impure_tale

(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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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?"

86

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]

[Action]