flameguard | kill log: w3 thursday

[ so. thursday comes.

... after much deliberation, the gang has decided to take out camille before she can take anyone else out, again. the plan is whack. to say the least. but it's a plan. despite his initial hesitations and nerves, rondo's here... he's not wearing his fancy uniform today, clad instead in basic clothes from the animal crossing shop, and he does look very jittery, but he swallows it back and nods to the others. ]

... Where do you think she's most likely to be...?

[she's dressed comfortably today, donning an all black ensemble and a pair of sneakers. even though she's convinced herself that this is for the better, that their hearts are in the right place — she can't help but to nervously scan their surroundings every now and then. it's not paranoia if the cult and your fellow sacrifices could stumble across you at any time.]

... If I were her, I'd probably find a place where I could hide from people.

[ he's in his back-up clothes, and isn't wearing the overrobe today, I guess for murder that's a good idea? god. fit check for the slaughter, I suppose. ]

I believe I saw her at one point going, ah ...

[ he feels like a nasty little snitch for this, but pointing towards the city ruins. ]

[ yeah... mood. mood. to all of this. he looks between the other two and takes a deep breath. ]

... May the Flame guide us.

[ ororhghg. okay. rondo will take point, then, heading out for the ruins. ]

[... well, there they go. something about having a clear direction makes her stomach churn uncomfortably.

she can't really think of anything to say now, so she simply follows.]

[ he's not sure how he feels about being guided by the flame to do such things as this, but. well. it is what it is. mystra-ryl and all. he also simply follows, quiet for once in his damn life. ]

[Imagine if I made you all write two more rounds of walking tags.

Lucky for them Camille is not hard to find. After turning a corner there is the pungent aroma of their home-brewed grape wine. There's a spilled decanter, borrowed politely from the Tuesday party, and a cup that's long since rolled out from her fingers. She made good headway on the stuff, considering she was drinking alone. Just look at her now.

Rolled onto her back, watching the stars with bleary, barely open eyes, mouth dry and cracked with indigo from the drink. Her hair is splayed out, her breath slow, the bags beneath her eyes belying a stretch of sleepless nights.

It's not until they're quite close that her head turns. Slow. Her left hand stays arrested atop her belly, her right thrown high above her head. She watches them, blinking lethargically.]

...Oh. Hey. [She looks from one blurry figure to the next. Her slack expression never changes.] Happy Thursday...

Edited 2024-07-03 04:20 (UTC)

[ it is what it is is the fucking vibe. and that vibe? atrocious. rondo's just a storm of bad feelings by the time they make it out to the field, attempting to swallow back the feeling of guilt and nerves with the reminder of the full plan.

and... making it to camille? that makes it about a hundred times worse. the sight of her is just - heartbreaking, and it plays all over his face. ]

Oh, Miss Camille...

[ well, listen. he can't help himself, really, and he kneels down, reaching for one of her hands, looking up at the other two briefly and then back to her. aaaaa ]

Edited 2024-07-03 15:04 (UTC)

[oh.

asa stops when they finally come across camille, staring at her wide eyed as she takes in the full scene. the unfocused gaze. the lethargy. the stench of booze.

she clenches her fist, taking a deep breath, and then she closes the distance to stand next to rondo. there's a slight pause, and then what comes out of her mouth is:]

You got drunk... [it's not meant to be judgmental, but her disbelief is palpable. this is awful to witness.] On a Thursday, of all days? Why?

[ well, as clinical depression wizard can attest to, this isn't that shocking - though it does make him sad. especially when it's clear that she's been anticipating whatever it is they've decided to do here. putting a hand on asa's shoulder briefly when she asks the why question, but hanging back a bit. maybe shame. ]

Happy Thursday, Camille.

[Her hand curls around Rondo's. Leverage for the laborious sit she pulls into, squinting, head lolling. Asa makes her grimace, eyes fluttering shut.]

Don't make me do this sober. [She hiccups, wetly, a vile threat. She's frozen a moment after, and when the vomit doesn't come she rolls her head to look at Rondo. Put a hand to his chest, then blink up at the other two.]

If a piece of shit like me... [How did it go? She's fishing in her head for the finisher, but the sentiment doesn't belong to her. And it's not true. She knows it. Propels one girl forward and sends one woman back.]

...Is it time for me to go? [The world keeps spinning, snapping back like the cord on a motor. She can still make out the purple. The beard. New notions hit her head. Something about a duty.] Time for me to blow...

[Hardly. Not in the usual sense. She lets her eyes close and thunks her head onto Rondo's shoulder. Wet pinpricks stain the seam, a new drop rolling over the bridge of her nice, kamikazeing into his shirt.]

