Your browser lacks required capabilities. Please upgrade it or switch to another to continue.
Loading…
Charthur stared at her compact, lying inert in bed alongside her. Her finger twitched, desperate to reach out and flick the screen on to check her notifications. Resisting was taking every ounce of willpower she had. There was turmoil in her gut, as she struggled to decide whether fighting the urge was turning out to be worse than checking and having her fears confirmed.
There wouldn't be any notifications, of course. Just the time -- even more depressingly late than the last time she checked -- and nothing more.
She felt chilly. Her <<linkappend "sleep outfit" t8n>> (oh, who was she kidding, she'd been wearing the same clothes for the past two days)<</linkappend>>, consisting of a tiny-strapped tanktop and a small pair of sleep shorts, did nothing to protect her from the chill of Dewclaw's night air. Normally, it wouldn't bother her, but at the moment she felt like she had no defense against it.
Her finger twitched again, and she swallowed a dry lump in her throat. Her throat was beyond parched, but solving that would mean walking all the way to the kitchen, which meant standing up, which meant leaving her bed. Each step was more insurmountable than the last. Anyway, that would take her attention away from her compact.
Finally, she decided...
[[...to check her notifications.|notifs]]
[[...to shove her compact off her bed.|shove]]With a trembling finger, she reached out, swiped across the screen, and...
...nothing. Nothing but a reminder of how miserably late it was. No surprise. Sleeping was the only thing she had been in the mood for recently, and she had proven to be a failure when it came to that as well.
Her eyes ached as she stared at the glowing screen, the only source of illumination in the room. They were tired, simple as that, having done little but stare at that screen, when they weren't squinted shut tight in regret or crying.
She ignored the ache. Seeing that void of notifications was bad enough. The next step was to...
[[...open up DewChat.|dewchat]]
[[...shove the compact off her bed.|shove]]With a grunt, Charthur shoved the compact of her bed. She winced at the distressing clatter as it hit the floor.
Maybe it was damaged.
...whatever. She'd deal with it later.
Charthur rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. In the darkness, she could see vague shapes form and fade away, shaped by the light trickling in from outside. Before she could recognize one, it would slip away from her, leaving behind only a vague sense that she had seen it in the first place.
The [[incident]] crept into her mind. Was there any point in going over it again? She felt the urge to think about [[anything else]]...Nothing good could come of this. She knew that, and she did it anyway.
She awkwardly lifted her head just enough to make sense of the compact's screen. A few shaky swipes translated into her security sigil, and two quick taps were enough to open DewChat.
The app opened to her most recent chat. Jasmaby. There, plasted across the screen, were the last half-dozen messages Charthur had sent him over the last few days, each increasingly pleading. A tiny empty circle next to each indicated their unread status.
Making herself look at the messages again was an act of cruelty, but not a deep one -- it wasn't as if she hadn't already memorized Jasmaby's final words to her, nor her own increasingly desperate attempts to make it not so. She had etched those feelings onto her heart already.
No, the real damage was inflicted by the status line at the top of the screen:
<span style="font-family:'Lucida Console', Monaco, monospace;">@@.online;Online.@@</span>
Jasmaby was chatting with [[someone]]. Who?Maybe he was talking about her. Maybe he was trying to find a way to forgive her. Maybe he was getting advice about how to reconcile. Or maybe he was saying the worst possible things about her. Maybe he had found someone who would agree with them all, cemented those wretched thoughts as fact forever. Maybe he was working through things. Maybe he was finding just the right way to cut her out. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe...
Charthur anxiously backtracked out of Jasmaby's chat to hunt down the culprit.
<span style="font-family:'Lucida Console', Monaco, monospace;">
[[Shizu]]: @@.offline;Offline.@@
[[Vivian]]: @@.offline;Offline.@@
[[Nim]]: @@.offline;Offline.@@
[[Neon]]: @@.online;Online.@@ (okay, but no surprise there)
[[Tempo]]: @@.offline;Offline.@@
[[Papaya]]: @@.offline;Offline.@@
[[Jasmaby]]: @@.online;Online.@@
[[Sunny]]: @@.online;Online.@@
------: @@.blocked;[blocked]@@</span>It didn't matter. Maybe they weren't even talking at all. It could be someone Charthur didn't even know.
She stared at the status line again.
<span style="font-family:'Lucida Console', Monaco, monospace;">Jasmaby: @@.online;Online.@@</span>
//Talk to me//, she insisted in her head. //Talk to me//.
