open ; welcome to the inner workings of my mind

[persevere]

Who: Caroline Forbes + You + Closed Starters
Where: Everywhere
When: July 6th to the end of the month
Rating: This will get gory, most likely.
Summary: Caroline returns to Wonderland, but she's not quite herself these days...
The Story:

Deux Lux

[Caroline Forbes is here most nights, drinking the night away and dancing on any flat surface she can find no matter the height. She never drinks herself into oblivion because she wants to be at her best, on guard for any of her 'friends' that might feel the need to step in.

She doesn't want help. Anyone with half a brain could see she's just fine.

She's more than willing to dance with anyone who's willing, just don't let her pull you off to that dark corner or you might end up with a few puncture wounds and missing any recollection of the last couple of hours.]

Lake

[She actually carted an inflatable lounge chair out here, and anyone in her path would have seen a blonde blur as she doesn't even bother to hide the fact that she's different. The sun is out and she's in her bikini, hair tied into braided pigtails, sporting a pair of dark shades as she lazily kicks around in the water, catching some rays.

Sometimes you can catch her sunbathing on the edge of the water, too, laying casually out on a towel. Vampire or no, she still likes catching some rays.]

Mikaelson Rooms

[Those who are aware of her living arrangements or any of the others that live there as well can find her lounging in various common areas, usually with a drink in hand, and can be summoned to answer anyone who might knock at the door. She's almost always bored, biding her time with liquor and playing with her phone, stalking messages in search of juicy gossip and drama.

Or maybe she's looking for a snack. It's probably just fine, though.]

Choose Your Own Adventure

Feel free to set up anything anywhere. I'm very flexible.

Comments

[poppycock]

[ he is not sorry. he cannot afford to be in the face of what this is, what they are, what that means. all these explanations and definitions harden around his heart even as she speaks; they harden and even in that surety is a crack: a weak spot. a vulnerability. (he is not sorry, but he does care. he cares with every wrench of his gut at her words, every remorse and doubt. he cares with every part and inch of him.)

his expression smooths. the tears of his horror linger in his eyes. he turns on her, to face her, to see them both: to take in elena's anger and contempt like a balm. (it's what he knows. it's what she needs to feel, and by all rights she should. she can feel it for both of them. for caroline, too.) his eyes but flicker on caroline beside her; there's a lump in his throat he weathers and dismisses. he stalks back to the edge of the bed, touches the comforter with the tips of his fingers with his emphatic, argued point. ] And when she wakes up, we'll know what to say to her. I hardly think a snapped neck will change her opinion of us or of our motives; her switch is off, she's not dull. [ his keeps his eyes on elena's. he searches them. he feels the desperation filling him to the brim.

she's right. she's right; but he can't be wrong. neither is he wrong. ] She can't be like this. Not here. [ there's too much at stake.

she's at stake. ]

[interpersonal]

It's not about that.

( maybe caroline will surprise them. she wouldn't want to hurt anyone, after all. but it's how elena feels: one doesn't react to this intellect, of which caroline is undoubtedly not lacking. the 'off' dial is murky and fickle at best. even when everything else is dulled, there's that layer simmering underneath, a dimmer switch you have to keep pushing down and down and down. caroline loves klaus; this elena no longer doubts. she accepts it in what ways she can. but it will mean nothing if caroline doesn't trust him.

she knows an impasse when she sees one, and there is no time to waste. she is east and klaus is west, and rarely will the two meet. )

What happened? You have to know.

( even now that elena has gone back home, klaus and damon are still years ahead of her. ahead of them both. he wasn't surprised. )

[poppycock]

[ he knows what it's about. he knows, even as he fights with such intensity against it: it's not about his justifications; his selfishness wrapped in his practicality: he has done caroline a wrong. he has betrayed that love between them. he has done her something inexcusable that drops like a heavy, sickening weight in his gut. he feels it settle at elena's words; he swallows thickly. (in that moment he would do anything to take it back; to believe in her instead of drowning in his own fear. he wants to be able to reach for her and cradle her as elena does.

he doesn't. his gaze flickers to her and then away.)

he blinks the vulnerability from his eyes. he straightens. he answers, after a pregnant moment. the information will help as much as it will only tear asunder. ] Her mother is dead. [ there can be no other reason. knowing for them it all the more begs explanation: ] Cancer.

