Realistic or Modern Phantom Voices | ellarose & Syntra

[ellarose]

It will be fun, Thea said. Let it be known that Clara did not agree. She did not agree one bit.

But as the resident boring nerd, Clara's definition of fun obviously didn't matter because Thea was already speeding down the highway past all the warning signs pointing to (read : distinctly not fun) but certain death! They had guns. Wouldn't hesitate to shoot the same moment Clara would hesitate when she inevitably shattered with panic. It grasped her by the throat when she reached after her friend and caught nothing but air. She snapped her empty hand into a fist and cursed, because damn it, it was just one of those times where there were no other words to encapsulate her feelings. Fucking-- fuck! Goddammit, Thea! No going back now. The choice was made, their fate decided and locked in. Whatever happened next depended on her. And she felt the furthest thing from threatening-- let alone capable-- while her heartbeat fluttered like the desperate wings of a bird trying to escape the clutches of a predator. She feared it'd burst under the crushing pressure to perform. They had guns. They had guns and that was the only thought that reigned her brain. But that couldn't be the only thought in her brain right now because Thea was counting on her! Stupidly just-- flinging her whole entire (read : very important) life in her hands at a moment's notice all while possessing the audacity to insist 'it will be fun!' Stupid, stupid, stupid. The sheer amount of stupidity was baffling!

The one thing Clara supposed she didn't have to worry about anymore? The concept of Thea being freaked out by her. Because anyone brave (read: stupid) enough to run towards two cultists with guns probably wouldn't fear a couple of shadow puppets, either. In fact, her friend seemed to thrive on whatever chaos she could create with this knowledge at her disposal. Uh huh. Too bad the only person to ever accept and understand her might freaking die in a second thanks to that very impulse!

The whole point of an illusion was to-- to scare off whoever was pursuing you before they caught up! Those puppets Clara made? They were harmless. They had no actual teeth, no claws, and they couldn't defend Thea against bullets! At least-- at least as far as she knew. Whatever she'd done that morning to those shady cops was real. But instinct took over then. She couldn't rely on something as intangible as instinct forever! But she had no other choice. There was no time to practice, no time to perfect her technique. They were in the moment now and she had to send her prayers up to an entity she didn't believe in and act--

Clara sent serpentine shadows slithering past Thea's heels as she ran. They rose and fell haphazardly, their movements janky as if infected by her anxiety.

"There you are you little-- wait, wait, she's coming right at us!" From where Clara peeked out from behind the trees, she could see the vague shape of the man... but it read clearly enough for her to know he was backing up and he leveling his gun at Thea. No, no, no, no. Her anxious mind plays a gunshot, it conjures a pool of blood on the forest floor, cold hands, no pulse. Not her, please not her. Desperately, she conjured up her monsters. They appeared but melted within seconds, struggling to hold their shape with her mind so scattered. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, missy!?" There was a pinch of fear detectable in his voice. But evidently it wasn't strong enough to make him run for the hills.

'You know. Maybe I should thank crow.' The demon commentated with a dark chuckle. 'This is a win-win situation for me, don't you see? Do you think your pathetic illusions will save her from those guns? Either she dies and I'm one step closer to my goal. Or...' That monstrous hand stretched towards her, an unspoken promise for more power.

"Wait, we have to interrogate her about--"

"Do you want to end up like the others, man!? It's only a matter of time before we find the other one. She's out here somewhere... won't get far!" The man cried out. "We gotta take this one out before she takes us out!"

The cultist steadied his aim, holding firm. One push of the trigger and it would all be over. It would all be over way too soon.

'You know what you have to do, my little raven.' The demon taunted. 'If you don't want crow to end up in that big birdcage in the sky.' She swore she could feel his breath against the shell of her ear. Clara took his hand the same time the gun fired off with a bang!

What happened next happened so quickly, it flashed by in a blur. A large shadow shot up in front of Thea, reflecting the bullet and sending it directly into the chest of the man who shot it. He dropped instantly. With a sharp sense of timing, another shadow snaked after the other cultist before he could react. It rose like a whip and lassoed around his wrist before tightening and snapping it at an odd angle. Like a toothpick. The gun clattered to the forest floor. Screams turned to sobs. Clara couldn't hear them. The shadow snapped up the gun and bludgeoned him over the head with it. Once. Twice. Over and over and over until the crying stopped.

When the numbness subsided, Clara felt the cold of the night air first. Then she felt her body hit solid ground when she outright fainted.

"M... m... monster!" Oh. Well, apparently the man with the bullet in his chest was still alive. Good for him? But maybe not. He'd pressed a hand over his wound, angling his head to stare at Thea with frightened, bloodshot eyes. "Don't kill me! Please! I'll do anything!" Even though he was begging, his free hand still fumbled around in the dark in attempt to find the gun he'd dropped.

 

[Syntra]

It didn't happen often to Thea Holloway that she regretted her choices. Like, they were just too fucking metal for that, you know? The mechanism was foolproof-- either you succeeded, which, awesome, or you got to fail in such an epic way that, had the incident occurred a few centuries earlier, the bards would have sung ballads about your bravery. In other words, a win-win situation! (Sometimes, though, there was a... kind of delay, if you would. An open circuit, as nerds would probably say. You see, it wasn't technically necessary for an actual thought to trigger her actions! Nope, Thea's Convenient AutopilotTM just kicked in from time to time, allowing the rest of her body to bypass the brain entirely. Most of the time, that was a good thing, too. No, really. The brain was pretty much the equivalent of that one guy who kept rehearsing his cheesy fucking pick up lines till all the girls left the bar! Constantly torn between all those choices (bleurgh), it just wasn't able to react as fast as the situation required. So, yeah, being able to ignore it absolutely was a boon... 99% of the time. Right now, however? Now, when she was heading towards the cultists at like, breakneck speed, and staring into the barrels of their guns? Well, let's just say that Thea was beginning to have some second thoughts.)

Shit, shit, shit! I'm fucking dead, aren't I? The worst part of this was that there would be no ballads, either! This shit world just had no appreciation for the madwomen in the attic anymore-- the most she could realistically hope for was a brief mention in some headline, soon to be buried among the mountains of clickbait. 'A twenty-something got murdered in the woods!' Boring, wasn't it? Not big enough to make waves, certainly, when there were about sixty Florida men at any given moment, waiting for their golden opportunity to shine. How could a good ol' murder compete with... uhhh, someone playing poker with drunk alligators, maybe? Or whatever the fuck was going on in Florida currently. ('Kay, Thea told herself, don't panic. Perhaps they're more braindead than they themselves realize! Fake it till you make it was her life's official motto, after all, and it was entirely possible that the duo was actually too chickenshit to try and stop her. Like, what she was doing right now could be described as psychological terrorism-- maybe the fear it would strike in their hearts would make them forget that they, y'know, had all the advantages imaginable here. Just, hahaha! ...or maybe not.)

So, you know how movies did that slow motion shit for action scenes? Yeah, that didn't happen irl. In fact, if you asked Thea about this a few years later, she would say that everything happened too damn fast-- the gun flashed in the darkness, the fucker aimed, and then...! Then he fell on the ground, with some helpful assistance from the shadowy tentacles. Whew, dude. All the anime she had watched had not convinced her about the inherent helpfulness of those, but for once, Thea was glad to see them. (Clara. Clara prevailed, because duh. An overachiever such as her wouldn't just sit in the corner and let her get murdered, though... yeah, still a goddamn feat. One of these days, she would have to buy her some pizza!)

"A monster, huh?" the brunette smirked, easily picking up the gun the man had dropped. "One might say the same about the literal hellbound abomination you guys are worshiping, so like, maybe shut your trap. Just a friendly tip here. Besides, shouldn't you be falling all over yourself to serve us now? Since we've proven already that we're the biggest, baddest bitches around and everything. I thought your pathetic assess always followed the meanest motherfucker, but apparently not!" ...yeah, the promise of 'doing anything' didn't exactly sway her. Like, what a wonderful deal, right? Earning a fair-weather """ally""" who would stab you in the back at the first opportunity, all free of charge! So, without a hint of mercy, Thea hit him in the back of the head with her gun. (Yep, her gun. It sounded right, so she was going along with it, thank you very much.)

"Oof, that was close. Thanks for pulling through, Clara! For a sec, I really thought I was going to..." Oh, no. No, no, no! When the hell had she fainted? It must have happened at some point, clearly, but Thea's adrenaline-controlled brain had failed to register it sooner. Immediately, guilt washed over her. What if she was...? No fucking way. Discarding those useless thoughts, Thea fell on her knees, and put two fingers against her throat. Thump, thump, thump... The beating was weak, but regular, which she supposed was good news. Like, when you lost consciousness, your body slowed down, didn't it? It totally made sense! ...too bad that she still didn't know how to awaken someone from that state, god dammit. (Shit, this wasn't a five-star hotel! They couldn't fucking spend the night there-- animals could find them, for one, and if not those, then the buddies of the guys from earlier definitely would. Why wasn't I paying attention when they taught us about first aid? Most likely because the comic she'd been stealthily reading then had had way better plot twists, but no, that didn't warm her heart now. Not at all.)

Panic was rising in her throat, wild and unrestrained, and then... then she remembered what she did know, somehow. Almost shyly, Thea looked at Clara, her gaze falling to her lips. I can't fucking believe my life has been reduced to this. No, seriously, even considering the Rapunzel method must have been the new rock bottom! Still, beggars couldn't be choosers, she guessed. This was her level of medical expertise, so yeah, couldn't hurt to try. With a deep inhale, Thea leaned closer and just... kissed her. Please, work.

 

[ellarose]

It was like letting go of a ledge. Surrendering control and allowing the monster that stalked her to drag her down to his lair by the ankles. Darkness swallowed her. Perhaps literally. Clara got the vague sensation that the tunnel closing in around her was fleshy and that the walls seemed to breathe. The pound of a distant heart echoed in her ears. She was thankful that she couldn't see, knowing innately that the darkness shielded her from horrific sights she'd never be able to unsee. Other monsters and entities that broke the scales of human comprehension existed in her vicinity. Again, she didn't know how she knew this. She just did. (How many nightmares have taken her to this very place? Dragged to the center before a court of mountain-sized titans that watched her with a thousand eyes. Waiting silently for her to make one move that might convince them to tear her limb from limb. A deal was made when she took the demon's hand, there were terms to abide by. She couldn't escape. She knew that, too. So she didn't.) What now? When she thought of Thea, when her thoughts drifted towards her fear of what was happening in the outside world, the scarred branding on her back positively burned. There was a kiss of piping hot iron to her flesh, as if it was being pressed into her anew. Without words, it reaffirmed the unescapable fate that had marked her in her childhood.

An orangish glow beamed through the tunnel like sunlight. But it wasn't sunlight. It was hellfire. The jaws of a demon stretched wide through the swirling flames and Clara was incinerated before it's fangs punctured her.

Whatever version Clara that was, she was dead now. But death in a dream meant awakening in the real world, for better or worse.

When Clara's eyes snapped open, they were obsidian. Awakening more like a witch than a princess. She couldn't see. Her breathing was razor sharp and she was slick with sweat. The unimaginable heat began to subside as the cool night breeze washed it away. Breathe. You're here. Alive. Don't panic. Breathe. Under the silver of moonlight, the color of her eyes gradually faded back into their subdued fawn brown. When they did, she could see again. And she could see that Thea's face was... very close. Too close. A strangled little noise rose from the back of her throat.

What-- was she-- did she? But witches didn't get kisses in any of the fairytales she ever read.

"Thea." Clara whispered dizzily. "Did you just..." No. Thea did not kiss her. That'd be positively ridiculous! Even though her lips feel distinctly warmer than the rest of her... and electric butterflies stir in her heart and send currents of lightning through her whole body. She didn't. She couldn't have. Did she?

Even with the shockwaves that concept inspired, Clara's discarded fears quickly barged to the forefront of her mind and took precedence over everything else. Thea's alive!

"Thea!" Clara gasped, unhesitatingly locking her friend in a tight embrace as if she never wanted to let go. Her breaths turned sharp and erratic, rattling against Thea's chest as she sank her fingers into the fabric of her shirt. They were close enough that she could feel her heartbeat. Her heartbeat, meaning she survived her stupid stunt. (The relief overpowered everything else. The boundaries, the embarrassment, it all fell away at the concept of losing her to a bullet.) She buried her face in the crook of her neck. "Idiot! Big stupid dummy! Do you have any idea how-- how--" It'd be so easy to cry with this undefined emotion swelling in her, but she stubbornly pushed the urge down. Frustration built itself bigger. "You can't do that to me! They had guns." Again, she was stating the obvious. But it was the truth. And it had scared her worse than anything. Even more so than those monsters in her nightmares. "They had guns."

 

[Syntra]

It isn't fucking going to work. It totally isn't going to fucking work, and the only thing you'll get out of this is the guilt for being a goddamn creep! Because, seriously? Fucking seriously? Kissing was nice and everything, but only when the other party was 110% on board! (Sure, sure, she wasn't some back alley predator just waiting for a girl to pass out from the drink he'd roofied, but still. Like... could the emergency excuse that sort of misstep? Thea had only acted in the best faith, though that didn't mean anything. Not truly, anyway. 'Hurrr durrr, I violated you for your own good' was the oldest excuse in the fucking book, and you know what should be done with such trash literature? It should be b u r n e d! Burned, or torn to fucking pieces and then flushed down the toilet. ...right. What else could she do about this, though? What other solution was there?)

I guess I could... uh, take her to the hospital? Which honestly should have been her first impulse, but that approach would have required some serious long-term thinking. Why do something that would pay off in the future when you could fail miserably in real time, right? Hahaha! (Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Stupid Thea and her stupid, shit-for-brain caricatures of """"plans""""! Wasn't unconsciousness, like, seriously dangerous? Maybe she was mistaking it for drowning, but the brunette had read somewhere that it could result in her brain being deprived of oxygen, which would be Bad NewsTM. The organ hadn't been designed to go without it! That would have been akin to... uh, akin to your average nerd missing the next episode of Naruto. In other words, what would follow was the total fucking collapse! Mayhem and pandemonium! ...perhaps it was late already? Like, for how long could that bad boy keep on keeping? Oookay, so I suppose I should just grab her, and--)

--and then Clara woke the hell up, disoriented and confused, though alive. Quite distinctly so. Like, Thea wasn't a doctor, but she could, at least, diagnose that! Whew. Whewx100. Relief flooded her insides, this tidal wave of warmth, and for a second, nothing else mattered, you see? Nothing but the arms wrapped around her torso, clutching her so tightly as to never let go. (Later, Thea would call it a 'fanfic moment.' You know, the type of scenario that you'd previously thought only happened in fiction and then fantasized about in your elaborate AU retelling of your own shit life? Yeah, that one.) "Fucking hell, Clara, don't you ever do that to me again," she exhaled, half a chuckle, half a sob. "I don't know what I'd do without you." Bizarre, but true. Was it psychologically healthy to attach herself to a stranger this fast, hmm? Probably not, though hey, she was a Certified LoonTM! So, in that respect, Thea was only playing the role they'd assigned to her.

"I won't do that anymore if you stop scaring me like that," she promised, patting her on her shoulder. "I mean, I totally went overboard! I even kissed you to wake you up," and it had worked, somehow, but fucking whooops! Great job, Thea. Spilling secrets kind of was her specialty, though never before had she managed to fuck herself over this thoroughly. As in, this had to be some new record? Please, kill me. Kill me now. Is it too late to pretend that one of the fuckers did actually shoot me? ...honestly, it probably was.)

"I... I only kissed you in a friendly way, though! You know, kinda like Russians kiss each other? Not that I'm Russian, but I do admire the culture and you can see the evidence alllll over the internet. What's your favorite Russian moment? I was always particular to the visual of Gorbachev getting smooched myself. Something about the juxtaposition, I guess. Anyway, I do think that they way they do things is valid, and, maybe if more people kissed each other casually, the world peace would become a little more attainable of a goal." Good, that should do it. 10/10 camouflage, if you asked her! Thank god for her quick wits, because without those, she would have been dead.

 

[ellarose]

Clara's embrace loosened when Thea mentioned that she kissed her. So... that was a kiss. That was a kiss and she didn't-- she wasn't ready. For kissing-- for kissing Thea-- let alone for facing that fact. She hadn't been entirely aware-- couldn't remember it-- but that only made it worse, didn't it? Her friend continued to ramble on like she always did, snowballing into some completely unrelated spiel about Russians as if to cover her tracks. Unlike all of the times before, the words weren't reaching her. They weren't calming her. In fact, they were doing the exact opposite of that. She pushed away from her arms and inched backward for space, to breathe the air she desperately needed in her lungs. The scenery around them, the events of the night were falling back into place bit by bit. "You found me on the ground and your first impulse was to..." Her lips can't form the word, so they flattened instead. (Her lips, which Thea's lips had touched only moments before--) She vaguely sensed that she was shaking, unable to pinpoint the feeling swelling up in her chest. The scale tasked with keeping all of her emotions in balance was broken, all out of whack. "Why?"

"No." Clara interrupted herself sharply before she could allow Thea to start. Because once she started, there was no telling when she would stop. And for once, she needed to be heard loud and clear. "No, don't answer that. Thea, let me put this as plainly as I can. We are not on a movie set." She thought her friend understood that much, judging from the first words she'd spoken to her when they met. Informing her that she wasn't an extra on her set? Well, it seemed like that needed to be brought up again now. As strange as everything has been, they were not in a fairytale. Countless children-- kids they had known, played with, slept next to and ate with-- had died. And they were marked to die too. They would die if they kept acting-- acting purely on stupid impulses like this. "Our experiences have made that hard to remember sometimes, I get it. But our relationship isn't on a movie trajectory. Kisses won't save the world, let alone solve our problems. And it's only been two days!" She exhaled weakly. Wielding this anger, this firm tone, it's been... a while. And it's taking a lot out of her. (Or maybe that was the toll of everything, everything crushing down on her all at once.) There was a wall she held up in front of every individual emotion. Each time one began to crumble, when her insides began to spill out through the cracks, she could hear the clock ticking in the back of her head. The sooner she learns what a mess you are, the sooner she leaves you forever.

Clara, touch starved, lonely and silent Clara... of course she gravitated towards her friend like a magnet. Thea wasn't anything like her, though. Bubbly and open. She must have attracted several people just like her, like moths to a flame. There was no conceivable way she could feel anything genuine for her yet, because feeling anything for someone like her in the span of two days was-- was too fast. So what was the alternative? Was she kissing her goodbye to leave and ditch her there in the forest? Maybe that suggestion to go to the hospital had been a fluke all along, because she was on the run from the cops and couldn't risk getting spotted. It'd be perfectly reasonable for her to cut her losses and leave her there because she was dead weight. A burden. Because people just don't latch onto each other this quickly in the space of two days. It wasn't normal.

Clara caught her mind spinning a false narrative before it could unfold too far beyond her grasp. Look at the facts. Thea couldn't have faked the relief in her voice just then. She was still here. Still present. Just... being infuriating. All action, no thought. Impulsive. (And it did feel like a movie, didn't it? For that reason, Clara knew Thea must have seen this more like a fling. A flame that would burn out and disappear in a puff of smoke when all was said and done. Then she'd be finished with her, moving onto the next exciting thing, and Clara would be left to wallow in the ashes. Thea couldn't like her. She didn't even know her yet. She just couldn't!) Anyway. It would be easier to justify pushing Thea away if she could turn her into the villain. But her friend didn't deserve that. She couldn't be a villain when she was her only ally. Someone who stuck up for her countless times, despite it only being two days. Someone who held her while she faced the memory of her papa, when the door to all her trauma was about to be blown off the hinges.

In return, Clara needed to summon the patience to deal with the impulsivity that made Thea Thea. But she had every right to speak up when her boundaries were crossed. That was the only way this was going to work.

"I panicked. I made a deal with the demon because I didn't know what else to do when you ran off. I h-h-heard the gun and I don't remember what happened afterwards." Clara admitted, fear creeping up behind her rage. Did she kill them? "I don't think I want to know." Her eyes stung, but she didn't let any tears fall. No way was she going to cry. The tears wouldn't have been for those monstrous cultists. They would've been for herself. And once she got started crying for herself, she had a feeling she wasn't going to know how to stop. "I shouldn't have to tell you that we're in so much shit right now. You need to think before you act. If we keep going like this, we're going to die. Just like everyone else."

 

[Syntra]

Aw, shit. And by that, Thea meant shit shit, not shit-lite! You know how people said 'shit' automatically when they stubbed their toe, or when they put trousers with a five dollar bill still in their pocket into a washing machine? Yup, that was shit-lite. The 'shit' she had uttered was only reserved for life and death situations-- such as, for example, your friend thinking you were a creep. (Shit, shit, shit, she totally was a creep! The creepiest creep to ever fucking creep, too, which was honestly pretty damn impressive. Man, I should call my mom, she couldn't help but smirk. Finally, I'm actually good at something.) "No, Clara, listen," she raised her hands defensively, "it's not like that! I was just, uhhh..."

Except that it fucking was like that, and her friend could see that plainly. So, when she asked her to shut up? Thea actually obliged. (Wow.) "Not on a movie set?" she raised her eyebrow. "What do you mean by..." Oh. Oh, right. Of course that that was what she meant. Hadn't Clara stated it plainly, approximately a thousand times before? That she was nothing to her, that was. Nothing, nothing, nothing, just like to everyone before her-- stupid, silly Thea could be a night's entertainment, but not something more. So, like, it did make sense for Clara to avoid that scenario, didn't it? Since they were effectively stuck together now. (In situations like that, the risk of one party Catching the FeelsTM was just too high. Why would her friend want to deal with that? With the power of her desperado-dar, she could probably tell that Thea was, like, the most annoying crusher ever. As a crushee, she was probably less insufferable, but with their roles being what they were? Yeah, no fucking wonder. This is my own goddamn fault, the brunette acknowledged. If I wasn't placing myself into these situations, none of this would have happened.) ...could you buy a set of armor for your heart? 'Cause, apparently, she could really fucking use that!

'How very self-aware, crow. You're this, this close to an actual realization! You know why people don't value you? Because you are so fickle that nobody trusts you. A girl that gives herself away so freely will never be loved. For that, you're just too shallow, you see?' ...sometimes, the demon had a point, and it was in those moments that Thea resented him the most. Sigh.

"Okay," she said, blankly. "No, really, I did understand you the first time around. I mean, I was just trying to wake you up, but noted. It's not like I'm buying a fucking engagement ring, or anything as maladjusted as that. I only thought that... ugh, forget it. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." (She wouldn't cry, Thea resolved. Like, why would she? Clara had expressed a perfectly reasonable wish, and her not granting it would have been a good reason for her friend to get a fucking restraining order. They weren't that close, either, so she hadn't really lost anything. Her fooling herself into thinking they might share more than a demonic curse totally was on her, okay? Okay. ...still, her eyes did sting, and for once, Thea found herself thankful for the darkness.)

"Let's get out of here," she sighed. "Neither of us wants a romantic night under the stars, apparently, and I bet those fuckers might have friends searching for them. They always do, somehow. Like, I thought that social ostracism was supposed to take care of that? But nooo, the true rejects are never fucking lonely! I think they legit must be emitting some hormones that allow them to locate each other." A quick search of one of the corpses revealed bike keys (score!) and, armed with the knowledge of the machine being close, Thea began to search for it. In that singular instance, they were actually pretty fucking lucky, because they found it parked near the entrance. How convenient, right? ...what wasn't convenient, however, was Clara's alleged deal with the demon.

"Wait, what?" she turned to her friend, her mouth slightly agape. "Ah, damn. I'm sorry, I didn't know--" But, hey, that didn't fucking matter because she should have known! That sort of fuck up was akin sticking your fingers into a blazing fireplace and then wondering why it burned. (Hah. Oh, Christ, forcing your friend into demonic debt sure was a new low! Lately, Thea kept discovering those.) Wordlessly, she started the bike and let Clara hug her from behind. Normally, her mind would have come up with all sorts of ScenariosTM, but right now... well, it was kind of hard. Everything was.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked, rather pointlessly. (Her throat felt tight, too, except that Thea didn't feel like examining that. Not now, not ever. Denial truly was the best life hack available, 10/10!) "I can, uh, still drive you to that hospital. If you don't want to travel with me after all that, I get it. We can always say that I was blackmailing you or something. I mean, who will prove it untrue? The cops we killed? I really fucking doubt that."

 

[ellarose]

Whatever Clara was feeling, it was snuffed out with exhaustion when she mounted the motorcycle behind Thea. Because it turned out that demonic possession-- especially in the real world-- was draining. (Or maybe everything was. She hadn't even finished making a cup of coffee that morning before the cops were banging on her door, hurtling them into the heart of this entire supernatural fiasco. Considering the extent of everything she had every right to feel like a freaking zombie.) While she deserved to sleep (Thea, too) their current setup made such a notion dangerous. Deadly, even. She often forced herself to cling tighter to the other woman whenever they turned sharp corners, when she caught herself slipping to reminding herself not to doze and slip off of the bike altogether. The bike, which, had she been even slightly more alert surely would have concerned her greatly. Helmets!? For all extents and purposes, they were not wearing helmets and there were a number of gruesome fates they could face for the fact that they didn't have them--

'Now wouldn't that be comically anti-climactic?' The demon chuckled unhelpfully. His voice reverberated louder and deeper than ever in Clara's ears, unsettling her down to her toes. It's as if he reinforced his grip on her, so tight she couldn't breathe, claws sinking in... and no amount of feeble, human struggling would be enough to make him let go. 'If sweet, chaotic crow crashed-landed you into a tree and effectively kickstarted my plans?'

'...Uh huh. Are you going to let me in on this plan of yours?' Clara ventured, deciding to take the distraction for what it was. More than that, it was an opportunity to gather intel. Because she had a creeping suspicion she was going to sorely need it if she was going to reverse whatever deal she just struck.

'Looking for a new accomplice? I don't blame you.' The demon sounded far too pleased with himself. 'But my cute little birds don't need to know my plans. They need to stay in their cages.'

Clara's mind darted back to the forest, when he used the exact same terminology, referring to the 'big birdcage in the sky'. There had to be a reason for all of this bird nonsense, right? The symbolism, the tarot cards, they all had to represent something in the grand scheme of things. The birds represented the kids. The sacrifices. Obviously, considering the demon's nicknames for herself and Clara. And the birdcages had to represent death. Or... more accurately, a set of boundaries within death. The ghostly worlds they'd been visiting. The demon was going off into a spiel, trying to sell the cages like a brochure might try to sell a luxury hotel suite. But she wasn't paying attention to him anymore. Of course, existing in her mind, the menace eventually caught on. '...Your mind is working ahead, isn't it raven? What is your theory?'

'I've noticed you've been disappearing for longer than usual. Whenever you're not bothering us, we can assume that you're busy. Right? And of course you've been busy...' Clara supplied cooly, 'Because we set Lizzie and Ian free from their 'cages'. And now you're scrambling to recapture them.'

