What else could I be? No one knows what I am, no one has a word that I can claim.
[ Gradually, the particles on her body start to melt back into one dark veil. She wraps her arms around herself, much in the same way before she transformed. ]
And if you listen... I hope you'll realize that I'll listen too.
[ This is a murmur as if she meant to keep it to herself. For a moment she's silent as she glides across the floor taking no heed to any glass. When she finally decides to speak up there's clarity to her words. ]
That night when my neck was snapped and I could not move... Oh yes, I could not move, did not breathe, but I could still see, I could still hear, my heart slowed to a halt. They didn't know what to do. I might as well have been dead.
[ 'They' being the so-called friends she had spent time with, the voices from the rooms.]
So they took me, stuffed me in a trunk, drove me to a faraway place. Can't move, can't feel, but I can hear, I can see, I can smell.
[ The monster pauses and looks at Abel and there's sadness in her void-like eyes which makes her look more like the normal woman she's supposed to be. What she reveals next is said in a deadly low whisper. ]
They threw me in amongst the trash. I was never something to be treasured, just junk. Only crying for themselves, never for me.
[She buries her face in her hands mumbling to herself. ]
No one knows, no word to claim me, no one treasures what they do not know...
Edited (sorry trying to make it FANCY) 2021-04-27 01:17 (UTC)
[ ...humans, for all their great and limitless capacity for love and kindness, were also capable of exceptional cruelty.
the grimace finds his lips as he lets her story sink in. discarded like literal 'trash.' ...Abel wishes he could claim to be a better man - but, these words elicit a bubbling up of old resentment and anger, pain on her behalf.
his hands lightly stretch. no matter how much this creature has warped her appearance - Monts' pain is thick in every word coming out of her lips. this is her story. this is her grief. it's impossible to remain unmoved by it, and to resist the knee-jerk desire to ease it somehow.
he's gently reaching out, resting his hand lightly atop her head to soothingly stroke where her head is ducked. ]
...I'm sorry.
[ pieces of her had fragmented that day, he thinks. it wouldn't be shocking. 'death' isn't something normal people survive, and a mere brush with it can leave lasting scars that aren't physical, even on a 'normal' person. but someone in this condition - someone haboring, lost to, a darkness that defies all logic and reason that won't permit her to die...?
[ She leans into his hand after setting her own down so that they dangle by her sides. What a strange sight they must have made at that moment. Her shoulders are going slack as if resigned now that there was no longer any obstacle impeding them from exiting. ]
... The next few hours, I fixed myself and waited. Then I walked and searched.
[ She had tried to hunt all of them down, one by one, torture them with her presence. ]
But I said it already. I never did kill them. I hurt them for as long as I could before they ran away some more. But I was found and I was stopped...
... So here I am now.
[ The snowy white of her skin begins to fade away as do her eyes... ]
[ When they're finally outside, Monts looks up at Father Abel, eyes blue-green once again and heartbreakingly sorrowful and her voice choked up, but unable to sob. Her mark covers her body and starts to recede like a dark tide of water. ]
I still wish I could kill them, Father Abel.
[ There's something in the Scripture that says something about how murder in one's heart might as well be real murder. If so, then Marianna has committed it over and over and over again. ]
[ the mark slowly fading, dissolving from her skin... she's coming back to herself, isn't she? waking up from the dream she was having.
...and the relief is a little dizzying, he has to admit.
stepping out of the house of mirrors is gratifying enough on its own. seeing her eyes holding cognizance and familiarity... even if the expression on her face, the ache-inducing tone of her voice has his chest panging again--
it's Monts.
for a moment, all he can really bring himself to do is stare. this ordeal has been... enlightening. and exhausting. and concerning, and-- ]
...You really scared me this time, you... you know that?
[ don't mind the unsteady warble of his voice. he's really glad to see her. ]
[ Outside, the carnival is quiet, no empty. There are no more clowns, no whirring machines, and the electric lights that lit up the attractions barely flicker on and off.
Oddly enough (or maybe not, considering where they were), the giant whale and small shark plush that was won from the shooting gallery has been moved so that they're waiting on the table that she had dropped them off on.