She stared desperately at the "Online" indicator, trying to will it into becoming "Typing..." by petitioning reality with all her soul. There was a time when that "Typing..." indicator would have filled her with delight, but now she waited for it with dread.
It had been like that ever since this whole disaster started. A miserable, hideous dread hung over Jasmaby's every word to her. Not a mote of his voice -- neither his reassuring warmth, nor his combatative heat -- was present. There was only an impenetrable coldness that cut through Charthur like a knife.
And yet, even that was better than this silence.
//Talk to me//, she pleaded again.
The indicator remained unchanged.
Suddenly angry, Charthur [[shoved her compact off her bed.|shove]]"Man, Neon must be estatic, huh? She always had a real problem with Jasmaby."
"Neon's been great, she hurts for me too. In hard times like this, a real friend stays true."
"Yeah, you can always count on Neon, huh? I'm real glad you've got friends who are going to help you get past this."
"You're so good, Char. Funny, sweet, helpful... you really deserve someone who appreciates you, you know that?"
"I'm sure you're not ready to be dating right now. But that's okay. I just want to be here for you. I really don't mind if we just stay fuckbuddies for now."
"I brought pizza!"
Charthur thanked her lucky stars Shizu wasn't online for the moment. She and Charthur were supposed to be friends, but Charthur knew in her heart that Shizu would do anything to score points with Jasmaby -- and if that meant throwing his fuckup of a [[girlfriend]] under the bus, there's no way the treacherous tomb tiger would hesitate for a second.
It wasn't [[Shizu|speculated]] though. Phew. Charthur let out a pained sigh. Vivian would've been a good option, probably. They would've backed Charthur up, right? The two of them had shared so much. And Vivian always asked such good, thoughtful questions. If there was anyone who might bridge the gap, it'd be Vivian.
So of course it fucking wasn't [[Vivian|speculated]].Neon...
...Charthur wasn't really sure what was going on with Neon right now. Neon had been... supportive, certainly, but withdrawn since [[the incident]]. Charthur had tried to make it clear that it wasn't Neon's fault. No one could possibly blame her.
...but if there's anyone who could blame Neon for something that wasn't her fault, it was Neon.
Charthur considered <<if visited("Neon message")>>sending her a message.... but [[decided against it again|speculated]].<<else>>[[sending her a message|Neon message]]. Or [[not|speculated]].<<endif>>Okay, it wasn't Papaya. That was a... a relief? A disappointment? Charthur wasn't sure how she felt about it exactly.
On the one hand, Papaya was sharp and intense, the same qualities that drew her to Jasmaby. The two had a lot in common -- Charthur recognized the same inner depth in each, the one that let them see others for who they really were in its reflection. Both were performers by nature, yet carried a sense of Trueness that Charthur couldn't help but envy. Papaya, she felt, had the best chance of anyone of understanding the situation. If she so chose, she could probably find a path to reconciliation.
At the same time, Papaya could probably articulate the sheer magnitude of Charthur's [[fuckup]] better than anyone else. The absolute, irredeemable [[failurechat]] she had put on display.
So. Maybe it was for the best that it wasn't [[Papaya|speculated]].Shit. Shit. Maybe it was Sunny. Sunny would obviously be quick to back up his brother against her awful ex-, right? Was that what they were talking about?? How wrong Charthur was, how everything she did was wrong, how she'd just keep fucking up, and fucking up, and fucking up...
Was it nothing? Maybe they were chatting peacefully. Maybe they were preparing for the next show. Maybe they were going over the chat logs, discussing just how awful she truly was, reveling in the horrible, miserable mistakes...
[[It didn't matter.]]Oh god. Oh no.
Charthur couldn't bear to think about it right now. No, no, no.
[[Anything but that|Neon]].Charthur's fingers moved into position to type a message...
A... quick hello. That's all. That's all she'd need to do.
...where would that go? Neon would ask her how she was doing, and Charthur would vent again, and...
...she was so tired of that. So tired of being a big sad puddle of misery in the direction of her friends. She had picked up on how Neon was skirting that sadness more and more. No wonder. It had to be exhausting, dealing with her right now.
...no. There was no point. What was there to talk about? What flavor of disaster she felt like at the moment? [[Forget it|speculated]].What had she been thinking?? Her own thought process barely made sense to her.
