Outside the Wall ◢◤ The Biggest Fucking Purple Around
Through her tears, Big Purple was watching for one vote in particular. Luckily for her, either outcome is favourable:
Either her pleas reach this person and they vote to spare, or this person stays unabashedly true to themselves. It’s the latter, and Purple breathes the same sigh of relief she would have had the former come up.
Because that really was what Big Purple admired about Rose. The moment she didn’t just stand up to their captors, but strike first like a wild animal ought to do when caged, was the first spark. It was that strength that she subconsciously sought out when terrified at the second trial. It was that strength that gave her the courage to go on when she learned the truth of her upbringing– and what a coincidence, that the truth was delivered to her by those strong hands. It was that strong voice drilling into her that simply staying in the safety of Hotel Hamartia was the equivalent of giving up. That Big Purple, too, had the strength to fight back against those who seek to contain her.
The Big Purple that Rose got to know wouldn’t just roll over and die.
How appropriate that here, at the end of all things, Big Purple needs to be talked down from hiding away in the hotel, and that it’s Rose to do it. Sure, it’s Tad that puts the official nail in that coffin, but Rose grabs her by the shoulder and yanks her back to reality with that strength she admires so much. That single pull is the catalyst it takes to blink away the tears and finally allow herself to let go of one of the first friends she’d made here.
Here? No- ever.
The two are separated by one Feather’s distance, but it threatens to widen into a gulf too far to see. Where she’s going, she can’t see Bleak anymore, but she sees an old friend– she sees Tad.
She’s more than grateful that she gets to share in another embrace with Tad. Once upon a time, this thing would make her recoil with disgust, but now what she gives back is a hug that she can barely bring herself to break, and a playful little “Oi,” as it tugs on her hair.
Of course, Purple needs a moment before walking through that brilliantly shining exit. Not that she’s left anything behind, or can bring much with her in the first place, just some last minute reminiscences. She won’t be long, she promises.
...
A spot of tea in the parlour– it’s cold, but she has no complaints. She glances over the rim of her cup at the game cabinet… God, she should have shot Shropshire.
Speaking of which, in her room, there’s nothing to do but put her gun to rest, tucked right into bed. It did not serve her well, but it feels appropriate for the sake of putting her death behind herself– something she can finally weep over, which she does. She doesn’t need to put on airs of confidence for Jasmine’s sake anymore.
The carousel has ceased its spinning, but with a touch of that Purple energy, it alights for its last hurrah. She gives her darling equine doppelganger an embrace, and another for Tad’s, for good measure. And… a quick grimacing glance at Elyon’s unicorn, reminding herself of the time she nearly tripped into its horn trying to swing on Delores.
Why not a quick trip to the servant’s quarters too, where she can briefly admire the remains of her fantastic Halloween party. It happened so close to Violet’s trial that there was barely any time to clean up, and the seven servant-themed Billy Bass are thankfully still here to sing her a little farewell ditty.
With that, plus all her goodbyes and social plugs when she returns to the trial hall, it’s time to go.
Time to awaken.
And Big Purple is awake. Big Purple is here, in that ever-familiar hotel room.
Lincolnshire.
It’s familiar, but… it feels different. The sensation of electrical currents just on the other side of the wall is stronger than ever before, as five months of comprehending her power condense into a single night.
A very alarming night, it seems, as a commotion can be heard just outside her door, followed by a knock.
Her father asks if she’s awake, and if he may enter, to which Purple invites him in. He’s uncharacteristically nervous, and has trouble finding his words, as though thrust onto a stage without time to learn his lines. Through the cracked doorway, behind her father’s back, she sees the scrambling of scientists, and it tells her all she needs to know.
It seems the family plan is to start moving forward. Some nonsense about a finalized business meeting– not even at this moment can Cole Piers be honest with his daughter. She will have one year left free of responsibility, before she will be asked to take up that mantle and push ahead with the Purple Energy Project.
It’s a quiet train ride back. Though her parents are in the row behind her, Big Purple can hear them struggling to contain tears. Shaky whispers, wet snorts; all she can do is hold it in. There’s twelve months left of playing dumb, playing prisoner, but acting out these past five months had set her up to do anything. Get her square ready on the Walk of Fame, because some day she’ll pass through Hollywood and put her hands in that cement.
...
“Purple afternoon, my lovelies! We’re still counting down the months ‘til the start of my big business debut, but first, I want to give a shoutout to my most stubborn hater in the comments. Like a horse, that one! Must really be the foremost expert in the field of stress; they ought to start their day with a sip of Earl Grey instead of Morning Joe, and find themself some proper company like my mates here, then maybe then they’d stop seeing phantoms in the forest.”
She laughs into the back of her hand.
“Speaking of which, we’re back in the English Rose today, my new fa~avorite cafe, and I’ve just ordered my traditional afternoon tea from my new fa~avorite waiter. Let’s all give a shout out to Mister Cogman– we call him that for privacy’s sake– for his excellent service. and I can’t wait to try this month’s pastry.”
“But first, I’ve got to take a question from a proper adoring fan. They ask, ‘PurplePrincessPiers, have you ever thought of leaving London?’ What, mate, you want to whisk me off my feet?”
[♫♫♫]
“...Well. It might not be you, but maybe some day I’ll find someone who will. Or perhaps, more appropriately, they’ll find me.”
As the last trial wraps up, Delores squeaks when Olga answers her question in the affirmative, the last thing she expected to hear. She almost falls out of her chair when it happens, catching herself on the edge of the table to make the narrow save. Did she hear that right??
“Chili’s- uh, yeah, definitely,” she croaks. “All the upscale restaurants. Um. Applebees. Friday’s. The works.”
And with that worked out, Delores waits at the table. She’s good at waiting. She lingers until the last of her crew are through. She promised. Some of them explicitly, some of them just in her head, but each and every one of the residents of the Servant’s Quarters, she swore to get them out. Including Noel, honorary, and Elyon, temporary, and, sure, Miss Jekyll never died, but she has a family so it’s practically Delores’ responsibility to see her out of there, and-
Everyone but Tad, really, who she can’t see out. That one’s going to have to make sure the lights are turned off and the doors are locked on its own, although she knows the weight of a small wooden frog in her pocket is going to stop that from feeling too lonely. Plus, well. There’s someone else she has to escort out personally.
The first time she tries to get to her feet, she ends up slumping back down again. She looks down at her hooves, but they’re still there, still in one piece. Her heart feels full, her body feels sluggish. That’s… strange. The second try, she makes it. Little wobbly, like a newborn foal, but stable enough.
