[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.
[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.]
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.
[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.]
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.
[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.]
[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.
[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.]
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☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
[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.
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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.}
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Can't say I remember enough about it.
[Ahem.]
Have you heard of Tanaquil Leclerq?
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No, but I'm sure you were going to tell me anyway.
[Maybe zombies ate her father.]
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[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)]
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Get on with it.
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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.
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It's just a bigger cage. I'm still a fucking toy.
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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.
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
[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.]
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
[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.]
Re: ☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
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.]
☏ courtesies that i disguise in me
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.
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I'm not taking up drinking.
[She will always have the worst sense of humor.]
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[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.]
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