I can hear them screaming; Dione Castel (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} audiomorbid) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} nosuchplace,@ 2008-12-30 21:02:00 |
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Friday, November 2, 2007
Who: Dione Castel & Max Doyle
When: Evening.
Where: The shores of Lake Alata'elen
What: Dione is celebrating the deaths of those she cares for.
It had taken Dione a while to walk to Helicharis and return because she was very tired lately. However, she had decided that since she had missed the day of All Saints and honestly there were no graves here for her to visit, at least not the graves of anyone that she knew, that she would find a new way to celebrate what her family considered a holiday.
Why anyone would consider a day devoted to cleaning the tombstones and markers of dead people a holiday was a question that many an American friend of hers had asked. After all, she was an American and such things as All Saints were hardly American holidays like Halloween and Easter had become with their cards and candy. Dione didn't understand how it couldn't be considered a holiday, but that was because while she had been born in America, her family was distinctly French and saw the day as one that was not to be missed.
Her first year in a new place and she had missed it. That bothered her. Curled up in her bed, blankets pulled up to her chin against the slight chill. While she had considered her costume a bit skimpy, she hadn't realized how easily she could get sick from it. However, it had passed after 24 hours, so she wasn't too worried about it. Now she was just a little tired from the whole thing. Either way, she had walked all the way to Helicharis for one express purpose, to get a bottle of wine.
Now what exactly was a woman who didn't drink on a regular basis going to do with a bottle of wine? Well, toast those who had gone before her, including her brother, despite the fact that she didn't want to accept that Dexter was dead. Maybe this would make it easier, if she would include him in those that she celebrated All Saints for? Either way, she had walked all the way to the Wine Bar because it was the place that she knew and walked back with a bottle of red wine. Red wine that would look like blood against the glass.
Blood on glass, a maroon sky with silver stars, the way the cafe looked as Dexter bled out on the floor. Not that Dione remembered what that looked like. Her mind had long since blocked that thought away. No, it would only appear in her nightmares which only made things worse. All Dione could see was memories and many of the memories closest to the surface that had pictures to them were the pictures of her brother's death as her eyes were giving in to the damage and she crawled across the floor to be near to him. Unconscious as his heart stopped, all unaware.
All the way back to her bungalow, alone and quiet. Dexter didn't want to talk though she could feel him there right at her elbow, trying to figure out what exactly she was doing. They were upsettingly separate at the moment. Though he was close to her, Dione was being tight lipped about her plans. One thing he did know quite completely though was the fact that she should not be drinking. Dione was already considered impaired. Why on Earth would she want to make that worse by dropping a bottle of wine on top of it? Yet he didn't question, keeping his own council. Maybe if he didn't start a fight with her, he could convince her later that it would be best not to drink the whole thing? Best not to excite her stubborn streak unnecessarily.
Instead of going back to the bungalow, she went past it to the edge of Lake Alata'elen where she sat down in the sand. Dione had on long pants, a long shirt, and even what might be considered a jacket though it seemed to be a odd thing. Dexter stood looking out onto the lake beyond her, seeing the way the water moved on its own with the moon shining just a sliver of its light down onto things. All they had left was each other.
Two people had died. There was talk of the death while they were in town, it had been hard to miss. A buzz like only town gossip could make. It invaded the head and stayed. Two people had died. Two people who were nice, sweet, friendly, and lovely had been killed. They lived together, yet that hadn't protected them. Dione lived alone. What would stop someone from hurting her? A sickening thought that Dexter did not wish to entertain. Unfortunately, he needed to alert her to the possible problem. Dione wouldn't see it. She was blind to it, literally. Still, he said nothing, choosing instead only to watch her as she sat in the sand, her cane off to one side and the bottle between her crossed legs.
Why are we here? He finally broke the silence between them.
"Because it feels right." The pyres had probably burned out by the time she reached the lake. The souls might have been gone for all she knew.
What does? He sat down next to her, leaving no indention in the sand though he was there with her.
"This place, this time, this action," as vague as one could get. At least she had let someone open the wine for her before leaving town, so that made it easy enough to open again. "I toast to those who have gone before. To those who have prepared away and wait." Dione was not a pagan, but maybe for just a moment she could be one.
italics = French. Dexter uses no quotation marks and cannot be heard by most characters.