Try not to think about it too much. Instead, Delores takes one last look around the place. She takes a deep breath, tasting that hotel air for the last time. She stares out briefly at the roses, gathering her resolve, and nods.
She turns to the sisters with a nervous, awkward smile. The only kind of smile she has in her arsenal, frankly. All of this has been exhausting, truly exhausting in a way she could never have believed or articulated before: this is how tired they got in that Russian Sleep Experiment creepypasta. She couldn’t have imagined being this happy or content, either.
“Okay. Um. Right. So- I- I’ve got, uh, well, I pretty much don’t need to go fetch anything- do you, Olga? Or, um, you, Kristin? Are you coming with, or, like, I mean, uh, I’d be glad to have you, but, I don’t want to presume, you know…”
Kristin stifles a little froggy laugh. “Oh, I’ll come along for a little bit! Gotta make sure that my sister doesn’t do anything too stupid out in the big old real world. But I won’t stick around too long. Whoever heard of a frog being a third wheel?”
Olga just puts a hand over her face, shaking her head slightly.
“…Dreadful. Let me just… get my suitcase, okay? I won’t be a moment…”
And so she heads off. Out of the trial room, out of the hallway, out of the rooms where you’ve spent so many months - and, for her, effectively her entire life. She’s nothing if not true to her word; it isn’t long at all before she reappears, two hefty old-fashioned luggage cases gripped in either hand. And Kristin, herself, has a teeny tiny little carry on luggage. It looks very modern. Eh, wait, is that a Rimowa?
The two sisters stare back at the hotel. Their second chance, their home, their sanctuary- but, simultaneously, the place where one died in an attempt to reach it, and where the other died once it had been settled. They were grateful for the time they spent with it. For the time they spent with Bleak. But even a landlady and a maid have to hand in their resignations one day.
“…We’re thankful for our cradle’s graces…”
“But we’re not coming back!”
Delores takes one of Olga’s suitcases, giving her a quick smile. They’d been told the way to end up in the same place by Tad, so- hand-in-hand with Olga, who is feet-on-head with Kristin, Delores leads the way through the door to a bright future. Or a shitty little hotel room somewhere in the American Pacific Northwest, if you want to go around being literal about things. She’s probably going to need to ask for an upgrade to a bigger one, but the No Vacancy sign is a formality more than anything in a town like this.
It feels strange to be back in the real world. It feels odd to have her feet back on what feels like solid ground for the first time in… approximately no time at all, actually. She glances back towards the spot where the door should be and sees nothing there. If it wasn’t for the woman standing beside her and the frog perched on her head, it’d be almost like nothing ever happened at all.
In the end, what was there to say about her time at the Hotel Hamartia? Maybe Purple was right about one thing: that, as much as she’d carry her share of guilt and pain forever, it had been a good experience all considered. She hadn’t needed the extra time Tad offered, not really, but-
Three years past your expiration date isn’t so bad, is it? Time to make a friend or two, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.
- but she’d done so much more than just make a friend or two. She’d made at least three or four, and that’s employing the kind of careful math used by someone who hesitates to call anyone a friend lest they be insulted by the association. Real number, she knows, probably higher than that. The Wizard of Frogs hadn’t granted her courage, and she still doesn’t have an excess, but she’s found enough of her own to be proud of. She’d seen the story clear through to the end without running and hiding.
Marie had thanked her for offering hope, and when could Delores dela Cruz have honestly said she’d inspired an emotion like hope before? Violet had called her a leader, and while she still didn’t entirely believe it, he must have seen some quality in her, right? Olga liked her enough to risk her future walking through the door together, out of all the places she could have gone, didn’t she?
Who could ask for more? How could she not be satisfied? How could that be anything other than a life well lived?
“Oh,” Delores mumbles, her eyelids heavier than ever. “Oh, that’s why.”
Because before she was a creature of livewood, she was a creature of willpower. Nothing but a corpse pushed past its limits, dragged around by the spirit inside it. What had kept her from the grave was the fact that her life was a sad joke, the Pagliacchi of Pukwudgies. She wasn’t done yet, she hadn’t mattered, nobody would give a shit if she was gone.
Now… now she did matter. Now there was no great need for her to keep forcing herself onward. There was no arguing she was pointless, no case that she hadn’t changed the world for being in it. Now someone other than her landlord would notice if vanished. No more need for the titanic effort of will required to tether oneself to this earth long after their time, and so it was leaving, leaking out of her moment by moment. Had been at least since she saw the door in the trial room and knew her work was done, that everyone would be leaving sooner or later.
Her next step into the hotel room is a wobbly one, one where she barely keeps her balance. The suitcase falls out of one hand. Olga’s hand falls out of the other. She doesn’t have the energy to keep hanging on any longer. Then her knees buckle, all strength going out of her body. There’s a warm, pleased smile on her face as she falls. Yeah. As endings go, there are probably better ones. But she can be satisfied with this. She’s sorry she couldn’t stick around longer. A farewell tour would have been nice. But you don’t pick your moment, and if this is hers, okay.
A moment later, she hits the floor, silent and unmoving. Total collapse. Roll credits.
And a moment after that, like she’s making up for lost time, she begins to snore.
Of course she’s not done yet, are you kidding? If she’d had a moment or two longer awake, she’d have figured it out. Just because she doesn’t have any more crippling inadequacy to burn in her furnace of a heart doesn’t mean she hasn’t found other reasons to keep going. She’s got plenty of fuel now, enough for a long, long time.
She’s still got to tell her loyal viewers everything that’s happened. She might not need to crash on his couch any more, but she needs to make sure Violet gets his shit together, he’s worse off than she is. She wants to see one of those shows Marie was talking about. She promised Noel that he could be on a stream and have some free merch, and she’s got to deliver that.
She wants to get Elyon and Calvin to show off Mortimer for her audience. She never gave Miss Rose back her sword, and Miss Rose seems like the kind of person who could really use a sword in her life. She has to see how Marian’s Rocksquatch experiment is going and she’s got to mail a sack of oranges to Mister Dove as apology for being presumptuous about taking them from him.
Delores needs to post shitty comments under every one of Purple’s tiktoks. She has to send Miss Jekyll’s family something to eat as thanks for the chef’s cooking instructions. She has to force Esteban to listen to all the music that came out right after his time; they didn’t even have Hybrid Theory back then.