She didn't have the heart to try to unravel this right now. Better to [[distract herself|Papaya]] instead.She knew it would come to this sooner or later. Her, with someone like Jasmaby? Of course she'd only be able to fake it for so long, ha ha.
Ha ha ha.
The thought was [[inescapable|Papaya]].Thank GOD Nim had been on a trip. Having the old place to herself was exactly what she needed. No one fussing over her, no one checking in her and bothering her every fifteen minutes. No one making sounds of life in the neighboring rooms. Just quiet, without nothing to distract her from her thoughts.
She did miss the way he'd tried to yell at her, though. It was tiring, being the only one willing to do it.
Anyway. Looked like it wasn't [[Nim|speculated]].It was supposed to be a <i>prank</i>.
It was supposed to be just a <i>prank</i>.
Right at the moment when the spotlight was supposed to land on Jasmaby, it would switch off instead. And then switch back on a few seconds later. No big deal. A funny joke.
It was just supposed to be a prank.
That made it [[okay]], right? Even though [[what actually happened]] was...Anything else. Anything else.
She... her friends wouldn't abandon her, not over this. Not over... okay, no, anything else.
...she'd find someone else. Someone else who understood her, and could tolerate her bullshit, and would understand when she fucked up again and again, and...
...whatever. It'd be [[fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>Yeah... yeah, really.
It was just a prank.
This would blow over.
Everything would be [[fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>...she had followed Neon's instructions perfectly, or so she thought. Load the sequence. Insert the new cue. Adjust the ranges. Push the button, turn the dial, lower the slides -- no, not that slider, the other slider. She had it all written down. It was supposed to be easy. Just... make a light not go on. Awkward pause, everyone laughs, show goes on. That's all she wanted. It wasn't her fault it went wrong.
It [[wasn't]] her fault. It [[wasn't]] her fault. It [[was]] her fault.Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.
She... had class tomorrow. Daybreak was in an hour or two. If... she fell asleep now, she could still get five hours of sleep before she had to leave. That was totally enough.
And, worst case scenario, she could just ask Tempo to cover for her. ...again. They had been fine with it so far, so...
...she'd just... [[just|interrupted]]...It wasn't her fault. It wasn't supposed to work that way.
Jasmaby would realize that. It'd be [[fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>...what happened next was her fault.
Charthur didn't fully understand the technical details. Something about heat sinks, surge protectors and just how spotlights respond to rapid power cycling.
There was good news and bad news.
Charthur's stomach started to ache again. She could feel it clench, wrapped like a fist around the ball of guilt she held there. This was getting harder to think about. Maybe it would be better if she [[didn't]].
There was good news, and then there was [[bad news]]. No, no, no. There was no point in torturing herself like this.
She just had to stop thinking about it. Then she could feel [[fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>The good news was, the theater didn't burn down. Hooray.
The bad news was... maybe it would best if she [[stopped here]].
The [[bad news|bad news 2]] was...No one got hurt. That was the main thing. Everyone was [[fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>...the bad news was... that replacing every blown fuse had ended taking a team of three until the early hours of the morning. The audience had been forced to evacuate, stumbling their way up the aisles by emergency lighting and the glow of their compacts. Everyone -- <i>everyone</i>, from the audience to the sponsors to the overtime staff to the designers -- had to be compensated.
It was utterly, hideously humiliating to think about. It was hard to [[stop]] thinking about. Sometimes it felt like it was all she wanted to think about. Once she started, it was hard to [[stop]]. She didn't know how to [[stop]] thinking about it.
Even worse, though, was "[[why]]".Oh. God. Why.
Why had she done it? It was a stab in the heart to even think about it.
There was [[no point]] in torturing herself, wondering [[why|why she had done it]] she had done it. No point. Pointless. What a pointless, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid...
No. Stop. No point in that. Nothing to be gained.
It was [[fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>She... had done it as a stupid prank.
That [[was|was the reason]] the reason. Was that the reason? That [[was|was the reason]] the reason. That [[had|was the reason]] to be the reason. That [[was|was the reason]] the reason. That [[wasn't|wasn't the reason]] the reason. That [[was|was the reason]] the reason.
It was getting harder to breathe....no. Not, not really.
That girl. That poet. It [[[was|was her fault]]|[[wasn't|wasn't her fault]]] her fault.
She bit down on her lip, feeling the ice start to form between her knuckles.A prank. Jasmaby and Charthur were always trying to prank each other. That was it. The reason was obvious, obvious, obvious, obvious.
