[OPEN + CLOSED] And sooner or later, it's over

[midnightroads]

When: Post-Carnival February
Where: Chatterbox, Tauva, etc.
Summary: Bash is not doing well. But he's coping?
Warnings:

1. And I don't want the world to see me [Closed to Ossie]
Erin and Giles have both suggested that maybe Bash talk to Ossie, but he's been a little shy, a little chickenshit about it, but like. He's finally worked up the courage to send a text. Like, nothing huge, nothing that's going to rock his or Ossie's world. In fact, it's only three words. Eight letters and a punctuation mark.

hey u busy?

This is what an act of bravery looks like.


2. 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand [Chatterbox]
Of course, there's another thing someone can do when they're upset. They can sing about it.

Bash has been hyperaware of the fact that his boyfriend's a whole bard, so he didn't really tell Jeff where he was going on this particular night before sneaking out to Chatterbox and occupying the stage. He's, uh. He's sure doing some feeling-y songs, from Green Day's "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" to MCR's "I'm Not Okay (I Promise) to some early Linkin Park. Look, he's just laying it all out on the stage while he's alone. Because he is alone, right? There's no one about to walk in and see him pouring his guts out.

Right?


3. When everything's made to be broken [Sand Dollars]
Some things are a constant. Bash taking time to make coffee for people is one of them. In some other universe, he might have had a cafe, but in this one, all he has is Sand Dollars, and the time he gets with anyone who wants a cuppa.

Come say hi, he's brewing the good shit today.


4. I just want you to know who I am [Wildcard]
darkersolstice or darkersolstice#9463 to plot

Comments

[skaikru]

"I don't really know. I think so."

And:

"...I think so." With the I don't really know heavily implied, but unspoken. Her teeth set and begin to grind after those utterances and it proves to be a hell of a lot easier to look past Bash and back onto the stage he'd just been singing on for the last few hours.

[midnightroads]

"I hope someday, you find your certainty, Clarke." He slips off the stage and starts to walk away, aware he's pushed her too far.

[skaikru]

Certainty is a flighty ideal; some days concrete and apparent and immovable like a rock, some days more like water one attempts to cup in their hands only to have it leak through fingers.

One thing for certain, however; Clarke absolutely frickin' detests the fact he had managed to rattle her and then proceeded to just try to walk away. That's her move, and It cannot stand. So as he moves, she cranes around in her seat and calls:

"Hey, Bash?"

[midnightroads]

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He pauses, turns around to face her. Calm, he’s very calm. Divine stillness, something any divinity of death and darkness can pull off.

[skaikru]

First, the very clipped, almost polite correction of — "You know my name." Sweetheart is a term nostalgically preserved as something her father would call her, and Jake Griffin isn't here.

Secondly, pushing and prying goes both ways. Clarke just lacks the tactic of softening up through music before going for the tender spots.

"Were you up there singing your heart out because the ghosts in the mirrors consumed you, Skulduggery Pleasant decapitated you, or something else?"

[midnightroads]

Bash hears her question and he laughs. What she’s trying to do is obvious, but she’s missed the mark by a country mile. Like, yes, those things happened to him, but that’s not where his tender spots lie.

“I think it was only one ghost in the mirror, the one with golden flames for eyes. But naw, that’s not a reason to break out MCR by itself.”

[skaikru]

Well. No one likes being laughed at, but Clarke brushes it off. Quietly makes a note of the one with golden flames for eyes, but moves on. She may have cast the net a little wide, but reeling it in could still yield something.

"If not dying horribly, then what earns catharsis through My Chemical Romance?"

Thank you Sharky Boshaw for enough of a pop culture education to know what MCR stands for.

[midnightroads]

He tilts his head to one side, considering her for a moment.

“You know, getting decapitated made me realize I need to be tougher, sharper, more decisive even when it breaks me to do so. I’m used to being able to solve all my problems by being kind, even when that kindness has thorns.” He pauses and then turns back toward the door. “I’m fucked up over the idea of becoming more like you.”

[skaikru]

...ouch?

That's an assessment of her character that's probably supposed to hurt. But it's more like a blunted knife digging at scar tissue than anything sharp and lancing. Something in Clarke's guts twist, but she doesn't wince — not that Bash would have seen it anyways, as he turned to leave. She swallows down the kneejerk you don't even know me, and the deeper, unkind and simple good luck. And just watches him leave.

Then sits back in her chair — leg tapping, fingers thrumming, chest tight; a lot of energy all of a sudden, and in need of a productive outlet. What could possibly have been a prime opportunity for soul searching feels more like furthering her own condemnation as a person and is thus cut short. Five minutes after Bash leaves, Clarke follows suit.