(Abby shakes her head, arms coming up to loosely hug herself. No nightmares tonight, just this one that she's woken up into. Ha... so dramatic.
Clarisse is looking at her now, and she's got a familiar scrunch at the corner of her mouth, lest Abby forget that she can tune into the radio station of her emotions within seconds. Sigh. No secret keeping allowed in this house, huh. Not that she wants to; she wishes there were some easier way to be able to say this without laying it all bare, and upsetting her best friend.
Abby is upset. It's swelling in her chest, like a balloon about to burst. She runs her tongue over her teeth, and her mouth twitches in a rueful grin for half a second.)
I think Peter might have passed that... going home thing onto me.
(Oof, bad joke. She's looking at the counter, rather than at Clarisse.) Woke up thinking about the ocean. All I want to do is go out and walk right into it.
[ The words don't make sense. Clarisse hears them, understands what they all mean... individually. Together, nothing connects. Something about Peter and wanting to walk into the ocean. Stupid stuff.
She feels cold, all of a sudden, in a way completely unrelated to her bare feet on the floor. Cold and scared and sad, but she doesn't know why yet. Abby isn't even looking at her. ]
Okay, [ she says, drawing out the word sort of like she thinks Abby's gone nuts—okaaay?—and for lack of anything better to do, reaches into the box for another handful of cereal. But all the flavor seems to have gone out of it. It tastes like cardboard, and her mouth is dry. ] That's weird. Don't do that.
(She takes a thick breath, and something snaps out of place. Her eyes blur up, arms clenching across herself,) I don't want to do that. I–
(Logically, Abby thinks she should be panicking about this. Teetering over the edge of a long, miserable drop off, pinwheeling frantically to keep from falling in. There's definitely a moment where it starts to swallow her up, but she breathes through it, in and out, and the motion reminds her of the swell of the tide.
Thinking about the ocean makes all of that terrible grief... go away. Her thoughts get quiet and echoey, the sound you get when you hold a seashell up to your ear. Blood vessels pumping, but it sounds like waves. She turns her head, and looks out the window in the direction she knows the sea is. It's hard to stop once she starts, but eventually she blinks, and wipes her eyes and looks at Clarisse.)
I don't want to do that, (she repeats, quieter this time,) But I have to.
[ Clarisse puts the cereal box down on the counter and stands up straight. Her body feels like it's not connected to her, like she isn't totally in control. It's just the feeling of her heart beating faster and these sharp, electric shocks of fear hitting one after another.
Stop it. That's all she can think. Stop it from happening. What's happening, she's still not sure of. Only that she doesn't want it to. ]
No you don't. Stop being an idiot. [ She crosses the kitchen to shove Abby's shoulder and spin her back in the direction of her room. ] Shut up and go back to bed and you'll feel normal tomorrow.
(When Clarisse tries to push her out of the doorway, she laughs, but it sounds more like a weird sob. She could, she's stronger. She could shove Abby whenever she wanted her to go, but Abby knows deep down that eventually she'll have to push back. Not even Clarisse can't keep her from going, even though the thought of leaving her behind is killing her.
She turns, and grabs Clarisse's arms.)
I know. (She understands the depth of Clarisse's fear, because she's scared too, and she's sad, and it's so terrible and fucking unfair. It swells in her throat again, chokes her for a moment in which she works for words, holds Clarisse tight, and struggles not to cry.) I know, okay, but I don't–
I haven't got time. He said it gets worse the longer you ignore it.
(A compulsion: his exact words. It will draw her away from all of this eventually.)
[ Abby grabs her arms, holding on like she's searching for a lifeline, and her eyes are huge and wet and scared and that's what finally gets Clarisse to understand what's at stake. The fear hits again, settles in her chest, stays there. She shakes her head and reaches up to hold Abby's arms, linking them, and forces herself not to grip too tightly. ]
Who cares what someone else said? You're not him. You're you, and you're stronger than that. You just have to fight through it, and eventually it'll go away. [ She says it like she knows it's the truth. It has to be the truth. ] If it gets that bad, I can... I don't know, tie you up like Odysseus with the Sirens, or something.