It had just been a prank. That made it [[fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>SHE got in the way, SHE interrupted, SHE injected herself, SHE was responsible...
...Jasmaby would get tired of her. It'd be [[fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>It wasn't actually her fault.
She just... was always [[bugging|jealous]] Jasmaby with her poetry, ALWAYS. Constantly [[pestering|jealous]] him messages, constantly [[demanding|jealous]] he read it, constantly [[invading|jealous]] their dates to [[beg|jealous]] for his attention. It was [[disgusting|jealous]]. And Jasmaby [[couldn't|jealous]] get rid of her.
So when she had [[whined|jealous]] about Jasmaby using her poetry in one of his shows... it [[hurt]] Charthur to see that. And when Jasmaby had [[given in|jealous]] to her [[pitiful|jealous]], [[pathetic|jealous]] [[guilt|jealous]]...
Charthur had felt something break.
She took her head her in hands, and curled up. This was only making it worse, wasn't it, wasn'it, wasn't it, wasn't it, wasn't it, wasn't it...How could Jasmaby fall for that??
Well. That girl would fuck up sooner or later. If Charthur had to wait until then... that was [[fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>...
Jasmaby had never used <i>her</i> poety in one of his shows.
The thought was enough to [[kill]] her enthusiam about writing. It wasn't that this girl had a [[crush|kill]] on Jasmaby; that was, whatever, Charthur had dealt with that a hundred times over. What got her [[wound|kill]] up was that the poety was <i>garbage</i>. Poorly [[executed|kill]], trite nonsense. And Jasmaby had used it anyway. The [[truth]] was that it didn't [[scratch|kill]] the surface of the emotions it pretended to dwell upon. It could easily be [[cut|kill]] in half while losing none of the meaning. There was no wit, no [[biting|kill]] truth, no actual despair. Charthur had even offered to [[run through|kill]] how to improve upon the poetry with her, and been turned down.
Not that she had been [[angry|kill]] [[angry|kill]] [[angry|kill]] [[angry|kill]] or anything.
She let the ice form between her first two knuckles, then let it <i>crack</i>.Oh, it was <i>so</i> disappointing to her she didn't "do" WARs, that she didn't understand the point of them. Not even willing to try one. Just one. Charthur would love that about now...
...but, no. No interest. Whatever. That was [[fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>...
...the truth was... the show had taken a lot of time and energy to set up... Jasmaby would come home drained, and...
...
...he just... didn't have the energy to be affectionate.
Not with her, at least.
...
Charthur lay in the darkness. A deep ache in her heart begged her not to think. She was [[broken|break]] already, and the thoughts were just making her [[break]], and [[break]], and [[break]], and [[break]].
And yet... there was... another [[thought]]... Charthur struggled to think.
She was [[exhausted|nope]]. She [[owed]] that to the late hour. She was tired of being [[trapped|nope]] in these thoughts. It was [[consuming|nope]] everything else.
There was [[no escape|nope]]....this just... wasn't the right time. Not right now. She'd wait for the perfect time to think about it.
That was [[fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>Owed. That was the word.
[[Jasmaby owed her]].
Deep @@.nudge;down@@, is that what she really believed?
"[[Jasmaby owed her]]."
Deep @@.nudge;down@@, is that how she really felt?
@@.nudge;Down@@ inside...
...it was a horrible thought. But that was the feeling. And... of course not. [[Of course he didn't|No he didn't]].A break. A break from this. Take a break. A break.
[[Fine|fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>Stop, stop, stop, stop.
Stop thinking the thoughts, stop thinking them, stop having to think about them, stop, stop, stop, stop.
Enough, enough, enough, <i>enough</i>.
She just needed to let herself feel [[fine]] for a few fucking <i>minutes</i>.
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>Yeah, I mean... she was his girlfriend, right? So... of course... he did.
I mean... that wasn't... really how she felt. But... whatever. Close enough. [[Fine|fine]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>><<set $owed = true>>He didn't @@.yellow;owe@@ her. Not anything. How could she ever think that??
She... just... felt that way.
...[[why|interrupted]]?Charthur's thoughts were interrupted by a dim glow from over the edge of her bed.
Her compact.
[[ANSWER IT]]Who could it be. Who could Jasmaby be talking to? What were they talking about? Why wasn't he talking to <i>her</i>??
Talking at this hour... who would even be up at this hour?
Charthur...
