[OPEN] We'll Take A Cup of Kindness Yet

[nascensibility]

Who: EVERYONE, but especially you!
Where: Wonderland Ballroom
When: New Year's Eve
Rating: PG - PG13 (will change if applicable)
Summary: New Year's Eve Party
The Story:

[The morning of December 31st, all residents will receive a handwritten invitation slipped under their door.]



You are cordially invited to attend a party
celebrating the New Year

Wonderland Ballroom
8 pm - 1 am

Semi-Formal Attire
Buffet & Bar
No RSVP Required

All Ages Welcome

For inquiries, contact E. O'Connell

[Punctuality in planning is important: the ballroom itself will only be ready for guests at exactly 8 o'clock, bedecked in glittering golds and the red-green of Christmas' vestiges, still clinging to the old year. Dining tables surround a central dance floor, bars and buffets dot the edges of the room and both holly and mistletoe are expressed liberally through the interior.

Mingle, dance, eat and be merry! The New Year will come in at midnight - the band will play and the drinks will flow for long after.]

Comments

[poppycock]

[ he can weather that unfairness. it is all he has ever done, surviving the blows that life and death has dealt. timeless and undefeated he may be, but he is not unbeaten; like rocks along a surf, constantly hit with the inevitable violences and terrors of life. (he has learned from that water; he learned how to be violent, how to terror, how to inflict.)

what he cannot weather is her pain. he can hardly see her tears. his head drops yet again, shaking against what she has known and faced in their silences. his tears roll down his cheeks, down the slope of his nose, and he attempts to heed them. he can hardly listen to the words that leave her lips, true as they are. (he would leave her. he would leave her and his family without a moment's notice or hesitation. he would leave them all for his daughter.)

there's a fierceness in him that stirs and fights against all of it in a roar and a whimper. he does not find clarity in this but in what she says next: in knowing this is their one chance and knowing she wants to share it with him. his gaze is unhesitating now; it is clear as he raises his head to see her now. he reaches with the hand not entangled with hers, arrested in strength against his heart, to grasp her shoulder. what she says is true, yes, but he cannot let her believe that is all there is. ]

I will never forget you, [ he says, his voice thick with tears and unflagging conviction. no matter where this ends, that is true. ] No matter what we've lost or what is left here, you are in my heart. [ tears well; it is as he said to her, as she does not know: ] I will carry you with me wherever I go. Don't think for a moment you are gone. [ not at home. and not here; she is not alone. ] You are not alone.

[ neither does he want her to be and neither would he want to be without her. a flicker of grief, of anguish, of longing and need too great to deny trembles within him; within his gaze. they had a chance once. he will not be so foolish to let it slip by as they did before. he may not know how to do as she asks; he may not know if it is possible, but he will find a way, for her, for them, for this. ] If this is the only chance we will have, [ —it is; it is, unequivocally, undeniably— ] then I will let her go.

[therapize]

[I will never forget you.

His promise exists beyond the matter of whom Klaus’ heart years for; it offers an eternity Cami has never believed in, and the legacy she has believed she failed. She has never been good as defined by religious doctrine or rigid societal rules. Her formative years had been spent resisting the attempts to conform her to a certain mold, and instead creating her own shape and artistry. She had devoted her path to helping others see the light within themselves, and in doing so, hoped to find the light within herself.

At Christmas, Klaus had promised her that brilliance did indeed exist; now, he vows to carry its flame, so that it would never burn out.

She can hardly speak through her tears, yet that manages to earn a soft laugh as she comes to her quiet conclusion.]

I guess that makes me immortal.

[Her head tilts down; she stands fearful that if she continues to stare into those earnest eyes she won’t be able to stop herself from shattering then and there. They stand among a crowd, still despite the current of people slowly dancing around them. She doesn’t want some well-meaning observer coming over, questioning their tears, the anguish that they cannot hide from each other. She’s started debating the merits of pulling away; her question hadn’t been innocent, but certainly Cami also never intended for them both to be so raw and exposed in the middle of a celebration.

She’s almost convinced herself to, when Klaus makes his choice—when he once again chooses her.}

Klaus… [Her eyes raise when Cami speaks his name, rounded and stunned. By his own admission, Klaus has confirmed he is not the sort to let go, and Cami understands well there is no switch to flick, no button to press that would put a quick and easy end to his romantic yearning. Even with all her training, the experience granted by Wonderland’s endless time, she could not tell him how.

And it does not stop him. For their only chance, he agrees.

To be with her, he agrees.

Now she does move once more, not away, not to dance, but rather to be nearer to him still. Their own interlocked hands would be the only thing between them, her eyes fluttering shut as she rests her forehead against his. She lacks words, even breath to express the world he has offered to her—and the one she in turn has allowed herself to inhabit with her confession. It is not perfect, and one day it would shatter, broken like so much glass.

But in this moment it is theirs, in spite of death and all other things that would tear them apart.]