Bleu (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rhapsody_in) wrote2015-01-26 01:34 am
rhapsody_in) wrote2015-01-26 01:34 am
Entry tags:
16 ♦ Burn this night, black and blue
[Burn the Blue Girl]
"...hereby found guilty of the sin of witchcraft and condemned to burn at the stake..."
The judge intones your crimes, the crowd jeers, the gaoler binds your wrists to the stake behind you, the priest stands just off your pyre, blood and vomit and garbage stain your torn shift, and all you can do is groan aloud and think Goddamn it, it should've been that poopstick.
It's never he who gets burned, it's always you. As if you did something wrong with that glassmaker, as if you were the only one caught in the forest with an obsidian knife and half a bowl full of Sacré Bleu. As if you were the deviant one, not him.
You scan the crowd, catch his twisted, apish little form, and glare. He gives you a nod and entirely emotionless look back, as if you're going off for a fucking nap.
"You dog-fucking shitwad!" you yell, startling the man from his list of charges. "You son of a filthy scum-filled cunt!"
"Um." He looks at you in confusion, then looks at the crowd before regaining his resolve. "Confess your guilt and receive the last holy rites by this man of God before being sent to His judgment."
"Fuck that!" You bark, and the crowd gasps. "You bastards can come to terms with murdering an innocent woman!"
The judge steps off and motions the gaoler from the pyre. "Light it."
He takes the flaming torch from his apprentice's hands and presses it to the bracken kindling. It goes up fast, catching the larger logs and licking higher. The smoke rises in heavy grey clouds, spiraling up over your body and only dissipating when it's risen far above your head. You cough, catch another lungful of smoke, and cough again.
He could've helped you avoid this situation. He could've fucking stopped this.
"You," you try to say, coughing the words out, "are going to regret this." You try to inhale again, get only smoke, and gag on it, "for - the rest of - your - days."
Through the smoke, the undulating heat-waves from the fire, the yellow-orange flames licking closer and closer, the lack of oxygen beginning to cloud your mind, you see him disappear into the crowd, duck below the row of eager, bloodthirsty faces and slink down a street out of the town. As the flames lick around your legs, as the smoke billows thicker and harsher and lulls you toward merciful unconsciousness, before he disappears around the corner, he turns to you, winks, and blows you a kiss.
It should've been him.
[Video]
[Bleu looks tired, her clothes haphazard and her hair uncombed. Her eyes are a little duller than usual, and she leans her face on her hand.]
Does warm milk work for anyone? I may need a better sedative.
"...hereby found guilty of the sin of witchcraft and condemned to burn at the stake..."
The judge intones your crimes, the crowd jeers, the gaoler binds your wrists to the stake behind you, the priest stands just off your pyre, blood and vomit and garbage stain your torn shift, and all you can do is groan aloud and think Goddamn it, it should've been that poopstick.
It's never he who gets burned, it's always you. As if you did something wrong with that glassmaker, as if you were the only one caught in the forest with an obsidian knife and half a bowl full of Sacré Bleu. As if you were the deviant one, not him.
You scan the crowd, catch his twisted, apish little form, and glare. He gives you a nod and entirely emotionless look back, as if you're going off for a fucking nap.
"You dog-fucking shitwad!" you yell, startling the man from his list of charges. "You son of a filthy scum-filled cunt!"
"Um." He looks at you in confusion, then looks at the crowd before regaining his resolve. "Confess your guilt and receive the last holy rites by this man of God before being sent to His judgment."
"Fuck that!" You bark, and the crowd gasps. "You bastards can come to terms with murdering an innocent woman!"
The judge steps off and motions the gaoler from the pyre. "Light it."
He takes the flaming torch from his apprentice's hands and presses it to the bracken kindling. It goes up fast, catching the larger logs and licking higher. The smoke rises in heavy grey clouds, spiraling up over your body and only dissipating when it's risen far above your head. You cough, catch another lungful of smoke, and cough again.
He could've helped you avoid this situation. He could've fucking stopped this.
