savetheearth | Belief / Full Moon

Entry tags:

Belief / Full Moon

Who: Alexander and Reilanin
Where: Alexander and Ravindra's apartment
When: 1/16, evening
What: Reilanin goes to visit, unaware Alexander is freaking out about the echo he received from Henry's power.
Warnings? tba?

She could feel it, imperceptible, beginning to itch beneath her skin. Tonight was safe- tomorrow would be the full moon. Lyall would not be there. Nick would not be there. No one had heard from Angela, as far as she knew- it would just be her and Hajime.

She tried not to think of it. There were a lot of things she was trying not to think about, and a small part of her wondered if that was a smart thing to do.

Not that she felt any of her decisions were smart, so long as they involved her leaving the house. Someone had mentioned working from home. It had been in talks at work, given how often she had been "ill" as of late. Simply a matter of time before they had an idea of how to shift her duties. Most of it could be done from a distance, she reasoned. Just a matter of time.

But today was not work. Today was to visit Alexander. She wondered if he tired of seeing her. Having such a small pool of people she felt comfortable speaking to herself, she certainly wasn't, but Alexander was an altogether different sort from her, much more sociable and outgoing, and she had already seen how things had changed with him since he had confined himself. It made her feel guilty that she did likewise in light of this, but being among other people was difficult.

Everyone just looked so good, and she was starving.

There was never very much traffic in the apartment. That was good. She knew who owned cats and who had a dog, who had also confined themselves to their apartment, who was rarely there. One apartment burned incense and she hurried past it quickly. She knocked on the door, going through her purse for a kleenex, pressing it over her nose with both hands, trying to keep her eyes from watering, to no avail. Another good reason not to go out. Smokers were an even greater nuisance now than they ever had been before.

Who: Hajime and Reilanin
Where: Lyall's house :3c
When: 1/17, evening
What: It's the full moon! :D
Warnings? tba!

She was very careful to keep an eye on the time. While it was still daylight, gone from work early, afternoon off, teetering between starvation and nausea, she made her way to Randolph's place. Would it be enough with just Hajime? It felt like too much, actually, but that was just because her pride and dignity had taken a good stab.

No big deal.

Garage? The room? She didn't like the idea of breaking anything in Randolph's room and it felt too much like trespassing. The whole thing felt like some huge invasion of privacy, but there wasn't much choice to be had in the matter. She had to be somewhere, and someone had to be somewhere with her, end of story. Hajime was to be her- what was that funny word Randolph had used, claviger? It still meant nothing to her. Not a bit of trivia from her own past, then.

She locked the door of the garage behind her, stripped, bundled herself up in a blanket, waited. Third time around, still no better. The itch was maddening, like she could just scratch away her skin. What if it never got better? Oh, she didn't know if she could handle that. The idea of it scared her more than anything else, the ongoing dread as each month approached, the anticipation-

At least she didn't have time to wonder what Hajime thought about the transformation. It seemed a little swifter than the first time, though no less painful. It wasn't long at all before the familiar angry snarls and slams against the door signalled the end of her transformation and recovery.

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He lifted his own glass and unthinkingly responded with, "Getting myself killed because of it."

There was a nervous energy about him that refused to go away -- and rightly so. That Alexander had resorted to forcing an innocent person to kill him -- had thought nothing of killing another to goad her into doing it because of Belief.

After swallowing, he set the glass down and dragged the back of his palm across his lips. The cocktail was nothing pleasant on his tongue, but he was not concerned with taste. He just didn't want to wake up thirsty.

Edited 2014-01-20 07:48 (UTC)

Her brow creased slightly at his wording. Oh, she believed him- there was no problem there. The unease was still there, but didn't explain his level of vehemence.

She took a drink. Disgusting. She nearly gagged, but even while she thought that, she lifted the glass to her lips a second time.

Did she want to know? She couldn't recall seeing Alexander so worked up over something, fidgeted with the glass on the surface of the island again, licking her lips slowly. "What will you tell me about it?" she asked finally. She didn't want to drag it out bit by bit, question by question. Let him decide now what he wanted her to know. There was some small guilt on her face, but more the shame of not being on the same level as him, not being able to comprehend exactly where his concern stemmed from, not because of the guilt that she did- no, that guilt would be far, far greater.