[interpersonal]

( sheriff forbes? no...

her jaw slackens, an ache swarming her chest.

elena glances down at caroline with this devastating news in mind, blinking back a burn that threatens to sting her eyes. she was so much more than the sheriff, not that they remembered that all the time. it was liz who took elena and jeremy in after their parents died. it was liz who made sure that they got to school all right and they ate all their meals. and now she's just dead. like everybody else. elena swallows through it, pushing that aside for now. she needs to focus. )

Then we — we just need to find her emotional trigger. She has one. We all do. We'll find it and she'll be okay. ( ...right? it's going to be okay. the determination with which she believes this is almost frightening, because the alternative is too much to bear. )

[poppycock]

[ he watches elena. he watches elena in lieu of his own torments: his grief and remorse. he watches elena because this what this is about: caroline, and the agony that resulted from this loss. he feels elena's viscerally, filling up the space around her, before she battles it down. he watches her because he needs to know how she will process it, and what good it might do for the woman still between them.

he knows the blind force of her absolute denial and belief because he has felt it himself. didn't he just try to force it? his voice is soft now. quiet in stillness of the room, he says, ] It won't be easy as that. [ it never is. it might very well be bloody and horror-filled and excruciating. for them and for caroline. but there is hope, in a thought. ] Does Damon—? Damon must know what it is.

[interpersonal]

( elena was already thinking about damon, alongside her pressing urge and concern for caroline. she may have largely been sheriff forbes to elena and the others, but she was mom to caroline. she was liz to damon: his best friend. the dulled grief in her chest remains, beyond the steady resolve that she forces herself to feel. elena's already reaching for her device, giving klaus a wordless, understanding nod. she's about to move away when — when she looks back to caroline.

forcing herself to turn away, she steps outside for a brief conversation. she'd let damon know that she would be looking for caroline. she could not have foreseen what she'd find. after letting him know that she would be seeing him soon, elena returns. the grim, somber tension in the air thickens. )

It was memories of Liz. ( a beat as she meets his gaze. ) And Stefan.

[poppycock]

[ she leaves, her soft footfalls leaving the room quiet. hushed. impossible, with a veil lifted. he stands for a moment, hearing the click of the door shut; listening to the start of the conversation as after elena dials damon.

it fades into the background. he lets it, for once confident in how it'll play out. concerned with something more. something more important. his eyes return to caroline, supine, still, on the bed. the remorse he feels is a constant ache but only now, alone, does the low burn of love and longing join it. (he wanted to hold her. he wants to — he wanted to hold her in his arms. to have her back. he thought, for so many terrified moments during her absence, that he might not ever see her again. might not ever be with her, again.)

he steps forward. picks her up, and lays her down more comfortably, her head on a pillow. with a gentle, slow touch, he tucks the golden hair at her cheek behind her ear. (the words catch in his throat. the ones he wants to say, needs to say. he loves her. he is sorry. he will make it up to her.)

he stays there, gazing at her, willing her to open her eyes as the woman he loves, unmoving but for his hand reaching to wrap into hers, until elena returns. then he straightens. he pulls his hand back slowly.

the first trigger is hardly revolutionary. it's one obvious and one he came to himself, long before he even asked the question. it's the second that hits him like a ton of bricks to his chest. like a knife, sinking slowly into his chest. his throat closes up. he looks away. shifts an aimless step to the side. it can't be surprising, is what he knows. what he tells himself. of course she loved stefan then, so she would —

his jaw clenches. he puts aside the jealousy, the inadequacies, the rearing of guilt on the heels of what he's done. after a moment, he speaks. he admits. ] You're right. She'll be wary. Of me. [ the 'especially' goes unsaid. he looks down at her instead of at elena. ] We'll have to be careful.

