πΈπ£πππ¦π π'πΆππππππ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nascensibility) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2016-01-22 10:16 am
nascensibility) wrote in entrancelogs2016-01-22 10:16 am
Entry tags:
[CLOSED] and despite everything I'm still human
Who: Evelyn O'Connell (nascensibility) & Rick O'Connell (rickochet)
Where: 2nd Floor, Room 10
When: January 22
Rating: PG/PG-13
Summary: Four and a half years of separation is a long time. Things happen.
The Story:
[Things are different for them.
Not arduous, not strange, simply different. It was stupid of her - too stupid, an impractical rationalisation and a vain hope - to think that she might be capable of eking by without speaking on the subject. She wouldn't want to under normal circumstances, and their relationship was firmly founded on a mutual sense of trust, on the assurance of communication and so any reticence would be taken with tremendous unease.
Rick is not the same man she left behind at Ahm Shere and she is not the same woman he saw off to the British Museum on a morning several months after their recent adventure.
It isn't for lack of wanting to tell him. Not all things that occurred in her captivity but some, the most important ones, the recent ones. The ones that cut into her like a razor of sentiment. Better to spill honesty than have him find photographic evidence on his own, better to loosen her tongue before a friendly neighbor makes an inappropriate observation and she is questioned for being too quiet.
Preoccupied with ambivalence is the state in which she can be found at present, curled up in the reading room of their apartments with a cup of tea she hasn't yet touched and a book whose pages have not been turned in the last half-hour.
Things are different for them, and because of that she fears a response she cannot predict.]
nascensibility) & Rick O'Connell (rickochet)Where: 2nd Floor, Room 10
When: January 22
Rating: PG/PG-13
Summary: Four and a half years of separation is a long time. Things happen.
The Story:
[Things are different for them.
Not arduous, not strange, simply different. It was stupid of her - too stupid, an impractical rationalisation and a vain hope - to think that she might be capable of eking by without speaking on the subject. She wouldn't want to under normal circumstances, and their relationship was firmly founded on a mutual sense of trust, on the assurance of communication and so any reticence would be taken with tremendous unease.
Rick is not the same man she left behind at Ahm Shere and she is not the same woman he saw off to the British Museum on a morning several months after their recent adventure.
It isn't for lack of wanting to tell him. Not all things that occurred in her captivity but some, the most important ones, the recent ones. The ones that cut into her like a razor of sentiment. Better to spill honesty than have him find photographic evidence on his own, better to loosen her tongue before a friendly neighbor makes an inappropriate observation and she is questioned for being too quiet.
Preoccupied with ambivalence is the state in which she can be found at present, curled up in the reading room of their apartments with a cup of tea she hasn't yet touched and a book whose pages have not been turned in the last half-hour.
Things are different for them, and because of that she fears a response she cannot predict.]
no subject
They talk, about everything, it is has always made them stronger.]
I- I cannot begin to explain the hopelessness with which I was fraught,
[she begins, struggling to find the words that might best convey the despondency of her situation before he arrived. The frailty of her will, the miserable realisation that she had lost almost all of her friends, that they might never return.]
I had come here again after the dirigible crashed, not knowing the state of things, whether- we were all still alive. I felt a desolate landscape without you, this...this pounding solitude and disquiet, weeks- months passed and I had seen so many others here receive family and friends from home, I thought perhaps my isolation might be divine punishment of some sort. You know my dislike of ordained providence, it would be a celestial irony-
[Evelyn takes a careful breath, her anxiety beginning to run away from her as she feels it scratching the back of her throat, her voice raw with upset. Gingerly she pulls her hands out of Rick's, folding them in her lap and wringing them.]
...my intention was never to hurt you, nor to break the bonds of matrimony. [He deserves eye contact, even as it burns to look at him.] In transgressing the latter I have committed the former.
no subject
[He leans back, thankful that she took her hands back when she did so he doesn't have to be the one to break that contact. His facial expression fights against several emotions, anger and confusion chief among them, before he finally stands to walk away a few paces, putting his back to her.
Much time had passed while she was all alone, and she'd found solace in another man. This is not news that Rick is in any way prepared to hear right now.
He has to reach out and rest his hand on a nearby bookshelf to keep from clenching it into a fist. Rick doesn't turn back to face her when he asks the next question.]
Is it over?
no subject
Is it over?
When was the exact time? How is she to quantify? Did it end when the object of her affair disappeared from Wonderland, or when Hannibal slid a knife into her side? Did it end when Will finally told her the truth, or did it never truly begin if the relationship itself was predicated upon deceit?
Evelyn's fingers slip over her stomach, a brace on a scar that has suddenly begun to ache.]
As of last February,
[she replies, quietly distressed by the wide expanse of Rick's back and the inevitable excommunication. Almost a year now. Has it been that long, since she paced in fury across the same room?]
no subject
Ultimately, he decides not to ask any of them, not trusting in his anger that he could control his voice. Evelyn is shaking like a leaf, and even in this moment of her confession of sins, he doesn't want to yell and spook her. Instead he lets the silence between them draw out uncomfortably long-- which he realizes might be even worse. Silence is uncommon in Rick's anger and is a testament to how much he's holding back.