She has to make sure Minnie’s getting along okay, send along some flowers for her granny. She’s got to organize a heist to get her grubby little hands on an evil book that Shrops mistakenly thinks belongs to him. She has to buy Feather a forum account, maybe see if it’s interested in trying to help train a chupacabra for the world’s coolest petting zoo if she can catch one.
Of course she has to tell Tad she thinks it’s kind of a jerk and that it really needs to learn how to understand people better. And then she has to help it learn how to understand people better, and take it to an art gallery that’s actually good. She never actually got the promotion, but she suspects she’d have made a good hotel manager, so managing this cantankerous little piece of aspen is probably her responsibility. Maybe it can teach her a little bit about woodworking while she’s keeping an eye on it.
And someone has to make sure Olga gets settled into the modern, non-island world safely. But that’s not enough. Well, no, maybe it’s enough, if Olga wants it to be enough, but Delores has bigger ideas. Plans they can talk about. Together. If she wants.
Soon she’s going to have to wake up, going to have to find a Chili’s, and make a reservation. Do you need a reservation for Chili’s? She’s going to have to look up if you need a reservation for Chili’s. Then she’ll have to announce she’d postponing The World’s Biggest Bigfoot Hunt because she’s stumbled over another story, something way more interesting. But for right now, Delores snores right where she fell on the floor of her hotel room, face mashed into low-end carpet, with two bemused sisters looking on.
I really hope Dove Hiram told you about me before you get this because otherwise that's gonna be super awkward when you get this from some random ass guy HAHAHA. If he didn't though then I should probably explain myself so you don't just throw this letter away asking yourself who this weirdo is writing to you:
My name's Calvin and I'm your older brother half brother. We have the same birth mom. You definitely don't remember me because you were tiny when we got separated but it's true. I remember you were really into Pokemon though even back then.
(Eli's a badass name by the way. Dove Hiram told me that's what it was and I was like HELL YEAH!!!)
Anyway you're probably asking yourself how this Calvin guy wound up meeting your uncle Dove Hiram in the first place. I'm from Detroit and Hiram's from Texas so how the hell did that happen?
Let me just say… INSANE. FUCKING. STORY.
Seriously it'd take me forever to write it all down I only got so much paper HAHAHA. Crazy how I went all this time wondering what happened to you and then I just randomly meet someone who knows? And that's not even the weirdest part about the whole thing.
Here's an example: It's probably way obvious but I am not a fucking letter guy at all HAHAHA. I don't know if I'm even going to send this to you. Before all the shit happened when I met Dove HIRAM honestly I might not have sent it even if I did know your address. I do hope you see it one way or another though. That kind of shit's possible you know? So much is that I never thought was before.
So if you happen to be reading this letter in for example some creepy far away place you're stuck in after someone you barely know chased you down and handed it to you saying they "just had a feeling" it belonged to you, DON'T PANIC because believe me I also
Nevermind that part. I just heard you're a writer and thought I'd try my hand at some creative writing in this letter but I ran out of steam HAHAHAHA. I want to hear about your series though. You're working on one right?
Anyway I just said I'm from Detroit but actually I'm in California now. HOT AS BALLS in comparison. But you're from Texas so you're probably used to it right? I'm probably moving down there but I've been traveling around a lot. Never was able to travel before but it's fun. Arkansas and New York and a bunch of other states I can't remember. NOT ENGLAND!!! France would be cool though. Do you know that cat guy from Final F
You're probably wondering why I'm writing to you. Well everyone and their fucking mother's been telling me to go track you down ever since they found out I got a brother out there but honestly? It's not just MY life. I mean you got your life right? I heard it's a good one and honestly that's everything I ever hoped for when I'd think about what you might be doing wherever you went. You got your family and I'm happy they're good to you.
So I get it if you don't want to write back just yet or ever. Maybe you're even less of a letter guy than I am HAHAHA. But if you ever want to talk or text then I'll add my phone number to this. My schedule's free and I answer every single call I get even if it looks like it might be spam so don't worry about me thinking you're trying to sell me something because I don't recognize the area code or something like that.
But the offer's permanent. Even if it's in a month or a year or ten or twenty five. I'm always gonna pick up that phone for you man.
Take care,
Calvin
P.S. You like Absol right? My favorite Pokemon is Incineroar. Good fucking taste because dark types are AWESOME!!!
Despite its lack of audience, someone will take a seat at an organ and test out a few keys. C-- no B-- B, G, B, G, D, G, yeah, yeah, there it goes! It's got the hang of it now. Grinning, it plays out the montage of its mind. What kind of kick-ass story wouldn't end in a cheesy montage of all the greatest hits, right? What a time we've had!
A sky somewhere whips rapidly through the cycles of day and night. All manner of brilliant hues paint themselves across the wide swath; the sun and stars dance through time.
Geez, man. This is the thing you spared? Its delusions persist.
♫♫♫
Closing time, open all the doors
And let you out into the world
For the first time in a very long time, Tad is well and truly alone. Only-- it isn't really, is it? Some approximation of a thing some might call a heart will remember each of you, for better or for worse, just as all of you will remember it, try as you might to let it go.
The heart remembers, even when the mind forgets.
Perhaps something in this haunted house does wish some of you luck in forgetting; it knows what its like to have ghosts carved bone or root deep after all, because somewhere, somewhen there is a tree that stands alone in a clearing but will be gathered with others into a ship, and then built with others still into a house that never got to be a home, and, quite frankly, was rather shit at being a hotel.
That much it bids you luck in forgetting. Other bits it might almost hope you remember.
Closing time, open all the doors
And let you out into the world
Because somewhere, somewhen, there is a dancer and a sheriff, and a forest and a Cali girl. There is guardibara and boxer and someone absolutely electric, and there is a unicorn, and an actor, someone deep in faith. There is a man beyond years, and a detective and an artist, and there is a mushroom and a dog, and a tadpole and a frog.
I know who I want to take me home
And they have time, for however long it lasts. Some of them can and will have each other, and some of them can and will invite others in: brothers and mothers, children and friends, new and old. Possibilities branch ever outward.
There will be hands to hold now and again, and some already lost, never to hold again. Death is not the only separator; time is as much a weapon as it is a tool. Nothing lasts forever, after all.
But something in you remembers all the same.
...Are all hearts not hotels in their own way?
Closing time, time for you to go out
To the places you will be from
One golden, glowing doorway beckons exit with all the promise of now, but the framework around your heart will remain a foundation of invitation in its own right even as you take your leave. We pass through each others' lives, checking in and checking out in the natural way of things with the time we are allotted.
