Record: 55 / Dreamshare / open to all
[ooc: forward dated to Saturday night]
Who she is addressing as she lays on the couch in her dressing room is unclear, but what is clear is the bright little handgun she is turning over and over in her hands as she speaks.
"Acting is the sanctioned form of lying, you know. Blessed in its own peculiar way for those who can stay warm by applause alone. Such an ungrateful lover." Her lips barely move to deliver this line, as she presses the gun to her temple. "But I've never minded." She presses the trigger.
Click. Out of ammunition, as she knew it would be.
"You look like a whore." The words are dry, and she sits up enough to throw the gun in the direction of the other's voice, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. There is no sound of contact, and the other just smirks, dressed as her opposite but with her exact match of a face. Clean, tailored suit, long hair tied back professionally, and holding the caught gun in her right hand. "Temper, temper~"
"Just jealous, aren't you, that I'm the one who can show off like this." She adjusts herself to prop herself up a little better. "That I'm....confident."
"I'm not the one throwing revolvers at people." The other chuckles, coming closer and kissing her cheek.
She drops the gun, and from the point where it drops on the floor a spiderweb of cracks grows, engulfing everything in the scene until it all breaks apart with the sound of an exploding room full of fine china.
The shards clear to reveal her sipping tea quietly atop a bridge, watching the moon, wrapped up in a long coat. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a folded note, setting the tea to the side for now. Unfolding it, the perfect script is easily legible by the moonlight. What is the difference between love and hate?
In her other pocket is a pen, and she carefully writes the reply. They're two sides of the same passion. Folding it up, she hands it to the bird that had perched on the edge of her teacup, and it flies off.
She looks at the moon reflected in her cup, the twin of the one in the sky, and drains it before leaving it again. Looking to her other side, she smiles at her companion. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Black doesn't answer, instead just staring out at the river. She doesn't expect an answer, though, instead taking the moment simply to look at his profile, contenting herself with that in lieu of any response.
All there is around is silence, and she is reaching out before she becomes conscious of the fact that she is, reaching without a clear sense of what she wants, or why, all that she knows is that she does want some form of contact. And her wish is granted, in the form of him taking her hand and crushing it. She can hear the bones snap, can feel the pain as if from a distance-dulled through water and ice-and pulls it back, using the other one to attempt to align the broken pieces back. "You didn't have to do that..." she mutters softly, not quite upset as she is resigned. Of course that would be the result. No answers, never the desired outcome, and only figuring out what you wanted in retrospect.
"Didn't I?" The reply is faint enough that she could doubt she ever heard it, but something tells her it was said. With her whole hand, she pushes the teacup off from where it's balanced, watching it fall through the air until it smashes on the ground.
"...I suppose you did."
"You have your duty, after all."
They're there, that nearly weightless symbol of it, and the healing hand lifts up to pull them away from her eyes. What does she block herself from seeing? She feels them leave, and gasps quietly at the sight.
The world is blurred, but it matters not when they add to to whole effect of intense colours bleeding into one another so vividly, blue of the sky blending with the silver of the moon, the faint visible green of the bridge leeching into the river. The red of his eyes now a spark against his black and white. Is this what she had denied herself? This harsh, cruelly beautiful reality?
He turns to look at her, and she lets the glasses fall from her hand. As they fall, the world is silent. When they shatter on the pavement below, she hears it happen. The lenses splinter and fall apart, and so does the world.
Who she is addressing as she lays on the couch in her dressing room is unclear, but what is clear is the bright little handgun she is turning over and over in her hands as she speaks.
"Acting is the sanctioned form of lying, you know. Blessed in its own peculiar way for those who can stay warm by applause alone. Such an ungrateful lover." Her lips barely move to deliver this line, as she presses the gun to her temple. "But I've never minded." She presses the trigger.
Click. Out of ammunition, as she knew it would be.
"You look like a whore." The words are dry, and she sits up enough to throw the gun in the direction of the other's voice, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. There is no sound of contact, and the other just smirks, dressed as her opposite but with her exact match of a face. Clean, tailored suit, long hair tied back professionally, and holding the caught gun in her right hand. "Temper, temper~"
"Just jealous, aren't you, that I'm the one who can show off like this." She adjusts herself to prop herself up a little better. "That I'm....confident."
"I'm not the one throwing revolvers at people." The other chuckles, coming closer and kissing her cheek.
She drops the gun, and from the point where it drops on the floor a spiderweb of cracks grows, engulfing everything in the scene until it all breaks apart with the sound of an exploding room full of fine china.
The shards clear to reveal her sipping tea quietly atop a bridge, watching the moon, wrapped up in a long coat. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a folded note, setting the tea to the side for now. Unfolding it, the perfect script is easily legible by the moonlight. What is the difference between love and hate?
In her other pocket is a pen, and she carefully writes the reply. They're two sides of the same passion. Folding it up, she hands it to the bird that had perched on the edge of her teacup, and it flies off.
She looks at the moon reflected in her cup, the twin of the one in the sky, and drains it before leaving it again. Looking to her other side, she smiles at her companion. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Black doesn't answer, instead just staring out at the river. She doesn't expect an answer, though, instead taking the moment simply to look at his profile, contenting herself with that in lieu of any response.
All there is around is silence, and she is reaching out before she becomes conscious of the fact that she is, reaching without a clear sense of what she wants, or why, all that she knows is that she does want some form of contact. And her wish is granted, in the form of him taking her hand and crushing it. She can hear the bones snap, can feel the pain as if from a distance-dulled through water and ice-and pulls it back, using the other one to attempt to align the broken pieces back. "You didn't have to do that..." she mutters softly, not quite upset as she is resigned. Of course that would be the result. No answers, never the desired outcome, and only figuring out what you wanted in retrospect.
"Didn't I?" The reply is faint enough that she could doubt she ever heard it, but something tells her it was said. With her whole hand, she pushes the teacup off from where it's balanced, watching it fall through the air until it smashes on the ground.
"...I suppose you did."
"You have your duty, after all."
They're there, that nearly weightless symbol of it, and the healing hand lifts up to pull them away from her eyes. What does she block herself from seeing? She feels them leave, and gasps quietly at the sight.
The world is blurred, but it matters not when they add to to whole effect of intense colours bleeding into one another so vividly, blue of the sky blending with the silver of the moon, the faint visible green of the bridge leeching into the river. The red of his eyes now a spark against his black and white. Is this what she had denied herself? This harsh, cruelly beautiful reality?
He turns to look at her, and she lets the glasses fall from her hand. As they fall, the world is silent. When they shatter on the pavement below, she hears it happen. The lenses splinter and fall apart, and so does the world.