a songstress in the making : camilla st. john

[cajun_songbird]

<center>Is there something that you are trying to say?
Don't hold back now.
It's been a long time since I felt this way.
So don't hold back now.

I purposely forgot about loving anyone.
Cause I'm the only one who has, who has been stepped upon.

Is there something that you are trying to say?
Cause I can take it.
Cause I grew up a woman this way.
And if I'm hurt I'll shake it.

I'll crawl back into my cave.
That's how I'll make it.
Cause out of all this hurt we have..
Beauty thus becomes.

In the mourning I can see the sights.
No wonder I could never keep you satisfied.
In the mourning I can see inside..
Myself and all the things that you were trying to hide.

Wishing all the best for you.
And now I will say goodbye.
Cause all the shit that we've been through..
Put wisdom in my eyes.

So walk away, don't turn around.
Cause I won't be standing here.
Cause all the lies that I've been living through..
Are becoming very clear.
And beauty thus becomes.

Then you conned me into thinking..
That all I had was you.
The small insinuations..
Were cutting me through.
Cutting me through.

And now I stand alone here..
Stronger than before.
And I'll never go back..
Never go back..
Never go.

( mourning ; tantric )

----</center>

Journal Entry
February 13th

No time to be sick. My eyes are burning, my throat is scratchy-- just great considering what tomorrow is, and what's planned. Valentine's Day weekend is one of the biggest ones considering what I do for a living, and last night just totally .. not good. The voice was a little huskier than usual, turning the songs into something they weren't supposed to be. I guess the audience pretty much didn't care. They danced, they applauded.

And I got paid, so apparently, it was alright.

The plan for right now is to just .. curl up in bed, force feed myself some Vitamin C and keep hydrated. Once your eyes start doing the Itchy Dance of Hell, it's time to cease consciousness.

Oh yeah. Sidenote. Things are going splendidly, in terms of progress. Plus, I've got an interview tomorrow afternoon for a new apartment. Hopefully, the red nose-look won't scare the manager off.

I've just realized, journals are pointless. Thus ends this bullshit.

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 14, 2005 03:52 AM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>jump up, bubble up, what's in store?
love is the drug and i need to score.

----</center>

( a year ago )

"Good God woman, how many pairs of shoes do you need?" Huffing along behind her, the red-headed kid -- or, she should say, man -- glared at her through these lenses of his glasses. A grin slanted the red curve of her mouth, a brow arching delicately as she half turned to face him on the stairs. "As many as it takes, darlin'. Put the cases in the room and try not to scruff 'em."

Instant dislike, right off the bat. She was the evil shoe whore of New Orleans in his eyes. Eighteen years old -- a man in their times -- and innocent of the world she had learned was so corrupt, all hope was lost. Three years older than him, Cam took it upon herself to ruffle his feathers whenever the situation called for it. Insults were exchanged during every meeting like pleasantries.

Up until the night she kissed him. It started out as a normal night. Her acting like the Queen of Sheba, him glaring daggers at her back, but one thing changed. Or rather, one thing was brought to light. Cam had always viewed him for what he was-- a man, rather than the kid everyone else kept treating him as. Intelligent, witty, clumsy ... Some nights, after her set, she could remember going up to her room and wondering what it'd be like to have a decent person like that in her life.

Well, you're never going to know the answers until you do a little investigative work. Investigative work in the form of pushing him in a chair, straddling his lap, and making him pay attention to what she was saying. None of the words really mattered after that first kiss. What developed after, she couldn't put a name to. It was a little heavier than lust, but was it up there with 'love'? Confusing, that's what it was. Sprawled out next to him in bed, fingers running idly over the skin of his shoulder as he slept, a feeling welled up in her chest that she'd never felt before.

And she ran from it. Packed her bags, quit the club, and had left on the first train out of there with a goodbye kiss. She didn't look back when she left, and he didn't call out to her. Somewhat of a mutual understanding; things had escalated beyond their control.

Everytime she heard Fitzgerald's (gershwin) "Angel Eyes", it brought a sad smile to her face.

[cajun_songbird]

<center>i ran my mouth off a bit too much.
oh what did i say?
well you just laughed it off and it's all okay.
we'll all float on.

----</center>


People were clapping.

A wide smile appeared when she realized the applause was for her, one hand gripping the mic stand as she took a bow. The second set of the night was over with-- all she had to do was pack up and go home, thankfully. People thought standing on stage for two hours was a piece of cake, considering all you did was play piano and sing. Easy. They should try it. Wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, caused by the spotlight shining directly on her, the smile faltered slightly as the clapping dulled out to an echo.

The light wasn't going off.

Releasing the mic stand, the hand shifting to shield her eyes as she peered in the direction of where the crowd was, only to be faced with .. nothing. No one was there, and it looked as if nobody had been for quite awhile. Spiderwebs hung from the rafters. The tables were splintered and broken, and what chairs were left, were on their sides. Confused, she swung around to look behind her, at the stage, only to be confronted with a lot of dust, and a caved in piano.

Something was wrong.

A noise from the left of her caused attention to shift quickly, eyes widening as the source was brought into view quickly. Where the microphone stand had been just seconds ago, a large coiling snake now took it's place-- forked tongue slithering out to almost lap against her leg. With a scream, she scrambled backwards, her heel catching the edge of the stage and causing her to crash to the floor.

What was going on?

Crying out, the sound was cut off as she thudded to the floor, the breath knocked out her lungs from the impact. Not bothering to regain bearings, she scurried backwards on her heels and palms, ignoring the slicing pain shooting through her flesh. A glance to her hands showed that they were bleeding, though what caused it was yet to be seen. Not really caring at this point, the only thought in her mind-- get away from the snake. Hearing yet another noise behind her, she quickly regained her feet beneath her and pushed upwards, head swinging towards the door, where the sound was heard. Two people were standing there, though with the lighting in her face, all that could be seen were black shadows.

Who were they?

Fingers curling inwards to make fists, her position was kept in the middle of the room, eyes trained on the figures even as the hissing noise from behind gained in intensity. She knew.. if she turned her back on the men, something was going to happen, but if she kept her back to the snake... "What's goin' on?" screamed to the people, her voice echoing through the empty room-- reverberating off the walls to come back and mock her.

"What's goin' on? -- goin' on? -- what's -- goin' -- on?"

The blood was falling thicky from her hands now, trailing down her arms, and falling to the floor in a vermillion stream. The shadows were saying something now, but their tones were low-- almost inaudible. The voices blended together with the snake still hissing behind her, until the room was filled with a buzzing sound, an undertone of accusation and threat intermingling in a way that could only be sensed-- not heard. "You're lyin'." Lying about what, though? Clasping her bloody hands over her ears, she dropped to her knees suddenly, chin tucking towards her chest to try and block -- as well as drown out -- the noise.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Screaming suddenly, she could feel the snake coiling itself around her foot. Hands were dropped and eyes slid towards the roof of the building just in time to see a piece of it fall away to reveal the sky. Swallowing hard, as the serpent began winding its way up her leg, the last thing she could remember seeing was a star streaking across the dark velvet sky. It almost looked like it was going to crash right into h--

---

Waking up with a start, a scream stilled itself on her lips as she looked around the room wildly. Hands were coiled tightly in the scarlet sheets beneath her, and with a start, it took a moment to realize that the color wasn't induced by blood.

