[ he maintains his distance, though he finds he has to suppress the urge to step forward and reach out to her, especially when she curls in on herself like that. his hands flex briefly, but they stay steady at his sides. ]
I can't say there's ease in any of it. But nonetheless...
[ She nods to the bench, letting him know he can sit down again as she moves to place herself at some distance from him, but directly in front. Center stage, as it were. ]
[ his expression crumples, briefly, into one of empathy. he can understand the struggle in explaining one's self... but he has been on the other end of that; he hopes she can feel some of the lightness he had.
that's why he swallows back the urge to be near her, to physically offer comfort with his presence, and step back so he can reclaim his seat on the bench. back straight, hands curling over his knees, he nods. ]
[ Hamel closes her eyes, arms drifting above her head, almost unconsciously.
And then, she dances.
Within a few seconds, the area around them blurs, reforms. Hamel herself is gone, but there's another Hamel now, dancing a much bolder, playful dance for a crowd that chants for more. As she gazes out at the crowd, however, all she can see is... negativity. Dark jellyfish, phantoms, grasping for her, and it's too much--she wavers mid-step, collapses on the stage.
Words, a soft voice set against a fiercer one. The music is equally soft but sorrowful. They're arguing; the male voice is telling her not to return to the stage, that he knows she's afraid of it. The female voice, Hamel's, answers that she must.
A man with hair the same shade of Hamel's stumbles towards a carnival; the music warps, becomes happy but manically so. And as Hamel runs after him, pleading, Norman, stop--
There's so much madness in the air. It presses down, unforgiving, and Hamel abruptly realizes--this had been a carnival, once, an attempted revival, but thanks to the shadowy figure, girlish in voice and silhouette, everyone there has been pulled into the Deep Mania. Everyone is a Corruptor now, except her brother, and Hamel herself, already a Sinner.
The figure offers her a deal--to take her brother's place, to join her in the carnival, because she's different, isn't she? She's different from all of them.
Hamel doesn't think twice. Her illusion overtakes the carnival, the Corruptors, the figure. It forces her brother out. And she dances. To maintain the illusion. To soothe the agonized hearts of the Corruptors, who can no longer return home or to themselves. To put that figure to sleep.
Over and over and over again. For years upon years upon years, unaging.
She is eventually pulled free from it. Despite her refusal. Despite how the Corruptors beg her not to leave them, clinging to her skirts, screaming and wailing, the Chief manages to extricate her.
And it's then that she learns that her brother never left. Never moved on with his life. Hamel's time had remained unchanging, but his had sped up, waiting just outside the carnival for his sister until he had perished, an old man. ]
[ the illusions are so much more different than the ones she'd invoke during their dances. in these, there is no warmth, no comfort. just something cold and hard, like the truth, and by the end marco finds himself seeking the security of that hug he keeps wanting to offer hamel — not just for her. but for himself too.
he knows all too well the crushing weight of failure in realizing you didn't actually spare anyone any of the pain and suffering you worked so far to protect them from. ]
...How could you have known?
[ he forces himself to stay seated, to not approach her until she wants it — until she deems herself deserving of the physical comfort he so desperately wants to offer her. maybe, even now, with just his voice, is he presuming too much. offering what she does not think she should accept.
(funny, how helpless one feels to be on the other side.) ]
You only did what you thought would help. You couldn't have known what went on beyond your prison.
[ too, too well does he understand. perhaps that is why he doesn't push the issue. who is he to convince her otherwise, when he himself cannot allow for his own conscious to move on?
in the end, all marco can do is lace his fingers together in the space between his knees. she isn't seeking his comfort, because of course she isn't. and he, unfortunately, isn't so bold as to give it to her without permission.
so they remain where they are, an impasse of guilt and restraint. ]
...But, if you'll allow it, I'd like to offer you something to consider.
[ he stands. though she will not meet his eyes, he keeps his trained on hers. ready to catch her own, should she ever wish to look. ]
You have your reasons for insisting you don't deserve something as precious as friendship. I have mine too. Though neither of us can convince the other to think otherwise... perhaps, in this case, our two negatives can cancel each other out.
[ perhaps he is bolder than he ought to be right now. but it feels more wrong not to offer anything. after all, she can always refuse. ]
Let's be friends, Miss Hamel. At the very least, let us try.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ With a little nod and an even smaller smile. She has her arms wrapped around herself--not defensively, more for self-soothing purposes. ]
... I think, instead of explaining it, I ought to be able to show you. If you're willing?