The gravity of sharing the memory of his death weighed down on his mind. He stared silently at her, almost guiltily. If he told her, she would receive an Echo of the same, wouldn't she?

It was the memory of the werewolf who attacked the Golden Hour again. His gut answer was a snappy "nothing", but he held it back and instead pressed his palm against the base of his throat.

"You were involved," he finally said, nervously watching her fingers. "If I tell you, I think-- I think you'll remember."

She was silent to that, eyes on his face to see if he was telling the truth. Satisfied only in that he was, she sighed, not quite impatient. A forced exhale to dispel what was there.

She'd been involved in his death. Not in a good way. If there had been anything redeeming in it, he'd tell her more easily than this.

It had been a long time since she'd focused on the type of person she must have been. For a moment she held her breath before she spoke again.

"I could remember it any number of ways," she said, looking down again and leaning forward slightly, pushing the glass aside to rest her elbows on the island, folding them in front of her. She didn't look back up. "I'd like to hear it from you."

He had mixed feelings about that answer. On the one hand, he didn't care to prompt the memory to return to her, and not just because of the death factor -- or rather, his death. There was the death of the innocent girl he had caused, too, and it was shameful.

But on the other, he hadn't told anyone about the memory and the prospect of sharing the weight with another was awfully appealing, if for no other reason than to get it out of the confines of his skull.

He lowered his eyes to his unfinished drink. Licking his lips, he struggled to find a place to start, then said, "There was a girl in the church that hated what I was-- hated Others. Her hair was turning white because-- because of Belief, but she didn't believe it was Belief causing it. She thought her change was divine in nature.

"I... I hypnotized one of her church mates into leading her into a house. I asked her about Belief, about why-- why wouldn't the church use Belief to make us-- Others like us, who had to prey on people to survive-- I asked why they wouldn't change that. They could, you know? They could. They had the numbers. They had the authority on the city."

He spoke with rising dismay, as if he'd experienced this all first-hand. As if he was that Alex, and that Alex's opinions and emotions were his own.

"They could, but they didn't. And she wouldn't give me a straight answer. So I..." His fingers curled around his neck and his palm pressed further into it. "I wanted her to kill me because I didn't want to change anymore-- didn't want to be at the mercy of what others thought of vampires-- They weren't even thinking of me, but it was enough to change me."

He lifted his hand, grasped at nothing in front of him. "And I wanted her to own that. If she was going to accept the benefits of Belief, then I wanted her to accept the consequences of it, too."

Shoulders slumping, he lowered his hand and risked a glance at Reilanin. "Did you- Did you get it?" he asked, hoping she had so that he wouldn't have to speak of the rest.

Edited 2014-01-21 03:16 (UTC)

She listened, not looking at him while he spoke. She couldn't give him that right then. Her focus instead was on piecing together the story, putting into context the concept that hovered there on the edge of her understanding. She didn't remember much about the Church, but the question- why wouldn't the church use Belief to make us-- Others like us, who had to prey on people to survive-- I asked why they wouldn't change that- reminded her too well of the conversation with one Lord Myron, tucked away in her ledger.

She had not shown Alexander that conversation. Perhaps she never would.

Trying as best she could to imagine the situation, using what little information she had, Reilanin remained silent, even as he stopped speaking. Was anything familiar? Yes, no. Others. Change. That was who they had been in that world, and change- yes, change, it was possible. She'd wanted change. Her transformation was so terrible, and Jack had made his seem extremely desirable. (But why not get rid of it altogether? Her breathing became shallow as she thought of her conversation with Lord Myron. Didn't she want to get rid of it?) Alexander had wanted it to stop, wanted to prove a point-

She looked up, startled, as he asked his question, eyes focusing on his hand as it fell. And it was there the echo hit her, pulling everything together for one long, terrible memory, and she did not answer him, gaze frozen on his wedding band.