[ So it's fine. It's okay. It'll be like every other fucked up thing that happens, horrible but temporary. Clarisse can guard the door, board up the windows, physically hold Abby back if she has to. It'll suck, but she'll do it, and they'll be okay. ]
(Clarisse clutches her like that alone can keep her here. Her fingers press inward, nails biting into flesh for seconds before she relents, but Abby wishes she would grip even harder, and make herself an anchor. She wants, so badly, to believe that a bit of rope and a chair could be enough to stop this from happening. She doesn't want to leave.
She leans in, and presses her forehead against her best friend's.)
Okay. (They can get around this. Right? They've faced a lot of shit together before now, so why can't they handle this? Clarisse and her, they'll come up with something. There's a foreboding in Abby's gut that says otherwise, but she grins through the ache, and sniffs, and a wet tear spatters the ground between them.
Her voice is thick when she tries to speak, so she has to clear her throat.)
... I'm Odysseus in this scenario? (What an honour.)
[ She rests her forehead against Abby's for a minute longer, trying to ground her (trying to ground herself, too), takes a deep breath, and then she straightens up so she can give Abby a punch on the arm. ] Come on. If you ever leave here it'll be to go back to Arizona with me.
[ No stupid infected or spores or fucked up cults, just life. It's what she deserves. If Clarisse could give it to her, she would. ]
(She has to resist the urge to grab at Clarisse and keep her right there, close, the reassurances too hollow to glean any kind of comfort from. There is dread, in her heart. But if she really is running out of time, Abby knows how she wants to spend it.
Standing there, wiping her eyes, takes a moment longer than it probably should. Tears just keep leaking out. The core of her knows the truth of the situation.)
Yeah? (Once she's got herself under control (more or less) and she's sure her voice won't break when she speaks,) Lev and I actually– we talked about that. How we'd wanna go and live with you if we could.
[ It's something Clarisse had considered before, but the idea hadn't come fully realized until now. All of them could go back with her, and they'd be safe. She'd still have to deal with the random monsters and godly bullshit, but it would be worth it, and they could be happy. Maybe it's what they should've done instead of all coming here. She just hadn't known it would be like this. Hindsight, or whatever. Still, the sudden understanding hurts. ]
We could get a place in Tucson while I finish school. Or... you could go to school there, too. You could do anything you wanted.
I've already been to school. (Not a real school though. Not an actual school like the one that Clarisse has gone to before: big campus, lots of students and teachers and different kinds of classes to pick from like in the movies. They could go together. She's thinking about it now, picturing it, wondering what subjects she'd like to take. Literature would be cool. Maybe writing, and history. Classics? Hah.
Lev could go to school too. He could be around all sorts of kids his own age, he could make a solid group of friends. That'd stop him sulking in his bedroom at all hours of the day. It'd be really good for him.
Fuck.
It's heart-breaking, knowing how good it would be if only they could reach out and take it. Instead of getting to have that, everybody got stuck here instead. Abby's decision to walk her and Lev through that fucking door, lest she forget.
She exhales, frustrated with herself. She realises she's been staring out the window in the direction of the ocean as she thinks, and her attention snaps back onto Clarisse instantly.)
Guess it'd be better I went back with you than if you came back with me. I'd love to see you punch an infected, though.
It's different. There are classes for, like, everything you can imagine doing. And you'd have to go to a football game. And... see the cacti.
[ Look, it's those giant saguaros she always pictures when she thinks about school—and home. Those and the intense, dry heat. It's so different from here, and for a moment Clarisse is hit by a pang of intense homesickness, the urge to get away from this place and find her way back to familiarity, to comfort. It's not her dorm room in Tucson she thinks of, or the room she stays in at her mom's when she visits, but the creaky old bunk she slept in at camp, and the soft blanket tucked against her chin, and the squabbling sound of her siblings in the background.
She gives Abby a sad, wilting smile. Her stomach hurts. Despite her reassurances, she's not sure what's about to happen, and she's scared of what might. ]
I'd punch the shit out of some infected. We'd kick ass together.