"You," you try to say, coughing the words out, "are going to regret this." You try to inhale again, get only smoke, and gag on it, "for - the rest of - your - days."
Through the smoke, the undulating heat-waves from the fire, the yellow-orange flames licking closer and closer, the lack of oxygen beginning to cloud your mind, you see him disappear into the crowd, duck below the row of eager, bloodthirsty faces and slink down a street out of the town. As the flames lick around your legs, as the smoke billows thicker and harsher and lulls you toward merciful unconsciousness, before he disappears around the corner, he turns to you, winks, and blows you a kiss.
It should've been him.
[Video]
[Bleu looks tired, her clothes haphazard and her hair uncombed. Her eyes are a little duller than usual, and she leans her face on her hand.]
Does warm milk work for anyone? I may need a better sedative.
spam > video Private
Tied to the stake as the flames licked up his body he blocked out the man and anything but the colorful curses.
Mother.... was the first though as he shot out of bed not even fully awake. Another hour of broken sleep. He cursed throwing a book across the room as he grabbed his pants and a shirt dashing to go take a shower. He could still feel the flames despite not being real.
[ Video Private ]
[ His hair is wet and clinging to his face as he glares into the video feed.]
Valerian root works better.
Private
You look like a retriever coming in from a duck hunt.
Private
...Not funny.
Private
I never said it was funny.
Private
Private
I thought you liked my cursing. [He did when she called Dante a fuckbubble, anyway.]
Private
That aside, how did they know to burn you? Why didnt you flee?
Private
[Besides, she and the Colorman have been together too long to threaten each other effectively. They've already done their worst.]
It was the 13th century, they were fanatical, and someone got pissed off. It was the glass that time.
Well I couldn't, could I? How many times can an accused witch escape before the whole countryside chases her down?
Private
[ His eyes flick from the camera to his comb grabbing it up he set to work on his hair. He's so prissy about his looks.]
You have a point I suppose.
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Re: Private
Spam
Re: Spam
Spam
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Re: Spam
Spam
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no subject
no subject
Do you have a bathtub?
no subject
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no subject
[Private]
Are you having bad dreams, ma cherie?
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Private - > spam/log/assume/whatever you want?
[private video]
[He pauses, not quite sure what to say. He finally settles on,] You sure know all the best swears.
[private video]
[She pauses.] What did you see?
Re: [private video]
[He considers for a minute, but maybe it's just that this whole flood has him remembering things he usually tries not to think about. So he ends up admitting,] Enough to know that burning to death is just as bad as freezing.
And that some guys can be real... what did you call him? Dog-fucking shitwads.
[private video]
Did it hurt? [She tilts her head curiously.] Freezing's not supposed to. [Every method of death she's dealt with, including freezing, bring their own types of pain. But maybe it doesn't for him.
The sound of her own foul words coming from his mouth makes Bleu laugh.] Was this news to you?
[private video]
It - I don't know if hurt is exactly the right word. But it was pretty terrible, all the same. [Even when you go numb, like that, it's still its own sort of painful. And he felt cold for weeks, after they woke him up.
He smiles, if weakly, and laughs a little, too, but it sounds tired.] No. I guess it wasn't news.
I'm still sorry, for what it's worth to you. [even though he doesn't think she'll want an apology.]
[private video]
It would be. I'm sorry, Steve. [She really is, or at least it comes through in her voice and face.] And I'm sorry you had to see that.
...It was a long time ago. It's all right.
[private video]
Don't be. It was the right thing to do. [He still believes that, and he'd still make the same choice all over again.
All the same, his voice is quiet, not forceful, and he is genuinely touched by the concern.] And it's not your fault I saw what I saw. I'm more sorry you had to live through it, no matter how long ago it was.
Did you ever find out what happened to him?
[private video]
[She glances away, letting her hair fall over her face; it covers her expression. Live through it. ] If I've learned anything, it's that these things are easier to handle with time.
Him? Oh - yes. He lived.
[private video]
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