#( literally all i had energy for tonight was this for u bc i lu )

[gothsic]

☼ - and so... MARIE appears. - @citialiin​​, what will you choose?

perhaps some of you will be surprised to see her face, when she has not been given a chance to speak yet. but why should she, when the truth was that she was quite far away from the situation at hand? yes. she really did want to separate herself from him, but the more she tried, the more impossible it became. somehow, he found ways to sneak into her life - crawl into the spaces that were left behind, growing dusty from neglect.

allow ourselves an intermission from your regularly scheduled despair to get a look into the mind of one annette kaye, whose past as marie samson is one that you are all likely familiar with already. but the trouble is that annie was, quite unfortunately, never allowed to be given a chance away from the rather catastrophic existence that was jonathan vastielle. in a way, she was never going to escape the past - it was always there, ready and willing to catch up with her. and my, what fast feet it had! but perhaps the answer was not to run away, but to acknowledge that it happened, and simply move forward.

it was a shame then, that jonathan had approached her that fateful night - not the one you might all know, but one after a particular incident had happened. and yes, she had been watching from the sidelines; though she wanted nothing to do with him, there was something gratifying about watching him fall from grace. regardless, she maintained her distance; not answered a word he said, not bothered to acknowledge him wherever she might have seen him in the real world ( and yes, he had a troubling way of making his presence known ). but, in a disconcerting twist of events, he had made himself known to her with a crazed grab of her arm as she took the first step up her doorway and tried her best to evade him. she was not going to let him, no, not this time. he could sink back into the misery from whence he came! but, alas, those bloodshot eyes, that quivering lip, all of it begot the phrase he uttered next; shakily so:

“ help me, just... i can’t do this anymore! don’t let me fuck up again... please. “

how uncharacteristic of him. how out of character. that desperate plea, enough to rattle the mind of anyone who heard it, especially disturbed annie that night. was he out of his mind, approaching her there? so obvious? she could have easily called the cops on him, and yet he had still risked it. perhaps it was the alcohol on his breath ( he reeked that night, she recalled with a grimace and turn of her nose ) that gave away the extent of his recklessness. yes. that must have been it. something must have disturbed him enough to resort to this, the escape.

ziggy stardust. that was the key in this puzzle - and across from him she sat in the present. how did it come to be like this, in the middle of this fancy dining room with the candles set out in front of them and her face made-up, hair done, and little black dress that went to her ankles worn due to the restaurant’s dress code? the answer was both simple and complicated, and really did send her often self-conscious mind in a bit of a whirl.

that night, she had humored him, watched him break down in front of her. it truly was a pathetic sight, but also not quite unlike watching a puppy wander lost through the pouring rain, unable to find shelter. he truly did look as though he had no other recourse than to turn to her, the one whom he had treated as his personal therapist for so long. true, part of her fumed that she had even bothered to listen to his drunken ramblings of his monstrousness, his self-imposed isolation, and god knew what else. all she knew by the time he had wiped away at his tear-stained cheeks was the unusual amalgam of varying emotions filling her heart, making her chest hurt: anger, exhaustion, but above all else... sadness. sadness for him, really. he truly was a lost cause. it seemed as though that flamboyant musician really had gotten under his skin, just as she had. and yet... what had she said?

“ if you think you fucked up so badly, just go talk to him. “

however, she doubted that jonathan would even do such a thing in the first place. still, he had come to her, had he not? truthfully, the entire situation was so strange that she, too, found herself getting wrapped up in the entire farce that was being put on display before her very eyes. jonathan... liking someone enough and feeling desperately lonely enough to regret how terribly he treated them? surely, the sky was falling, she thought at the time. the devastation that was present in her eyes had made the situation all the more uncomfortable.

and perhaps that was why she tracked the musician down directly, making sure to grab his attention as best she could.

“ i don’t want an autograph. ...it’s about jonathan vastielle; the guy whose artwork you were supposed to use? just hear me out. “

what was she doing? did she not vow to leave jonathan behind in the quicksand in which he continued to sink? maybe so, and still, she was keeping true to that promise. who knew how many times jonathan was going to come to her home, keep pestering her, make it so that she would have to file a restraining order against him ( though that may not have stopped him in this state ). it was best, she had decided, to get things to a stable end - and perhaps she held some responsibility in the matter. after all, she was marie samson. he had involved her, and she had gotten entangled in his affairs all those years ago.

she really did pity him. that breakdown of his... was there a chance? truly a chance that he could improve? become something better than what he currently was? that sadness and hopelessness in his eyes were not the eyes of the monster who had toyed with her emotions and yet become so ravenous for her. no. it was something else. something... truer to the self that lay trapped behind the wall with its many bricks and foundations, not haphazardly maintained.

a little boy, crying for the chance he never had to truly be good.

“ um, look. “ she paused, brushing a strand of her away from her ear. “ i really did mean what i said earlier. i wanted to talk to you about this because, i think, anyway, that he’s... he’s a complicated case. i would know. i mean, i’ve said that already, but... “

nervously, her fingers toyed with the bridge of her glasses, adjusting them against her nose - pushing them up, though there was no need for adjustment. it was strange, surreal, actually, finally getting a chance to talk for the first time. really talk. sure, she had been honest with him before about the nature of jonathan’s disease ( not any specific, textbook disease, but his entire being ought to have been compared to a rotting corpse - the stench would fill up the lives of any who associated with him, but... ). and yet still, she was here, trying to convince him of something... well, maybe completely mad.

“ he hurt me. yeah. he did; i’ll never forgive him for that, and i’m sure all his past relationships, platonic and romantic won’t forgive him either, but... i don’t know. what he did that night was unlike anything he’d ever done before. it was just... “ a pause, as her gaze glossed over - becoming distant. she stared idly at the flame flickering from the candle, ziggy’s form becoming blurred against its warm light. “ i think he meant it. i don’t think he would’ve come to me so out of character if he didn’t, well... if he didn’t feel so hopeless. i’m just here as an emissary, or... i don’t fucking know, some missionary for the cause of repairing whatever your friendship was. he... i guess he misses you. it’s weird to you, maybe. to me too - he never really says he misses anyone. well... except for me, i guess. that’s why this is so weird. “

she let loose a soft sigh, and managed to glance at him again. he really was an unusual character - so made-up. why jonathan even liked the guy was beyond her ( well, she found him amusing and entertaining, even enjoyed - and owned - some of his music, but he definitely was not jonathan’s usual type ).

“ call this an olive branch. i’m not saying forgive him, but... i dunno. he’s trying. he’s... attempting. i guess that’s better than fucking feeling sorry for himself like he used to. i mean, he’s still there, whining about what a piece of shit he is and being complacent in that fact, but it could be much worse. trust me. it could. “

she scratched the back of the neck, allowing herself a moment to attune her senses the sounds of gentle, humming chatter from the los angeles elite and the equally muted classical piece being played live in the back of the room. clinking of forks, of spoons, of knives... nobody could know the stakes of the conversation at hand.

“ call me a bleeding heart. he’s a fucking mess, but he needs a translator to function, so... here i am. ask me whatever you want about him, and i’ll try to answer. lord knows he needs an actual friend - i mean, you seem willing to deal with him again. that’ll help his case. assuming you two get along again, hopefully that gets him the hell away from me too. “

“ ...so, basically what i’m saying is, if you choose to hear him out, assuming he does, then... just don’t tell him i’m around. i’d rather just fade into obscurity. this is probably the stupidest shit i could possibly do, but... i see the stupid repressed child in him wanting a release, i guess. it deserves to get some respite, even if he’s honestly satan incarnate to a degree. “