[Christine... doesn't sleep much. She wakes herself up as often as she can, pretty much every hour on the hour, to check the halls. When she does sleep, she does wake up with... something in the back of her mind. An electric pulse, the taste of sickly sweet soda in the back of her throat. A buzzing in the back of her mind that turned into a voice, a command, so all-encompassing that they turned into strings around her wrists that led her limping from the stage into...
This feeling is true...
It should be another reason to hate Jeremy, but the thought of that sends her rushing to the bathroom, coughing and retching until one taste is masked with the acidic taste of her stomach's contents.
After that, though, she's back to patrolling. The new floor should be an excitement, but she really just pops her head in each room, looks for anything amiss before moving on. The smell of the bakery just makes her dizzy, anyways. She heads back down to the dressing rooms, and she might accidentally run into a few people, as she knocks gently on each door, tries the doorknob if she doesn't hear a response.
Probably what's oddest about the way she's taken on her bodyguard duties is how... silent she is. She doesn't say a word. Even when she runs into someone, she just nods slowly, ticking off a mental box, one more person safe and accounted for before she does it all again in an hour. Between that and her outfit, the long wolf's pelt and her historically appropriate Juliet's dress, you'd likely be forgiven for mistaking her for a ghost.
She's done with impassioned speeches and emotional tirades. It's very clear to her no one's been listening. Her microphone has been turned off, and the stage lights have already focused in on another scene, one without her.
It isn't until late that night that she maybe takes a break from patrolling, heading out to the graveyard. It's here that she actually makes the most noise, perhaps just by virtue of needing the sound to remind herself she's alive. She starts by taping letters to each of the graves. She lights candles as well, tries not to think of the ones that had been burning at the chapel. As she moves between each of the markers, she hums quietly to herself.]
You all meant so much Have I given up? Does it feel like a trial? Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine? Does it feel like a trial? No, I'm thinking too fast, it's like marbles on glass...
[She shakes her head, rubs stubbornly at her eyes, and then finally speaks, her voice muffled and quivering.]
I'm... I know I'm not supposed to do this. So I'm not summoning you again. But if any of you... i-if any of you are still there, watching... I-I'll be here all night. If you want to talk.
cw emetophobia
This feeling is true...
It should be another reason to hate Jeremy, but the thought of that sends her rushing to the bathroom, coughing and retching until one taste is masked with the acidic taste of her stomach's contents.
After that, though, she's back to patrolling. The new floor should be an excitement, but she really just pops her head in each room, looks for anything amiss before moving on. The smell of the bakery just makes her dizzy, anyways. She heads back down to the dressing rooms, and she might accidentally run into a few people, as she knocks gently on each door, tries the doorknob if she doesn't hear a response.
Probably what's oddest about the way she's taken on her bodyguard duties is how... silent she is. She doesn't say a word. Even when she runs into someone, she just nods slowly, ticking off a mental box, one more person safe and accounted for before she does it all again in an hour. Between that and her outfit, the long wolf's pelt and her historically appropriate Juliet's dress, you'd likely be forgiven for mistaking her for a ghost.
She's done with impassioned speeches and emotional tirades. It's very clear to her no one's been listening. Her microphone has been turned off, and the stage lights have already focused in on another scene, one without her.
It isn't until late that night that she maybe takes a break from patrolling, heading out to the graveyard. It's here that she actually makes the most noise, perhaps just by virtue of needing the sound to remind herself she's alive. She starts by taping letters to each of the graves. She lights candles as well, tries not to think of the ones that had been burning at the chapel. As she moves between each of the markers, she hums quietly to herself.]
You all meant so much
Have I given up?
Does it feel like a trial?
Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine?
Does it feel like a trial?
No, I'm thinking too fast, it's like marbles on glass...
[She shakes her head, rubs stubbornly at her eyes, and then finally speaks, her voice muffled and quivering.]
I'm... I know I'm not supposed to do this. So I'm not summoning you again. But if any of you... i-if any of you are still there, watching... I-I'll be here all night. If you want to talk.
Because I'd like to.