I woke up in between a memory and a dream

[mistresswanda]

The Dormouse
Friday afternoon

I opened against my better judgment.  Mostly because I gave me something to do besides wonder where the hell my husband is, and why wasn't he looking for me.

Everything here seemed familiar when I let myself in on Wednesday.  Like a dream I could almost recall.  The main room, the kitchen, the bedrooms.  (the basement,

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[mistresswanda]

I register that the woman is backing away a bit, stunned; but my eyes do not leave his. He keeps smiling, and I do believe he is enjoying this. The corner of my mouth twitches up ever so slightly. I almost wish we were alone, just to see how this might play out...

but no. The gentleman pulls my prey away, and I back up a step, allowing him to do so, but I do not relax my grip on the gladious. How I know it is called that is something I shall ponder later. I am gratified at the drops of blood coming to the surface on his neck, and I get the sudden urge to touch my fingers to it, just to see how red it would be against my skin.

"Sir, the lady wishes you to leave her establishment. I am sure that-- if you wish to report anything, the Sheriff's Office will give you the hearing you deserve."

I am about to graciously offer to go along, when the friend gets a almost hungry look in his eye. "You smell of him," He leans in and inhales deeply. "I can feel him on you." I arch an eyebrow, this is getting stranger by the minute. The woman asks the obvious question, who, and all our eyes turn to the darker man.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, low and curious, for there is a nagging feeling in the back of my head that I should know what he is babbling about.

[westin_sagert]

"You smell of him," and I really must say that I hope being snuffled at by a lunatic with a poor sense of personal hygiene is not an experience that will be repeated anytime soon. His breath is frankly repellent, and a distant part of me makes a note to visit the General Store. I shall have to replenish my supply of tooth powder. "I can feel him on you."

"Delighted to hear it," I say, the words pure rote, and I step back and reach under his left arm with mine, grabbing the back of his jacket. "You are leaving now--"

And then Mrs. Whitman starts conversing. Oh, wonderful, she breaks down and runs for a blasted sword and cuts at the local lunatic's throat, but now she wants to talk to him as she's waving it about the tea room. I have known women with a touch more forethought. Admittedly, they were equally curious, but still.

"Presumably," I say in exasperation, grabbing his right shoulder with my free hand, so that I am behind him with a passable grip and he at least has one arm somewhat restrained, "it has to do with whoever died, or whoever will next be blamed for everyone in town going mad, or possibly a dear childhood friend of his." I do not know and I really cannot bring myself to care, and I glance towards the dark woman. "Miss, could I trouble you to open the door?"

[tezcatl_ipoca]

The girl pretends she doesn't know who I mean, and Wanda...Wanda almost knows. So entertaining, that she's chosen to forget what her husband really is and remember only the shell, and yet she claims to love him....

The man is still attempting to remove me from the premises. "Presumably it has to do with whoever died, or whoever will next be blamed for everyone in town going mad, or possibly a dear childhood friend of his."

"Oh," I say amused, "you know." Reach up and touch his right hand with my fingertips, and at the feel of what Iblis has done it becomes a caress, hand sliding firm across his. "You've met him." He's in your bones and tendons, your skin, your nerves...oh, I can feel him electric there, woven through your body. If this is all that's left of what he was, I will touch it in you.

[tess_thiess]

"What are you talking about?" Wanda asks, her blade still out, 'n her tone's close 'nough t'mine that I glance sharp at her. "Presumably," the second man says taking Tezcatlipoca's arm and pushing him towards the doors, "it has to do with whoever died, or whoever will next be blamed for everyone in town going mad, or possibly a dear childhood friend of his." He looks at me. "Miss, could I trouble you to open the door?"

It takes me a moment, but I nod quick. "Yeah, sure." I wish I had a smoke. I start movin' over t'the exit but turn when I hear Tezcatlipoca speak.

"Oh, you know." He ain't talkin' t'me. His hands are on the second man's, somehow, and they're strokin' up his wrists, his tone still low 'n dark. "You've met him."

Him, the second man, and - Wanda, I remember in horror. She wed him. It. This ain't no place fer me here, with its wife and lover and servant. I turn t'leave, stridin' out t'the street. Let them bicker, and I'll keep me and mine safe.

Who are mine?

