Shiver.
Shiver.
Shiver.
Shiver.
Ring the doorbell. You can do it, Mizore.
Alice Blake
There was something she had to do.
"I...I'm h-happy to see you again, Alice." Vic coughed and even managed to ignore the pain, because Alice was back. "I'm sorry I left you before. I-I'm sorry I ran away. I can't tell you how happy I am that you gave me another chance." With considerable effort, Vic managed to lift her hand, running it lovingly over the cheek of the woman above her. "Thank you for coming back."
She wanted to look away from the terrified expression on the woman's face, but she couldn't. If she was going to die, it would be knowing Alice was still with her. Vic's hand tightened on Alice's for a few fleeting seconds. "I love you, Alice. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm leaving you behind again. I love you, so much. I wish, I wish we were still at home, back at your place." She felt a tear well in her eye, and she was surprised that it was the first. "I'm sorry Alice. I wish we had more time."
It hadn't been Alice. It had been Mizore that Victoria was talking to, Mizore because I leaned over you, terrified, and you thought I was her. Flicker-flash, and the light goes out behind your eyes. One true love moves to the other side. And where does that leave the rest of us?
Like Alice Blake, apparently. In an apartment. Mizore had talked to the landlord, the landlord who had recognized her as a celebrity twice-over, Radio Asuka and the girl on Survival of the Fittest. One in the same. Alice Blake had barely left her apartment. And where does that leave us?
Ringing doorbells, apparently.
And--fuck--Alice answered. Didn't say a word. Nothing but blue-purple circles under her eyes.
But Mizore had to hold the doorframe to keep from falling.
"Hey, I'm--I'm Mizore Soryu." And I hope I'm not letting you see how much this scares me. "You can--you can slam the door on me if you want, but--when your girlfriend died, I was there. And I don't know what I can do to-" I was in love with the killer, I was in love with the killer and I didn't stop him "--well. If there's any way I can--closure, I'll--I'll try."
And Where Does That Leave The Rest Of Us?
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storyspoiler*
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Sister Grimm*
- Posts: 172
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
Ever since Bounce, no, Liz, ever since Liz had come by, things had been...better. Better? Maybe that wasn't the word. No, not better. Not as bad. Things weren't quite as bad, since then. Alice was...coping. Trying to, at least. But, it wasn't as bad as it was.
Liz had finally reached her a few days before. 2, maybe 3. It was still hard for her, to think or focus. Still wrapped up in guilt and anguish as she was. She wasn't suicidal anymore. Liz had changed that, at least. There was no longer the risk that she'd summon up some before-hidden reserves of courage and finally go through with it. At least there was that. She'd started eating again, finally giving way to Liz and her wheedling. She might even have taken a shower at one point.
But that was the most she could claim in way of progress. Sleep still didn't come easily. Nightmares were still frequent. She still didn't leave the apartment. The only contact she had with the outside world was with Liz, and that mostly consisted of Alice struggling to move past monosyllabic answers to whatever she was asked. But she had a goal now, protecting Liz and keeping her safe. It was something she could focus on, and that helped. Her home still held that funereal air, Alice still being afraid to disrupt anything, but Liz was trying to ease her out of that. She was still showing that complete lack of thought toward her appearance, though she looked a little less like a drug addict at present. Her hair was still wild and unkempt, the purple bruises under her eyes still present. But change wouldn't be instantaneous, or quick.
There was more guilt now, if that was possible. Beside her guilt over Vic's death, over killing Ash, now Alice could only think of how she was betraying the woman she loved. Vic hadn't been gone long, and here Alice was with another woman. Did that make her as horrible a person as she thought it did? It certainly made her feel fucking awful.
But, at the same time, she felt like it was one of things keeping her going. Knowing that Liz needed her, that offered Alice at least some strength. Not a lot, and not nearly enough to banish the gnawing guilt, but some.
And now she had another visitor. Press, media, somebody like that, Alice guessed. It would figure that they showed up when Liz wasn't here to shoo them away. Alice didn't want to deal with them. She looked through the peephole and felt some small stirring of surprise. A student, former student, a survivor. Alice hadn't expected anyone else from Bayview. Granted, she hadn't given it any thought, but now that she was, it was surprising. She opened the door. The woman, Mizore Alice thought, stood uneasily in front of her. Alice waited, expressionless, as she stammered out the reason for her visit. The mention of Victoria's name made Alice flinch. For a few moments, Alice was torn. She had enough grief as it was, and this wouldn't help. She was almost tempted to slam the door like the girl suggested. Instead, she stood aside and held the door open.
The girl filed in and Alice closed the door behind her. They took seats on opposite ends of the couch. Alice tried to center on the blank TV in front of her, knowing that Mizore's face was one of the last things Vic saw, not knowing if she could handle looking at her and and thinking that. Neither said a word, and when the tension seemed almost choking, Alice asked, her voice a reedy stammer, "H-how did she...? You...you said you were there." She left the sentence open, leaving the other girl the fill in the blanks.
Liz had finally reached her a few days before. 2, maybe 3. It was still hard for her, to think or focus. Still wrapped up in guilt and anguish as she was. She wasn't suicidal anymore. Liz had changed that, at least. There was no longer the risk that she'd summon up some before-hidden reserves of courage and finally go through with it. At least there was that. She'd started eating again, finally giving way to Liz and her wheedling. She might even have taken a shower at one point.
But that was the most she could claim in way of progress. Sleep still didn't come easily. Nightmares were still frequent. She still didn't leave the apartment. The only contact she had with the outside world was with Liz, and that mostly consisted of Alice struggling to move past monosyllabic answers to whatever she was asked. But she had a goal now, protecting Liz and keeping her safe. It was something she could focus on, and that helped. Her home still held that funereal air, Alice still being afraid to disrupt anything, but Liz was trying to ease her out of that. She was still showing that complete lack of thought toward her appearance, though she looked a little less like a drug addict at present. Her hair was still wild and unkempt, the purple bruises under her eyes still present. But change wouldn't be instantaneous, or quick.
There was more guilt now, if that was possible. Beside her guilt over Vic's death, over killing Ash, now Alice could only think of how she was betraying the woman she loved. Vic hadn't been gone long, and here Alice was with another woman. Did that make her as horrible a person as she thought it did? It certainly made her feel fucking awful.
But, at the same time, she felt like it was one of things keeping her going. Knowing that Liz needed her, that offered Alice at least some strength. Not a lot, and not nearly enough to banish the gnawing guilt, but some.