[persevere]

It's a little late for that, don't you think?

[She catches the last bit of their conversation as she rises from the depth of unconsciousness, her neck having knit itself back together in the time that Elena was outside on the phone. She knows this ache, she's felt it before, but she hadn't been expecting it.

She wouldn't make that mistake again.

She sits up, rubbing at her neck with her palm, her lips turned downward into what could be considered a disappointed frown. She can't quite find it in her to be actually angry.

That would mean she cared.]

I admit, I was expecting something a little kinkier. Chains, rope, maybe a dungeon cell. I mean, that's what they did to Elena, after all. [She looks between the two of them, her eyes empty of anything that could be considered empathy before they settle on Klaus.] Or did you realize that I haven't actually done anything wrong.

[poppycock]

[ he's collected now, insofar as he was always going to be. when caroline wakes and opens her eyes, his expression turns placid, flippant; even amused. (it's simple, to tell himself he's not speaking to the caroline he knows, but to someone else — someone much more difficult. but he's not convinced. his chest still tightens at the sight of her.

this is as much an armor for himself and his hurt as it is a ploy.) klaus walks around to the side of the bed. ] You will, [ he decrees simply. he folds his hands together in front of himself. ] Give it time. If not by your design than by ruthlessness of someone else's. [ he lefts a hand to gesture all those 'someone elses.' ] A vampire's nature isn't as controllable as you might think, nor will your grief wait forever in the wings. Then it will be worse. [ an ineffective warning to be sure, but it's only opening negotiations. ]

[persevere]

[She shifts her legs over to the side of the bed, sitting up. She's not some child that needs to be taken care of. She's not some pathetic orphan that needs coddling.

She just wants to be left alone.

Caroline knows that won't ever happen, though. They'll hound her for as long as they need to unless they come to some sort of agreement.]

You would know, right? You're basically the walking definition of uncontrollable.

[She's seen it, first hand, the things he'll do on a whim. He doesn't need to be under duress to do it, either.]

Let me tell you what I do know. I know that you're not going to kill me, because you love me and you know it'd be pointless. I'd just come back, and each time you did away with me, Wonderland would just start taking away the things you're trying to get back in the first place.

[She crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes flicking back and forth between them.]

So go ahead, do your worst. You're hurting yourselves more than you're hurting me. Or, you could just let me live my life and I promise I won't kill anyone.

[She knows she can't say that she'd ruin their lives. They know she'll try if it comes to that. But she's also aware that they'll take her down, one way or another. There's only so many places she can go, and there's too many people who want her to feel, to care. It was different back home; there wasn't a family of Originals waiting in the wings to take care of business.]

[interpersonal]

( that's what they did to elena, after all.

she tries her best not to flinch under the weight of those shadowed memories. the smug confidence caroline is displaying now mirrored her own back then, except elena went to extremes to prove it, going so far as to yank open the curtains and letting the sun filter through. they wouldn't let her burn. so long as that was true, she knew that she didn't have to give in to them. to any of them. it was the only thing that could reach her at the time: fear. fear of dying. )

Caroline, the longer you put this off, the stronger it'll crash down on you. ( she has to know that. she's seen them all self-destruct in the process. )

And what would 'living your life' entail?

( elena must be crazy for even considering caroline's negotiation rules, but ... caroline is a control freak. her not having her humanity doesn't suddenly make her any less good at being a vampire. she does understand klaus' concern, despite their disagreement on execution. after what happened with freya's mirror, they might as well be under a microscope. one wrong move and they'll have to answer to wonderland, their secrets be damned. )

[persevere]

[It isn't as if she doesn't know that, but she also knows that right now, she can't handle it. It's too much and she doesn't want it. She's sick of being the only one who isn't allowed to make mistakes, that has to suffer in silence because she's better than that.

She isn't. She's the same. She should be allowed to have this.]

I just want some time to be free. No fear, no pain, no guilt. And no judgement.

[She looks at Elena pointedly, there. She's the one who tried to stop her, who told her what she could and couldn't do. If her friend was so big on choices, she should get to make them, good and bad.]

I don't want to hear a word about my Mom. Or Stefan, for that matter. [Neither of them are here. It shouldn't be that hard.] No tricks, no trying to make me change my mind, no poking at my triggers. Give me that, and you won't even notice anything is different.

[On the outside. It didn't mean she wasn't going to do what she wanted behind the scenes, but she'd be careful. Snatch/Eat/Erase. No big deal.]

Try anything else, and I'll take you down with me.

[poppycock]

​​​[ his lips twist. they smile, pulled into something ugly and contemptible: he is uncontrollable; he is the worst of all he is painted as and all he chooses to be. the monster begets the reputation in his case, not the other way around. yet spoken so plainly from her lips, it makes an untenable mark. (he may be terrible, but there are times when caroline looks at him and believes there is more. better. she does not see him so critically, so wholly as that. and hasn't he proven it with a snap of her neck?) his smile wavers.

her assertion of his love for her is what does away with it completely.

a cruel hand, he must admit, perhaps crueler than even she intends, seeking to make her point. but an obvious one, despite the lack of voice its been given until this moment​: ​he loves her, and the ache he feels opens and burns him.

his lips press together; the breath he sucks in through his flaring nostrils is low but audible. he wants to argue and nearly does (he doesn't need to promise death when a snapped neck seems to do just fine — so nothing helpful) but he lets that agitation go at elena's quicker response. and quite frankly, he'd like to hear caroline's answers.

they are right, he and elena: he knows even without her agreeing that they both share the same worries and the same priorities. (that is caroline. that is her safety. that is all their securities, hanging by a thread.) they both know how this will and could end, unheeded by their efforts or not.

he listens. he understands. he stifles the flinch about stefan and the flare of despair at her threat; he ignores what they rightfully and wisely know. this is what she needs. what she demands. he sees no other option but to acquiesce. (he sees plenty, but he will give her leave to believe he is. for now.)

a pregnant moment passes, the lines of klaus' expression like stone and a flint in his eyes when he steps forward, stalks closer, positions himself in front of her, toe-to-toe. he encroaches, just so, into her space. he fills it up. he wants her eyes. ] Fine, [ he says, as if it will be as simple as that. she's free to think so. he knows she won't. ] But know your terms are mutual. ​​[ ​​he is not her friends, to handle her delicately. he's handled those he loves much worse. he is not an adversary she wants. there is promise in his eyes. longing, in the shadow. (it's what he wants her to believe.) ]

[interpersonal]

( elena glances at klaus with that grievous understanding in her conflicted gaze.

they do not like to be cornered. they do not like being left with so few choices, none of them palatable. she needs to talk to damon. it's the one ace up her sleeve, for the time being: information. she has to know what worked and what made things worse. in absence of stefan, of liz, what can she possibly do to fill that gaping hole?

everything hangs in the balance. caroline's humanity, their own safety in wonderland, the threat the mirrors still pose ... angles she hadn't thought of until now because she hadn't needed to. she didn't remember anything about this place while she was home, if that is indeed where they went, and it would be just their luck that an already heart-rendering situation is made that much more complicated by previous circumstance. it hurts, to see caroline like this.

her spirit, warped. what once used to be vibrant emotion, squashed. caroline is asking two of the most tenacious people in their world to simply let it go. it's an alternative elena contemplates in earnest, though she will keep her own close watch. deep down, she knows their efforts will not compare to this simple truth: there will come a day when caroline no longer remembers what it feels like. the sun on her face. the warmth of a real embrace. she'll want this. her joy, and yes, even her pain.

elena believes the time she spent without her humanity was a huge mistake — but in that same deep place she holds other truths, elena also knows she'd needed it. she was losing her fragile grip on sanity. she was losing her mind with grief. her body was too small to contain it. she'd needed it all to stop. what is the right choice? what is truly the unconscionable thing? forcing her best friend to feel something that cripples her? allowing her to dull the pain as any human being would with their own brand of medication, knowing other people might be hurt?