There was a long stretch of silence after that. Clara began to assume the demon left her alone just to be a cryptic asshole when he laughed darkly. The implications of this laugh were expertly masked, but none of them bode well with her. She shivered.

'You'll make an interesting experiment, raven.'

The demon left her then. Clara knew because she felt it this time. And while his disappearance was always a comfort, it bothered her that she was bonded with the demon to such an extent that his presence-- even the absence of it-- was something she now physically felt. Fortunately for her, Thea spoke up and provided a much-needed distraction. Well, except for the moment she remembered the context of their last conversation. Ah. Was she at the point now where she needed distractions from her distractions? Fantastic. Was she mad? Did she have to ask?

"...What do you think?" Clara asked flatly. The sting of guilt for being so short with Thea hit her afterwards and she rethought her approach. (Goodness. Sarcasm was so easy to wield with other people in her life. But Thea was sort of like an adorable puppy in the sense that it was impossible to stay angry with her for long. Besides, Clara didn't even possess the energy to be mad anymore. Hell, she wasn't even awake enough to fret about the motorcycle! That was truly saying something.) With a soothing breath, she softened. "Yes, I was mad."

Thea kept talking, though, and Clara's chest clenched painfully at the assumption that she would cut her off over one little dispute. (But who cared if her heart hurt, right? Her friend most likely assumed didn't exist at this point, after everything. She'd wielded the pathetic sword it manifested for herself, after all. Watched as it decayed in her hand. There was no sense of loyalty with her, was there? Once she was scorned, she killed whoever got in her way, just like--) Oh, no. She felt lightheaded. They were already leaving a body count behind them. And she was responsible for most of them at this point.

"I was mad." Clara repeated, feeling sick as it all caught up with her. Namely her conscience, which told her she was irredeemable at this point. Excuses worked for Beatrice Sawyer. A child, acting out of fear and self defense. The same can't be said now. Shadows stretched on the road in front of her and she squeezed her eyes shut to fight the nausea. Stop the ride, I want to get off. "And now I'm tired. But Thea, I don't hate you. I wouldn't... would never..." She took a sharp breath. "We're friends. And we need to stay together. Unless... you don't want to be friends?"

Oh. Shoot. Did Clara say that out loud? Why did she say that? The fear from before, that Thea might leave her in the forest... could her friend be dropping the hint that she didn't want to stay together? Then again, why would she suggest she take the blame in that case? ...Unless she wanted to get away from her so badly that she was willing to risk arrest. "I get it if you're creeped out by me. I... I killed those cops. I probably killed those guys back there, too. So is that what you want? To split up?"

 

[Syntra]

Huh? Huh?! Let it be known that Thea Holloway did not expect for their conversation to turn the way it did, towards these weird fucking sentiments. Like... why would she want to abandon Clara? Helloooo? Clara was certifiably awesome, and ditching her would be akin to throwing away perfectly good ice-cream. Who, in their right mind, would do that? More importantly, how had the thought even materialized in her brain? That shit was so fucking cursed that like ten ghosts had to be haunting it! ('Well, of course it is,' the demon piped in.'That's because you are the source, crow. Why pretend that breaking people isn't your specialty? It totally is. You are incapable of being an actual person, and that's why others struggle communicating with you. Almost as if you are alive for one purpose only!'...and, yeah, the guilt did set in, mostly because something must have caused Clara to jump to that interpretation. Something or someone, like the resident fuck up!)

"No, I... fuck, I didn't want to make you feel like that. I'm not creeped out. Have you forgotten about my recent murder spree? Like, you are a way more effective killer than I am, but I'd never resent you for that. I mean, we aren't fucking competing over here." (Was that the right angle? 'Cause Thea had a creeping suspicion that it wasn't-- comparing their stats may have been an okay bonding method in a co-op shooter, but not in real motherfucking life. Sigh. Once again, Thea Holloway's social adjustment was off the freaking charts!) "No, wait, I take it back," she shook her head furiously. "Well, I don't, since it kinda is true, but it also isn't the point? The point is that I don't care how many asshats you kill, Clara. Like, you're not some Elizabeth Bathory knock-off. We may have known each other for two days," as she loved to remind her, "but nothing about you screams 'bloodthirsty psycho' to me. And, uh, you are my friend, for what it's worth. If you want to be." That Thea had to keep her eyes trained on the road was a small blessing, otherwise the hotness in her cheeks would have been real fucking embarrassing. Just!!! How come that her body insisted on those totally unnecessary functions? Wasn't it already busy enough with, like, digestion, breathing and shit? Apparently not, and so she had to suffer through all the YA protagonist syndromes under the sun! (If the demon didn't kill her one day, special snowflake-ism for sure would.)

It didn't take long for them to arrive in a city, sleeping and dimly lit. All the model citizens must have been in beds by now, which suited Thea-- fewer eyes translated into fewer witnesses, and fewer witnesses in turn meant less trouble. Simple math, right? Haha! Now all they had to do was find the hospital, let them take care of Clara, grab some pills, and see themselves out, ideally without causing a commotion. (Admittedly, 'What Could Possibly Go WrongTM' was a thought that did cross her mind. Like, people didn't generally challenge nurses to epic duels while they were stuck in the waiting room, now did they? So, if they followed all the social protocols, shit should be pretty peaceful! ...even so, Thea didn't wish to tempt fate, and so she tried her hardest to un-think it.)

The hospital towered over all the other structures, so it wasn't hard to locate. Yay! Less than yay, though, was the fact that she had to go inside now. (It's just a fucking building, she reminded herself. Bricks and steel and concrete, boo fucking hoo. The creepiness factor isn't even that high! Only 1% of all survival horrors take place in hospitals. ...yeah, but tell that to her dumbass, panicking heart, or to her hands that were suddenly covered in cold sweat. She could see it in front of her, too, that sprawling maze of corridors that never seemed to end, and--)

"Ehm, ehm," Thea coughed, in a way that she thought to be discrete. (Spoiler alert: nope, it wasn't.) "Let's get this over with. Don't want to take roots here, y'know?" Shockingly enough, the waiting room was almost empty, and when a smiling nurse rushed towards them, there was a genuine concern in her eyes.

"Oh, poor dear!" she exclaimed upon seeing Clara's wounds. "How did that happen to you? Come, come, we'll get you patched up." No insurance-related questions, Thea noted. Good. Maybe some of those harpies still have an actual freaking soul! For some reason, people liked to pretend that it totally wasn't dystopian that doctors saw their patients as goddamn walking purses, but she wasn't fond of that particular brand of delusion. Hippocratic oath, anyone?! ...anyway, the nurse didn't forbid her from tagging along, so that was exactly what she did. To, uh, protect Clara! Not because she was afraid to be alone in a hospital or anything silly like that.

The office, too, was empty and totally non-descript. You could easily imagine it being featured in those cheap stock-photos-- the only thing that was missing was the smiling patient, and Clara got to play that role now. "Has this been disinfected?" their savior frowned. Thea's guilty expression most likely told her everything she needed to know, because she sighed and grabbed... uh, a syringe. A big-ass syringe, filled with some orange fluid. "I swear, young people these days. Don't you know how dangerous sepsis is? It could kill you within minutes, young lady. You should have come way sooner than that." With a practiced motion, she rolled up Clara's sleeve, and injected the substance into her shoulder. It didn't even hurt! ...but the edge in her smile almost did, mysteriously enough. "Similarly, you shouldn't really trust strangers with syringes, Clara Loveless. What if they decided to poison you? You never know with these things!"

 

[ellarose]

Clara stepped into the hospital alongside Thea with no more than a sleepy nod, carrying the distinct sensation with her that she was dreaming. The world appeared before her in a ostensible haze, a crude mockery of the reality they lived in and nothing more. The hospital's bright lights are sharp and harsh compared to the soft and quiet night outside. The edges of the furniture are tinged with an otherworldly glow, as if the ghosts of all who had died there had draped themselves over it to sleep. She blinked as the nurse approached them, hearing her voice as if she were underwater. None of it felt real. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that she didn't feel real. Tiredness functioned like an anesthetic for her emotions to the point that she didn't really feel anything. All she could manage was to sift through the motions, mostly unresponsive to the people around her as she focused on getting from point a to point b. (To-do lists were always a comfort for this reason. It gave her the illusion of control, made it easier to predict the trajectory of her day... if the voices and her moods complied, that was. Sometimes she could forget that she existed if she turned down the volume on her thoughts and busied herself with completing and checking off each one.) 'How did that happen to you?' There was genuine concern there. There usually was.

"Mauled by a dragon." Clara told the truth in her typical no-nonsense manner, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. The nurse probably didn't think it was all that funny. Most people didn't... but they often thought she was trying to be. (Jokes on them, though, because she genuinely wasn't trying. If she cared enough to try, she'd stress herself out coming up with an appropriate lie.) She wasn't really there enough to give a fuck about the nurse's reaction, though, mostly blanking on the rest of their walk down the hall.

Inside of the office, Clara realized then that at some point she must have taken her shirt off to allow the nurse to look at her back. She didn't remember it happening, as it didn't evoke the anxiety it might have otherwise-- but she supposed that was fine. For the best, really.

"What can I say... I like to live on the edge." Clara gave another flat response. And yeah, that one was a lie. Sensing something was amiss, she gazed at the nurse perplexedly and curiosity began to emerge past her wall of disaffected tiredness. Clara Loveless. The way she said it made it sound like a threat. Huh. Did she give the nurse her name? No. That seemed pretty dumb, considering their circumstances. If she did, though, she doesn't remember. Did Thea? Her gaze flickers briefly to her friend before returning to the nurse. Was this woman trying to match her sense of humor, or--? Her eyes narrow just slightly. "That'd royally suck, I guess. Didn't realize they let you poison unsuspecting girls on the regular around here."

The nurse looked slightly taken aback by the brazenness of her response... and past the overarching numbness, Clara felt a surge of pride in that. Just because she was quiet didn't mean she'd let this lady get away with-- well, whatever the hell she was trying to get away with. Nothing brought her more joy than striking down edgelords whose only purpose in life revolved around being a dick who made others feel uncomfortable for no reason.

Whatever spark of contentment she might have felt died a quick death, however, as the nurse set the syringe aside and firmly took Clara's chin into her hand. She peered invasively into her eyes, eerily like that cultist had in that memory of their childhood they'd experienced the other day. It was if she was searching for something inside of them. Any courage she had withered when her personal space was breached, any words she could have spoken in protest wilted away.

"You're a wicked thing, aren't you?" The nurse tsked her tongue scoldingly and Clara blanched. "Ah, no wonder. I see clear traces of demonic possession."

The nurse let her go and stepped backward. Scooping her tray up into her hand, she whisked herself briskly towards the door. Clara stared ahead at the wall, unable to fully grasp what was happening. What?

"How unfortunate... but there's no need to fret! You've come to the right place. Stay right there, dearie, and try to keep calm. I know just how to fix you up." The nurse supplied cheerily, juxtaposing the creepy atmosphere she herself created. She nodded to Thea, then. "Keep an eye on your friend for me, please. She's going to start feeling rather delirious... she may even start to claim that she's seeing and hearing things that aren't real. These are all common side effects of the medicine, nothing more. Try to keep her calm until I return." She exited the office and locked the door behind her with a loud 'click'.

"Thea? Did I just imagine that, or...?" Clara wrapped her arms around herself, gripping her forearms tight. Her skin burned and prickled beneath her fingertips and the office seemed to warp around her with her nausea. She wasn't sure if she preferred the narrative that she was really so far gone that she was straight up hallucinating all of this, or if-- if this is exactly was what she thought it was. "Traces of demonic possession. How did she-- no. It doesn't matter. We need to get out of here! We need to get out before she gets back."

 

[Syntra]

Throughout the past two very, very long days, Thea Holloway had embraced a couple of new mottos to guide her in life. They were, as followed: a) trust no bitch, b) trust absolutely no bitch, and c) if it looks like supernatural fuckery, it probably is exactly that, and you should act accordingly. Like, you know how in horror movies, the dumbass protagonists didn't believe in the pharaoh's curse till a mummy smacked them around? Yeeeeah, they weren't doing that. At the first sign of trouble, it was either fight or flight, bitch! None of that 'b-b-but I must be imagining it, surely' half-hearted, tired bullshit. (Unlike certain people, Thea didn't worship shitty Hollywood cliches. Like, nope. Real life tended to be more creative than endless iterations of one (1) plot about a mediocre guy who somehow attracted all the hot ladies, you know? Therefore, using it as The Universal Handbook of TruthTM struck her as rather short-sighted.)

So, when the nurse started acting weird? Immediately, a shiver ran down Thea's spine. "Uhhh... you do realize we're at a fucking hospital, right?" she asked the woman. "It's not like we're buying drugs in some shady back alley." Which, by the way, was an incredible shame-- all of Thea's dealers had been bros so far, and she'd pay a considerable amount money to be in that situation now, instead of... uhh, instead of whatever surreal bullshit was going on here. Wait, surreal bullshit? No. No, no, no. The fuck, man! Don't these shitty demon's underlings ever, like, petition for a vacation? Proper rest was super important for one's mental health, so no, it didn't fucking surprise Thea just how poorly they were performing. Stupid demon, with his archaic-ass, tyrant-flavored working hours! (...yeah, she might have been just a liiiiittle sleep deprived to be sympathizing with them. Don't fucking ask, okay? She had had a rough few days.)