And now she had another visitor. Press, media, somebody like that, Alice guessed. It would figure that they showed up when Liz wasn't here to shoo them away. Alice didn't want to deal with them. She looked through the peephole and felt some small stirring of surprise. A student, former student, a survivor. Alice hadn't expected anyone else from Bayview. Granted, she hadn't given it any thought, but now that she was, it was surprising. She opened the door. The woman, Mizore Alice thought, stood uneasily in front of her. Alice waited, expressionless, as she stammered out the reason for her visit. The mention of Victoria's name made Alice flinch. For a few moments, Alice was torn. She had enough grief as it was, and this wouldn't help. She was almost tempted to slam the door like the girl suggested. Instead, she stood aside and held the door open.
The girl filed in and Alice closed the door behind her. They took seats on opposite ends of the couch. Alice tried to center on the blank TV in front of her, knowing that Mizore's face was one of the last things Vic saw, not knowing if she could handle looking at her and and thinking that. Neither said a word, and when the tension seemed almost choking, Alice asked, her voice a reedy stammer, "H-how did she...? You...you said you were there." She left the sentence open, leaving the other girl the fill in the blanks.
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storyspoiler*
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"So." Hands on her knees. Sweating. Memories. "I was in a house. With--with Naoko Raidon." But this was not the time to think about her pain, about his, this was the time to think about Alice's pain. "She came in--Victoria came in, and he was on the top of the stairs, and she was at the bottom of the stairs, and I--I was sitting on the banister. Victoria shot, and Raidon shot--I think--I think they'd had an altercation sometime before--and I fell off the banister. Victoria was--hurt. Bleeding. She--she thought I was you. She said--she said she was sorry for leaving you. She said--she said she wished she had more time."
That wasn't so hard, was it? A short, short story. But Mizore's hands were shaking now. It was the same feeling as with Julian in the woods, a long, long time ago. You're supposed to be the good person. You're supposed to be the good guy, Mizore. What if she finds out you were in love with him? What if she already knows?
It doesn't matter if she hates him.
It doesn't matter if she hates him.
You're just here to tell a story. If the world hates him, and hates you for loving him, what's that got to do with anything?
But her hands were sweating, dark marks on her jeans, and her wrists hurt from trembling tension.
If she could keep the focus on Alice--Victoria and Alice--then everything would be alright.
That wasn't so hard, was it? A short, short story. But Mizore's hands were shaking now. It was the same feeling as with Julian in the woods, a long, long time ago. You're supposed to be the good person. You're supposed to be the good guy, Mizore. What if she finds out you were in love with him? What if she already knows?
It doesn't matter if she hates him.
It doesn't matter if she hates him.
You're just here to tell a story. If the world hates him, and hates you for loving him, what's that got to do with anything?
But her hands were sweating, dark marks on her jeans, and her wrists hurt from trembling tension.
If she could keep the focus on Alice--Victoria and Alice--then everything would be alright.
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Sister Grimm*
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- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
Alice didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear this. Each word Mizore said was a reminder of how badly and irrevocably she had failed. If she'd killed Raidon when she had the chance, if she'd protected Vic like she promised she would...If she'd been there, things would have been different. Maybe Vic would be sitting here right now instead. It would have been better. Would have been right. But this, this just confirmed what Alice already knew. Vic had gone after Raidon because of her. Gone after revenge. Gotten killed because of it.
If it wasn't for her, Vic would still be alive. If it wasn't for Raidon.
Her fists clenched together, white-knuckled. She wanted to scream, to lash out. Something. She felt helpless, frustrated, fighting against something she couldn't help or change. She was never the person who would claim that life was ever fair. But knowing that the woman she loved, her true love, was dead because of her actions, her inaction...it was impossible to deal with or accept. It had been hard before, almost unbearably hard, but she'd been dealing. She'd connected the dots, Victoria Logan, killed by Naoko Raidon. It only made sense that Vic had gone after him. But she'd only guessed, theorized. No confirmation. But this, this was confirmation of her worst fears.
Mizore was still sitting next to her, silent, forgotten almost as soon as the words had left her mouth. Alice buried her head in her hands, tried to force herself calm. Tears, her body trembling as she tried to keep from breaking down again. After these days with Liz, it had been better. But it all threatened to come undone with a few simple sentences. Besides the fact that it was confirmed that Vic's death was her fault, there was the revelation that Vic had been thinking of her in those last moments. Thinking of her, begging forgiveness. Oh, what Alice would have given to have been there. If she could have prevented it, at least she would have been there to offer comfort. Vic had been thinking of Alice to the last. The small comfort that offered was outweighed by the guilt.
Why couldn't it have been her? Why couldn't it have been Alice? That would have been fair. An eye for an eye. Alice tried to kill him, it would have been right that he killed her instead. Not Vic. Never Vic.
Eventually, Alice looked up, just out of the corner of her eye, face still buried in her hands. It had been a nagging detail, one buzzing at the back of her head. "Why were you there? Where do you fit into this?"
If it wasn't for her, Vic would still be alive. If it wasn't for Raidon.
Her fists clenched together, white-knuckled. She wanted to scream, to lash out. Something. She felt helpless, frustrated, fighting against something she couldn't help or change. She was never the person who would claim that life was ever fair. But knowing that the woman she loved, her true love, was dead because of her actions, her inaction...it was impossible to deal with or accept. It had been hard before, almost unbearably hard, but she'd been dealing. She'd connected the dots, Victoria Logan, killed by Naoko Raidon. It only made sense that Vic had gone after him. But she'd only guessed, theorized. No confirmation. But this, this was confirmation of her worst fears.
Mizore was still sitting next to her, silent, forgotten almost as soon as the words had left her mouth. Alice buried her head in her hands, tried to force herself calm. Tears, her body trembling as she tried to keep from breaking down again. After these days with Liz, it had been better. But it all threatened to come undone with a few simple sentences. Besides the fact that it was confirmed that Vic's death was her fault, there was the revelation that Vic had been thinking of her in those last moments. Thinking of her, begging forgiveness. Oh, what Alice would have given to have been there. If she could have prevented it, at least she would have been there to offer comfort. Vic had been thinking of Alice to the last. The small comfort that offered was outweighed by the guilt.
Why couldn't it have been her? Why couldn't it have been Alice? That would have been fair. An eye for an eye. Alice tried to kill him, it would have been right that he killed her instead. Not Vic. Never Vic.
Eventually, Alice looked up, just out of the corner of her eye, face still buried in her hands. It had been a nagging detail, one buzzing at the back of her head. "Why were you there? Where do you fit into this?"
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storyspoiler*
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And Mizore was forgotten, as Alice curled up, trembled, white-knuckled, pale. As Alice cried.
See what you've done, Raidon? See what you've done?
