towerofanimus | I was the more deceiv'd

Characters: France [AU2] open to all
Setting: Floor Eleven, night time
Format: Either is fine
Summary: Francisca's just returned from being 'home' for about a month, straight after her shaky recovery from the teddy bear event. Needless to say, she's lost it.
Warnings: potential violence, potential suicide, language.

She felt cold.

On her abrupt return to the tower after weeks of wandering the decimated streets of France alone, after weeks of feeling as if someone had cut her heart out with a rusty knife, after week of nothingness, she broke down. She'd barely had enough time to get to a bathroom to vomit whatever little her stomach had held and proceeded to fall into a state of hysterics, screaming and clawing at her skin in the empty cubicle, her nightgown soaked with sweat and bare feet kicking at the walls.

Now that she'd 'calmed' somewhat, she'd come out of the bathroom and found it was night, the tower lights dimmed and no one in the hallways. Restless, she'd made her way to the eleventh floor, needing the comfort of life after so long without that when she reached it tears had started streaming down her cheeks as she got trembling handfuls of flowers, holding the delicate blossoms to her face and inhaling the scent.

Following the sounds of running water, she stumbled to the lake, mutely staring at the phantoms that seemed to dance under the reversed rainbows in the darkened sky. Strange that she found the sight of such apparitions more comforting that frightening - her people had been dead and not even their ghosts had left whispers behind. The phantoms let her be as she stumbled into the lake, dropping several flowers in the process and letting the little blossoms float around her in the rippling water. Soon the water was to her knees and she felt some relief in the cold she could feel seeping up her legs, contrasting with the warm air around her, but it wasn't enough. She felt numb and soon she was crushing the flowers in her hands, nails digging into her palms as she began to have another panic attack, breath coming faster and louder.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Tower giveth and the Tower taketh away.

It had been a hard month. He had been submitted to a game where he was prey (that had ended poorly), and when he had awoken Francisca had been gone. He had checked for her, looked for her, and mourned the moments that did not have her soft glances in his direction in them. She'd been one of the few good things here, something he could pour himself into and not fear repercussion. There were no games.

He'd caught her walking toward the staircase by chance, just a glimpse of silvery hair and pale gown. She'd looked like an illusion -- one he'd been too shocked to stop himself from following. Part of him was scared though, that she would disappear again if he spoke up. It was a fear that left him trailing behind in those dimly lit halls, too transfixed to really worry about the creepy crawlies that wanted to claw off his skin in the shadows.

It isn't until he's barefoot in a patch of flowers, watching his other half walking out into the lake, that some of the magic righted itself and a nagging worry began to lurk just under the surface. Francis wasn't stupid; he knew what hid itself just under the water; things that would snatch and possess and never let go and he refused to chance losing this one again.

He called after her, his voice sounding foreign and dampened by the floor, so he called again as he made his way toward her.

"Get out of there! It is dangerous!"

Francisca gave no indication that she'd heard him, shoulders shaking from how hard she was breathing. Her legs seemed to lose strength and she sank down to her knees, suddenly up to her chest in water.

The shock of the cold seemed to snap her from one daze to another, noticing the flowers that had fallen into the water. She lurched forwardly, grabbing for the blossoms and thus slowly crawling forward.

If that was the response he'd have gotten to calling for her he would have done it sooner-- and leave it to him to curse quietly in spite of himself that he'd failed and the woman was being insufferably stubborn. It's not his place though. His place was wrapped around that woman's little finger. Unfortunately.

He did not know how deep the lake was, or how fast it dropped off, but logic had no place in the tower. Not with a floor with a fully developed forest, no. It could go for miles underneath the surface, and Francisca's trance had him aware that she'd hardly fight it by swimming and saving herself.

Consider the man plagued by tunnel vision. Francis was quiet on the approach until he could feel the cool water around his ankles. Not close enough. His pants clung to his calves as he ventured further until she was within reach; dipping down to grip her around her ribs to keep her from rolling forward, pulling her back against his legs with a possessive grip. It's not completely sure to him if the trance would have her denying him, but it was all he could do to try.

