Charm and being the personality equivalent of gum stuck on the bottom of a person's shoe, she thinks. Feels guilty. Doesn't really mean it. Talking feelings has a dentistry quality to it, where she's the one laying in the tacky plastic seat waiting to get all her teeth ripped out, and he's standing over her with the tools.
"Both," she says brusquely. "It's hard to remember who else. The lighter stains are kerosene; me. The darker ones are blood. So, someone else's. Radar's. Fever's, I think. Maybe more. Random people who came and went. It was the Slaughter. Like, a massive war zone. And I was—" She makes an aborted noise and brings her gifts to the coffee table.
"If you think you can get them out, fine by me. The cleaning stuff's in the kitchen, under the sink."
"Damn. Sorry it had it be that one," he says with a sad shake of his head. He's heard enough about it to know he probably doesn't want those exclusive details if he wants any hope of being able to eat lunch later.
"It was The Spiral for me. Less messy but, you know..." If he'd been given a choice, he might have preferred violence over getting all his screws loosened again. That's the point, though, isn't it. "Sally and I decided, after the fact, that maybe we're better as friends. All told, I guess I got off easy."
Under the sink, she said. So, he goes there to retrieve supplies (and to avoid having to face her after admitting that.) He'll continue to not look at her while he grabs a rag and a bowl to prepare his baking soda paste.
She doesn't envy him. The Spiral might not leave you soaked in gore and innards, but the fear's all the same. It takes you in, chews you up and spits you back out, and you're left worse-off and covered in saliva. "Sorry about Sally," she says at his back. And— continues to look at his back, Crichton apparently adamant not to be seen. A hard line cuts down the center of her brow. "If I talk, you talk. That's the deal, yeah? You're not getting off easy here."
Right, the kerosene. Where the fuck to begin with that?
"I was using it as blood. It was my blood. Stranger stuff. That came first." A beat. "Technically, Desolation came first. But the Stranger and Slaughter were..." Carolina steeples her fingers together. "Combined. I was all— changed, and— wrong."
Damn. When she's right, she's right. So, he turns around to meet her gaze.
"Thanks. At least, this time, we got to end things on our own terms. Hasn't been the case for either of us before." His long and storied history of failed loves stretches out behind him like a dark shadow, but at least he can still look Sally in the face and know he did the right thing before she got hurt by him this time.
"So it... transformed you into some kind of human-machine hybrid?" he guesses--not skeptically, just trying to clarify. He completely believes those twisted landscapes could do such a thing.
"With the Spiral it's all mental. It made me forget... everything. And I think the part that still scares me is how much of me didn't want to recover what I lost. Remembering it all at once again was... like seeing a highlight reel of all the worst moments of my life. And there's... a lot of choice material."
"Yeah, exactly. With a— fucking dog's head on top. A real dog. Blood, spit, the way I saw color, everything. Its face was my face, like a mask." Carolina's throat strains, humiliated against the memory. "Had me acting like a brainless murder-pet. The dogs armies used to send out into the field. Not that it would be wrong. I think that's the worst part."
In an effort for this to be truly collaborative, Carolina gets down on her hands and knees to join Crichton on the floor. Following his lead, she scoops out a bit of mixture and slathers it thickly onto the dark brown stain.
"Jesus. Not the movie you were hoping for? I know what you mean, though. Part of me keeps saying, Don't let this be a step backward. Things are finally starting to feel okay. Then this happens, and I wonder— how are any of us supposed to get better? How do things keep getting worse?"
"Making you into a literal war dog was a bit on the nose," he tells her ruefully. The irony isn't lost on him. "Then again, whatever forces these were didn't seem interested in subtlety."
His expression warms when she takes a place beside him. Doing this together makes the talking part feel easier too.
"Yeah, let's just say I'm a little tired of creature features." His dry laughter sounds suspiciously like a cough. "But I actually think you've hit on an important point. Every time some new calamity strikes we have to pivot all our resources into fixing it and healing from it. Doesn't leave a lot of time or mental energy for solving the bigger issue here, does it? That feels like a pattern."