Better make the beds! Fluff the pillows! Dust off the mantlepiece! Who knows what flowers will find their way into your garden?
I hope you have found a friend
Despite all appearances, it hopes you find, and have found that company to build those four walls around. It hopes you let them in, even as you have to let them go. To love will to be changed, but to be changed is a reminder of that ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. You are alive, and isn't that wonderfully strange?
Closing time, every new beginning
Comes from some other beginning's end
And maybe for some of you, one of those guests will be a strange little tadpole pulling its eyes open and testing new waters, to see if you're really sure, before it crosses the threshold and checks into that new hotel for as long as you'll let it stay.
I know who I want to take me home
Take me home
But for now? For this hotel? The bell at the front desk rings. It's time to check out.
The keys of an organ slowly come to a rest.
You've got your lives back. Time to fill in your own vacancies.
You have it now, after all, though maybe you always had it before. But maybe... you hadn't always known? It's a strange thing that's drawn the specific lot of you all together for this nightmare stay away from anything familiar, in that you are all very, very strange things.
And what a wonderful, wonderful thing to be: a strange thing with nothing but time.
Best to decide what to do with it then, yeah? Lest someone else decide for you. One villain may have been spared, but life rarely works in singularities and in wholly unique events. There will be other figures looming in the shadows and beneath beds. Other monsters to face and fight and push through.
May every triumph be the same, even when it does not feel as such, and it certainty wont. Not all the time. But for now--
For now--
You triumph? Woah, hey-- Tad's human form has gone limp, all spark of life dulled from its eyes. Wasn't the vote to spare?!
"Eh heh heh."
The little frog before Delores wiggles to life with a laugh. Pale colors bloom to vibrancy across its form, as do the darker markings of would-be eyes.
"I guess-- if I really am sticking around. Hang onto me, alright? If.... you want to. I'll be your proof."
Because I like Bleak. It's a good friend of mine. And I think you'll, um. Stick in the memory.
The figure dulls back to wood and Tad's laughter moves back to it's rising, more familiar body. Exhaustion bears itself plainly in the heavy way it stands and slumps now, but it's not quite done yet. Something shifts in the air and as each of you come to rise and find what you must and take your leave, Tad shuffles about and reaches inside itself.
Quite literally, in this case, though maybe in the gesture there is something of sentiment too though its loathe to admit it. Either way, spare carvings sneak their way up from a private corner of a workshop and find their way to a few additional souls because:
I just learned your name and all. That’s supposed t’be the start of a friendship.
and
You gotta come to California some time.
and
Maybe We'll get you with our cordyceps, too. And you'll be the very first Trungus Among Us.
and
But of course... I always mean it. You are my friend, Bleak.
and
Maybe when I get outta here I will, and... maybe you could tag along! Could be a big adventure.
and
I wasn’t fucking around when I said I’d look back on this, and you in particular, fondly.
Little wooden tadpoles sneak their way into a few spare pockets for safekeeping, though there's no hard feelings should they be brushed aside in moments more found. Some are not quite so sneaky; Tad is deliberate in its idle trudging after its display to take Violet's hand at one point, and Feather's at another, and curl open fingers to press the little trinkets into their respective palms itself.
So too does it find a spare moment to push one into Purple's hand, and tug at the tight coil of her hair with a damp laugh, before it gives her a hug. See you later. I'll find you in time.
Hell, it wanders up to Calvin even for a moment, a different little figure in its hand, should he choose to take it along for the ride home.
You should carve that into a Capsakid. Your little son guy.
Take care of my boy will you? It asks with mock concern, wiping a finger beneath a dry eye. Show him the world!
So that's that, then.
Others get the mercy of nothing at all. Sure, there might be carefully placed spares in the corner of your vision should you so desire, what kind of host would Tad be otherwise, but up front remains the possibility of avoiding them all together, and the freedom to never have to think about this little hotel imp ever again.
Your lives return to you, in the grasp of hands they should have never left. You have time, and eventually each and every one of you will have to come and take your leave. Look forward now, not back, as there remains nothing to undo what conspired in this place but even the harshest of change proves you are still alive.
Take it, take it, take it. Take your time.
...
Someone else will sit in the quiet for a longer while and perhaps think about what its done, and what its taught, and what its learned in every drop of comprehension born of the scarlet of blood and the silver of memory.
Someone, however strange and evil and petulant, might take the time to think about what it has loved.
i feel so-- | Bleak | trial 5.10 re: everyone and then some
The final trial begins and Tad settles in for the ride with a smile that verges more along the edge of a smirk. One foot hikes high to settle upon the seat of its chair and an arm folds across that knee. There remains an ease about Tad as it leans its weight backwards, but something sharp persists in the glint in its dark eyes and the particular curl in the corners of its mouth. Still, it keeps quiet as each of you come to speak your piece and cast your votes, offering no more than the occasional wave of its hand or tilting of its head.
Emotions shift and dance across its face as much as it tries not to show it. At the start of this whole hellish party it probably wouldn’t have asked what anyone else thought and given this lot even the chance to assume it would go down in a blaze for them, should the jury so desire it.
And yet things change.
How strange for a felled tree to still have time and room to grow.
When everything starts to quiet, Tad’s head bows into another nod. It claps loudly at both knees as its thoughts swirl and, slowly, it begins to chew through each.
“Heya Sheriff, you’re giving yourself a lot of credit there. Don’t go getting too big for your britches, now! I’m the real convincing sort, so don’t go stealing my spotlight!
The globe–?…. Yanno, maybe I have moved to the Pacific after all this time. I really couldn’t tell ya! I think those strange places that get kinda lost over time– the ones we talked about? I think the world casts them out. Bad vibes, or whatever, eheh. This place is like that. I’m like that. Wherever I used to be, I’m sort of not anywhere anymore, as far as I can tell.
Did give me way more control over what counts as reality here so! Not like I minded!”
Whether or not that last little bit is true, Tad winks before its expression wanes into something more thoughtful. The look it offers Delores is one of amusement-twinged sympathy.
“For that reason, I’m pretty sure the exit is a one way trip for anyone but me. But, uh. You know. Mmmmaybe. Keep that little frog. It might be evidence enough. You’ll get your day in the sun.”
The votes continue to be cast and Tad looks to those who seek to smite it. A snicker rings out from the scratchy warble of its throat.
“Why not indeed!”
It echoes after Esteban with a wide grin.
“Well, you’re giving it a good try. We’ll see, yeah?”
The following acknowledgement of Hiram’s vote is fleeting. Tad’s succeeding snicker is softer but it shrugs out a nod towards the other whether he looks or not. So it goes dear Dovey, right? Not like everyone was his biggest fan after falling on the sword, right? He’ll come around.
It does not linger long in its inaccurate delusions before it turns to offer Jekyll honesty in all its obnoxious starkness.
“I had a blast, Detective Carroll! Really only quite the shame that I couldn’t finish fixing all of ya before I was ready to keel over. But, the best-laid plans and all that shit, right? Eheh! Shame to see you go so soon!”
Tad’s tongue juts out from between its teeth before it laughs again.
“I’ll give the little twig your regards if I make it!”
She’s right to wonder if an execution would mean anything to it at all, but Tad moves on with a shrug.
“Hope you buff out that chip on your shoulder, Rosey Posey. There’s probably a lot to love! I’ll root for ya as far as I can throw you!”
That reply comes easily, as does the following.
“How selfless indeed of you, Laddy! Thanks for such a consideration. Are you sure– really sure you wanna jet with the rest? You could wait around until I’m feeling up for another transfer! No crazy book required! Come on– what a triumph, right? You’re getting it. You’re picking up what I’m putting down!”
Its pitch equally carries the energy of someone trying to convince another to offer its cooking another chance. They won’t over-season this time, promise! But Shropshire had called attention to another that Tad can no longer avoid. Its chipper focus shifts to the Catholic in the room with a loud clap over its chest.
Me? Tad seems to suggest by the gesture, eyelashes batting. A toddler?
Gods. Surely you won’t spare this thing.
“I couldn’t leave before. The doorway was strange, like something really, really didn’t want me out, can you believe it? Just those previously mentioned bad-vibes, I guess! Everyone’s a critic.”
It tries not to dwell on the way its throat tightens at the mentions of long-growing weeds. Blood and ash seep into the very foundation of this place if you go looking hard enough. Should it really be such a surprise that the thing that sprouted from it was blackened and withered?
Bah. A heart cannot escape memory. Still–
“Figured out how to open the door in, on account of all my hospitality. It’s only with all of you having been here and the ties you have back to the places you came from that I get how to open it out. Kristin and Olga can go wherever they’d like without me, but yanno what! Maybe it would be fun! Would it be fun for you? I could be around any corner out there, forever and ever, eheh heh heh!”
It jabs, but Tad’s opinion has been made plain before. Nothing lasts forever.
Such a sentiment comes easy to Tad, as does all of its blabbering for a time. Another unapologetic shrug and toothy look follows just as effortlessly in Marie’s direction. Would you like a high five? That’s the best it can offer!
This is the easy bit.
For months, Tad prepared the idea of being the villain in some grand and peculiar tale. Such a designation made it no less the main character in its own head and as much as it craved the praise of a job well done– if scowls and venom and scripture were the right language in reply of a dashing devil’s efforts, so be it! Bring on the disparagement; it postures in reply.
But it doesn’t know what to do with the rest of the table.
There’s some mercy when Minnie doesn’t address it directly. Using the opening to keep its mouth clamped tight, Tad pretends none of it sits very difficultly at all. Any stray venture into untrod territory could see betrayal by the pause and shake of its voice. It won’t mess with us anymore. Sure, sure thing– Minnie had been the one to assert with a question that it does have a heart after all, and whether or not that’s true Tad sees it fitting that it cross over its chest in promise to the woman when it catches her eye. The usual wink follows, accompanied by a weakening smile.
Said look only wavers further as Tad searches for anything right to say in reply to Elyon. Show him the ropes? It had tried to teach them all here already, and was hated to some degree for it. Another go would likely not bear fruit. And yet…!
“…was saying the opposite to Delores just a moment ago, but you, Elyon, really oughta give yourself more credit. You seem to be better set at figuring things out than just about anyone here. Now I don’t say this lightly so– treasure it!
Thank you.”
If any shell of bark encloses what keeps Tad safe against its strange growth and almost lonely lifestyle, some of it splinters when it offers its gratitude. From the gap in its teeth escapes a whistle that is almost a laugh, and is frayed along its ending by nerves Tad doesn’t quite enjoy the sound of. Sincerity sinks to something more vulnerable.
“It’s really nice to be friends with you.”
Maybe there exists something easy in the invitation of one so magical that might have walked through the forest Tad once called home. They could have known each other then, and a tree would have been all the better for the unicorn that took rest at its roots.
It is just as simple to know a mushroom, and one who similarly sought to recreate the world in her image for the better, no less. Freak recognizes freak!
“Aw shucks Marian, you really thing I’d orchestrate your bad luck?”
Tad fights to keep its footing on solid ground with a snicker but the effort goes a bit wasted.
“…nice to hear it eased some of the throwing you out the world did. I get it. You get it. Think its real generous of you to offer the Trungusation! We could do great things together!”
More generous is the assertion to meet Micah. All of Tad’s form, house and everything, wilts as its smile grows.
“I suppose you can save a seat at your table for me.”
Tad moves on to a seat at its side. The Grand Canyon, huh?
“Well, I don’t know how well I do in crowds anymore, man. I'm apparently not the best host, can you believe it?… And I haven’t been a part of a forest in a long time– big trips might not really be my speed or style.”
And I love you.
Tad doesn’t know what to do with that.
Because love is–
Losing your little sister before you lose yourself. Your grief swallows you whole.
Craving and obsessing and stealing what does not belong to you. Your ugliness sees her demise.
Putting them back together again in shapes that will give them time. You don’t do it right.
Love is every bit of your sorrow and loss and ache from the complex web of connection Tad has gathered from every scarlet memory soaked into its floorboards. Some of you claim it has picked you apart as it has tried to put you together, and it feels the same: torn branch from limb and left to tinder by everything you’ve taught. What grace, what saving is there, in love?
Tad remembers laughter. Above all else, there always comes the joyful twinkle as bright as the stars and as warm as the sun from the little soul who had discovered its name.
…It ought to try. Maybe it will– but Violet probably won’t be the first. Still, he was the first in this whole party, wasn’t he? They had fallen into step together so easily. If it finds the courage to take that plunge, it will be born of the pace they found together.
Tad stares rather directly at the spot in the table just before its seat while its hand wanders out to pat Violet’s free one. Weakly, the gesture finds purchase. Pat. Pat. Pat. Just as weakly returns Tad’s voice.
