They've been stuck in this damn bubble for months now. Kal's completely lost track of how long it's been exactly. All he knows is that he's bored and things are starting to freak him out a little more.
He hasn't touched Eights in days, likely. It just doesn't really feel right anymore and he can barely think about what he's already done.
For the time being, he's crouched down at the bottom of the bubble, as far away from Eights as he can get. Which isn't far.
He knows. He remembers, as much as he doesn't want to, or remember what it felt like for him at the time, which frankly, is the more disturbing part because he liked it.
"I should have known better than to drink anything. I should have." He looks vaguely over in her direction, but not at her. He can't. "I'm sorry."
"No, it doesn't... you didn't force me to do anything. You couldn't. I just, I can't really control what I do when I'm on it." He sighs, still not looking at her. "It's not your fault. You didn't know."
Eights sighs, absent-mindedly brushing bits of fingernail off her knee. They slide gently down the curve of the bubble, coming to rest finally at the bottom.
"Tell you what, Kal. Before we get into an endless blame circus, why don't you admit that you haven't done anything wrong in the first place and I'll admit I couldn't possibly have known you'd get all Hyde off of drinking Scorcher."
"Okay, Clark, or should I call you Dr. Jekyll?" She gives a short laugh. "What you did to me was fun, and trust me, crazy alien powers or no, you couldn't have laid a finger on me if I hadn't wanted you to."
This last puts a slight bend on strict truth, but Eights figures it's better to be comforting than blunt at this juncture.
"Why shouldn't you have?" asks Eights pointedly. "What the fuck reason have you got in your adorable little head for thinking you'va actually done something morally wrong here?"
"I asked you to. I got off on it. I would happily do it again." Eights grins. "Seriously. You're a little far from home here, Dorothy; the rules have changed."
"Okay, I apologize for that, that was kind of low. Nevertheless, my point remains. I'm already dead. Killing me again doesn't affect me in the slightest and is therefore not wrong."
She punctuates her sentences with sharp gestures and the occasional nibble of a fingernail.
"And what if you weren't? You really think as far gone as I was that I would have cared?" It may be obvious that the thought scares the hell out of him.
He hasn't touched Eights in days, likely. It just doesn't really feel right anymore and he can barely think about what he's already done.
For the time being, he's crouched down at the bottom of the bubble, as far away from Eights as he can get. Which isn't far.
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"I should have known better than to drink anything. I should have." He looks vaguely over in her direction, but not at her. He can't. "I'm sorry."
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And so it begins.
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Eights sighs, absent-mindedly brushing bits of fingernail off her knee. They slide gently down the curve of the bubble, coming to rest finally at the bottom.
"Tell you what, Kal. Before we get into an endless blame circus, why don't you admit that you haven't done anything wrong in the first place and I'll admit I couldn't possibly have known you'd get all Hyde off of drinking Scorcher."
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He places his head in his hands. "And my name is Clark."
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This last puts a slight bend on strict truth, but Eights figures it's better to be comforting than blunt at this juncture.
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He does look at her now. "How can you call that fun."
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She doesn't feel the need to demonstrate. A look of sarcasm in his direction suffices.
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"That's fine, for you. But I shouldn't have done anything like I did. I know better."
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"I killed you. Repeatedly."
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Clark bangs his head against the wall behind him. "Don't call me Dorothy."
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She punctuates her sentences with sharp gestures and the occasional nibble of a fingernail.
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"I'm not supposed to let go like that. Ever."
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