Analeigh Franklin (shadowedgirl) wrote in darkcarnivale, @ 2012-01-12 00:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | angel, annaleigh franklin |
WHO: Leigh and Angel
WHERE: Outskirts of the Carnival
WHAT: A shadowmancer begs an angel of death for help.
WHEN: Monday Night
WARNINGS: Language
And we'll open her up, you and I, we'll dance with the devil in her blood and read her story on the slickness of her insides... Leigh started awake, rocketing up in bed, breathing hard. She was covered in sweat, her blankets damp, and she pushed up, rushing to the bathroom before emptying the contents of her stomach into the cheap porcelain toilet. Leaning, panting against the toilet, she took a moment to compose herself before she went to the sink, washing out her mouth, then splashing her face with the coldest water she could, feeling the icy shock ground her.
Looking up into the mirror, she stared into her own eyes, her skin waxy, her eyes dull. She felt sick, but it wasn't a sickness she could explain. It was the darkness. Even now, the shadows in the bathroom clung to her and she made a disgusted noise, pushing away from the sink to go back to her bedroom.
Clothes were pulled on in quick jerky movements, like coloring by numbers, and feet stuffed into shoes. Her jacket was slung on and she left the trailer, moving through the cold and darkness towards...something.
She needed to talk to the one person who had explained to her what she was. She stood at the edge of the carnival, staring off into the woods, and she palmed her hand over her face. God. She remembered. It made her sick.
Angel felt the pull, the sense of despair. The lovely, beautiful Lettie with her tragic eyes and stone skin had dreamt of death often, which kept him close to her; she was aroused by the idea of bloodspill and torment, and he had stayed atop her trailer like a weather vane for days at a time between duties. She had been his anchor and once he'd even stopped her heart, resurrecting her in the morning to allow her to actually rest for a time without the pain of her existence. Being a half-gorgon wasn't kind to anyone. But Analeigh, her pain was altogether new and fresh to him yet just as alluring. He appeared behind her, quiet ruffle of feathers and dark eyes, hair hanging across his face. "You exude death like an aura," he murmured, his voice neutral and quiet. "A halo of pain around yourself."
Leigh wanted to whip around, wanted to ask Angel a thousand things, but she willed the darkness down, tried to keep it at bay. Instead, she turned slowly to face him, her eyes filed with anguish, her lips pulled down, and she felt her eyes burn with unshed tears. All of her frustration and her sadness and the sickness she felt inside burned.
"You know what I've done." she said, her voice tight, a strangled whisper as she took a step closer, her hand clenching into a fist beside her. "Why? Why do I keep doing these things? I don't want to..." But that was a lie. When she'd done them, she'd wanted to do them. She felt sick. She felt crazy.
"You do them because it's your nature," Angel said calmly, philosophically, "and because you can't deny your heritage." He shook his head slowly, then lifted his chin. "You do them because you enjoy them, Analeigh, don't lie to yourself about the reason why." He shook his head the tiniest bit. "You do what feels right to you. Are you even sure if you're controlling the shadows or they're controlling you?"
"If I enjoy them, why do I feel so sick about it now?" she asked, her voice thin, pleading. She didn't sound like this, didn't whine. She hated whiners, but right now. God, she was so lost. She didn't want to enjoy causing blood and pain and darkness. As he asked, her gaze dropped to the ground, to the natural darkness pooling around their feet, hot tears sliding down her cheeks. "No. No...I control the shadows. The darkness controls me."
Angel tilted his head, studying her, and a knifetwist of pity spiked his unbeating heart for a second. "Because when the darkness recedes, what's left is a girl. A young girl who can't handle her heritage because she's never had cause to explore it, to hone it." He looked carefully, his dark eyes gazing from under thick lashes. "You bring others into your darkness as well, don't you? Because you want to share in the misery."
"So the darkness is like...a tide. And I'm the shore." she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut for a long moment, framing her fingers against her forehead. Her eyes moved to his and she reached up to clear her eyes, taking a deep breath, swallowing hard. "That's messed up. I don't want to hurt people. I shouldn't. I shouldn't. I did something terrible. Horrible. Not just one thing. So many things. I don't want to. And...and I don't have anyone. No one is going to help me."
"Yes," he said softly. "You're right. No one is going to help you. They are only going to enable you... to help you relish this darkness. Or to punish you, for every action has consequences." He took a step forward toward her. "Even yours, even the ones you get away with. You burned the evidence."
There was nothing more shattering than the realization that you were alone. Even Charlie, who knew her better than anyone, wasn't a balm for the hurt inside of her. He felt it just the same as she did. Her eyes met Angel's, dark and infinitely wise, and she frowned. "I tried to save some of their stuff. The important stuff. Family photos, wedding album, that shit. I just...I felt bad about it, but it needed to be done. We'd already sinned. We didn't want to get caught." She broke his gaze, looking down again. "So is this...this sickness my punishment? I did what you said I was going to, what I had to. I made my choice, I killed my Dad, even when Charlie said he'd do it for me. Did I even spare him any pain?"
"You didn't sully his soul more than he has sullied his own," Angel said quietly. "Insanity and bloodlust are as much a part of his nature as breathing. But he would do anything for you if you asked him. You maintain the darkness inside of him... you... groom it, like a pet." He looked at her steadily. "I'm sorry that this is what you are, Analeigh. But the shadows inside of your blood are very real and very strong."
His words both eased her and made her despair. She felt the weight of it all on her shoulders, felt the tense and then droop, the fight in her waning. To hear that she was treating him like a pet, even inadvertently, it made her even more sick. Angel spoke and she let out a soft sob, sinking to her knees, her head dipped down, her hands covering her face. "I want to die. I don't want to be like this."