(She chuckles, momentarily buoyed out of her sadness by the thought of it. They really would kick ass together. They're fighters, survivors, and they'd be fucking unstoppable.
That isn't enough to stop Trench from separating them.
The thought crashes over her like a wave.)
... I'm not gonna go back to bed, (she says it suddenly, recklessly,) Stay up with me. Okay?
[ Clarisse knocks her shoulder against Abby's, just hard enough to make her have to shift her balance. It's no hardship for her to stay up—some blood type thing, she's pretty sure—but she'd do it anyway. ]
Whatever you wanna do, I'm game. [ Except go to the beach. Not that. ]
(Yeah going outside probably isn't a good idea, huh... where she might have suggested they go out for a walk or something, instead she chews the inside of her cheek, thinking.)
D'you... wanna watch a movie?
(Offering this is far too obvious huh. It's like she's asking Clarisse what she'd like her last meal to be.) You can pick.
[ It's certainly suspicious. Clarisse is momentarily torn between said suspicion and the exhilaration of knowing she could take Abby up on it, and then mock her for it later, after this drama blows over. ]
Like, anything? [ Suspicion is winning out, though. ] Even... Con Air?
... Yeah, (Abby says, with the air of somebody who has no idea what Con Air is but wants to live up to her word anyway,) Sure.
(Whatever she wants. Whatever is going to make her happy, and whatever is going to distract Abby sufficiently enough that she stops thinking about leaving.)
[ Clarisse holds the suspicious look for a few more seconds before giving in with a shrug. This should feel like a victory, but it just... doesn't. She still can't shake the uneasy feeling she has. ]
(It's probably a good idea, it'll give her a moment to calm down. Wash her face, or something, pull herself together. Everything aches anyway, like somebody kicked her right in the chest.)
I'll– see you there.
(And she does come back looking a little better for having pressed a cold washcloth against her eyes. It's probably suspicious of her to sit close enough to Clarisse that their shoulders and arms bump each other, but Abby pretends she's doing it so she has a nearby place to plonk her head when the movie inevitably starts to get boring. Besides, she's kinda tired. Maybe she really could go back to sleep and wake up fine.)
... This isn't one of your favourites or anything, is it? (Her nose wrinkles. She is leaning right up into Clarisse's side now under absolutely no pretense other than wanting to cling.)
Edited (did you think i forgot about editing this... you were right!) 2022-03-20 10:44 (UTC)
[ Abby is a warm, solid weight against her arm, and Clarisse doesn't mind. It's nice; she likes being able to have a friend who doesn't mind touching her in ways that are gentle. Abby coming back calmer, sleepier helps too. It makes the thrumming of Clarisse's own pulse less noticeable. Everything is okay. ]
It's not my favorite, [ which isn't what Abby asked, and she knows it, and she knows Abby knows she knows it. ] It's just fun. [ A prison break on an airplane... what's not to like? ]
When I was a kid I couldn't really go to crowded places much, so my mom would bring me movies to watch. The Matrix... Armageddon...
It's weird, (is her judgement, spoken without heat– spending time with Clarisse has nothing to do with what movie is currently playing. Even if it were 300 she'd still be sitting here with her head halfway to resting on her best friend's bony shoulder... savouring the company while she still can. What a morbid fucking thought.
Wait, hold on–) I've seen Armageddon.
(Finally, a bit of overlap. She seems surprised.) Jordan got really into apocalypse media for a couple months, he got us to watch a lot of shit.
(Including all the zombie movies he could get his hands on... people from the old world were obsessed. Pretty ironic of them actually.) They make really good drinking games.
Clarisse almost asks why people would want to watch "apocalypse media" when they're living through the apocalypse, but reconsiders after a moment, since she likes to watch war movies and she's lived through two different wars. Maybe it's one of those things where, as long as it's still a tiny bit removed from you, it's okay. Like, even 300 doesn't directly reference Ares or anything. ]
How come we've never played bad movie drinking games? [ She's feeling really cheated right now. ]
(That's fair. Maybe it is kind of weird to watch it, but it's oddly cathartic to watch what old world people classified as a world-ending disaster and go 'hah, it didn't happen like that!'. Some form of control or something, she doesn't know. Stupid, but fun.