at the end of the day, she isn't much better than damon. caroline like this hurts. dead or lost to them forever is always worse.

she can only nod her assent, not trusting herself to speak any further. )

[persevere]

[Before she flipped her switch, she'd convinced herself that she would be different, that she could handle this. Whether or not she misjudged remained to be seen, but Caroline Forbes had not exactly been in her right mind when she'd made this decision. She had been overwhelmed with grief, with the prospect of a future her mother wouldn't be in. She'd known she would lose her someday, but she hadn't been ready.

Not by a longshot.

Perhaps, one day, she'd be able to lean on Elena the way she's supposed to, to bond over the fact that they're both orphans now, that their family is one they choose now. Maybe she'd let Klaus hold her, soothe away her pain, replace it with someone else. To do that, she had to let them back in.

She was alone right now. Her mother's funeral had beaten that home, regardless of what her friends had done for her that day. She'd thought that if she just got through the funeral, she'd be fine, but Damon had made it all too clear that it would only get worse. She couldn't do worse.

She hadn't counted on this. She hadn't remembered. It was going to be a fight, eventually. The way she held onto Klaus' gaze made that obvious, that she was just as willing to get ugly as he was, that Elena was likely going to have to bear some of the inevitable fallout.

Until then, she'd put on her best smile, one that didn't reach her eyes the way it should, but anyone who didn't really know her would never think twice. It's the smile that she wears as she claps her hands together and starts to stand.]

Great! [As if they've just decided on what movie they were going to watch or something.] Now that that's done, I'm going to head upstairs and change. This dress smells like a funeral home.

[By the way, Klaus, she means she's going to their place. She'd agreed that nothing would seem different, so it appears she still lives with you. Good luck with that.]

You can always come with me, if you want.

[The way she says it is blatantly flirtatious. I'm sure it's fine.]

[poppycock]

[ he sees as much as he knows elena's assent from the corner of his eye. he counts on it, on her, for this: their alliance, and not only the one they made the day he arrived here. (the one they made in blood, in understanding, in bond—) it's a strength, knowing he has elena on this side, because he knows that in doing so, despite any and all their veering methods, they will not lose. the ensuing agonies and torments caroline will suffer cannot be avoided (he knows, with the weight of despair in his chest, the likelihood that they won't) but they will make it right, in the end. they care for the same person.

but there is no resolved no buoyed feeling that can stop him from flinching at caroline's easy and empty cheer. (he sees that mirrored resolve in her eyes, for the record, and he does not receive it lightly. he feels that cold rage viscerally, down his bones and along his skin; he feels it call and in answer to his.) he blinks at her, rears his head back the smallest inch as she stands. he blinks at her issued plans and the implication in their mutual destination.

it's that and her flirtation he finds the most curious. (the most scoring.) his lips part and then he closes them. (what better way to keep an eye on her? what intenser and more unrelenting heartache can there be? it's what she intends. she intends something.) there's something violent in his dimples, something flat in his eyes, when he smiles. he steps to the side, and gestures for the door. ] By all means, lead the way. [ only when she passes does he move those eyes to elena, the bitter veil in them dropped: they reassure. they say he will take care of her. ]

[persevere]

[Her pleased grin gets shot Elena's way as she passes by toward the door, pushing it open with an easy twist and then shove of her hand, her head tilting to the side to crack the last of the tension from having her neck broken out of her joints.

She doesn't look to watch him follow her. She can hear his footsteps well enough as she starts down the hallway, her perfectly curled hair bouncing against her shoulder blades.

Caroline knows where she's going; her presence here both feels far away and almost like yesterday. It's all rather confusing in her brain, honestly, so she doesn't bother to think about it too much.]

How long was I gone, anyway?

