Christine Canigula (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
madgiganticfeelings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
itscurtains2020-07-25 05:44 pm
madgiganticfeelings) wrote in itscurtains2020-07-25 05:44 pm
Love's no good but it sure beats the hurt
[That was... Christine can only call it the most horrible thing she's seen so far, with that familiar dread that says something worse may come. Four people have died. Four friends Christine had trusted in and relied upon. And four more people she cares about have turned into memories and painful reminders of her failure to do anything meaningful here.
And Christine wallows in that. God, does she wallow. But she also knows that those painful ghosts of the people she loved relied on her to keep getting back up when the world knocked her down. And she has to keep going, if only to honour there memories.
The note she slides under each person's door is very simple, the bright orange gel pen somehow seeming duller in the wake of mourning:]
Food is in the dining hall.
Please come have something, or I'll track you down in an hour and force feed you.
If there's anything at all you need, please come talk to me. We shouldn't have to suffer alone.
-Christine
[There's a few dishes Christine knows how to make: lo mein and beef stew, some simple sandwiches as well. There are almond cookies after the more filling foods are prepared.
Off to the side is a plate with a few dumplings and... what looks like mashed turnips? An odd combination, but they were Angus' favourite.
And Christine is true to her word. If you don't come in an hour, she'll find you. In fact, she makes rounds around the opera house pretty much every hour, checking each room, and... maybe singing softly to herself as she goes.]
O god,
I can't stay, I won't stay for things left unseen
I can't stay, I won't stay, this end has no means
I can't stay, I won't stay, you were just a dream
A sweet sweet dream
You were a dream
But not my dream...
[Speaking of dreams, someone should convince her to go to bed.]
And Christine wallows in that. God, does she wallow. But she also knows that those painful ghosts of the people she loved relied on her to keep getting back up when the world knocked her down. And she has to keep going, if only to honour there memories.
The note she slides under each person's door is very simple, the bright orange gel pen somehow seeming duller in the wake of mourning:]
Food is in the dining hall.
Please come have something, or I'll track you down in an hour and force feed you.
If there's anything at all you need, please come talk to me. We shouldn't have to suffer alone.
-Christine
[There's a few dishes Christine knows how to make: lo mein and beef stew, some simple sandwiches as well. There are almond cookies after the more filling foods are prepared.
Off to the side is a plate with a few dumplings and... what looks like mashed turnips? An odd combination, but they were Angus' favourite.
And Christine is true to her word. If you don't come in an hour, she'll find you. In fact, she makes rounds around the opera house pretty much every hour, checking each room, and... maybe singing softly to herself as she goes.]
O god,
I can't stay, I won't stay for things left unseen
I can't stay, I won't stay, this end has no means
I can't stay, I won't stay, you were just a dream
A sweet sweet dream
You were a dream
But not my dream...
[Speaking of dreams, someone should convince her to go to bed.]
no subject
[You know, speaking of little kitten arms. He's let octokitten rest for the day but...]
You like animals, don't you?
no subject
[ well that's a question. ]
I like the ones I've met so far.
no subject
No, never mind.]
I met a creature you might like. Riley was quite taken with it, maybe you would be too? A... cat, mostly. Only... with tentacles and glowing?
[Actually...]
Never mind. Forget I said anything about it.
no subject
That... sounds really cute?
no subject
Oh? [A beat.]
Whenever you'd like, then.
no subject
Maybe not right this second, but... sometime.
no subject
... Metaphorically, at least.