It took him a few glances darting between Reilanin and the direction of her gaze for Alex to realize she was staring at his-not-his wedding band. He quickly shoved his hand inside his jeans pocket, as if ashamed that she had noticed it.

"It's not mine. I'm not-- It was his," he finished, looking towards her, but not directly at.

Edited 2014-01-21 05:06 (UTC)

"I took it," she said, not quite hearing what he said. She'd never quite noticed it, still staring at where it would be at his side before her eyes drifted away.

She shifted and pulled herself up, but still leaned on her hands. The numbness was still there, the shock of the echo mingling with the shock of his death. She felt cold. The two girls, one dull-eyed, the other trembling with fear, the rickety, dusty old house with its creaky stairs. How steady her hands had been over the other girl's, using all of her strength to keep both their hands on the stake as she made sure it completely pierced through Alexander's chest.

And when the girl had collapsed in shock, she had dug through the ashes to find his ring.

"Oh," she breathed, hands clenched and white on the countertop.

His expression twisted in confusion. What had Reilanin taken? His ring?

He felt the instinctive urge to reach out and comfort her, but thought had him hesitate. Would she appreciate it or instead find it unwelcome in the midst of what he offered comfort for? A death she was a part of, and a death she watched impassively.

He shifted uneasily, then reached over, placing his hand over hers. The action was meant to be gentle, but it was not quite so refined. He was already feeling the effects of the liquor.

Her eyes fell to the island again, sorting out the memory and the terrible feelings that came with it. What surprised her most wasn't the guilt, but the loneliness that accompanied the deed. In the ensuing silence, she felt suddenly very small, very powerless. Very alone.

His hand on hers caused her to jump, and she looked up at him, caught off guard. She swallowed hard, frozen, tempted to jerk away. But as her fingers shifted, it was to grab on to his, to hold back as tightly and clumsily, an anchor to this world to pull her out of that one.

Why had she done that? Why had she done it that way? Why hadn't she stopped him? She'd had the strength. Hadn't she? Perhaps not. But she hadn't understood him then, either.

The sick feeling settled in her stomach again. She hadn't understood.

"I left them there. I took the ring. And the stake." Her voice was hushed now, grating on her own ears. What had she done with them? She didn't know. "She did," she corrected, swallowing again and looking away. "The other me."

Not even the rum could keep his blood from running cold. The stake.

The stake that was sitting in a drawer in his room. Alex had been far too unsettled to speak of it with anyone else, but he couldn't bring himself to dispose of it. After all, it was the only sure method to kill him that he knew of. He had already given those he saw frequently a rosary or a crucifix to use against him in case he lost control again.

Why not the stake?

He lowered his head into his free palm, shook it miserably, then took a deep breath and sighed. "I'm sorry."

I wanted to die before you. I didn't want to be alone with that city.

"I'm sorry."

She was silent, letting those words hover and fade away, the hand not clasping his flexing before she let it settle on the surface. There was an urge in the back of her head to break, just a little bit, to let it happen, to get it out of her system, to move on. Everything that was surfacing was threatning to drown her- maybe letting some of it out would delay it.

But she couldn't. She had so rarely, and to have him there next to her, vicariously suffering alongside her, brought back her old habits. She had not allowed any tears or tantrums when her mother had died. If she had, who would look after Mattias? Who would look after her father?

Someone would have looked after them, maybe. She couldn't realize it when she was a child, took everything on herself, shoved everything down and considered it unimportant compared to those around her. It wasn't that bad.

It wasn't that bad.

She swallowed again, pulling her hand from his and reaching up to touch his head lightly. A slightly awkward gesture, one that solidified as she rested her hand to his back.

"Well. That's out of the way, at least."

There was comfort that accompanied the awkward gesture, though it slipped away after she spoke. Troubled, he turned his head enough to see her face from the corner of his eye, brows furrowing. He struggled to organize his words, then asked, "That's- that's it?"

No horror, no judgment, just bland acceptance?

Silent a moment, hand still on his back (lighter now), she asked, "what can one person do that needed hundreds of others to do before? It isn't their fault this is happening. It won't be like it was."

It was someone's fault... whose? The Earth's? It was easy to lose sight of that. Something was doing this for a reason. It wasn't as arbitrary as before.

"...do you think you would do it again?" was the next question, her voice seeming very small in the asking. Her hand lifted off of his back.

"No."

It came out as a sharp exhale. His fingers curled around her hand a little tighter. "No," he repeated, stronger, harsher. "I'll leave. If Belief spreads, I'll leave. I can't stay. No. I'm not gonna let that happen to me."

Nothing in Locke City was precious enough for him to accept the twisting of his identity at the whims of others. He struggled to accept the changes to what he was enough as is. He refused to endure changes to who he was.

She leaned over again slowly, forearms on the island once more, so that her shoulder brushed his. Her eyes remained downcast, taking that information and considering it.

It wasn't even possible to consider an escape plan beyond that- the whys of it would be forgotten the moment the line was crossed. Even if she were to ask that they make one together, it would mean nothing when they forgot.

What would she be like if she forgot?...

"It won't happen again. You'll get out before it does."

He afforded the option no uncertainty. If pressed to take it, Alex would make it work.

But he was only thinking of himself.

With a heavy sigh, he released his hold on her hand and reached for his drink. Now that he'd unearthed the memory of killing Laurel to accompany his fear of Henry's newly granted power of (his own) belief, drinking himself to sleep was even more desirable.

Raising the glass to his lips, he sullenly asked, "And you?"

Her hands folded underneath her again and she stood like that, leaning on the counter, before she pushed herself back and took a step aside. She paused, recalled her own glass. She took it up again as well and downed the rest in a single gulp.

She grimaced at him in the aftermath. "I don't know. The same?" What was the line to cross, she wondered. Tomorrow would be terrible- perhaps she could take some tylenol or something beforehand? ...no, her system would run through the effects well before the transformation began. "I could probably request a transfer or... ask a relative overseas... I still have my citizenship."

He finished most of his drink as she answered, setting down the glass with naught but a tablespoon or two left inside of it. To it he added more blood, and then a splash of rum. Some of the liquor spilled onto the surface, leaving a trail of miniature puddles, each smaller than the last.

"Why?" he asked, not yet ready to resume drinking, still recovering from the sharpness of the first.

To that she was silent. Why. There'd been sense of that kind of escape from her past self. It had been- cure or change. Or die.

She put the tumbler down with a loud clink. "Depending on which direction this goes... it might be better for everyone involved if I left, don't you think?"

"No," he sighed, then swallowed, rolling his head to the other side. "Why d'you still have your citizenship?"

"Never gave it up. We really only came over because my mother- ...I suppose I always expected we'd go back."

She shrugged, pausing before she took the rum and poured some into her glass. Just a splash. She shuddered after she swallowed and put her glass back down, still stained red.

"Would you go home?"

"Home, yeah," he said distractedly, not keen to be the focus of conversation. "Enough to find my footing again. What's your story?"

All he really knew about her, outside of Number-related issues, was that she was a librarian with a penchant for finding herself in emergency situations and wanted to avoid her father and brother enough to avoid getting a phone.

In other words, he hardly knew her at all.

She shot him a look then, as though just catching on that he was throwing questions back on her on purpose. She seemed about to say something, stopped, then shrugged again, conceding.

"My mother had cancer. I didn't know that for a long time- I just knew she was sick often. It was in remission when she was pregnant with Mattias. It was stupid that she had him at all-" She bit her tongue. "...it came back. My father moved us here for treatment, but it didn't work. Too late, maybe. Mattias wasn't even in school yet when she died. We ended up staying."

Silent a moment, she looked aside, her voice making things factual. "I think it's because she's here that my father didn't- won't- leave. Mattias graduates this year. Maybe once that's done..."

Eyes closed, he didn't notice her look. He drank from his glass slowly as she spoke, trying to focus on her words instead of the way he'd held Laurel as he drained her dead. He'd done it so easily-- not with pleasure, but neither with hesitance or guilt. That he could become someone like that, however unnaturally...

Reilanin's voice filtered back in, then tapered off.

"Did you wanna leave? Like... before all of this."

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