“Mmmmaybe if you want to do something a little quieter overall as a first go. Stars and smores or otherwise.”
If it gets out of here, and speaking of this place–
The moment Tad dwells for too long on two that remain, its disbelief rings out in a bark that becomes a laugh that almost cracks into something damp if you didn’t know any better. It takes Feather’s hand in its own while the arm of Purple’s chair unravels into soft strands that can hold her hand too as tears find her eyes where they cannot find Tad’s. How very, very strange.
“Noooooo no no no no. You can't stay. Neither of you! What did you workshop this together? The pair of you haven’t struck me as the best of pals! You holding out on me?”
The jests do little to abade the thick knot of emotions Tad understands little of knotting in its chest. The chair-fingers squeeze at Purple’s hand.
“If I’m being honest Purps? Maybe that was the plot to start with– to fix you, but to have the long-lasting company. I–”
I’ve been lonely. It can’t get lost in sentiment.
“I haven’t had a good dusting in ages after all!”
An unsteady laugh. It’s hand rattles Feather’s.
“You should totally dye your hair orange. No better color! And squishy is squishy– I wouldn’t count you out of what I wanted to help for even a second.”
Monsters, spoiled things, things beaten down over and over– all Tad sees is either figure of the pair framed in gold. What funny, funny things finding the shapes of themselves. How nice it would be to rest, to change, to try again with company. Something in its own shape wags with great hope at the thought of being part of such a pack, but the push of the wind changes and Tad tries to let them down gently.
“No, you can’t stay. Let me rest a while, will ya? But I wont leave you empty-handed, and like I always say, nothing lasts forever! The goodbye will turn into another hello soon enough, if you don’t change your minds, eheh!”
Despite all its airs and evil ways, it just might splinter Tad further to have to push the loyal looks and unwavering friendship in these dogs away.
Thank goodness, then, that it saved one more for the end of it all. Hadn’t it told him from the start that it always had a plan in its back pocket, and a machination on the way?
“I’ll jot that down, Calvin! More parlor tricks it is!”
The wolf bears its teeth to a very scruffy hound, and who is to say that does not constitute a smile? The beast knows no other way to grin. Had their shapes really been too terribly different when it came down to it? Well, yes, but. Maybe a little of no, too.
It’s been really, really fun. Tad remains grateful for the absurdity of it all even now.
“You want to take some shit? Sure! I’d like to warn ya though– consider if what you’re looking to grab belongs out where you’re going. Some things might have their own doorways home to cross back through too. But the money? Knock yourself out! OOOO and, shit, I got this movie too, Joker: Ménage à trois, you should take it, HA!
As Tad the mostly-human figure laughs, Tad the hotel groans and begins to shake something fierce. Wood splits and the floor shifts dramatically as it begins to rearrange itself and the loud cacophony of movement does not cease until another doorway, dark and leading back into the rest of the hotel, opens wide behind it.
"There ya go. You can grab your shit before heading out, but to circle back– no that door ain’t gonna take ya anywhere with anyone else! Do you think I’ve got the strength after all this hullabaloo to push all of you willy nilly off course from where you’re tied back to? Most of you didn’t even say please or thank you! Get a grip! I only got enough left in the tank for one good shove!”
Despite the grate of its words, Tad smiles wide. Or it does until it briefly reconsiders something, at which it flops halfway over with an annoyed roll of its eyes.
“I guess I can try for two people. But that's it.”
It aims a finger gun straight and true at Esteban. It’s thumb twitches with the mock unload of a whole round of bullets as it snickers. Click click click click click!
“I wasn’t gonna offer unless you begged but what the hell Paxamillion. It’s up to you. You only get one or the other, but if you wanna enter the 21st century alongside these yahoos, hold someone’s hand on the way out the door.
The same goes for–”
You.
All of Tad finally turns to its very first friend.
“…Hold Sheriff’s hand when you leave. That’ll be enough, I’ll make sure of it.”
They’ve come a very long way together, when all of one little girl’s life could have ended very long ago.
If… If it’s going to try, it’d be for her. Can it? Should it? Has it already, in ways unspoken?
If this is going to be goodbye for a time, and it could be, would be, should be, because now there’s finally time…!
The world wouldn’t be wrong to deem Tad undeserving of this moment, hell, those gathered had every right to doom it, but Tad takes what it can before it all slips from between its fingers and steals this memory too all the same.
“I think I love you, tadpole. Have fun out there in the world, alright? You’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you now and I hope you go live every big, little, ugly, perfect moment of it. And hopefully the food at Chili’s doesn’t suck ass, ha.”
There. As Tad settles back into its chair, the weightlessness of its smile has never been more uncontested.
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.
it's the feeling of being alive. | calvin | trial mm.6 | re: choice
All these heartwarming sentiments extolling the wonders of Bleak's murder house cements one thing in Calvin's mind that he's long suspected, way back when he was trying to figure out the reason why he was never able to successfully drive anyone away like he intended. The reason is, of course:
Everyone here is fucking insane.
Especially Big Purple, ironically the only one he did successfully manage to thoroughly alienate, who gladly snaps up the opportunity to tear him a new asshole in front of god and everyone. It's nothing he doesn't deserve, and not even in a Catholic way— Calvin's long accepted that, even beneath the exaggerated veneer of Hyde, the man beneath the mask has always been a little too irreverent to be considered a Decent Person(TM).
Really, it's almost nice to hear. She's come out the other side of hell a Bigger and Better Purple than she was at the start, complete with friends she cares for fiercely enough to stay in the hotel with them, forging her own path. He'd contributed to it in the only way he felt confident in at the time. It's like he'd told Bleak before— praise for a villain sounds exactly like this, doesn't it? He's glad that he's gotten his wish for her. So the least he should do is hear her out at the end.
But as she talks,
and talks,
and talks,
Calvin realizes halfway through processing what she's saying that…
he kinda…
doesn't care?
"… Huh. Okay."
Barely audible, but that's all he's able to get out before Marie sends that magnet soaring across the room, more irritated than he's ever seen her. And sure, he knows it's not entirely about him, he's not that conceited, but…
It was so fucking cool.
(He fakes scratching a conveniently placed itch below his eyes in order to hide the faint surge of heat rising to his face.)
Esteban chiming in gets a sharp laugh out of him, alongside a mutter of "woooow, callin' me broke, I see how it is," because it feels so natural. It always has, this pair of mutts catching each other's scents even across the boundary of a millennium.
