a songstress in the making : camilla st. john

<font size=1><center>Long, I've been running away for far too long.
Afraid of what, afraid of what I know is soon to come.
I may not be much of an example right now,
but I can give you all of my knowledge on how to get along in this place.
Right now, all I can say..

..is that I will do the best that I can to be a good example of (wo)man.
I know one day that you'll understand.
You deserve the best that I am.

It's so hard, so hard to think about when I was child.
So angry at life, I blamed the world for such a long, long time.
But things happened so quickly, some people just go.
I needed answers to heal me.
I wanted to know how to get by, and now its my turn to say..

..is that I will do the best that I can to be a good example of (wo)man.
I know one day that you'll understand.
You deserve the best that I am.

This is all for you.
Everything in this world.
Everything in my world.
Everything in your world.
Things won't always go right in this life.
There's always changes.
We'll make it.

( best i am ; flaw )</font>

----</center>

It was so muggy out. Ironically, she welcomed the heat; the humidity was like a well worn blanket used to wrap around you for comfort. Back home, it was far worse than this; there was always enough moisture in the air -- during the summer -- to cause hair to cling damply, and to make clothes wilt against flesh five minutes after donning them. Nails ran up the lengths of her arms as the sidewalk was crossed, heel clacks echoing off of the buildings to trail in her wake. A metronome of movement, it all seemed lost to the dark as street lights were avoided.

Her gaze seemed fixated on building signs, lips quirking in sarcastic amusement at the boom of blues and jazz clubs. Everyone was a lounge singer these days. They all had that vintage style that supposedly "separated" them from the rest, when in actuality.. it was the new norm. Crooning into a Ribbon or Shure was as common place as Chinese restaurants. Sometimes, she wondered if she should abandon her .. style and find something else. Being just like everyone else had never been her forte, and never would. Fingers reached up to flick back the brim of the charcoal gray fedora; allowing her face to tilt upwards as if she could sense something in the wind.

An impending storm had it's own distinct smell to it. Something fresh intermingled with an electricity that used the moisture in the air as a conductor; a coppery hint tinting the cool breeze like the shadowing on a portrait. Pausing suddenly, both hands were shoved into the pockets of her jeans as the brightly lit sign up ahead caught her attention. Envy. The last time she'd been in the club, her and Jace had still been together. She vaguely wondered if everyone still had their jobs there. They all seemed like a close knit family, and the club had been their familial home. For the briefest span of a moment, she contemplated going inside. Wordlessly, the street was crossed as she made her way by the building without ever being noticed.

Shoulders slumped a little as the block was left behind, and she veered sharply to the right; intent on heading as far away as possible without getting lost. When she first moved here, all the streets looked the same. The canary couldn't count how many times she'd been standing in front of a building, staring around in horror, unsure of where she was until someone kindly directed her back to the right path. Now, there wasn't a street she didn't know. The whole place was as familiar as Lafayette or New Orleans. The thought made her smile again, and heel clicks picked up pace again.

Phone was untucked from her pocket, and Bren's number was tapped out. After listening to the long winded message the woman used on her voice mail, she cleared her throat. "Hey, s'me. Just callin' to say hey, and .. to tell you I miss you. It's been a couple of weeks since we've seen each other so.. call me." Without another word, the call was ended only for her to tap out another series of numbers. Des had once told her he loved her just for her, and he wanted her to know, just like he wanted Zane to know. She hadn't said anything profound back to him then, but .. now she understood what he meant, perfectly. Belated, as always, but clarity had to be found on one's own time. Her dream with Ari had helped her see that. Waiting for his voice mail, a simple, "Je t'aime," was left before she hung up.

Exhaling slowly, her free hand untucked a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, along with a lighter; pack tapped until a filter popped up and found its niche between her lips. Spark of flame, and the first lungful of smoke was held almost like it was marijuana. Another slow exhale, and her final call of the evening was being made. Barely giving the other end time to pick up, a genuine smile quirked the corners of her mouth. "I'll be home soon. Miss you." Pressing end, everything was sent back to her pockets as she decided to beat a path back to the apartment. Oliver was probably staring at the phone, wondering who body snatched her, by now.

Sometimes, you just felt like sharing.

<font color="#7C2A39" size="1">[ August 01, 2005 12:01 AM: Message edited by: vintage faith ]</font>

<center>Feed my eyes, can you sew them shut?
Jesus Christ, deny your maker.
He who tries will be wasted.
Feed my eyes, now you've sewn them shut.

----</center>

It was scary how a two hour rehearsal had turned into a six hour jam session. Two-thirty in the morning, and she was finally walking home from the studio. When you got into that groove, you couldn't just break away from it. It was a musician thing; very rarely, everything clicked together, and tonight had been the lucky night; the band had sounded exceptional. Rubbing both hands down the length of her face wearily, the crosswalk sign was stared at. Walk. Just flash Walk. Take the 'Do Not' from in front of Walk so she cou-- as time as the lights switched, she bustled herself across the street as fast as the three inch heels would allow it.

Something wasn't quite right about the evening. She didn't know if it was the oppressive heat that felt like a weight, or if it was simply how.. quiet the area seemed. Pausing at the edge of the sidewalk, a bland look cast around, the urge to go home ? stronger than ever ? hit hard. A lesson learned, she knew to go with her instincts. They'd never failed her in the past. The slope of her shoulders softened, and though her pace was quick, the canary knew to stay inconspicuous. If fear was sensed, you'd end up dead in an alley. Law of the land.

"Come out and play..."

Words clung to the wind as if they were one and the same, and steps ceased instantly. Without thinking on it, a pinch was administered to her forearm. Pain; that meant she was awake. Then again, there wasn't any way possible she could be. That voice.. the only time she heard it was in the deepest part of her nightmares. That voice was the deepest part of her nightmares. Fumbling in her pockets, fingers sought purchase ? almost frantically ? for the string of silver and lapis always in her possession. Eyes half closed as the cool beads touched skin, and her head bowed briefly. "O my God, I firmly believe that you are one God in three divine Persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; I believe that your divine Son became man and died for our sins, and that he will come to judge the living and the dead."

