thismaskiwear | Room 505, Thursday Evening

Entry tags:

Room 505, Thursday Evening

So there was a Talk to be had, that hadn't been had yet. After work Katchoo had stopped by J,GoB, because this was the sort of thing that needed a ridiculous assortment of munchies, preferably chocolate-covered and requiring lots of butter, so there was a large box of said munchies lying on her hastily-cleared nightstand. The occasional muffled beep from the closet hinted at the fact that Clocky'd been banished for the time being.

Now all she needed was the love of her life. Or, you know, her best friend. And roommate.

Because that wasn't awkward at all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh, a halo. That'd be a laugh, if Katchoo knew about that, not to mention the resounding sentiment of no frikkin' DUH that was her reaction to the unfinished sentence . . . but all she really did know was that something was wrong right the hell now.

"Francie? Francie!"

"Do it," Francine heard herself saying, and maybe her mouth repeated the sounds or maybe she just heard it in her head. Do it do it do it do it and Katchoo was RIGHT THERE holding on to her and then not, then there was just... just something awful. Hanging in the air and Arthur's face behind it, grim and determined and dust and she was gone.

"No! Nononononononono. Katchoo!" Francine stared straight ahead, reaching out her hand like... she could catch dust.

Edited 2009-07-31 06:25 (UTC)

The mirror. Oh, fuck, the whole thing with the mirror that'd been in the radio notes yesterday. And now this, and she didn't have a frikkin' clue what the goddamn hell was going on any more except that all of a sudden Francine was staring through her, calling her name like she wasn't there --

"Francine!" Katchoo reached out to take hold of her shoulders. "Stay with me, you hear me? I'm right here!"

"YOU'RE NOT HER," Francine found herself shouting through tears as the knife in her skull turned into an axe. Then covering her mouth, because nonononono.

There were no words for how utterly confused, freaked out, and pretty-damn-close-to panicky Katchoo was right now. "I'm not who?"

Then the sudden realization of sharp contrast that hadn't been there before hit her, so Katchoo found herself staring at Francine's hair while she tried again to get her to calm down.

"Katchoo. You're not--"

Except the icepick that use to be an axe that used to be a knife in Francine's head was fading to a dull throb, enough that she could start to see past the panic.

"K--Chewie?"

"Not what?" Stop panicking right back, Katchoo; it's not helping matters. "I'm right here -- oh god, Francine, your hair . . ."

"Not... you were dead." Francine reached out for her. "You were dead and I ... I think I killed you."

A muffled, indignant beep came from inside the closet.

That alarm clock with the lasso, and the chipmunks from that one dream. Dead girl dead girl dead girl!

No, that had nothing to do with this. Right?

"Not dead, sweetheart, see?" Katchoo reached a hand out to her, but as if she could say no to an invitation? She dropped her hand, but moved forward to wrap Francine in a hug again.

"You were dead and I never got to say I meant it." Francine buried her face in Katchoo's hair for a moment, caught between ebbing panic and loss, and the solid, warm feel of her in Francine's arms. "Always, no matter what."

Right about that moment, if she hadn't been so preoccupied with the more immediate concern of what had freaked Francine out so badly that a streak of her hair had gone white, Katchoo could have blurted out the entire story of the two years she'd been gone because of that promise and the closeness.

"Always," she echoed instead. "It'll be okay, Francie."

"You're really here?" She still had to check. It was that real. It was that awful. It was that... it was... it was Francine turning her head and leaning further in to press her lips to Katchoo's and MAKE SURE.

Which meant that this, in turn, was Katchoo not fighting this at all, not even when she made a soft muffled noise of surprise and reached up to touch a hand to Francine's cheek. Then pause just before contact, as if she was afraid she'd make a move and the moment would dissipate.

Like . . . like a cloud of dust or something.

It did, eventually, but not like a cloud of dust. First there was Francine's mouth soft against hers, then hard, desperate for reassurance, then a beat and a beat that were something Francine couldn't put a name to, then pulling away quickly and covering her mouth.

"Sorry!" What. What? "I ... " Owe Arthur money. "I just had to be sure." Yes. That was it. To be sure. "I mean--" What did she mean? "...What about my hair?"

Edited 2009-07-31 17:02 (UTC)

The pulling away didn't hurt as much as the apology, maybe. "It's --" Hoping too much of her disappointment didn't show on her face, Katchoo reached up to touch Francine's bangs. "Part of it's gone white."

"It can't have. How? I'm only seventeen. People's hair doesn't go white until--" Mmm, defensive babble. Tastes just like chicken.

People's hair doesn't go white until they look in the mirror and shut up because huh?

Katchoo watched her closely, hovering nearby, not wanting Francine to lose the reassurance of her presence. "Until you saw whatever it was you did just now."

Looking at Katchoo over her shoulder in the mirror made Francine shudder for a moment, hand paused halfway to her face to touch the weirdness hanging over it. "It was horrible."

Katchoo wondered: if she came up to hug Francine from behind right now, would that go badly? "Can you talk about it?" she asked, just beside Francine's elbow.

And yet if she got asked the same question, she'd probably say no. She kind of hated that.

It really wouldn't go badly at all. Francine ran her hand disbelievingly through her hair again, then stepped back. "We were just talking." Well, hardly just talking, given the subject. But. "And then everything got bright and my head started to hurt like crazy. And... you were there, but you didn't look like you. Your hair was shorter, and ... then your face went all funny."

Okay, Katchoo couldn't take it any more, and she did give in to the impulse to wrap her arms around Francine. If she pulled back, well, Katchoo would take the risk.

"Not the way it does when you use the Fat Man voice, I'm guessing."

Francine laughed once, a little too hard, at that, wiping tears off her face. "No. Like a monster or a demon or something. with sharp teeth. It still looked like you, but not. And then I said do it, and you just..." No, Francine wouldn't be pulling back, not when she could hold on to Katchoo's arms so hard she couldn't let go if she wanted to.

"You fell apart. I was holding on to you and you fell apart and turned into dust."

Well, that was ironic. (Alanis, take note.) It was when Katchoo wasn't around Francine that she felt like she could fall apart and turn into dust.

This mask I wear pretends I'm here
And hides me from the awful fear
That you might find the heart of me
And take that too, beneath the trees.

Why did that poem she'd written three years ago come to mind all of a sudden?

And, when she was around Francine, was when she was most afraid of being seen as a monster. Of course at the moment she was around Francine and her arms were starting to lose feeling. Not that she cared.

"Not going to happen, Francine," she said firmly -- and lamely, she thought, but what else could she say?

"Promise?" Francine tried to say it like a joke, but it came out sounding like she was five years old and desperately needed to hear that from someone she trusted or the world was going to end and there would be no more ice cream ever.

"Promise," Katchoo said, and she even meant it. "I'll never let that happen."

"Me neither." Because I will never let you die is a promise you can totally keep, Francine.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Room 505, Thursday Evening

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject