[Richie turns over the words regarding the one person he hadn't met in his head. He doesn't trust vampires, but this particular one isn't here and not part of the equation. What is relevant to their situation is something else that she'd mentioned.]
So you'd stay friends with someone knowing they were a murderer?
[ she didn't expect that question. not because it's not a valid one, but she figured he already knew the answer just in looking at-... well okay, not all of her friends are openly homicidal.
and while there are two reasons someone could ask her that question, 'ready to judge her for her choice in friends' doesn't seem entirely likely after he carved out somebody's eyeballs in their shared subconscious, so there's a sort of subtle 'don't even worry' in her tone when she says: ] Of course. [ after a pause, she reaches into the cereal box for another useless handful and continues. ] Pretty much everyone I know has blood on their hands somehow. Even Josh, like - this body? [ a two-handed gesture to herself, though one's still wrapped around the aforementioned handful of cereal. ] Ingredient number one was the heart of a dude he'd killed. Which - I mean, I wasn't there, but apparently this was like a year after it happened, so Ray was like, all disgusting and decompose-y by then but that's so not the point.
[ she pops a few pieces of cereal in her mouth, then chews and swallows. ] Besides, I'd be kiiiind of a hypocrite if I judged people for something like that. I mean, less blood and more ectoplasm, but potayto potahto. [ it sounds like she means to end it there, but almost before she even finishes, she's remembering one specific instance in which ectoplasm had nothing to do with it. there are a few moments in which she pops a few more pieces of cereal into her mouth one by one, but then she opts to go out on a limb and tell him, god knows why. ] Well I mean - there was this one time. [ casual as all hell, in part because she doesn't feel nearly as bad about this as any normal person probably should. ]
Right after Danny tried to have me exorcised. I guess it... screwed me up or something, Josh told me I looked like the Grudge. But I figured out how to fix it. [ all verbal cues suggest 'how to fix it' isn't as wholesome as it might imply, but she doesn't leave him wondering long. her eyes lift to his now, to gauge his reaction as she delivers the punchline: ] I slit his throat with his own straight-razor.
[ bam. ]
I mean, it's not actually as badass as it sounds. He totally survived - SCH didn't even keep him overnight, just sent him home with a bandage. [ but still. ]
Richie sits up straighter, curling his fingers tightly around the spoon in his hand. Sally's words become echoes around him, muffled vibrations that encourage his own fingernail digging into the heel of his hand.
It's her words again that pull him back to the kitchen, the sharpness of her dictated actions cutting through the fog. At the word razor he closes his eyes and breathes in, forming his own reality as a blend of the present and Sally's past. When he opens his eyes he looks at her, loosening his hold on the spoon.]
No. [ it comes too quick, quick enough that her mind's reeling for something to tack on as a follow-up, something to make it a little less... y'know, homicidal. but she presses her lips together before anything comes out. sally's gonna stand behind that answer, whatever it says about her.
instead, her follow-up comes in the form of: ] I didn't have that kind of control.
[The reaction was instinctual, honest. The spoon drops into Richie's bowl with a clang and he leans forward, hands flat against the top of the table.]
What was it like for you, to make that first cut?
[He's not asking what it's like to slit someone's throat. He knows that perfectly well. It's about Sally's mind, and its process of spilling another being's blood.]
[ it's a question she didn't expect, but at the same time, it's not one that surprises her all that much. so just as he hasn't quite broken the eye contact between them, neither does she. that doesn't mean she's fully seeing him, though. words come to mind, half-answers to questions that aren't quite the one he asked, but something about whatever this is feels inexplicably important even if she doesn't yet understand why. so sally keeps those words to herself. they aren't... right.
that kind of shit, it's different as a ghost. everything is, really. even the tactile shit becomes some kind of metaphor when you've got no sense of feeling. which is why she's super not cut out for the whole ghost thing - because as a general rule, sally's so much better at tactile shit than metaphors anyway.
[Though he speaks slowly, it's with no hesitation.]
It won't be permanent, but that moment when a person gives their last breath against your hands... [He inhales, finding words a poor substitute for experience.] You didn't deserve what he gave you, and he doesn't deserve to live.
[ sally lets out a dry exhale, her gaze finally dropping now to the table in front of her. it's not even that she thinks he's wrong - because he isn't. in fact, she's mildly unnerved by how totally on-board she is, with his whole murder-train philosophy here.
but: ] Tough break. Somebody already did that for me. [ ...well, not literally for sally, but still. ] Me and Aidan, we - I guess scared the piss out of him. Like, he could see me, and back in Boston that's pretty much never a thing. Nobody can actually see ghosts, that's just how it is.
Anyway, he totally confessed. Got locked up for life, and I guess he wouldn't bend over or something, because he got his ass freaking stabbed after like a year and a half.
[ a beat, then: ] Shredded his ghost, though. Now that felt great.
[Richie doesn't want to hear about prison. It hits too close to home and everything he'd imagined during five years of worry and uncertainty for his brother. He'd snapped, those who knew him would say hasn't been the same since.
Instead he steers the conversation back to the topic at hand. She's talked about shredding, and from context he knows what it means, but it's difficult for him to imagine without further information.]
[ it always jars sally a little, when they trip over something she hasn't yet told him. for all intents and purposes, she tends to assume he knows basically everything about her these days, though technically that's far from true.
so she'll have to start from the beginning. ]
When you shred a ghost, it's... not like stabbing someone. You're literally - [ she reaches two 'claw'-fingered hands toward her own gut, then pulls them apart as if parting her innards down the middle. ] - tearing them apart.
[ important distinction, because she's pretty sure tearing someone apart in their entirety is a whole different matter than stabbing or shooting.
after another second or so, she continues: ]
The set-up's kind of a long story, so just... assume that somehow, his neon-orange jumpsuited ass showed up in our house for pretty much no good reason. And like, I knew shit was gonna go down and Aidan said he'd come home to make sure he was there to back me up, but shit went down and I guess he forgot or something.
[ not the point. ]
So Danny shows up, and we shit-talked a little bit. I had a fire poker or something, iron dissipates ghosts, but he said he was more powerful than me. Freaking - took the poker right out of my hand, attacked me.
And I don't think, I just - I shove my hand straight through his gut, and it's not like touching a living person, I can actually feel it. Feel the energy, and it's all around my hand, like... Like this is all that's left of the person who spent like two years making me feel like shit, this essence, and I've got it right in my hand.
[ she's kind of bad at describing this shit, she thinks. her eyes lift back up to his, almost like a question. like 'keep going?' ]
[Richie becomes thoroughly engrossed in her story, and as Sally speaks about reaching inside Danny, he finds himself reaching forward as well. His hand covers hers, and Richie closes his eyes, as if hoping to catch some of the essence mentioned. It's a different kind of death, a surge of energy before all that's left of a person is a memory.
He opens his eyes, looking to Sally intently. He doesn't want to speak, doesn't want to stop his immersion in Sally's words. When they lock eyes and all other sound around them seems to fade away, Richie gives her a single nod.
[ he nods, so she nods back in acknowledgement. but she doesn't keep going quite yet. instead, the hand he's not covering with his reaches down to lift his bowl from between them and set it behind her instead - slow, quiet movements, because she doesn't want to pop whatever bubble they're sitting in. then she slides forward, just enough that he doesn't have to lean to reach her, all without breaking the eye contact. ]
I hesitated, [ she says now, a little quieter by reflex, because all of this? it's between she and richie. not like anyone else is around to hear, but that's not the point. ] Because after everything, after all the shit he pulled, I didn't just... want to end him. I wanted him to feel it. I wanted to terrify him, to make him feel like he was drowning and- [ - don't say burning - ] ...I wanted to tear him apart for two years instead of ten seconds. But that's not how this shit works.
[ her hand shifts just enough to make sure his is aligned on top of it, so that when she spreads her fingers, his spread too. which she does, her other hand back to join it now in the claw gestures from before. ] It's not even hard. Getting in's the hardest part. Once there's a hole, once you've got your hand right smack in their core... It's like tearing fabric. You just - [ her hands separate now to illustrate: ] -pull them apart. Into mist, and then they're just... gone.
[ it doesn't seem as climactic as he was probably looking for. sally chews at her bottom lip a second, then: ] I wish I could say it was satisfying.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[action]
[Richie turns over the words regarding the one person he hadn't met in his head. He doesn't trust vampires, but this particular one isn't here and not part of the equation. What is relevant to their situation is something else that she'd mentioned.]
So you'd stay friends with someone knowing they were a murderer?
[That mutual kill a few months ago didn't count.]
[action]
and while there are two reasons someone could ask her that question, 'ready to judge her for her choice in friends' doesn't seem entirely likely after he carved out somebody's eyeballs in their shared subconscious, so there's a sort of subtle 'don't even worry' in her tone when she says: ] Of course. [ after a pause, she reaches into the cereal box for another useless handful and continues. ] Pretty much everyone I know has blood on their hands somehow. Even Josh, like - this body? [ a two-handed gesture to herself, though one's still wrapped around the aforementioned handful of cereal. ] Ingredient number one was the heart of a dude he'd killed. Which - I mean, I wasn't there, but apparently this was like a year after it happened, so Ray was like, all disgusting and decompose-y by then but that's so not the point.
[ she pops a few pieces of cereal in her mouth, then chews and swallows. ] Besides, I'd be kiiiind of a hypocrite if I judged people for something like that. I mean, less blood and more ectoplasm, but potayto potahto. [ it sounds like she means to end it there, but almost before she even finishes, she's remembering one specific instance in which ectoplasm had nothing to do with it. there are a few moments in which she pops a few more pieces of cereal into her mouth one by one, but then she opts to go out on a limb and tell him, god knows why. ] Well I mean - there was this one time. [ casual as all hell, in part because she doesn't feel nearly as bad about this as any normal person probably should. ]
Right after Danny tried to have me exorcised. I guess it... screwed me up or something, Josh told me I looked like the Grudge. But I figured out how to fix it. [ all verbal cues suggest 'how to fix it' isn't as wholesome as it might imply, but she doesn't leave him wondering long. her eyes lift to his now, to gauge his reaction as she delivers the punchline: ] I slit his throat with his own straight-razor.
[ bam. ]
I mean, it's not actually as badass as it sounds. He totally survived - SCH didn't even keep him overnight, just sent him home with a bandage. [ but still. ]
[action]
Richie sits up straighter, curling his fingers tightly around the spoon in his hand. Sally's words become echoes around him, muffled vibrations that encourage his own fingernail digging into the heel of his hand.
It's her words again that pull him back to the kitchen, the sharpness of her dictated actions cutting through the fog. At the word razor he closes his eyes and breathes in, forming his own reality as a blend of the present and Sally's past. When he opens his eyes he looks at her, loosening his hold on the spoon.]
Did you want him to survive?
[action]
instead, her follow-up comes in the form of: ] I didn't have that kind of control.
[action]
What was it like for you, to make that first cut?
[He's not asking what it's like to slit someone's throat. He knows that perfectly well. It's about Sally's mind, and its process of spilling another being's blood.]
[action]
that kind of shit, it's different as a ghost. everything is, really. even the tactile shit becomes some kind of metaphor when you've got no sense of feeling. which is why she's super not cut out for the whole ghost thing - because as a general rule, sally's so much better at tactile shit than metaphors anyway.
finally, she says: ]
I almost felt alive.
[action]
[Though he speaks slowly, it's with no hesitation.]
It won't be permanent, but that moment when a person gives their last breath against your hands... [He inhales, finding words a poor substitute for experience.] You didn't deserve what he gave you, and he doesn't deserve to live.
[action]
but: ] Tough break. Somebody already did that for me. [ ...well, not literally for sally, but still. ] Me and Aidan, we - I guess scared the piss out of him. Like, he could see me, and back in Boston that's pretty much never a thing. Nobody can actually see ghosts, that's just how it is.
Anyway, he totally confessed. Got locked up for life, and I guess he wouldn't bend over or something, because he got his ass freaking stabbed after like a year and a half.
[ a beat, then: ] Shredded his ghost, though. Now that felt great.
[action]
Instead he steers the conversation back to the topic at hand. She's talked about shredding, and from context he knows what it means, but it's difficult for him to imagine without further information.]
Tell me what you did, every detail you can.
[Including how how great it felt.]
[action]
so she'll have to start from the beginning. ]
When you shred a ghost, it's... not like stabbing someone. You're literally - [ she reaches two 'claw'-fingered hands toward her own gut, then pulls them apart as if parting her innards down the middle. ] - tearing them apart.
[ important distinction, because she's pretty sure tearing someone apart in their entirety is a whole different matter than stabbing or shooting.
after another second or so, she continues: ]
The set-up's kind of a long story, so just... assume that somehow, his neon-orange jumpsuited ass showed up in our house for pretty much no good reason. And like, I knew shit was gonna go down and Aidan said he'd come home to make sure he was there to back me up, but shit went down and I guess he forgot or something.
[ not the point. ]
So Danny shows up, and we shit-talked a little bit. I had a fire poker or something, iron dissipates ghosts, but he said he was more powerful than me. Freaking - took the poker right out of my hand, attacked me.
And I don't think, I just - I shove my hand straight through his gut, and it's not like touching a living person, I can actually feel it. Feel the energy, and it's all around my hand, like... Like this is all that's left of the person who spent like two years making me feel like shit, this essence, and I've got it right in my hand.
[ she's kind of bad at describing this shit, she thinks. her eyes lift back up to his, almost like a question. like 'keep going?' ]
[action]
He opens his eyes, looking to Sally intently. He doesn't want to speak, doesn't want to stop his immersion in Sally's words. When they lock eyes and all other sound around them seems to fade away, Richie gives her a single nod.
Keep going.]
[action]
I hesitated, [ she says now, a little quieter by reflex, because all of this? it's between she and richie. not like anyone else is around to hear, but that's not the point. ] Because after everything, after all the shit he pulled, I didn't just... want to end him. I wanted him to feel it. I wanted to terrify him, to make him feel like he was drowning and- [ - don't say burning - ] ...I wanted to tear him apart for two years instead of ten seconds. But that's not how this shit works.
[ her hand shifts just enough to make sure his is aligned on top of it, so that when she spreads her fingers, his spread too. which she does, her other hand back to join it now in the claw gestures from before. ] It's not even hard. Getting in's the hardest part. Once there's a hole, once you've got your hand right smack in their core... It's like tearing fabric. You just - [ her hands separate now to illustrate: ] -pull them apart. Into mist, and then they're just... gone.
[ it doesn't seem as climactic as he was probably looking for. sally chews at her bottom lip a second, then: ] I wish I could say it was satisfying.