Words trailing off, the endless silence that stretched around made her sigh in relief. She was having a little breakdown, that's all. Hearing things where nothing was to be found. An almost shaky laugh was loosed; features softening and making way for a smile to touch her mouth. Jumping at shadows.. Cam thought she'd be better than this. The rosary was wrapped around her wrist ? just because it made her feel better to have in plain sight ? before fingers made short work of tapping out and lighting a cigarette. A case of nerves. With Gavin in town, the attack on Oliver, and Des' deranged family member still out there lurking in her mind, she was on edge. Perfect explanation.

"It'sss pathetic to have all of your faith in a bunch of beadsss and ssome wordsss..."

Nearly strangling on the breath she just inhaled, the cigarette hanging from her lips dropped to the ground in a silent spray of fire and ash. The opportunity to turn around and face.. it never presented itself as a shadowed arm dropped across her collar bone, pinning her back against something that didn't quite feel solid. Beneath the fabric wrapped around it's body, a continous oozing and pushing could be felt, as if things were trapped beneath the surface and trying to fight their way out. Very unsettling.

Three thoughts were in her mind right now. How in the hell was this possible, what was that pushing at her back, and why did it feel like her throat was on fire? Where ever it was touching her, it felt like someone was holding a candle almost at her skin. Abruptly, she was released, and the movement almost made her fall to her knees. Eyes lifted towards the nearest building, and she blinked. Her apartment building was right in front of her, and it seemed that nothing was at her back now.

Any other time, she would've stood there and mused. Any other time, she would've turned around and went after ? to find ? what had been holding her. Any other time, she wouldn't be hitting the front entrance at a dead run, and darting up the steps to her apartment. Breath coming in hitching gasps, she was so busy fumbling in her pockets for her keys that she never saw what was waiting on her. Empathy wasn't a gift of hers; she wasn't like some people, that could sense others, or sense feelings from something or someone else, but before she could make it to that door, an imminent sense of evil surrounded her.

It enveloped her form like a well worn blanket, and for the span of a blink, something brushed along her cheek. Keys slipping through her fingers, they landed on the floor with a dull thump and a jingling sound as a few of them clinked together. Everything was background noise; the keys falling, her breath hitching, and the cackle of laughter that seemed to be bouncing around her skull, making the bones of her face ache. Eyes were blinded by an abrupt welling of fear, and it threatened to choke the life out of her body.

Almost as if someone had hit a switch, the laughter ceased and the overwhelming sense of fear muted down to what she had already been feeling. A touch of vertigo swept over her, and she scissored at the waist; shoulders rising and falling as she worked at getting oxygen to her lungs. The floor beneath her was tilting; the walls were closing in.. "Look up.." The two words echoed around the empty hallway, and in that instant, she knew she didn't want to. Then again, curiousity killed the cat-- blue-violets left the floor and trailed up the length of the door, only to pause and try to make out what was on the door... and she screamed.

A dead rabbit, noosed with a length of piano wire, was hanging on the door like a welcome wreath; dark, dried blood soaked into the wood and trailing down like morbid ribbons. Impaled through the animal's midsection was a slender blade that held a photograph in place. "I don't want to know, I don't wanna know.." The words were repeated over and over again as she backpeddaled to the nearest wall; hunkering down in the corner like a scared child, with arms over her face.

Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. <font size=1>Edgar Allan Poe</font>


Lamp lit shadows stained the walls like forgotten aged newsprint, curling up the dark wood to blend haphazardly with the stark white at the ceiling. Sprawled out in the middle of the floor -- a forgotten Ophelia that had been taken from the water -- arms were splayed out at her sides as an endless stare watched nothing. If not for the random blinks, or the very faint rising and falling of her chest, one might think this was an undiscovered crime scene; the body still in wait of its chalk outline and flashbulb photography eulogy. All at once, the breathing stopped; a harsh dragging rattle preceding the action, and for the span of a half minute, the world ceased. Quieter yet, a song played in the background; a fitting monument for her brief death.

<center>It's been a long year since you've been gone.</center>

The resurrection was easy enough. A quick blink and a jerk of her shoulders; air slowly leaked back into her lungs, ballooning them out and deflating again in normal rhythm. Scissoring into a sitting position, mussy strands of hair flew around to sweep across her mouth; a flick to dislodge them back to her nape. Darkened blues drifted around the room, almost as if she wasn't sure where she was; brow furrowing until her feet were gained. Grabbing the hem of her shirt loosely, involuntarily movement prompted her towards the bedroom and it's double window. The balcony outside -- lined with wrought iron -- beckoned her with whispers on the wind.

<center>I've been alone here, we've grown old.</center>

Fingers curled around the iron railing tight enough to leave impressions on her palms, and they got the same blank stare the living room received, prior. She was high enough in the air -- three stories -- for the wind to be a little more determined up here, and hair was spun around her face again. Iron against flesh as she leaned a slight, midriff and the loose grip of fingers the only thing separating her from cement. It was so .. quiet out here. Even the sounds of car horns and other life appeared to be muted, and lips thinned with that thought. Alone. "Jussst like I told you," was hissed against the shell of ear, and eyes dropped closed. "I'm not alone." Words were firm; soaked in truth and the knowledge that she wasn't. Maybe in the literal sense, at that exact moment, but she knew the broader meaning.

<center>Fall to pieces, I'm falling. Fell to pieces, and I'm still falling.</center>

"Why do you insssissst on fighting me?" A brush of .. something touched her cheek before it withdrew, causing the shadows just to her right to come alive with mocking laughter. "Because you're wrong," simply returned. Half turning towards those shadows, her expression remained devoid of any emotion. "Am I?" The sly question was murmured at her ear once more, and this time, it stayed in place as she glanced back. "I don't know why I have to keep repeating this to you. I have friends. I have family. I am not alone. I'm perfectly content with my life, as is, with the exception of you and Gavin."