Screaming at him in her mind was not going to help. She put a hand on Alice's back, tentatively. She had never been good at giving comfort.
"Why were you there? Where do you fit into this?"
Mizore had expected to feel dread at this question, to go pale, to sit silent. To lie. But the dread didn't come, and the lies didn't bubble forth unbidden. Instead, it was the truth.
"I was looking for Raidon." And she couldn't touch Alice while she said this part, so she moved her hand, lightly. Hard to notice. "We met on the first day. We talked. He seemed to understand--he was doing it wrong, he was convinced he had to kill, but he was the first person who didn't deny what he was doing. He--refused to present himself as a victim of circumstance. And I admired him for that." She could see Alice balling her fists, and wondered what she had invited upon herself. "He had--I was painting at the time, the first time we met, and he intended to kill me." The memory, the salt-tasting fear of that, still, and the arousal that followed, was vivid. "I told him--I told him that he could, but I asked, I think, if I could move over first, so the blood wouldn't get on the painting. And he didn't kill me. We spoke. And later--I tried to find him again."
There were a thousand lies she could tell here. I wanted to see if I could prevent him from killing. That was even a truth, if not a whole truth. I wanted him to protect me. I wanted him to kill me. The two usual modes on the island, desperate self-preservation and even more desperate despair. Those were usual. Those were good motivations.
But they weren't true.
"I wanted to talk to him more."
That, at least, was the simplest form of truth.
See what you've done, Raidon? See what you've done?
Screaming at him in her mind was not going to help. She put a hand on Alice's back, tentatively. She had never been good at giving comfort.
"Why were you there? Where do you fit into this?"
Mizore had expected to feel dread at this question, to go pale, to sit silent. To lie. But the dread didn't come, and the lies didn't bubble forth unbidden. Instead, it was the truth.
"I was looking for Raidon." And she couldn't touch Alice while she said this part, so she moved her hand, lightly. Hard to notice. "We met on the first day. We talked. He seemed to understand--he was doing it wrong, he was convinced he had to kill, but he was the first person who didn't deny what he was doing. He--refused to present himself as a victim of circumstance. And I admired him for that." She could see Alice balling her fists, and wondered what she had invited upon herself. "He had--I was painting at the time, the first time we met, and he intended to kill me." The memory, the salt-tasting fear of that, still, and the arousal that followed, was vivid. "I told him--I told him that he could, but I asked, I think, if I could move over first, so the blood wouldn't get on the painting. And he didn't kill me. We spoke. And later--I tried to find him again."
There were a thousand lies she could tell here. I wanted to see if I could prevent him from killing. That was even a truth, if not a whole truth. I wanted him to protect me. I wanted him to kill me. The two usual modes on the island, desperate self-preservation and even more desperate despair. Those were usual. Those were good motivations.
But they weren't true.
"I wanted to talk to him more."
That, at least, was the simplest form of truth.
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Sister Grimm*
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She wanted to be angry. She really did. Raidon was a killer, had been from the start. And Mizore had traveled with him, befriended him. Now she was here, killing Alice all over again, making excuses for the person who had ruined her life. Sitting next to her, acting like she was doing Alice a favor when things would have been better off if she never knew. No, anger, anger seemed like a reasonable and understandable response. But, as much as she wanted to shout or scream, she couldn't drudge up to emotion. Instead, there was just grief. Pained, anguished, grief.
No doubt Mizore had visited with the best intentions, but all it did was pour salt on the wound. Because she'd be dealing with Vic's death. Coming to terms. And now she had to hear how Raidon was really sort a decent person all along. That was probably what hit her the most. That she was defending him. The guy who had been on the announcements pretty much every day. The guy who, up until his death, must have been one of the top killers on the island.
She wished she'd stayed on the island. Made sure Liz was safe first, then turn her attention to hunting down Raidon. It would have been entirely for Vic, there was no question about that. There could be a lot of noble talk about what a monster he was, among the top killers and all that, but that didn't matter to her. Until he killed Vic, Alice didn't care what he did. It wasn't her problem. But after that, there was nothing she wanted more than revenge.
Alice turned her head fully, resting one arm across her knees and bracing the other against her forehead. "Just because he knew it was wrong doesn't make him any less a monster. Sparing you doesn't change anything either. He was still a murderer."
And for a moment, she thought of Ash. Imagined her throwing about accusations about hypocrisy. It was funny, in a way. Alice had never met her before then, but she always thought of her with a sort of familiarity. Imagining what she liked, what she didn't. Who she was. The things she'd never do or see. She wondered if Raidon ever thought of the people he killed in a similar fashion. If he ever thought about Vic. Ever regretted killing her. Unlikely, she guessed. That was one of the differences between the two of them. Alice had killed in self-defense, Raidon hadn't. That didn't make what Alice did okay, but it put her on high enough moral ground that she could safely call Raidon a murderer. At least, that's what she told herself.
Alice grimaced, looking back at the floor. This wasn't about Ash, it was about Raidon. "So, you found him, talked to him more. Did you decide that he was misunderstood right then, or later, after he killed a few more people?
No doubt Mizore had visited with the best intentions, but all it did was pour salt on the wound. Because she'd be dealing with Vic's death. Coming to terms. And now she had to hear how Raidon was really sort a decent person all along. That was probably what hit her the most. That she was defending him. The guy who had been on the announcements pretty much every day. The guy who, up until his death, must have been one of the top killers on the island.
She wished she'd stayed on the island. Made sure Liz was safe first, then turn her attention to hunting down Raidon. It would have been entirely for Vic, there was no question about that. There could be a lot of noble talk about what a monster he was, among the top killers and all that, but that didn't matter to her. Until he killed Vic, Alice didn't care what he did. It wasn't her problem. But after that, there was nothing she wanted more than revenge.
Alice turned her head fully, resting one arm across her knees and bracing the other against her forehead. "Just because he knew it was wrong doesn't make him any less a monster. Sparing you doesn't change anything either. He was still a murderer."
And for a moment, she thought of Ash. Imagined her throwing about accusations about hypocrisy. It was funny, in a way. Alice had never met her before then, but she always thought of her with a sort of familiarity. Imagining what she liked, what she didn't. Who she was. The things she'd never do or see. She wondered if Raidon ever thought of the people he killed in a similar fashion. If he ever thought about Vic. Ever regretted killing her. Unlikely, she guessed. That was one of the differences between the two of them. Alice had killed in self-defense, Raidon hadn't. That didn't make what Alice did okay, but it put her on high enough moral ground that she could safely call Raidon a murderer. At least, that's what she told herself.
