ataraxionlogs | ( open ) why are you my remedy?

[ He lets her in, sort of-- indicates to her, through swift and subtle mental nudges, the things she is welcome to, like the water jug and glasses on the dresser, the painkillers he has stashed in his drawer, if she's not already on top of it.

Charles retreats, meanwhile, back to his own bed, settling at a crawl to where he'd been reclined before she arrived, sitting up against gathered pillows atop bedsheets. It's dark, in here, the lights dimmed right down to a gentle sort of ambient glow. There is tangible relief she can pick up on from him once he is settled and unmoving. ]

Never better. You?

Great.

[ it's an absent-minded answer, not overly sarcastic in tone for all that the word is, of course, entirely untrue. she takes his invitation to some water and one of the painkillers.

once she's swallowed it down with long sips of water, she stands at the edge of the bed, glass still lifted halfway and hovering there. hesitation is probably unnecessary, and yet she pauses, a quiet nudge to his mind, can i- an unasked question.

physical touch helps, and that's why she's here, but she can't quite bring herself to crawl onto his bed and settle against him without explicit invitation. ]

[ Fair enough, really.

Charles has tucked his arm up over his eyes while she sorts herself out around water and painkillers, because beyond medicating, perfect stillness and darkness seem to be ready helpers against the sharp shocks of headache knifing through his temples. Maybe if he is obedient in this way, he won't also bleed a lot from the face.

When he feels Cassandra hesitate, that arm lifts, opening up his body language. A burst blood vessel or two has flooded white with crimson at the corner of one of his eyes, more noticeable in flicking glance aside to regard her as he holds out a hand to help her into settling with him as she likes. ]

[ his body language is answer enough, though the offer his intent to help her settle with him helps, too. there's no more hesitation after that; she kicks off her boots before settling on the bed, moving upwards in something not quite the crawl he'd used but no more elegant than that. her movements are slow, carefully measured to avoid another bloody nose.

in the end, she settles with her head on his shoulder, body curved against the side of his. there's relief at the contact and there's relief at getting to lie down, being still. ]

Thank you.

[ His arm curls around her shoulders comfortably, and there's a pang of -- something -- some sad, small feeling, at the way the headaches seems to immediately withdraw. It's not gone entirely, that psychic trauma a continual factor, but he knows relief, and that's something.

The next few thoughts involve Erik, the other man's solitary ways, influencing and encouraging Charles' own solitary ways. To Raven, that he should find her, despite the fact they are sort of fighting right now. ]

How was your date?

[ his thoughts of erik are answered by some of her own; the encounter she'd shared with him in the gardens that had been stilted and awkward, none of the tentative friendship she'd once shared with erik, the mutual respect buried far and deep.

there's a moment's worry, fleeting and quickly chased away; did she do the right thing coming here, if it causes its own kind of pain? the worry doesn't last, soon replaced by memories of her date, freely shared with him. of the lights on the ceiling and the sweetness of the drink sirius had mixed, of the memory he'd shared of the potter family's garden and his bike, shifting to become her bike instead, the one given to her by the hall of justice that she'll likely never drive again because she (think that she) isn't a judge, isn't going to be one. even if she returns home now, that line of employment seems closed off to her. ]

[ There's a simmering undercurrent of dislike for Sirius Black and a feeling of abstract guilt towards the lingering memory of Severus Snape (which in itself carries a twang of genuine grief, buried, buried) that Charles isn't immediately informing Cassandra of all the ways he does not like that young man, but he conceals, anyway, and even this tone is kept to a practiced minimum.

And so follows a shimmer of apology -- his brain isn't great this cycle, honestly, and he allows these ideas and the notion of Cassandra's date to recall how he had described to Johanna Mason that it had been the shittest month before being invited up to see her. Inviting himself.

Bird's eye view, Johanna on her back on a lounge sofa, in an open sweatshirt and black underwear. His hand on her ankle and the other holding a bottle of wine.

Charles takes distraction where he can find it.

Better than thinking about Erik, maybe. ]

Why do you dislike him?

[ that seems to be the kind of thing that one should know when considering a second date with someone - or is it technically a third one, does the speeddating thing count as the first? the semantics of it escape anderson, but then they aren't particularly important, either.

the apologetic note is brushed aside, not because it isn't accepted but because he has no reason, as far as she knows, to apologise to her. none required.

and then he thinks about johanna. her mind does the equivalent of a slow blink; there is no other reaction. erik thinking about charles and himself together had received only a little more of a reaction, but thoughts of erik - thoughts of erik are complicated.

thoughts of johanna mean relatively little to anderson, in comparison. she shifts her head a little on his shoulder, nose brushing against the material of his shirt, fingers of one hand splaying over his heart.

there's a brief thought, mental image of her own: lying curled up like this in a hospital bed with roy, fingers on his pulsepoint and each beat of his heart reminding her that there were people on the tranquility, not ghosts. ]

[ His hand comes up to rest flat against where hers lays on his chest. Lets thoughts run as they may, after initial resistance shaped like he doesn't want to ruin something for her, but it doesn't last.

Vindictive schoolyard history, cultivated, brewed into something truly toxic and harmful. Sirius is so charming on the network and so charming in Cassandra's memories and so charming as he teases and belittles Severus which is not a memory Charles has access to, but he remembers how Severus had described it: harassed because he was poor and ugly and got better grades.

Sirius and his categorical hatred for Charles' friend. Getting Severus hurt, getting Severus in trouble. Charles in Tyke's office, defending Severus from Sirius doing some damn thing, with such righteous frustration when she refused to see reason, because Sirius was her friend.

He feels it now, on a delay, feels it like prodding a very old bruise. He'd been so angry on Snape's behalf, not the least of which because Snape had believed so thoroughly that no one would care.

It's such a petty tangle without being petty at all.

He remembers, abstractly, the medical bay, the emergency red lights, the deep shadows. There's Snape (framed with a certain grim loyalty of friendship in Charles' mind) sitting on the ground, his hair black, the blood on his face red. There's Lily, crouching next to him, working quickly with her wand to ensure that he doesn't lose that eye. Hindsight says this is Sirius' fault. Sirius' intent.

In his room, he shakes his head slightly, as if to steer him off that path. The dislike is real and still present, even if it's been some months, now. And Severus is gone. ]

You could do better, is all, [ he says, out loud. Ha ha. ]

[ there's a lot of thought there, resentment and anger - it's more than anderson would have expected, but it isn't enough to prompt her to draw back from charles. all she does is turn her head and force her eyes open so that she can look at him.

sirius has been nothing but charming to her, but she doesn't think severus or charles are liars, wouldn't accuse either of them of it, especially not charles. maybe the two pictures aren't incompatible at all, and maybe that's worrisome.

for a moment, she worries her lower lip between her teeth, before closing her eyes again with a sigh. her thoughts are open for charles to read as usual, the hint of worry and of hurt not her own, the desire to understand, to untangle whatever emotion lead severus and sirius down their respective paths, and selfishly a desire to ignore it all. ] I don't think it is all that serious.

[ not serious with sirius, bad puns at eleven.

she likes spending time with him not because she's in love or overly emotionally invested, but because he brings a lightheartedness to things that is all but foreign to anderson. ]

( open ) why are you my remedy?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject