cold_dry_pieces

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|[62]|

So I'm guessing the other day was a soap-opera thing, given the bad dialogue I was spouting and the nonsense about weddings and secret relatives and murders and all that crap. The wedding is still off, but only because it was never on in the first place. So, uh, please disregard anything crazy that was said. Deb, I am sorry about all that, but obviously I wasn't in control of my actions.

Our French press is missing, though. So I guess the pirate thing was for real?

Anyway. My soul is back to its usual intangible state, and I seem to have lucked out today, apart from feeling kind of sick. Deb, I think your brother and I might have been out in the cold too long yesterday-- you might want to stay upstairs tonight, I don't want you to catch whatever we've got.

~~I can stay calm, just a few more hours of this... it reeks...~~

|[ooc: bwaha, he will be doing his damnedest to avoid people because he is cursed like a mofo. >3 two serial killers + blood on their hands curse = wrecked apartment. >_> icon is just for funsies, that is definitely not visible. heh.]|

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[some breathing in gasps]

Rudy.

You too? Figured that's why your door was locked.

Let me in.

Hold on.

[This is probably a lot easier to hear via communicator than through the door. The lock clicks, and Dexter is clearly having trouble turning the knob.]

[Being soaked in blood will do that to you. He adds to the valiant effort, fingers slipping on the knob, finally managing to get the door open. He's got an idea of what to expect; a rough estimate of dear Dexter's body count, and how much blood that translates to. He stands in the doorway, a pretty mess himself, half covered in blood, a trail of drips tracking through the apartment. He's not entirely sure what to say, under the circumstances.]

[It doesn't even matter that Rudy isn't saying anything, the point is that he's there, which feels right. Even though everything is terribly, terribly wrong. He wonders if the curse is supposed to make him feel guilty, because if it is, well, it's completely failing. But he is feeling awful and he's having trouble staying here in the present and not flashing back to the shipping container, and the blood, days with nothing but blood.]

I was going to sit in the bathtub, but it's worse when it pools.

[He's sitting on the floor now, covered almost entirely with blood, and he hears his own as if from far away. Something meaningless about a bathtub.]

I know.

[It's easier for him to stay grounded, because he knows where he's been, who he is. Nothing repressed or forgotten. That doesn't mean it isn't dizzying, though-- the sharp scent, the sticky itch of it. And Dexter being here, of course. Full circle, from victim to villain; there's something almost pleasing about the symbolic neatness of it.]

It's only a day... it'll be all right.

[Frowning slightly, he sits down beside Dexter, neither too close nor too far away, consciously avoiding mirroring the shipping container too closely. Knees bent, hands clasped, eyes shut tight. But close enough, he hopes, to be some comfort.]

Only a day. Waiting for midnight.

[The face of his watch is smeared with blood. It's so sticky and there's no controlling it. It comes from nowhere, meaningless. He flicks some of it off his fingers, because he can't stand the sensation. It sprays against the wall, a splatter for each digit.]

[He watches, curious but dispassionate, as Dexter flicks the blood against the wall. Always about patterns and control, a mess he makes to mirror the mess that made him. Brian understands all too well.]

I think you beat me in quantity,

[he mutters, almost amused. Doesn't want to talk about it, because he wants his little brother to remember on his own. He shouldn't need to be told something he already knows, after all.]

[He flicks the fingers of his other hand, this time with more purpose. These walls are not covered in blood, they are a blank canvas for his use. He pauses and then looks over when Rudy speaks.]

Do you think it means something?

[He could easily be referring to the amount of blood, but Dexter has a pretty good idea what that indicates. It's more of a general question. Yet he knows the answer to that too--these memories are leading him somewhere, but he's hesitant to follow them through the smell and the feel and the taste of blood because he's almost drowning already and secretly fears he might not surface if he goes in too deep.]

[He smiles at that, still staring at the wall. Not entirely certain he wants to meet Dexter's eyes right now.]

Of course it does. It's the only thing that does have any meaning.

[Blood to blood. The scent is thick in the air, numbs his tongue. He's too weary to be properly disgusted, and so he watches the flecks, the drips on the wall, as Dexter plays like a child.]

[Of course. There's really only one thing to do so he draws he knees up and puts his head against them as if to rest, but the position is anything but restful. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, forces himself not to gag at the smell. He's diving in on purpose and all he can hope is that whatever he finds is worth it, though it's hard right now to imagine anything that could be worth this.]

[He's drawn up his own knees, almost unconsciously; less contact with the sticky, soaking carpet. More like the memory, curled up sullenly in the corner, the catatonic counterpart to Dexter's cries. He's watching; nothing more. This is the first time he's seen his little brother make an effort to understand, rather than shying away from his past, trying to keep the memories down. It's an oddly calm moment, heavy with significance.]

Oh, it was a curse?

Wait- You're sick? Sick how?

Yeah; we were never really engaged. They don't have soap operas where you're from, do they?

Picked up a cold, I think. Nothing serious, but why spread it?

Soap operas? I've never heard of them, so I guess not.

Oh, alright. That makes sense.

It's a kind of t.v. show. Overblown. Melodramatic. Usually not very good.

Oh. So no wedding, then? Or- in the first place. It was called off, apparently.

Nope, that was all the curse talking.

Oh, alright, then. Have you been cursed with anything else yet?

What, today? I'm fine. Just sick. Yesterday I was cursed, but it wasn't anything bad.

Oh.

I- I think I'm a zombie again.

...Huh.

Lock yourself in your room and try not to eat anyone. It'll probably pass at midnight.

But I did that last time and it didn't work!

Right...

Sure you guys don't need anything?

Mn, we'll be fine.

Alright then.

I'll make it up to you, I promise.

Yeah, you'd better. The damn ticking's gonna keep me up all night.

You know I'm good for it.

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suspicious deb is so suspicious >.>

ffft wat, totally innocent here.

of course~

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