Katurian Katurian (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
goryteller) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capeandcowllogs2012-01-18 11:30 pm
goryteller) wrote in capeandcowllogs2012-01-18 11:30 pm
(no subject)
WHO: Katurian Katurian and Edward Nygma
WHERE: Coffee shop!
WHEN: 1/17
WARNINGS: None that I can think of.
SUMMARY: Edward confronts Katurian about his feelings.
FORMAT: Starting with paragraph!
In the months and months since Sylph's death, in the weeks and weeks since Desire tore itself right out of his head, Katurian has drawn inward. He's avoided the Network. He hasn't left his house much, though he still emerges from his bedroom to speak with Andy. In a rare burst of sociability, he spends time exploring the city with Cassie, laughing and smiling, and then he returns home to stare at his typewriter. Consumed.
How does this go? He remembers how it goes. The first word goes--
--the second word goes--
--and he thinks the third word goes--
He holds his head, his fingers digging into his scalp until it bleeds. He thinks about Michal, and then he thinks about the knife he keeps in his alternative apartment. The pillow mask. And then he writes.
The phone call catches him in one of these sessions, and he almost ignores it, but the ribbon on his typewriter is dry that day and the letters are fading, fading, fading, and he's so frustrated that his writing is interrupted that he picks up the phone without thinking. What?! he spits into it, his hands shaking.
A day later, and he's at a coffee shop with Edward Nygma.
WHERE: Coffee shop!
WHEN: 1/17
WARNINGS: None that I can think of.
SUMMARY: Edward confronts Katurian about his feelings.
FORMAT: Starting with paragraph!
In the months and months since Sylph's death, in the weeks and weeks since Desire tore itself right out of his head, Katurian has drawn inward. He's avoided the Network. He hasn't left his house much, though he still emerges from his bedroom to speak with Andy. In a rare burst of sociability, he spends time exploring the city with Cassie, laughing and smiling, and then he returns home to stare at his typewriter. Consumed.
How does this go? He remembers how it goes. The first word goes--
Once--the second word goes--
upon--and he thinks the third word goes--
aHe holds his head, his fingers digging into his scalp until it bleeds. He thinks about Michal, and then he thinks about the knife he keeps in his alternative apartment. The pillow mask. And then he writes.
The phone call catches him in one of these sessions, and he almost ignores it, but the ribbon on his typewriter is dry that day and the letters are fading, fading, fading, and he's so frustrated that his writing is interrupted that he picks up the phone without thinking. What?! he spits into it, his hands shaking.
A day later, and he's at a coffee shop with Edward Nygma.
no subject
"Of course," he said. "But of course." He leaned back, creating distance between himself an Katurian. For the first time during their conversation, he created a very willful distance.
"You still don't know when you ring false, do you?"
no subject
(Sherlock Holmes. He needed to keep his distance from Sherlock Holmes because the things he had done made him the fucking villain in this story.)
--But that wasn't it. The realization sprang upon him, those first words. The only thing he depended on.
He dropped his eyes.
no subject
He wasn't wearing a smile, not anymore.
"Sometimes you don't want to know the truth."