[He's come to tell her he can't care about her if she's going to do this. (Come to tell her, by insinuation, that it's too late for him already). Now he's eating her food and not even wincing. There's ample space for confusion here.]
Get used to, or prefer it? I brought it over on a guess.
[She's just as bad. If she really wanted him gone, she wouldn't have called. If she weren't just as infatuated as she is resentfully fearful, she wouldn't want his attention at all.]
...sometimes both.
[Zombie comfort food? On a better day it might have even gotten her to say thank you. Today, she's just forced to recognize him as her provisioner of food yet again and to watch his mouth with fascination.]
[Well. She wants the plate to come with them anyway, so he might as well. They aren't going far, so she accepts the small amount of assistance, moving back around to the other side of the couch. Rex follows, and generally has a bad habit of trying to climb into people's laps when they sit on the couch. She is working on breaking him of that. It doesn't go all that well when there are mixed messages about what furniture and at what times he's allowed to jump on. He fills up the empty space in the bed now too.]
Big difference between tedious in short skirts and short pants.
[The plate is taking up space in Chase's lap, for now, but there's room for a lighter load than the dog, who seems to be scouting for the best available space.]
[She was the girl who'd smash your face in with a kickball, outrun you on the track, and never sign up for a team but would gladly convince real players to miss their games to fuck under the bleachers.]
[She watches her dog crawl into his lap distractedly for a moment.]
Cigarettes instead of IDs. The IDs were mine, the drugs were just to meet people. When I was younger than that it was... tennis, swimming, horseback riding.
[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.
[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.
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.
[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.
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☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
Get used to, or prefer it? I brought it over on a guess.
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...sometimes both.
[Zombie comfort food? On a better day it might have even gotten her to say thank you. Today, she's just forced to recognize him as her provisioner of food yet again and to watch his mouth with fascination.]
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[Or he can visit. Sometimes both. Fresh, raw steak isn't exactly exotic food to him, Carla. Chew and swallow.]
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[She presses one of the cubes to her own lips thoughtfully. Or maybe it's just to hide the half-smile that's fitted there.]
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[That much he can play along with. And he'll keep stealing from her plate, a few stray noodles this time.]
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[Aka 'you still promised me dinner.']
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[I know.
He leans back, looking through into the invalid's resting area that is the next room.]
Reckon there's a game on?
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[She'd be playing video games if she had full use of both hands, god damn it.]
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[He will lead her by the plate if he has to, one elbow out for her to use as a crutch.]
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It's all equally tedious.
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[The plate is taking up space in Chase's lap, for now, but there's room for a lighter load than the dog, who seems to be scouting for the best available space.]
Never played sport?
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[She was the girl who'd smash your face in with a kickball, outrun you on the track, and never sign up for a team but would gladly convince real players to miss their games to fuck under the bleachers.]
I sold drugs and fake IDs in high school instead.
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[He makes room for her legs, if she wants it. If not, the dog might just get lucky.]
Not all sports involve teams. Junior high?
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Cigarettes instead of IDs. The IDs were mine, the drugs were just to meet people. When I was younger than that it was... tennis, swimming, horseback riding.
[Nothing surprising for a rich girl.]
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[Wouldn't be surprising for a rich girl. Flicking through the television channels, the baseball players don't get much of a look-in.]
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[Stop imagining her as a tiny ballerina, she will kill you.]
I didn't enjoy it.
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
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.
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[Or making them cry. She had liked making the little ballerinas cry... She may also be calling the kettle black at the moment.}
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
Can't say I remember enough about it.
[Ahem.]
Have you heard of Tanaquil Leclerq?
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
No, but I'm sure you were going to tell me anyway.
[Maybe zombies ate her father.]
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
[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)]
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
Get on with it.
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
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.
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
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.]
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
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.
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
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☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
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