well this is a depressing excuse for a party

[onthebusagain]

[Mid-day on Sunday, Heather goes around and slips notes under dressing room doors.

If you don't want to be alone today, there will be snacks and people in the Ballroom today

--Heather

She's even dotted every i with a little heart! How cute.

The dining hall is a way better location for a party (or whatever this is) with its close proximity to the kitchen, and more intimate space- but Heather doesn't want to be anywhere near that place. Not for a while, at least. True to her word, Heather's brought snacks- finger sandwiches, a few bags of chips, and a big pitcher of lemonade. There isn't much else set up, but the piano is still there, should anyone want to play.]

Comments

[dechagny]

Do you - do you know what happened? It was...

[It was like her pamphlet blurb said - like she had become an entirely different person.]

It...concerned me greatly.

[solomonjihad]

...I don't remember.

[She looks down.]

I do know what happened, though. I'm sorry.

[dechagny]

[Not what he was asking, exactly - how could anyone not know what happened by now - but he nods regardless.]

As am I. But...I meant, do you know why that happened to you?

[solomonjihad]

...I do.

[If she could look down more her head would just fall off her shoulders.]

Viscount, I'm so sorry, I...

[dechagny]

[Hesitantly, because he remembers how frightened she was when they first arrived, Raoul puts a hand on Astarte's shoulder.]

There's...no need for an apology. I just - I want to understand. That...whatever it was, it knew...quite a lot about wounds and death, and while that did help us...I am concerned. What exactly happened to you?

[solomonjihad]

[Wounds and...death...well, that makes Astarte's own look of worry deepen. How..does it know so much?]

I...do you remember what it said about me, in that book? About...being like two people.

[...What has she done when she's not in control? Not here, but back home, and why, why wouldn't Mother say anything--]

[dechagny]

[Grimly, Raoul nods.] I do, yes. I...actually read it.

[As opposed to skimming it for names and faces.]

[solomonjihad]

...That's...who that was. The other person. The other...me.

[Really, that's all there is to it.]

I have a split personality.

[dechagny]

Is it truly another you? Or...does this person have some other name? They said "If that is what you wish to call me" when I called them by your name.

[He wants to be clear about this wacky shit okay, draw definitive lines in the sand.]

[solomonjihad]

...I truly...don't know.

[Its the truth.]

All I know, is a voice in my head, saying things to me, deep down in me. But otherwise, I know nothing about the other me. I never remember anything when the other me...comes out.

[dechagny]

[...He believes you. Some of the things that come from Astarte...they're really crazy, but what other alternative is there? Especially when he's seen this other self.]

I see. I...am sorry. You must have had to deal with this before.

[Hopefully not in a murder sense, but...uh...er...yeah that can't be fun.]

[solomonjihad]

...For several years.

[Ever since---no, no, don't think about it.]

Its...gotten worse as time has gone by.

[dechagny]

...I am terribly sorry, Miss Astarte. I do hope it does not happen to you again.

[He can't imagine how it must feel to have gaps in your memory like that.]

[solomonjihad]

...Its all right. Its...

[She closes her eyes.]

...its something I have to live with.

[dechagny]

[Yeah, he can't really say "no it's not", because it is. He gives her shoulder a soft squeeze, removes his hand.]

At the very least, though...you are not alone.

[solomonjihad]

...Yes...

[...She...oh.]

Here, I'm...not alone.

[It sounds so strange. She's not...alone. Not. Alone. Not.]

[dechagny]

That's right. None of us are truly alone, so long as we stay united against the management.

[solomonjihad]

...Its nice not to be alone, anyways.

[To have support and...not just being told of the weight of her destiny.]