"Francisca. Talk to me. Please--"

Francisca yelped when she was dragged back, struggling half-heartedly to get away from her assailant. But then, as she was pulled against Francis' legs, she could smell something in his body scent that reminded her of France, her France. Not the smell of smoke, burnt flesh and mould, but something comforting, faint as it was from Francis' long stay at the Tower. That combined with his velvety voice, and she broke down, tears streaming from her face as she turned to cling to him as best she could, sobbing like a child as her fingers twined into his shirt, the forgotten flowers falling around them.

Her response was more than he'd been expecting and he had to brace himself from tumbling them both over; relief coupled with a renewed sense of worry at her tears. He straightened, hands fitting under her arms to lift her up and hold her against him; steadying them both before backing up toward the shore. Francis felt better ankle deep with the woman in his arms. Yes, her France. For better or worse--and presently he was going to avoid sharing his worse; the tower's game having ended poorly for him while she was away.

"I thought you were a ghost! It has been so long...", he trailed off with a mournful sound, face pressing against that golden hair. He was wary of questioning her, not so soon, but he couldn't let her continue on while he was clueless. Lips against her temple, he did something that he didn't want. He asked her where she'd gone. What they'd done.

She'd never been a loud crier, and even then her sobs were quiet, her desperation shown more through how she refused to let him go and continued to soak his shirt with her tears. She allowed him to keep dragging her out of the water, pressing her face to his shoulder and focusing on inhaling his scent, seeking comfort in that small way.

At his question though... Her tears stopped and her eyes grew haunted again, her voice a quiet, husky whisper. "... Home. They sent me home." Licking her lips, she began to tremble, fingers clenching around his shirt hard enough to tear. Suddenly the forest landscape was superimposed with the destroyed France in her eyes and she choked, feeling nauseous and her legs giving out as she slumped against Francis, a broken whine leaving her throat.

"Whatever horrors you saw are a lie, Francisca. They only wish to torture us in whatever way they see fit. It is a sport--" Like the games that had been thrown by the Tower where prisoners became opponents. Killing one another off like savages. No.

His fingers dug into her hips and he drew her in against him and he can't even feel the dampness. "It's a lie, ma chere. It must be..."

Francis would never speak word of it as he'd never had the opportunity to be rid of the tower for nearly a year now-- that he'd trade anything to be home. Be it in wreckage or pristine, he wants his feet on solid ground. She'd never forgive him for such a thought though.

"You need dry clothing and rest. It is not safe here, not in the dark" happened to be his excuse to free the both of them from their current situation. The dorms were the only safe place for them now.

"A cruel sport- I can still smell the burnt flesh," she moaned quietly, not noticing how his fingers pressed into her hips. "Every living thing was destroyed and gone, all the buildings were damaged and the streets were filled with ash," she babbled, shaking hard as the memory rose up within her, threatening to swallow her whole.

"They want us to feel hopeless so we will not carry on. They are not our saviors, amour. We must save ourselves-" Francis crooned against those soft curls. He would repeat the same message as many times as he could if it could only seep in past the cold of the lake water. He seemed to start when his feet hit dry ground and he tightened his grip reflexively, quick to realize it was just himself he had to be concerned over and slump.

For a moment he considered taking her back to his room. For a second he forgot that he has a new roommate that would probably bring more stress to her troubled mind by loose association. "We will be free of this place, Francisca. My only regret is the possibility that we will not go to the same home."

He let out a shaky breath and took her up in arms, giving the lake a passing look before heading toward the stairwell.

She was stone cold and could no longer tell if her body was shaking in a pathetic attempt to generate heat or if it was from the memories of her destroyed home coursing through her mind, bringing with it the dull empty ache in her chest.

She didn't protest when he picked her up, simply curling into his chest and hiding her face against his shirt, knuckles white from how tightly she was clinging to him. Her lips were equally pale as she pressed them together, keeping her distressed sounds to a minimum as she strained to right her mind, somehow, for him.

I was the more deceiv'd

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this tag sucks.

Liar

YOU ARE NOT DECEIVED IN THIS.

OH YES I AM.

B(!!!

Re: B(!!!