Meanwhile, the nurse apparently decided to climb her personal ladder of creepiness to its very top! If the name drop hadn't tipped her off (which it fucking had), the demonic possession would have done the job for sure. "Yeah, let's bolt," Thea nodded quickly. "The bitch looks about as innocent as your average cartoon villain. Demonic fucking possession? Really?" (This is what they got for following the correct protocol, she guessed. No, seriously. Had they done what Mother Nature wanted and let the body battle it out on its own, none of this would have happened! As always, the true evil had been the American healthcare system all along.)

"Just a moment," the nurse sang out, in a way that made Thea's skin crawl. "I am preparing a very special concoction. You see, it is designed to turn wicked, wicked things into perfect little girls! Thanks to it, your daddy will finally love you, Clara. Don't you want to know what that is like?" Oof. Big oog! Yeah, no, they weren't fucking staying for a second longer-- once comple strangers started weaponizing your childhood trauma, it was a given that they had access to Demon IntelTM. As in, you didn't just guess that shit randomly!

Grabbing her friend's hand, Thea opened the door. Maybe, if they got the fuck out of there before the mechanism of this trap triggered properly, they could escape another episode of 'Screwing Thea and Clara Over, Supernatural-Style!' ...for that, however, it was probably too late. The corridor that was waiting for them on the other side was still empty, but also distinctly not the one they had left behind a few minutes ago-- the formerly spotless floor was covered in rust, and strange, black mold was growing on the walls. Black mold that... seemed to be fucking breathing?! Judging by the way it expanded periodically, anyway. "Okay," Thea sighed, "I guess that another fucking trip down the memory lane it is, then. Are you as excited as I am, Clara?" Still, maybe all hope wasn't lost yet. Strategic retreat did strike her as a valid option here-- after all, the demon's power couldn't stretch far enough to embrace the entire world. The asshole would have liked that for sure, but it couldn't be true, now could it?Since all the strangeness had always been tied to a specific location, like a tumor that refused to be cut out. So, once they left the Certifiably Cursed Zone, everything should be fine! (Or fine-ish, at least. You know, barring the demon, the voices, and the entire country's police force casually going after them. Haha! The future had never fucking been brighter.)

"Move along, nothing to fucking see here," she nudged Clara forward. "There, towards the escape. I'll buy you some ice-cream instead. Haven't you heard? Ice-cream is the best fucking disinfectant ever-- it will freeze all the bacteria alive. Real medicaments are just Big Pharma propaganda, I say."

"Thea Holloway," the nurse thundered, which, eek! How the hell had she managed to appear in front of them, out of thin fucking air?! "You have disappointed me utterly. Haven't you learned your lesson? Then again, given how broken you are, I should have expected so. You, too, are in dire need of your medicine. You've come for that reason, haven't you? You know that you need your fancy feel good chemicals, otherwise you're going to fall apart!" With a wet, evocative slurp, the mold enveloped her wrists, and proceeded to drag her closer towards the wall. What the fuck?! Thea wasn't fucking interested in mold like that, or in any manner, for that matter, and--

"Now, open wide!" the nurse cheered. "I'm going to give you exactly what you need." And, in her world? Apparently, that was a giant-ass leech, with teeth sharper than knives. Oh, shit. "It'll suck alllll the wickedness out of you! You, too, can be a good girl, Thea. Don't fight it."

 

[ellarose]

Feel good chemicals...? Clara might have let that information sink in, might have considered the implications had the mold not immediately reached out like two swampy hands to drag Thea away. Beyond the point of exhaustion, she had nothing else to offer but pure adrenaline... which might have served them well, considering she didn't even hesitate to punch the nurse in the face. There was simply nothing to puzzle out when it came to nurses with leeches, okay? The danger was immediate, inaction meant deadly consequences for her friend (because they were still friends, weren't they?) and she understood that much. It was the most pragmatic solution. Still, it was pretty clear Clara didn't attend a fight club on the weekends considering she was holding her fist the wrong way, with her thumb tucked in. Raoul taught her the right way forever ago, but she forgot in her haste and it hurt. Must've hurt the nurse even more, though, considering her head burst like a balloon from the impact and sprayed blood everywhere. Yuck. Clara glared at the mess, as if inconvenienced by the mess more so than the sheer horror of it, shaking her aching fist out while using her jacket sleeve to scrub her face clean. The leech screamed and squirmed as it plopped onto the floor with a squelch. It began to busy itself with eating the decapitated body of the nurse instead. A disturbing sight to be sure, but... at least it wasn't feasting on Thea.

"You okay?" Clara asked as she helped unstick Thea from the wall, peering up at her with concern. Noticing the leech was growing larger in her peripheral, she walked over to it and crushed it mercilessly under her shoe. That would've undoubtedly been another problem for them to deal with if they let it go unchecked. She tilted her head, squinting as she made certain it was dead, and then promptly nodded towards the exit. "We need to keep going."

"Look at the mess you've made!" A voice echoed. It sounded severely disappointed in her... but in this context? Clara really didn't care. She wasn't going to lose Thea to a fake fucking nurse. Whew. Language! "Your hands are covered in blood! How will you ever wash them clean now?"

Clara heard heels clicking on the floor, echoing down the corridor. Whoever it was, they were far enough away still that they couldn't see them... but they'd surely catch up if they didn't move soon. It was her turn to grab Thea's hand this time as they resumed their frantic beeline towards the entrance. Thud. She flinched at the loud noise. What looked like a red paintball splattered over one of the windows from the outside. Thud, thud, thud... The noise began to pick up, blotting the glass windows and doors until they were completely covered up in the red substance. (A red which was no doubt meant to resemble blood, considering it fit the whole shtick of this place to be as creepy and unsanitary as possible.) The calm night outside, glowing with the golden halos of street lamps was completely obscured from view. And she was willing to wager a guess that the door was locked off now, too.

Which, upon testing that theory, yes. Yes it was.

"Great." Clara exhaled, seething quietly. She checked warily over her shoulder for the source of the footsteps. Nothing yet. In fact, now it was too silent. Eerily silent. Which was really saying something, she supposed, since this was her talking. "Don't suppose they'll take us in to meet the kid we're dealing with if we asked nicely."

Curiously, Clara wandered towards the front desk in the lobby. She gave an indifferent hum as she reached around some of the mold to take an open file into her hands.

"Well, here we go again. Let's look for some clues." Clara mused. The one she held now had an old group photo of children attached... but all of their faces were scratched out. Because of course they were. That was exactly kind of thing she ought to expect from a place like this, but it was weird all the same. (Must be unrelated to whatever they experienced as kids. Mostly since she didn't imagine that the cultists would have lined them all up for group photos. Right? What reason would they have to do that?) She set it aside and began rifling through the check in information instead. Before she could get to reading, however, her vision blurred and her head throbbed. She squinted and tried to fight past it. "If we could figure out..." An even sharper pain struck her and the clipboard slipped from her hands. "A name, then..." She brought the heel of her palm to her aching forehead. "Come to think of it, that nurse injected me with something, didn't she?" Uh huh. That she did.

But that was the least of their worries at just that moment, considering that directly over their heads another moldy arm was emerging from the ceiling and reaching towards them!

 

[Syntra]

A leech? A fucking leech?! That method had been discredited whole-ass centuries ago, so forgive Thea if she wasn’t really feeling it. Like, wasn’t it common knowledge that medieval “””doctors””” had “”””developed””” their “””techniques””” via throwing darts blindly? Otherwise, she couldn’t really imagine how they had been able to come to the awesome, awesome conclusions such as ‘hmm, migraine must mean you have been cursed by Satan’ or ‘man, I bet that bloodletting would solve your fucking Parkinson’s.’ Just!!! Hadn’t they collectively moved beyond that sort of bullshit? Had Thea been interested in some blast from the past retro nonsense, she would have gotten lobotomy for her issues years ago! ‘Oh, it’s never too late for that, my darling crow,’ the demon cooed as the mold covered her mouth, making it super difficult to breathe. Ah, shit-- ‘I mean, I am certain that it would make everyone’s lives that much easier. Much more pleasant. You do know how exhausting dealing with your bullshit is, don’t you? Although, come to think of it, death seems to be a much more fool-proof solution in your case. Say goodbye to the cruel world, Thea!’ Not exactly willing to do that, Thea clenched her muscles. C’mon, work, work, work! Except that her arms refused to respond, refused to do anything, really, and every gasp cost her precious oxygen, and-- and-- …and then Clara punched the fuck out of the nurse, painting the walls with the remnants of her pathetic brain. Wow. Wow! It took all of her self-possession not to pass out, and honestly, she wasn’t at all sure whether it was due to her near asphyxiation experience or her friend’s sheer badassery. (So fucking what? Don’t judge! Badass women happened to be her kryptonite, which meant that Thea was contractually obliged to store the memory and… uh, review it at a later time. You know, because science and shit.)

“Fuck, that was close,” she winced, massaging her sore throat. “Do you think this will bruise? I hate bruises, man. Scars are badass, but what do fucking bruises say about you? Like 80% of people will designate you as the local domestic violence victim, and from then on, it’s Condescending Sympathy town. Are you sure you’re alright, dearie?” Thea mocked, in a surprisingly accurate rendition of the shaky boomer voice. “Just trust me, bro! I wouldn’t dream of using your trauma for gossip points or anything silly like that. Now, tell me, did he call you a bitch when he hit you?” Boomer impersonations weren’t going to save them, however, (boo!) and so Thea marched forward. “I swear, though. Can’t these fucking ghosts let us know, like, three business day in advance? They waited in the equivalent of their own personal hell for literal years, but nooo, they just can’t take it for a second longer! I’d buy a fancy-ass diary to record the appointments in, too. For them, I’d try to be responsible.” The truth was that Thea Holloway was chronically underappreciated by pretty much every single entity in her life, and knowing that her former comrades weren’t going to break that trend felt genuinely fucking depressing. Yeah, yeah, they’d all died horrible deaths, but their cognitive abilities hadn’t been affected, right? Therefore, they could still fucking grasp the wild concept of other people having actual lives! (Such as, you know, working tirelessly on erasing your identity from the annals of history after you’d gotten yourself on the police shitlist. Regular stuff.)

“Oh,” Thea glanced at the photo, “I remember that scene. I mean, I think I do. They took us for some sort of examination?” Calling it a memory per se would have been an understatement, actually-- the knowledge sort of emerged from the dark, dark abyss where dreams were usually stored, and fucking hit her over the head with a baseball bat. Like, duh, of course it had happened! How and why, though… well, those were the fucking questions. “We all had to use wheelchairs for some reason,” she added quickly, 100% convinced of the truth of that for some reason. “Don’t you recall any of that? Back then, I thought it was some super advanced mech suit, but I guess that the less hype explanation makes way more sense. Turns out that hype is fucking illegal irl.” Again, though, why had they felt the need to do that? So that they could release those who turned out to be allergic to ~demonic possession~? Yeaaaah, that didn’t strike her as too likely. In fact, it was so divorced from the realm of possibility that Thea would sooner expect dogs to rain from the fucking sky!

“Ah, damn,” she muttered, grabbing Clara with one hand and a nearby chair with another. “Fuck off, you fucking piece of shit!” The chair wasn’t what she necessarily wanted – ie., a sawed-off shotgun – but its legs were reasonably sharp, and the mold mass hissed accusingly upon receiving a few stabs. “That’s right, you little bitch,” the brunette grinned, continuing with her offensive. “Tremble before the might of Thea Holloway! Ladies and gentlemen, you may call me the mold-tamer. I’ll be here all fucking week, and… hey, Clara. Clara, you okay?”

Which, hey, she most likely was!

Thea wasn’t, though. Like, not at all.

If she had been, after all, would her face have dissolved into a sea of tentacles? A sea of tentacles, green and writhing? And they definitely wouldn’t have attacked Clara, either!

 

[ellarose]

Wheelchairs? Clara didn't remember anything of that nature. But then again, that part of her life remained buried up until recently. Who was she dispute it when Thea claimed that she remembered in such an unhesitating manner like that? Her friend would have no reason lie to her about something like that and it certainly did not seem as if she was joking. If the faces of the children hadn't been blacked out, she supposed there was a possibility she might have recognized herself and Thea in it. Maybe Lizzie and Ian, too. Besides, if they were dealing with another one of the sacrificed children (which-- no question-- they definitely were) it would make complete sense why they would find the photo here of all places. There was so much more she wanted to know about what Thea knew about all of this... and it was another instance where she would not have time to ask any questions before their lives were thrown into chaos again.

"I'm--" Clara was not fine. But she was going to say that she was, mostly because complaining about her headache wasn't going to get them anywhere. Or she would have said that, anyway... had the situation not devolved into something that was distinctly not fine. Because where Thea's hand was once holding her wrist, she stared on with horror when she noticed a tentacle there instead. Suddenly more of them wrested her and with a gasp, she violently yanked herself backwards. Once she was free, she put even more distance between herself and the monster, throwing her head from side to side to urgently to look for a sign of the real Thea amidst all of this chaos. "Thea? Thea, where are you?"

No, no, no. Clara turned and ran because she had to. Her friend clearly wasn't there... but surely she would find her elsewhere. Surely, right? Thea couldn't be gone. She couldn't be dead, nor just a figment of her imagination. This was just another trick. Her friend was in here somewhere and she was going to find--

In front of her, the hall flickered and softened into something that no longer resembled a hospital wing, but a house with wooden floorboards, streaked with cozy, afternoon sunbeams that caused motes of dust floating on the air to glimmer like mundane stars. Clara stood at a loss, forgetting what exactly she had been running from or looking for. There was nothing to be afraid of here. It was safe. But where was she?