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[ he maintains his distance, though he finds he has to suppress the urge to step forward and reach out to her, especially when she curls in on herself like that. his hands flex briefly, but they stay steady at his sides. ]
Whatever will be easiest for you, Miss Hamel.
no subject
[ She nods to the bench, letting him know he can sit down again as she moves to place herself at some distance from him, but directly in front. Center stage, as it were. ]
no subject
that's why he swallows back the urge to be near her, to physically offer comfort with his presence, and step back so he can reclaim his seat on the bench. back straight, hands curling over his knees, he nods. ]
I'm ready.
no subject
And then, she dances.
Within a few seconds, the area around them blurs, reforms. Hamel herself is gone, but there's another Hamel now, dancing a much bolder, playful dance for a crowd that chants for more. As she gazes out at the crowd, however, all she can see is... negativity. Dark jellyfish, phantoms, grasping for her, and it's too much--she wavers mid-step, collapses on the stage.
Words, a soft voice set against a fiercer one. The music is equally soft but sorrowful. They're arguing; the male voice is telling her not to return to the stage, that he knows she's afraid of it. The female voice, Hamel's, answers that she must.
A man with hair the same shade of Hamel's stumbles towards a carnival; the music warps, becomes happy but manically so. And as Hamel runs after him, pleading, Norman, stop--
There's so much madness in the air. It presses down, unforgiving, and Hamel abruptly realizes--this had been a carnival, once, an attempted revival, but thanks to the shadowy figure, girlish in voice and silhouette, everyone there has been pulled into the Deep Mania. Everyone is a Corruptor now, except her brother, and Hamel herself, already a Sinner.
The figure offers her a deal--to take her brother's place, to join her in the carnival, because she's different, isn't she? She's different from all of them.
Hamel doesn't think twice. Her illusion overtakes the carnival, the Corruptors, the figure. It forces her brother out. And she dances. To maintain the illusion. To soothe the agonized hearts of the Corruptors, who can no longer return home or to themselves. To put that figure to sleep.
Over and over and over again. For years upon years upon years, unaging.
She is eventually pulled free from it. Despite her refusal. Despite how the Corruptors beg her not to leave them, clinging to her skirts, screaming and wailing, the Chief manages to extricate her.
And it's then that she learns that her brother never left. Never moved on with his life. Hamel's time had remained unchanging, but his had sped up, waiting just outside the carnival for his sister until he had perished, an old man. ]
no subject
he knows all too well the crushing weight of failure in realizing you didn't actually spare anyone any of the pain and suffering you worked so far to protect them from. ]
...How could you have known?
[ he forces himself to stay seated, to not approach her until she wants it — until she deems herself deserving of the physical comfort he so desperately wants to offer her. maybe, even now, with just his voice, is he presuming too much. offering what she does not think she should accept.
(funny, how helpless one feels to be on the other side.) ]
You only did what you thought would help. You couldn't have known what went on beyond your prison.
no subject
... And in the end, I wasn't able to keep my promise to my most loyal audience either, to not leave them behind. To dance for them, eternally.
[ Hamel's gaze lowers, to the ground. She makes no move to step forward or back. ]
To me, that's a sin I'll have to carry with me forever.
no subject
[ too, too well does he understand. perhaps that is why he doesn't push the issue. who is he to convince her otherwise, when he himself cannot allow for his own conscious to move on?
in the end, all marco can do is lace his fingers together in the space between his knees. she isn't seeking his comfort, because of course she isn't. and he, unfortunately, isn't so bold as to give it to her without permission.
so they remain where they are, an impasse of guilt and restraint. ]
...But, if you'll allow it, I'd like to offer you something to consider.
[ he stands. though she will not meet his eyes, he keeps his trained on hers. ready to catch her own, should she ever wish to look. ]
You have your reasons for insisting you don't deserve something as precious as friendship. I have mine too. Though neither of us can convince the other to think otherwise... perhaps, in this case, our two negatives can cancel each other out.
[ perhaps he is bolder than he ought to be right now. but it feels more wrong not to offer anything. after all, she can always refuse. ]
Let's be friends, Miss Hamel. At the very least, let us try.