#incomprehensible horrors she can't reason or communicate with

[thewhitefluffyhat]

@mayasaura​‘s tags:

and she was most definitely on the ground fighting   she knows at a glance whether the devil are possessing a living body or a corpse   their treck through the Ninth she's on edge and hypervigilant   she's seen some shit  possibly even worse shit than she saw in Canaan House

So... about Kiriona and why she's Like That, and what's been happening these past six months.

She hasn't just been living her worst monkey's paw life as Ianthe's chew toy and bored prince, acting as emotional support for her new dad in his dismyriad crisis. Which would all be bad enough on its own. At least half that time she's also been actively deployed. Like, in the military, in a combat zone. Probably in a command position with very little experience and exactly zero training.

From the scattered mentions we've seen of Antioch, Kiriona was most likely deployed there to quell a rebellion. No doubt a terrible experience that would have expected her to do horrible things. Then these things—the devils—turned up.

Anyone who was infected by the devils, she had to dismember them and burn the corpses. Edenites, House, and civilians. That means regular old people who had nothing to do with the fighting, and people under her command. Either they became shambling zombies with mouths for eyes, or they were mercy-killed and burned before they could be taken.

How many people did she see die? How many people did she kill, and how many of them did she consider herself responsible for?

So if we're counting the reasons Gideon might seem a little off, we might want to take into account how she took a detour though a fucking zombie apocalypse while we weren't looking. Shit.

[wjforever]

Destroy me again. Chapter 6: Warner's mental notes. Day 15

I have questions that I need to find answers to. I need to know more about her psychological state, about her physical condition. So I do everything that I've planned. I strictly follow my own agenda.

I lead her to my bedroom. This is not a spontaneous decision, but a well-considered step. Because this is the only place, this and my dining room, where there are no cameras. Although she doesn't know about it, I still think she has the right to a little rest, a little privacy, even if I don't speak it out loud. And I need it too, because otherwise I can't act more freely, without having to explain each of my actions later.

No matter how pleased I am with her protests, I still need to feed her, since she's hardly eaten anything, I need to wash her, I need my doctors to examine her, and I need her to sleep.

Everything seems to be going as it should to. And yet… It's not. What's happening defies any logic, any common sense. I didn't expect this. At all. Absolutely. I expected something completely different. I expected to meet a completely different person. My plan is scheduled for weeks, if not months. A long and somewhat painful period of rehabilitation, a gradual return to her feeling of calm and confidence, security. Long systematic work. But the plan falls apart. She tears out the pages and burns them in her flame of indignation and resentment, immediately taking us much further ahead in this interaction.

I thought I'd meet a frightened bird. I was ready to it, internally prepared for this. She hadn't been making contact with Kent for so long. She was beaten by my soldiers, she had to talk to me, lying on the floor at my feet like a beast, and then she was locked up again. What kind of even minimal trust can we talk about here? Of course, I saw that despite her weakness, she tried to show strength, to struggle, to disobey…

However, what happens as soon as we leave the dining room baffles me. I just shot in front of her in a crowded room. I thought it would throw our communication back significantly, that her psyche would react habitually for her.

But…

For some incomprehensible reason, she's talking to me. Really talking. Asks questions, gives answers to my own ones, gets angry, exasperated, indignant. But she communicates with me. She makes contact with me so easily and directly that I can hardly believe it. Much more experienced people in much more loyal conditions behave less boldly and confidently.

In front of me is the same girl who sat in the corner of her cage for eight months. The person who was so scared of having a cellmate. The person who had no one to talk to, who was humiliated and insulted. She's been bullied all her life. 

And yet…

Not that she's hysterical, she's actually very far from it. But the strangest thing is that I don't feel despair, doom, or true fear in her. Nothing you'd expect from anyone in her position.

Breaking the system, she also breaks my restraint that was trained for years. I feel too enthusiastic. Her behavior sets something on fire in me, my delight, my impatience, my interest. I myself get lost from the way I behave with her. This is unusual for me, atypical. I normally  very carefully control every step, every word, every emotion that I allow others to notice, but with her…

My elation breaks out, and I just can't keep it inside. Moreover, I don't think I want to do it. Because she reacts so funny to my words that I even want to tease her a little. This not only excites me, but also helps me to understand her better.

I would stop doing this if my behavior hurt her. But the curious thing is that it doesn't cause her strong negative emotions: fear or horror, or feelings of humiliation. On the contrary, it only provokes her more, encourages her to argue and be bold. It's not that she doesn't take me seriously. It's impossible not to take seriously someone who is able to draw a gun and shoot in cold blood in the middle of a meal. Regardless of how this person looks or how old he is. No, that's the other thing. It's about her character, about the little devil that lives inside her. It's about her unrestrained and irresistible urge to fight. It's so close to me, the desire to act, resist and defend my interests and principles.

Of course, I hoped that I could awaken a hidden fire in her, but I didn't suspect that her passion lay on the surface, uncovered, naked. She's not at all the downtrodden girl she thinks she is. And she's not some crazy person, as everyone kept saying. She's a little short-tempered, but still consistent and rational. She's outraged, but restrained. She doesn't do stupid things. She interacts. She holds a dialogue. She's…

She's gorgeous.

She asked me my first name.   After everything, despite my behavior. despite her fear. She's wanted to know my name.

Is she really interested, or is she just trying to awaken humanity in me… She's already playing some tactical game of her own, she's already trying to think, to look for ways out of this situation. I don't think she understands it herself. Maybe she even thinks she's afraid of me. But she's not. My words and provocations don't frighten her, don't bring her to animal horror, maybe only slightly embarrass her. Moreover, what is absolutely amazing, at some point she also begins to feel elation mixed with excitement. I don't know if this is her personal delight, or if my own is transmitted to her. But this reaction of hers only makes me feel more excited.

I know I should be in better control of myself, but being alone with her makes me feel like I'm going crazy. It's like I'm forgetting who I'm supposed to be. What's most frightening is that I seem to take off my mask, allowing unbridled emotions to break out. I feel like a child who received a long-awaited, always desired puppy for Christmas. But I'm not a child, but a jailer, and she's not a puppy, but a strong, proud, beautiful young lady who found herself in a very difficult situation.

I'm trying to convince myself that it's not just my sudden inability to hide my emotions. That this is not due to the fact that I have to pretend to be cold and reserved in front of everyone all the time, because I have to play my role, including with her. And because of this, emotions erupt at once, like steam under pressure enclosed in a small space. I pretend to myself that this is necessary for the cause. That my excessive emotionality will contributes to her better perception of me, that my provocations will allow her to open up better, show her emotions more, so I will be able to better understand her, study her.

I still need to understand whether she is unstable, prone to aggression and violence, whether she has signs of psychopathy. I need to push her to her limits and see how she reacts to it. This is the only way to understand what I have to deal with, clarify all the nuances, confirm or refute all assumptions. These are commonplace tactics and strategy.

She reacts to my ridiculous unfunny jokes. They weren't supposed to be funny. And yet she almost giggles. More than once. Maybe it's nervous, maybe her nervous system is experiencing overload.

But it's still amazing that I'm not yet walking on air and jumping around this damn room, suddenly illuminated by a bright light. I believe that given the madness that's going on inside me, I'm still holding up pretty well.

And of course, all my self-persuasions about the psychological experiment are nothing more than simple excuses. I'm doing what I've planned. I touch her, I compliment her, I treat her as an equal, listening to her arguments and conducting a dialogue.

But all this is not just part of the game, I really think and feel that way. And for the first time in my life, I suddenly so freely allow myself to say what I want, without thinking about what consequences it will lead to. Maybe because it fits the plan and I can afford it. I can turn off this path at any time and say that all this was just ordinary testing. But this is rather my experiment on myself. After all, in fact, all my actions have one reason. For the first time in my life I'm just so unconditionally happy. For the first time in my life, not totally willing, I have to surrender and let my emotions get the better of me.

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[dreadfamed-a]

She doesn't realize it until there's this shift. He was saying things and then he wasn't. When she thinks back on her words, she finds the reason why. She can't hide the horror on her face. Her hand closes over her mouth, as if it might stop the words that already left. Fear and panic are choking the ones she might use now. She's done it this time. She's really ruined it. In three careless words, it's all over. She has to flee before her panic attack fully sets in. Not in front of him. Not now.

            He had thought his reaction so minute, so controlled, as to be unnoticeable, and in that certainty her silence, her failure to respond to his provocation, the expression that envelops her formerly-smiling features, the hand that flies to her mouth… all these things seem strange, out of place, incomprehensible. Horror, he realizes belatedly, once she has already turned toward the door. These are indications of horror. And whether she noticed his response or only the words she had unthinkingly uttered, Klaus does not know. 

          He does know it has upset her. Upset her when his intent had been to proceed as if she had not spoken those words, as if nothing were wrong. To avoid this same situation or another needless quarrel. 

          And though Bonnie had made for the door, it’s the simplest of things to beat her there, to suddenly be directly in her path and no more than a step away, to close hands upon her shoulders to hold her there. But as so often is the case, Klaus lacks the words he needed to communicate. All he can manage is a word that is half-plea, half-reprimand:    ❛ Bonnie… ❜    

        // @iputaspxllonyou :: continued.