The mark on her body continues to shrink as Monts looks up at Abel before reaching over to gently touch his arm. ]
[ Despite how tight the hug is, Monts can only read it as heartbreakingly tender behind it all. Here he is worried about her when she can clearly remember the reflections used to torture him. But this isn't the time to ask about his pain. She had an inkling that her being beheaded had tied into something too personal. ]
... I'm fine. This... It wasn't like last time.
[ Last time was a rampage. This time was a nightmarish reverie forced by memories of the former. ]
his arms wind just a tiny bit tighter in response to those words - she really wouldnβt know precisely how much it means to him for that to be what she chooses to say at a time like this. sheβs back to herself... drawn out of that creatureβs influence, or maybe put it back where all the things it represents are buried inside her. sheβs back, and he couldnβt be more relieved.
but indulging his weakness and standing here clinging to her like a child, is... h-he really is incorrigible. sheβs probably exhausted, probably more than ready to leave this hellhole and here he is clutching at her and trapping her in it.
it takes a concerted effort to detach himself from her, still feeling more than slightly out of sorts as he does despite his best efforts to clear his head. yet, looking down at her and seeing the clarity in her eyes... seeing Monts back to Monts is reassuringly comforting in a way he cannot quite put to words.
his voice is a little hoarse, a little soft when he finally manages to speak past the lump in his throat. ]
Are you sure youβre okay?
[ his smile is a bit watery, but sincere. sheβs been through enough, today. maybe itβs time they get the hell out of here... ]
[ When he lets go of her she looks up at him. She's not tired physically, but mentally for certain. ]
... Don't cry okay?
[ Abuela would get mad at me for making a priest cry, is what she wants to say to lighten the mood, to show him that she's fine. But Monts can't find it in herself to joke like that, not when he shows her that expression. ]
I'm standing right here aren't I? You know I'm fine.
Being in one piece [ ...literally, ] and... being okay are different things, right...?
[ though his smile remains at his lips, it's hard to ignore the fact the earnest concern in blue eyes hasn't dampened in the least. and he has the distinct and nagging feeling that 'okay' really isn't a good word to describe her right now. ]
...And, I-- I'm not going to cry, it's just-- my allergies are terrible this time of year, so...
[ shut up he's not crying she's crying, he's swiping a hand hastily to rub beneath his glasses. stop!!! no one is crying!!!!!! ]
[ Monts sighs and suddenly leans forward so that her forehead rests against his chest. Partly to comfort him, partly because of all the mental energy spent, and lastly, so that he wouldn't have to see her melancholic expression. ]
You're so bad at being truthful.... You really are the worst priest.
[ And she stays there for a bit. Although she mumbles her words next because she's so close, Abel should be able to hear her. ]
he blinks quizzically as her head comes to rest into him, a little surprised by the vulnerability behind the gesture. but he thinks in some way, maybe... this is something she might need on some level, too.
he lightly rests his hand atop her head when she lingers, that expression at his face softening to something a little more sincere at those muffled words. ]
I suppose there are worse things to be than the worst priest, so... I'll take it.
[ ...it'll be alright. maybe she isn't alright now - but she will be. ]
[ Her mark is finally silent and still and has returned to the back of her neck as if it had never moved at all. Monts draws herself back and looks at the priest with a nod a small smile. ]
Yeah. I think that's enough carnival for us.
[ Something about how he addresses her hurt without talking about his just somehow pains her even more. But they've both had enough. It's time to go home. ]
[ he's nodding back at her in return; the carnival has long outlived its novelty, and Abel for one can't say he is going to miss this place in the least. the uncomfortable feeling stirred up by reawakened ghosts and seeing Monts' dissolution into a creature that barely resembled her definitely isn't one of his favorite life experiences, he has to say.
but life goes on; it always does. just like so many other things, this would be one more unpleasant memory to tuck away with the rest. and... if he has to think on it at all, he will try and be grateful for the chance to see into the troubled heart of his friend to a depths he doubts she would've exposed, otherwise. how many people know about the horrors she's endured...? he can tell she's struggled to deal with it, haunted by the memories even still.