<center>I keep a journal of memories.</center>

Pausing, taking a deep breath in the meantime, a flick of fingers dismissed the conversation ( the longest one she'd ever held with.. it, at that ). The effort was made to move away from the railing, but the abrupt grasp of her upper arms caused a complete standstill. With little more than a whoosh of air, she was half-dangling over the edge of the balcony; the only parts of her on the right side were her legs. Solidly formed hands were wrapped around her throat, holding her in place. "This bring back memories?" The sibilant voice had morphed into the silky tones of John Marceau; it was his face closing in on hers, with that cocky smile and self assured attitude. Arms going out at her sides, the air was grabbed at in vain; choking sounds tearing from her throat like paper out of a notebook.

<center>Feeling lonely, I can't breathe.</center>

"Did I misread you that night, Ms. St. John?" Giving her a little shake, she was hauled back over to the floor of the balcony, released to fall as she saw fit. Deja vu.. "You're not.. fuckin'... real." Scrambling up to her feet, her chin lifted so that she could eye 'Marceau' directly; not backing down an inch. This was just a twisted figment of her imagination. A memory tugged out and replayed like a B-movie. "You're NOT REAL," screamed with conviction, fists thrashing downwards to meet with the stone of the balcony once--twice--three times, until knuckles were broken and bloody. "Of course I'm real." Eyes dropped shut at the sound of the new voice; tears welling and spilling through the lace of her lashes. "You're not him either," whispered morosely as lids ascended to reveal ... "Pete.." Red hair, glasses, and all; if she wasn't about to have a breakdown, Cam would have to give it credit for exact mimicries.

<center>Fall to pieces, I'm falling. Fell to pieces, and I'm still falling.</center>

"I miss you, Cam." Hiking up the legs of his baggy pants, he knelt down in front of her -- that adorable half grin flashed slow and easy. The backs of his fingers swept along the curve of her jaw, brushing back tears, and for a moment -- for a moment -- she forgot what was really going on. That is, until the skin where he touched began burning; with a muted yelp, she jerked away from him... from it, and scrambled back to the railing. "Stoppit.. just stoppit.." Her words had been strong just a few moments ago, but now they were as frail and delicate as an eggshell. "Who do you want me to be, Camilla? Is this what you want to see?"

<center>All the years I've tried, with more to go.</center>

In the blink of an eye, it morphed into the husky figure of her father. "Dis what'choo want, girl? Huh? Ya too high n' mighty t'talk t'yer Pere? What about this?" Another blink-- Sam stood before her. Bren. Gavin. Ari. Tom. Brian. Each new face had a fresh round of accusations to throw her way, until she was screaming so loud, it felt as if her eardrums were bursting. "STOP. IT. NOW!" Flinging herself forward, she bypassed its chimerical assault and stumbled into her bedroom. "WHAT IF I DON'T WANT TO STOP?" followed her inside, words punctuated by that maddening, mocking laughter. Pausing in the middle of the room, hands went up to tangle in her hair as eyes swept around, trying to remember where she was. Who she was. What that wasn't. The world was bleeding screams and going soft around the edges.. In the next instant, she found herself falling to her knees.

<center>Will the memories die? I'm waiting.</center>

"You can't stop me. You can't block me. You can't find me, you can't shield from me, and you sure the hell can't ignore my existance. I'm HERE, girl." A finger jabbed into her forehead a couple of times, as if punctuating the point. "I'm here because you brought me here, and guess what? These aren't your rules anymore. Stay awake, I don't care." The voice had shifted into Sam's, though thankfully enough, the figure remained it's black shadow ooze form. A singular push had her falling the rest of the way to the floor, and hands went up to stop her face from bouncing against the varnished wood. "Say your little prayers, clink your little beads, but in the end? It's you and me. You. And me. Know why?"

<center>Will I find you? Can I find you?</center>

A slick, oily glide had it dropping to kneel in front of her, fingers ghosting over her face as it lifted enough to bring it into sight. A syrupy bluesboy smile greeted her. "I don't love ya. And I know he didn't." That signaled Jace's appearance in this little play, and he smirked. "Nobody really does. You should just jump off that railing and do us a favor." Almost audibly, that thin thread -- the one that signified her sanity -- snapped like spidersilk, and the world went black in that instant. A low, gurgling chuckle filled the room like water being poured into a cup, before its existance simply ceased for the time being.

<center>We're falling down. I'm falling.</center>

* * * * * *

Ring.

"Ari?"

"Yeah. Cam?"

"I need you here.. I can't stay anymore, please just come and get me.."

"Cam, what happened? Talk to me, doll, are you hurt? Are you alright?"

"... get me.. please.."

Dead line.

* * * * * *

Without a word to anyone, once Arianna arrived, Cam left the apartment behind and did something she hadn't done since she was a child. She simply ran away.

__________________________________________

Lyrics: "Fall to Pieces" by Velvet Revolver

<font size=1><center>Don't you mess with a little girl's dream, 'cause she's liable to grow up mean.
Surprised you to find that I'm laughing? You thought that you'd find me in tears.
Thought I'd be crawling the wall like a tiny mosquito and trembling in fear.
You may be King for the moment, but I am a Queen, understand?
And I've got your pawns, and your bishops and castles all inside the palm of my hand.</font>

----</center>

There was a loud click as the spotlight came on, temporarily blinding her and causing a hand to lift, shielding her eyes. The band was making low murmuring noises in the background; the dull cacophony of sound emitting from tuned instruments and warm up beats in a synchronized rhythm. "Yer almost up." Glancing towards the side of the stage, a curt nod was given to Clyde, the band director, and a hand reached out to grasp the mic stand. "I got this," whispered under her breath, a reassurance to chase away the butterflies in her stomach and to dislodge the lump in her throat. Stage fright had never been a problem of hers, and what the problem was tonight .. was a mystery.

"You got this." A hand gently settled on her shoulder, and she leaned back against the line of his body, a brief flicker of a smile directed up his way. "I know, Pete. This one's for you." Even with the heels, she barely made it to his chin, so with a quick tip-toe-up movement, a kiss was brushed to the corner of his mouth. "I'll be front row," was all he said before moving off the stage. Glancing towards the piano player, the barest tip of her head qued him, and the soft strains of Gershwin started.

