Mary Anne Bell (
song_tra_bong) wrote2006-10-29 09:12 pm
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Mary Anne doesn't move when she sleeps--no tossing and turning, no kicking or flailing of arms. She tends to wake up in exactly the same position she drifted off in, at least when she's sleeping alone. Some training dies hard.
And some not so. The need to wake up ready to fight has eased in her somewhat; she's harder to wake and the process of waking is slower. It hasn't been a problem yet, so now she sleeps, curled on her side with her hands tucked beneath her chin.
And some not so. The need to wake up ready to fight has eased in her somewhat; she's harder to wake and the process of waking is slower. It hasn't been a problem yet, so now she sleeps, curled on her side with her hands tucked beneath her chin.
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Some thoughts, and events, can't be hidden from one of their kind.
And his anger has been roused. He's not sure why, but her actions with Ramon have brought out white-hot fury in him. Ruin stops at the bedside, looking down at her with cold, dispassionate eyes.
He reaches out to brush a blonde lock of hair from her brow, to run his finger down her cheek, along her jaw, and it takes everything in him not to stop at her neck and grasp it.
(Choke her throttle her make her beg)
Instead, he draws his hand back and stares down at her sleeping face.
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touch
touch
who?
The touch feels a million miles away, as she is still mostly asleep. Still, she makes a faint noise when he withdraws his hand.
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"We need to talk."
It's the only thing he says, in a voice accented not with a Scottish brogue as it usually was.
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"Wha?" she mumbles, half into her pillow while she tries to convince her eyes to open.
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He pours a shot of tequila from the bottle he'd placed on the dresser and kicks it back.
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"What are you doing here?"
locked the door didn't you thought I locked the door why didn't I stupid stupid stupid
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"The whole breaking and entering thing had me thrown. So what exactly do we need to talk about?"
something's wrong wrong here can almost but not quite it's wrong
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He slams the glass down on the dresser, turning to glare at her with steel grey eyes.
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The eyes are wrong.
(eyes I dare not meet in dreams)
She forgets how to breathe.
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"First the god. Now the druglord. You have a thing for the lovers of your friends, don't you?"
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But she has fucked up.
All over again.
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Only the eyes are Ruin's.
"Didn't. Haven't. I suppose we're lucky we aren't governed by the Old Testament, where even a thought is equal to the sin."
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whore
"What do you want?
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"I think it's more about what you want, Legs. What I want... oh, what I want. You want to know what I want?" His hand moves a little heavier through her hair. "I want to know why you want to stay married to someone when your mind is always on someone else. It doesn't make much sense, does it?"
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It's not quite painful, his hand in her hair, but she's waiting.
"Lust isn't love."
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His hand tightens.
"But you do love them. All of them."
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She gasps softly, then she's silent a moment, trying to think.
"They're my friends."
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"Is that so?"
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"Yes."
It may, in fact, be the answer to an earlier question.
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"You lust after the friends you love," he says simply.
(this is why you should never love love never helps anything never leads to good ruin never leads to good ruin and love hand-in-hand)
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wHorE
"Not all of them."
pretty ruined fool
The words sound small and stupid and weak, but she can't come up with anything stronger--not while she feels small and stupid and weak.
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He's seen other paths.
Many, many paths.
And he doesn't like most of them.
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It hasn't been a month (couldn't even make it last a month) and already he's talking about (leaving her)...she's not sure what he's talking about, not sure she wants to know.
"I fucked up, I fucked up bad and I am so goddamn sorry you have no idea, but what the fuck are you talking about?!"
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He sighs and shakes his head.
"Don't you ever draw your cards?" Ruin kneels on the bed, hands on her shoulders (shake her), is grip bruising in its strength. "Do you ever see what the hell you do to those around you? You ever think about how the things you do make me feel?"
Because, gods of the multiverse help him, he loved her and to think she loves someone else was far more than he could deal with. Fucking around was fine and dandy, but this didn't feel like simple fucking around.
"NĂ¡mo. Ramon. Santino." He taps her temple before moving his fingers down to brush at her throat -- where Santino had fed.
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