tfln open post

[byanyname]

***

either leave a message (or set of muses) for one of my assholes, or request a message from one of them. choose messages from the classic source, from your own skull, or whatever you may please.

Comments

[lostyourheart]

My evening is getting on apace.

[ After all, this is how they go, isn't it?

He avoids her throughout the day, and at some late hour, she begins to receive messages from him of this sort.

(Truthfully, it's the only real conversation she has anymore. She almost enjoys it.

Perhaps he's right: she has no idea what a pleasant evening is.) ]

You asked about the study, and I answered. My deceased husband is not [...] worth discussing.

[...]

I think it more likely that you think yourself saddled with me, however. As little as you speak to me.

If you wished to leave, I wouldn't hold you here.

1/2

[loyalless]

Oh i"m CERTAIN of that.

No no i am not chained, and yet and where else would I go, hm?

Please I am spokke n to nowhere. I don't speak to ANYONE YOU'RE not special, ha. don't believe it!

[ Almost, he almost deletes the last line, doesn't care for it, but there's a point he needs to get across and why should he care what he says to her? Let her think what she likes; it's none of his problem.

Anyway, come morning, he won't think about these messages. He never lets himself consider them. Rarely lets his thoughts stray from a generalized misery and a desire to avoid everyone (including her, especially her, and never mind why) who isn't Wallace. ]

2/2

[loyalless]

well I suppose you can be specila if you like

[lostyourheart]

[ Several minutes pass. She tries to sort out what he means, with negatives and affirmatives and misspellings abounding.

Finally, she settles on: ]

I would speak to you.

You needn't keep your distance. If you have nowhere else to go, perhaps you could be at home here, for a time.

You might even, perhaps, find some good in me.

[loyalless]

[ ... ]

[ ... ]

You're going to get rid of me.

[ ... ]

You don't want that.

1/2

[lostyourheart]

What I want is rarely a matter of consideration, Dear One.

2/2

[lostyourheart]

[...]

Of course I want you to feel at home here.

And yes, to find some good in me.

Or at least to greet me in daylight hours. I would like that very much.

[loyalless]

[ ... ]

[ ... ]

[ ... ]

[ ... ... ... ... ... ]

I don't care for this rug.

[lostyourheart]

[...]

Very well.

I'll have it removed tomorrow.

1/3

[loyalless]

EASY as that, hmm? ?

WiSK it away, I suppose!! As if itll help this hideousad excuse for a 'stud'y!

2/3

[loyalless]

[ He can't. Let it sit at that. He can't sit still, shifting in the chair, feet shuffled one way and another, eyes seeking some diversion some exit and finding noting at all, can't even focus on that ghastly rug.

He doesn't like this, an uncertainty threatening to overwhelm the evening and cut through his wine-born haze.

He doesn't like the way this feels, the space in the wake of her message, the unease gnawing his chest. ]

Well

Well

Well.

Thank you.

3/3

[loyalless]

Save yourself the regret.

[ Of...? He doesn't remember. Having the rug? Getting rid of the rug? Talking. Something about talking, maybe. Something about him, and the avoidance he affords her, the avoidance he employs to shield himself. ]

[lostyourheart]

[ For her own part, Katrina can find no other sense but that he doesn't want her interference with the study.

That this abrupt change of conversation from her effort to offer him friendship once more is a slap away, a refusal to discuss it further.

He doesn't want her company. He wants to complain about the study.

Well. ]

Redecorate it as you see fit, then. Burn it down if you like

I'll [...] communicate with Wallace about the particulars. So you needn't trouble yourself.

1/3

[loyalless]

No I

SAID thank you' I

Ostinate woman!

[ ... ]

WALLACE is SLEEPING!

No. HAVE your rug i don't want it!!

[ He means to delete that last line, too.

He manages to send it, instead. ]

2/3

[loyalless]

[ Treavor chokes a panicked sound, tries to catch the text as it sends - one hand swiping helplessly toward the phone, kneeing jarring upward as if to somehow help - then scrambles to send a follow-up, anything, anything at all—! ]

yYou didin't know abohut the
daylight
I

3/4 ooops

[loyalless]

[ Something. Something? What is he supposed to—? ]

Everybody knowsb your' not
YOU are not
NOT good!

4/4

[loyalless]

THey TELL me!

1/2

[lostyourheart]

[ None of this makes sense.

His messages come rapidly, disjointed and mostly-incoherent, save for the first. She tries to imagine what he might be doing -

Texting with one hand while drinking with the other?

No, they're far too fast.

So, in haste because he's...

...Panicking?

Is he panicking?

She can't imagine what might have him worried, however. She...Oh, none of this makes sense.

(You are not NOT good? Or does he mean emphasis on the 'not'? Or is she only succumbing to wishful thinking, reading sense in drunken ramblings?) ]

Treavor, I truly am only trying to do as you like.

Take the rug, leave the rug. Avoid me, don't avoid me. Please, I only want [...]

2/2

[lostyourheart]

[...]

It's late, and you are clearly ill at ease.

Would you like to retire for the night? Shall I fetch Wallace for you?

1/2

[loyalless]

II don't LIKE anything.

[ Just ask anyone. Anyone who knows him. All those familiar bastards far off in Manhattan. They all know. ]

I am always I am ill. Ha.

[ Everybody knows that, too! ]

Well you must know this.

2/2

[loyalless]

no no we have etsablished Wallace is asleep already!

hM no matter

i am already also asleeping.

no wonders.

alrea dy don

[lostyourheart]

You [...]

[ I don't like anything, he said.

She never realized -

Yes, certainly, she comprehended his hatred for his situation, and his aversion to this place.

But it never occurred to her that he might not like her.

Now that the thought is in her head, she can't escape it. Past encounters rearrange themselves from cold courtesy to outright disdain. ]

[...]

Do you dislike me, Treavor?

[ But if he does, why does he text her?

...If he doesn't, why does he avoid her?

Oh. ]

[loyalless]

[ What?

He?

....What?

He doesn't like the flicker of worry. Prefers the impulse to snort, as if it were a joke. It isn't. He didn't. Why shouldn't she...? ]

Are you a THING??

Ithink not.

non appliable.

[lostyourheart]

Oh - I see.

Of course, it wouldn't apply.

[ Still.

Well. Perhaps she shouldn't pester him with this particular nagging fear. This discomfort that remains in spite of his limited assurance.

...But what if he dislikes her? What if he has, all along? She fidgets, playing with her nails, plucking at her dress.

It bothers her that it bothers her. Why should she care if he dislikes her? In a handful of years, when this feud with the Van Brunts is forgotten, he'll go away, and never think on her or this miserable marriage again.

Several minutes go by before she adds: ]

Anyhow, you hardly know me. How could you possibly know whether you like me or not?

[...]

I suppose it wouldn't matter if it did apply.

[loyalless]

[ That worried flicker again, sharper now, burning at his lungs and leaving him resentful, leaving him annoyed, leaving him, well, yes, afraid. Something, something is happening, she's— she's making something happen, and he can't tell what to make of this or why it's drawn him into worry, the details fuzz at every edge.

What does it matter, that... something... it?... doesn't matter?

Fuck's sake, he can't muddle through all this.

He tries, and he tries, and then in a moment's stroke of genius, sends— ]

Please im' SLEEPING.