Alice grimaced, looking back at the floor. This wasn't about Ash, it was about Raidon. "So, you found him, talked to him more. Did you decide that he was misunderstood right then, or later, after he killed a few more people?
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storyspoiler*
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Alice turned her head fully, resting one arm across her knees and bracing the other against her forehead. "Just because he knew it was wrong doesn't make him any less a monster. Sparing you doesn't change anything either. He was still a murderer."
Monster.
"So, you found him, talked to him more. Did you decide that he was misunderstood right then, or later, after he killed a few more people?"
That hurt, enough to make her hiss and draw her knees to her face. Sitting on the couch, curled in the fetal position. Because of course Alice had guessed. You stayed with him. You talked to him. You enabled him. It's bloody obvious.
Murderer.
Not strong enough to remain a pacifist. All the freeganism, veganism, flower-child paintings, they're not yours anymore, are they? They were products of past-Mizore, Mizore before the island. A Mizore who was far too innocent.
Because you hadn't tasted something so delicious as bloody sin, now, had you? One hint of teenage romance, and your precious resolve goes out the window. And you chase a murderer, and you chase a boy, and even at the end, you wouldn't let him go.
Thoughts like smooth heavy rounds of iron, ugly, heavy and hard to let go.
Enabler.
Accessory.
Murderer.
Murderer.
To Alice, it would be easiest to lie. No, not lie. Because he wasn't misunderstood. "He was never misunderstood."
She spoke quietly now.
"He was a murderer."
The natural next thing to say:
And I wish I hadn't stayed with him.
That would have been an easy lie. A lie to satisfy Alice. Maybe Mizore Soryu, Radio Asuka, would seem a coward with that lie--but at least she would be forgivable.
She didn't say it.
I'm sorry, Alice. You really are going to hate me forever now.
"I'm not God. I'm not going to say forgive and forget, because that's bullshit." She stood up, and began pacing, for lack of anything else to do. Restless. Caged. Afraid. "He wasn't a decent person. He wasn't secretly a good man, driven to killing by desperate cowardice and hasty self-defense. I would have respected him far less if he were that. No. He was quite premeditated. He chose to play the game. He decided, almost immediately, I think, to play by Mister Danya's rules. When the boats came, he took the consequences. He wasn't sad about that; it wasn't unjust. Some of the others begged to get on the boats. He never did. I tried for him. He refused."
There was no hallucinogenic vision of Raidon egging her on. No memory, no phantom feel beneath her fingers of his face, bones like eggshell, his restless eyelids, him sleeping beside her. No love-note, no will, no video clips obsessive-watched repeated on the internet.
No, that would come later.
"If you wish you'd gotten revenge on him, the island's done it for you. Killed by one Ema Ryan. Bled out. Utterly horrible. I suspect worse than you could have done, or would have wanted to, although maybe you wish you'd done it with your own hands. Still, now he's dead."
And that was the truth, and it didn't feel so sharp and ugly anymore.
Monster.
"So, you found him, talked to him more. Did you decide that he was misunderstood right then, or later, after he killed a few more people?"
That hurt, enough to make her hiss and draw her knees to her face. Sitting on the couch, curled in the fetal position. Because of course Alice had guessed. You stayed with him. You talked to him. You enabled him. It's bloody obvious.
Murderer.
Not strong enough to remain a pacifist. All the freeganism, veganism, flower-child paintings, they're not yours anymore, are they? They were products of past-Mizore, Mizore before the island. A Mizore who was far too innocent.
Because you hadn't tasted something so delicious as bloody sin, now, had you? One hint of teenage romance, and your precious resolve goes out the window. And you chase a murderer, and you chase a boy, and even at the end, you wouldn't let him go.
Thoughts like smooth heavy rounds of iron, ugly, heavy and hard to let go.
Enabler.
Accessory.
Murderer.
Murderer.
To Alice, it would be easiest to lie. No, not lie. Because he wasn't misunderstood. "He was never misunderstood."
She spoke quietly now.
"He was a murderer."
The natural next thing to say:
And I wish I hadn't stayed with him.
That would have been an easy lie. A lie to satisfy Alice. Maybe Mizore Soryu, Radio Asuka, would seem a coward with that lie--but at least she would be forgivable.
She didn't say it.
I'm sorry, Alice. You really are going to hate me forever now.
"I'm not God. I'm not going to say forgive and forget, because that's bullshit." She stood up, and began pacing, for lack of anything else to do. Restless. Caged. Afraid. "He wasn't a decent person. He wasn't secretly a good man, driven to killing by desperate cowardice and hasty self-defense. I would have respected him far less if he were that. No. He was quite premeditated. He chose to play the game. He decided, almost immediately, I think, to play by Mister Danya's rules. When the boats came, he took the consequences. He wasn't sad about that; it wasn't unjust. Some of the others begged to get on the boats. He never did. I tried for him. He refused."
There was no hallucinogenic vision of Raidon egging her on. No memory, no phantom feel beneath her fingers of his face, bones like eggshell, his restless eyelids, him sleeping beside her. No love-note, no will, no video clips obsessive-watched repeated on the internet.
No, that would come later.
"If you wish you'd gotten revenge on him, the island's done it for you. Killed by one Ema Ryan. Bled out. Utterly horrible. I suspect worse than you could have done, or would have wanted to, although maybe you wish you'd done it with your own hands. Still, now he's dead."
And that was the truth, and it didn't feel so sharp and ugly anymore.
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Sister Grimm*
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Stockholm syndrome, maybe? It was the only possible answer that put Mizore in any kind of favorable light. Assuming a favorable light was warranted. From her testimony, she was as guilty as Raidon. Just because she never pulled the trigger on someone didn't mean she wasn't at fault. Supporting him, making excuses for him. How did she defend that? What could she say that would make that okay?
Nothing. Vic was still dead. So was everyone else Raidon killed. And she had stood by him, supported him. There was nothing that she could possible say that would justify that.
Now she felt that anger, edging out the dead numbness, revitalizing her. Raidon might be dead and gone, but Mizore wasn't. She'd helped him, protected him. That put her in the wrong. Alice latched onto that, held it. Don't ask why, don't bother digging deeper. Maybe Mizore really did have a good reason, but Alice didn't want to hear what it was. Anger was easier, sharper, and right now, it was what Alice wanted.
Mizore climbed to her feet and began to pace. Alice watched her, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She listened as Mizore talked. Tried to see in Raidon the way she did.
But, as she brought up his death, Alice started to think. Worse than she could have done was...subjective. Gut-shot was good. Slow, painful. If she had any complaints, it was that she wasn't the one who pulled the trigger. But not what she would have done. She entertained thoughts of her hands around his neck, gripping tight. Maybe he would try to plead, to beg for his life through choking gasps. Alice would watch as struggled, as his face turned blue, as his eyes bulged. As he felt as helpless as Vic must have. When he struggled less and less, and as the life gradually left his eyes, then she might feel some small measure of satisfaction.
But she didn't say that. For whatever reason, she held her tongue.
"Why? If you knew all this, stood by him while he killed Vi-...while he killed people, how could you possibly defend him?"
Now Alice stood too, glaring down at the other woman. She shook her head, tried to understand. "You said yourself he'd been playing along from the start. How can you argue for him? Why would you try to save someone like him?"
Nothing. Vic was still dead. So was everyone else Raidon killed. And she had stood by him, supported him. There was nothing that she could possible say that would justify that.
Now she felt that anger, edging out the dead numbness, revitalizing her. Raidon might be dead and gone, but Mizore wasn't. She'd helped him, protected him. That put her in the wrong. Alice latched onto that, held it. Don't ask why, don't bother digging deeper. Maybe Mizore really did have a good reason, but Alice didn't want to hear what it was. Anger was easier, sharper, and right now, it was what Alice wanted.
Mizore climbed to her feet and began to pace. Alice watched her, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She listened as Mizore talked. Tried to see in Raidon the way she did.
But, as she brought up his death, Alice started to think. Worse than she could have done was...subjective. Gut-shot was good. Slow, painful. If she had any complaints, it was that she wasn't the one who pulled the trigger. But not what she would have done. She entertained thoughts of her hands around his neck, gripping tight. Maybe he would try to plead, to beg for his life through choking gasps. Alice would watch as struggled, as his face turned blue, as his eyes bulged. As he felt as helpless as Vic must have. When he struggled less and less, and as the life gradually left his eyes, then she might feel some small measure of satisfaction.
But she didn't say that. For whatever reason, she held her tongue.
"Why? If you knew all this, stood by him while he killed Vi-...while he killed people, how could you possibly defend him?"
Now Alice stood too, glaring down at the other woman. She shook her head, tried to understand. "You said yourself he'd been playing along from the start. How can you argue for him? Why would you try to save someone like him?"
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storyspoiler*
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- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
"Because he was the only one I could save."
Now that she'd broken through, now that she'd decided, somehow, that she wasn't going to give a damn about this irrelevant thing--what people thought of her relationship with Naoko Raidon, whether it made her a terrible hypocrite--it was much easier to talk.
Not that easy to talk, though. Not while she was still getting her ideas stretched out, laying them in front of Alice, pictures chopped up into words.
"Have you ever thought about--how when you get onto the island--there's so incredibly little you can do with your time? I promised--someone--a long time ago--that I would never use weapons. And you get on the island and they give you food and water--and weapons." She's deliberately avoided using the word "pacifist" here--it was too loaded with baggage, too charged with moral superiority. "I wasn't going to become a player. I wasn't going to become a player-hunter. And I didn't want to spend the last days of my life--curled up, waiting to die."
"I--most of the time, in real life, I draw. They don't give you paint--I had to spend two days hunting it down. I thought I'd spend the entire time--making the island a memorial. Making it very beautiful. Making it something to remember, before I got shot."
"Then I met him. And he's thought things through the same way I have, but he's decided to survive. Because--because only one of us will survive anyway. So what's the use of--of maintaining some moral high ground, just so you can say, when you die, that you didn't kill anyone? If you die, you're still dead. And everyone on the island is going to be slaughtered anyway, one way or the other--everyone but one. So why not be the one who survives?"
"He wasn't thinking of rescue. He didn't think that was coming. I didn't think it was coming either. It seemed utterly impossible."
"But after that, it seems--if you're the girl with nothing to do, who's simply going to paint pictures until she dies--why not keep a serial killer company? Even if you don't think you can talk him out of it--I don't know if I thought I could talk him out of it--I guess I must have at the time--it's something. Maybe it's simply better than being alone. Maybe it's waiting every second for a chance to twist his arm, or steal his gun. Maybe it's being a professional distraction. Maybe it's because you like him, and want your last stupid chance at teenage romance. Maybe it's because you're trying to keep a serial killer human--and don't tell me that's a worthless pursuit, it's rarely worthless to stop someone from forgetting every piece of good they have in them."
And you think he was bad when I was there? You should think what he'd be like if he didn't have a fume-sniffing sprained-knee screaming pacifist tagging along with him, and wasn't trying to save her--kind of put a kink in his killing spree---
Oh, but let's not get defensive yet.
Now that she'd broken through, now that she'd decided, somehow, that she wasn't going to give a damn about this irrelevant thing--what people thought of her relationship with Naoko Raidon, whether it made her a terrible hypocrite--it was much easier to talk.
Not that easy to talk, though. Not while she was still getting her ideas stretched out, laying them in front of Alice, pictures chopped up into words.
"Have you ever thought about--how when you get onto the island--there's so incredibly little you can do with your time? I promised--someone--a long time ago--that I would never use weapons. And you get on the island and they give you food and water--and weapons." She's deliberately avoided using the word "pacifist" here--it was too loaded with baggage, too charged with moral superiority. "I wasn't going to become a player. I wasn't going to become a player-hunter. And I didn't want to spend the last days of my life--curled up, waiting to die."
"I--most of the time, in real life, I draw. They don't give you paint--I had to spend two days hunting it down. I thought I'd spend the entire time--making the island a memorial. Making it very beautiful. Making it something to remember, before I got shot."
"Then I met him. And he's thought things through the same way I have, but he's decided to survive. Because--because only one of us will survive anyway. So what's the use of--of maintaining some moral high ground, just so you can say, when you die, that you didn't kill anyone? If you die, you're still dead. And everyone on the island is going to be slaughtered anyway, one way or the other--everyone but one. So why not be the one who survives?"
"He wasn't thinking of rescue. He didn't think that was coming. I didn't think it was coming either. It seemed utterly impossible."
"But after that, it seems--if you're the girl with nothing to do, who's simply going to paint pictures until she dies--why not keep a serial killer company? Even if you don't think you can talk him out of it--I don't know if I thought I could talk him out of it--I guess I must have at the time--it's something. Maybe it's simply better than being alone. Maybe it's waiting every second for a chance to twist his arm, or steal his gun. Maybe it's being a professional distraction. Maybe it's because you like him, and want your last stupid chance at teenage romance. Maybe it's because you're trying to keep a serial killer human--and don't tell me that's a worthless pursuit, it's rarely worthless to stop someone from forgetting every piece of good they have in them."
And you think he was bad when I was there? You should think what he'd be like if he didn't have a fume-sniffing sprained-knee screaming pacifist tagging along with him, and wasn't trying to save her--kind of put a kink in his killing spree---
Oh, but let's not get defensive yet.
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Sister Grimm*
- Posts: 172
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
Now Alice wanted to hate her. More than anything, she wanted to hate her. She already hated Raidon, so why shouldn't she hate Mizore too? Because she was noble? So what? She was party to Vic's death. Not the killer, the one who the trigger, no. But all the same, hating her should have come easily. Just thinking of her standing by while Raidon killed Vic should have been more than enough to fill her with rage, to dredge up any particular emotion she was keen on feeling. But it didn't. And any anger she did feel wasn't directed at Mizore. It was all still directed at either herself or at Radion. She wanted some anger, some hatred, something irrational, fueled more by grief than reason. But that wasn't happening. She was clear head, painfully clear headed. That was the problem. Clear headed as she was, she could understand what Mizore was saying, the reasoning and logic behind her actions.
It didn't paint Raidon in a better light, of course. Saying that he was aware of his actions would never, ever make what he did alright. He would always be the man who stole her true love. Nothing could possibly be said about him that would ever redeem him of that.
Mizore, on the other hand, was sympathetic. Even if she failed, her intentions were pure, her goals admirable. Trying to stop, or save, a serial killer? Who couldn't get behind that?
Alice turned away from Mizore, looking at the blackened tv across the room to hide the grimace that flashed across her face. Why did she have to be so fucking noble? This would be much easier if she was unrepentant, or indifferent, or anything but this. Explaining herself, trying to make Alice understand why she did what she did. She had tried to stop him, or at least traveled with him having the intention to stop him. She hadn't done her job well enough obviously, but what if she was right? How many other people would Raidon have killed if she hadn't been there? And for that matter, Alice had to wonder how things would have turned out if she had been there the first time the three of time had met. Would they have still shot each other? Would Vic have gone after him later on?
She shook her head, clearing away those thoughts. They didn't help anyone and would only serve for more sleepless nights. What mattered here, right now, was Mizore and her excuses. Her explanations. Even if some of her explanations involved ideas just as abstract as her reasoning's not to play the game, moral high ground, good and evil, it was enough to keep Alice from hating her. She didn't say anything as Mizore spoke. Just listened. Again tried to think of Raidon with any good inside him. Tried to see him the way that she did.
She turned, finally and spoke up. "You loved him. You started trying to save him, but you stayed because you loved him. Which is..." Alice paused, looked away, and when she spoke again, the word was grudging. "Defensible." She stopped again, trying to find the words, trying to decide if she should say them at all. But if Mizore was being honest with Alice, shouldn't she at least try to extend the same courtesy?. "I...can understand that. I would have killed the whole island for Vic. Even Boun-Liz. I can't blame you for staying with him. I hate it, but I can't blame you."
It didn't paint Raidon in a better light, of course. Saying that he was aware of his actions would never, ever make what he did alright. He would always be the man who stole her true love. Nothing could possibly be said about him that would ever redeem him of that.
Mizore, on the other hand, was sympathetic. Even if she failed, her intentions were pure, her goals admirable. Trying to stop, or save, a serial killer? Who couldn't get behind that?
Alice turned away from Mizore, looking at the blackened tv across the room to hide the grimace that flashed across her face. Why did she have to be so fucking noble? This would be much easier if she was unrepentant, or indifferent, or anything but this. Explaining herself, trying to make Alice understand why she did what she did. She had tried to stop him, or at least traveled with him having the intention to stop him. She hadn't done her job well enough obviously, but what if she was right? How many other people would Raidon have killed if she hadn't been there? And for that matter, Alice had to wonder how things would have turned out if she had been there the first time the three of time had met. Would they have still shot each other? Would Vic have gone after him later on?
She shook her head, clearing away those thoughts. They didn't help anyone and would only serve for more sleepless nights. What mattered here, right now, was Mizore and her excuses. Her explanations. Even if some of her explanations involved ideas just as abstract as her reasoning's not to play the game, moral high ground, good and evil, it was enough to keep Alice from hating her. She didn't say anything as Mizore spoke. Just listened. Again tried to think of Raidon with any good inside him. Tried to see him the way that she did.
She turned, finally and spoke up. "You loved him. You started trying to save him, but you stayed because you loved him. Which is..." Alice paused, looked away, and when she spoke again, the word was grudging. "Defensible." She stopped again, trying to find the words, trying to decide if she should say them at all. But if Mizore was being honest with Alice, shouldn't she at least try to extend the same courtesy?. "I...can understand that. I would have killed the whole island for Vic. Even Boun-Liz. I can't blame you for staying with him. I hate it, but I can't blame you."
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storyspoiler*
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- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
And you wait. You wait, and it's cold, and you wait for Alice to say something. Because she's going to speak, and anger can only make you brave for so long.
Go on. Take your best shot.
"You loved him."
And that was hurt that Mizore wasn't expecting.
"You started trying to save him, but you stayed because you loved him. Which is..." Alice paused, looked away, and when she spoke again, the word was grudging. "Defensible." She stopped again. She looked like she was trying to find words. "I can understand that. I would have killed the whole island for Vic. Even Boun-Liz."
"I can't blame you for staying with him. I hate it, but I can't blame you."
Mizore kept her mouth closed. Something too close to her throat ached, sharp pain too close to crying but crying is--
She doubled over the sofa instead, driving her fingernails into the nubby covering, gasping before she put her hands over her mouth, until all she could choke out was--
"I'm sorry."
Not sorry for staying with him. Never sorry for that. But sorry that she should stop herself from crying, here, in another person's home because she hurts too, you're not allowed to--
No. She hadn't expected Alice to understand, even a little bit. She had expected this to end--trying to explain herself. Stumbling, failing, leaving. But now somebody said they understood, and all she wanted to do was speak.
Go on. Take your best shot.
"You loved him."
And that was hurt that Mizore wasn't expecting.
"You started trying to save him, but you stayed because you loved him. Which is..." Alice paused, looked away, and when she spoke again, the word was grudging. "Defensible." She stopped again. She looked like she was trying to find words. "I can understand that. I would have killed the whole island for Vic. Even Boun-Liz."
"I can't blame you for staying with him. I hate it, but I can't blame you."
Mizore kept her mouth closed. Something too close to her throat ached, sharp pain too close to crying but crying is--
She doubled over the sofa instead, driving her fingernails into the nubby covering, gasping before she put her hands over her mouth, until all she could choke out was--
"I'm sorry."
