[ Incredibly enough she's one of the rare people who seem to be allowed to manhandle him to some extent and see his injuries, at the least his upper body ones. He was wiping off the blood so his forearms are visible, having either ripped or cut off the already tattered front of them anyway. They've got bruises that could maybe be attributed to ropes or perhaps vines, with periodic deep, almost claw-like gouges here and there, although they seem to be healed enough to not be bleeding anymore. That's new, because she could probably tell he was still sluggishly bleeding when he first showed up.
He's got a pretty bad bruise on his throat. Looks almost... hand-shaped... woh... and his face sure is in a state. He's missing his eyepatch and his face has scratches, with a particularly nasty bunch over on the side with the missing eye, and blood around there too. ]
[she's careful with him, even so - he's trusting her with it, so she's respecting it as much as she can. she wipes the rest of the blood clear, cleans the gouges. wraps any of them that seem particularly awful, even if they're not bleeding.
the gouges make her frown the most, because she keeps seeing him scratch at his skin. she won't put the gloves back on him, if only because her goal is to get him as clean as she can. before, after execution, he wanted to be clean and in dry clothes, and that helped him, so - that's what she'll do. she'll get him new clothes. she'll try to get the blood out of his hair, she'll clean the blood off his face and around his eye.
her engine is whirring so loudly he can probably hear it thud and clunk. like a garbage disposal with a fork in it.]
[ Everyone underestimates the power of being in clean clothes... it do feel your mental health good...
He's pretty much entirely quiet during the whole process though, exceptionally calm throughout it all. Even his thoughts are exceptionally a calm sort of drone, albeit in a distant, almost stopped caring kind of way.
He absently flexes his hands, turning them over and looking at the bandaging in silence. ]
she figures the calm is just kind of like - all you can do. there's only so much trauma a person can take before they flatline a bit, and so while she's worried, she's not freaking out. her thoughts are just a mess of scribbles and anger.
when she's mostly finished, she leans back, giving him one more look over.]
in fact, all of this is worse! there's a burst of scribbled, angry thoughts, disjointed, furious that this is happening from her, and then she takes a deep breath and holds it.]
It does. It does matter. [if it's a little pleading, she can't help that so much.] ... I'll stay. I'll stay as long as I can.
I know I said you don't have to talk, but you can. You can talk to me.
It's not so much the content of the words, you know. It's me trying to share the awful with you, so it doesn't weigh you down as much.
[kneading at her chest as she speaks, breath a little short.]
It's a step towards something. We can figure out what to do with these with just a little more time. And - you got letters, yeah? Did you get letters? They're out there.
[ His gaze travels from her to somewhere else, and for a moment, there is a slight breakthrough in the dullness of his gaze, more of that despairing hysteria.
That's how I repaid him? ]
How do you know that's real, Karlach? When Camille was dead, she said there was nothing.
Because Aerith sent me something, and it's only something she could know. She's the only person who saw that memory, Daan.
I know you're not sitting here and blaming yourself for an impossible decision. [her tone is tense.] Should've just killed me in whatever nightmare you were in so that you wouldn't be spiraling over this. You know I wouldn't have cared.
[ Zac Oyama Voice I killed her yeah. But no it doesn't sound like he blames himself for it or whatever, it's just a statement to really just. Add on that yeah! It sucked. ]
all the tension gets shocked out of her and she just stares at him. she looks, like. genuinely upset to hear this, but not in the sense that it's an evil action or whatever moral things, it's in the sense that she's absolutely heartbroken that he had to.]
[ My god, the trauma! The way he really does seem weirdly calm about it. Or maybe you could just call it blank at this point. ]
It's all fine. Dream or illusion as it may be. In the fairytale version of events, there exists a memory of her smiling and happy again.
[ His last memory of her doesn't have to be the bloody, pale corpse in the basement. It doesn't have to be the sallowed and sunken face with stringy hair, stitched mouth, muffled cackles. ]
[silence, for a moment, because she struggles with this. it's not even her trauma, it's not her memories, she never knew his wife and she never will, but the empathetic person she is means that she wants to cry when he won't.
the twist of it is what hurts. a little bit of good in the awful, horrible tragedy.
she kind of just sits back, and then - settles her folded arms on the bed, leans against it, face half-tucked into the crook of her elbow. it's starting to be a familiar pose, curled up at the edge of his bed.]
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He's got a pretty bad bruise on his throat. Looks almost... hand-shaped... woh... and his face sure is in a state. He's missing his eyepatch and his face has scratches, with a particularly nasty bunch over on the side with the missing eye, and blood around there too. ]
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the gouges make her frown the most, because she keeps seeing him scratch at his skin. she won't put the gloves back on him, if only because her goal is to get him as clean as she can. before, after execution, he wanted to be clean and in dry clothes, and that helped him, so - that's what she'll do. she'll get him new clothes. she'll try to get the blood out of his hair, she'll clean the blood off his face and around his eye.
her engine is whirring so loudly he can probably hear it thud and clunk. like a garbage disposal with a fork in it.]
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He's pretty much entirely quiet during the whole process though, exceptionally calm throughout it all. Even his thoughts are exceptionally a calm sort of drone, albeit in a distant, almost stopped caring kind of way.
He absently flexes his hands, turning them over and looking at the bandaging in silence. ]
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she figures the calm is just kind of like - all you can do. there's only so much trauma a person can take before they flatline a bit, and so while she's worried, she's not freaking out. her thoughts are just a mess of scribbles and anger.
when she's mostly finished, she leans back, giving him one more look over.]
... D'you want to be in a bed?
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I'll clean up and lie down.
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a beat.]
That guarding the shower thing is still up for grabs. [the lamest joke in the universe.] Can I stay for a bit?
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[ He stares out the nearest exit, like there's something there. ]
Can't stop you.
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You could, if you wanted. [...] Even though I don't think you should be alone.
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It doesn't matter.
[ Thursday. Something will happen regardless. ]
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in fact, all of this is worse! there's a burst of scribbled, angry thoughts, disjointed, furious that this is happening from her, and then she takes a deep breath and holds it.]
It does. It does matter. [if it's a little pleading, she can't help that so much.] ... I'll stay. I'll stay as long as I can.
I know I said you don't have to talk, but you can. You can talk to me.
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Well, yeah. But I'm not going to force you.
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[ He sighs. ]
I really don't have anything to say. I don't know what to say, Karlach.
I have a spine, now. Another body part for the ritual. Kanda has another thing.
Maybe it's a step forward to something. Maybe not.
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[kneading at her chest as she speaks, breath a little short.]
It's a step towards something. We can figure out what to do with these with just a little more time. And - you got letters, yeah? Did you get letters? They're out there.
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That's how I repaid him? ]
How do you know that's real, Karlach? When Camille was dead, she said there was nothing.
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I know you're not sitting here and blaming yourself for an impossible decision. [her tone is tense.] Should've just killed me in whatever nightmare you were in so that you wouldn't be spiraling over this. You know I wouldn't have cared.
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[ Is that too blunt. He doesn't really care.
There's a low, rumbling sound somewhere in his thoughts. It almost sounds like a purr. ]
You shouldn't say something like that. Who would I use a silly wish on then, if you'd actually died next?
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You know my answer to that.
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Pointless talk about theoreticals anyway. Won't undo what I've done at this point.
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The things you did in a nightmare set up specifically to play off the worst shit in your head, you mean.
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[ Zac Oyama Voice I killed her yeah. But no it doesn't sound like he blames himself for it or whatever, it's just a statement to really just. Add on that yeah! It sucked. ]
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all the tension gets shocked out of her and she just stares at him. she looks, like. genuinely upset to hear this, but not in the sense that it's an evil action or whatever moral things, it's in the sense that she's absolutely heartbroken that he had to.]
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It's all fine. Dream or illusion as it may be. In the fairytale version of events, there exists a memory of her smiling and happy again.
[ His last memory of her doesn't have to be the bloody, pale corpse in the basement. It doesn't have to be the sallowed and sunken face with stringy hair, stitched mouth, muffled cackles. ]
That's all I need.
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the twist of it is what hurts. a little bit of good in the awful, horrible tragedy.
she kind of just sits back, and then - settles her folded arms on the bed, leans against it, face half-tucked into the crook of her elbow. it's starting to be a familiar pose, curled up at the edge of his bed.]
I'm sorry. [she sounds kind of miserable.]
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[ Absently picking at the edges of his bandages. ]
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