...he eyes her a little as they leave the house of mirrors behind them. Abel isn't just finding the urge to leave the carnival behind; he is quite sick of Fogtown in whole, to be frank. maybe it's time to get the hell out of dodge. ]
[ She only goes to Fogtown voluntarily whenever there's some sort of pull or if she has the urge to see her friends again. Being able to encounter Father Abel was just happenstance, to be honest.
The resulting circumstances were... Not pleasant. Parts were fun, but then what followed was inner pain set free and they saw sides of each other that weren't meant to be set on the table.
But here they are now. Still standing, still alive, and always troubled.
Monts pats Abel on the shoulder. ]
Let's see if you can visit me next time. The Midnight Grind is much better than this place.
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no subject
[ Gradually, the particles on her body start to melt back into one dark veil. She wraps her arms around herself, much in the same way before she transformed. ]
And if you listen... I hope you'll realize that I'll listen too.
[ This is a murmur as if she meant to keep it to herself. For a moment she's silent as she glides across the floor taking no heed to any glass. When she finally decides to speak up there's clarity to her words. ]
That night when my neck was snapped and I could not move... Oh yes, I could not move, did not breathe, but I could still see, I could still hear, my heart slowed to a halt. They didn't know what to do. I might as well have been dead.
[ 'They' being the so-called friends she had spent time with, the voices from the rooms.]
So they took me, stuffed me in a trunk, drove me to a faraway place. Can't move, can't feel, but I can hear, I can see, I can smell.
[ The monster pauses and looks at Abel and there's sadness in her void-like eyes which makes her look more like the normal woman she's supposed to be. What she reveals next is said in a deadly low whisper. ]
They threw me in amongst the trash. I was never something to be treasured, just junk. Only crying for themselves, never for me.
[She buries her face in her hands mumbling to herself. ]
No one knows, no word to claim me, no one treasures what they do not know...
no subject
the grimace finds his lips as he lets her story sink in. discarded like literal 'trash.' ...Abel wishes he could claim to be a better man - but, these words elicit a bubbling up of old resentment and anger, pain on her behalf.
his hands lightly stretch. no matter how much this creature has warped her appearance - Monts' pain is thick in every word coming out of her lips. this is her story. this is her grief. it's impossible to remain unmoved by it, and to resist the knee-jerk desire to ease it somehow.
he's gently reaching out, resting his hand lightly atop her head to soothingly stroke where her head is ducked. ]
...I'm sorry.
[ pieces of her had fragmented that day, he thinks. it wouldn't be shocking. 'death' isn't something normal people survive, and a mere brush with it can leave lasting scars that aren't physical, even on a 'normal' person. but someone in this condition - someone haboring, lost to, a darkness that defies all logic and reason that won't permit her to die...?
... ]
1/2
... The next few hours, I fixed myself and waited. Then I walked and searched.
[ She had tried to hunt all of them down, one by one, torture them with her presence. ]
But I said it already. I never did kill them. I hurt them for as long as I could before they ran away some more. But I was found and I was stopped...
... So here I am now.
[ The snowy white of her skin begins to fade away as do her eyes... ]
no subject
[ When they're finally outside, Monts looks up at Father Abel, eyes blue-green once again and heartbreakingly sorrowful and her voice choked up, but unable to sob. Her mark covers her body and starts to recede like a dark tide of water. ]
I still wish I could kill them, Father Abel.
[ There's something in the Scripture that says something about how murder in one's heart might as well be real murder. If so, then Marianna has committed it over and over and over again. ]
no subject
...and the relief is a little dizzying, he has to admit.
stepping out of the house of mirrors is gratifying enough on its own. seeing her eyes holding cognizance and familiarity... even if the expression on her face, the ache-inducing tone of her voice has his chest panging again--
it's Monts.
for a moment, all he can really bring himself to do is stare. this ordeal has been... enlightening. and exhausting. and concerning, and-- ]
...You really scared me this time, you... you know that?
[ don't mind the unsteady warble of his voice. he's really glad to see her. ]
no subject
[ Outside, the carnival is quiet, no empty. There are no more clowns, no whirring machines, and the electric lights that lit up the attractions barely flicker on and off.
Oddly enough (or maybe not, considering where they were), the giant whale and small shark plush that was won from the shooting gallery has been moved so that they're waiting on the table that she had dropped them off on.
