Cee cut all of her (ropes) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-09-11 15:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *narrative, cerise stone |
cee narrative
Who: Cerise
What: Getting to work.
When: After this.
Warnings: Language?
It happened all the time. It happened every day, and Cee didnt know the whole math of it or nothin, but she figured it was something like every minute. What was that line shed heard on the TV the other night? There's a sucker born every minute... That was prolly right too. Every minute somebody was dyin and every minute some dumb thing like herself was being suckered into believe all kinds of shit that just wasnt true. Was that man alive? Was he burnin people up in this city? Was he making a castle of ashes just like all the cities before? He liked fire, hed always liked fire. Cee could remember it real clearly, the first time shed seen someone burn. Tied up and lit, flames and screams taking up so much hidden space of what was otherwise darkness.
But this was different. It just was. Well, maybe she just wanted it to be. It sure couldn't be the work of the arsonist man, he was long fuckin gone too, and she figured he'd musta drank himself past dead by now. Which only left Ian, as far as known associates who were fond of starting fires went… but it didn't feel like him either. Even now, she couldn't associate him with this kind of sex crime. That woulda meant rekindling way more of the past than she ever had an intention to. She'd buried it proper, just as she'd buried too many people. She wasn't about to start digging rotten bits up now.
She didn't know what the man was waiting for, if it was Ian. What he could have wanted. Sid and his brother were long dead. Their revenge had been a tail-eating serpent, just went round and round unending. But now it was done, finished for good. Say the man was alive, Cee couldn't imagine anything on this side of the world big enough or important enough to have him getting reckless and rearing his head. He wasn't here for her. He never cared enough about her one way or another, although she chose to believe that he loved her like a daughter, in his own way. No, it wasn't about Cee. It never was, but somehow she was always the one that suffered. She was always the one left standing in the ashes, bodies and blood and spent bullet casings everywhere.
By the time that Cee got to work that morning, she was no longer real convinced that these torchings had anything to do with her past at all. It just didnt make sense, and she knew that she had a real knack for paranoia. Yeah, shed just begun to convince herself of all that by the time that she sat down at her desk.
Of course, when she opened the box, all those self-assurances flung themselves right out of the window, twelve stories up.
There was a big fit at her desk after that, forensics came up and dusted fuckin everything, the courier was tracked down and questioned, records pulled, credit cards scoured, Cee was pulled into the sergeant's office. After all of it, they still didnt know nothin about about the eyeballs that landed on her desk. They were tryin to get a match on DNA, but so far there werent no dice, and Cee was told to take the rest of the day off.
Orange juice from the vending machine, a packet of advil, and she sat in the stairwell, journal on her knees. It took her six tries to open the juice before she realized her hands were shaking.