[poppycock]

[ his eyes linger on those bouncing curls. white-gold, silk-to-the-touch. he considers — he remembers — his fingers tangled in them, buried deep. he thinks of her smile, sweet and coy, against his throat. he thinks of being wrapped up in sheets and heat and limbs with her. he thinks of her laughter. her kindness. her sadnesses and darknesses. he thinks and longs for all of her. he follows, two steps behind her, and wants for what he can't reach.

that ache in his heart deepens. he thinks of the woman she was in his arms, the woman she was and is and will be. he thinks of the pain that awaits her. he thinks of how far away and how close all of her is, every iteration, just out of reach of his fingertips. he thinks he might get burned, reaching. good, he thinks. he would burn, in service to her. he has weathered and survived flames, and can think of no better sacrifice. (he doesn't get to have the piece of her that loves him back. she's dangerous as she is now.

so is he.) ] About a week, [ is his answer, given freely. he doesn't need to ask how long she's been absent: he knows, and he wouldn't give her the power of his curiosity besides. ]

[persevere]

[It was never her intention to be dangerous, not like this. That doesn't mean it isn't the truth. It would have been safer back home, the entire world open to her if need be, she could run if she had to, even though she wouldn't.

Here, there was nowhere to go, and Klaus was far more dangerous than anyone else could have been. He was supposed to be in New Orleans, not pushing at the buttons she's trying to hide.]

Huh.

[No questions, just a single syllable of mild interest, but even that is feigned. She wanted context; she didn't really care what they'd been doing in that time. The only thing she knew for certain is that Elena had been gone too. She wasn't human anymore; she could smell it.

They reach the stairs and she starts to climb them in silence, her hand reaching to the pins that hold her hair in place, half up and out of her face. She flicks each of the pins away with her fingers as she pulls them free, listening to them sound like tiny bells as they hit the stairs. The rest of her hair pools around her shoulders and collarbone.]

Did you move any of my stuff?

[poppycock]

[ he wouldn't assume her interest in any activities in the interim; on the contrary he keeps purposefully quiet about them. there's no need to give her ample weapons in her already competent arsenal. what use would it be, to detail his endless longing and excruciating worry? to tell tales of how he avoided their bed like a haunted man, unable to escape the scent of her even outside their rooms? she's on his skin.

it would fall on her deaf ears. his weakness and vulnerability laid out for her to dismiss or use won't be the key to provoking her and he does so abhor meaningless sentiment.

he says nothing of the trail she leaves, but watches the carelessness with a noting and discerning eye. he follows her just as silently, watching the drop and sway of her hair.

when they near the top of the stairs, he steps beside her. he opens the door for her, ever the gentleman. he knows what he would say, in another version of this conversation. he knows what he'll say now, the words chosen carefully, the hint of his smile and lift of his brows teasing and cool where there might have been warmth all at once. ] And provoke your ire?

[persevere]

[She smiles sweetly at him over her shoulder, her expression confident, bordering on smug. Her confidence isn't feigned; she simply doesn't care what anyone thinks. Not even him.]

We wouldn't want that.

[Already she's thinking of all the things she could do if (or when) he tries to push at her. She's ready for it now, knows full well that if he'll snap her neck at not even a simple provocation, that he'll try more eventually. Perhaps he'll attempt subtlety, but she'll be watching for it now, ready to strike back.

She could smear his name, but that wouldn't stop him. And while she knew he could bring her down, would easily overpower her, he couldn't be everywhere at once, and he couldn't watch all of his friends all the time.

They couldn't all be on vervain, either. Not enough people knew about it. And if they were, well, there was always an unfortunate accident.

No need for any of that, though. Not yet.

Caroline lets him open the door for her, steps through the threshold without a word of thanks, heading straight his room, for the closet inside. Getting out of this dress was her number one priority.]

