Isobel Hughes ➤ Rapunzel (sanslumieres) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-05-10 22:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | elizabeth bennet, rapunzel |
Who: Eli & Isobel
What: This is what happens when your cousin comes home covered in blood
Where: Bathos 503
When: Last Wednesday, in the wake of this.
Warnings: None
She didn’t come in screaming, or even crying, and that was probably the first sign that things were Not Okay. Instead she came in quietly, a nightmare in a white dress with red staining the front, or what might have been red before it dried to a rusty brown. Bare arms were covered in the same rusty colour, blond hair sticking to the side of her neck, her eyes half-open as she moved through the lobby in a daze. Anyone who was in the lobby this early in the morning would have quite the sight greeting them, though it’s doubtful that she would take any notice of anything. A bear could run through the lobby, growling and ripping everything up, and it’s likely she wouldn’t even bat an eye. That’s how Not Good things were.
The button was pushed to call the elevator, and when it came, she stepped on, expression unchanging as she rode the car to the fifth floor, stepping out, tracing well-known steps down to five oh three. Stopping in front of the door, she tried the door, twist twist, locked, and her expression flickered in confusion. Keys. I need keys. Brow furrowing down, she fished in her purse for the keys, the formerly white bag a dreadful mess of blood stains, and for a moment, she fumbled, searched, and then clumsy fingers dropped the bag with a clatter to the floor. Isobel blinked and looked down at the scattered contents of her purse, and then she looked up, at the door, at the brass numbers that labeled the apartment number.
Frowning, she tilted her head to the side, trying to figure out what to do. And before she knew it, she was knocking, steady, rhythmic knocks. All she wanted was a shower, a change of clothes, and then bed. Sleep would make it all go away. She would sleep. Wake up refreshed. Get on with life. But none of that could happen unless she got in.
So the knocking continued, its pace never changing.
Eli had been working. His bed was a mess of papers, his side a bandaged expanse of skin and the track pants he wore paired with a white undershirt. There was a cigarette burning in an ash tray on his nightstand, which sat alongside a goblet of deep red wine. Sinatra was playing in the apartment, and he was frowning at numbers that did not work out properly.
When the knocking came, he grumbled, and he got to his feet with a hiss and a groan. By the time he reached the door, however, he was worried. The knocking was too repetitive, too the same, too never changing. By the time he pulled the door open, he realized whatever was on the other side was going to make him feel no better about anything.
She was covered in blood, more red than skin or blonde hair, or anything, and he cursed loudly enough for the sound to carry down the hall. “Where are you injured?!” he demanded, hands running up her arms in search of injury. “Sit down, and I’ll dial the police,” he insisted, leaving her there, and then remembering she might need assistance and coming back to lead her to the couch.
To her credit, she wasn’t screaming, or crying, or doing anything else hysterical, so there was no fight when Eli led her to the couch, though she hesitated to sit when directed. “I’ll get it dirty,” Isobel said quietly, looking at her hands, the blood that stained her skin, before looking towards Eli. For a long while, she simply stared at him, and when realisation of his intentions registered, she stepped forward, grabbing his hands with a fervent shake of her head. “They’ve been called,” she said slowly. “The girl. She said she’d call. So you don’t have to call.” A slow blink and then she released him, sitting down heavily on the couch despite her earlier protests.
“I’m not hurt. Not me. I tried to help him, but it was too much. Sometimes I can’t do it, you know? Help people? I’ve never seen anyone like that.” Isobel quieted then, looking down at her hands, seeing the man still laying on the dirty concrete, the pulse of blood around her fingers in those last struggling pumps of his heart.
“Iso,” Eli said, sitting beside her and using his best calm voice as he tried to verify that she was not, in fact, hurt. “Do, speak slower. Who was injured, and who was this girl, and who injured whoever was bleeding?” he asked. He had a hard time believing no one had seen a blonde drenched in blood walking through the lobby and up the stairs, and he rather expected the police to knock on the door at any moment, regardless of whether they had been called or not.
She swallowed hard, her tongue feeling thick, her throat tight, and she lifted her head to look towards Eli, brows raising for a moment as she thought over the question he asked. She had never seen the girl before, she didn’t think, and the man most definitely not. “I didn’t know either of them,” she said, slower than before. “But the man was hurt. I think...” Isobel paused, looking back to her hands, fingers curling and uncurling. “I think he died. I’m pretty sure he did.” A pause, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “I’ve never seen anyone die before. I never want to see that again.” There was a quick shake of her head and she let out a long breath, seeming to melt further into the cushions as she did so.
She was talking, which meant she was likely telling the truth about not being injured, Eli thought. He reached for a non-existent cigarette in the ashtray, and he cursed when his hand came away empty. “Stand up,” he told her, taking his arms to her blood-covered shoulders and helping her to her feet. “You’ll need a wash, and I’ll make you some coffee with something strong in it, and we’ll talk.” He walked her toward her bathroom. “But first, wash up. Leave the clothing in the tub. I’ll see to it.”
Lifting her head as Eli helped her up, Isobel met his eyes for a few moments before she gave a small nod of her head, and there were no protests, no fits, as he led her to the bathroom. Hesitating in the doorway, she gave him another nod. “I think the dress will probably have to be tossed,” she said with a faint smile before she disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind herself.
The motions of washing up went by without her hardly thinking, the dress left in a puddle on the floor as she climbed into the tub and started rinsing the day away. The water was hot enough to scald, but not hot enough, she felt, to get properly cleaned with. So when she finally emerged, wrapped up in her towel, her skin was pink as a lobster, hair wet and trailing down her back as she stepped to the kitchen, leaning against the counter quietly. “Sorry for waking you up, Eli,” Isobel said, sounding more like herself than she had not so long ago.
“You need not apologize, Iso,” he said. He was in the kitchen, where he’d opted for a mug of tea and cream, thinking the last thing she needed was coffee to keep her awake, at least this evening. “Whoever harmed this person, they are dangerous. Was it the woman you speak of?” He was worried, as he often was when it came to Isobel, that she was too good hearted and walked into situations that were dangerous. He had no solution for it, no way to fix what was (fundamentally) her nature. That did not stop him from wanting her to think before she acted.
He held out the tea, a soothing blend to aid with stress, and he reached for a cigarette he’d lit while she was washing up.
Hands wrapped around the mug of tea and she took several sips, trying to let the combination of warmth and herbs soothe away some of the stress from the day. “It was the woman. I think. I didn’t actually see it happen, but...” Isobel trailed off, staring down into the drink, the swirls of cream in the depths. “I really need to learn to leave well enough alone. When you hear a scream, Isobel, run the other way, not towards it.” She shook her head and looked back up towards him, meeting his eyes for a long moment.
“I think I did something stupid though, Eli,” she said a moment later. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t thinking. And I was drinking before that. And...” She pressed one hand to her forehead, rubbing her fingers against the skin.
Eli was, admittedly, not surprised at her confession. He had, however, lectured her often enough to know nothing would come of it, and he merely tugged her against his side and into a hug, cigarette set down in the ashtray beside the mug. “You were merely trying to help,” he said, because he knew that was true of her - stupid action or not, he knew it was done with good intentions. “Though, if I could make this ability of yours disappear, I gladly would.”
She didn’t say anything as Eli tugged her in against his side, merely leaning her head against his shoulder, eyes falling shut. “I haven’t used it. Not since... well. Gwen. You. That’s it.” Isobel let out a sigh and opened her eyes, tracing invisible patterns on the countertop with one finger. “I’ve never been near someone who was dying. I thought if I could help him, then it’d be a good excuse...” She trailed off with a sigh and a shake of her head, settling against his side.
“Sometimes I think it would be for the better if you could make it disappear as well,” she admitted in a soft voice. “It’s more trouble than it’s worth. Good for healing cousins who get into fights but...” Another sigh. “I’m going to have to deal with this forever. Aren’t I?”
“What you do is your choice, and I’ll support it, regardless of what it is,” he said, and he pushed her gently to her feet and then took her hand and walked her toward her bedroom. “For now, you’ve done no damage that was not there before,” he said, a kind lie, because he did not know if it was true. “Sleep off the experience and the drink, and we’ll talk more come morning. I shall be here.”
It seemed like a foreboding way of putting things, but she was in no condition to debate or argue. The tea was doing its job to drive away the stresses, and combined with everything else, she did find herself quite tired. “When morning comes, this too shall pass,” she murmured, quoting a song she had heard somewhere, sometime. At the threshold to her bedroom, Isobel turned towards Eli, giving his hand a squeeze before releasing it, rising up on her tiptoes to give his cheek a kiss. “Thanks, Eli. I’ll see you in the morning.” And then she turned, closing her door almost all the way, leaving it open just a crack so as not to close the world out completely.