paradisalogs | the falcon cannot hear the falconer; [OPEN]

Entry tags:

the falcon cannot hear the falconer; [OPEN]

who; anne & you!
what; escape from the clinic
where; clinic & castle gardens
when; today
rating; pg-13 (mention of hell and torture and skirts stuck in wheelchairs)

Anne had been to Hell and back, and what did she have to show for it? Broken pride, perhaps? Even that could not be entirely stifled, but she has made a remarkable show of it since her awakening in the clinic. It helped that she had her clinic room's door shut whenever she could, not wishing for anyone to see her in such gruesome shape. She certainly had injuries to show for it, but so did everybody. Even a week later, Anne is unable to walk on her own more than a step or two. Though her gown, dark for mourning, shields the worst of it from prying eyes, it's impossible to hide that her left arm is in a sling (or at least it should be), the right side of her face is bandaged, and she is most certainly in a wheelchair! But that doesn't stop her from trying to look her best with accessories, simply using a long silk scarf to wrap up her skirt so that it doesn't get tangled in the wheels. ~~She may have already had to learn that lesson the hard way.~~

Adjusting to these chairs on wheels took some adjustment, especially considering the upper arm strength they required. This, of course, meant that Anne had to pull her arm from her sling whenever she wanted to go anywhere. And you know what, that's exactly what she does, because ~~fuq the popo~~ she's Queen and she does what she wants. The painkillers help, for sure, although she still requires many breaks and pauses in her venture.

Anyone might spot her on her way out of the clinic, as she is not the most subtle scene to bear witness to, but eventually Anne will try to find her way to the castle's gardens, wanting to see the roses, and perhaps find shade in the maze. Wherever she may rest, Anne will end up seated in the grass with the flowers, weaving them along the armrests of the wheelchair. Though her mind still feels numb at times, unable to cope with even thinking of what she should do now, the sun always helps, and menial tasks like these help occupy her scattered mind.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Anne nearly hisses at his closing proximity, but she doesn't tell him to back away. Instead it seems to spurn her on, and as she stands on her own two feet (barely), she all but spits at his feet.

"I ran from you on the ship, but since returning I have done no running. So how is it you could not find me? Tell me you were locked away? Do not lie to me. Come here!"

She stretches her arm out, though not for support, glowering and waiting as it takes all of her effort to stand without letting her left leg shake too much. Daring to see if he'll listen or leave again. "Come closer now!"

Edited 2013-05-19 07:50 (UTC)

Of course she thinks he's lying on the rare occasion that he tells the truth. A partial one, but still more than he was planning for fear that she may not treat him the same if she knew. And if she needs someone to be angry with, he understands. It's better him than someone who didn't take it so expertly well.

Spike walks to her hand, like she asks, but doesn't respond otherwise as he pays close attention to her struggling. He's guilty of what she says, and there's nothing that he can claim to deny that.

He is keeping false hope if he thinks she can still treat him the same regardless. But he is not completely at fault, because maybe he still thinks this a dream. Just a nightmare, that's all it was. He is a fool, a fool, a fool, she wants to scream it in his face until time has been turned back. Back to long before she had ever come here. Long, long before.

At first she moves as if to strike him, but instead her hand strains for his tie, and tugs, the same as she did on the ship. "Kneel!" Down to the ground as hard as she can, with what little weight she can boast used to try to drag him down as she just about falls for attempting to stand any longer. He should not be permitted to stand over her when she's incapable of doing any such thing, but would he this time?

She only needed to ask, but the added pull makes it easier to comply to avoid being strangled again. Still, he doesn't know what's coming. Couldn't even rule out her taking up a sword and making him own his failure. The consequences were always more dire since he got involved with queens, which had been some of the appeal. That he feels differently now has nothing to do with her.

"Should I kiss your hand?" He asks while looking up at her without any hint of mocking. He is exactly what she thinks of him, and all he can do is offer a thin apology and take her judgment.