"Bumblebee...? Oh, no. You don't go by Bea anymore, do you?" A woman spoke. Her tone sounded warm, like the sunlight. "It's Clara now, right? I always loved that name."

Clara watched silently as the hall gave another vague flicker, revealing the source of the voice standing there and smiling at her. It was a face she recognized from old faded photographs more than memories. Her... dead mother? Except from where she was standing now, it seemed like she was very much alive. She stayed perfectly still while the woman approached and settled her hands on her shoulders.

"Poor thing. You've been sleepwalking and having so many terrible nightmares. Let's get you back to bed." When her 'mother' steered her into a nearby room, Clara didn't resist. It never occurred to her to resist because she felt... strangely protected. Loved, even. The room they entered resembled the familiar bedroom in her apartment, only sunnier. The sight of it made her tensed up insides collapse with relief. "You're tired, aren't you?"

Clara was tired.

Without a word, she was lured into the bed like a moth to a flame, nestling herself beneath the covers and melting against the mattress like butter.

Unfortunate that she couldn't not see reality for what it really was, wherein the nurse who masqueraded as her mother was fastening Clara into the beat-up old hospital bed she was really lying in. Once that was taken care of, she grabbed a scalpel from a tray behind her. She smiled softly and held it behind her back as she approached. "That's right. Close your eyes." The scalpel glinted in the dim lighting as she slowly began to lift it. "It will all be over soon."

***

"Dorothea, Dorothea, Dorothea. You still need to take your shot, young lady!" Meanwhile, another nurse in the corridor of the hospital Clara had abandoned began to approach Thea-- who was still very much herself. She raised the syringe and tilted her head, wearing a razor-sharp smile. "Why don't you follow Clara's good example and stay still for me? It won't hurt!"

 

[Syntra]

Oookay, so like, they were officially screwed now, weren’t they? The lines between ‘not totally screwed’ and ‘totally fucking screwed’ could be somewhat blurred, but Thea Holloway had become something of an expert at telling the difference during these trying times. And, in her professional opinion? The overall suckage of this situation exceeded the state-approved norms by about 300%!

“Clara. Hey, Clara, what the hell?!” One would have guessed that her friend would at least have the decency not to run so fucking fast-- you know, considering just how low her energy levels had been just one (1) second ago. This is the time you decide to cosplay Sonic the Hedgehog? Fucking really? Thea herself was a great connoisseur of the fine arts, but everything had its time and place! (Plus, Sonic the Hedgehog wasn’t even a fun character to cosplay as. The fanservice factor wasn’t nearly high enough to justify all of that fucking effort, so why pour so much passion into it? To attract the attention of weird, unwashed weebs whose idea of a normal social interaction was to harass pretty girls on the internet? ‘Cause you just know that that was the kind of audience you’d fucking get! …seriously, once Thea found Clara, they’d have to have a serious convo about shit taste, misplaced fervor, and the dark, dark corners of the online world that made one want to drink some fucking bleach. Just, friends didn’t let friends fall prey to such hostile traps!)

‘Hmm, hmm. Isn’t it obvious what happened here, crow?’ (The demon sounded smug, and in these moments, Thea somehow found herself hating him even more. She’d thought that she had maxed out her hatred limits for him ages ago, but here she was, leveling up once again. Truly, what an inspiration for the upcoming generations of haters all around the globe! Years from now, when her fame finally reached the stars, Thea could see herself giving out interviews and shit, advising the young ones on how to hate properly. Focus on the little details, kiddos. The bitch has heard about a thousand times by now that she has a unibrow, but you noticing her crippling insecurities? That’s going to twist the knife in the wound!)

‘She could no longer stomach being with you,’ he provided helpfully. ‘Not that I blame her. I mean, I know you pretty well at this point, and you genuinely are exhausting! You have no idea just how many headaches you’ve given me, nor how hard it is to get an aspirin when you’re stuck in someone else’s head. It’s not like I can order a delivery here. Still, not even I expected that she’d ditch you in the middle of a haunted hospital! Knowing that you suck so much must be really taxing, huh? Oh, and also being all alone here. How… unfortunate.’ From the tone of his voice alone, Thea could tell that he was thinking anything but that. ‘My heart truly is bleeding for you, crow. Would you like a hug?’

‘I can’t possibly imagine anything I’d want less, you little bitch.’ Besides, Thea wasn’t at all bothered by the current fucking developments. Like, haha, who even cared about childhood trauma? That was just a cheap plot device to make one-dimensional villains seem more sympathetic-- you know, nothing worked better than ‘hurrr durrr, he’s only burning kids alive because his father once choked his hamster to death.’ Instant sympathy points! A million of fanfics where the self-insert OC heroine fixed him, ‘cause love was what he’d secretly needed all along! Tons of analyses focusing on the way the actor blinked, since he was obviously conveying ~super complex emotions~ with his eye movement alone! Nope, it wasn’t an actual thing that had power over Thea’s mind, mainly due to the fact that her galaxy-sized brain couldn’t be restrained at all. The education system had tried and failed, so like, good luck? It would be a David and Goliath-ass style battle, with the trauma being the obvious fucking underdog! (Still, she’d better find Clara fast. For, uh, her own safety. The bitch had injected something into her veins, and Thea sincerely doubted it was a fucking vitamin B-12 shot!)

(Everything was watching her. The walls were breathing, too, and they were getting narrower and narrower with each passing second-- as if they meant to hug her, like the straightjacket that she’d sometimes worn. Like the metaphorical places she’d had to squeeze herself into, in order to get some precious crumbs of approval. They’d never forgiven her for that, had they? For having the gall to destroy their precious fucking American dream, with the white picket fence and a faithful dog and a daughter who was neither clinically insane nor this gay. Sigh. Stupid-ass memories! Were they specifically programmed to emerge under the least convenient circumstances ever?)

‘Forward,’ a new voice insisted, louder than the others. ‘Forward. Don’t stop.’ And, hey, that seemed about as good of an idea as anything else! …till she ran across the Nursinator 2: Electric Boogaloo, anyway.

“It’s Thea,” she snapped reflexively, as if that mattered at all. “Also, why don’t you follow your colleague’s example and drop dead? But not before you tell me what the fuck you did to Clara!”

“Such filthy words shouldn’t leave a young lady’s mouth,” the nurse pursed her lips, clearly judging her hardcore. “Your therapy hasn’t been working at all. Let’s up the dosage, shall we? Although… hmm, maybe that just isn’t enough for a difficult case such as yourself. In order to heal, you must first understand that Miss Loveless thinks you’re a disgusting waste of skin. Cultivating these silly connections isn’t beneficial to you, you see? A girl like you is meant to be alone, Dorothea.”

Thea wanted to say something about an obvious Saturday cartoon villain speech, but before she managed to do that? The needle pierced her skin, with the acid inside fucking melting her veins. It melted her entire world as well, in this wild burst of color, and-- and--

***

Clara slept peacefully, but that wasn’t supposed to last. It was hard to sleep with a literal monster under your bed, you know? A monster that was crawling out, all teeth and claws, and with its shadowy limbs, it was dragging her blanket away.

“Clara,” the monster begged (?), “Clara, damn, you need to wake up. Now isn’t the time for your beauty sleep routine! A-and besides, you’re beautiful as fuck even without it, so I’m pretty sure that you getting even prettier would be illegal. Like, you’d cause car accidents and shit. Probably disrupt the wi-fi signal, too. Think of all those desperate teens, if you won’t think of me!”

 

[ellarose]

For the first time in years Clara slept a dreamless sleep. (And this was not an exaggeration. Ever since childhood she dreamed in some capacity.) Now it was as if she was locked up in a pitch dark cell, held deliberately away from all of the nightmares that normally reigned over her mind. This could have been a relief... but somehow, it was so unsettlingly unfamiliar that it was hard to rest easy. She got the sense that something was wrong, but she could not place it in her tired haze. Perhaps her position was off? It was uncomfortable to lie on her back... morbid as it was, she often envisioned herself being smothered in her sleep whenever she laid herself down in such a vulnerable position. (Ever since she caught papa standing over her in the night, breathing those threats, going to sleep had never been quite the same.) It was preferable to curl up on her side, to draw herself into the tightest shape imaginable for comfort... and yet for some reason, she could not budge an inch in this bed. (...But at least she was in bed, right? At least she was warm and getting the rest she so sorely needed. She ached all over. She needed it so badly. Why, though? What had she done to exhaust herself this thoroughly? She couldn't remember. That probably should have bothered her more than it did. She reasoned she was too tired to make much sense of her life. And probably too tired to care. It would feel fresh in the morning, she was sure.) Clara would talk with her mother and then everything would make sense.

Mothers were supposed to know what to do, right? That was what she always heard anyways.

Clara supposed her mother was like that, too. Hm. She wasn't sure why she couldn't remember her own mother very well. After all, she was her mother... why wouldn't she know her? Strange. She blamed that mystery on the tiredness as well. Her thoughts seemed to moved through molasses. There was nothing to do but sleep. Sleep it off until she felt better.

Someone was trying to wake her up, though. Or something? And whoever it was, it wasn't her mother. Not anyone she knew. A sharp shiver crawled over her when the blankets were torn away. No, no, no.

"...I'm dead." Clara mumbled the response she used to give whenever Raoul made sure she got out of bed in the mornings. This was not her brother, though. She was dealing with a monster. Although her eyes were shut, she knew that to be true. And she would have rolled over or raised her hands to clamp them over her ears if her movements were not so strictly restrained. Hm. What was holding her in place? She didn't dare open her eyes to see it for herself. (Because some instinctual fear told her that she didn't want to see.) Eventually, though, that mysterious 'something' unfastened itself and she discovered she could breathe a bit easier without the press on her chest. (Her chest, which was aching. Bleeding. But why? Her mother tucked her into bed and she was safe... she was safe until...) Now that she was free to move, she rolled onto her side and curled her arms protectively over her head. "Go away."

Beautiful as fuck? Clara wasn't sure where the compliments were coming from. She supposed the monster was trying to flatter her so that she might let her guard down? And yet something about their way of speaking scraped something vaguely familiar in her mind. There was the shape of someone who was meant to be there... but their figure was too bright. Trying to remember was the equivalent of staring straight into the sun and waiting for it to blind her completely.

"Think of you? You're just a creature under my bed... I don't know who you are." Clara coiled herself up even tighter, shivering now that the blankets were gone. She inched herself as far away as she could get to the edge of the bed, pressing her face against the pillow. If only ignoring the monster would make it go away. She didn't know what else to do. She was too tired to move, to think, let alone fight for her life. While the monster was intent on talking this out, she supposed all she had to do for now was reply. "I don't know what you want from me, but I'm too tired for this! Leave me alone. Go away."

 

[Syntra]

Leave me alone, go away. The usual fucking mantra, wasn't it? Thea would have loved to say how surprised she was, how this """sudden""" development shattered the hell out of her, even, but... it only made sense. No, really. Who the hell still bothered to act shocked when they found out that the murderer was the butler, just like 2443454 times before? A sucker, that was who! A complete fucking idiot! (Of course that a girl like Clara would never be really interested. Friends? Pfft! A friendship fucking required more than just sharing the same set of people who were trying to kill you, bizarre as it was. What had she been thinking? That 'Hi, I'm Thea Holloway, let's murder some motherfuckers together' would earn her the coveted bff badge? An Einstein-tier theory! ...to Clara, she was probably the equivalent of a mosquito. A mosquito whose existence sucked marginally less than that of other mosquitoes, mostly 'cause it happened to target other people more, but still an annoying fucking insect, you see? Definitely not someone you'd, like, invite to your birthday party or anything.)

"A creature under your bed?" The monster's voice sounded hurt now, human in some ways, even, but she still looked like... well, a monster. Quite distinctly so. Every Lovecraft wannabe would have approved of her design, because it did have those 'shattering people's fragile minds' vibe going for it. "A little exaggerated, don't you think? I'm not even under your fucking bed anymore. Like, I did spawn there for some reason, though that doesn't mean that I have to stay there for the rest of my life! So, defining me by that feels pretty fucking rude. And like, I may be a creature," since all living beings technically were, "but do you have to say that? I also don't call you an anthropomorphic fucking blob. Not that I think you are a blob, but..." Ugh! No, nope, this wasn't going to work out. Alright, if she's going to be like that, I'll just drag her out of the bed. Violence, my best friend, here I fucking come!

In theory, that plan sounded good-- not great, but passable, considering the circumstances. You know how you had to break someone's fucking ribs to perform CPR from time to time? Yup, something along those lines! Thank god for fancy-ass analogies. The thing was, when Thea so much as touched Clara's hand, the world around them began melting once again, as if it was made of ice-cream, only infinitely more disgusting, and...

The room they found themselves in resembled a hospital again, though much cleaner than its nightmarish version. Thea was strapped to a bed, her gaze vacant-- her lips were parted ever so slightly, and it was hard to tell whether her hair had been washed recently or if it was all just sweat.

"...not good," Clara could hear faintly. And, when she looked into the conveniently placed mirror? She could see that she was wearing a doctor's uniform, as white as the wings of a dove. "Are you listening, doctor?" The nurse's glare was accusatory, to the point it felt as if she could burn a hole through her head with her eyes alone. "The prognosis is not good. The girl has been unresponsive for a while now, following the... the events in her medical card. You have read it, haven't you?" Now her tone resembled that of an elementary school teacher who was, in fact, sure that her student hadn't done her homework, and the sigh pretty much presented it. "I swear, doctor Loveless! I know it's your first day on the job, but try to be more careful, will you? I will only forgive you this time because your screams are so... hmm, so melodious." ...wait, what? That probably didn't matter, though, because seemingly out of nowhere, the nurse produced the aforementioned document. "Will you at least read it now? Pretty, pretty please?"

