eachdraidh | voice ▶ open to seelie and unseelie ▶ forward-dated to after the feast

D'you reckon if I asked nicely, I could find some caramel biscuits 'round here?

[she starts off the recording unceremoniously, giving her locket a squinty sort of look. it'd be a lie to say she can pretend she's on the phone or a walkie, but least it's less weird. and considering she's walked into the fucking land of the fairies, she can do with less weird.]

I'm not fussed about the brand or nothing, but I don't want anything their sort makes. Couldn't compare to a freshly opened box of 'em, could it? The food's fine, but I want biscuits, not fairy dust. I know you can get loads of cakes if you ask, [which is dead strange] but I'm not talking about anything fancy. Bit too sweet, anyway, if you ask me.

[and then she exhales. magic lockets. now she's seen everything.]

This had better be working. If someone's having me on about these stupid things — don't suppose they'd come with instruction manuals.

[now she just sounds like her dad, but at least she can decipher one better than he can.]

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Jem —

[He sounds desperate, almost pleading. There is no way they can be different points in time, he rationalizes at the last minute. That's simply just not possible. And if it's not possible, then there's something wrong with Jem or there's something wrong with himself. He remembers his hands shaking in the bathroom; he remembers Amy, wandering into her kitchen all forgetful. Anxious, he thinks now as he reflects back. Definitely anxious.

There's no way he could have hallucinated weeks of his life, is there? There's no way he could have dreamed up Amy and Simon; no way he could have made-up Freddie's rabidfication or the kiss at the bungalow. He glances at himself in his mirror, sees ghostly white skin and the black at the corners of his mouth and there's an ache in his chest that he knows isn't really there. It's the phantom memory of mourning, because if there's something wrong with him then he didn't really sit with Simon after a disastrous Sunday lunch and wipe off all their make-up until he felt like a weight had been lifted. Gary didn't really break into their own, force him into the fields, pour blue oblivion into his back and set him loose.

Amy can't be dead. But she is and Kieren knows she is, because he thinks of the way her smile lit up her whole face and he feels like crumbling in on himself. He saw her die, her blood red instead of black and there's a pain in his head, now, that feels real instead of what he remembers a headache feeling like. He places his hand against his brow.

Minutes pass, before: ]

So you either can't remember or I've gone properly off my head. That's — that's brilliant.

[The slight edge of hysteria in his tone isn't because of Jem; he keeps thinking of everything that's happened. Henry Lonsdale, who'd been so excited about that bracelet he'd made and the way he vanished. Because of Jem. Because Gary got rid of the body.

All the carnage Maxine Martin has caused him and Roarton and Jem doesn't recall a lick of it. ]

Amy's dead, that's what I remember.

[He's angry about it, again. He'd told Simon that he'd be alright — but he's angry about the whole thing. He's furious. ]

Maxine Martin murdered her, while Gary — [He stops himself, very abruptly. His voice is the watery way it gets when he's angry and upset all at once, but he isn't sure he can share what Gary's done to him. He's not sure he can do that to her right now. A conversation for another day, when he's got more control. ]

I'm sorry — fuck. I'm sorry, I'm not angry at you.

Edited (i wasnt done) 2014-08-13 13:22 (UTC)

I said, I don't know!

[she doesn't mean to shout at all, let alone when he says her name. but it scares her — the way he's talking, things he's saying, and everything else happening on top of it. she scarcely knows amy, not like kieren, still sees her fucking dress all dirty from lisa's blood and brains in her dreams half the nights; can hardly look at her for that reason. but she's kieren's best mate. he cares about her and she makes him happy, made him smile with her postcards even after rick's funeral, back when jem'd quietly been afraid he never would again. she'd been happy to find out she'd come back, finally, and hearing about her being dead — really dead, again, having a funeral is surreal enough to make jem wonder if she isn't the one hallucinating things.

(always like that with a loss, and she's know wouldn't she: the world slips out of focus from one you're used to, one that makes sense, to a nightmare that makes no sense at all. all the rules gone, sense of security shattered right from under you; makes a person feel like they've gone into a free-fall except it doesn't end because there's no waking up. her brother died, and not long after the earth cracked open and poured out zombies, like it was fucking done having anyone else lowered into it. or maybe the opposite, with everyone the war took; maybe it was as insatiable as any rabid.)

it can't be possible. none of this is possible.]

Kieren —

[but she stops when he goes on, listens. doesn't make the world feel like it's spinning any slower to hear him accuse the mp (and what the fuck does she care about amy dyer?) and spit out gary's name like a curse. she makes herself take in a deep breath like it'll make her feel better — doesn't — by the time he apologizes. it's enough to make her feel sick, this much already.]

Forget it. Just forget it.

[she means the apology. she thinks she means the apology. there's a rustle of clothes as she buries her own face in her hands; she means to go on, too, have something else to say, but fuck if she knows what. she doesn't know, either, what he remembers that she'd asked him for help but —

right now, wouldn't be against him forgetting that either.]

[There's a part of him that wants to desperately protect his little sister from the things she'll do. He wants to protect her from what she's already done, too, but he can't. He can't make them go away. They've both killed people; Kieren's just as messed up as she is, under it all. He can't quite piece together the reality of what's happening. He wants her safe, absolved of Henry's death and free from the influence of Maxine Martin and Gary fucking Kendall.

He can't do that, though, he thinks. He could pretend it never happens to her. He could shut his mouth, try this again another day after they've both cooled off. He could search out doctors, here. But Henry's still dead at home. Gary's still drinking pints in the legion like he's done nothing wrong. Amy's still six feet under.

He doesn't know what to do. He sits for a long moment, his locket at his side and his head in his hands. ]

Yeah, okay.

[His voice sounds wrecked. He feels shattered. ]

We need to talk about this — but another day, yeah? It's a lot to take in. It's —

[fucked. He sighs, then laughs, wry.]

I mean it's not all bad news, here in the future.

[she wonders if he'd say, if it really were all bad news in the future. she wonders if she would, were their positions switched, or if it'd be another white lie like yeah, loads of friends.

she wonders when she started thinking kieren could actually be from the future.

zombies are real. fairies might magic you to castles in the middle of fucking nowhere, if you're not careful. time travel is possible. it's a circle her head keeps following, makes her wonder where to draw the line.]

S'long as you say we haven't gone all War of the Worlds, I'll believe you.

[aliens. definitely drawing the line at aliens.]

Mum's shaved her head and dad's decided to go vegan.

[He's trying to joke. It falls a little flat. ]

I think things will be okay. I'm uhm. I'm seeing someone?

Well, now I know we're fucked.

[it's still an effort, and she makes one in return. next bit isn't half so forced, not with a revelation like that.]

Kier! You should've said that straight off. Anyone I know?

Not yet I think. His names Simon? He looks sort of threatening and acts really preachy, round about when you're from.

[The fucking jumpers tho. ] Amy's friend.

[From the ULA, goes unsaid. He pauses; realizes this sounds TERRIBLE. Like he's involved with mad religious fanatics. ] I uh, I knocked some sense into him. I suppose.

[this is not a judgmental pause, before she answers.]

I can see why you like him.

[except, yeah, that does sound terrible.]

[He lowers his voice, almost giddily. ]

He listens to me Jem and does things I tell him to? It's mad.

[she considers a thing or two to say to that, but he sounds happy. enough that — ]

That's great, Kier. Introduce me if he ever shows up here, okay?

voice ▶ open to seelie and unseelie ▶ forward-dated to after the feast

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