… It was always going to be goodbye, though.
Sure, that goes for everyone here. But that's all the veneer of see you again soon or I'll do my best to avoid you from now on— the promise of existing in the same world at the same time, experiencing it all at once. He's so, so glad to still get to do it. It's a thought that's kept him going, even when he was impossibly away from his brother, that they might still get to look at the same sky. It'll give him hope now, even if he's sent back to where he came from. These memories he can think of as he fumbles through the rest of his life—
Catching frogs with Delores. Making shitty fake Pokemon cards with Rose. Sending terrible remixes to Jasmine. Watching even more terrible movies with Marian. Teaching Feather about rock'n'roll. Explaining to Shropshire the appeal of— actually you know what he doesn't want to think about that, let's switch gears—
Raising a yeast in a jar with Elyon. Roughhousing with Dove, and not even regretting it when Dove later gave him something precious that he'd been missing for decades. Drinking hot cocoa with Adam– John– Violet. Watching Noel shred harder than he ever thought possible to the DOOM soundtrack. Playing Operation with Big Purple— which, despite everything, is still one of his favorite memories with her.
Venturing into uncertainty with Jekyll to uncover the secrets of this place, the unlikeliest pair, Jekyll and Hyde— ah, did he ever get her name?
Sending incomprehensible texts to Marie. Dancing to terrible music picks with Marie. Staring at a chicken plate with Marie and wondering how it would feel to take her hand, only for her to send him into shock and show him first.
None of these are doomed to be the last memories he ever has with these people. There's always still hope to cling to, when goodbye means see you later.
The only two people cemented as a final goodbye are Esteban, who he's known from the start—
(and he'll never speak during another movie ever again as long as he lives, he'll eat every scrap of food the kitchen leaves behind before it can be tossed out, he'll check the news every day to see if the man who killed william harris has been spotted in miami or toronto or wherever the hell)
— and Tad itself.
He tilts his head as he looks over at it, feeling like he's seeing it for the first time. A dog recognizing at last that there's a reason why this wolf smells so different from any other dog.
"… I mean, don't get me wrong, it was definitely a snuff torture party, but… I still had fun. Maybe do more of those bulletin board jobs next time if you ever change your mind about doin' a redo, yeah?"
More than anyone else here, Tad truly had been Calvin's playmate.
"Oh, also, like— people are already askin' to go to the same place through the door with whoever, and I'm interested in that too for fuckin' sure, but I also wanna know—
Can we bring shit with us? Like, from here?"
Is this about anything sentimental? Mortimer, perhaps? His lore? Or…
"'Cause I think I got enough from the boutique to pay for rent for at LEAST six months, and I'm gonna fuckin' need that. I don't got SHIT in Detroit."
He does at least have the decency to laugh at himself for the absurd question as he tosses in his vote.
Everyone here is fucking insane, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
Every breath drawn, every deliberate word chosen, every muscle shift, smile and tear… Marie carefully observes. The somebody—a man now named Violet—has a different swish of his wrists now as he speaks, eyes searching with a spark of desperation between those he’s remade connections. Rose’s fire shows in the singed tips of her passionate sentences. Dove’s tone is lowered with a final resolve. Delores, Esteban, Minnie, Novalis, Elyon…
Each voice, heart, intention… is all very clear—and Marie can understand where each resonates in their own experiences. Because despite everything, with frustrations brewing and continued stumbling through her feelings, the flow of peace still begged to come back. And despite their apparent gift of time, it all felt further and further adrift as more questions began brewing at the top. Home—or, at least, where they were last—was just through that door. Just close your eyes, connect with your brand-new body, and walk right on through. It seemed simple, didn’t it? Just go. You’re tired, it’s clear, so just go. Make your statement, vote, and just go.
Leave.
But what about apologizing to Purple now, as she sees the tears spring to her eyes. It wasn’t that simple, what Marie’d barked out coldly… An ask to be recognized of herself, while also still accepting where Purple’s stance came from and their differences. She barely knew the surface of it, but could see it behind the spark of her eyes… It was so much deeper, so much more to be said, to be done… Perhaps she could find Rose, and they could all get together to paint and sip while figuring it out… You know, a normal life, for once. What about trying to correct Delores as she fully takes the brunt of the situation on her shoulders, blaming herself again for the events that Marie had already long past forgiven her for, quietly reaching out to a friend she knew she could trust. What about cheering her on, trying to convince Olga to go with them for a date? Minnie had even said Delores was in California, too… Perhaps they all could go together, wingman to show Delores deserved good things for all the passion she put into just being a decent person, and Olga would be treated with utmost respect. Was that possible, now? Could she still see them, and dance along the beaches with Minnie? Could they invite their dear friend, old man Violet, to reminisce of all his tales he held so tight as the bonfires glow dim with a record playing in the background?
How would she reach out to Elyon so that she could finally meet his mother, just as she’d promised, and find every opening to tease Noel along the way? Hell, if anyone could do anything though, maybe Noel could really get through to Shropshire at the end of this… That’d be a tale to take home, huh? Just like she could possibly see Jekyll’s home, and play charades with her family—see just how bad her husband actually was at it. But before that, she absolutely promised to go with Marian and Micah. Unfortunately she won’t be suitcases sized anymore, but a regular flight can’t be all that bad, right…? After a bit of savings… And while traveling, of course, there was the hope to see Feather and its forest. Maybe it could help watch over her dragons one more time before she gets properly settled… just where were they now? Would they be okay? Speaking of okay… Where the fuck would Esteban go? Would the livewood allow him to sustain long enough and see them again…? Could he even avoid jail?! Or could they defy his ill fated past by dragging him to a different time? But then… What about his father that he wanted to see?
The phantom feeling of a migraine begins to pull between her temples, and all she can do is huff an exhausted breath as the rest of this insane finale plays out. As little as Marie talked on the surface, her mind continued to swim in the abundance that was always there: Questions, words, actions that needed to surface with deliberate care. Her eyes eventually drift towards Dove, and in another flash of a moment, her mind flits back to the offer of visiting him in Texas. That would be nice, right now… Could she go there, instead? It’s probably peaceful there, where she could cocoon until her heart was fully healed after processing all these swimming emotions to land on an answer to all this. And during that, they could quietly exist again… Have a few silly conversations, maybe even teach the old man to play some more games… See him smile—really smile, again.
She doesn’t want to let that go. Not again.
She won’t let that go again.
