling the plate at him and be done with it. It's too bad she's hungry--(and too tired to be angry anymore.)]
Sit down.
[And stop looming.]
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[As demonstrated.]
You'll ignore me.
[In more ways than simple avoidance. He turns a chair and drags it with it's legs complaining from the friction with the floor to drop it at angles next to her and sit. He reaches for the butchers meat, unpicking the tape holding the soggy paper with blunt fingernails.]
So why, exactly, are you so afraid of me?
[He takes the wrist holding the fork and guides it into clearing space on the plate, onto which he deposits the meat, matter-of-factly, watery blood and all.]
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
When have I ever been afraid of you.
[She doesn't think it's him that frightens her. She sets the fork down, toying the meat up in her fingers, leaning forward to tear off a piece with her teeth. It's never really him, the fear is always of herself; her reactions to familiar things, her weaknesses. (You sound like him sometimes, especially when you're being haughty.) She swallows without chewing much.]
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
[And it's not a haughty response, it's just all he's been able to come up with. And no, perhaps not him precisely, but whatever it is he's come to represent. Or what he could.]
You'd rather go to some backwoods underground surgeon than let me know what you've done to yourself. Rather do that to yourself than talk to me about it. You're keeping me at arms length from what you are.
[He crumples the soiled paper on one hand, rolling it across the table.]
You wanted to sleep with me because you think we have the same classification system when it comes to sex. Maybe I'd lose interest.
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
Maybe.
[She can agree to all of that, it's not really untrue. She begins to poke lethargically at a pile of noodles with her fingertips.]
I'd call it convenience.
[It had all spared her feeling vulnerable, at the time, but that feeling always returns to her. She never really addresses it, just slathers it over with something else until her head is unbearable again.]
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On my part, maybe. When have you ever been convenient?
[His fingers steeple and twist, any attempt to occupy them.]
I'm sorry if I let you think for a moment that you were.
[It's a compliment, in a strange way.]
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
Of course I'm not.
[She was Barbet's unwanted burden, his regret, his responsibility to be suffered until the end. An end he'd insisted had to be on his terms and not her own. She puts the scissors down irritably. She was the undead wretch with no claim to anything in life, let alone one of her own. She had been convenient to Blonde, a place to live and a place to lay low, company in bed and a confidant with more secrets than he had. She misses him. She's tired of it. That was why she had left Chase and his prying to black it all out instead; the latter was far more convenient to her. Cheap and easy, and ultimately unsatisfying. She picks up one of the pieces she's cubed, presses into her mouth without any particular relish.]
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
You go out and make yourself convenient to half the city. [He's not blind.] It's remarkably obliging. And you get them to confirm exactly what you're good for. Which is exactly why I had no intention of having sex with you.
[It's why he'd resisted the dubious charms of her younger self, and why this odd back and forth between them had come to blows and kisses more than once, but no further.]
There's nothing wrong with you except not being somebody else. And the only one in this place who knows that, is you.
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
I don't predicate my self-worth on sex, don't be fucking ridiculous.
[Except when Barbet is involved, when he won't let her touch him at all and it's just one more way he chained her up and isolated from her own humanity and then somehow expected her to keep it.]
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
[It's not just the sex. The two casts she's locked into make their own point, and after making his Chase rests his elbow on the table, heels of his hands pushed against his eyes it some attempt to feel less weary of all of this.]
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
[Because when it comes to most people, she couldn't really care less what they respond to her with.]
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