[poppycock]

[ she's welcome to think so well of herself, to plan ahead a step or two, to anticipate his intentions. (how obvious, and trite.) he's certain she's a deft hand at it; he might even be impressed by her little victories. it suits him to be predictable, to have her on edge and watching, to think with full confidence she knows what he's doing, and by extension, her own schemes and contingencies. he already gave her that. it's hardly strategic. (she could smear his name. it wouldn't work. she could go after his friends. she might even succeed. but if she believes this tightrope act is one she'd ever win, she's surely mistaken.)

under different circumstances, he might revel in having an interesting adversary.

but he's a defter hand than she, and he is playing with a full set. emotions may be manipulated, may be brought to weakness, but empathy is as much tool as it is a softness in the right hands, and he knows what she's afraid of — grief. love. he is not.

he follows her inside, slowing to a stop in the middle of their bedroom. it's just as she left it, if not for the few items he didn't bother to put away in her absence: a rocks glass here, a book there. he picks up a sketching pencil to consider its point as she undresses, facing away from the closet. ] Dimming the switch is a bit of a young vampire's game; I don't believe I nor my family have ever partook. [ well, perhaps kol. but what would he need to? they were already monsters. ]

[persevere]

[He will most certainly outwit her; she is no expert at manipulation, no matter how willing she might be now. So much of what she's already done has been in the name of distracting him, when he was enemy number one. And things are different here; he's likely to see right through her.

He's right; she is afraid, distantly. She has every right to be afraid.

It's not him she's afraid of.

She reaches behind her back to pull down the zipper of her dress, slipping out of it before she ever pulls anything from behind the closet door. She selects two choices, both dresses with short skirts, one a bright red, the other a seafoam green color. She spins with one hanger in each hand, presenting them to his back.]

Well, you killed your parents, not to mention they were kind of the worst, so why would you need to? [She clears her throat.] Which one doesn't scream 'I became an orphan this week'?

[poppycock]

[ she shouldn't be. she shouldn't be afraid of him, for what he wants and longs for her is nothing else but love, happiness, fulfillment. but there are balances to those things and as much as it wrenches him inside to consider that suffering, he knows it is unavoidable. (and this is, quite frankly: her attempts to avoid it are futile. inconvenient. all the more disastrous, in the end.)

he can't protect her from suffering, nor would he want to. she will weather what makes her who she is. they all do. but perhaps he can show her she doesn't have to do it alone.

klaus watches from the corner of his eye, then turns to face her as she speaks, laying the pencil down. he keeps his gaze where it is polite; he needs to stay detached in this way and not give her the satisfaction. (his regard is drawn regardless. she's beautiful. what an unsuitable, simple word, unworthy of her. it strikes him, makes him long, knowing all the ways he is not seeing all of her.)

she's right. he did kill his parents. he had every reason to do so: for their treachery, deceit, betrayal, abuse and hatred. he does not hold regret for his bloody hands in their deaths. he would do it over again, and with alacrity. though she doesn't know about ansel: about his real father. she doesn't know he also carries that blood on his hands. he has not find space in his heart to regret that slaughter either, but —

he walks forward. slow, with measured steps. ] Just because I killed my parents, doesn't mean I didn't mourn what they were. [ there was a time, when he loved his mother. when he was a boy, and they were a family. ] What they could have been. [ it doesn't mean she won't mourn the same. he mourns what his life could have been, if he were the son of someone else. of a different man. a different father. if he lived a different life. ] I met my true father, you know. [ he has lost, similar to she. he has lost moments, love, nurturing, peace. he does not elucidate nor correct her; there is no reason to: he killed ansel as well. for his daughter. out of fear.

he reaches to take the green dress from her. ] The red, obviously.

[persevere]

I didn't, actually. You must have left that part out.

[Everyone lost. She knew she wasn't special, not when it came to suffering. That didn't mean that she could stand it, that she wasn't drowning without anything to help her keep her head afloat.

It's not like he was there for her. If he was offering sympathy, trying to connect with her, show her he knew how it felt, it fell on deaf ears.]

Good. That's the one I wanted anyway.

[She turns away again, passing off the green as she does so that she can slip the red on over her head, the top fitted and the skirt loose and flowy, the color as bright as the freshest blood.

Figures.

She glances at him over her shoulder.]

I wonder what else you neglected to mention.