The mark on her body continues to shrink as Monts looks up at Abel before reaching over to gently touch his arm. ]
Sorry for scaring you. Sorry for all of that.
1/2
no subject
...are you-- okay? You...
[ lost yourself in your memories,
lost yourself to your inner demon(s),
lost your head--
...maybe he's a little. concerned. ]
no subject
... I'm fine. This... It wasn't like last time.
[ Last time was a rampage. This time was a nightmarish reverie forced by memories of the former. ]
You were here with me. That's what was different.
no subject
his arms wind just a tiny bit tighter in response to those words - she really wouldnβt know precisely how much it means to him for that to be what she chooses to say at a time like this. sheβs back to herself... drawn out of that creatureβs influence, or maybe put it back where all the things it represents are buried inside her. sheβs back, and he couldnβt be more relieved.
but indulging his weakness and standing here clinging to her like a child, is... h-he really is incorrigible. sheβs probably exhausted, probably more than ready to leave this hellhole and here he is clutching at her and trapping her in it.
it takes a concerted effort to detach himself from her, still feeling more than slightly out of sorts as he does despite his best efforts to clear his head. yet, looking down at her and seeing the clarity in her eyes... seeing Monts back to Monts is reassuringly comforting in a way he cannot quite put to words.
his voice is a little hoarse, a little soft when he finally manages to speak past the lump in his throat. ]
Are you sure youβre okay?
[ his smile is a bit watery, but sincere. sheβs been through enough, today. maybe itβs time they get the hell out of here... ]
no subject
... Don't cry okay?
[ Abuela would get mad at me for making a priest cry, is what she wants to say to lighten the mood, to show him that she's fine. But Monts can't find it in herself to joke like that, not when he shows her that expression. ]
I'm standing right here aren't I? You know I'm fine.
no subject
[ though his smile remains at his lips, it's hard to ignore the fact the earnest concern in blue eyes hasn't dampened in the least. and he has the distinct and nagging feeling that 'okay' really isn't a good word to describe her right now. ]
...And, I-- I'm not going to cry, it's just-- my allergies are terrible this time of year, so...
[ shut up he's not crying she's crying, he's swiping a hand hastily to rub beneath his glasses. stop!!! no one is crying!!!!!! ]
no subject
You're so bad at being truthful.... You really are the worst priest.
[ And she stays there for a bit. Although she mumbles her words next because she's so close, Abel should be able to hear her. ]
But you were there for me anyway... So thanks.
no subject
he blinks quizzically as her head comes to rest into him, a little surprised by the vulnerability behind the gesture. but he thinks in some way, maybe... this is something she might need on some level, too.
he lightly rests his hand atop her head when she lingers, that expression at his face softening to something a little more sincere at those muffled words. ]
I suppose there are worse things to be than the worst priest, so... I'll take it.
[ ...it'll be alright. maybe she isn't alright now - but she will be. ]
...Let me get you out of here, alright?
no subject
Yeah. I think that's enough carnival for us.
[ Something about how he addresses her hurt without talking about his just somehow pains her even more. But they've both had enough. It's time to go home. ]
no subject
but life goes on; it always does. just like so many other things, this would be one more unpleasant memory to tuck away with the rest. and... if he has to think on it at all, he will try and be grateful for the chance to see into the troubled heart of his friend to a depths he doubts she would've exposed, otherwise. how many people know about the horrors she's endured...? he can tell she's struggled to deal with it, haunted by the memories even still.
...he eyes her a little as they leave the house of mirrors behind them. Abel isn't just finding the urge to leave the carnival behind; he is quite sick of Fogtown in whole, to be frank. maybe it's time to get the hell out of dodge. ]
Will you go home, Miss Monts...?
no subject
[ She only goes to Fogtown voluntarily whenever there's some sort of pull or if she has the urge to see her friends again. Being able to encounter Father Abel was just happenstance, to be honest.
The resulting circumstances were... Not pleasant. Parts were fun, but then what followed was inner pain set free and they saw sides of each other that weren't meant to be set on the table.
But here they are now. Still standing, still alive, and always troubled.
Monts pats Abel on the shoulder. ]
Let's see if you can visit me next time. The Midnight Grind is much better than this place.