[ doing this as we do party games AND this debate event. shaking.

oh - oh, oh, this is even worse. rondo's gaze goes from camille back up to the other two and down again, clearly, clearly distressed, and when she puts her head on his shoulder, rondo has to suck in a deep, deep breath to keep himself from crying, too. the sorrow reads all over his face, and he lets her keep a hold on his hand, adjusting to support her so she can sit up and lean all of her weight on him. he wants to protest, that she's not a piece of shit, that she's been a kind friend who sat with him and wiped his tears last week despite everything she was going through, who plays silly games with them all, who is a comrade and a friend, but - he can't. it just feels wrong.

his voice is thick, immediately, around the lump in his throat of genuine sorrow, genuine loss, genuine heartbreak. ]

I'm so sorry, Miss Camille.

[ for everything. for the circumstances, the cruelty of it all. he looks one more time for the others, to see who has the glass shard. ]

[the amount of parties this week while we do this is giving me whiplash.

reflexively, she turns to look at gale when he places her hand on his shoulder. there's another question on the tip of her tongue, perhaps even less tactful than the last — but she swallows it down before she can say it. hunches her shoulders and bows her head, shakily inhaling and exhaling.

and then she carefully lowers herself to the ground, briefly placing a hand on camille's shoulder while she cries into rondo's shirt.]

... You deserve to live, too. [and isn't that an awful thing to say, considering what they came all this way for? it's hard to feel like you're doing the right thing when you're faced with this.] I'm sorry, Camille.

[who has the glass shard? good question. i guess our designated adultier adult can have it unless alli is like, no, gale would not carry that weight, in which case you can assume asa is subtly passing it over. shakes.]

[ yeah. it is that feeling, isn't it? of letting go of the netherese orb in his chest - that ever present, ever humming bomb that sits just below his pulse. how there was a bit of relief in the moment when he'd driven the knife into it and felt the release of all that violence and magic and fear-- ]

Camille. I'm sorry. I know the waiting is the most painful part. Just for now, alright?

[ he'll come around to where she can see him, be less of a coward hiding in the shadows and pulling the glass wrapped with a bit of fabric out of his pocket. there's a moment where he can hear the hesitation start to rise in the other two and wonders if it wouldn't be easier if he couldn't just ... he is, after all, the most ambitious of them. the one able to shut it off if he needs to. one quick slice and he could just be free of it.

... but he'd promised he wouldn't, doesn't have the stomach to turn away, so pressing the impromptu blade into rondo's hand instead. A bit sharply: ]

Do not hesitate.

[ the waiting is the worst part. ]

[Regrets. A hand at her shoulder. Sentiments meant earnestly, even if they aren't panning out today. She lets her eyes squeak open.

Asa Mitaka has joined them. And it's Gale apologizing to her now. Sorry for the wait.

She has to say, this isn't the squad she thought would be gunning her down today. Where was Kanda and all his emotionally stunted justice? Rondo can't even say fuck, and here he is, come to cuddle her into the grave.]

Why are you being so sweet to me?

[That's the problem. They need to be quick. They need to get it over with. Killers are decisive. Even when they wait it's with purpose. Playing with their food, biding time.

She thinks of little Natalie Keene, getting her nails painted and her legs shaved, locked in for two days before she got the chokehold. Her own nails are jagged. She keeps forgetting to ask for a file.

Gale pulls out the glass, and her eyes lock onto it like it was gleaming gold. The edge is smooth, deadly. Sharp.

She laughs. All air and scarcely a sound.Good, she thinks. At least it's something familiar.

She's so hungry for sharp things these days.]

[ do not hesitate, he says.

it's not - it's not an unfamiliar situation. there's something about camille's line - why are you being so sweet to me? - that just hits deep, too. at home, he stood just minutes before arrival on the precipice of a similar confrontation, facing down sazantos in the depths of hell with his sword in his hands and his Flame in his heart. he'd had time to prepare himself for the inevitable then. it was no less difficult, but he'd say the same. don't hesitate.

with sazantos, it was for the safety of all of orsterra - his intention was to destroy the entire world. and with camille... with camille, it's a monster, a creature controlling someone who never, ever deserved it, but a creature that will harm, and hurt, unless it is stopped. these are the kinds of decisions he has to make. this is the kind of thing he has to do. the flameguard's duty is to protect, even when the cost is high. to make decisions for the greater good.

he locks eyes with gale as he takes the shard, and there's a resoluteness to his gaze - heartbroken, but no less determined for it. bolstered, in this awful, horrible moment, by the support of asa and gale, and by the thought of what will come, soon. why are you being so sweet to me, when there's no time to explain.

instead, soft and full of sorrow, rondo says: ]

May the Flame protect your soul, Miss Camille.

