(Untitled)

[thisstraydog]

WHO: heine rammsteiner and angelica einsturzen
WHERE: no-hope
WHEN: tonight!
WARNINGS: everything. there will be bad things in here i am assuming.
SUMMARY: heine comes to visit his mom what a good son.
FORMAT: i love quicklogs yes i do.

Comments

SORRY THIS IS SO LATE, POOKIE.

[dogabuse]

[ it was ironic, maybe, this reversal of roles-- or the fact that in her current state, perhaps the good doctor couldn't even fully appreciate that irony. she was the ghost-pale figure in white patient's clothes, her arms strangely bare and the deformity of her hands unusually obvious without the protection of her gloves. her long hair was pulled back from her face. she looked surprisingly ordinary. powerless, maybe.

but even in this state, angelica didn't sleep.

the sound of the door opening drew her attention, made her head turn with an unnaturally jerky motion. from where she sat on the bed, she could see the figure in the doorway; her pupils dilated, and slowly, a jagged little smile spread over her face. her voice was an edged whisper: ]

Heine. Have you come to see Mother?

NEVER APOLOGIZE BB IT'S ALRIGHT.

[thisstraydog]

[ For a minute, he can't breathe.

She will never not be a threat. There is no way for Heine to look at her and see her as anything but dangerous. Even like this. Even without her gloves and immaculate coat and hair flowing around her face in waves, she is still a threat.

The hair on the back of his neck is standing straight up, and he's growling before he realizes what's happening, a low, unending snarl. A Dog with its hackles raised, fists clenching and unclenching and--

Breathe. ]

What the fuck are you trying to do?

[ He can't relax his muscles. He's tensed as if to spring, and it almost hurts and he can't make himself stop. ]

SLOWEST TAGGING.

[dogabuse]

[ it's unclear if she hears him or not, but no immediate answer comes. the intelligence in her eyes hasn't died, but there's something vaguely unfocused about her stare, something unhinged. her hands, which were still in her lap before, begin to slightly fidget, those restless dozen fingers. she hasn't blinked once.

abruptly she rises from the bed, half-moving towards him, then stopping just as suddenly. as if she can't decide what she wants. maybe she wants to touch him, or maybe it's that deep dark instinct she always seems to have, the one that makes her want to cut up little children and feel their bare bones under her fingers, their throbbing agony, their ascension to a monstrous greatness.

she exhales, quietly. ]

Are you going to kill me?

NO BABY TAKE ALL THE TIME YOU NEED

[thisstraydog]

[ She moves, and the snarling kicks up a notch. He can't stop, can't convince himself that she's not a threat. The Dog is a gleeful presence at the back of his head, straining against the leash, and Heine can't afford to let the Dog out this time.

He can't kill her. She'll come back good as new, and even if Heine can't stop himself from wanting to rip her throat out, he can stop himself doing it.

All he can think is how he couldn't get the taste of her blood out of his mouth for weeks after he'd ripped her apart last time. ]

That's not why I'm here.

[dogabuse]

[ a woman of her height shouldn't be able to move so quickly, but there she is, close, her thin fingers wrapping tightly around one of heine's wrists and her eyes boring holes into his skull with the way she stares. her irises are the barest rings of color around wide, round pupils, blackness that goes on forever. her skin is cold to the touch.

only now, with her touching him, would he be able to tell that she's shaking.

her voice is a grating whisper, low and unsteady and vicious, brimming with quiet violence: ]

Isn't it? Tell the truth, Heine. That's what children do to their mothers. Isn't that, right? [ her grip tightens. ] Don't lie to me, Heine. I know you.

[thisstraydog]

[ The growl cuts off, coming out of his throat strangled and broken. His skin is crawling, his entire body rioting, screaming, screaming, screaming along with the howls of the Dog in the back of his head and Heine can't move.

He's a little boy again, too young to know how to use the fangs he's been given, and her grip on his wrist is too tight, but he can't break it. ]

You don't. Not anymore.

[ It doesn't come out as certain as he wants it to. It's been a long time and he's changed. He's not a weak little puppy anymore, not the boy who woke up with Lily's head in his hands. He's changed, he knows he's changed.

Hasn't he? ]

[dogabuse]

Shut up.

[ her voice is a vicious hiss, white teeth in the gloom and violently bright eyes, hand still trembling despite the bruising tightness of her grip on his wrist. she doesn't blink. she never seems to blink. ]

I'm your mother, little monster. I'll always know you.

[thisstraydog]

Get your fucking hands off me.

[ Or I'll rip them off, comes the gleeful addendum from the back of his head, where the Dog is pacing and straining and snapping its jaws behind the bars. Heine clenches his jaw, staring back at her and all he wants to do is sink his teeth into her.

His grip on his self-control is tenuous at best. He keeps thinking about her, locked in here, away from everything, away from anything that could hurt anyone except herself. ]