His compliance only seems to infuriate her, or maybe it's the perceived mockery that she can't help but see anywhere and everywhere now. No matter, she strikes without thinking, slapping hard enough so that her palm stings. She isn't the violent sort, not really, and yet after what she had done on the ship, a slap seems like nothing. It is nothing. What has he suffered? Anything? Did she want that for her fellow man? No, of course not. But she can't stop herself anyway, slapping again, until she truly can't keep her balance and must grab once more for the wheelchair at her side.

"I did not give you leave to look at me, or to speak!"

She swallows, shutting her eyes (though only one is really visible) and taking a moment. All it does is make her breath shudder more from focusing so much on it, and her voice wavers as she whispers out broken words.

"Eros, you stayed true to your character. I saw you and you fled; you flew up high away from me, far away from Hades. I have no wish to keep anyone in my service against their will. Leave if you must, but do not offer shallow excuses as your reasons. I have suffered too much to tolerate your word games this day!"

Sudden and immediate pain on the side of his face forces his eyes away, and he holds them there for the second strike. The first pain he's felt since returning, and maybe what he needed to work himself out of his daze. That could be why he made no move to prevent her from doing as she wanted. Even goading her to.

Slowly he turns his head, absorbing her elaborate way of calling him a scumbag that somehow involves comparing him to a god. He's perceptive enough to understand the connection and the irony involved that she may later realize.

"I can't leave any more than you." Despite the fact that he wasn't given permission to speak, the slap must have loosened his tongue; although it comes out differently than he means it. There was some choice involved. He didn't have to come back to the castle, and yet here he is, adding to her suffering.

And she's only the first person he's seen.

Anne collapses to her knees rather abruptly, and then down completely with a hiss of pain at the force rendered on her injury, especially when both hands try to catch herself against the grass. She'll slap away any offer of his should he try, though, instead taking a moment to nurse her left arm against her chest and attempt to ignore the throbbing pain in her leg. If stitches the stitches, it's not her fault, anyway. She just wanted to pick flowers...

"But you did. You left so grandly."

Sitting before him, it's actually more effort to slap him now, so she doesn't make the effort to strain forward. Tired. "For you witnessed the woman behind the queen, her body and mind."

He resists the urge to help her back to the chair, predicting her reaction. Injured or not, he wouldn't put it past her to run him over with it if it meant holding onto some dignity.

He doesn't get up either, opting to sit back on his haunches, offering nothing. Which is to be expected.

"I guess that isn't very fair, when I've kept all of my own secrets."

"And still you tell me nothing. You will not say why you are sorry, and so I cannot see that you feel any sorrow at all."

Anne's hand absently rubs at the bodice hugging her breast, or rather keeps dragging her broken nails across it. Clawing, some compulsions from the ship naturally carrying her over when she is this distracted by such thoughts. Memories.

"But it was not all your fault. It was not all... And still it matters not. I think you would receive no mercy. Hanged, drawn, and quartered... That would be your punishment. And myself, I shall be burned." Just as she lets out the last word, her lips press together so tightly they turn white, but what bursts free is a laugh rather than a sob. Or maybe it's both, hysterical in panic to be sure. "At least I will be prepared! Come, Spike, shall I prepare you for your fate so you shall know what to expect? First I will need a rope."

He doesn't find his smile again, even as she laughs at the prospect of a hanging. It seems to him that she has a fixation over his neck, as many times as she's bruised it. That could be the reason.

"That would be a new one, for me." Joking still, even if there's no more humor in his eyes. In any case, she's had the most violent reaction to sharing a bed with him that he's experienced so far.

But that doesn't make it an entirely unique case. He wishes he could remember what he said back then. "We may have to run for the cliffs if we see that coming."

Her lip actually quivers when he offers his getaway plan, and her right hand quickly shoots up to cover her mouth as she looks away, revealed eye too damp too hide her fears. It takes several moments for her to find a breath that doesn't falter.

"I love him. I love him, my dear, sweet Henry. He courted me for years, did you know? Our passion made all else in the world seem as nothing but dust, and was a thing of legend that could lie among the Greeks." Was, she says. She can't correct herself. "He is the most gracious of princes, my most beloved lord and sovereign, and I never—"

When she looks back to him, there's a wild strain to her gaze as she leans over to try to grapple for leverage on him, hand finally gripping his arm to a bruising degree as she searches his eyes.

"I never had offended with my body against my lord, by God's good grace! You must believe me. You must. I thought this was a dream, it was supposed to be a mere dream. No dream can be a crime, can it? But it is not, it is not.

You must believe me."

Edited 2013-05-20 03:58 (UTC)

"I believe you."

Even Spike has a limit on what he'll make light of, and he finds that he has an unhealthy level of sympathy for her pain. She doesn't need to explain the consequences of seeking comfort in the wrong person; he's practically the poster child for it. Which makes him grateful now that he hasn't been forced to reveal his history when she's clinging so desperately for reassurance. Regardless of the dangers that have probably already marked them and destroyed all chances of a happy ending, neither one want to lose what they had.

"Nobody will find out," he continues, speaking in low tones to keep from adding to the hysteria. To show her some kindness after everything he put her through, no matter how difficult it is for him to say.

Spike keeps his back straight, his arms strong, offering support when she may rather drag him down again. "It wasn't anything. Never happened at all."

Of course it had happened. She'll never forget the penance she had to pay for it, and not even just for it alone. He had not been the first. The other man, that tryst had been triggered by the castle rather than acted on by Anne's own urges, but that did not make her any less guilty in body. Maybe it would ease his guilt to know, but she would never dare incriminate herself further by telling anyone. That man was long gone, and she is glad for it. This one remains, the more innocent of the two and yet also more guilty. She, at least, had been punished. So if she had been burned and eaten alive for it, why did she not feel purged?

Just about choking on her breath, she lets him go so that she can cover her face, only for the sudden release to cause her collapse against his lap, and there she sobs as quietly as she can. Should anyone even dare come close to witness, Anne would not hesitate in trying to order their swift death. Would complete it herself, she feels so utterly shattered over her own crimes, what is one more.

"God have mercy on me. Jesus Christ forgive me. Jesus Christ have mercy on our poor foolish souls."

Spike sighs inwardly, just to keep himself centered when she collapses on him. It's rare for him to be put in his place so completely, to see his carelessness completely wreck every part of someone -- but not the first. The memories it stirs, of the ones he still has, set his jaw and keep him from offering any words of comfort.

That's not even the worst thing he's done. Far from it.

Hesitantly, he brings a hand up to rest on her shoulder and listens to her breathing. He debates speaking for several moments, knowing he's only made things worse with every opportunity, but he still has the need to clarify something while he has the chance.

"I'm sorry I lost you."

It might be difficult to decipher the difference between a laugh and a sob with her right now, but it is mingled in there among her tears. She just shakes her head but doesn't otherwise respond, not for awhile at least. Once her breaths have calmed and her scattered prayers have abated, Anne reaches to wipe her fingertips beneath her eyes, looking to see the hat that had been carefully pinned to her hair now on the grass.

"Your first job was to keep watch over Elizabeth. Did you look for her?"

The look she gets in return for her question spells his guilt in a way he's hidden until now. There's only one thing he managed to do back there, and he's not even sure exactly how it happened beyond a few crucial errors. His intentions started out so differently.

"On the ship... I tried." Which is a gentle way of saying he didn't succeed. As shaken as she is now, he's beginning to choose his words more carefully. "...After that, I had to go away for a while."

"...She remained perfectly injury free and unaware of what occurred, so you need not add that to your list of failures."

Unlike him, she takes no care to soften her words, though they are not necessarily said out of malice. She has no reason to sugar coat like he does; feels no obligation. But she rarely does, not unless politics are in play.

Another swipe beneath her eyes, and she struggles to sit up properly, though quickly finds it difficult. Her hurt arm had been the one beneath her, and now the pain that flashes through it like fire makes her small grasp on patience waver.

