damask with her bloody mouth, bloody tongue, bloody teeth, someone else's pain, someone else's voice, discordantly polite as it served up an offer whose answer could only be yes — damask, she felt like she was eating shattered glass. did she
want to leave? of course not. but —
that's the question, isn't it? wanted, needed, respected ... or useless, helpless, worthless?
cat's too nice to tell you which category you belong to, but you know. you know.
oh, yeah, she was well and truly ready to throw up now. her chest hurt, her head hurt, her stomach hurt,
all of her just
hurt — but at least
that class of side effect gave her something to hold onto, something real and concrete beyond a shadow of a doubt, a tether to reality amidst all this, all this —
feeling, hers and this
very damn screwed-up cat's mixing into a wet-on-dry, weeping-rotting
wound of ... augh, she couldn't even tell; anxiety, anger, sadness, or what? — and gray noise was droning deep in her skull, almost overpowering wilder's voice, and all she could sense was pain, pain,
pain —
but you can take it, can't you? CAN'T you? you're not too WEAK, right?
SURELY you can stomach someone else's suffering, you guzzle down yours every DAY!
so you take that glass and you CHEW it and you SAVOR it and you SWALLOW it!
BLEED, baby, BLEED!
"stop."
hah! in your dreams. we're in this together, kid, always have been, always will be. you don't get to have your peace and quiet. no, you need supervision, can't get one thing right, you'd be even more of a wreck on your own ...
the word came out in a startling, singular clap of her jaws, almost on top of the cat's vacillating apology. it was hard, pointed, frustrated; there
was a form of anger in it, but ... there was something else in her tone, too. something
pleading. and the anger wasn't for wilder.
... always getting it wrong, and case in point: this. what a disaster. you swoop to the rescue thinking you're some sorta knight, but thanks to your oh-so-gallant efforts, the sad little damsel's doing worse than ever! now she wants you gone hates you wants you gone hates you so you save whatever face you can and then you give up and you get out —
damask's eyes crept up from the floor and met wilder's, faintly tortured, shaking in their sockets. she took a step back — staggered, slightly — caught it right away. a quick glance over her shoulder, as if to leave; then, a slow parting of lips, as if to speak. very softly, under her breath:
"okay. okay." psyching herself up.
... uh. just what do you think you're doing?
the last kindness she could, that's what. she composed herself,
hard — and in that moment, her face became steel. damask lifted her head and faced wilder directly, drawn-up, ramrod-straight.
"the judges didn't dislike your performance. their heads went somewhere else, somewhere dark — or at least auré's did." again the voice didn't feel entirely hers, even as it made its way forth at her own idiosyncratic pace: clean, level, rapid, leaving no space for premature interruption, rattling off thoughts as they slipped one-by-one into place.
... so you're just gonna lay all your cards on the table at once, that it? how do you think that's gonna blow over, hm? do you even have it in you to stick around and see?
"he didn't tell me what happened — i wouldn't ask him to — but he did say you were old friends, to borrow his words, and that's demonstrably no longer the case. something happened, and — it had to do with mother, didn't it?"
and she didn't stop to wait for an answer, because what else
could it have been? oh, man, it all fit together. nothing else had that effect on auré, and factoring wilder's behavior into it, too ... whatever the particulars, there were only so many ways it could've gone down, this big mystery that overshadowed it all. instinct almost,
almost forced her to test the air at the ensuing conclusion, just to triple-check for the rotten smell her father had mentioned — but she stopped the impulse in its tracks, struck by the sheer absurdity of that impossibility. it was all ancient history now.
"you weren't yourself." and, more quietly,
the point:
"it wasn't your fault." ... then:
"but it also wasn't his, and wilder, listen, i'd like to help you, really i would, but between you and me, he hasn't been doing so hot lately, and i have to prioritize my father, my" —
(inhale, dial up the noise so she wouldn't have to hear, and say it, just say it —)
... notyounotyouit'llneverbeyou ...
— YOUFAILUREYOUNOBODYYOUROYALLITTLEMESS —
"k-k-king" —
(done, that's it, dial down, exhale —)
... shit! we had an agreement on the stuttering! an agreement! what is WRONG with you! it is a WORD, ONE WORD, and just 'cause it's a symbol of all your broken dreams et cetera et cetera, you can't spit a syllable out in one piece? come ON!
—
"over everything else." the sudden taste of vomit stung in her mouth. she swallowed, swallowed, swallowed — shook her head a little:
hold up, i'm not finished — cleared her throat — continued.
"i'll let him know i saw you, all right?"
... no, you won't, you liar.
"he'll come to you when he's ready. until then — ... i think nobody's company is better than mine." that was honest. palpably so. another step back, and she flicked her muzzle off to the side. somewhere along the way, the rabbit had decayed into a puddle of oil, but the other souvenirs — the mosses, the crystals — were still bundled up in front of its remains, glowing merrily, not a care in the world. somehow, looking at them made her shoulders feel heavier.
"keep those."
... wait a second. wait a second. do you think she won't try to — oh. oh. you do. and your solution is — are you literally going to just —
yes, damn it,
yes. the accipiter breathed in, wiped her mind clean, pictured negative space — and despite everything, the residual pain as the connection with wilder finally ebbed away, the settling-in of exhaustion, the novelty and difficulty of this particular spell ... despite everything, her stone acquiesced. a shimmer of nothingness rippled over her frame, sweeping away the sight of her in an instant. three paces backward — light as anything, virtually silent, no talons or tailfeathers on the ground — and a spin on one heel, swift and smooth —
ohhh, this is seriously cheap. setting a new standard of spinelessness, kid; just like you to quit before you even know if you're ahead. now who's hiding? huh? huh?
but she was already unfurling the sails, crouched at the ready to jump into flight.