Not sorry for staying with him. Never sorry for that. But sorry that she should stop herself from crying, here, in another person's home because she hurts too, you're not allowed to--
No. She hadn't expected Alice to understand, even a little bit. She had expected this to end--trying to explain herself. Stumbling, failing, leaving. But now somebody said they understood, and all she wanted to do was speak.
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Sister Grimm*
- Posts: 172
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
After Alice said her piece, she didn't know where else to go. She didn't have anything else to say. She wouldn't go nearly so far as to say it was cathartic, but it was...it felt...better. A little.
Of course, nothing was changed. Vic was still gone, Raidon still dead. But none of that was Mizore's fault. As ravaged by grief as she was, she could still recognize that. Besides, hadn't Mizore lost someone too? A murder, sure. The man who'd taken everything from her. But Mizore was innocent in all this. All she was guilty of was falling for the wrong man. That didn't mean she missed him any less. They weren't the same, Alice and Mizore, but they were similar. Mizore had met Raidon on the island, Vic had met Alice in her bookstore all those months ago. The relatively brief time Raidon and Mizore had spent together obviously mattered to her. She was just as lost as Alice was. Handling it a bit better, from the look of her, but just a lost.
That wasn't the only reason that Alice found herself sympathizing with the girl. She'd taken it upon herself to visit Alice, to tell her what happen. She had to have known that it was possible her relationship with Raidon would have been found out. But she'd come anyway. Alice respected that. Mizore had been honest with her, even when it would have been better for her to lie. That, more than anything else, convinced Alice of her innocence.
Looking down at her as she chocked by tears on the couch, Alice briefly wondered what would have happened if she'd never met Raidon in the first place. It was the same pointless musing as before, when she'd pondered what would have happened if she'd met with Raidon sooner. But Alice couldn't help it. Would she be here, right now, if she'd never met Raidon? Well, in all honesty, probably not. Alice imagined she would've died on the island. But would that' have been better? Even after Liz's intervention, a part of Alice, a large part, still wished that she had died on the island at Vic's side. Did Mizore feel the same about Raidon and his fate? Did she ever wish that she had stayed behind to die with him?
Alice looked away from Mizore on the couch as she realized that she didn't quite know what to do. Wasn't Alice supposed to be the one crying in this situation? Crying some more, that is. Instead, it was Mizore, tearing up on the sofa. Alice didn't know what she should say. Mizore apologized, and Alice didn't know what to say back to that. As much as she sympathized with Mizore, 'it's okay' seemed a bit too forgiving. Alice ran a hand through her hair, now only slightly less disheveled than when Liz broke through to her. Comforting Mizore didn't seem like the way this was supposed to go. For lack of any better ideas, Alice took a seat on the couch next to her, eyes studiously looking anywhere else. She tried to think of something to say, some comforting words, but nothing came.
Finally, Alice managed to offer, "It's...it's going to alright." To her, it sounded lacking, almost condescending, something to say just to console Mizore. Despite her best efforts, that was all she drudge up. Than again, nothing else about this visit was playing out the way Alice would expect, so why should she suddenly become a poet? Alice never was good with words. Half-meaningless platitudes seemed as good as she could do.
Of course, nothing was changed. Vic was still gone, Raidon still dead. But none of that was Mizore's fault. As ravaged by grief as she was, she could still recognize that. Besides, hadn't Mizore lost someone too? A murder, sure. The man who'd taken everything from her. But Mizore was innocent in all this. All she was guilty of was falling for the wrong man. That didn't mean she missed him any less. They weren't the same, Alice and Mizore, but they were similar. Mizore had met Raidon on the island, Vic had met Alice in her bookstore all those months ago. The relatively brief time Raidon and Mizore had spent together obviously mattered to her. She was just as lost as Alice was. Handling it a bit better, from the look of her, but just a lost.
That wasn't the only reason that Alice found herself sympathizing with the girl. She'd taken it upon herself to visit Alice, to tell her what happen. She had to have known that it was possible her relationship with Raidon would have been found out. But she'd come anyway. Alice respected that. Mizore had been honest with her, even when it would have been better for her to lie. That, more than anything else, convinced Alice of her innocence.
Looking down at her as she chocked by tears on the couch, Alice briefly wondered what would have happened if she'd never met Raidon in the first place. It was the same pointless musing as before, when she'd pondered what would have happened if she'd met with Raidon sooner. But Alice couldn't help it. Would she be here, right now, if she'd never met Raidon? Well, in all honesty, probably not. Alice imagined she would've died on the island. But would that' have been better? Even after Liz's intervention, a part of Alice, a large part, still wished that she had died on the island at Vic's side. Did Mizore feel the same about Raidon and his fate? Did she ever wish that she had stayed behind to die with him?
Alice looked away from Mizore on the couch as she realized that she didn't quite know what to do. Wasn't Alice supposed to be the one crying in this situation? Crying some more, that is. Instead, it was Mizore, tearing up on the sofa. Alice didn't know what she should say. Mizore apologized, and Alice didn't know what to say back to that. As much as she sympathized with Mizore, 'it's okay' seemed a bit too forgiving. Alice ran a hand through her hair, now only slightly less disheveled than when Liz broke through to her. Comforting Mizore didn't seem like the way this was supposed to go. For lack of any better ideas, Alice took a seat on the couch next to her, eyes studiously looking anywhere else. She tried to think of something to say, some comforting words, but nothing came.
Finally, Alice managed to offer, "It's...it's going to alright." To her, it sounded lacking, almost condescending, something to say just to console Mizore. Despite her best efforts, that was all she drudge up. Than again, nothing else about this visit was playing out the way Alice would expect, so why should she suddenly become a poet? Alice never was good with words. Half-meaningless platitudes seemed as good as she could do.
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storyspoiler*
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- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
"It's...it's going to alright."
Yes. Yes, it was going to be alright. Alice was stiff; her voice sounded like stones falling out of her mouth.
Raidon
But it was going to be alright. Eventually. It was going to be alright.
There's a life ahead of you. Things to draw, things to write.
No time for tears. Not now.
Hell. Let's take a gamble. No way to fear it going wrong now.
"Alice. Do you want to--do you want to go out to dinner? We don't have to talk. But I have a--a gift card. To P.F. Chang's. Someone--a friend of mine gave it to me. I'd like to take you out."
It wasn't even a lie. Kurt had given her a gift card. This is not to pay back for a murder. This is not--this is not a date. I just want to take you out to dinner.
So Alice--will you come?
Yes. Yes, it was going to be alright. Alice was stiff; her voice sounded like stones falling out of her mouth.