"But what do you mean, go away? Were you locked away for true? If that is the case, give me the name of the foe that defeated you, and I will hire them in your stead."

Edited 2013-05-22 02:37 (UTC)

Absently, Spike wonders about the times he's been injured and accepted what he could only call magic to speed his recovery. That kind of help has to still be offered at the clinic, and Anne clearly refused it. Spike had too, at first, but the strength (or stubbornness) it took to resist when she's in this much pain is more than most would have shown.

He attempts to make things easier by assisting her in rising, not caring if she fights him more for it. "...I was injured. Someone made off with me instead of taking me to the castle. That's all it was."

She doesn't struggle against being helped, at least until she can get enough leverage for herself to sit up properly, in which case Anne will promptly push at his hands. There is concern softening her features, but suspicion never entirely abandons her gaze.

"Injured, how? Where? I say again, tell me who this was so that I might replace your appointment."

Spike lets her go, only offering what she's willing to accept; even though his eyes linger on her.

"That's not a lot of incentive to tell you." Spoken lightly, as depressing as that idea is. He's not sure why he brought up something so close to the truth to begin with. Guilt or embarrassment may have clouded his judgment after all the effort that went into the coverup. At least, he's hoping that's all it is.

"I'll introduce you sometime."

After settling her arm carefully back into it's sling, Anne offers an angry flick of her wrist in his direction, promptly looking away to hide the hurt that tries to alter her already terse features, mostly borne of rage and pain. At everything, at him for still behaving this way. Still. It's true that none here respect her, and constantly being reminded of it nearly makes her choke over her words.

"If you refuse to answer my questions, then leave. You have learned nothing; refuse to to learn nothing, and care not at all how your behavior affects your so-claimed queen even as you sputter out lies upon lies of apologies and excuses. You are not loyal to me at all, not in any manner that we spoke of. It is clear you would have nothing to do with me or my desires, and are unfit for the danger you so desired. In which case, you are indeed relieved of your obligations towards me and my daughter."

Is it worth it? The lengths he goes to are starting to stretch a little thin. Spike knew there was only so long he's get away with it; then events on the ship just sped things up. He stands, slowly, and offers his hand that he fully expects her to reject after she tore him apart.

"I cared enough to come back." Which may mean nothing, when he won't say where he came back from. At some point he's simply sabotaging himself by antagonizing the one woman who could lift him out of the fog, all for some perverse means of self-torture. But there's no telling half of the story, and he's spent years avoiding the questions it brings. So it must be worth it, right?

Apparently his thoughts are too convoluted to be fit for any kind of conversation on the topic. He's put her through enough. "I'll be around if you change your mind."

Her expression only hardens at his claim not that it would show at this angle, regardless. It is true that everything he had said to her was a lie, down to the pathetic apologies, and she doesn't know if she's relieved or hurt that he doesn't at least try to deny it.

"Yes, cared enough to come and taunt me with your mockery." There's a near hiss in her voice as she jerks her chin to the side. "I said leave!"

The hand he offered disappears into his pocket and he stays silent. Making her angry isn't what he sought out to do, but if depression is the alternative, it could arguably be the better option.

In any case, he's always been lousy at apologies, as infrequent as he gives them, and always after he's done something that can't be fixed with one. So it makes sense that she'd take it as mockery. Nothing unexpected. It feels like something he dreamt up; a prophecy he imagined and made true.

Without another word, he walks past her, steps just slow enough to hear her if she calls for help. Something tells him she wouldn't. As strong as she is, she never needed him.

[ Unfortunately depression is rarely far behind anger. Anger is much more difficult to hold onto consistently, though it's strong enough now to keep her sobs quiet until he seems to have left. No matter how strong her emotions are, she herself feels just the opposite in every way, and reminded of how completely alone she has to be to succeed here. If she can bear her thoughts without losing her mind, anyway. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

the falcon cannot hear the falconer; [OPEN]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject