impure_tale

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(ooc: As established in this thread, the Marquis met the Abbe again Friday afternoon, and then promptly had a heart attack. The thread is not yet concluded but will be in the next day, but the end result will be that he doesn't survive. So this entry is being written from the infirmary, tonight, while he's getting over the death toll.)

One year. Five months. Four days.

That is how long it has been since my death in Charenton Asylum, since I robbed myself of a few final moments of breath and existence. It is not something I have ever expressed to anyone, but I committed suicide before I came here, and I have never regretted it. Ask yourself, dear reader, what level of desperation, of squalor, that a man must reach, to believe that the only comfort they will ever have will come through what choices they can make themselves, what control they are capable of assuming over their existence -- even if achieving it means bringing an end to one's own life.

Was I afraid? Not really. I am not proud of that. There is no pride in the level of suffering a person must endure to welcome an end, even an uncertain one.

Yesterday, I was afraid.

...Mademoiselle Shego, I'm afraid I shall not be able to attend your lesson tomorrow morning. You have my deepest apologies.

Members of the Theatre Troupe should be aware that rehearsals will have to be delayed for the time being.

[Private to Captain Kirk]

May I speak with you?

[Private to Dr Horrible]

Thank you for finding help for me.

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"Because I was dying anyway." It wasn't the most reassuring of answers, nor was it even particularly deep or moving. However, the Marquis related it with point blank sincerity.

"Ah." That sounded like a stupid reason to Pavi, but he had never been in a position so desperate that his own death, delivered under his own control, would have been the most desirable outcome. He reached for the Marquis' hand, taking it as he had during the man's attack.

"And the Abbé?"

The Marquis winced. He had hoped Pavi wouldn't ask about that, because he had done his best to think as little about it as possible, aside from what he had expressed to Kirk -- perhaps as some residual feeling that the younger man was somehow responsible for his well-being in this matter.

"The Abbe was the man in control of Charenton for much of my time there. His authority was undermined by a Doctor sent in by the Emperor when I began publishing again. He tried at first to intercede on my behalf and then eventually began carrying out the Doctor's punishments for him."

"He hurt you, then."

Pavi's fingers tensed around the Marquis', and his expression made it absolutely clear that he had no plans to make the Abbé's future on the Barge any easier - or any less painful. The drive for violence, the urge to see someone broken and in agony - he didn't know why it was reasserting itself over this but there it was, and he saw very little reason to deny it.

"I see."

"No more than I hurt him," he admitted. He returned the squeeze, not realizing it was a sign of Pavi's anger and not some desire to offer comfort. "I pursued the ends I desired regardless of the costs or how it would affect people who were dear to me."

It took more effort that he'd thought imaginable to drag his attention back to the conversation at hand, although at the back of Pavi's mind there continued an internal debate on broken glass and how much damage he could do before one of the Wardens caught him.

"So. This is why you came here as an Inmate, no?" he said. It was a question he'd often considered, but never asked.

"My death?" he asked. "No. I came here as an Inmate because I do not --" The Marquis paused, catching himself. Sometimes he forgot he wasn't an Inmate anymore. "I imagine I was here because I did not tend to take responsibility for my actions or inactions."

It was that irresponsibility, the heedless pursuit of desire, which Pavi had been referring to - but he simply nodded. He supposed the good doctor would say that he himself was there for a similar reason, even if that had manifested itself in actions that were considered far worse.

The Marquis had warned him against allowing his darker desires to rule him. He wanted to heed that advice, but then he thought of the Marquis' grey body on the Infirmary bed and it became impossible. His thoughts felt blurred.

"Mm." He placed his other hand atop the Marquis', running his fingertips over the man's fingers and the back of his hand, and just let the silence run for a brief while.

"How do you...feel?"

Smiling a little tiredly, the Marquis squeezed his hand. "Weak," he explained. He'd never died before, but he had been injured badly enough to warrant keeping him in a bed in the Infirmary for a couple weeks. He knew how much strength it could take from a body to just be hurt in some way, even if everything else was fine.

"Yes. I felt like this, also." Pavi's own death was only ten days behind him, still hot in his memory like a burn scar. He looked at the Marquis for a moment, lips parted to speak, then he hesitated and looked away.

"If there is anything you...need," he said, uncertain of himself. "You have only to ask, no?"

"Tell me how you are feeling." The Marquis watched him intently. He might have been bedridden but his perception was just as sharp as ever. Then again Pavi just had such a tendency to not say what he was thinking initially. The Marquis could not help but get it right nine times out of ten.

"I am unhappy, that this has happened to you," Pavi said, absolutely honestly, but not daring to touch on the rage he was feeling towards the Abbé. Anger - of such intensity, and towards a stranger who had personally done him no wrong - was frighteningly foreign.

"Better to have died of natural causes than to have been killed, Paviche," he assured him, patting the back of his hand. "I'm sorry you had to be here for my first; I don't imagine it was easy for you to watch." Of course he sounded very much in control of himself, but better that than admit the whole ordeal was still having any effect on him, aside from the sickness.

"It was not. But it does not matter." Pavi glanced at the Marquis' face but didn't quite meet his eyes. "It will not happen again." He wasn't quite sure yet how he would make sure of that, but he would.

"At least not for another year," he said a little playfully. "You realize I think I am the only one who has been here this long or longer who took this long to finally die at least once."

Ordinarily the lightness of the Marquis' tone would be a comfort, but it just made Pavi suspect more than ever that he was being insincere. He certainly hadn't been capable of much real levity, so soon after his revival.

"That does not - "

He swallowed, and the cold fury came through clearly in his voice when he spoke. "It will not happen again."

The Marquis watched him, surprised at the forcefulness in his voice. It's almost humbling. "It is only avoidable to a certain point, dumpling," he explained. "But I promise you I will not go looking for it."

Edited 2009-10-20 15:32 (UTC)

Pavi stared back at him, and he came very close to just saying it - that he intended to hurt the Abbé so thoroughly and so intensely that he wouldn't even be able to think about the Marquis without it making him ache. But then he was forced to think of what had happened after Rome - how the Marquis had said he'd not wanted to be near him - and Pavi wanted to be alone far less than he wanted to indulge this new feeling of hurt, possessive anger.

"...Si." He took a deep breath, let it go and pushed a hand through his hair, a mask of neutrality settling over his features with ease. "This is good to hear."

"Thank you for watching over me, Paviche," he breathed, thinking that in spite of everything, it was good not to wake up alone, as he had when he first came here, half mad. "And I am sorry I could not do so much for you."

He was a touch uncomfortable with being told that was what he'd done; it wasn't a conscious decision, more the intense feeling that he had no other options. McCoy would read too much into it, Pavi was sure.

But he simply smiled. "Do not worry, Marchese. This is the least I can do, no?"

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