A pause, and then she reaches out for the remote on the coffee table between them and the television, fumbling for the pause button.)
Dunno. Do we have anything?
(Could make it one. Is getting tipsy a really good idea right now?? No, but Abby is full to the brim of fuck this. She sits up, and pushes the blanket off her lap. It's very much still 5am.)
[ Was Clarisse horrified and disappointed to find out that yeah, you can make alcohol using fermented mushrooms? Yes. Do they have some in the house? Also yes. Gotta drink the pain away from time to time. Besides, sometimes it helps her sleep, shut up. ]
Drink every time Nicolas Cage makes a weird face. [ I mean, they would die, but whatever. ] Oh, or every time there's an electric guitar riff.
(She wasn't paying attention during the opening credits; she's shoving up from the couch to go and find a bottle, and pauses in the kitchen, suddenly dealing with a classic what did I come in here for again? moment. Abby isn't very focused right now. When she stops concentrating, all she can hear is the ocean, a tidal force in her blood. Like white noise. Overwhelming.
She shivers, shakes out of it, but instead of reaching for the handle of the fridge, she's found the doorknob of the back door that leads out of the kitchen, and into the garden. Bella has a green thumb. Her little flower beds are bright pops of colour in the early morning gloom, and Abby's socks get wet from the dewy grass when she starts to walk out across the lawn.
Not necessarily away, just to sea. See. There's something out there that she needs to see.)
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laruetheday) wrote2021-09-04 06:23 pm
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Clarisse is looking at her now, and she's got a familiar scrunch at the corner of her mouth, lest Abby forget that she can tune into the radio station of her emotions within seconds. Sigh. No secret keeping allowed in this house, huh. Not that she wants to; she wishes there were some easier way to be able to say this without laying it all bare, and upsetting her best friend.
Abby is upset. It's swelling in her chest, like a balloon about to burst. She runs her tongue over her teeth, and her mouth twitches in a rueful grin for half a second.)
I think Peter might have passed that... going home thing onto me.
(Oof, bad joke. She's looking at the counter, rather than at Clarisse.) Woke up thinking about the ocean. All I want to do is go out and walk right into it.
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She feels cold, all of a sudden, in a way completely unrelated to her bare feet on the floor. Cold and scared and sad, but she doesn't know why yet. Abby isn't even looking at her. ]
Okay, [ she says, drawing out the word sort of like she thinks Abby's gone nuts—okaaay?—and for lack of anything better to do, reaches into the box for another handful of cereal. But all the flavor seems to have gone out of it. It tastes like cardboard, and her mouth is dry. ] That's weird. Don't do that.
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(She takes a thick breath, and something snaps out of place. Her eyes blur up, arms clenching across herself,) I don't want to do that. I–
(Logically, Abby thinks she should be panicking about this. Teetering over the edge of a long, miserable drop off, pinwheeling frantically to keep from falling in. There's definitely a moment where it starts to swallow her up, but she breathes through it, in and out, and the motion reminds her of the swell of the tide.
Thinking about the ocean makes all of that terrible grief... go away. Her thoughts get quiet and echoey, the sound you get when you hold a seashell up to your ear. Blood vessels pumping, but it sounds like waves. She turns her head, and looks out the window in the direction she knows the sea is. It's hard to stop once she starts, but eventually she blinks, and wipes her eyes and looks at Clarisse.)
I don't want to do that, (she repeats, quieter this time,) But I have to.
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[ Clarisse puts the cereal box down on the counter and stands up straight. Her body feels like it's not connected to her, like she isn't totally in control. It's just the feeling of her heart beating faster and these sharp, electric shocks of fear hitting one after another.
