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 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?

Clarice shrugs.

"I don't know." She smiles bitterly. "I'm always assured of finding out the old-fashioned way: bumping into him."

That's a scary thought, because part of Clarice feels like if she bumps into him, she won't want to leave, no matter what he knows or what he does ...

"If it helps, he's no longer paying my tab."

. . . that's definitely a plus, *Meg agrees.*

I guess the question is, will he leave you alone if you ask?

"The question is," Clarice corrects, "will I decide that I'm more important to me, or that he is?"

And if it's the latter, where to go?

. . . well, *Meg says, with Meg-logic,* if he's more important to you, than what's important to you is still important to you, therefore you're really the most important to you -

Clarice blinks.

"Meg?" she says. "I haven't slept. Please say that in a different way."

*Meg considers for a moment, and rephrases.*

It's important that you be happy?

"Oh," Clarice says.

"Well, that's true. But sometimes the choice ... isn't between happy and unhappy. It's between bad and worse."

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