Stumbling from the bed, the lightswitch in the bathroom was flipped on. The mirror revealed a person Cam didn't recognize. Pasty white skin, dark circles beneath her fear-widened eyes. Breath coming in hitching gasps caused her shoulders to rise and fall jerkily.

That had been one hell of a nightmare...

<center></center>

----------

Dream Interpretation:

snake:
A snake, being the ages old symbol of Evil or Satan, makes it a bad omen to have one show up in a dream. To see a lone snake and feel threatened by it shows that you have a bad enemy that is even then working against you, it also a warning against bodily harm from an enemy. Should you overcome and kill a threatening snake in your dream shows that you will overcome your adversary and win out.

shadow:
A shadow is also a symbol for the unconscious activities that sometimes control actions. So a shadow can depict inner feelings seldom expressed. A shadow can also be a sign of coming events, the shadows cast from the future. This is because we often see someone?s shadow before we see them.

fear:
To feel fear in a dream means that you have not yet developed abilities to cope with what is symbolised as causing the fear. They show how to meet the parts of yourself that need release, or to be understood or healed. If it takes courage to meet these buried or painful parts of yourself, then your dreams will gradually take you on a journey that helps you to unfold your resources of courage.

blood:
Most often relates to emotional or psychological hurt and loss of energy, but can also depict physical injury, or presentiment of it. Emotional hurt could mean hurtful remarks, for instance being told we are not loved - these can sap our motivation to live and may be depicted as blood. The dream blood can denote injury, often from past trauma, which is causing us to lose energy or motivation. On your hands: Feelings of guilt about something. Perhaps you have killed the best in yourself in some way.

stage:
All the world is a stage and we are all actors playing a part. The trick to figuring out this dream is to try to find the symbology that will point to your 'performance in life' and then you will be able to correlate the stage with any items you see on it and the actions of the actors as they role play in order to receive the intended message.

lights:
A light shining out of the dark, or a flashlight beam, shows that you will finally find the truth in a situation or the answer to a personal problem that you have been searching for. If the light is dim, you will only find part of the solution.

echo:
Dreaming of an echo means you may have to keep repeating yourself before someone decides to trust and believe you.

defensive: This usually suggests you are being, or have been, defensive in the way you live or in relationships. There may be an underlying hurt or fear creating this defensiveness.

star:
A hope, a wish, an ambition. An intuition or subtle sense of the cosmos and your relationship with it. Subtle influences that shape and direct you.

<font color="#ECE6CA"><font size="1">[ February 18, 2005 03:17 AM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 23, 2005 05:04 AM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>If heaven was an hour, it would be twilight.
When the fire flies start their dancing on the lawn.
And supper's on the stove, and mama's laughing.
And everybody's working day is done.

If heaven was a town, it would be my town.
On a summer day in 1985.
And everything I wanted was out there waiting.
And everyone I loved was still alive.

Don't cry a tear for me now baby.
There comes a time we all must say goodbye.
And if that's what heaven's made of, you know I ain't afraid to die.

If heaven was a pie, it would be cherry.
So cool and sweet, and heavy on the tongue.
Just one bite would satisfy your hunger.
And there'd always be enough for everyone.

If heaven was a train, it sure would be a fast one.
That could take this weary traveler 'round the bend.
If heaven was a tear, it'd be my last one.
You'd be in my arms again.

Don't cry a tear for me now baby.
There comes a time we all must say goodbye.
Yeah if that's what heaven's made of, you know I ain't afraid to die.

( if heaven ; andy griggs )

----</center>


Two nights later
----

She was on the stage again, but this time, the spotlight wasn't on. Mainly because there weren't any walls, floors, or a ceiling. The dias was centered in the middle of what appeared to be a field-- the dark sky stretching out for miles above her. Huddling her arms across her chest, she sank down onto the edge of the platform and glanced up. The shooting star was aiming for her again, but this time, there was no fear towards it. Right before it crashed into the ground, a voice sounded beside her.

"It's beautiful, ain't it, Cam?"

Blinking, blue-violets slid to the side to reveal a rather healthy looking Samuel. He was sitting beside her, hands grasping the edge of the stage loosely as his own eyes were trained heavenward.

"Yeah it is. What do they look like up close, Sammy?"

".. like heaven.."

Both fell silent as they continued watching the stars as they seemed to shift and twist-- every so often, one would break from from the rest and come streaking down towards the ground, only to dissipate in a flash of bright light. It took a moment, but she looked back towards him.

"I wanna go with you."

"Can't do that yet, Cammy. You just keep yer eye on the prize."

"What prize?"

"I'm speakin' figuratively, dummy." He flashed a grin her way. "I see ya, ya know. Wanderin' around lost. Just remember I'm with ya."

Lips pursing, she nodded slowly before reaching out to grasp his hand. As soon as her fingers made contact with his, something changed. The sudden bright flare from a star that had gotten too close temporarily blinded her, and her free hand came up to shield her eyes as her head turned away from the light.

Sammy had disappeared by this time. The hand she was holding was different-- not as calloused, not as familiar. Blinking to regain focus, when Des became visible, she just turned her head back up towards the sky as if nothing had changed.

"I don't want to be here alone.."

"You're never alone. It's all within you. Everyone you've ever loved, who's loved you. You just have to learn to touch it, and it's as far away as the stars and as near as your heart."

"Never had nobody but him love me, though. I try to touch him and ..."

Without another word, she slid down to her feet and wandered away from the stage, hands tucking loosely into her pockets. As time as she left it, the stage -- and Des -- disappeared, leaving behind.. nothing. The sky had bled away to flat black, taking the starlight away. The grass in the field was taller here, more wild. The more she walked, the tougher it became to find a clear path.

Suddenly, the sound of a gun shot broke through the silence, causing her to cry out and duck down, arms thrown over her head protectively. There were no footsteps signalling someone else was around, and as soon as the noise from the shot echoed off into silence, she realized that it had been her with the gun.

The Browning was clasped tightly in her right hand, and very slowly, arms lowered so that she could stare at it. Blood coated the barrel, and there seemed to be blood spatter on the ground below her, but there were no wounds on her body.

Taking a shaky step back, her head whipped around to try and spot someone--anyone else around. Emptiness. Turning abruptly, she headed back in the direction she had just came, only to stumble over something heavy directly in her line of passage. For the longest moment .. she wouldn't look down. A harsh intake of breath kick started movement, and very slowly, her eyes slid to glance at what she had tripped over. And then she started screaming.

Looking back up at her -- through still, glassy eyes -- was .. her.

----

Dream Interpretation

field:
Your feelings of relaxation, or your natural feelings. Fields also suggest freedom from social pressure, and the feeling you have about yourself when away from other people, with one's own natural inclinations.

walking:
Walking usually depicts personal effort, making your own way at your own pace. The conditions or surroundings where you are walking suggest what you feel about that, and the situation of your personal life.

brother:
Probably represents your feelings in connection with your brother. These may include rivalry, anger, feelings of persecution, love and admiration, authority, or an outgoing ability to deal with the world.

gun:
This could be a sign of urges to hurt someone. It may also signify fear of being attacked and hurt by others, or a sense of inadequacy when facing aggression. For some people the gun relates to a sense of power and strength to meet the world.

shooting:
A hurt received, or given. Fears or worries about death. The destruction of a part of yourself by another which is demanding energies in an aggressive way.