[[...investigated|speculated]].
[[...shoved the compact off her bed|shove]].Charthur's whole body trembled.
Girlfriend.
If that was still even true.
Shizu loved horror stories. A [[nightmare|Shizu]] you can't wake up from would be right up her alley.
Charthur lunged for the edge of her mattress, scrambling desperately at the floor to retrieve her fallen compact.
An errant swat went it scuttling under the bed. She cursed as the light retreated into the narrow space between her bedframe and the floor.
[[AFTER IT]]Without hesitation, Charthur threw herself on the floor, landing roughly on an elbow. With her other arm, she flailed underneath her bed, claws outstretched, hunting for her missing compact.
A clawtip brushed its protective case. She scratched at it once, twice. She shoved herself harder up against the bedframe, giving her arm an extra inch of length to work with. That was just enough to hook a claw into it, and give it a tug towards herself.
[[SEIZE IT]]She seized her compact, pulled her toward her, and saw the message waiting from...
...[[from]]...@@.continue-block;
Charthur's finger idly <span class="nudge">tapped</span> the screen as she waited for each new message to come in...
@@
@@.continue-block.toyletext;
Hey hey, isn't it past your bedtime? >:3
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
toyle
@@
@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
How you doing, buddy?
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
sad.
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
bad.
@@
@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
Awwwwwwwww.
@@
@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
This Jasmaby thing's really got you down, huh?
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
yes.
@@
@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
Man, that sucks. I'm sorry, pal :(
@@
@@.continue-block;
Toyle really had a way with words.
This is exactly what she didn't need right now. She didn't need any help feeling sorry for herself. She was on the verge of throwing the compact away again, [[when]]...
@@...a message waiting from Toyle.
Oh. Of <i>course</i>.
Charthur let loose a sigh that was more like a growl. Well, she was awake, right? Might as well [[answer it]]. Charthur lay back in bed, blinking her weary eyes. An unnamed nervousness crept up her spine, as she contemplated the brief exchange that had just occured.
Toyle... why had she... just gone along with it?
Charthur [[thought|toylethought]] about it. Or [[not|toylenot]].@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
Hey.
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
what
@@
@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
You know what you need?
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
what
@@
@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
Some company, dude. A chance to have fun and forget about this hearbreak for a bit!
@@
@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
Tell you what. Why don't I come by your place tomorrow afternoon, and I'll help you get your mind off things. Sound good? :>
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
...
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
fine
@@
@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
Great! I'll see you then! :D
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
sure
@@
@@.continue-block;
She wasn't sure why she said it. It had come out automatically. Maybe it was just easier to go along with it.
Her eyes wandered off to side as wordless thoughts turned over in her head. When she looked back, a [[new message|when2]] had appeared...
@@@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
Hey. Hey Charthur.
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
what
@@
@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
You're cool and great, you know that, right? You're going to get through this.
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
sure
@@
@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
Stay strong, pal. You're going to be fine.
@@
@@.continue-block;.chartext;
...thanks
@@
@@.continue-block;.toyletext;
You're welcome! See you tomorrow~
@@
@@.continue-block;
Charthur clicked her compact [[off]].
@@Toyle...
...he was trying to be <span id="l1"><<link "supportive">><<replace "#supportive" t8n>>Even if it always came back to his own self-centeredness.<</replace>><<replace "#l1">>supportive<</replace>><</link>></span>, she could tell. <span id="supportive"></span>
...he had been a <span id="l2"><<link "prick">><<replace "#prick" t8n>>...but that came from the pressures of his job, she reasoned.<</replace>><<replace "#l2">>prick<</replace>><</link>></span> to her in the past. <span id="prick"></span>
...he was <span id="l3"><<link "earnest">><<replace "#earnest" t8n>>It was just a shame his earnestness revealed so much of his inflated ego.<</replace>><<replace "#l3">>earnest<</replace>><</link>></span>, which she valued in someone. <span id="earnest"></span>
...he was <span id="l4"><<link "infuriating">><<replace "#infuriating" t8n>>But then, she knew she could be infuriating too. Could she really complain?<</replace>><<replace "#l4">>infuriating<</replace>><</link>></span>, so very often. <span id="infuriating"></span>
She turned these thoughts over, looking for something [[more]]. Maybe it [[wasn't worth it]], though.
...whatever. She'd worry about it tomorrow.
She closed her eyes, and waited for [[sleep]] to arrive. Charthur closed her eyes.