And, hey, maybe Clara would have loved to do exactly that! Except that most of the text was [redacted], with black, uneven splotches all over the page. ("Cigarette burns," she could read. "Nightmares." "A crow, with her neck snapped." "Deserved it, she did, she did!" Before the doctor could try to decipher more than that, though? The card was swallowed by flames, so quickly that Clara barely managed to let go of it in time.

"This always happens," the nurse sighed, more annoyed than freaked out. "I swear, paper these days! It cannot contain its thirst for fire. Anyway, what do you say, doctor? Do we up the dosage?"

With each passing second, Thea looked paler and paler, like a poor caricature of her sunny self. What on earth was happening here? "If you do nothing, she will die," her subordinate pointed out, oh so helpfully. "Then again, the bitch will probably die either way. All of them do in the end, so why even bother? Actually..." her smile gained this sharp edge to it, "...it might be kinder to lead her to the river Styx now, come to think of it. Faster, too. No point in trying to fix something this broken." And, with that, the nurse reached for the pillow...!

 

[ellarose]

Clara stared at her hand where the paper had burned up and singed the tips of her fingers. She wasn't sure what was going on or who she was meant to be in this scenario. What exactly was she supposed to be taking away from this? It was surreal, the information hitting her at such a rapid-fire pace that she could hardly make any sense of it. (Really, now. How did the nurse expect her to keep up with any of this? One second she was asking her what to do as if she was her boss and the next she was reprimanding her-- like she was the boss-- and acting purely of her own accord. Can she make up her damned mind already? Clara wondered, growing rather annoyed with the indecisiveness of her so-called 'coworker'.) Wasn't she supposed to be in bed? Sleeping? Or was this a nightmare within a nightmare? All of her thoughts felt as though they'd been reduced to a thick soup that was being swirled around with a spoon. She didn't care much to see Thea in that state, either. Who thought it was a good idea to conjure such a sickly image in the first place? Her friend was strong and bold and sunny. And she felt the strong desire to incinerate whoever it was who put her into that sorry state to begin with. (Doctor, the nurse kept calling her. So the culprit was meant to be her, apparently? According to nonsensical nightmare hell anyway. Great. Because of course all of the blame needed to be weighed down upon the shoulders of the wicked girl with a demon in her head instead of the actual bastard who was responsible! Despite what the uniform said, she was not a doctor. Not even close.) Fueled with the mixed might of irritation and adrenaline, she tackled the indecisive nurse before she could do anymore damage and...

The scenery changed again, flickering like a switch. Clara found herself standing in another corridor of a different hospital, staring at her younger self sitting on a bench by a vending machine. Beaten to a pulp and lightly swinging her legs which didn't hit the floor. She gripped the edges of the seat so tight her knuckles turned white and her stare was vacant. The social worker and her brother stood a short distance away, speaking in low voices. This is... "And she hasn't spoken in-- how long has it been now?"

"Three years." Raoul whispered. The woman made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat that caused his expression to collapse with guilt and grief and Clara had to tear her eyes away.

Another flicker and Clara found herself in bed again. She tried to pry her hands away from the monster's reach to hold her aching head instead. (All of this started when the monster touched her, didn't it?) The world continued to flip rapidly between those three settings like they were sections on a giant spinning wheel. Forcing her to see Thea in pain. Forcing her to see Raoul in pain. To say something was wrong with her head would be a severe understatement as she was whipped around like a paper doll in a tornado. This was very quickly getting to be too much.

Thea... That's right. Clara's mind began to fill out the blurred details of the figure she was trying to recall earlier. Her dazzling smile. The deep brown of her hair and eyes. The branding by her collarbone, the scar attached to her 'favorite scar story' on her shin. Only the sound of her voice escaped her now. (Which-- how!? Whenever her friend talked-- and she talked a lot-- Clara always made a point of listening to her. So how was it that the sound of Thea's voice had disappeared completely?) And yet trying to remember the sound of it was nearly as difficult as speaking used to be for her. "Don't touch me. You'll only make it worse." She rasped out, slick with sweat. "What did you do with Thea?"

 

[Syntra]

“What did you do with Thea?” Considering how hard that question hit her, Clara might as well have been shouted it into her ear via a fucking megaphone. Yep, a megaphone! Most likely a pink one, too, with a ‘fuck you, Thea’ written on it in large, ornate script. Like??? Was this supposed to be some snarky-ass commentary about her not looking her best editorial model self rn? Woo, boy, was Clara in for a surprise! Discovering that retouching was an actual fucking thing was always a painful awakening-- Thea was convinced that its existence alone was the main source of depression in, like, 80% teenagers. Now, why was Clara suffering from the same delusion? There was only one way to find out, and the brunette believed that the experts called it ‘communication.’ “Well, sorry for hurting your delicate fucking sensibilities, but I just happen to look like this,” the monster said, sounding very much like a mouse whose tail had been stepped on. “Kinda, I guess. I suppose it could have been better, though it isn’t my fault that the demon won’t even let me take a shower! And, like, I refuse to support the make-up industry, too. Anyone who claims that I look like shit unless I treat my face like a fucking coloring picture doesn’t deserve my hard-earned money.”

…that, at least, was what she wanted to say. You know what happened when she opened her mouth, though? Someone else’s hand covered it, choking the words to death before they even had the chance to be born. “Me?” the monster laughed cruelly, while Thea could only stand and watch. (Quicksand, she thought, and yeah, that was exactly how it fucking felt. There was no way for her to move, no way to do anything, really, and when she tried to resist it? The substance only fucking dragged her deeper, deeper towards the ice-cold bottom.) “Try asking someone else, sweetheart. Such as, for example, yourself. It’s not nice to point your finger at other people when the biggest share of blame is yours to bear, wouldn’t you agree?” Almost gently, the entity wrestled Clara’s face away from her hands, and forced her to look it in the eye. Like, truly look. (Within those eyes, there was a sea of possibilities, blending together and separating once again like the colorful pieces of glass in a kaleidoscope. It wasn’t so bad, was it? Staring into them, for as long as you could withstand it. Maybe even forever.)

“It’s your time to confess, doctor Loveless. What did you do with Thea?”

Once again, the scenery shifted, and Clara found herself standing in that dreadful patient room. Some time must have passed, because it looked markedly different-- the tree in front of Thea’s window had lost its leaves, and the flowers standing on her bedside table were brown and wilted. (Depression personified, one might say! Clearly, the person in charge of this facility did not believe in any sort of connection between aesthetics and mental health. Speaking of which, where was Thea? Because her bed appeared to be empty, her blanket crumpled at the side. Underneath the bed, there was… a half-eaten apple? Alright, why not! Certainly, stranger things had happened there.)

“I did warn you, doctor Loveless,” the nurse emerged out of nowhere, oh so casually. (If Clara’s phasing in and out of her reality surprised her, then she kept that information to herself.) “Of course, you couldn’t have known. Nobody could have known aside from myself, but why would anyone listen to me? I’m but a nurse, so I understand how accepting my advice might be beneath you.” The sarcasm was impossible to miss even if she actively tried, but before Clara could so much as begin to ask questions, certain… hmm, circumstances… came to light.

Another nurse opened the door, and two of her compatriots pushed a wheelchair inside. Unsurprisingly, Thea was seated on it-- Thea, with her vacant eyes and paper-like skin, dressed in white pajamas. (Srrrk, srrrk, srrrk, the wheelchair screeched, with every movement of its wheels. If Clara tried hard enough, she could even hear a melody in it! …a melody that resembled a funeral song, in the same way snow brought up the associations of winter.)

“The official time of death was today, at 05:45,” the nurse informed her. “Silly little Dorothea! We had pancakes for breakfast, but she couldn’t even wait for that. I mean, not that I judge, but it does strike me as a terrible shame. Do you not like pancakes, doctor Loveless? To me, that is one of the main criteria for being considered human,” she prattled on happily, even resting her arm on the corpse’s head. “But! The positive aspect of this is that we get to take her apart now. Is there anything in particular that you’d like, doctor Loveless? A heart, maybe? Judging by your surname, you could certainly use one.”

 

[ellarose]

She's not dead. Clara thought weakly beneath the doctor guise. The numbness was a shield. She wasn't heartless. Wasn't, wasn't, wasn't. Because slowly but surely, she could feel it breaking. Hyperaware of every little crack, every shard that broke off and clattered to the floor like glass. How could that be, if there was no heart around to break? (Vaugely, she recalled the morning she was set down on the foot of her bed and told that her mother was dead. No one had ever explained to her what death was. She was four years old. Everyone was upset... because they told her she was never coming back.) And they were right. Mother never did come back. Or did she? The memory of her mother's touch-- her face-- was relatively fresh in her mind. And yet... oof. Something clicked into place there, and painfully so. That wasn't her mother, was it? It had been a fabrication. A cruel mockery woven by the fabric of this strange, strange world. This strange, strange world that she and Thea were still trapped in. (Duh! The pragmatic voice of her conscious was still there somewhere and yet it sounded so very far away. Practically unreachable at this point.) She tried to ground herself with that information, but it was excruciatingly difficult to do that when the story kept unraveling around her in such violent, vibrant detail. This world, her brain, the drugs-- they were all determined to take her on this ride and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The sounds the wheelchair made grated on her ears. The nurses voices were even worse. How dare they belittle her friend with words like 'silly' in these circumstances? Thea's not dead.

"It's not Dorothea. She prefers Thea, you bitch!" Clara might not have broken out of the dream, but she at least broke free of the role they'd forced her to play. She pushed forward, crouching down in front of Thea's chair to look her in the eyes. The sight made her own surprisingly moist. "You're not broken... not dead. I know you're not. Thea, wake up!" The nurse was lifting the scalpel, as if to make good on her promise to cut Thea's heart out. No more. Don't hurt her anymore. Clara hugged onto her friend, angling herself to take the blow in her stead.

Clara's white uniform turned red, red, red... and together they were dead. Until they weren't.

Clara was warm, pressed up against another woman. Some bouncy remix was playing on a stereo from afar, giving the bed subtle vibrations.

"We had fun, didn't we? But we need to stop now. My boyfriend will be here any moment." Ivy? Clara blinked, finding herself underneath none other than Ivy. They were in a dim back room... alone. "Oh my god! Are you crying? Aw, Clare-bear. I never took you for the sensitive type. Don't take it so personally, baby. You know I'll still have time for you--" She leaned down to kiss her, as if she wasn't admitting so casually to two-timing.

"Get off." Clara slapped her away. Then she brushed the backs of her hands to her cheeks, surprised to discover that they were wet. But she just... didn't do that. Didn't cry. Not in front of people. Furiously, she wiped them away and then stood to leave.

"Oh, come on. Don't be such a killjoy!" Ivy complained. Clara didn't humor her. She slammed the door and found herself in the crowded halls of an unfamiliar house. Fixing her disheveled sleeve with a shaky sigh, she wandered aimlessly. (She recognized some of these people. But there were a lot she didn't know. But that was fairly common for parties, wasn't it? Especially when she didn't put that much energy into recognizing faces to begin with.) Ignoring everyone, she tried to find someplace quiet to gather her thoughts... and in the process might have downed a few drinks to numb whatever heartache she was dealing with this time. Sure, it was Ivy. (It was always Ivy.) But this time it was something more than that. Something she couldn't place. Whatever. I'm not feeling well. She decided. I need to go home and sleep.

Clara considered texting Raoul to pick her up. The alcohol was starting to hit her, the pop music was unbearably loud and she needed to think. Before she could reach for her phone, however, she ran into someone familiar.

"Thea?" Clara asked. 'There she is', some part of her brain sighed with relief, though she couldn't fathom why. 'She is alive.' The party flickered, freezing briefly before kickstarting into motion again. She didn't question this. Just like she didn't question the strange amalgam of her past and future melting together. "Are you--"

Then a drunk, muscled jock knocked into them both.

"Fucking punks! Why don't you watch where you're going!?" Right. Excuse her. A drunk, muscled douchebag stumbled into them both. A moment later, his expression changed, modifying the anger to be something a little more self-serving. "Oh, Clara! You're friends with Ivy, right? You seen her anywhere?"

"I don't know. Try hell." Clara deadpanned. She didn't want to deal with this.

"You don’t have to be such a bitch about it. Why you always gotta be a bitch about everything?’" The guy overreacted, because of course he did, and got up in her face. The violation of personal space caused Clara to stumble backward and into Thea, sending them both down onto the floor in a tangle of limbs. Seeing her friend’s face up close under the flashing lights, she was able to gauge that her cheeks were a little pink. In fact, they were both fairly flushed.

"We’re... drunk, aren’t we? Something isn’t right here." Clara tried to reason through her confusion. "Thea, are you okay?" She said those words and truly meant them. The intense ache in her chest made a comeback and her eyes felt strangely wet again. "I— I really thought I lost you and…"

 

[Syntra]

Fireflies were dancing behind her closed eyelids, eerily similar to the ones that had led her to that blasted graveyard. Were they leading her somewhere as well now? To her fucking doom, maybe? The chances of villainous, firefly-sponsored GPS services appearing as a plot device in her story weren’t extremely high, but in her heart of hearts, Thea knew that they weren’t non-existent. In fact, that tidbit wouldn’t even get to her personal top ten weirdest scenes! At Thea Holloway Industries, they had a reputation to uphold, and FateTM sure as fuck wasn’t holding back. ‘You’ll follow, anyway,’ the demon chuckled, his voice resonating oddly in her ears. (Was he too far, or perhaps too close? And could he ever really be far, considering that he was speaking to her from the folds of her own fucking brain? …huh, maybe those medieval-ass doctors had a point! Perhaps lobotomy truly was a solution to all the problems, and the secret the Big PharmaTM didn’t want you to fucking know.) ‘What else but that have you done, crow? You were born for following, so that’s what you will continue to do. They call it muscle memory, I believe. Look, your legs are moving already!’