In the vast number of ways in which Evelyn could have transgressed against Rick during 4 years apart, this would have been the last to come to Rick's mind. Even considering her isolation here in this cursed place, the betrayal has him stunned.]
Good.
[His voice rumbles with unexpressed emotion. It's the only word he can manage at the moment without shouting, and he doesn't turn back to look at her.]
no subject
When he restrains himself with no small amount of self control Evelyn half-expects the bookcase to crack beneath his hand. Monosyllables are not unfamiliar territory to them, not when Rick has never been the loquacious one in their relationship, but for the life of her Evelyn cannot read the word.
She shouldn't push - not when his instability feels like an electric current crackling through the room - but expected more, feeling only a fury that seems unfounded in light of the unusual circumstances. Evelyn reaches to clutch her locket.]
Rick-
no subject
We don't keep secrets. That's not how we work. Why did it take you so long to tell me? [Likely guilt, but her answer doesn't really matter. Rick doesn't even honestly feel the need to know, and the question when he finally asks it isn't posed as one.
It does, however, release the flood of other questions that moments ago he thought he didn't want to hear answers to. He needs to know under what circumstances he was being made a fool by being cuckolded.]
Is he still here? Someone I've met? [Someone who was laughing behind his hand while the clueless husband reunited with his wife?
The fact that Evelyn says it's over is an iota of comfort, but her joy at seeing her husband again is now marred in Rick's mind by this revelation. Suspicion against Evelyn is unnatural for him, and his doubt in her is painful.] How long were you together? [The last word tastes bitter on his tongue.]
no subject
[She responds to what is no doubt rhetorical, but the strength in her is fleeting and the last word breaks, curling under her like something withered. There are few people from whom Evelyn will voluntarily accept criticisms and chastisement and while their marriage was a partnership of equals, his tone feels belittling.
Had she not said something similar to Will, when he admitted deception for her sake? The quiet gives way to an interrogation and Evelyn, indignant at Rick's treatment of her that feels so very unjust, bristles and stands. If they are to have a row, then she will not take a derogation of her character sitting down.]
No, he is not here, and no, you have never met him. Does it matter how long I was with him when it ended almost a year ago? When he disappeared from this place in August?
no subject
I don't know what details matter because this is the first I'm hearing about it. Forgive me if this is a little hard to wrap my head around. [His new tone of voice is louder but less accusatory, hardly apologetic but way more open to receive new information.] I cannot possibly understand how it was for you here for four years while I never felt that time passing, but I never thought that-- ["you would replace me." It gives Rick a moment of internal pause. Is that what he's worried about?
A few months ago, Rick had run headfirst into danger, recklessly risking to orphan his child due to his blind grief of losing Evelyn. What may have happened had he survived and Evelyn not returned... Rick didn't think that far ahead. Could he have done the same thing four years down the road?
This moment of insight gives him a moment of pause, but he's still too keyed up and is ready for when Evie fires back.]
no subject
[she snaps back, any remaining meekness broken in two, easily taking the bait. It has never been difficult to Rick to get a rise out of her, but it's been years since they had an argument of this magnitude. That he might consider love a finite resource is troubling, knowing her capacity for affection and understanding.]
That in finding a modicum of comfort with someone else I might forget you? That I could ever stop loving you? That I did not spend months agonising over whether or not it was fair of me to want closeness after being deprived of it for so long? Months wondering if I even deserved it?
[The affair itself grew out of a plight that two people shared in their loneliness, finding relief in an oasis quite suddenly, without forethought. When Will drew his aching feet out of the pool the reeds bent in ominous wind, and he took the respite with him.
She was alone again, but that is how it had come to be for many years. In the routine Evelyn had become accustomed to disappointment.]
I know it is difficult for you to understand the disparity of time and it is not your fault that you weren't here, but neither is it mine that this place would not let me go. That it kept you from me.
no subject
In his heart, Rick understands deeply and truly that there could be no better match than they are for each other. If they could survive nine years, they would survive ninety. They could survive this-- eventually. No matter how much their raised voices argued otherwise.]
I'm not a mind-reader, Evelyn. You've been acting weird for the last couple of weeks and brooding when you think I'm not looking. What am I supposed to think? How was I supposed to know what you were agonizing over? What parts of this really bothered you?
[He paces back and forth a few steps. Of course she deserves comfort, and the isolation is cruel beyond anything he'd ever experienced. But it's-- he's simply not okay.]
Is there anything else you want to tell me?
no subject
Stupid of her to think he wouldn't notice something concerned her, stupid of her not to imagine that her husband of nine years would not know when something was wrong. He should be made aware, but not in such weighty detail that they lose the purpose of this confession.
He should be made aware before she regrets not telling him anything else.]
The reason- the reason it ended. The affair. He l-
[Evelyn flounders for a long moment, dithering over her phrasing in a way that suggests it is a difficult subject to put into words. It tempers her anger; she remembers giving Will a map to where he could cut deepest, pressing a razor into his hands and trusting that he wouldn't carve out her heart.]
He lied to me. He lied to me, and- and endangered me, by proxy. It got me killed.
[She has no one to blame for this but herself.]