multiversallogs | there is another world; there is a better world; well, there must be.

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there is another world; there is a better world; well, there must be.

Who: Ilde Decima & Cindy
What: The less than triumphant return.
Where: Initially, the Valhalla Inn arrival area.
When: Misdi
Notes: The London Mysteries: Apocalypse cast have had a canon update; Ilde, for reasons detailed within, arrives home first.
Warnings: Suicide (& suicide pact), body horror (flesh suits), PTSD-related panic attack, general goriness and trauma. Hit me up if I’ve missed something and I’ll edit it in.

DONT PANIC.

Ilde keeps staring at the words and-- they don’t help, really, because she remembers that Sonja did that and then she remembers that Sonja isn’t here because Sonja is in New York and nobody is coming for her, not anybody, there was no time and that’s why she’s here and she can’t say better here than there because it isn’t this time and it can’t be, not even with the unreal sound of meat and carapace sliding sickly and twisting into place under skin and she shouldn’t have been able to hear it but the sound won’t leave her mind now, the sight of ripples in dead flesh and eyes opening--

There is still so much blood; her heartbeat feels wrong, beating out of time, beating at all. Kelly isn’t with her and that feels wrong, too, nothing in this room but blood sliding down her skin to pool on the tile below her and a pamphlet she’s already read a hundred fucking times. Her CiD. The razor-blades she’s still clutching in her hand, the only place where her skin isn’t inappropriately unbroken now; she supposes a dead faerie would be of no fucking use at all to Baedal. It hurts, and that doesn’t seem fair, after everything. She should drop them.

Her hands tremble, but for a long time that’s the only movement she manages.

--there’s no time, Ilde--

When the video message goes through to Cindy, the screen is smeared red and where the CiD fell it’s the words carved into the tile that are visible: DONT PANIC. It’s Ilde’s number, from the arrival room; the sound of her breathing, hitching every now and again in long, forced deep breaths, just the unsteady near-silence of all the control she has energy for.

It’s as far as she got, with the first number that came to mind. Cindy’s going to have to figure out ‘come get me’ on her own.

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"Who? Him who?"

Talking to Ilde has always been an adventure in conversation in Cindy's eyes, but this one is an adventure in frustration. Ilde is something special to her, Cindy can't describe it, but it's more like a little sister or something of that nature. Sonja isn't here to do the job of protecting Ilde; it's Cindy's responsibility, at least one she assigns to herself.

"Look at me. Ilde, look at me," Cindy commands, putting a hand on each side of Ilde's face and turning her head to the side. "Breathe. Slowly. Take a deep breath. Start with telling me who he is."

Ilde obeys, breathing in and curling her hands together in her lap. Eye contact is steadying, if sometimes a little disconcerting for the person on the other end of her fixed gaze. "Lucas," she says, like she'd forgotten that Cindy doesn't just know things and occasionally telling her what the hell is going on might be necessary. "He controls New York. The opposition."

Sonja leads an army; Lucas is their enemy.

"He's bringing these things into our world..." He has one of the faqra witches under his control, and the memory of realizing makes her twist in, slightly, like she's trying to curl into herself against having to go on existing. "He was going to-- he eats souls, and we didn't have any time--"

At least there's a name and a bit of detailed information coming. Not much for Cindy to work with, but it's enough to sweep one question off the table.

"Okay, we have one guy who chomps on souls. What does this have to do with you?" She forges ahead with the no-bullshit questioning as she manually straightens Ilde, head up and shoulders back. Cindy isn't going to let Ilde crumple in on herself. She survived this much; it's time to show it.

"He was going to," she says, more clearly, pressing her fingers to the cuts on her palm and letting Cindy rearrange her posture; she's not exactly helpful, but she doesn't fold into herself again after she's been moved. So that's something. "And there wasn't time. So we had to."

Sometimes the only choice you have, the only thing you can control, is how you die.

"You had to stop him." That much is clear and that much is something Cindy would agree with doing. However, something else happens and she still doesn't know what. Would Ilde be that affected by violence? She never seemed like the type to Cindy, but then again, all Cindy knows is war and violence. Her view is pretty damn clouded.

Cindy glances away for a moment, checking how many more stops they have to go before they get to Ilde's neighborhood. A few more. Time for more questions. "Who's we?"

"Kelly had the razorblades."

Ilde is a mess, in general - between the fighting, the kidnapping, all of it, she needs a long, hot shower with industrial strength soap - but the way the blood trails on her skin and clothes go, the tatters in her clothes where the blades went through, they don't suggest the kind of injuries you get in a fight. There's something disturbingly premeditated about it, the blood soaked into her shirt, her sleeves.

They didn't have time to waste dying, either; bleeding out fast was what they needed, because it was the only way out and they had to do it too quickly to be stopped. They had to make sure it happened too quickly for them to be used once they were weak from the blood loss.

"Kelly. Right. Go Kelly." Whoever the fuck she is. Cindy sighs softly, knowing that unless she gets Ilde cleaned up and settled, she won't be getting any coherent answers. She's not looking forward to having to check in with the rest of the people who are worried for Ilde, especially Ivan. It's not that Cindy hates him or anything, but he's a vampire; the mistrust for him is automatic. He can just deal with that.

Their stop is here and Cindy stands before the train comes to a complete stop, offering her back to Ilde again wordlessly.

Tar Wedge is the nearest El train stop to Raven's Gate, and it means a bit of a walk before they reach the villa; it's locked and quiet, except for Orion by the gate when they get near enough, and the otherwise-emptiness of the place is arresting. It's home, now, but Sonja isn't here and it feels wrong to be anywhere without her. Sonja has been the only constant.

(Someone has been feeding the dog, at least. Possibly several someones.)

The door's definitely locked all right. Ivan and the keys are wherever Ivan and the keys usually are. But Cindy's inventive if nothing else. She stoops down at the front door, both to let Ilde back on her feet and to inspect the lock. Looks normal enough. That's all Cindy's concerned about.

She reaches up into her ponytail and tugs out a hairpin from the base, biting off the rubber ends and bending the metal into the proper position. Slipping it into the keyhole, it takes her a few moments to jimmy the lock open. She really could have just kicked the damn thing down, but she's sure Sonja would have her ass for it.

If Sonja comes back, that is.

"Home sweet home," Cindy announces as the door swings open into the empty house.

It's been weeks since Ilde has seen the inside of this house and it's not easy figuring out exactly how she feels about that right now. Or about anything, really, but at least she's home and it's familiar and it feels right, just-- quieter than it should be. Orion follows them in at a slight distance and she'll have to check that he has been fed, but it's not the first thing on her mind at the moment. Everything blurs.

"I should shower," she says, because at least that's something clear. Get the blood off her (hers, Kelly's); put clean clothes on. (Burn these.)

Cindy can do all the checking of the house and the babysitting of Ilde, because honestly, Ilde needs it at the moment and Cindy isn't taking no for an answer. She steers Ilde gently towards the bathroom, stopping as soon as Ilde's feet cross the door's threshold.

"You go do that." She'll be here. She and the dog both.

It's a long shower. By the time the water is running clear (soapy, but clear) and Ilde is ready to do much more than stand beneath the spray, it's cooling down and she feels quiet again.

"I died," she says to the mirror, like she's testing the weight of the words. How they feel in her mouth. There is no response; just her steam-distorted reflection, black-eyed and tired-looking, and she presses her hands to her face until she can concentrate long enough to reform her glamour. There's a first aid kit under the sink, and she sits down on the floor with it to wind a bandage around her hand, and it seems wrong that the only injury she has left is one she got in the arrival room.

In her bedroom, Angus is sleeping on her pillow and there's a playing card on the mirror that wasn't there when she left. She observes both of these things dispassionately for a while, until Angus wakes up and then she's trying to navigate finding clean clothes with a cat winding around her ankles, which isn't completely terrible but does involve a lot of sitting down.

"I died," she tells Angus, and he pushes his face into her hand and under her wrist. "Okay," quieter. She'll go back downstairs in a minute.

Meanwhile, Cindy putters around the house, refilling the dog's food and water bowls and doing some general straightening up of the place. She's not about to get on her knees and scrub the kitchen floor, but she does fluff the couch cushions, open a couple windows for air and light, wash a few dishes and puts together a cup of tea and a sandwich for Ilde. Her stepmother would probably laugh at her right now for returning back to her old house servant ways, but that bitch is dead and rotting so Cindy doesn't spend a moment thinking about her.

She listens out for the running water to stop and for Ilde to come downstairs. One happens, but the other doesn't. It's enough to get Cindy climbing the stairs just in time to hear Ilde talking to a cat. Her face says all the confusion in the world is right here.

"I died," she repeats, for Cindy, Angus having successfully been coaxed into her lap and settling there, walking a circle before he sits down and reiterates his claim on this particular fairy. "That's what we did. It was the only way."

The only way? No, there's always another way, Cindy thinks. She's the queen of having a backup plan for her backup places, a plan C for her plan B. This only way bullshit doesn't fly.

"The hell you mean it was the only way? I think you got the who gets killed roles reversed." She stands there in the doorway, arms crossed against her chest, because nothing about anything makes sense.

It's a little too harsh, a little too soon and Ilde doesn't know exactly how to explain; there had been nothing else, it was die one way or die another, and the other way was so much fucking worse. Her first instinct is just to stop talking, to withdraw, because this is hard and she's so tired, and it's such a mess. There's too much going on and too much to figure out and she doesn't know what happened afterwards, she doesn't know what's going on right now with the enclave and it eats at her.

There wasn't anything else they could've done. (What if there was? What if she should've waited? What if Cindy is right and it was wrong and this is her fault?)

"It was better than the alternative," she says, quietly, and when she finally does say it, she sounds absolutely certain.

Cindy would apologize if she was capable of seeing letting yourself die in order to win a war. It's one thing to die while fighting; it's certainly another to die instead of fighting.

"Do tell me what the alternative was. I'm curious." She doesn't move an inch, really expecting a clear answer from Ilde.