( see previous post for star and blood dream relation )

[cajun_songbird]

<center>how can you see into my eyes like open doors?
leading you down into my core, where i've become so numb.
without a soul, my spirit sleeping somewhere cold.

until you find it there and lead it back home.
now that i know what i'm without, you can't just leave me/
breathe into me and make me real. bring me to life.

wake me up inside. wake me up inside.
call my name and save me from the dark.
bid my blood to run, before i come undone.
save me from the nothing i've become.

frozen inside without your touch, without your love.
darling, only you are the life among the dead.

all this time i can't believe i couldn't see.
kept in the dark but you were there in front of me.
i've been sleeping a thousand years it seems.
got to open my eyes to everything.
without a thought, without a voice, without a soul.
don't let me die here.
there must be something more.
bring me to life.

( bring me to life ; evanescence )

-----</center>


She was in the field again, but everything felt different. The fear from the previous time had dissipated, leaving her in that cold emotional state Dr. Barthlomew described as sociopathic. A pure white static that was a void of any emotion-- any at all. Brushing the tall grass aside as she moved through it, eyes never wavered from the path she was cutting. All of a sudden, her way was stopped, as if an invisible wall had appeared.

Pressing her palms flat to whatever it was, she leaned forward until her forehead was pressed against it. Eyes closing, a harsh breath was inhaled, shoulders lifting jerkily with the motion. When her eyes reopened, things had taken on a more familiar feel. The surroundings came to into focus sharply, and she realized she was looking down onto the dance floor at Envy. That meant she was in ..

Jace was standing directly below her, surrounded by a crowd of people she didn't recognize. The odd thing wasn't that she didn't recognize them-- it was that each and every single person had a smile perpetually engraved on their faces, him included. Frowning, her eyes shifted from where he was standing to glance around the rest of the club. From one of the exits, two shadowy forms appeared, heading in a straight line through the crowd. Everyone else parted like water for a ship, as if nothing at all was going on.

Palms flat to the window, she began beating on the glass, though the harder she hit, the quieter it got. After a moment, she realized she wasn't making any noise at all, even when her mouth opened to scream. The frown dissolved into something darker-- more fearful as the two figures seemed to be drawing closer to Jace. His eyes were kept on the people in front of him, that smile almost mockingly bright in face of the danger that no one seemed to be aware of but her.

Drawing her hands back, fists were made as they pounded onto the glass, over and over, until the whole wall shook from the force. One of the shadow-figures broke away from the other, drawing it's arm out to reveal a wickedly curved blade. Eyes widening, all attempts at trying to warn were abandoned as she reached behind her for a chair. Taking a step back, the chair was hoisted up over her shoulder-- a deep breath inhaled as she threw all of her weight behind crashing it through the window.

Shards of glass exploded outwards, raining down on the people below, but they kept smiling. Kept laughing, and pretending like nothing was going on. The shadow-figure was directly behind Jace now, the knife lifted in the air, allowing the dim lighting to glint menacingly off of the blade. As it began its downward arch, she screamed suddenly-- footing lost before she stumbled and fell through the jagged opening left by the chair. The last sound she heard before hitting the floor was the sickening dull sound of metal sinking into flesh...

--------

With a scream, she jerked awake only to find herself on the floor. Palms pressing on either side of her, sobs began racking her body as she scrambled into a sitting position, nightstand knocked over as a grab was made for the phone. Shaking fingers took a moment coordinate enough to dial the number, the harsh sound of her crying being the only thing she could hear except for the low ringing. When the machine picked up on the other end, she nearly began sobbing again.

"When you get this, just let me know you're okay. Fuckin'... call me and let me know you're alright. God, please let me know you're alright..."

The phone dropped from her hand suddenly, and with a muffled sound, it was kicked away from her to land over by the far wall. Knees drawing up to her chest, she buried her face in her hands and let the tears flow openly, shoulders shaking with the effort it took to control herself enough to not start wailing.

--

Jace would roll out of bed when he heard the phone ring, interrupted from a dream of his own but too cloudy-headed to remember it. He'd missed Cam's call by the time he dug the cell out of his pocket, so he punched in the code to hear his voicemail. The tone of her voice spurred him into action, tugging his jeans on as he listened to the message and grabbing his jacket. He snapped the phone closed, grabbed his keys, and shot out the door with total disregard for the cold that would meet his bare chest. A shocking breeze stole the breath out of him before he reached the car, but it wasn't long before he slid into the driver's seat. Coat tossed haphazardly into the back seat, Jace revved the engine, slammed the car into reverse, and finally tugged the phone out of his pocket again to dial Cam's number. "Cam," his own voice intense but straining to hide other emotion when she answered, "S'Jace." As if she needed to be told. "I'm fine, baby, I'm fine. Look, I'll be there in two minutes. Don't open the door for anyone else."

--

<center></center>

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 23, 2005 05:11 AM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>look at me, my depth perception must be off again.
you got much closer than i thought you did.
i'm in your reach, you held me in your hand.
can you find it in your heart, to make this go away?
and let me rest in pieces.

----</center>


Habits -- even good ones -- were bad for you. "Don't walk by yourself at night." So she'd call a cab. Nice, safe way to get home and no one could rightfully bother you in a speeding vehicle. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

***

Facial expression was arranged into neutral lines, the pencil in her right hand tapping absently on the table. A flicker of a gaze was directed towards the server when he wandered back by to refill her coffee cup, brief smile coming to light before her attention redirected to the paper in front of her. It had been such a long time since she'd worked on any lyrics. At the moment, she wasn't so sure she had it in her anymore.

Empty nights got the wind soundin' like a scream...

"Do you need anything else, miss?"

The voice caused her to jump, blue-violets shooting back upwards at the same server that had refilled her coffee. Focus Camilla. Just because you don't look at people doesn't mean they aren't there. The smile on his face was broad-- enigmatic, as if he knew there was something in him admirable to all women. Rather, almost all women.

"Nope. All I ordered was coffee and I got it. Thanks."

Short, to the point. With a murmured apology for disrupting her, he backed away from the table, bowing mockingly, before heading on to the next customer. Pencil resumed it's tapping on the table as her other arm lifted to shift fingers through her hair, elbow resting lightly on the wooden top for support.

Tap. Tap. Tap Tap.

Fingers followed suit with the staccato rhythm, drumming idly against her bottom lip to match the pencil's beat. It wasn't helping her think any, but much to her delight, it was driving the people next to her insane, as evident from the disgruntled looks they kept shooting her way. Flashing a slant of a red stained smile their way, brow arching to enhance the effect, she pushed away from the table abruptly, shoving everything into her bag before slinging the strap over her shoulder.

Cell phone was unearthed from a jean pocket to ring the taxi service, so that they could send a car over. Luckily, it never took them long to get here. She usually waited three minutes tops. It was a game to time them. Giving the address to the coffee shop, a casual saunter took her to the counter to pay for the two coffees, though the second was still sitting on the table. The same guy, Mr. Enigmatic, appeared behind the register with a lazy, boyish grin, a hand sliding down the front of his white shirt and green apron as if to draw attention to himself.

The show was met with a roll of eyes, though she did return the grin-- full bedroom wattage. Money exchanged, and the building was exited without a backwards glance. Taxi was already idling at the curb, and without further ado, she slid into the back of the vehicle. For the second time, an address was rattled off, though this one, she was proud to say would take her home. It had been a long day, and she was ready to just sit in front of the piano for a few hours and try to be productive. Words always came easier when she could put a melody with them.