And [[dreamt]].<span id="l1"><<link "Toyle">><<replace "#kw" t8n>><span id="l2"><<link "simple">><<replace "#desc" t8n>>Well, more like his complexity didn't matter. It was clear what he wanted, which made navigating his bullshit equal parts easy and obnoxious. And when he didn't realize he was being obnoxious by accident, it was never hard to explain that to him. It just took a little physical violence.
Simple. Straight-forward. Punchable. The thought [[comforted]] Charthur somewhat.<</replace>><<replace "#l2">>simple<</replace>><</link>></span>.<</replace>><<replace "#l1">>Toyle<</replace>><</link>></span> was... <span id="kw"></span>
<span id="desc"></span>...she had to appreciate his effort, anyway.
Whatever. She'd [[sleep]] on it.<span id="l1"><<link "kw">><<replace "#kw" t8n>>text goes here<</replace>><<replace "#l1">>kw<</replace>><</link>></span>
<span id="kw"></span>...she probably //could// use a little company. If only Toyle was thick-headed enough to insist, she'd take it.
She found herself yawning. [[Sleep|sleep]] had found her at least, she gladly answered its call. <<timed 1s>><<goto "awake">><</timed>>@@.dream;FAILURE FUCKUP IDIOT FAILURE MORON PATHETIC POINTLESS DISAPPOINTING STUPID MORON FAILURE DISASTER HORRIBLE FUCK UP MORON SHITHEAD DEPLORABLE FAILURE ASSHOLE WRETCHED IDIOT FUCKUP HORRIBLE STUPID MISERABLE FUCKUP DISAPPOINTING MORON POINTLESS FAILURE USELESS IDIOT BRAINLESS PITIFUL FUCKUP DISGUSTING IDIOT FUCKUP DISAPPOINTING FUCKUP SHITHEAD FAILURE ASSHOLE MORON WRETCHED MISERABLE HORRIBLE POINTLESS FAILURE FUCKUP IDIOT FAILURE MORON PATHETIC POINTLESS DISAPPOINTING STUPID MORON FAILURE DISASTER HORRIBLE FUCK UP MORON SHITHEAD DEPLORABLE FAILURE ASSHOLE WRETCHED IDIOT FUCKUP HORRIBLE STUPID MISERABLE FUCKUP DISAPPOINTING MORON POINTLESS FAILURE USELESS IDIOT BRAINLESS PITIFUL FUCKUP DISGUSTING IDIOT FUCKUP DISAPPOINTING FUCKUP SHITHEAD FAILURE ASSHOLE MORON WRETCHED MISERABLE HORRIBLE POINTLESS FAILURE FUCKUP IDIOT FAILURE MORON PATHETIC POINTLESS DISAPPOINTING STUPID MORON FAILURE DISASTER HORRIBLE FUCK UP MORON SHITHEAD DEPLORABLE FAILURE ASSHOLE WRETCHED IDIOT FUCKUP HORRIBLE STUPID MISERABLE FUCKUP DISAPPOINTING MORON POINTLESS FAILURE USELESS IDIOT BRAINLESS PITIFUL FUCKUP DISGUSTING IDIOT FUCKUP DISAPPOINTING FUCKUP SHITHEAD FAILURE ASSHOLE MORON WRETCHED MISERABLE HORRIBLE POINTLESS FAILURE FUCKUP IDIOT FAILURE MORON PATHETIC POINTLESS DISAPPOINTING STUPID MORON FAILURE DISASTER HORRIBLE FUCK UP MORON SHITHEAD DEPLORABLE FAILURE ASSHOLE WRETCHED IDIOT FUCKUP HORRIBLE STUPID MISERABLE FUCKUP DISAPPOINTING MORON POINTLESS FAILURE USELESS IDIOT BRAINLESS PITIFUL FUCKUP DISGUSTING IDIOT FUCKUP DISAPPOINTING FUCKUP SHITHEAD FAILURE ASSHOLE MORON WRETCHED MISERABLE HORRIBLE POINTLESS FAILURE FUCKUP IDIOT FAILURE MORON PATHETIC POINTLESS DISAPPOINTING STUPID MORON FAILURE DISASTER HORRIBLE FUCK UP MORON SHITHEAD DEPLORABLE FAILURE ASSHOLE WRETCHED IDIOT FUCKUP HORRIBLE STUPID MISERABLE FUCKUP DISAPPOINTING MORON POINTLESS FAILURE USELESS IDIOT BRAINLESS PITIFUL FUCKUP DISGUSTING IDIOT FUCKUP DISAPPOINTING FUCKUP SHITHEAD FAILURE ASSHOLE MORON WRETCHED MISERABLE HORRIBLE POINTLESS@@Charthur awoke.