"Everytime we say goodbye, I die a little. Everytime we say goodbye, I wonder why a little. Why the gods above me, who must be in the know.. think so little of me. They allow you to go.." Fingers trailing up polished metal, red painted nails scored a trail upwards to lightly cup the microphone. Dragging it in towards lips painted in the same red, blue-violets drifted over the crowd until they landed on a tall figure sitting up front. "When you're near, there's such an air of Spring about it. I can hear a lark somewhere begin to sing about it. There's no love song finer, but how strange the change from major to minor. Everytime we say.. goodbye.."

Cheek pressing to the mic while the band launched into their quiet instrumental, a pleased smile curved the corner of her mouth; hips swaying slowly to the beat in a heat meld of seduction. In the audience, Pete lifted fingers up to his mouth, then extended them her way, causing a honey slow, lethargic blink of darkened lashes. "When you're near there's such an air of Spring about it. I can hear a lark somewhere begin to sing about it. There's no love song finer, but how strange the change from major to minor. Everytime we say..." Words trailing off, lashes lifted again to expose the starkness of her eyes, and the stare towards him was intense. ".. goodbye.."

The applause started off at a trickle, but grew into a thunderous roar in a matter of seconds; she stepped to the side of the mic stand and curtsied low, thank yous silently mouthed in appreciation to those who appreciated what she did. The spotlight dimmed a touch, exposing the full crowd for what they were, and it caused her to start in surprise. Each and every single person there was a moving corpse; rotted lips pulled back to expose yellowed teeth, black holes for eyes tuned in a dead stare towards her. Hands flailing, the microphone fell to the floor, causing a shrill noise of feedback and static, barely heard over the sounds of her screams.

Turning towards the band, the same sight greeted her. The only living person in the building seemed to Pete and he was hurrying towards her at an almost run. "Cam! Come here, quick!" Hands outstretching, when she reached to grasp at him, fingers crunched against leathery, flaking skin. A horror movie heartbeat of a second preceeded eyes lifting his way, and when she did, the world faded film noir dark. He started to say something else, bared muscles pulling against stark bone in effort, but the only allowed sound emitted... was a creak.

* * * * *

Sitting straight up in the bed, her scream was loud enough to be heard over the band playing downstairs, and the patrons glanced up to the ceiling. As if they could see what was going on through the layer of wood and plaster. Ari and Pete exchanged glances, and without a second though, he dashed up the staircase -- nearly tripping at the top -- to head for her room. Slamming into the wooden structure, a moment was taken to rub at his wounded forehead, before he pushed inside. She was still sitting on the bed, eyes wildly looking around the room as if in search of the corpse like people from her nightmare.

The moment that gaze landed on Pete, her screams intensified, until they were almost at deafening. "NO STAY AWAY FROM ME. YOU'RE NOT REAL, YOU'RE NOT ALIVE, YOU'RE NOT HERE!" Shrieked words repeated over and over again, his arms went around her small form like a vice grip, keeping her hands down and from scratching at her face. Instead, they were turned on him, leaving bloody scores behind on his arms and neck. In the next instance, Ari burst into the room, followed by a man carrying a black bag. He eyed the hysterical woman in detachment, and opened the bag to remove a syringe. "Is she going to be alright, Doctor Montreau?"

Indigo gaze turning towards the doctor, Ari took a step back when the needle made it's appearance; her only answer a short nod as he stepped in towards Cam. Glancing to Pete, he made a motion, as if to turn the woman. "Hold her tight," was all he said before plunging the hypodermic needle into her hip, the plunger pressed slowly, dispensing the sedative. Slowly, the fight against her 'captor' stopped, and her eyes drifted shut. "If she wakes up like this again, give me a call. Push comes to shove, Mrs. deBurgh, we have a facility that will be able to watch over her as needed."

Pete looked blankly towards Ari, not quite comprehending what Dr. Montreau was talking about. But Ari knew. Arms huddling around her form, she nodded shortly before murmuring her thanks, and the doctor exited quickly. Quietly musing to himself, you could tell the exact instant Pete realized what had been said, and his eyes widened. "You can't put her in one of those, Ari.." His voice was quavering, chin lifted almost in determination of not moving an inch in case they decided to institutionalize Camilla.

Staring at him solemnly, the silence in the room was almost roaring, until her voice broke through like a proverbial hammer against glass. "Don't worry." With that, the mamba left the room as well, leaving Pete to gently place Cam back on the bed, fingers lifting to brush her hair back out of her face.


_______________________________________

Lyrics: "Everytime We Say Goodbye" by Ella Fitzgerald

<font size=1><center>Looking around, just sitting here by myself.
And I think you found someone else.
Now I'm gonna have to find a way to put the bottle down.
And why can't you see that I'm drowning in a pool of misery?

I'm always afraid that you're gone away from me.
I'm always afraid that you're lost in somebody.
I'm always afraid that you're gone away from me.
I'm always afraid that you're lost.

So here I am, I don't wanna be by myself.
And I think you're fucking someone else.
Now I'm gonna have to find a way to take the knife out of my back.
And how could you leave me, stranded in a closet full of bones?

I'm always afraid that you're gone away from me.
I'm always afraid that you're lost in somebody.
I'm always afraid that you're gone away from me.
I'm always afraid that you're lost.

Maybe you could let me stay.
Maybe just for one more day.
You could help me stay the same.
Maybe things won't ever change.
Maybe we could taste the rain.
You could push me out the way.
Now I'm sitting here by myself.
Think about somebody else.
How could you let them take you away from me?

( away from me ; puddle of mudd )</font>

----</center>

"Why won't you just let me take over?"

"It's not your life."

"No, but I can make it not yours anymore, just the same."

"It's mine."

"Willingly or unwillingly, you'll turn it over to me."

"Guess again.."

"Why do you sound so uncertain?"

"Mainly? Because I'm talking to myself."

"You're talking to me."

"Yeah, but you're not real."

"Of course I am."

"If you are, show yourself."

"Why should I?"

"Too scared, huh?"

"You're the one scared. They're talking about putting you into a mental institute."