Who: Dione Castel & Max Doyle
When: Evening.
Where: The shores of Lake Alata'elen
What: Dione is celebrating the deaths of those she cares for.
It had taken Dione a while to walk to Helicharis and return because she was very tired lately. However, she had decided that since she had missed the day of All Saints and honestly there were no graves here for her to visit, at least not the graves of anyone that she knew, that she would find a new way to celebrate what her family considered a holiday.
Why anyone would consider a day devoted to cleaning the tombstones and markers of dead people a holiday was a question that many an American friend of hers had asked. After all, she was an American and such things as All Saints were hardly American holidays like Halloween and Easter had become with their cards and candy. Dione didn't understand how it couldn't be considered a holiday, but that was because while she had been born in America, her family was distinctly French and saw the day as one that was not to be missed.
Her first year in a new place and she had missed it. That bothered her. Curled up in her bed, blankets pulled up to her chin against the slight chill. While she had considered her costume a bit skimpy, she hadn't realized how easily she could get sick from it. However, it had passed after 24 hours, so she wasn't too worried about it. Now she was just a little tired from the whole thing. Either way, she had walked all the way to Helicharis for one express purpose, to get a bottle of wine.
Now what exactly was a woman who didn't drink on a regular basis going to do with a bottle of wine? Well, toast those who had gone before her, including her brother, despite the fact that she didn't want to accept that Dexter was dead. Maybe this would make it easier, if she would include him in those that she celebrated All Saints for? Either way, she had walked all the way to the Wine Bar because it was the place that she knew and walked back with a bottle of red wine. Red wine that would look like blood against the glass.
Blood on glass, a maroon sky with silver stars, the way the cafe looked as Dexter bled out on the floor. Not that Dione remembered what that looked like. Her mind had long since blocked that thought away. No, it would only appear in her nightmares which only made things worse. All Dione could see was memories and many of the memories closest to the surface that had pictures to them were the pictures of her brother's death as her eyes were giving in to the damage and she crawled across the floor to be near to him. Unconscious as his heart stopped, all unaware.
All the way back to her bungalow, alone and quiet. Dexter didn't want to talk though she could feel him there right at her elbow, trying to figure out what exactly she was doing. They were upsettingly separate at the moment. Though he was close to her, Dione was being tight lipped about her plans. One thing he did know quite completely though was the fact that she should not be drinking. Dione was already considered impaired. Why on Earth would she want to make that worse by dropping a bottle of wine on top of it? Yet he didn't question, keeping his own council. Maybe if he didn't start a fight with her, he could convince her later that it would be best not to drink the whole thing? Best not to excite her stubborn streak unnecessarily.
Instead of going back to the bungalow, she went past it to the edge of Lake Alata'elen where she sat down in the sand. Dione had on long pants, a long shirt, and even what might be considered a jacket though it seemed to be a odd thing. Dexter stood looking out onto the lake beyond her, seeing the way the water moved on its own with the moon shining just a sliver of its light down onto things. All they had left was each other.
Two people had died. There was talk of the death while they were in town, it had been hard to miss. A buzz like only town gossip could make. It invaded the head and stayed. Two people had died. Two people who were nice, sweet, friendly, and lovely had been killed. They lived together, yet that hadn't protected them. Dione lived alone. What would stop someone from hurting her? A sickening thought that Dexter did not wish to entertain. Unfortunately, he needed to alert her to the possible problem. Dione wouldn't see it. She was blind to it, literally. Still, he said nothing, choosing instead only to watch her as she sat in the sand, her cane off to one side and the bottle between her crossed legs.
Why are we here? He finally broke the silence between them.
"Because it feels right." The pyres had probably burned out by the time she reached the lake. The souls might have been gone for all she knew.
What does? He sat down next to her, leaving no indention in the sand though he was there with her.
"This place, this time, this action," as vague as one could get. At least she had let someone open the wine for her before leaving town, so that made it easy enough to open again. "I toast to those who have gone before. To those who have prepared away and wait." Dione was not a pagan, but maybe for just a moment she could be one.
italics = French. Dexter uses no quotation marks and cannot be heard by most characters.