"You can't die," he told her matter-of-factly. "Your time is a long way from now." He studied her closely, tilted his head to the side. "I know that it's hard, Analeigh. I do. I understand your concern for yourself, but you have a purpose. You're like any other creature at this carnival--- you have a purpose for your abilities, you just have to learn to hone them."
The sickness was rising again and with it, her anger. Her frustration. It welled out of her, the pool of darkness around her growing, seething. She ran her fingers down her face hard, flattening her hands on the ground, feeling her fingers sink into the darkness. It slithered up her arms and she yanked her hands back, shaking them away. Her frustration bled out of her and she looked up to him, all of the hurt inside of her burning. "I don't want to hone them! I don't want to be like this! I don't understand it, I don't like it, I don't want it!"
"You're being childish," he said quietly, inclining his head. "A tantrum hardly suits you, Analeigh." He didn't move again, still as a marble carving but her expression was so pained and vulnerable, so young. "You are stronger than this. Your spirit burns bright and electric, white-hot inside you. You need only come to terms instead of fighting against your own heart."
She knew that she was being childish. Weakness made her childish, made her scared and vulnerable and petulant. She'd been unfair to the new worker in the haunted house, trying to pick a fight because she was hurting. Her eyes lifted again, her cheeks streaked with tears, and she was silent for a long moment. "So there's no hope for me. I'm darkness incarnate." She pushed herself up to stand, looking back to Angel again. "I'm sorry for dumping this on you. You're the one who told me what I was, though. I thought you might know a way that I could...fix it."
"There's no way to undo what's in your nature," Angel said quietly, gently. "Everyone serves a purpose, whether we like it or not. We have choices, but some things are predestined and must happen a specific way. Everyone's fate is a domino effect of the person who started the reaction... the cogs fit into place." Angel tilted his head slowly. "We all have... things that have to be done. And your talent is handling darkness... controlling it."
"Or being controlled by it. I don't feel like I'm handling or controlling anything." Her fingers buried in her hand, tangling tight, pulling. The physical pain did nothing to ground her. She grit her teeth against the tears burning in her eyes. How was she supposed to control the darkness when everytime she was near it, it was like a damned siren's song. That darkness she'd felt off of that little girl, the way she'd channeled it, the things she'd done? She felt controlled.
"You can but you don't," he said simply. "It will pull at you, Analeigh. It's what it does, blood. Screams in your veins. How do you think I feel when someone thinks about death and destruction all the time? I have to remain impartial even though my body, every cell is screaming for me to go accompany them in their quest to take a life."
"You feel that way?" She made a face as she pushed herself up to stand, straightening her clothes, though her hands fell to ball in fists again, her nails cutting into her palms. "Fuck. Charlie and I have got to be driving you crazy." Leigh felt a little guilty about that, the idea that their fun and games were causing other people trouble. Well, other people like them. She'd already killed two and helped to kill another. She was well on her way to becoming a serial killer and the thought sickened half of her. The other half didn't give two shits.
"Yes," he said matter-of-factly. "Another carnival member, Colette, she's half-gorgon and her dreams are always homicidal. She revels in the destruction of life. She's constantly at war with herself... but that turmoil, that vicious streak, keeps me near like a moth to a flame. I'm drawn to people's energy, and if it's focused on death unerringly... I can hardly turn my back on my own nature, can I?"
She didn't know this Colette, but it sounded like she should. In another matter of speaking, she should probably stay far away from her. Her eyes lifted and she shifted in discomfort, looking back towards the haunted house. "I'm sorry. I don't want to think about it, but I started...and now I can't stop. It's like...I opened a fucking floodgate and now it won't close." She sighed and dropped her gaze. "No. I guess you can't."
"I lack even the free will you and the others have," he said mildly. "There's honestly no chance for me to defy my nature. It's the entire reason I exist. I collect souls and take the last breath from those destined to die on the carnival grounds. I can... clean up others' messes effectively. I didn't ask for it either, but the cards were dealt."
Damn. Maybe he had a worse shake than she did. At least she had the chance to rebel against her nature. He couldn't. She gave him a look of sympathy, not pity. "That's shitty. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. My shit looks...well, I really should shut up, shouldn't I?" In that moment, she felt like she had aged years. She was exhausted. "I'm sorry. For my part in all of this. I'll...try to keep my homicidal urges down unless I want to hang out. Fair?"
He looked at her and then tilted his head again, inclining his chin. "Fair," he acknowledged with the tiniest twitch of his lips. "Behave yourself, Analeigh... and give yourself time. This is something new inside of you, something that's still developing. Like puberty. You have to learn how to harness it."
She let out a sharp, huffed laugh as he told her to behave herself. Oh, she'd try. She'd fail, but she'd try. "Yeah, that's something to keep in mind. Can we say I'm like an evil butterfly coming out of my cocoon? That sounds a little more rock and roll than puberty." Grinning wide enough to nearly split her face, she took a step back. "I'll try."
"I'm here if you need me," Angel said quietly, lifting his chin. "Just pray that you don't need me, hm? It's rarely a good situation if a reaper's the best chance for redemption you have."
"Thanks." There was another soft laugh and she nodded. He had the truth of it there. She wanted to make an offer to him, that if he ever just wanted to hang out, she'd be around, but...she didn't know if reapers hung out. So instead, she nodded, taking another step back. "I appreciate it, Angel."
He nodded very slightly and his lips twitched; it might have been a smile, but he held it tightly in check as much as he could. It was unprofessional to show emotion; Darras wouldn't approve of this new development of empathy he'd picked up. "Goodnight, Analeigh."
She legitimately felt better, which was strange. It seemed as though Angel was the right person to go to. She smiled, her eyes crinkling a little, before she waved and stepped back into the shadows to disappear. "Night."