"Won't happen."

"Don't be so sure."

"Don't be so annoying, and you've got a deal."

* * * * *

Glancing away from the far wall, her attention shifted to the opening door and it's occupant -- a smile flickering briefly at the appearance of Arianna. "Doing alright, doll?" Closing the door quietly behind her, Ari moved into the room slowly -- cautiously -- and approached the bed. "Yeah, a little, thanks." Nodding with that, Cam's legs swung over the side of the bed-- scooting down a little to allow the woman room to sit. Ari did, and looked Cam's way warily. "Were you talking to yourself?" Never one to tip-toe around a question -- or answer -- the direct words caused the canary's smile to widen a touch. "Probably," returned breezily, a hand waving dramatically in the air.

"Dominga and I, we're working on this as hard as we can, 'Milla." Glancing aside to the other woman, Cam nodded sharply, fingers threading together in her lap. "I can't say how much I appreciate it, Ari. I know you've got other stuff goin' on..." Ari made a sound, cutting off the other's words. "Friends and family first. This," gesturing to the club, "can run itself. I have managers and accountants to look after it." Grinning then, she leaned back -- arms going behind her head -- on the bed and sideglanced up to Cam. "I saw your.. friend the other night." Brow arching, Cam flopped back beside the woman, and returned the glance her way.

"Friend?" Be more specific, in other words; she had a lot. "Mhm. Blonde hair, blue eyes, freaked out expression, worried as all hell.." Biting the corner of her mouth to subdue a grin while trying to keep an innocent expression, Ari started humming and rolled her gaze up to the ceiling. "Ah," succintly put into a simple word. "Yeah... probably fucked that up." That's her; Camilla, Queen of the Fucked Up Relationships and Ultimater Fucker-Upper. She had a lot of explaining to do, she figured, if he'd listen to her when she got back. "Dunno doll. Doubt it, but who knows with men." They shared a bonding female moment laughing at that particular comment. "Speaking of, Orin. Haven't seen him since I've been back; how is he?"

"Mm, this sort of thing sets him on edge." Ari paused to rethink that, and amended with, "Well, it makes him teeter on that edge he's already on." A fond grin with that; it was more than apparent -- and not just by the flashy ring on her left hand -- that she was in love with the guy. Two and a half years, and going strong; it was a life long record. Cam smiled and shook her head, elbow pressing into the mattress so she could haul herself half-up. "With everythin' that's goin' on, and with everythin' that has been goin' on for the past year, I kinda expect Oliver to bolt. Hell, if I were in his shoes, I would. This is crazy."

"It's best not to say that word too loud here, darling. One, Orin'll pop in and find offense, and two, that doctor might show back up and take it as a go ahead to shove you into a padded room." The words were droll and half amused; Ari'd like to see someone sweep past her 'regime' and try to take anything or anyone out of this place. It wasn't notorious for gunfights without just cause. "If he loves you, he'll stay. If he has doubts, then it's best they come out as soon as possible so you both don't waste time on somethin' that isn't goin' to work." Cam nodded in understanding after that, palms swiping down the length of her face wearily.

"Pete's been here the entire time I was unconscious." It wasn't a question; a flat statement to prove what she knew to be right. "Mhm," was all she got out of Her Highness, and an elbow nudged into the woman's side. "Just friends, Arianna Lissette. He knows. I know." Mimicking the words quietly -- in jest -- Ari scissored up into a sitting position. "I know too, doll. It took him awhile after you left, but.. he's gotten a lot better. Still clumsy as hell, but I have a good supplier. Thank God." Or she'd be out of business with all the broken bottles that kid accumulated.

"He's a good man," Cam replied after a moment, nodding firmly. Ari checked her watch and groaned, using the edge of the bed to help her stand. "I need to go downstairs. Want to come with?" Get out of this room, stop talking to the shadows, and stop letting the shadows get to you-- roughly translated. Fingers brushing back through her hair, Cam grimaced and shrugged. "Yeah, give me about ten minutes to do somethin' with this," meaning the hair, "and put on some clothes that don't make me look like a homeless person." Seating herself back on the bed, Ari nodded. "I'll wait here, go on and get beautiful."

Women. They were so simple.

( to be continued )

<font size=1>We stand upon the brink of a precipice. We peer into the abyss?we grow sick and dizzy. Our first impulse is to shrink from the danger. Unaccountably we remain. By slow degrees our sickness and dizziness and horror become merged in a cloud of unnamable feeling. By gradations, still more imperceptible, this cloud assumes shape, as did the vapor from the bottle out of which arose the genius in the Arabian Nights. But out of this our cloud upon the precipice's edge, there grows into palpability, a shape, far more terrible than any genius or any demon of a tale, and yet it is but a thought, although a fearful one, and one which chills the very marrow of our bones with the fierceness of the delight of its horror. It is merely the idea of what would be our sensations during the sweeping precipitancy of a fall from such a height. And this fall?this rushing annihilation- for the very reason that it involves that one most ghastly and loathsome of all the most ghastly and loathsome images of death and suffering which have ever presented themselves to our imagination?for this very cause do we now the most vividly desire it. And because our reason violently deters us from the brink, therefore do we the most impetuously approach it. There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him who, shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a Plunge. To indulge, for a moment, in any attempt at thought, is to be inevitably lost; for reflection but urges us to forbear, and therefore it is, I say, that we cannot. If there be no friendly arm to check us, or if we fail in a sudden effort to prostrate ourselves backward from the abyss, we plunge, and are destroyed.

excerpt : The Imp of the Perverse, Poe</font>

<center>----</center>

It was time to go home.

Her things already gathered in the foyer of the building, a hand lifted to brush back her hair as eyes shifted to the gathering of people in the bar area. Quick smile flashed, she blinked a few times to shield back the tears already forming. It had only been a week, and she had her own life elsewhere now, but it was still hard to leave everyone. The first to be enveloped in a tight hug was Ari, the other woman's slender arms creeping around her razor thin form easily. "I'll get in touch with you soon," was whispered against Cam's hair, and as Ari pulled back, a comforting smile was given. "I'll be lookin' forward to it, doll," returned easily. Body angling appropriately, Tom, Clyde, Larry, and even Valentine received a hug.