Stop it. That's all she can think. Stop it from happening. What's happening, she's still not sure of. Only that she doesn't want it to. ]
No you don't. Stop being an idiot. [ She crosses the kitchen to shove Abby's shoulder and spin her back in the direction of her room. ] Shut up and go back to bed and you'll feel normal tomorrow.
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She turns, and grabs Clarisse's arms.)
I know. (She understands the depth of Clarisse's fear, because she's scared too, and she's sad, and it's so terrible and fucking unfair. It swells in her throat again, chokes her for a moment in which she works for words, holds Clarisse tight, and struggles not to cry.) I know, okay, but I don't–
I haven't got time. He said it gets worse the longer you ignore it.
(A compulsion: his exact words. It will draw her away from all of this eventually.)
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Who cares what someone else said? You're not him. You're you, and you're stronger than that. You just have to fight through it, and eventually it'll go away. [ She says it like she knows it's the truth. It has to be the truth. ] If it gets that bad, I can... I don't know, tie you up like Odysseus with the Sirens, or something.
[ So it's fine. It's okay. It'll be like every other fucked up thing that happens, horrible but temporary. Clarisse can guard the door, board up the windows, physically hold Abby back if she has to. It'll suck, but she'll do it, and they'll be okay. ]
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She leans in, and presses her forehead against her best friend's.)
Okay. (They can get around this. Right? They've faced a lot of shit together before now, so why can't they handle this? Clarisse and her, they'll come up with something. There's a foreboding in Abby's gut that says otherwise, but she grins through the ache, and sniffs, and a wet tear spatters the ground between them.
Her voice is thick when she tries to speak, so she has to clear her throat.)
... I'm Odysseus in this scenario? (What an honour.)
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[ She rests her forehead against Abby's for a minute longer, trying to ground her (trying to ground herself, too), takes a deep breath, and then she straightens up so she can give Abby a punch on the arm. ] Come on. If you ever leave here it'll be to go back to Arizona with me.
[ No stupid infected or spores or fucked up cults, just life. It's what she deserves. If Clarisse could give it to her, she would. ]
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Standing there, wiping her eyes, takes a moment longer than it probably should. Tears just keep leaking out. The core of her knows the truth of the situation.)
Yeah? (Once she's got herself under control (more or less) and she's sure her voice won't break when she speaks,) Lev and I actually– we talked about that. How we'd wanna go and live with you if we could.
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[ It's something Clarisse had considered before, but the idea hadn't come fully realized until now. All of them could go back with her, and they'd be safe. She'd still have to deal with the random monsters and godly bullshit, but it would be worth it, and they could be happy. Maybe it's what they should've done instead of all coming here. She just hadn't known it would be like this. Hindsight, or whatever. Still, the sudden understanding hurts. ]
We could get a place in Tucson while I finish school. Or... you could go to school there, too. You could do anything you wanted.
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Lev could go to school too. He could be around all sorts of kids his own age, he could make a solid group of friends. That'd stop him sulking in his bedroom at all hours of the day. It'd be really good for him.
Fuck.
It's heart-breaking, knowing how good it would be if only they could reach out and take it. Instead of getting to have that, everybody got stuck here instead. Abby's decision to walk her and Lev through that fucking door, lest she forget.
She exhales, frustrated with herself. She realises she's been staring out the window in the direction of the ocean as she thinks, and her attention snaps back onto Clarisse instantly.)
Guess it'd be better I went back with you than if you came back with me. I'd love to see you punch an infected, though.
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[ Look, it's those giant saguaros she always pictures when she thinks about school—and home. Those and the intense, dry heat. It's so different from here, and for a moment Clarisse is hit by a pang of intense homesickness, the urge to get away from this place and find her way back to familiarity, to comfort. It's not her dorm room in Tucson she thinks of, or the room she stays in at her mom's when she visits, but the creaky old bunk she slept in at camp, and the soft blanket tucked against her chin, and the squabbling sound of her siblings in the background.
She gives Abby a sad, wilting smile. Her stomach hurts. Despite her reassurances, she's not sure what's about to happen, and she's scared of what might. ]
I'd punch the shit out of some infected. We'd kick ass together.