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no subject
Date: 2025-12-23 08:39 pm (UTC)Charm and being the personality equivalent of gum stuck on the bottom of a person's shoe, she thinks. Feels guilty. Doesn't really mean it. Talking feelings has a dentistry quality to it, where she's the one laying in the tacky plastic seat waiting to get all her teeth ripped out, and he's standing over her with the tools.
"Both," she says brusquely. "It's hard to remember who else. The lighter stains are kerosene; me. The darker ones are blood. So, someone else's. Radar's. Fever's, I think. Maybe more. Random people who came and went. It was the Slaughter. Like, a massive war zone. And I was—" She makes an aborted noise and brings her gifts to the coffee table.
"If you think you can get them out, fine by me. The cleaning stuff's in the kitchen, under the sink."
no subject
Date: 2025-12-23 10:05 pm (UTC)"It was The Spiral for me. Less messy but, you know..." If he'd been given a choice, he might have preferred violence over getting all his screws loosened again. That's the point, though, isn't it. "Sally and I decided, after the fact, that maybe we're better as friends. All told, I guess I got off easy."
Under the sink, she said. So, he goes there to retrieve supplies (and to avoid having to face her after admitting that.) He'll continue to not look at her while he grabs a rag and a bowl to prepare his baking soda paste.
"Where'd you get the kerosene from, anyway?"
no subject
Date: 2025-12-28 08:23 pm (UTC)She doesn't envy him. The Spiral might not leave you soaked in gore and innards, but the fear's all the same. It takes you in, chews you up and spits you back out, and you're left worse-off and covered in saliva. "Sorry about Sally," she says at his back. And— continues to look at his back, Crichton apparently adamant not to be seen. A hard line cuts down the center of her brow. "If I talk, you talk. That's the deal, yeah? You're not getting off easy here."
Right, the kerosene. Where the fuck to begin with that?
"I was using it as blood. It was my blood. Stranger stuff. That came first." A beat. "Technically, Desolation came first. But the Stranger and Slaughter were..." Carolina steeples her fingers together. "Combined. I was all— changed, and— wrong."
no subject
Date: 2025-12-30 10:33 pm (UTC)"Thanks. At least, this time, we got to end things on our own terms. Hasn't been the case for either of us before." His long and storied history of failed loves stretches out behind him like a dark shadow, but at least he can still look Sally in the face and know he did the right thing before she got hurt by him this time.
"So it... transformed you into some kind of human-machine hybrid?" he guesses--not skeptically, just trying to clarify. He completely believes those twisted landscapes could do such a thing.
"With the Spiral it's all mental. It made me forget... everything. And I think the part that still scares me is how much of me didn't want to recover what I lost. Remembering it all at once again was... like seeing a highlight reel of all the worst moments of my life. And there's... a lot of choice material."
no subject
Date: 2026-01-05 07:19 pm (UTC)"Yeah, exactly. With a— fucking dog's head on top. A real dog. Blood, spit, the way I saw color, everything. Its face was my face, like a mask." Carolina's throat strains, humiliated against the memory. "Had me acting like a brainless murder-pet. The dogs armies used to send out into the field. Not that it would be wrong. I think that's the worst part."
In an effort for this to be truly collaborative, Carolina gets down on her hands and knees to join Crichton on the floor. Following his lead, she scoops out a bit of mixture and slathers it thickly onto the dark brown stain.
"Jesus. Not the movie you were hoping for? I know what you mean, though. Part of me keeps saying, Don't let this be a step backward. Things are finally starting to feel okay. Then this happens, and I wonder— how are any of us supposed to get better? How do things keep getting worse?"
no subject
Date: 2026-01-07 04:18 pm (UTC)His expression warms when she takes a place beside him. Doing this together makes the talking part feel easier too.
"Yeah, let's just say I'm a little tired of creature features." His dry laughter sounds suspiciously like a cough. "But I actually think you've hit on an important point. Every time some new calamity strikes we have to pivot all our resources into fixing it and healing from it. Doesn't leave a lot of time or mental energy for solving the bigger issue here, does it? That feels like a pattern."