She rubbed her bleary eyes with the back of one hand while reaching for her compact with the other. One message, from Tempo, asking if she needed them to take over her class this afternoon. A glance at the late hour and the pounding in her head confirmed she did. She dashed off an affirmative, aggrivated that they had guessed like that.
She glanced at her compact again.
She...
...[[checked]].
...[[didn't check]].Oh. No. There was no way she could deal with Tempo's enthusiasm right now. She could picture them grinning and mouthing the words to a song only they could hear, and that image was maddening enough. The real thing would be intolerable.
No, no, no [[Tempo|speculated]]. Not right now. She checked.
<span style="font-family:'Lucida Console', Monaco, monospace;">Jasmaby: @@.offline;Offline.@@</span>
...well. That was something. She wasn't missing time talking to him.
She glanced at the [[time]].No. She didn't need to check. Resist. There was no point.
She glanced at the [[time]] instead.Jasmaby...
She... loved him so much...
Why... did it have to be like this?
[[Jasmaby|speculated]]...Charthur stared at the time.
She suddenly remembered her invitation for Toyle to come visit. That hadn't been a dream. There were still a couple of hours before he was scheduled to show up.
It wasn't too late to cancel.
Charthur [[considered]] this.
...she was expecting company. She had to do //something//.
Groaning, she rolled herself off the bed. She shucked off her well-worn tanktop and sleep shorts, kicking them into the corner of her room to join the growing pile of clothing. She padded to the bathroom, grateful again for Nim's absence.
She twisted the nozzles on. Hot. And she was going to take as long as she fucking [[pleased]].Yeah, that was par for the course.
The next couple of hours passed, somehow. Charthur vaguely remembered staring at her compact, flitting between pointless games and social areas she dared not actually speak up in.
[[Whatever]].She groaned, and rubbed her temples. Sleep. She was getting too much and not nearly enough it these days.
She closed her eyes, and gave into her exhaustion.
She slept a mercifully dreamless [[sleep|dingdong]]. It wasn't as good as the shower at Jasmaby's place, but it served its purpose. The water got hot enough that it threatened to scald her, pounding her stiff, aching muscles with heat.
It felt good. It felt real good. She had been neglecting this, hadn't been able to find a reason to care.
She leaned back, letting the water flow over her body, and [[sighed]].Her sleep was interrupted by the "ding-dong" of her doorbell.
Shit. It barely felt like any time at all.
She hopped out of bed, and [[headed for the living room|mirror]]Time wasted away.
Her nothing was interrupted by the "ding-dong" of her doorbell.
Sighing loudly at the interruption, she [[headed for the living room|mirror]].Ugh. Ugh.
First shower since the incident.
Charthur hurried up and [[finished]].Charthur stepped briskly out of the shower and dried herself off. Pitching the towel in the <span id="l1"><<link "direction">><<replace "#direction" t8n>> (...one more thing to <<linkappend "pick up" t8n>>... later<</linkappend>>...)<</replace>><<replace "#l1">>direction<</replace>><</link>></span> of the laundry basket<span id="direction"></span>, she strode back to her room.
As she passed through the living room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She paused, and struck a pose.
Hey. She was looking <<linkreplace "pretty good" t8n>>[[pathetic]]<</linkreplace>>....
...why did she ever assume she could be on Jasmaby's level? Why did she think for a second she could ever hope to keep up?
She turned from the mirror, avoiding an image as clear and horrible as a photograph. She scuttled away from it, into her room to get [[dressed]].Charthur approached the front door with evaporating haste, her strides faltering as she got closer. She had been rushing, and then she hadn't been. Now she found herself only five feet away, yet she could barely manage a caution half-step in that direction.
For the first time, she stopped to ask herself why Toyle had even offered to visit. She had said yes, because he clearly wanted to, and that was all she could hear at the time. But now that he was on her doorstep, she realized that she assumed he was here...
...out of [[friendship]].
...to [[romance]] her.