Once the car left the curb, she pulled the small notebook from the bag again, pencil dug out with a flourish as she began drawing a quarterstaff. Something to occupy time as the car sped down the street, taking the appropriate turns. Glancing up briefly when the driver mumbled something, seemingly to himself, expression turned dubious but attention was a fickle thing. It immediately went back to the notebook.

Fifteen minutes later, dragging herself out of the imaginary world of pencil doodles and off the wall music notes, Cam was starting to realize .. she should've been home by now. Brows furrowing, she leaned forward to tap on the plastic barrier between her and the driver, clearing her throat to help gain attention.

"S'cuse me, I think you passed my apartment buildin'."

Chalk one up for the obvious. Instead of answering, he swerved the car around the next curve with enough force to send her flopping back against the seat. Camilla had never been pegged the smartest of broads, by any means, but something was starting to click in that head of hers .. this wasn't right. Reaching out to grab the door handle to help steady herself, she hauled upright again-- flat of her palm beating against the plastic wall a little more fiercely.

"Hey! Asshole! What the fuck you doin'? Pull this god--"

Interrupted by another tire squealing turn, she was to the point of taking off her shoe and seeing about breaking that damn plastic barrier, when the car jerked to a stop. Eyes wide, lips twisting, she leaned forward enough to peer through the front windshield at the building they were parked in front of. Didn't seem familiar at all.. Before she had the chance to ponder on that little bit of information, her door was jerked open, and the driver reached in, clamping a beefy hand around her wrist.

"Got an appointment, dollface. Just keep yer yap shut and c'mon."

( to be continued )

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 27, 2005 11:13 PM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>i won't cry
i won't cry
my heart will break before i cry

i will go mad

----</center>

Everytime someone told her she had an appointment, that usually meant: bad. Gritting her teeth together when she was jerked unceremoniously from the back of the cab, the soles of her sneakers skidded for a moment on the concrete. His grip didn't loosen-- if anything, it tightened as if he expected her to try something and run.

Gosh.

Plus side for him, this had been the one night she'd forgotten the Browning or any of the blades Des and Zane had helped her acquire. Karma is a son of a bitch.

"Appointment with who?" all conversational like, as if they were strolling through the park on a spring day.

His only answer was a grunt. Apparently, if he wasn't threatening, his conversational skills were lacking severely. When they approached the door to the building, it was swung open mysteriously from the inside, and she was shoved through it without preamble. As soon as he released her, two more sets of hands appeared -- one on each arm -- and began taking her to the elevator. Right about now, fear should be kicking in, but there was only acceptance. Cam was just amazed it had taken this long to happen.

P for Penthouse-- funny how when she saw that P button, a few things came to mind.

"He set up a place four streets over from where she lives. It's called... fuck.. ...Yorkshire Apartments. Top floor, penthouse. John Marceau."

Dr. Barthlomew had been telling the truth. Brownie point for him.

Eyes slid upwards to the roof of the elevator, faint wince appearing as the circulation to her hands was being cut off from the two men's tight grips. Something resembling a prayer popped into her head at that moment. If she was on her way to meet with Marceau that meant Mario would be around. How did one deal with coming face to face with the juggernaut that invaded your life so completely, without ever making a physical appearance?

O my God, relying on your infinite goodness and promises, I hope to obtain pardon of my sins, the help of your grace, and life everlasting, through the merits of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Redeemer.

Ding. Top floor.

When the elevator doors slid open, she was unceremoniously shoved into the foyer. Barely having any time to regain her bearings -- or to stop herself from falling to her knees on the marble floor -- the elevator doors slid back shut and began descending to the bottom floor again. Pressing palms flat to the cool flooring, eyes lifted just enough to view the surrounding area. By all appearances, the place seemed deserted. That is, until she heard a low murmur of music drifting from deeper within. A voice directly to her right paused any other motion or thought.

"Please forgive them for being so rough. It's their job, you see."

The voice glided like brushed silk over flesh, pinpricking along the back of her neck and giving her the incentive to get to her feet. Brushing palms down the front of her jeans, head canted enough to bring the voice's bearer into sight. The man stood at about an even six feet-- dark hair that appeared almost black in the low lighting. By all accounts, he didn't seem intimidating in the least, but there was an aura to him that screamed of harm. Barely concealed violence rolling beneath a veneer of polish and niceties.

"Ms. St. John."

"Marceau."

Introduction and recognition within two names, they eyed each other carefully, as if unsure of what the other might be capable of. She seemed demure enough-- a little too small to be much of a threat to anything or one, but he knew better. Clasping his hands at the small of his back, he gave her a small berth as he rounded her form, eyes sweeping up and down her form. The jeans were taken into account, as well as the light blue button up shirt beneath the black peacoat.

"I'd like to take this chance to say you have a beautiful singing voice."

His voice was an almost touchable thing-- full and deep. Cam could almost put money on the fact that he had a lovely baritone. Not that this was the time to exchange musical advice or thoughts. Inclining her head forward in thanks -- keeping her eyes on him warily -- she took a step back when he decided to step forward. A dark smile curved the full slant of his mouth, head tilting back as if to survey her better when she didn't reply verbally.

"Well then," said as hands rounded back to the front of his body, clasping lightly as if in anticipation of a fine wine or good meal, "I suppose the pleasantries are really pointless then, don't you think, Camilla?"

"Really pointless." Flatly. Simply. It provoked another smile from him as the distance between them was closed. Resting one hand on the base of her neck, fingers tightened a slight as he steered her into the living room section, bypassing the furniture and heading to the sliding glass door. Free hand was used to push it open, and he directed her out onto the balcony.

During the entire movement, she kept silent. A wince appeared at the pressure of his fingers on the sensitive skin below her ears-- having no choice but to follow. When they came to a stop, her eyes stayed ahead, drifting over the expanse of city presented in their view. "It's beautiful isn't it?" murmured into her ear, causing her to jump in surprise even if it wasn't much of a surprise at all. When she didn't answer this time, his grip tightened. "The whole city, right below me. At my feet, and yet what I want.. I can't find. Why is that, Camilla?"

Her name was drawled like a prayer, whispered to sinners and saints alike as his breath washed over the line of her jaw. Teeth clenching, ocean amethysts rolled to the side to expose his shoulder, since his face was hidden behind her hair. "Shit happens," was her only reply, which -- of course -- wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Now that's not very lady-like, Camilla. One might think you don't have any breeding." The words were bitten off forcefully, as if he was trying to literally use each one as a bullet to pierce her flesh. Without waiting for another reply, he shifted quickly, fingers leaving the back of her neck, only to wrap forcefully around the column of her throat.

"I'm tired of waiting," said as he walked her to the railing so that her back was pressed flush to it. Instead of stopping, he bent her over the wrought iron, until her feet were dangling off of the balcony floor. The only thing stopping her from falling was his tight grip. Choking slightly as her airway was clamped off, both hands reached up to grab loosely at his, trying to pry the fingers off. "I gave you two weeks. Then I gave you two more weeks. I was gracious! Patient. What did I get in return?" In answer to his own question, she was pushed that much more over the railing. All he had to do was simply let go. She'd be an ink blot test on the pavement some twenty odd stories below.

The wind was fiercer up here, lashing around their forms like a whip and causing her hair to fly across her face and obstruct the view. Maybe that was a blessing in disguise. The look on his face was something unholy-- making him appear to be an abomination straight from the depths of Hell, sent to Earth to cause chaos, mayhem, anarchy, and death. She could feel the emptiness at her back. The pressure of the iron at the backs of her knees was her only contact with anything solid, other than the hand of vengeance reaching out and saving her from falling like a disgraced angel.