[mistresswanda]

The gentleman doesn't give a whit about what the madman is talking about, merely grips him harder and shoves him towards the door, asking the woman to open it.

"Oh, you know. You've met him." Again, there's the nagging feeling that I know exactly what and who he's talking about. It's right there, I could reach out and touch the truth of it all like the he's touching the other man's hand...

But there is no time to ponder on it more. After a look of disgust, the woman turns and leaves, taking that flicker of recognition I had with her.

"Oh for fucks sake!" I grumble and stalk over to the door, holding it wide open with one hand, familiar yet alien sword (Ares was a Greek god, why would I think a GOD gave this to me???) clutched in the other.

"I am sick of these games, sick of these innuendos, get out and spread your lies elsewhere!"

[westin_sagert]

"Oh, you know," and really, that is not a tone I care to be addressed in in public by anyone, and I very nearly drop his shoulder when he paws at my hand. "You've met him." For a moment I think the dark woman is getting the door, but she leaves outright, and I am left holding the grimy fabric of the man's coat and wondering how exactly I am supposed to get the door open.

"I assure you," I say grimly, "the only acquaintance we have in common is Doctor Constantine, and I am quite sure--" Really, why am I engaging with this man? I am quite sure Doctor Constantine has not merited whatever accusations Tez might or might not be directing towards him. And then Mrs. Whitman is hauling open the door and I push Tez forward, towards the raining street.

[tezcatl_ipoca]

The dark-haired girl - the witch, Syl's leman - decides it's time to run. Sensible girl. Watch her go, and say quietly, "There goes a guilty conscience. Remember - if you can remember anything - how she ran from that. She is a witch, you know, and steeped in blood magic. A meddling creature."

Wanda has lost what patience she had to begin with. How easy it is to needle her. A strange choice, for Iblis' long game. "I am sick of these games, sick of these innuendos, get out and spread your lies elsewhere!"

"Oh," I say, letting the man wrestle me towards the door, "but you love lies. You lie down with lies. And you're fast becoming one yourself, aren't you? The face you show to the world, and - what you've done." I am a mirror, I reflect. If you see lies in me, Wanda, they are in yourself too. You're riddled with them, right through the bone. I imagine them tunnelling in you, turning bone to honeycomb, flesh to pulp, and I smile.

The man is talking about Lucien, and I brush it aside. He shoves at me, not gently, and I catch hold of his arm and hold hard to it, pull him out into the rain with me.

I remember standing with Iblis, smoking in the rain, and the rain that fell in the tower.

My grip on his arm is hard enough to bruise. If I tightened my hand, I could break bone. Instead I lean in and brush the lightest of kisses across his lips. "Oh, you are a filthy thing," I breathe. There's no need to look and see what he has done; I can smell the pain of others on him.

[mistresswanda]

The man who is being wheeled to the door comments on the woman, calling her a witch and a meddling creature. "Takes one to know one." I mutter right back, stepping aside as the pair work their way to the door.

"Oh, but you love lies. You lie down with lies. And you're fast becoming one yourself, aren't you? The face you show to the world, and - what you've done."

Something inside me twists at his words, at his smile. Something about them rings true. I shake my head to get his voice out of my brain, to get that nagging feeling to go away. "Again, you have me at a loss sir, for I am unaware of what you are speaking of, unless you are talking about my former career as an actress."

There is nothing else to add, for both men have tumbled out the door and are standing in the rain. I stand at the door and look out anxiously, for I cannot hear what is being said now.

"Please sir, leave off that madman and come back inside, out of the rain." I implore, just wishing for this unpleasantness to be over.

[westin_sagert]

He hauls me out after him, and-- kisses me, of all things, and murmurs some insult as if it were an endearment. I cannot school the disgust from my face, and I turn away from him, pulling my arm free. Mrs. Whitman is holding the door open, and I return to the shelter of the Dormouse.

"I--" I realize that I am scrubbing at my face with the back of my hand, and drop my arm. "I am terribly-- my sympathies for your having to deal with that-- that lout, Mrs. Whitman." Good lord, how dare he...

I shake it off as best I can and turn to the matter at hand, and the smoothing over of unpleasant reminders of this encounter. "I am terribly sorry to impose, but if you possibly had a, a wash-basin I could avail myself of..."

After all, being required to have dealt with a maniac is no excuse to neglect one's presentation.