At the end of the line, Pete eyed her beneath a fall of stark red, and he tried to return her smile. "You.." a finger aiming his way, "You should come visit sometime. It's a great place." Smile furthering, arms went around him tightly, and his cheek dropped to press against her forehead. "We'll see," was the only reply he'd give, and she nodded. Hands going out at her sides, a half shrug was given before everyone was saluted. "I'll be seein' ya'll later." With that -- and one last smile -- she turned quickly and grabbed the two small bags waiting on her. No taxi to come pick her up; time rifts / jumps / nexus' / whatever were a little trickier.

Viva la Rhydin.

* * * *

The apartment was just as she left it. Kicking the door shut behind her, both bags were tossed to the side as eyes swept around the room. It was still morning, thankful enough, so the interior was brightly lit by the sun pouring through the windows. Shoes were the next to be kicked aside, hands going around to rest lightly on the small of her back as steps took her from the living room to her bedroom. The balcony was given a flicker of a look, and she turned to settle heavily on the bed.

Cam supposed she could count her blessings that the .. incidents were calming down a little. In the past three days, she'd only woken up screaming once. Sleep, when it came via drug inducement, was a blank void of nothing, with the ocassional rift of voices and faces haunting her subconscious. Absently, fingers went up to run along the edge of the red satin gris gris bag Ari still insisted she wear, along with the dime around her ankle. With a sigh, she fell back on the bed and reached out for the solitary stuffed penguin resting against the pillows.

Fernando was a bit too large to keep around for cuddling, anymore, what with him having his own life now. Eyeing the plush baby penguin, she couldn't help but smile slightly. Talk about a wish getting fucked six ways from Sunday. She never explained the events to anyone -- other than Des -- because frankly? It sounded like she'd been on an acid trip. Who'd believe ramblings about tall, talking grass and stuffed penguins come to life? It was odd enough for a grown woman to even have stuffed animals. Then again, nobody ever said one -- Camilla Violet -- was normal.

The events of the last week replayed in her mind like a silent film-- her old friends helping like she'd never left. Estranged parents trying to rekindle a bond that hadn't been there to start with. Nightmares trying to drive her insane and doctors wanting to put her away for it. Penguin tucked in the crook of her arm, her other hand reached out blindly towards the nightstand, and consequently, the phone resting there.

Pressing the appropriate speed dial buttons, the receiver was jammed between her ear and shoulder as attention shifted up to the ceiling. The sooner she called Oliver to announce her return, the better it'd be. There was no use in prolonging whatever was to happen. Frowning after the fifth ring -- and the answering machine picking up -- she sighed heavily. The message was brief and to the point.

"I'm home."

With that, the call was ended and the phone thrown beside her on the bed. As it were, she had a few hours to kill, and what better way to do it, than staring at the fabulous stimpling above her.

"I put a spell on you because you're mine.
You better stop th' thing that you do.
You better watch out, I ain't lyin'.
No, no, no, no.

You know I ain't gonna take none of your foolin' around.
I ain't gonna take none of your puttin' me down.
I put a spell on you because you're mine."

The club was left deserted; a ghost shell of what it had been a mere hour and a half ago. Brian and the rest of the band had packed up their gear and decided to call it an early night, each member drifting off to their respective residences, leaving the canary alone with her piano. Heels kicked off to the side, fingers drifted lightly over the keys, head tilted down towards the instrument as if trying to hear something that wasn't there. Glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, the words to the song oozed out like honey, coating the interior with Southern Comfort, a husky alto, and spinning a fantasy of possession and wayward love.

So engrossed in the music, she didn't hear the approaching footsteps until the person was standing directly in front of her, the piano releasing a discordant sound as the keys were pressed haphazardly. Heart in her throat, the back of her knuckles lifted to push the glasses up a little farther; nose wrinkling as she squinted up to the man. "... club's closed, doll. Gonna have to come back tomorrow." A brief glance over her shoulder to see if anyone happened to be around -- the manager, a bartender, anyone -- only to met with what seemed to be miles and miles of empty room. He flashed a grin down her way, hands tucking into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. "Not looking for a drink, and I've already seen the show. As a matter of fact, I've seen a few of your shows. My name is Marshall Windham, and I represent the MMC Recording Studio located in Massachusetts." That smile of his broadened then, and he extended a hand.

A slow blink followed the introduction, her hand reaching for his almost involuntarily. "Guess it's kinda pointless to give you m'name then, huh?" Slanting him her own red glossed smile, hand was released after the firm shake, and drifted back down to the piano keys. "Indeed, Ms. St. John," returned amiably, head tilting to the empty space beside her on the piano bench questioningly. Gesturing for him to help himself, she continued playing the song's instrumental while sideglancing to his profile. "So what brings you all the way here? S'a long way from home." Understatement, and they both laughed at the joke. "As a matter of fact, you do." Helping himself to the keyboard, the song continued without hesitation as she dropped her hands to her lap. "Obscure artists are what we do, and you seem to be one of the best." Pausing for a moment, a card was untucked from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed her way.

Crimson tipped nails plucked the card from him easily, and blue-violets skimmed over the writing. "A record deal, eh?" Glancing his way for the nod, in assent, the card was handed back to him with a smile. "Sorry, not interested." Pushing up to her feet, she scissored at the waist to grab her heels and slid them on, before wandering to the bar. Fingers curling around the decanter of bourbon Franklin -- the bartender -- left for her, she set about filling a glass and waiting for the sound of his shoes scuffing on the floor, signalling he had followed. Thirty seconds later, her wait was over as he suddenly appeared at her elbow. "Not interested?" Brow arching, the card was placed on the bar, beside her glass. "Not interested," repeated firmly, eyes drifting up his way as a long sip was taken. "How can you be not interested? You're a seasoned performer, quite a good one I might add, working in bars when you should be available for a larger audience."

A half-grin pulled at the corner of her mouth as she listened, hip cocking out to press against the lip of the counter. "My audience is just fine, Mr. Windham. I don't want to be famous, I don't want to be media-owned." The incredulous look on his face was making the entire conversation worth it, and she smothered a laugh in another sip of the bourbon. "Media-owned..? I've never heard it put like that before. You'd be doing what you loved, getting paid better for it. No more working in these dives, singing for drunkards..." The clink of crystal on wood interrupted his spiel, and she turned to face him fully. "I do what I love, get paid just enough for it, and these drunkards are what helped make this my livin' for eight years. Now you may not understand the concept of lovin' a job, but I'd do this for free if I didn't like eatin' and sleepin' under a roof. Our conversation is over, thank you for stoppin' by."

Pasting on an empty, cordial smile, the card was picked up and ripped into four pieces, then deposited into the half empty glass of liquor. Without another word, she bypassed him and headed for the stage long enough to grab her bag. Head held high, a finger wiggle in farewell was given to him as he stood there with his mouth agape. Door swinging shut behind her, she didn't even get to the crosswalk before her cell phone started ringing. Switching her bag from her right hand to her left, the phone was flipped open and placed to her ear. "Yep?" For some reason, she expected Gavin to be ranting in her ear, and her expectations weren't for naught.

"I hand you a record deal on a silver platter, and you turn it down? What the hell is wrong with you? Need I remind you what I can take awa--" Before he could launch -- fully -- into his tirade, her voice interrupted. "Hey 'Vin? Fuck off and shove your threats righ-- well, I think you know where I mean. And if you've got a problem with me, which I think you do, how 'bout you come to me with it for once. I'd just love to see you again." Without waiting for a reply, the call was ended. Resuming her pace down the sidewalk -- a jaunt in her step that hadn't been there before -- her voice rang out to echo off the buildings, keeping her company on the way home.

"I put a spell on you, and now? You're mine.."

<font color="#7C2A39" size="1">[ August 27, 2005 01:28 AM: Message edited by: vintage faith ]</font>

[ Continued from above post. Written by the mun of Gavin. ]


The songbird was getting a little full of herself it seemed. The silence that stretched on long after she had abruptly ended their conversation sent a slow burning fury crawling through his body, seeping into his blood and pulsing and surging through his veins until he felt nothing but the white hot fire of rage. He didn't move for several moments and when he did it was only to shift the cell phone away from his ear, a loud metallic crack heard as it was unceremoniously folded shut. For a moment long, lean fingers tightened around it, his knuckles turning white until the faux metal shifted against the force as an idle cracking of the thick plastic sounded in the dimly lit office.

The phone was finally released, tossed across the gleaming wooden desktop without care now that it was probably ruined. Not that he gave a damn about it. Easily replaced. Long legs were unfolded and lowered to the floor from their earlier position propped up on the corner of the desk. Palms were planted against the edge of it, pushing back enough to be able to stand. Stepping around the chair, he faced the pane of glass that encompassed the outer wall of the office, dark eyes drifting over the lights of the city. The muscles that had drawn and tensed were forcefully relaxed one by one until the anger had slowly stemmed to an idle simmer just below the surface. No sense wasting his energy on anger now. There would be a more appropriate time for that ... later.

Turning away from the window again, his palm scrubbed over his face before his fingers rubbed over the day old stubble gracing his jaw. A quick survey of his appearance - loosened tie, wrinkled and half-untucked dress shirt, deeply creased dress pants, rumpled dark hair - prompted a grin hooking thin lips idly in a lopsided slant. Suit jacket was lifted from the back of his chair and slung over his shoulder as it was hooked by only his index finger before his lazy, confident swagger headed for the door. He needed a shower, a shave, and a much needed change of clothes. It wouldn't do to show up on a lover's doorstep looking like a vagabond. Former lover, perhaps .. though who knew where a fair wind might take him. Five years was a long time. She was right. It was only proper to collect a debt of this magnitude in person. And Gavin Laroux was a man who had every intention of being repaid .. in one way or another.

<center><font size=1>She seemed dressed in all of me.
Stretched across my shame.
All the torment and the pain leaked through and covered me.

I'd do anything to have her to myself.
Just to have her for myself.
Now I don't know what to do,
I don't know what to do when she makes me sad.

She is everything to me,
the unrequited dream,
The song that no one sings,
the unattainable.
She's a myth that I have to believe in,
all I need to make it real is one more reason.

I don't know what to do,
I don't know what to do when she makes me sad.
But I won't let this build up inside of me.
I won't let this build up inside of me.

A catch in my throat, choke;
Torn into pieces, I won't. No.
I don't want to be this but I won't let this build up inside of me.

She isn't real.
I can't make her real.
She isn't real.
I can't make her real.

( vermilion pt. 2 ; slipknot )</font>

----</center>


Swiping a hand wearily down the length of her face, a brief look was shot towards Brian as they finished packing the remainder of the equipment. Another Friday night, another bar full of people drunk as all hell and still spinning crazily to music that had stopped ten minutes ago. "One day we'll be able to afford people to do this for us," grunted towards Bri as the cord to her mic was coiled around a hand. The grin he shot her was amused, coupled with a headshake as he set his guitar into its case. "Yeah, but then we'll get all spoiled and lazy. Who wants that?" The look he got was a your average out of the box 'duh' types. "Me," returned dryly. One corner of her mouth quirking upwards, he sent her a one finger salute before turning to unhook the amps and sound board. "I'd take ya up on that, but we're both involved with other people." Lashes fluttering, mock sultry look aimed his way, she laughed to herself as the mic stands were carried to the back room.

Locking everything into their makeshift supply closet, an idle glance swept around to make sure nothing had been left out. They had kept everything on the stage, set up for rehearsals and gigs, until a couple of months ago, when someone thought it'd be cute to steal a few of the amps and microphones. The things were too expensive to replace every month, so the club owner had allowed them the storage space. Shouldering past her, Brian reached down to scruff both hands through her hair -- almost like he was trying to rile up a really small dog -- before ducking quickly down the hall before she could thwap him. "I'll talk to you tomorrow evenin', asshole," was yelled his way; her answer a hand raising over his head in farewell before he pushed out the side door.