Pulling her back suddenly, she was allowed to crumple to the cement flooring beneath them, hands of her own going up to replace where his had been, in an attempt to soothe bruised flesh; heaving breaths taken to replenish lost oxygen. He circled around to her left side, glancing down with disinterest at her form. Without another word, his foot was drawn back and aimed at ribs, connecting with a satisfying thud and making her lose all of the air newly acquired. Unable to cry out fully, she made a soft whimpering sound as her arms circled around her midriff, making an attempt to protect where there was no protection.

"I'll give you one more chance." Hiking up the legs of his trousers, he crouched down beside her, fingers going out to brush her hair from her face. "Three days. No more, no less. I'll send someone to meet you at that coffee shop you like frequenting. You show up, with the ricin. Hand it over, and that'll be the last you hear from me. If not, well.." Sighing emphatically, fingers curled in towards palm as his fist was slammed down against the right side of her face, abruptly. Choking on the sudden well of blood that filled her mouth, she coughed a few times before curling herself into a ball. Seeing that he didn't need to finish off the statement, he pushed up to his feet-- straightening his tie along the way.

Calling down for the two guards that escorted her up to the penthouse, Marceau relaxed his form in an armchair facing the balcony. While they waited for the men to show up, he was content with watching her struggle for breath. A quick smile slashed the harsh lines of his face then. Pleased that he'd have what he wanted in three days, the only thing left to do was make sure she got home all nice and tidy and then? Wait. The two men bustled into the room, and without a word to their boss, they hefted her from the floor and physically carried her back to the elevator. "Take care," he called over his shoulder with a chuckle.

***

Fifteen minutes later, she was being deposited at the door of her apartment. Setting her bag into her lap, one of the guards took it upon himself to make sure she knew she was home. Grabbing her by the upper arms, she was slammed back against the door once-twice-three times, until a groan was torn from her throat. Grinning, he cackled all the way back to the car. The slam of a door and the peal of tires from the curb announced their departure.

Cam figured she'd give herself a minute or two, just to compose herself before going inside. At the moment, walking seemed an impossible feat-- ranked right up there with breathing properly. Her ribs felt weird, her face was half numb, and their were blinding lights flashing every time she blinked. Heel digging into the ground beneath her, a shove was given to try and boost her upright, but it only succeeded in making her slump down against the door again. Here.. here was good for right now.

<font color="#ECE6CA"><font size="1">[ February 28, 2005 01:02 AM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 28, 2005 02:49 AM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>Hold me when I'm here, love me when I'm wrong.
Hold me when I'm scared, and love me when I'm gone.
Everything I am, and everything you need, I'll also be the one you wanted me to be.
I'll never let you down even if I could.
Give up everything if only for your good.
So hold me when I'm here, love me when I'm wrong.
You can hold me when I'm scared, you won't always be there.
Love me when I'm gone.

----</center>

The phone in her hand was given a cursory glance before numbers were tapped in. This would be a one time occurance, considering who she was calling.

Ring. Ring.

"'Lo?"

"Hello Analee."

Silence.

"What? You're not happy to hear from me, Maman?"

"Whatcha want, girl? We ain't got nothin' ta say ta each other."

So loving.

"Well, that's the first thing you've said that's made sense, in a long time. I just wanted to give you a call, tell you how much you made our lives hell and all. You won't hear from me again."

Uncomfortable pause.

"Ya talked ta him then?"

"Yeah. Guess I got you to thank for that, in a round-a-bout way."

If the conversation didn't have such an undercurrent of hate and hurt, it might've actually been humorous.

"I did what I had ta. Jus' like yer doin'."

"Justify it all you want, Analee. Just do me a favor before I hang up."

".........what?"

"Die slowly."

With that, the call was disconnected abruptly, blue-violets lifting to regard the picture sitting on the coffee table in front of her. Samuel smiled back at her through sepia and ink, forever frozen in the image of innocence and happiness. He was better at pretending, back then. Everything was fine, as far as he was concerned. When life got you down, that's when it was able to drag you into despair. It was something he wasn't used to and didn't care for.

Cam, on the other hand, was a realist. And had meant every word she had just said to the woman on the other end of the phone. Now, she was nameless. Pointless. Not real anymore. A brief smile curved the ruined corner of her mouth before Cam pushed up and headed for the front door. Des had pulled through with the syringes and mock-up.

It was almost party time.

<font color="#ECE6CA"><font size="1">[ March 01, 2005 10:26 PM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ March 01, 2005 10:28 PM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>And now the end is near, and so I face the final curtain.
My friend, I'll say it clear, I'll state my case, of which I'm certain.
I've lived a life that's full, I've traveled each and every highway.
And more, much more than this, I did it my way.
Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do, I saw it through without exemption.
I planned each charted course, each careful step along the bi-way.
More, much more than this, I did it my way.

Yes there were times I'm sure you knew.
When I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt.
I ate it up and spit it out.
I faced it all and I stood tall, and did it my way.

I've loved, I've laughed and cried.
I've had my fill, my share of losing.
And now as tears subside, I find it all so amusing.
To think I did all that, and may I say, not in a shy way.
Oh no, oh no not me, I did it my way.

For what is a man? What has he got?
If not himself, then he has not to say the things he truly feels.
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows, and did it my way.

Yes it was my way.

( frank sinatra ; my way )

----</center>

It hadn't occurred to her that he had the car. As soon as she realized what that address meant, all rational thought had skipped the state. Pausing in the middle of the sidewalk, a brief glance was given around before she looked up to him. "Fuck. The Mas. If you want to go get it, I'll wait." Her ribs were protesting the quick movement she was forcing, so riding might not be a bad idea. Everything she needed was still at her apartment.

Jace followed after Cam at a space of about ten feet. He caught up to her when she turned, flicked a look back over his shoulder, and slid his arms around her in a close, warm hug--however brief. "Don't move," whispered before he was aiming a damn good kiss at her, and then--he sprinted back to the car. Give him a flat 45 seconds, and he's right there at the curb, sliding out of the driver's seat.

Head tilting back from the pressure of the kiss, when he pulled away, her attention went to the Browning. Untucking it from its holster, the chamber was flipped open to count bullets. They were all there. She had extras at home. By the time he was pulling back up, she was sliding her glasses on. No headaches or strain tonight-- she'd waited too long for this and had bruises all over her goddamn body to show for it.

Without a word, Jace handed over his Springfield, too. It had seven plus one, was light enough for her to aim well, but heavy enough to keep from kicking the snot out of her. A good weapon--and Jace isn't the sort to share. But honestly, if they were headed where Jace thought they were headed, he should not be armed--lest he lose his head and take Cam's dues away from her.

Tucking the Browning back, the Springfield was taken with a grateful look his way. She didn't trust her voice to say much at the moment, and the gun was shifted from her left hand to her right. "Apartment," was all she could get out before opening the passenger side door. Normally, she'd wait for him, but waiting wasn't in the cards tonight.

He dropped back into the driver's seat, forgoing the seatbelt in favor of reaching over to take her left hand if it was available. He gave it a gentle squeeze and as soon as she had the door closed, pedal was pushed to the floor. They'd be at her apartment in two minutes flat.

