TLV Inbox

[greatoldjohn]

[in a rather deep voice] "This is John Doe. Please leave your message. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I may respond in text if I'm currently with Arthur. Apologies."

Now Moved To: Inbox: Act II - please tag in there!

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[greatoldjohn]

[ Yes. After a fight or something harrowing.

I feel wrung out. Drained. Laying down with Arthur like this always makes me feel better. I thought maybe you'd like it too.]

[pitofguilt]

That's what I meant when I said I'm tired. I haven't been through what you and Arthur have, but...

[ She shrugs one shoulder. ]

This is actually pretty nice. Lot less depressing than lying around with the tv on to try and drown everything out.

[greatoldjohn]

[ You've been through plenty. Especially in the last few days. i'm not... unaware that this was difficult on you too.

But you can have this when you want. I don't mind sharing this with you. ]

[ A pause before- ]

[ Would you like for me to read to you? ]

[pitofguilt]

[ Not nearly as bad as it's been for Arthur, so her response to that is another shrug. At least John can comfort Arthur like this-- god. After this, Natalie will get her sight back, but Arthur is blind even without John. And she shot him. Fuck. She really went for a low blow, didn't she. ]

You don't have to leave Arthur if you're with him when I ask.

[ Not "if" but "when." She's already sure she'll ask.

...she can't remember the last time someone read to her. ]

Ywah. Sure. Which book?

[greatoldjohn]

[ I know I don't have to. We'll work that out between ourselves if it comes up. ]

[ A short pause as he considers what's in the room. ]

[ I started the Emily Dickinson book but I got distracted. Would that work? ]

[pitofguilt]

Yeah, that works. Where'd you leave it?

[greatoldjohn]

[ It's on the dresser beside the bed, next to the vase. If you move your hand slowly, it's the second one down in the stack. ]

[pitofguilt]

[ She does so, carefully pulling out the book without knocking over the one on top of it. Then she sits up, piling the pillows against the headboard to lean back on, knees bent. It's comfortable to hold the book this way. ]

...it's not upside down, is it?

[greatoldjohn]

[A low chuckle. It's a little easier to feel the warmth of it while he's like this.]

[ No. Shall we begin at the beginning or where I left off? ]

[pitofguilt]

[ Warm and safe. Like... like a crackling fire on a cold night, and a warm, thick blanket around her like a cape. ]

Go from where you left off.

[ She runs a finger along the top of the closed book, looking for any kind of bookmark or placeholder. ]

[greatoldjohn]

[ All right. There's a little ribbon down near the bottom. It should pull open to the right spot. It's thin.]

[pitofguilt]

[ It's easy enough to find once she's feeling for it along the bottom. She pulls the book open, holding it close to the edges so that no words are covered. ]

[greatoldjohn]

[ Ah. Here we go. I think I stopped here because I liked it. It felt... good. Helpful. ]

[ There's a short pause and the way he reads it, he means every line, every verse. The same way he loves colors and shapes and lines, so too does he love words and rhythm and music. He loves what they hold, the life and the feeling, the meaning of them. Each and every verse is special, precious. ]

[ “Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.]

[pitofguilt]

[ Natalie wasn't the best student in high school, but she was better than everyone expected. English lit class featured unexciting classics, but the lessons on text analysis were good. They stayed with her, allowed her to enjoy music more, to read contemporary essays and grasp the arguments better. Poetry a little harder for her without context, and she hasn't had reasons or time to sit and read, but what she remembers about Emily Dickinson is enough for now. Hell, even if she had zero context, this poem is still fitting. Helpful, like John said. ]

I used to think we'd all lost hope when we were stranded out there. But every time something happened, I felt hopeless all over again. I don't think we ever stopped hoping.

[ It goes without saying that she feels hopeless here too, despite John's faith in her. ]

[greatoldjohn]

[ "Hope springs eternal," I read.

I wonder if people realize how much of a curse that can be. ]

[ A pause. ]

[ Every time someone opened the book, I thought I'd be free. I hoped. And when it didn't-

No, when I killed them because they wouldn't give me enough control...

It was that much worse when I went back. But... it's also why I got to meet Arthur. That I kept trying. That I kept giving in to hope. ]

[pitofguilt]

I don't know if it's better or worse to feel hopeless. Not the kind of hopeless where you're upset about it and you keep fighting; that's still hoping for something.

[ He kept hoping to be free. He killed because he wanted and hoped for more, if she's understanding. And she did too. Why else would she have kept hunting, finding food to keep everyone going? ]

I mean the kind where you give up. You stop fighting, because you think there's no point anymore.

cw suicidal ideation

[greatoldjohn]

[ Did you attempt what you did because you gave up hope...

...or because you thought you'd done more harm than that hope was worth? ]

cw suicidal ideation / suicide mention

[pitofguilt]

[ He'll notice how still she goes, not moving any part of her that she can consciously control. She's been avoiding truly thinking about that decision, instead remembering (as little as possible) the things around it and leading up to it, always abandoning it when she felt a similar despairing sadness starting to creep up on her.

She could say she doesn't know, but they'll both know what she means is that she doesn't want to think about it. She could give an actual answer, but then she runs the risk of cracking open, and that makes her afraid that she won't be able to stop herself completely falling apart. Lying and deflecting have never worked, much less with John. And if he hasn't walked away from her yet, then he never will. His word means something. She can trust him. If she trusts him enough to be with him like this right now, talking about this isn't a terribly big leap. ]

I think... both. I don't really know. It's not like it was the first time I'd tried.

[ The sting of tears comes back, stronger this time. ]

Re: cw suicidal ideation / suicide mention

[greatoldjohn]

[ But this time, Travis wasn't alive to... make you stop. ]

Re: cw suicidal ideation / suicide mention

[pitofguilt]

He didn't even want to see me anymore. Any of us.

[ The small smile she gives is hollow. Tears spill down her cheeks. She brushes them away with the back of her hand. ]

He wouldn't even have heard about it. And if he had, he wouldn't have been surprised.

Re: cw suicidal ideation / suicide mention

[greatoldjohn]

[ You don't know that. You know the last thing he said to you.

Did it ever occur to you that he might have been trying to do for you what you tried to do for me? ]

[pitofguilt]

[ She shakes her head. ]

I think he did it because he knew the only way he could live in peace for the rest of his life was without us in it. Without me.

[greatoldjohn]

[ And you're sure that isn't your own guilt and self-hatred talking in his voice? ]

[pitofguilt]

He died clean. He stayed clean by himself. I didn't. I couldn't. If he...

[ More tears; this is the first time she's actually talked about him, not about his death.

A deep, shaky breath, then-- ] If he hadn't left the way he did, I don't think he would've managed it.

[greatoldjohn]

[It's possible it was both. That he recognized you weren't good for him the same way he wasn't good for you.]

[ He doesn't actually sound like he's reaching, more like he's thinking back on his own experience, his own choices. ]

[It's not easy to be the person to move forward from a back and forth. But you don't just do it for yourself. If he was with you for as long as he was, I can't imagine there wasn't some... caring in the gesture from his side as well.]