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 freezes.

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

Wordlessly, she hands him the book.

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?"

"It's me," Clarice says. "It's my life."

She would explain why this is so traumatic for her, but just now she can't phrase it right. She's either too tired or too jittery-- maybe both.

"Oh?" He smiles a little.

"I know the feeling. A lot of people here know my from a fiction. From comic books. I know how weird it can be.

"But I think it's more than that, isn't it? I don't suppose you want me to read it, do you?"

"You might as well," Clarice says, her voice coming out harsher than she meant it to. She shakes her head.

"Sorry. But-- look ... you know Hannibal Lecter. Who he is. Right?"

"Oh, yeah. I heard about him. The bar's resident cannibal, apparently." It dawns on him slowly.

"He's from your world. And you were - or will be - part of the effort to catch him?"

"I was," Clarice says shortly. "Here, anyway. Not back home."

She pauses.

"He's read this book."

"Oh god." He thinks about this. It comes close to his own fears of the information about his identity and past available in the Bar somehow getting in the wrong hands. This is worse.

"So he plans to change his plans? Or is he just taunting you?"

Clarice buries her head in her hands.

"I don't know," she says, "I don't know what he wants from me anymore. He said he wouldn't hurt me."

But this DOES!

Barry goes silent. Tries to think of what to say.

"Is it okay if I read this now?"

Clarice nods, shrugging. Her body language makes it plain that she feels the worst to be already happening.

He reads it. Not quite all of it, but enough to get the gist of it. It take him a minute, as pages flip buy at lighningh, as he unconsciously shifts into a deep speed mood where mind and body simply move fast.

And then he slows down.

"My god. He's a monster, isn't he?"

It's scary to hear Barry say it that way.

"

He looks at her, sympathy in his eyes, he hopes.

"And the events in here. Have any happened yet?"

Clarice looks up at him, her eyes brighter than normal. If Clarice were the type to cry, you'd say she was about to.

"All of it," she says. "This all just happened. A month ago, maybe."

"God." And looks at her, and wonders how she dealt with it all. Even with his own experience, this could have eaten him alive. So to speak.

"I'm not sure what to say. But it seems that you went through more Hell than most. And that you survived."

And then he has two thoughts almost out of the blue.

"Goddam rules of the Bar. He and Joker alike should be behind bars.

"In separate jails. I hope and pray they never meet."

Clarice frowns.

"In a lot of ways, I didn't want him in jail," she says. "And in some ways, I still don't."

"It would be for society's good, though. Even if he is a fairly intelligent member of society who did help you.

"Although I would think he'd be like too many of my enemies any not stay in the asylum for long."

"You read what he did," Clarice says bitterly. "How he escaped. That wasn't just 'fairly intelligent,' Barry, it was brilliant. Sick, but brilliant." She takes a deep breath. "The way I see it is that the minute he gets bored with me, or decides he doesn't want what's best for me anymore ... I'm fucked. Pretty much."

"Yeah. I think I get that.

"My enemies used to fixate on me, but not like this. So this is beyond my knowledge." He pauses.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want to help. You've earned help, facing a bastard like him. Like both of them."

"Thanks," Clarice says. "Really. Thank you. I just ...

He hears this and feels so sorry for her. What can you do for someone in such a state? And yet, how can you not try?

"We'll find a way. There are enough good people here that we will. We beat Tim's Other. We can certainly find a way to handle one monster." And despite himself, he smiles.

"First Tim had to die," Clarice points out.

He goes silent, the smile leaving his face. And he thinks some more.

"It would seem that as well as he knows you, you know him fairly well, too. Is there a way you can take advantage of his weakness? As it seems his overarching ego is a weakness."

Clarice smiles ruefully at that.

"There's that," she said. "Earlier on, he ... led me to believe that he could read my mind, or something, instead of just being able to read a book."