(no subject)

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

(OOC: Following this bit of Canonpuncture and breakage ...)

Clarice is hunched up in a chair by the fire, still wearing her sundress. She has not changed clothes. She has not slept. She reads her copy of "Silence of the Lambs" with a kind of desperate attention, but every so often she has to set it down.


[Summary: Clarice is broken, broken, broken. Meg and Angua give her practical advice, she confesses some things to Barry, she therapizes talks to Ron about Harry and being fictional, the Opera Ghost serenades her creepily, and Aziraphael is at a loss for advice.]

Comments

[someonesdog]

Worried about the tired demeanour of the other policeman, Angua takes a chair nearby.

"Hi, Clarice."

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

Clarice sets down her book, looking a little lost. Then she seems to get it together.

"Angua," she says. "Hi."

[someonesdog]

"Are you OK? You look a little tired?" Actually she looks awful.

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

"I'm ..." Clarice kind of wants to bury her head in the cushions. She puts her head in her hands, instead.

"Been better." She looks at Angua from between her fingers. "You?"

[someonesdog]

"Same," Angua agrees. "Been a lot better, as it happens."

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

Barry enters the bar, looking for breakfast, but finding Clarice.

"Good morning."

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

Clarice looks up sharply.

It's just Barry. Just Barry. Calm down.

"Hey."

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

"Hi. How goes it?

"What's that you're reading?"

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

Clarice freezes.

"Barry?" she says. And pauses. "There's a lot I should tell you."

Wordlessly, she hands him the book.

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

He looks perplexed, and takes the book. He studies it.

"I recall this name. It was a film, a few years back my time. Got a lot of prizes. My wife saw it. Said it was creepy. But I don't know much about it.

"What's up?"

[balletrat]

Clarice? *Meg blinks at her, worried.* You all right?

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

"Hi, Meg," Clarice says, trying to make her voice sound light. She fails.

[balletrat]

. . . I'm going to take it that's a no, *Meg says, and sits down near her.*

What's happened?

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

Clarice shuts her eyes.

"I found out why Hannibal Lecter knows so much about me."

[balletrat]

. . . it's not his mad telepathic skills, is it? *Meg asks, worriedly.*

[http://users.livejournal.com/_our_king_/]

"You alright then?" Ron asked, his eyebrows raised, stopping in the middle of his trek to the Bar for foodage. "You look upset."

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

"Oh, Ron," Clarice says, feeling a twinge. Here she is promising to help him when she just walked straight into the huge mess. How can she help anybody if she can't help herself? "Good ... morning?"

[http://users.livejournal.com/_our_king_/]

Ron came over and sat down. "You're not alright. What's wrong?"

He eyed the book in her hands curiously.

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

"I'm tired," Clarice says, trying to smile. Also trying to inconspicuously hide the book. "I should have gotten more sleep. Why are you up now?"

[feintsoncue.livejournal.com]

And from the rafters above Clarice comes a haunting beautiful male tenor voice

"I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style.
And so I came to see him to listen for a while.
And there he was this young boy, a stranger to my eyes.

Strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song,
Killing me softly with his song,
Telling my whole life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song ...

I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd,
I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud.
I prayed that he would finish but he just kept right on ...

Strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song,
Killing me softly with his song,
Telling my whole life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song ...

He sang as if he knew me in all my dark despair.
And then he looked right through me as if I wasn't there.
But he just came to singing, singing clear and strong.

Strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song,
Killing me softly with his song,
Telling my whole life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song ...

He was strumming, oh, he was singing my song.
Killing me softly with his song,
Killing me softly with his song,
Telling my whole life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song ...
With his song ..."

And the rafters are empty, except for a single rose stem floating softly down to land in her lap.

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

Clarice jumps, turning ein every direction to try to see who's singing ... that song.

"Who are you?" she calls hoarsely. "This isn't funny!"

Something falls into her lap and she leaps up, Svava's knife out. But it's only a rose stem.

Roses ...

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

*Aziraphael wanders over, slightly concerned*

Hello, Clarice.

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

Clarice glances up, looking a little puzzled.

"Oh! Um, hi. Aziraphael."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Are you feeling quite alright? You're looking rather... odd, really.

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

Clarice sighs. Well, if she can tell anybody, he's it, right?

"I don't know if odd's the word. I just got some bad news."