Raidon
But it was going to be alright. Eventually. It was going to be alright.
There's a life ahead of you. Things to draw, things to write.
No time for tears. Not now.
Hell. Let's take a gamble. No way to fear it going wrong now.
"Alice. Do you want to--do you want to go out to dinner? We don't have to talk. But I have a--a gift card. To P.F. Chang's. Someone--a friend of mine gave it to me. I'd like to take you out."
It wasn't even a lie. Kurt had given her a gift card. This is not to pay back for a murder. This is not--this is not a date. I just want to take you out to dinner.
So Alice--will you come?
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Sister Grimm*
- Posts: 172
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
Alice almost laughed. Almost. The temptation itself felt alien and unnatural. The very notion of laughter while sitting on the same couch she had shared with Vic seemed insane. All the same, Alice felt a small smile cross her lips. It wasn't so much that the offer was unwanted, or ill-advised. It just seemed...abrupt. Sudden. One minute they were talking about such heady topics as forgiveness and redemption. Then, suddenly, P.F. Chang's. An invitation to dinner. Alice would have expected almost anything else before that. Tears maybe, from one or both of them. More apologies. Something sentimental and touching, perhaps. Not to say there hadn't been plenty of that already,but still. It wasn't as if they were discussing the weather. Oh no, serious matters were afoot. But, Alice guessed, they'd already talked enough about who was forgiving who. Why shouldn't Mizore broach dinner? Just because it might be horribly awkward and uncomfortable? Well, actually that was a pretty compelling reason.
Despite that feeling of what might pass for amusement, Alice looked at Mizore out of the corner of her eye. Her first thought was that this might be a way of Mizore to make recompense. But, Alice disregarded that idea almost immediately. For one, P.F. Chang's was hardly the way to earn any measure of forgiveness from anyone. Granted, Alice hadn't known Mizore for very long at all, but she would guess that Mizore was smarter than to think that. Maybe it was exactly what it looked like on the surface: An awkward but heartfelt invitation to dinner. Stranger thing had happened. The fact that Alice was once again back in St. Paul could attest to that. Maybe it really was as simple as that Mizore wanted to take Alice to dinner.
Why not? It wasn't as if sitting alone in the apartment was helping her any. Besides, it would be something to tell Liz. God knows Alice needed something that might vaguely approach being a funny story. And who knows? Maybe she'd a wonderful time. Maybe Mizore would open up and Alice would open up and they'd both talk about things that weren't heartrendingly depressing. Like...the weather. Or something.
Maybe, and this was incredibly optimistic, this could be part of that fresh start Liz kept talking about. Going past depressed, suicidal Alice, to, at least, willing to keep going Alice. Maybe, and this was getting pretty wild, but happy to be alive Alice. Content with herself Alice.
But she was getting ahead of her self. It was only dinner, after all. Dinner between two people who had really just met. Alice couldn't even begin to imagine the pool of topic they'd have to talk about. But, Mizore had said they didn't have to talk. Which would make things...easier? Just, uncomfortable glances up at each other now and than. Right.
On the other hand, what did she have to lose?
Alice climbed to her feet. She surveyed the apartment, taking in everything as if she'd never see any of it again. Finally, she turned and looked down at Mizore. "Alright. Dinner sounds good." She offered a small smile and her hand to help Mizore from the couch. Even though they were both hurting, maybe they didn't have to hurt alone. Alice felt silly thinking it, more than a little cheesy, but Mizore had to have some idea what Alice was going through. While she had no kind thoughts toward the man Mizore was missing, she sympathize with the woman herself. In the days to come, they could help each other. But in the mean time, Mizore was going to take Alice out to dinner. Nothing more, nothing less. It would be a simple, stress-free evening, and more importantly, it would help Alice occupy her mind with something productive. Tonight she could, dare she say it, relax.
Alice crossed the room, pausing only to recover her keys, before opening and holding the door for Mizore. It was almost funny, she thought to herself. Coming full circle. It would be the second time she'd held open her front door for Mizore today. Coming in to deliver bad news, going out to enjoy dinner. It was funny, sometimes, the places life took you.
Despite that feeling of what might pass for amusement, Alice looked at Mizore out of the corner of her eye. Her first thought was that this might be a way of Mizore to make recompense. But, Alice disregarded that idea almost immediately. For one, P.F. Chang's was hardly the way to earn any measure of forgiveness from anyone. Granted, Alice hadn't known Mizore for very long at all, but she would guess that Mizore was smarter than to think that. Maybe it was exactly what it looked like on the surface: An awkward but heartfelt invitation to dinner. Stranger thing had happened. The fact that Alice was once again back in St. Paul could attest to that. Maybe it really was as simple as that Mizore wanted to take Alice to dinner.
Why not? It wasn't as if sitting alone in the apartment was helping her any. Besides, it would be something to tell Liz. God knows Alice needed something that might vaguely approach being a funny story. And who knows? Maybe she'd a wonderful time. Maybe Mizore would open up and Alice would open up and they'd both talk about things that weren't heartrendingly depressing. Like...the weather. Or something.
Maybe, and this was incredibly optimistic, this could be part of that fresh start Liz kept talking about. Going past depressed, suicidal Alice, to, at least, willing to keep going Alice. Maybe, and this was getting pretty wild, but happy to be alive Alice. Content with herself Alice.
But she was getting ahead of her self. It was only dinner, after all. Dinner between two people who had really just met. Alice couldn't even begin to imagine the pool of topic they'd have to talk about. But, Mizore had said they didn't have to talk. Which would make things...easier? Just, uncomfortable glances up at each other now and than. Right.
On the other hand, what did she have to lose?
Alice climbed to her feet. She surveyed the apartment, taking in everything as if she'd never see any of it again. Finally, she turned and looked down at Mizore. "Alright. Dinner sounds good." She offered a small smile and her hand to help Mizore from the couch. Even though they were both hurting, maybe they didn't have to hurt alone. Alice felt silly thinking it, more than a little cheesy, but Mizore had to have some idea what Alice was going through. While she had no kind thoughts toward the man Mizore was missing, she sympathize with the woman herself. In the days to come, they could help each other. But in the mean time, Mizore was going to take Alice out to dinner. Nothing more, nothing less. It would be a simple, stress-free evening, and more importantly, it would help Alice occupy her mind with something productive. Tonight she could, dare she say it, relax.
Alice crossed the room, pausing only to recover her keys, before opening and holding the door for Mizore. It was almost funny, she thought to herself. Coming full circle. It would be the second time she'd held open her front door for Mizore today. Coming in to deliver bad news, going out to enjoy dinner. It was funny, sometimes, the places life took you.