Tucking the spare gun into her coat pocket, fingers wrapped around his hand when he took hers. She was shaking. When he pulled into the driveway in front of her building, she didn't even wait for the car to stop completely. Once it was slow enough to be safe, she was hopping out and digging out her house keys. It was taking a little effort to actually get the door unlocked, though.

Jace left the car running in park and was sliding out after her, hurrying to be close, sliding his hand to the small of her back while she fiddled with the lock. How badly he just wanted to protect her through all this! But that wouldn't help her any in the end...and he still didn't know
exactly what was going on at the moment.

"Goddamnit." Finally shoving the key into the damn lock, the door received a kick before she pushed it open. Glancing over her shoulder towards Jace, her mouth worked for a moment -- as if trying to formulate an explanation -- but instead, she headed on in to her bedroom. The nightstand drawer was thrown open, and she began rummaging for the box Des gave her.

Jace gave the front room a nervous look-over, sliding his hands into his pockets and drowning in futility. He paced the living room, alternating between those hands fisted in his pockets and raking fiercely through his hair. So much for the relaxed sprawling on the porch, that was comfort for another day. Jace was just glad he was here with Cam now, so she wouldn't be alone when all this was over.

The box was yanked out, causing the drawer to clatter to the floor and spill everything inside out. Crunching something underfoot, she made her way back towards where Jace was, flipping said box open. The needle marked in red was pulled out and held up. "If anythin' from the other two syringes gets on me, Des said you have to inject this into m'heart." Casually.

Jace reached out and took the syringe as if it already held the gift of life for her, greens homing in on her, his turn not to be able to formulate words. He choked a little bit trying to say something rash, but shook his head and headed back to get the door for her, syringe tucked carefully between his teeth. Don't be silly, Walker.

Pausing long enough to grab a few extra bullets from the shelf over the piano ( where better to keep them? ) she was following him towards the door. A hand reached out to grab the back of his shirt, eyes tilting up his way. Her expression softened somewhat-- Des always said her eyes couldn't lie, and they were magnified by the glasses. Without a sound, she slipped past him and headed for the car. Once he got in, she'd hand him the address.

Jace will promptly collapse into a whimpering emotional mess when this is over. Will Cam think he's a pussy? Eh. Nothing hotter than watching your hot piece on the side take out the psycho fucker that killed her brother and made her life a living hell. He slid into the car, syringe still locked between his teeth like he didn't trust it anywhere else. He eyeballed the address long enough to draw the mental map, then it was crumpled and tossed into the back seat of the car and they were in forward motion again.

She wouldn't think he was a pussy. They could both have breakdowns, keep it quiet, then resume life like nothing happened, right? Right. Sounded like a plan. Tucking the box with the syringes into her coat pocket, his hand was reclaimed once the car started moving again-- pad of her thumb brushing over his knuckles. Cigarette. Wanted a cigarette, but also didn't want to smoke up the car. "It's them," quietly, as if he couldn't figure it out from the skitsing out. "Zane got 'em.." Nothing else to say. She started watching the road through the windshield.

Jace reached up with his left hand, braced his elbow on the steering wheel, and took the syringe from his mouth to palm it (carefully) before resuming control of the car--never once breaking contact once she'd reinitiated it. He clasped her hand, lifted it to his lips for a hard-pressed kiss, and just couldn't look her way. If she wanted to smoke she was more than welcome to. Jace would want one too, but he wasn't putting down the needle or letting go of her hand, and he just didn't have enough arms to manage a smoke, too. "I bought that house with the big closets," randomly, his only comment that even vaguely referred to their stupid little tiff. "I'm supposed to close on it in a week." And then it would be moving day again, if she was up for it.

If she shook any more, her teeth were going to start rattling. It was like she had a cold chill and couldn't get rid of it. Giving up on the battle, her free hand was used to carefully manuever a cigarette into her mouth, then light it. If he wanted a draw, she'd be his hands. Rolling the window halfway down, that should take care of the smoke problem, if not freeze them to death for a little while! Still keeping her eyes on the road ahead, the mention of the house caused her to slant a look his way, however briefly, then it was right back up front. "I'm ready." After the talk with Des, her priorities had been re-evaluated, and well. That tiff wasn't worth the effort they put into it. "Just let me know when." Normal conversation to help her stop from screaming, the closer they got to the storage building grounds.

"I can push for an earlier move in," through clenched teeth as he took a hard corner and accelerated into the turn. Less than a mile now. His expression was steel, jaw setting with a determination that rolled that muscle into a lump of granite at his molar, those green eyes clearing away the usual muddiness in their color to reveal something icy. He slowed as they got closer, part of him wanting to put this off, the rest of him dying to get it over with. He turned to look at her over his right shoulder, then pulled into the parking lot. Turned off the car. Flicked off the lights.

"You're too good to me," trying to keep her words light, even if she was seeing everything through a haze of white static. That never meant anything good. Taking a deep -- deep -- draw from the cigarette, she extended his way in case he wanted a hit. He better take it while he could, because when the car stopped, and she got her resolve together, it was show time. Her emotions were shutting down by leaps and bounds. Whereas his eyes were breaking with clarity, hers were very carefully dimming to a flat, murky indigo. She stared in silence, ahead, when the lights went off. The parking lot was deserted. No one used these storage buildings anymore, thankfully enough.

He let go of her long enough to take the cigarette and practically suck the life out of it, circular breathing for the french inhale--smoking the same filthy air twice before he was willing to expell it. "You've never had a person in your life treat you the way he ought to," Sam of course was the obvious exception, but Sam was her brother. That was a whole different sort of relationship. "You cocked?" the Springfield wouldn't need to be drawn as it already had one chambered, but he didn't know how many bullets 'they' would require. He could always reload while she was emptying the second gun. On that line of thought, he reached into the center console and pulled out an extra magazine of steel jacket hollow points. Yummy. With a wink, he tucked it into the waist of her pants, leaning in close enough to kiss her again, lingering, on the jaw. Okay. "Ready?"

Once the cigarette left her hand, glasses were tugged off and Des' hat was removed. Needed to remember to take it back to him. Flipping down the visor -- there's always a mirror in those things -- a tissue was pulled from her pocket so that the makeup could be wiped from the bruises. She wanted Marceau to see them right before she put a bullet between his teeth. Tilting her head to make sure the huge black-purple mark that stretched from her jaw to her eye was visible, she turned towards Jace with the question. "Cocked and loaded." In other words, let's roll. Flashing a faint, though somewhat marred, grin his way with the bullet tuck, she leaned across the middle console into the kiss and threw her arms around his neck. Squeeze. Smacking a kiss to his cheek, she pulled back and opened the door. "Ready." Out she went, digging for the storage room door key as she moved. Thank God for sneakers.

"Christ," whispered angrily at the bruise. Yup, good thing Jace ain't loaded. He dwelt in the hug as long as he could before joining her outside the car and following her toward the door she held the key to. "Say the word," quiet little whisper, "I can get the door if you want." That way their first sight wouldn't be the lovely singer, just the other end of that barrel.

They were probably blubbering and crying by now. Zane had them bound and gagged, and there were rats inside. Hopefully, the light in there still worked. She hated operating in the dark. The Springfield was kept pocketed, and oddly enough, so was the Browning. She wasn't going in, guns blazing. Her vindication was in her pocket. The guns would be their release. The key was tossed to him, though. Her hands were still shaking too much.

Jace nodded, catching the key and sticking the syringe between his teeth once more while he worked the lock. He had it open in a snap, dropping the padlock on the ground before he opened up the unit. God, let him not have to use this damn syringe... the Walker almost--almost--prayed.

Arms folded across her midriff as he opened the door, eyes were trained on the dimness inside. The blocks of ice obstructed the figures from view, but they could hear them breathing heavily around the ball gags. Zane did good work. Crossing herself, posture went rigid as she stepped around the wall of ice, hand reaching out blindly to the wall to find a lightswitch. A low wattage bulb flickered to life overhead, exposing the two forms of John Marceau and Mario no last name that she knew of, huddled together on the floor. Rats squeaked and scurried away from where they were swarming over the men, causing Cam's face to wrinkle in digust. The looks in their eyes when they saw her almost made life worthwhile.

Jace followed a handful of steps behind her, his eyes scanning the whole enclosure as he climbed up onto the blocks of ice. He walked the circuit of the room from that height, green eyes every where at once to be sure nothing could go wrong. The syringe ever between his teeth, he now had to consciously fight the risk of bearing his teeth down. When he was satisfied that the room was clear, rats both human and rodent excepted, he shrugged off his coat, draped it across a block of ice, and settled down where he could watch Cam closely. If even one drop...

Where she may have been a quaking mess of nerves on the way over here, at the moment, the only emotion on Cam's face was disinterest. Her posture-- her demeanor didn't betray an inch of anything. If a rat scurried her way, she just kicked it to the side before stepping forward towards the two. A flicker of a glance landed on Mario for a long, long moment before it shifted to Marceau. Jace just didn't know how much him being there meant. Doing this alone-- she didn't even want to think about it. Without a word, she knelt down in between their forms and pulled the box from her pocket. Flipping it open, the syringes glistened in the dim lighting. Thirty ricin tabs a piece in the mixture-- between the two concoctions, there was enough to wipe out a city through the water supply. One was lifted, the wax sealing checked before it was unceremoniously plunged into Marceau's neck. The jugular to be exact-- she was careful not to get any on her at all. Every last bit was injected into his bloodstream. Once the syringe was empty, it was placed back in the box, so she wouldn't have to touch it anymore. "There's half your ricin back," quietly. His eyes widened, but thanks to the gag, he wasn't able to say much except, "DLASFKUGA!" She took that to be something not so good. Mario was losing his color fast.

Certainly wouldn't be necessary for her to make sure the needle was free of air...who cares if these fuckers get an embollism! He was relieved as he ever could have been when she put that first syringe back into the box, and he finally took the one out of his mouth, fighting the urge to toy with it as he would a pen.

Fuck an air bubble to their heart, they were probably praying for something like that right now. Ricin, once in the bloodstream, did not so nice things. Much to her private amusement -- still a statue on the outside -- Marceau's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he slipped into a dead faint. She made a clucking sound. "Now, that hardly seems like the guy that held me over a goddamn balcony with one hand. Pussy." Shrugging in that 'what can you do' way, Mario decided he wasn't going down without a fight. Hitching his bound legs together, upwards as far as they would go, he tried shoving them at Cam when she got closer. A heel clipped her knee, causing her to wince ( she's in bitch mode, really. knee kicking? ). Unholstering the Browning, she used the butt of it to knock against the side of his face, rocking his head to the side and causing blood to start seeping from his busted nose. That done, she bent to retrieve the second needle. More careful this time, Mario was tricky.

Watch Jace's whole body shoot upright at the contact. Step inside his mind and imagine with him as he bashes Mario's face into the ground enough times to paint the whole damn floor with his blood. Those oh-so-clear eyes clouded while his imagination got carried away--only to snap back to the here and now as Mario's face kissed the pistol. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay right there, standing next to that block of ice.

There was one thing about Mario. Once he knew he was beat, he went silent-- murky browns shooting daggers at her as the needle was plunged into his throat next. Emptying the contents, the second syringe was put back into the box as well, and the whole lot was shut. That was that. It would be incinerated in just a few. Straightening up to her feet, gun still in hand, she reached forward to grab the back of the gag and shove the man forward-- yanking to help him up to his knees. Adrenaline, it didn't matter if you were short. Her eyes lifted towards Jace for a moment, as if in thought.

Jace was there, eyes asking when she was thinking--he was ready for anything. Did she need the needle? Christ, please no. He didn't say a word, just grabbed the frosty coat and slid it on as he headed for her.

No, she didn't need the needle. What she needed was help arranging Mario appropriately. Adrenaline only did so much, and with her ribs, she couldn't position him right. "I need him facin' the front," head nod to the wall of ice, "with his hands behind his back and his head down." Very.. very precise.

Furrowed brow, the Walker nodded and moved closer. The needle was passed to Cam, and he unceremoniously dragged Mario toward the wall, heaving him along by the scruff of his shirt. Probably his face bounced off the floor a time or five--whoops! Jace settled him as Cam had described, looking back over his shoulder to check for her approval, resettling his head when it lolled off to one side. He was curious about the significance, but not sure if he wanted to know. She'd tell him if she felt like it.

"Take the gag off." The significance was simple. From what she'd been told, this is how they made Sam kneel before Mario put a bullet in the back of his head. Couldn't even do it while facing him. Glancing over her shoulder at the still unconscious Marceau, if she even cared about Mario's face sliding along the floor a time or few, it didn't show. She was just .. blank. Like someone reached in and turned the switch to OFF. Gun was switched from her left to her right-- a nod given at the positioning.

Jace pulled a knife out of his boot--a little fashion statement gleaned from the singer herself--and unceremoniously cut the gag loose, kicking it away when it landed on the floor. He stepped away, circling back to stand just off the back of her left shoulderblade. This side of Cam was enough to remind Jace not to hurt the woman.

As soon as the gag came off, Mario began cursing in Italian and English alike. Good thing she couldn't understand the Italian-- it didn't sound favorable. "Stupid bitch, he asked for it. He knew what would ha--" His words were cut off with another hit, though she only used the flat of her palm this time. "Shut the fuck up." Christ. Some people. "All you had to do was leave him alone. Let him go." She wasn't even sure who she was talking to-- him or herself. The barrel of the gun was placed firmly dead center at the back of his head. "Only reason the gag's off, I figured you might want to say a little prayer." Even in spite of everything, she was willing to give him that choice. He had roughly thirty seconds, which he was apparently using for stoic silence.

Jace dropped his right hand to the small of her back, though she was so ramrod straight it was clear she didn't need the support--rather he did more than she. She was so much the better person for even giving him the chance to clear whatever was left of his ragged conscience. Leave things to Jace and he's crushing testicles. Cam's some kind of avenging angel. Smite away, St. John.

No.. no wait, he had something to say. Spitting on the ground in front of him -- a mixture of saliva and blood -- his lips curled into a sneer. "Fuck you, bitch." Well, that's that, isn't it? Inhaling a shaky breath, darkened eyes rolled Jace's way, coupled with a brief smile. It was almost sad, in delivery. Slowly, her attention shifted back to Mario, her voice coming soft-- lyrical, as if singing the words. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." Eyes closing as the words were finished, her finger squeezed convulsively on the trigger. The explosion echoed throughout the small building, and something warm splattered back against her shirt. She didn't want to know if it was blood or not. Mario's form slumped forward, before falling to the ground. Without opening her eyes, she leaned back against Jace, the gun dropping to the ground. "In n?mine Patris, et F?lii, et Sp?ritus Sancti." Crossing herself slowly.

