milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

(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.]

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

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

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

What's happened?

Clarice shuts her eyes.

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

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

"It was this," Clarice says, hefting her book without looking at it. She thrusts it at Meg.

*Meg takes the book and peers at it.

The thought more bloody sheep passes through her brain but is, thankfully, not vocalized.

Instead, she says, quietly,* It's your story. Isn't it.

Clarice nods.

And he's read it?

- is it accurate?

She nods again. She doesn't trust herself to look at Meg.

*Meg winces, and carefully hands the book back.*

How much does it say?

Clarice smiles humorlessly.

"Everything."

- up to when?

*Meg eyes the book, as if figuring its length.*

"Now," Clarice says. "Until I came here. Maybe there's a month he doesn't know about. Four weeks."

Well -

*Meg hesitates, and offers, rather weakly,* Every day you're here, though, is one more day he doesn't know about -

Clarice shakes her head.

"I've been to see him. He can fill in the blanks. He's very, very smart, Meg."

Yeah.

Yeah, I know that.

*Meg sighs.* But there's no way all of a person can be gotten down on paper. However much it says -

"He fills in the blanks," Clarice repeats. She sighs. "Meg, I'm sorry if this is hard for you to hear--"

She breaks off.

"

*Meg is shaking her head.* Don't even -

Doesn't matter if it's hard for me to hear. What's important is winning back the ground you've lost.

Clarice just stares, incredulous.

"Meg. He's smarter than I am. He's more perceptive than I am. Realistically, there's nothing to gain back."

So, what? *Meg asks.* You're just going to sit here and - and worry about what he knows?

He knows what he knows. I mean, that's done. Now you have to figure out what to do about it.

"I know," Clarice snaps. "And if I hear the word 'know' one more time, I'll--"

She breaks off, forcing herself to calm down.

"Okay, sure. Sure, you're right. I guess the only thing I can do is just ... stay away from him. Not too hard. He's in jail."

*Meg's brow furrows.* Do you -

*She stops herself before uttering the fatal word, and says, instead,* Have they told you when he's getting out?

"I'm supposed to be a part of that discussion," Clarice says. "Or at least, I was. Things got complicated with Bigby. Now, who knows? They probably won't ask me to."

They'll tell you, though, right? When he does?