So many words that want to spill out in so little time… And maybe they do, if you’ve learned to listen to the right thing. For you don’t have to hear Marie say any of this out loud—The flood of things that pool in her mind and cherished memories that clung to her shell is emphasized as one hand grasps around the crappy little phone with a myriad of photos in her pocket…
And the other having found itself placed next to Calvin’s.
They’ve got time still, at least… so as long as she keeps hanging on. Just… hang on.
“The rest— you get to do it your way. You’re still the bestest you. I meant and I mean that.”
What was it that Bleak got to hang on to…? Was it ever allowed to be the best of itself?
It still wasn’t fair—mind you—What all it’s done, and it’s refusal to apologize keeps her grounded in her justification. ‘...that’s fine, if you do not wish to… but I do not have to accept your reasoning, either…’ A quarter of her attention continued to keep watch of what pocket Purple had put the tinder into, just in case this moment of calm decides to flip on its head and become a true final boss hotel carousel from hell. That aside, as bleak as things had been, and how they could have gone… there was a glimmer of something else around it that had been sewn in the chaos. She couldn’t fully trust it, but she could trust the rest of them.
Maybe the love of the others could help it bloom after all.
With another heavy sigh, she looks at each person she’s come to know over the months one more time with a quiet request—a selfish question…
was ich kann und was ich könnte | midas | friendship and love
Come now. There was never any doubt as to how Marian would cast their vote. Has there been anyone else here who rejected their humanity so vehemently?
"The murders did, as the youth of today say, suck total ass." A pause. "And We're not entirely sure if it was by poor chance or by you fucking with Us that We found all the corpses. But We can look past that. You may have put Us in the psychological torture gauntlet for a few months, separated Us from Our child, and made Us wear these frilly doily-toilet doll compilations that apparently pass for fashion."
A pause. Marian smiles and reaches over to squeeze Violet's hand.
"But We already told you. We are fungus, and you are wood. And not only did We find what could be called kin, but we found friends for the first time. Who would We be to condemn you to death over that? No, no. We want you to thrive! We want to see how far this livewood thing goes. Perhaps everyone could be a tree one day. Perhaps We could pivot to Global Trungusation instead of just Mycelialisation. Oh, wouldn't that be lovely?"
No! It wouldn't!
"...Well, that could be a goal for the future. It will come after We introduce you and everyone else to Micah, of course."
I tell the tale that I heard told | Shropshire | M.M. Trial
Well, guess who has finally deigned to speak. After thoroughly chewing over the myriad revelations of these last few hours, it seems dear Shropshire would like to voice his no doubt, ah, nuanced opinion of what should become of their host-and-lodgings-both. He takes a deep breath, get ready for a doozy.
"I'd like to preface this by stating that this has been - by all measures - among the worst months of my long, long life. Not the worst, mind you - I failed to live through the tail end of the age of plagues after all - but a serious contender for the modern era in terms of emotional turmoil I'd say," he says, already off to a great start. And he does sound absolutely exhausted, the memories and trial proceedings having made sure of that.
"The kidnapping, the constant threat of, hm, perceived death, the torture... I'm sure I don't need to get into it, we were all here, but it really all was quite a lot. Not how I would have done it at all, if the ultimate goal was to help." The murder ritual expert has some critiques, everyone.
"However... They have certainly also been the most exceptional months as well. My eyes have been made open to so, so many of the secret wonders of this world. My quest has never seemed more vital than before now, and it's culmination never as close.." He gives Tad a pointed look here. His eyes are tired, but there's still a similar spark of awe in it. It's a little like when he laid eyes on Feather for the first time, a feeling of awe at just what is possible in the world.
"I think, I agree with Noel," he turns back to face the group, looking a little bit more his age without the glasses. A little. "Look at them, think about their story. Born, essentially, on sparse rock in the ocean, marked by terrible violence, made to grapple with such emotions... Those are not ideal conditions under which to grow into a person when you're human, much less a, a forest-turned-boat-turned-house. They tried to help with the tools they had, went about it in the manner in which they were familiar, and decided that a bit of pain and fear was worth the final result. And I'm not happy that's the calculus it made. I feel it was unnecessary, ultimately," he says this in the same tone of voice you'd use to critique someone's cooking.
"But. As a man of values I must say I do find a lot of value - eh? - in what I suppose everyone's good chap Tad is offering to bring to the table here. Life really is far too fragile, and while I think forcing this new way of being on all our newly undead was terribly rash and impulsive... I can't help but consider the medical benefits such a miraculous material might have - after being thoroughly researched of course." He doesn't even bother to hide how excited he sounds.
He submits his final vote. "So, consider this an act of me moving past the personal harm that's been done to myself in order to act to benefit mankind. Let no one say I'm not selfless." Aren't you all glad this guy's on your side.
Rose is at a loss for words.
She is going to speak up, tear into Bleak, let the little freak know exactly what she thought of its funny games and attempts to "improve" them. The multiple months of torment. The sleepless nights as she was worried sick, wondering what was going through her dad's mind. She curls her hand into a fist, ready to run across the table and knock on wood, and then Big Purple speaks up.
Rose has learned people have more going on under the surface. Not everyone is as upfront as her. But after getting so close to a woman who had at first made the worst impression, and then grinded on her gears so much, to suddenly say such things. Had they spent time in the same hotel?
She wants to say something. Castigate her, and Bleak. Something about Stockholm Syndrome. Something about how socially Big Purple had nothing so of course any interaction was better but she did not, in fact, have to hand it to Bleak. But for once the words refuse to leave her throat, and she is afraid to speak her mind.
There was in fact a few things in the Hotel she was afraid of losing. Rose and Big Purple were in two different worlds, not counting an ocean between them. But...
She looks at her.
"We'll... go through that door together. With any luck, either you'll be smuggled into America... or I'll be kicking a bunch of British ass when we come to."
She then turns towards Tad.
"But you... I have no guarantee this won't happen again if you get bored. That you won't sow chaos on the outside somehow. You can say whatever, but you've lied to us this whole time and even when putting up an act did nothing but spout utter horseshit. Your word is literally fucking worthless."
"That and like, you've caused enough grief for us. If you actually cared, there were a million ways to do this. But we were just amusements. Everything about us was something to just be ogled at like some cool toy."
Rose stopped being a person to Tad once she bit into Midas to save herself. She was always the cool vampire, its favorite bloodsucker. It disgusted her.
"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Which is pretty damn far."
And she submits her last vote, checking out one final time.