Jace's mouth clenched so tight his jaw popped, his violence restrained only by Cam's look his way, his anger calmed only by her recitation of a psalm totally foreign to his ear. His arms were around her as soon as she'd done crossing herself, he turned her carefully to tuck her in against his chest, blood and brain matter be damned. He wiped her face, protective and paranoid that the ricin in Mario's blood would hurt Cam. He kissed her forehead, hugged her tighter, and whispered in her ear, "You did it, baby. Sam can rest now."

Hopefully, the toxins didn't have a chance to migrate up to Mario's head yet, so the blood was harmless. Crosses fingers. Able to do nothing more than allow herself to be turned, she rested her cheek to his shoulder. "I'll light a candle," mumbled quietly, eyes closing for a moment to try and come to grips. The blank facade was bleeding away to what was beneath-- a scared little girl that couldn't find her brother because someone took him away. Inhaling a shuddering breath, she pulled away long enough to dig something out of her pocket. Mini-bottles, was it party time? Everclear, highly flammable. She was glad Mario hadn't fallen outside of the building-- things would just be messy then. Uncapping both bottles, the alcohol inside was spread throughout the room. A little goes a long way. Now.. she had the urge for a cigarette.

Jace was ready to light one for her, only he was lacking in the means to do so. Did she need him to run to the car? He shot Marceau a look to make sure he was dead--Jace would prefer that everyone was sporting a bullet hole. He shot Cam a look to portray this sadistic desire, "You want me to grab your smokes?" if they were still in the car--he's going to bum one.

Marceau was starting to twitch a little in his unconscious state, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He wouldn't need a bullet hole. Cam had cigarettes in her pocket-- the pack and lighter was pulled out to show him. Tilting her head to the outside of the building, indicating they should go outside, a filter was placed between her lips before the pack was offered over to Jace. The lighter was palmed, but not used yet. She'd wait until they cleared the building.

Jace took the pack with a grateful look, shaking out a smoke and pinching it between lips that were still tight with anxiety. He reached back to slide an arm around her waist, drawing her close so they could head out the door together to enjoy Marceau's last smoke.

Once they were outside, her head ducked down in order to light the cigarette before she reached up to light Jace's for him too. If he tried this again, she'd snap it in half, but right now, he deserved one. That done, she broke away from him for a moment, kneeling down in front of the storage building and using what was left in the small bottle to pour on Mario. If his dead form inspired any regret, it wasn't visible. Lighter flicked one last time, catching quickly, and she backed away. What were the chances on getting a piggy back ride to the car while the building -- and the bodies -- burned in the background?

She had but to ask--or just start climbing aboard so he'd get the hint. Jace backed away with her, his eyes intent on the fire as it spread. Not that they could really stick around the scene of a necessary crime... He turned a look her way, kissed her cheek again, and fussed with her hair. "Y'did good." The smoke was lived on for as long as it lasted, the Walker taking in great lungfuls of carbon monoxide and nicotine. In through the mouth, out through the nose, leaving him chuffing like an angry dragon, only sexy.

Not that she'd actually clamber up with fractured ribs ( which were screaming now ), but it was nice to know the chance was there if she wanted! Filter pressed between her lips, smoke curling up to fog behind the glasses-- all ladylike, she leaned into his side with a small smile, bruised cheek tilting for the affection. "It's done," simply. Good or not, it was done. Even if she had just committed murder and arson, she felt better than she had in months. "You know what?" glancing up his way as she gave him a tug to start for the car. Someone was sure to report smoke or fire in the next ten minutes. It was best to get while the gettin' was good.

"Hmm?" contentedly as he followed her urging and headed for the car. When they reached it, he'd pop open her door and help her in, only to crouch at her feet as she settled so he could look up at her and listen as she spoke. Then they'd be leaving the parking lot with a quickness.

Now was the moment to say something significantly profound, but looking down at him, with that expression on his face, she simply smiled again. Leaning forward, fingers ruffling briefly through his hair, her mouth slanted over his briefly. Pulling back, she rubbed his jaw before swinging her legs around. "I needed you here," admitted without any hardship. She was ready when he was.

He winked up at her, lifted onto the balls of his feet for the kiss, then stood when she was safely tucked inside the car. He shut her door just as the first siren was starting to come into hearing range, so Jace hopped up and ran a step across his trunk the faster to enter the vehicle. He had the car in gear before the driver's side door was even closed, peeling out of the lot and heading right down a back alley so they could get home without being seen. The Walker never even turned on the headlights, just ran it blind until they were a couple miles the other direction and backtracking a bit to not look so much like a coupla folks leaving the scene. With a sigh, he flicked his spent cigarette out the window. "Where to?"

Rolling down the window again when he shut the door, the cigarette was cupped in her palm until they got further down the road. Once they were clear, it was flicked out-- window rolled back up. Glasses removed, they were tucked into her jacket pocket, hands swiping down her face. They had just committed so many crimes, it was ridiculous. "I think I'd like to go home... and have a cookie or nine." Simple as that. She wasn't hard to please. Leaning back in the seat, fingers threaded with his, even if she had to remove his right hand from the steering wheel herself. There was the insane urge to giggle. It was done. Done. And she totally needed a bath.

"That...definitely sounds like a plan," he was happy to hold her hand, squeezing it every few moments in a vain attempt to spend both adrenaline and relief. Yeah, right down to the bath it sounded like Cam was the woman to go to for a plan, so when things seemed calm enough he turned a bend and headed right back to the apartment. When they arrived he scooped her up out of the passenger seat and carried her in, straight through to the bedroom without bothering to fix the eighty-seven bolts and locks on the door. That could wait until she had changed out of those bloody clothes.

She was content with the hand holding and the faint strains of music drifting from the radio. Chin tucking towards her shoulder, she was just going to zone out and watch the trees. Of course, by the time the car stopped, she was half asleep, so there wasn't any warning to being scooped up and carried. Blinking -- arms going around his neck tightly -- laughing eyes leveled on his face as they headed for the bedroom. And it's only 86 bolts, she broke one the other day. "I can walk, you know," amused.

"Yeah, but these shoes just don't do enough for your calves," smartly remarked as he plopped her on the bed and finally shut the door on a day too long in coming.

[ taken from live play ]

<font color="#ECE6CA"><font size="1">[ March 02, 2005 06:15 AM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font></font>

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ March 02, 2005 06:18 AM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>I've been looking so long at these pictures of you
That I almost believe that they're real
I've been living so long with my pictures of you
That I almost believe that the pictures are
All I can feel

Remembering
You standing quiet in the rain
As I ran to your heart to be near
And we kissed as the sky fell in
Holding you close
How I always held close in your fear
Remembering
You running soft through the night
You were bigger and brighter and wider than snow
And screamed at the make-believe
Screamed at the sky
And you finally found all your courage
To let it all go

Remembering
You fallen into my arms
Crying for the death of your heart
You were stone white
So delicate
Lost in the cold
You were always so lost in the dark
Remembering
You how you used to be
Slow drowned
You were angels
So much more than everything
Hold for the last time then slip away quietly
Open my eyes
But I never see anything

If only I'd thought of the right words
I could have held on to your heart
If only I'd thought of the right words
I wouldn't be breaking apart
All my pictures of you

Looking so long at these pictures of you
But I never hold on to your heart
Looking so long for the words to be true
But always just breaking apart
My pictures of you

There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart
All my pictures of you</center>

( the cure : pictures of you )