Infuriatingly enough, the demon was right. Like a marionette, Thea moved forward-- the movements were weird and twitchy, too, as if her limbs reacted to invisible strings, but forward she did walk, for some reason. ‘Might as well kick back and enjoy it,’ he recommended, his tone almost fatherly. ‘I’m not worried about you, though! I mean, you know what this is like. You’ve practiced for me, over and over and over, and I have to commend you for that. Never before had I dreamed of having such a dedicated disciple! Raven, though… no, I’m afraid she doesn’t really get it.’ Disappointment rang in his voice now, bitter like her morning coffee, and Thea… well, pathetic as it was, she was glad that it wasn’t directed at her. You know, for fucking once? Hey, hey, hey, couldn’t blame a girl for appreciating some diversity in these trying times! ‘You’ll teach her, won’t you? What it means to be a guest in your own body. To truly surrender, in a way that allows you to be free. Don’t you want her to experience that?’

‘I’m not…’ Wasn’t what? And, come to think of it, what was she? There were fragments everywhere, maybe of herself, but maybe of other things entirely, and sure, Thea would have loved to pick them up! …except that they were fucking sharp, and just touching them cut her whole hand in half. Whoopsie? Like, not that she cared too much, but not having a hand did strike her as really fucking inconvenient. How was she to find a gf like that, hm? As great, awesome and revolutionary as it was, you couldn’t rely on your tongue for everything. Holding [Clara’s] hand with it would have been fucking unhinged, for one, and Thea also couldn’t envision picking flowers with it. Not unless you believed thorns to be a suitable replacement for a fucking tongue ring! Which, like, what was the point of even having a gf if she couldn’t perform the basic gf functions, such as spoiling you with flowers, cooking for you occasionally, and murdering your enemies in cold fucking blood? Nope, nope, nope, low efforts gfs were to be shamed, for the great dishonor they brought to the Lesbian Nation.

Hmmm, the Lesbian Nation! A blessed, blessed name for a blessed, blessed fucking concept-- maybe, if Thea focused hard enough, the Power of Her MindTM would transport her there, far from this endless slew of bullshittery. Please, fate? Pretty please, with a cherry on top? Since, you know, if Thea had to be tripping this hard, it might as well have been a pleasant trip! …but, nope. Duh, of course not. Why the fuck had she even expected anything else? Obviously, if the architects of this universe were to hand her an olive branch, it would be followed by them trying to gouge her eye out with it like five seconds later!

Still, it was true that the universe almost got it right this time. When Thea opened her eyes, you see, she realized with a jolt of excitement that she found herself in a club-- bodies were pressed against one another, dancing to a Forgettable Night Club track no. 54, and the lighting was just poor enough for her to be able to brainwash herself into thinking everyone was at least ten times hotter than they were. An ideal fucking constellation, in other words! …except that there were men as well, poisoning the air with their man-sence. Sigh. It may have been a small detail all things considered, but also one that was abso-fucking-lutely crucial, okay? Like, if you ordered a pint of ice-cream and only found one little piece of shit in it, you wouldn’t laugh it off with ‘hahaha, that’s fine, it’s mostly shit-free : )))’

I swear, if literally anyone puts their fucking hands on me, I’m going to break their fingers. Just to make sure, Thea put on her best murderous glare and began to fight her way through the crowd. She used her elbows liberally, but then--

“Clara?” her cheeks flushed, and Thea wasn’t at all sure whether she had forgotten about getting shitfaced or if her friend’s touch simply did These ThingsTM to her now. (Man, she was too much of a gay disaster. Like, not that she hadn’t known that before, but every day, the part of her brain dedicated to Girls was growing stronger.) “I, uh, sure? Why the fuck wouldn’t I be? A surprise party is like a surprise cake-- unexpected, but good. Nobody complains about cake. Unless you have a cake allergy, I guess? That would be fucking unfortunate, and also a violation of some universal human right. Actually, I’m sure it violates all of them.” The music was loud, loud enough that she basically had to scream, but hey, the message had to be conveyed! Finally, Thea understood the feelings of… uhh, that Marathon runner guy. You know, the one who had died solely to announce the great fucking victory? Thinking of it now, that had been stupid-- had the man hydrated properly, he could have enjoyed a party with his homies instead of the loneliness of a grave.

“C’mon,” someone behind them chuckled, “it’s almost your turn.”

“Our turn? For fucking what?” Thea frowned.

“You are joining the contest, aren’t you?” The music stopped, and the resulting silence was almost deafening. In a way, it… seemed almost threatening?

“Duh, of course that they are! No sense in coming here if you refuse to play by the rules. They do know that, don’t they?” A pair of strong hands shoved them on the dance floor, which was blinking furiously now. Purple, pink, yellow, blue-- allll the fucking colors you could think of, really! (…from beneath the neon tiles, hands were reaching for their ankles, too. Hands, and also faces? Well, the faces weren’t reaching, but they were watching, judging their every move. Yearning, with the kind of intensity that sent a shiver down Thea’s spine.)

“Well, dance, bitches! And unless you wanna join the unsuccessful contestants down there, you better show us some serious moves.”

 

[ellarose]

"Oh." Clara bit her lip, hesitating. Why the fuck wouldn't I be? Thea asked and she couldn't come up with a feasible answer for that. Yes, why wouldn't she be okay? Except this was one answer she wasn't willing to search too deeply for, because something (her heart) ached and told her that it would be too painful to unearth. (That was just it, wasn't it? Why else would her eyes be so damned teary, otherwise?) She blinked hard and swiped at her eyes again, smearing her makeup in the process and making it embarrassingly obvious that she had been crying. Regardless, she managed a tight little half-smile at the cake bit. That was the Thea she remembered. There was no reason for her to be feeling like... well, like this. Pull yourself together. She tried to think of something to say to that, something that wouldn't sound terribly awkward, but then--

Needless to say, there would be no pulling herself back together. Not when they were pushed to the center of the dance floor, a rainbow road of tiles flashing all around them. Contest? Dancing? Clara froze up like a deer in headlights. She inhaled a sharp breath when she noticed the people trapped beneath their feet and then inhaled an even sharper breath when she noticed the partygoers gathering around them. Normally she would've run for the closest possible exit in a scenario like this. As it was now, however, there was no escape.

This was some kind of nightmare. Certainly not the worst she's ever had by far, but it was one of the social variety that she never wanted to experience. Why was she here, anyway? She hated these kinds of parties. She wouldn't have come at all if not for Ivy.

Ivy? Ugh. Something about all of this was just... weird. Not right. But she couldn't put her finger on it. Then again, she was drunk.

But I can't dance. Clara wanted to protest. Not to mention that she wasn't even remotely in the mood to dance. And yet she couldn't find her voice. Even if she did it likely wouldn't have mattered, because the music started back up, so loudly that it shook their bodies with vibrations and blasted in their eardrums. Anything she could have said to reject this situation would've been drowned out by the sound. Overwhelmed, she swayed on her legs like she was seasick. This wasn't so much an attempt to dance as it was an attempt to hold herself upright under the crushing pressure. She was drunk. Wasn't feeling well. The hot, flashing strobe lights were shining over her, highlighting her ruined makeup, essentially broadcasting the fact that she'd been crying to the countless people that were staring at her. People who were expecting her to perform. To dance. This was hell.

Clara couldn't move an inch. And yet the consequences of prolonged inaction like this rested right below her feet, staring up at her, pressing their hands against the colorful glass tiles. Everywhere she looked, she saw something that made her feel infinitely sicker about this whole situation. The only exception was when she looked at Thea. Thea who made her feel safe, even though the whole world seemed to be closing in around her. A breath of fresh air when everything else in her life threatened to suffocate her.

Thea's pretty brown eyes sparkled with life under the lights. (An image flickered, a stark white scenery, a wheelchair screeching, dead vacant eyes. Brown eyes. Dead and then alive again.) Suddenly Clara found she was crying. Again. Ugh, crying in the club. She never thought she'd ever be one of those girls, but there she was! There were a few unhelpful boos from the crowd in response. Jerks. You're no fun. It's no wonder she dumped you.

"I've never..." Clara shyly looked to Thea for help, scrubbing her cheeks yet again. She wasn't sure if she could even be heard over all of this noise. "I can't dance."

 

[Syntra]

It was a consensus among her friends, at least those who had fucking bothered to stick around for longer than approximately five minutes, that Thea Holloway was about as sensitive as the average rock. Like, it took a lot to shake her, y'know? And even more to get a genuine reaction out of her, unburdened by the endless layers of irony. (Akin to the Russian matryoshka, there always seemed to be more of them, just when you thought you had reached the core. Blah blah blah, honesty, blah blah blah, integrity-- those didn't fucking protect you when you needed it, though layers did! Nobody questioned that wisdom when it came to, like, winter and winter clothes, but the second you applied the same logic to emotions, you were ~two-faced~ or ~in need of therapy~. Crazy, right? Anyway, the point was, Thea definitely wasn't the mom friend. Unless your brain was functioning in very strange ways, you didn't go to her for fucking comfort-- that would be, like, the equivalent of trying to buy some ice-cream at a hairdresser's, and then wondering why you got a handful of hair instead. Just, nope. Even despite that, though? Even despite that, Thea couldn't not notice the telltale streaks on Clara's face, the cracks in her make-up reminiscent of the craters on the moon.)

Aw, shit. Shit, shit, shit! What did you even do when a pretty girl cried? Fuck, Thea would have put on her comfy clown shoes and turned those tears into tears of laughter, but the timing wasn't doing her any fucking favors here! Like, not to be a killjoy or anything, but a) a club wasn't the place for deep conversations, b) weird, nightmare-fueled scenes didn't lend themselves well to impromptu comedic sketches. You know, especially when your lives depended on your fucking performance? Yeah, the conditions were not great. "Clara..." she whispered, rather pointlessly. (Ugh, great job. 10 out of fucking 10! Repeating her motherfucking name was a joke of the year, and also an instant depression killer. Move over, Big Pharma, 'cause Thea Holloway had just single-handedly invented the Only True CureTM! Murdering bad feelings via banality, since the year of our lord 2021.) The initial fail notwithstanding, though? While you could say many bad things about the brunette, assigning the label of a quitter to her would have been deeply, deeply unfair. Nope, Thea only failed so that she could fail again and again and again, till the fucking laws of probability themselves took pity on her and made her succeed. From the mathematical standpoint, it was fucking inevitable! Suck it, haters.

"Oi, Clara, the lighting fucking sucks here, doesn't it? Don't worry, my eyes sting as well!" she shouted, trying her best to overpower the (frankly awful) music. "Man, we should like, sue them for destroying our eyesight. I guess we could also sue them for trying to kill us first, but," she shrugged, "that's too fucking mainstream. I refuse to surrender to mediocrity." Haha, smooth! That way, Clara would know that she was ready to sweep everything under the metaphorical rug, and that shit would be fine. (Wasn't it always? Suppression worked wonders, my dude.)

Thea's own hips swayed to the rhythm, pretty much without any conscious input of her own, though when her friend insisted that she couldn't dance? Laughter bubbled past her lips, the sound of it carefree and clear like a bell. "Nonsense! Everybody can dance, Clara. The Geneva convention ensures that."...okay, so maybe she didn't exactly know what the Geneva convention was, but again, who cared? Thea was too pretty for these tiny, useless details. "People who think that are just too fucking scared to make fools out of themselves, but the joke's on them 'cause we've all been idiots, all along. So, embrace the dumbassery! Heavy thoughts equal to heavy heads, etc. etc." Without further ado, she put her arms on Clara's waist and pulled her closer. (Close enough for her to feel her heat, close enough for her smell her scent, which... damn. Had her lips always been this fucking kissable? Asking for a friend, btw. A hot, hot friend that Thea wouldn't at all mind freeing from her dress, and-- ahhh, no, no, bad thoughts! Not fucking going there!)

"See, isn't this nice?" she giggled, fighting against the blush that threatened to spill all over her cheeks. "You just sorta lean on me and pretend that you're doing something. Ta-dah, a star is born! Honestly, I think that dancing is just an elaborate excuse for drunk people to grope each other. Like, have you seen tango? 'Classy' my ass, the entire thing just screams--"

Thea for sure would have loved to finish her sentence, buuut yeah, let's say that the blonde girl who hugged Clara from behing was rather distracting. (And how she sucked on her earlobe casually, in a way that suggested she'd done it a million times before? Not okay. Not OkayTM!) "Clara-bear," she purred, her hand slipping under her blouse. "You prefer weirdos like that now? Come on, no need to stoop that low. I wasn't even finished with you yet!"

 

[ellarose]

This was… embarrassing. Agonizing. Clara seriously wanted to melt into the floor. But whenever she peered at the tiles and saw the people peering up at them from below, she realized what a lousy metaphor that was, considering that getting trapped down there wasn’t what she wanted at all. Resolute about at least that, she gazed wonderingly at Thea again as she excused the tears away and managed to maintain eye contact with her ever since. (Staring at her almost as if seeing her and really seeing her for the first time. And quite frankly? Thea was the only person worth looking at in this whole entire club.) Her friend was the only one capable of making any of this feel even remotely okay as she talked and talked, pulling her quintessentially Thea-esque anecdotes out the way a magician might pull rabbits out of a hat. It was kind of incredible, really. Where did she even come up with this stuff? The Geneva convention? What did that have anything to do with dancing at clubs?

