(Untitled)

[mitanarchist]

Lapsed anarchist is in the Inn, reading a book.

He only looks innocent.

Really.

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[fallen_april]

Junkie artist is downstairs, curled up in a big smooshy chair and staring at the fire.

She's feeling somewhat better. Physically, at least.

[mitanarchist]

Said junkie's getting a blanket draped around her.

[fallen_april]

"Thanks," she says quietly, not looking up.

[mitanarchist]

"Not a problem." Equally quiet. He's not pushing for her to talk. Yet.

[fallen_april]

April doesn't move. Doesn't say anything. Just picks at the edge of the blanket.

But it's not too hard to tell that she's not exactly the happiest of girls.

[mitanarchist]

He doesn't know what, if anything, he's supposed to do.

Instead, he takes a seat next to her.

Just being there.

[fallen_april]

She leans against him and sighs. "I don't even see the point," she says finally, almost inaudibly.

[mitanarchist]

"Can't see something you don't think is there."

[fallen_april]

"It's just... I'm dead. I fucked it all up. And..." she shakes her head. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter."

[mitanarchist]

"And what?"

[fallen_april]

She shakes her head again.

She can't say it. Not when he wants her to try so badly.

[mitanarchist]

She doesn't have to say it at this point.

He sighs, putting an arm around her shoulder.

[fallen_april]

"My dad was right," she says with a slightly hysterical laugh. "He was right about me."

[mitanarchist]

"If you say so."

A telling statement, really.

[fallen_april]

"I'm a junkie. I'm a whore. I got AIDS and I fucking killed myself." She sighs. "I'm completely worthless." Just like he'd said she was.

[mitanarchist]

"Tell me why I'd waste my time with a worthless person? And I'd better not hear the word 'pity'--you know how much of that I've got." Flat voice.