Sliding a cigarette filter between her lips, hand cupped around the tip until she sparked the square to life; smoke inhaled and held as a peek was given through the curtain back out to the dance floor and bar area. Since the night she'd informed Gavin she knew who he was, there hadn't been anymore phone calls. Knowing it was a stretch, something deep inside of her was hoping maybe he'd simply decided to forget who she was and move on. Yeah, and it might snow green jellybeans in November too.

Attention distracting, smoke trailed behind her form like a ghost scarf, the distance from her current spot and outside covered in record time. Summer was starting wind down, and the night air was cooler. Contrasting with the hot, hazy air inside, it was like surfacing from water after being held down for so long. Door slamming shut behind her, a shoulder met the brick wall of the building behind her; heel clad foot lifting to press against it as well. The dull thrum of DJ spun music beat like a heart, sending vibrations through the pit of her stomach, and an arm lifted to cross it. No ringing from her pocket, no voices filtering from the front street... it was almost surreal.

A quick glance to her watch revealed how late it was, and the cigarette was thrown down to be crushed underfoot. She told Oliver she'd meet him at his place after the set was done, so he was probably expecting her. God knows, with the way she liked to flitter off and disappear... Fingers scritched back through her hair, trying to smooth down the unkept and tousled curls as she directed herself around the corner of the building, heading for the main sidewalk. Strolling in dark alleyways was asking for trouble. Lips pursed in a whistle, one of the songs from the last sets, and eyes rolled to train skyward-- oblivious to anything that lay ahead.

<center><font size=1>6 a.m., day after Christmas, I throw some clothes on in the dark.
The smell of cold, carseat is freezing.
The world is sleeping, I am numb.

Up the stairs to her apartment, she is balled up on the couch.
Her mom and dad went down to Charlotte.
They're not home to find us out.

And we drive, now that I've found someone,
I'm feeling more alone than I ever have before.

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly.
Off the coast and I'm headed nowhere.
She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly.

They call her name at 7:30.
I pace around the parking lot and I walk down to buy her flowers,
and sell some gifts that I got .

Can't you see?
It's not me your dying for.
Now she's feeling more alone than she ever has before.

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly.
Off the coast and I'm headed nowhere.
She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly.

As weeks went by, they showed that she was not fine.
They told me "Son, it's time to tell the truth."
And she broke down, and I broke down cause I was tired of lying.

Driving back to her apartment, for the moment we're alone.
And she's alone and I'm alone, and now I know it.

( brick : ben folds five )</font>

----</center>


What lurked beyond the outreaches of light, tucked away in places of shadow and solitude, was little more than a bit of animated flesh. Born to die just as every person was, but with the inner fire and vengeance to make others miserable before that last breath could be drawn. One pale hand, followed by another, drifted upwards; pausing long enough for a match flare to illuminate the pitch and spark the tip of tobacco. A red beacon in night, warning others to stray away, though it was quickly hidden by a flick backwards. The heel clicks edging closer caused an unseen smile, the barest traces of amusement glittering diamond-like as movement extracted shadow from shadow-- showing for all the world by light of lamp the mere man.

"It's a beautiful night.. isn't it?" The question was asked whimsically, an upward tilt of gaze leveling on the stars rather than the woman staring at him, half in shock - half in wariness. Instead of replying, arms lifted to cross over her midriff protectively, a brief look slanted over her shoulder towards the building in the distance. "You told me if I had a problem with you, to come to you. Here I am." Arms splaying in front of him, a mischievious grin was directed her way. "Now you pick to listen to what I say? 'Vin, I'm flattered." Courage quickly gathered, blue-violets lifted to narrow on him.

"Wisdom comes with age, baby. That's the saying anyway." The silence that followed was audible, leaving a roaring in one's ears and filling every empty space with static. Blue on green, it was a stare off. Inhaling sharply, her tongue darted out quickly to wet her lips-- another look thrown over her shoulder. Paranoia, a little went a long way. "Look," the first to break the silence, fingers went up to push her fedora back, exposing her gaze for what it was. Intent, focused, and not entirely pleased. "If this is about the money, fine. You can get it back, plus all the interest it's drawn over the years. If it's not about the money, tell me what it is, and get the fuck out of my face."

Abruptly, a hand shot out to grasp her chin, forcing that gaze to meet a little closer as he tugged her forward. Lips had curled upwards into a sneer, and the warmth of his breath slid across her cheek like silk. "I'm not your pet, I'm not your serving boy, and I'm sure as hell not shivering in fear because you're pissed off. Guess what baby, I've been pissed off for a long time." Grip tightening, she could feel the bones in her jaws beginning to crack before he pushed her back as suddenly as he had grabbed her. "I'll tell you what I am, though. I'm tired of this place, and I'm tired of you. Have the money back in New Orleans, our time, by next week."

Reaching to rub at the beginning-to-bruise flesh, jaw flexing, her gaze followed him as he backed towards the shadows again-- cigarette lifted for an angry draw before he flicked it to the ground. Crushing the embers out with the toe of his wingtips, a finger was jabbed her way. "You were a dried up cunt back then. Nice to see time hasn't changed anything. Expect another visit." On the verge of saying something else, or perhaps another movement to grab her again, Brian's voice drifted from the parking lot, over their way.

"Cam, you need help with somethin'?" In his hand was one of the mic stands, his personal one he brought in, and it was hefted up like a golf club. Staring at Gavin for a long moment, just when he thought she was going to call the other guy over, she shook her head. "Nah, it's cool. Just a deranged fan. He was leaving, isn't that right?" Smooth tones were cast back to Gavin with a pointed look, brow arching as his color escalated. "We're not through," was all he said before ducking through the alley. A car started up a few yards away, signalling his departure.

"Need a ride?" Brian's voice sounded again, breaking her out of the reverie she'd unknowingly slipped into. Blinking, she half turned towards him and shook her head, fingers still cupping her chin and splaying across the bruised flesh of her cheeks. "Nah, s'cool. I'll see you guys later." With little more than a distracted wave, she turned in the opposite direction towards her apartment.