[ because rondo may have to make these decisions, but he makes them with his heart. he makes them unafraid, and he makes them with compassion. and sometimes, compassion means this.

compassion means that he acts quick - cloth wrapped shard in gloved hand, still supporting camille with his other arm, his right hand comes up, and in one sharp, quick slice, rondo cuts a deep line across her jugular.

compassion means this will be temporary. compassion means as painless as possible. compassion means release. compassion means no hesitation. compassion -

compassion means he curls over her when the spray comes - not to keep it from splattering the scenery, but to hold her close in the last second of her life, eyes squeezed shut. ]

[she's so desensitized to corpses, it shouldn't be an issue to see another one today. but even so, there's still something about watching someone's final moments play out that sends her heart plummeting down to an icy pit at the bottom of her stomach. something about the death rattle, the light leaving their eyes.

it doesn't help at all that she's watching someone she's gotten to know die. it's easier when they're only a stranger.

rondo swipes the glass across camille's jugular, and asa sucks in a sharp breath before averting her eyes a few seconds later. allows her hand to linger on camille's shoulder and waits, for however long it takes for her to pass.

and while she waits, her eyes land on the spilled decanter and discarded glass camille had been drinking from earlier. something she'll have to pick up and take with her once they're finished here so nobody will link this spot to where camille's body will ultimately be found.]

[ death isn't anything new - this is hardly the first death he's been involved with, been at least in part responsible for. and it's not even the first time he's had to figure out how to deal with someone who is no longer themselves - taken over by some monster that drives them to violence and madness.

he is not so grand-minded as to not be afraid or think of it purely as a mercy. it is in some ways, but in others it is an act of fear. what if she hurts someone else, what if she hurts herself, is it not just more torture to wait? the waiting is the worst part. the directive of duty. waiting this long already was probably a cruelty in more than one way, but they had to be sure.

Meaningless. the worst part of this is there is no meaning to it, nothing but the pain of this place and all the ways in which it manages to crawl underneath the skin and find the softest parts to dig the knife in. he isn't sure he's willing to commit her soul to anywhere other than where she hopes it will go, but he can't help but think of aerith's planet. to return to whence we came. ]

Rest well.

[The cut is deeper than she knows. Pain is grounding, except when dug too deep.

Camille can see the spritz of her blood. Can feel their arms around her, bracing hands. Somewhere in this drunken depressive haze a new urge awakens.

Live.

She kicks out. Reaches up, useless, soggy handed as she presses her fingers to the open gape of her throat. It's wet. It burns, sears, screams at her. She wants to live.

She wants to see Curry. Where is he? Is it his or Eileen's turn to tuck her in? A couple only a dozen years off retirement, reparenting a thirty-something fuck-up who can't be trusted with booze or scissors. Who's going to tell them? Who's going to tell them she didn't do it?

She didn't mean to.

She didn't do it herself.

Cloud, in the smoke, wheezing, sweating out the tablespoon of mother's medicine she slipped him at curfew. Swinging that sword, bewildered. Needing to live.

She didn't mean to.

The limbs slow. Squirming body, voiceless words mouthed, scrabbling to cover her throat. It all stops. Camille rests in Rondo's arms, eyes glassy and mouth dropped open in a gape. Shocked at the cruelty, like a child being punished.

Camille Preaker is dead.]

[ he can't look, and maybe that's more cowardly than anything.

holding camille tightly, rondo can feel the way her hand comes up to the injury. he can feel her struggling, squirming, every single motion, and he holds on anyway, strong enough to make sure she doesn't make it worse, she doesn't draw it out, to keep her from flailing free in her desperate struggle for life, and he trembles with every passing second that the life leaves her body but never falters, never lets go. ]

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

[ in hell, last week - the hot, awful manor, the house of hope and the room with the pool, he'd killed sazantos. the move then was accidental, and it wasn't him - in fact, it was only successful, because it wasn't him - but the carnage was the same. the gore. the blood. the betrayed eyes. the voiceless mouth. you did this. you did this. it doesn't matter that it's temporary. it doesn't matter, that it was to kill a monster that wasn't even camille. it doesn't matter that she killed cloud. it doesn't matter that they'll be able to - that she'll be able to come back. that they're going to make sure she gets to come right back.

it doesn't make it any easier. it doesn't make it any less horrifying. rondo's crying before he even realizes it, holding onto the glass so tightly that he'd cut himself if he wasn't wearing gloves, and he takes a deep, shaking, shuddering breath as he just. sits there for a second, holding camille in his arms and just quietly repeating - i'm sorry. i'm so sorry.

(Oh, kid. You're a mess.)

there's still more to be done: they have to get the rest of the plan finished. maybe this is the moment most where he needs that adult. ]

[...

slowly, she rises to her feet and makes her way over to the discarded cup. takes the spilled decanter, too, while she's at it and wipes some of the spilled wine away. it's a bit of a juggling game between her hand and the crook of her elbow, but she somehow manages to do it with minimal effort. it's good to have take care of simple tasks like these. it's good to shove the horror of camille's gasping and flailing deep, deep down because there's still work to do. besides, everybody dies some day.

their heart was in the right place. she was miserable. the monster could have forced her hand again. there's a multitude of reasons they decided to go through with this plan, and not all of them are due to the sudden confidence boost from the week.

so... so...]

Rondo. [quietly. camille is still in his arms. she doesn't turn to look at him.] We have to go.

kill log: w3 thursday

w3 thurs its weird not to have a subject line

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CW: alcoholism relapse

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Cw: Mention of child murder, allusions to self harm

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