It's not a question she wants to answer, mostly because it's not something she wants to think about in any kind of detail. It takes her a while, not looking at Cindy, reliving those moments in horrific detail in her mind; she can't stop remembering the other faqra witch.

"My soul would've been consumed. There isn't any coming back from that. I would've been used to further Lucas' endgame. I was kidnapped from the battle for the specific purpose and held prisoner with Kelly; I'm not preferred prey but it would've hurt Sonja. It was supposed to hurt Sonja. I was a footnote, but it would've been satisfaction on her. He was in a hurry, though. Sonja could've stopped him, maybe, but we couldn't. We couldn't even stop the things holding us. He didn't have time to fuck around because she would've come. But she wouldn't be able to come quick enough."

Her voice is empty; it hurts, to be forced through this, and while the examination of it assures her that she's right, the painful part is the doubt, the judgement, the fact that she has to sit here justifying her own death to somebody else. After a few moments of silence, Angus spills out of her lap and Ilde bolts to the bathroom to throw up.

She wanted clear. She got clear. Cindy drags a hand across her face and sighs because it's obvious she had to push Ilde emotionally to get anything out of her. Not the way she wanted things to go but what's done is done. She leaves Ilde to retch in the bathroom for a few minutes before she walks to stand in that doorway now.

"Are you done?" Vomiting she means. Don't be mistaken, Cindy does have some compassion in her, but it comes out more in her being oddly proud that Ilde decided to end things her way. "Come on. Get up. Just because you're dead doesn't mean I'll let you lie on the bathroom floor."

Ilde was going to die that day, one way or the other; she knows, she is sure, that the right thing to do was go out her way. That she could at least take that victory away from him. She's still dead, but it's her choice - Kelly's, and hers - and not his, and seriously, fuck that guy.

This is what runs through her mind as she rests her hands and weight on the toilet seat, letting herself steady before she says anything. "I've got it," she says, vaguely, possibly meaning composure and probably being wrong about that. There's not much in her stomach, though, and she spits out the taste of bile before she straightens. Water. Maybe mouthwash--

...or hugs, first, Cindy just cope.

Hugs aren't poison. Cindy can deal with them and any and all hugs from Ilde. The woman needs something solid anyway. Cindy tugs Ilde closer to her by wrapping her arms around Ilde's shoulder and slowly strokesher still damp hair.

"I made you a sandwich and I want you to eat it." Do dead people in Baedal need to eat? The non vampire, cruovore type dead people, that is.

"Okay." Ivan had got her sandwiches, too, weeks ago (not as many for him as for her) when things had got messy; it had been surreal, she remembers. Not bad sandwiches, though, which is an odd thought that she ignores, pressing her forehead to Cindy's shoulder while she gets her feet back under her.

Cindy may be the queen of tough love, but she's not about to push Ilde away. In fact, she squeezes her even tighter. Even the hardest bitches need a hug now and then, and though Ilde isn't what Cindy would describe as a hard bitch, she will describe herself as one. And she needs the hug herself. God forbid she admit she worried and missed Ilde.

The fairy has made herself a little place in Cindy's heart, okay?

Sooner or later, they do actually have to go downstairs; it's a while, but it does happen and Ilde picks determinedly at the sandwich in question, not hungry but well aware that she should eat something. Focus. When she feels more sure of her own feet and how well she can be alone, she'll go down to the river, and -- that'll help, she thinks. She knows. Just not yet.

There's so much she needs to do that it's overwhelming and it's not what she should be thinking about yet, not what she's ready for, except it's the only way she knows how to cope. (Or to not cope and pretend.) It's the only way she knows how to react.

Definitely not yet on Ilde being alone. Cindy accompanies her to the kitchen, choosing to stand leaning against the counter, sipping a cup of tea and watching Ilde pick at her meal. She's not sure what her next move should be. Ilde needs therapy (for a whole host of problems that have come before dying... like vampire problems), at the very least to come to terms with it, but Cindy is a spy and a shoe schlepper. She isn't certified to do much but buy booze and keep it coming as a coping mechanism.

"I'm staying here." For the night, for a week, for however long it takes for Ilde to get back on her feet. Cindy isn't taking no for an answer.

Ilde, looking up at her, nods once and -- relaxes, just barely. It's surreal, being here without Sonja; it's all she can think of, that she hasn't been since they met and it picks at her. She thinks if she were all by herself, properly, she'd just-- it just wouldn't be right.

"I have to, um...I have to figure things out." But that can wait.

Cindy nods. "Yeah, you do." But she still isn't leaving. In fact, right after Ilde finishes eating--which she will because Cindy will make sure that plate is sparkling clean--she's going to find wherever Ilde and Sonja store their linens and make a little bed out of the couch. She's slept on worse. She can deal.

"Thank you," she says, quietly; the words feel vastly insufficient, but they're all there is right now and she means it.

They may feel that way, but they mean the world to Cindy. In her line of work, she usually gets a paycheck without those words. They come few and far in between.

"Don't mention it, doll," she replies after walking over to gently ruffle Ilde's hair. "Just doing my job." As a friend.

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