The randomness of that one in particular earned a lopsided smile from Clara. She sniffed and nodded, knowing her voice wouldn’t rise above the beat of the music the same way that Thea’s did at this point. And while she might not have replied with words, her actions did all the talking as she took the risk and moved in closer. Her heart was pounding, but it would be okay, right? Because Thea was safe. Thea was warmth. And when she was with Thea, everyone else in the whole damned club seemed to disappear. So it didn’t even matter if she looked a little messy, a little silly, a little…

It didn’t matter, because Thea wouldn’t ditch her for something as foolish as looking a bit foolish. Just like she didn’t ditch her when she found out she was raised in a dirty trailer park or when she nearly fell apart with panic out in the woods. Or anywhere else for that matter. Whenever her heart felt like it was going to explode like a bomb, Thea found a way to defuse it just in time. I wouldn't have gotten as far as I have without her.

Clara let go of the breath she’d been holding onto along with her doubts, allowing herself to relax as much as she could while she swayed along with Thea. Isn’t this nice? She asked. (Yes. Thea’s laugh was nice. And she guessed the dancing part was also kind of nice when she could forget the rest of the world except for the two of them. The closeness, too. How long had it been since she felt this relaxed in the arms of another woman? This... well, cared for?) “Mhm.” She was entranced by the deep brown of her eyes when the distance between them closed, with Thea’s hands on her waist… an undeniable blush swept over her cheeks as well. Her gaze flickering to her lips and against her will she wished they were in an alternate timeline where she could just lean forward and kiss her on a passing whim, without consequence, her list of reasons and justifications be damned and—

What? Clara stiffened when the magic bubble of safety Thea created around her was burst by none other than Ivy. Pressed between two women in a club with mascara all over her face, she immediately felt like she was someone she’d see on some low-budget reality tv show. Especially when her sleeve slipped and exposed her shoulder as Ivy's hands traveled over her. (Where everyone disappeared when she looked at Thea, the crowd contrarily became all the more visible when Ivy stepped into the spotlight. Because Ivy thrived on attention. She wasn't there for anyone but herself as she created a spectacle in which she could get every single person in the room to stare.) The warmth in Clara escalated to an uncomfortable heat, burning her up to the point that she felt feverish. The audience gathering around them gawked and catcalled and she kind of wanted to die.

“I thought you needed to get back to your boyfriend.” Clara muttered, shrinking away uncomfortably to avoid her lips.

“Aw, you took that seriously!? I just wanted to see how you would react, baby. And you passed the test. I almost thought you were too heartless to cry.” Ivy aimed a dagger-like smile at Thea over her shoulder, as if they were sharing a secret. “Isn’t it kind of a relief to see her cry? It's almost like she’s capable of caring about someone. Even if that someone isn’t you, of course.”

The crowd whispered all around them, as if they were agreeing with the twisted narrative Ivy was weaving. (Even though that couldn't be further from the truth. As if she was crying over Ivy and her stupid games of all things! She moved past all of this a long time ago. Or at least she thought she did.) Either way, she didn't like where this was headed. The audience was getting restless. Eager for drama. And blood, probably.

“Stop it. I don't want this. I don't want you." Clara moved closer to Thea in attempt to get further away from Ivy, her instincts screaming at her to protect her friend at all costs. (Before I lose her again. I can't lose her again--) "Leave her alone."

"No, Clara. She deserves to be alone." Ivy yanked Clara back and tore them apart. When that happened an obnoxious buzzer rang out. "Right, Thea?"

"Oh, sorry. It looks like you just lost your dance partner!" The announcer shook his head disappointedly. "Sorry, but that means that you've been eliminated!" And with that? The tiles directly under Thea's feet disappeared, dropping her down, down, down below.

 

[Syntra]

A test? A fucking test to see if she could cry? Yeah, that was so far out of the realm of things that Thea considered to be okay that it could no longer be detected by any functional radar. It straight up dwelled in another fucking dimension, along with heinous crimes such as 'child murder' or 'preferring Dark Souls 2 to Dark Souls 3.' (Okay, fine, those couldn't really be compared. Sometimes, child murder could be semi-acceptable-- according to pretty much every horror movie ever, they were the favorite vessels for about 80% of demons, and in that case, Thea genuinely thought the brats should just take one for the team. Unironically thinking that DS2 was even remotely close to good, though? Nope, having taste this shit could never be forgiven.) "Interesting!" she scoffed, her hands automatically closing into fists. "How about I test whether you can bleed? You know, to see if your blood circulation is still okay if you're a heartless fucking bitch." And, like, was the blondie really implying what Thea thought she was implying? Ie., that Clara should be kissing her feet for the privilege of breathing the same air as she did? 'Cause the chick wasn't nearly hot enough for that! There definitely were girls who could snap her spine in half and Thea would thank them for it (cough, Clara, cough) but Miss Making-Cartoon-Villains-Seem-Subtle definitely didn't belong to that category. Like!!! Who even did that sort of thing? Was she some fucking alien in disguise, sent there by her overlords to perform social experiments on unsuspecting humans?

Thea wanted to throw the accusation in the chick's face, but then... well, then she started having a point. (Alone, alone, alone, resonated in her head, over and over. That was the state she'd been heading towards throughout the entirety of her life, wasn't it? Like a fucked up magnet with no opposite poles at all, sentenced to always pushing everyone away. 'Come on, crow. We've already covered this, haven't we?' the demon's voice slithered back into her consciousness, the way it always did. 'It's a good thing that this happens. Without that mechanism, you'd end up hurting so many people! But, you see, I will always be there for you. No matter how far you stray away, I won't abandon you. Isn't that what family is?' ...and, hey, maybe that was true! What was family, after all, if not an endless string of disappointments? A bridge built out of broken promises? 'Not now,' 'later,' 'don't be like that, Dorothea.' Ugh, this checked out so fucking hard that the realization almost knocked Thea out!)

...and then it did knock her out, this time for real. Come to think of it, that might have been caused by the fall more than the Epic Revelation, but that just wasn't as dramatic, okay? (Hands, hands everywhere. They were touching her, crawling all over her body, and at one point, the brunette did seriously think that she was going to choke down there. 'Leave me the hell alone!' she wanted to scream, scream at the top of her lungs, but... well, did she want that? To be alone, that was. Really, truly alone, with nothing but her own fucked up mind as company. It was all fun and jokes till you actually had to look in the fucking mirror, wasn't it? ...till your own hollow eyes stared back at you, reflecting nothing at all. Nothing but the knowledge that, underneath all the bravado, you were just a discount fucking collection of the traits you wanted to have, stolen from people with actual personalities. If she was cool enough, you see, then maybe everyone would like her....?)

'Oh. Oh, poor little crow. It doesn't work like that, don't you understand? To win the love of others, you must serve them. You must be useful to them, in one way or another. That is the way of your world!'

The scenery behind her eyelids flickered, like the light of a candle in the wind, and Thea... found herself in a wheelchair? No, not a wheelchair-- she was actually pushing a food cart, through this endless, dim, ever-shifting corridor. (A hotel, she thought. Duh, fucking obviously! One of those shady ones, too, with giggles and suspicious sounds coming from behind the closed doors. Who the fuck orders room service this late in the night? Not that Thea remembered ever applying for the job, mind you, but she was there, with the fancy food cart and everything. So, um, there was probably a reason behind that? You know what, nope, not examining this! Thinking had only ever led her down a dark, dark path, and Thea Holloway intended to live her life cleanly from now on-- cleanly and according to those convenient, clear-cut rules of likability. Serving it was, as the demon had said!)

Room #25 it is, the brunette thought, putting on her best Hollywood smile. Needless to say, though? That smile froze on her lips when Ivy answered the door, wrapped in what had to be one of the shortest towels she'd ever seen. (In her field of vision, there was a bed, a bed where Clara lay sprawled among blankets, and...) "Oh, there she is!" Ivy beamed. "Clare-bear, honey, your gift arrived. I mean, I know she's weird and all, but as a one-time thing, I think she could be sort of fun. C'mon, don't be shy, it's our anniversary!"

 

[ellarose]

Clara mumbled incoherently and nestled herself deeper amidst the blankets, as if she might find a softer alternative universe somewhere within the folds of them. It wasn’t that far-fetched, was it, considering the trajectory of the chaotic evening she's had? However, that wasn’t meant to be when she heard Ivy calling for her. Opening her sleep-laden eyes slowly, she stared at the ceiling and first focused on reorienting herself. The party was over. It had ended... badly, to put it lightly. But she couldn't remember the details. And now she was in a hotel of all places? Oh, don’t tell her she got drunk and then… (Goosebumps prickled all over her skin, which was mostly exposed. Looking at herself, she realized was dressed in a black babydoll nightie. Exactly sort of thing Ivy would have bought as a gift to coax a gut-punch reaction from her. Okay, what? When did she agree to put this on?) Her stomach twisted violently when Ivy spoke of another gift. This time, she got the distinct sense that it wasn’t more lingerie.

No, it certainly wasn’t. Because it was none other than Thea. Again-- what!? Was this a nightmare, an endless reel of events designed specifically to embarrass her? Probably, if Ivy had anything to do with it. Which obviously she did, seeing as her showing up in all of these visions had to mean something. (But no. Deep down she knew that didn't make sense, either. Ivy had no place in the distinctly paranormal aspects of her life. She never had before. So why now...) Hm. That other world unlocked her name, hadn't it? It forced her to say it and rewarded her for it. And now it was kind of like opening a closet door where she'd desperately stuffed her mess inside to hide away, stuffed so full that it came tumbling over her like a tidal wave of shame and filth. I don't want Thea to see me like this. She thought. Not now. Was it too much to wish for whatever was happening between them to develop slowly? Was it so bad that she wanted to treat love-- her heart-- like the delicate, fragile thing it was? And fine-- maybe she was starting to see something when she looked into Thea's eyes, something that looked like a future she never thought was possible for someone like her. But burning up too fast had consequences. It was like setting herself on fire, watching in dismay as the other person sidestepped the flames and enjoyed the show of watching her burn.

Speaking of which, Clara’s face burned a fierce red and she drew the blankets up to her chin in a flash to cover herself up. Ivy just giggled at her, as if her discomfort was some kind of spectacle that existed solely for her amusement.

“Aw. Isn’t my Clara so cute? Sorry, you’ll probably have to give her a sec to warm up to you. You are a total stranger, after all. It's only been... what? Two days?” Ivy told Thea, giving a casual wave of her hand. Then she winked. “Trust me. She’s usually a lot more fun behind closed doors. Let’s just say they tell you to beware the quiet ones for a reason.”

Ivy strode over to the bed and playfully tried to rip the blanket away. "No." Clara desperately gripped onto her end to keep herself sufficiently covered up. This effectively became a game of tug-of-war-- although she certainly did not see it as a game. "No!"

"There she is!" Ivy chided, grinning as she successfully wrestled the blanket away and became the victor of this dumb game of her own creation. Yeah. She was always making up games, making up the rules, bending them and cheating to win. This is exactly why they... Mortified and cold, Clara wrapped her arms around herself. "Come on, don't act so damned modest. You know how that shit gets on my nerves. You look pretty, sweetheart." She got in her face and gripped her chin. Her breath smelled reeked smoke. "Relax, Clara. I did this for you. I saw you dancing with her. I saw the way you looked at her. Even though she's a total weirdo, I thought this would make you--"

"I said no!" Clara slapped her clean across the face, the sound ringing out. She pushed herself off the bed and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. The horror grew worse when she finally got a look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Clutching the ends of the sink, she saw her hair was disheveled, her lipstick smeared. There were clear implications of what she'd been doing all night, although she doesn't remember acting on any of them. The idea that she'd been doing anything at all with Ivy of all people was... the bathroom lights flickered, blood streamed down over the mirror, and a shadowy creature appeared for an instant behind her. What is this? Why is this happening? It was too much. The room swirled. Overwhelmed with nausea, her legs bucked and she reached for the toilet to get as sick as she felt.

Outside, Ivy cradled her aching cheek and laughed darkly. Then her lips twisted.

"God! She can be such a fucking brat. It's our anniversary and she doesn't appreciate a single thing I've done for her! Figures. Did you know she was raised by her brother of all people? Like boo fucking hoo, she had a rough childhood. Guess Raoul felt so sorry for her that he spoiled her rotten." Ivy stood, glaring pointedly at the bathroom door. "Now it's like she expects everyone to come to her. She obviously doesn't get what it's like to fight for anyone's attention. Isn't that infuriating, Thea? We try so hard to be loved and always get doors slammed in our faces!"

She lifted herself off the bed and strode slowly towards Thea, like a cat approaching her prey, thinking very long and hard about what to do next. In the brief period of silence, they could hear Clara coughing in the other room. Ivy just smiled as if the sound was music to her ears.

"Well, whatever. If she wants to be alone, we can let her die alone for all I care. While you're here... why don't we just get together instead?" Ivy grinned, leaning close to whisper in Thea's ear. Then she pulled back and reached for the tray on the cart, unveiling a big shiny knife. "Unless..." She tilted the knife back and forth as if wavering between two different options. "Maybe you're the one who's making her so sick? If so, then maybe I should kill you. What do you think?" She laughed again. It sounded especially off this time. "I could give her your corpse as an anniversary gift. I bet she'd love it. Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for her happiness, Thea?"