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That isn't enough to stop Trench from separating them.
The thought crashes over her like a wave.)
... I'm not gonna go back to bed, (she says it suddenly, recklessly,) Stay up with me. Okay?
(Stay with me.)
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[ Clarisse knocks her shoulder against Abby's, just hard enough to make her have to shift her balance. It's no hardship for her to stay up—some blood type thing, she's pretty sure—but she'd do it anyway. ]
Whatever you wanna do, I'm game. [ Except go to the beach. Not that. ]
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D'you... wanna watch a movie?
(Offering this is far too obvious huh. It's like she's asking Clarisse what she'd like her last meal to be.) You can pick.
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Like, anything? [ Suspicion is winning out, though. ] Even... Con Air?
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(Whatever she wants. Whatever is going to make her happy, and whatever is going to distract Abby sufficiently enough that she stops thinking about leaving.)
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Okay. Meet you in the living room in five?
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(It's probably a good idea, it'll give her a moment to calm down. Wash her face, or something, pull herself together. Everything aches anyway, like somebody kicked her right in the chest.)
I'll– see you there.
(And she does come back looking a little better for having pressed a cold washcloth against her eyes. It's probably suspicious of her to sit close enough to Clarisse that their shoulders and arms bump each other, but Abby pretends she's doing it so she has a nearby place to plonk her head when the movie inevitably starts to get boring. Besides, she's kinda tired. Maybe she really could go back to sleep and wake up fine.)
... This isn't one of your favourites or anything, is it? (Her nose wrinkles. She is leaning right up into Clarisse's side now under absolutely no pretense other than wanting to cling.)
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It's not my favorite, [ which isn't what Abby asked, and she knows it, and she knows Abby knows she knows it. ] It's just fun. [ A prison break on an airplane... what's not to like? ]
When I was a kid I couldn't really go to crowded places much, so my mom would bring me movies to watch. The Matrix... Armageddon...
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Wait, hold on–) I've seen Armageddon.
(Finally, a bit of overlap. She seems surprised.) Jordan got really into apocalypse media for a couple months, he got us to watch a lot of shit.
(Including all the zombie movies he could get his hands on... people from the old world were obsessed. Pretty ironic of them actually.) They make really good drinking games.
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Clarisse almost asks why people would want to watch "apocalypse media" when they're living through the apocalypse, but reconsiders after a moment, since she likes to watch war movies and she's lived through two different wars. Maybe it's one of those things where, as long as it's still a tiny bit removed from you, it's okay. Like, even 300 doesn't directly reference Ares or anything. ]
How come we've never played bad movie drinking games? [ She's feeling really cheated right now. ]
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A pause, and then she reaches out for the remote on the coffee table between them and the television, fumbling for the pause button.)
Dunno. Do we have anything?
(Could make it one. Is getting tipsy a really good idea right now?? No, but Abby is full to the brim of fuck this. She sits up, and pushes the blanket off her lap. It's very much still 5am.)
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[ Was Clarisse horrified and disappointed to find out that yeah, you can make alcohol using fermented mushrooms? Yes. Do they have some in the house? Also yes. Gotta drink the pain away from time to time. Besides, sometimes it helps her sleep, shut up. ]
Drink every time Nicolas Cage makes a weird face. [ I mean, they would die, but whatever. ] Oh, or every time there's an electric guitar riff.
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(She wasn't paying attention during the opening credits; she's shoving up from the couch to go and find a bottle, and pauses in the kitchen, suddenly dealing with a classic what did I come in here for again? moment. Abby isn't very focused right now. When she stops concentrating, all she can hear is the ocean, a tidal force in her blood. Like white noise. Overwhelming.
She shivers, shakes out of it, but instead of reaching for the handle of the fridge, she's found the doorknob of the back door that leads out of the kitchen, and into the garden. Bella has a green thumb. Her little flower beds are bright pops of colour in the early morning gloom, and Abby's socks get wet from the dewy grass when she starts to walk out across the lawn.
Not necessarily away, just to sea. See. There's something out there that she needs to see.)
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