...for [[sex]].<<if visited("romance")>>What <span id="l1"><<link "if">><<replace "#continue1" t8n>> what if he <span id="l2"><<link "brought">><<replace "#continue2" t8n>> ...what if he had brought //<span id="l3"><<link "flowers">><<replace "#continue3" t8n>>
It... that... that he might expect //that//... it was too dreadful to contemplate.
Charthur froze in horror, as the doorbell rang again.
There was no escape. She'd have to [[answer it|dread]].<</replace>><<replace "#l3">>flowers<</replace>><</link>></span><span id="kw"></span>//??<</replace>><<replace "#l2">>brought<</replace>><</link>></span>...<</replace>><<replace "#l1">>if<</replace>><</link>></span>... <span id="continue1"></span> <span id="continue2"></span> <span id="continue3"></span><<else>>What <span id="l1"><<link "if">><<replace "#continue1" t8n>> what if he <span id="l2"><<link "brought">><<replace "#continue2" t8n>> ...what if he had brought //<span id="l3"><<link "a bunch of sex toys">><<replace "#continue3" t8n>>
It... that... that he might expect //that//... it was too dreadful to contemplate.
Charthur froze in horror, as the doorbell rang again.
There was no escape. She'd have to [[answer it|dread]].<</replace>><<replace "#l3">>a bunch of sex toys<</replace>><</link>></span><span id="kw"></span>//??<</replace>><<replace "#l2">>brought<</replace>><</link>></span>...<</replace>><<replace "#l1">>if<</replace>><</link>></span>... <span id="continue1"></span> <span id="continue2"></span> <span id="continue3"></span><<endif>>/* arguments:
0: link name
1: div to replace
2: text to replace with*/
<<widget "remotereplace">><<set $id0='"#'+$args[0]+'"'>><<set $replace0="#"+$args[0]>><span id=$args[0]><<link $args[0]>><<replace $args[1] t8n>>$args[2]<</replace>><<replace $replace0>>$args[0]<</replace>><</link>></span><</widget>>Her hand reached for the doorknob, trembling.
She shouldn't have been so casual. She shouldn't have just accepted it. She shouldn't have said yes. She couldn't face this, she couldn't face that, she'd fall apart if...
...the fear clutched her heart.
Panicked, she [[flung open]] the door...There was Toyle, a wide smile on his face and a still wider one on his mask.
There was Toyle, holding a bag in each hand.
He hefted one towards her.
"Hey, Stripes!" he said with his stupid, cocky grin. "Figured you'd be hungry, so I thought I'd bring over some grub."
Charthur recognized the logo on the bag immediately and the smell even faster. Toyle had in his possession the greasiest, fattiest [[burgers]] one could find on this side of Dewclaw, and that was saying a lot.The chimera followed her over to the kitchen table. Without so much as taking the time to sit down, Charthur ripped open one of the bags and tore into the wrappings of the first burger in reach.
It had been so long since she'd indulged in a burger like this. She bit into it greedily, fangs sinking directly through the soft bun and bloody meat.
Oh. Oh, it was practically //raw//. Toyle really //did// understand her.
She glanced at him, at his self-satisfied face, immediately glancing back down. She swallowed, suddenly extremely conscious of the juices that had gotten on her face from her impetous bite.
She [[wiped]] her mouth on the back of her hand, trying to slow her pace down. ...
As much as a doofus as Toyle could be, Charthur honestly got this impression of him. While everyone else figured out how to navigate the murky currents of a social schism, Toyle seemed like the kind to naïvely step into the fray and just, be there.
To say he and Charthur didn't always get along was an understatement. But... for every obnoxious, dumbass thing he had sent her direction, she could also think of a time when he had tried to make her laugh, no matter how dumb a stunt he needed to pull to win her over.
Whatever other motivations he might have here, she honestly assumed his primary concern was her well-being. Even a smug little shit can care.
(And if he honestly did care, he wouldn't mind running to pick up some burgers. On her feet properly for the first time in days, she suddenly realized how hungry she was.)
The thought relieved some her tension. A little more confident, she went to answer the [[door|flung open]].Yeah, what if pffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft.
Hahahahahahahahahahaahahaha... hahaha... no, no.
Oh my god, can you imagine??
I mean, okay. If you're just going to goof around like this, we might as well just go to the part where Charthur opens the [[door|goof]].Well. No shit, she told herself. Toyle had //something// of an aura of sexual desire, in the same way the sun //kind of// gives off light. She'd give him credit if he showed up at her house without a boner ready to go.
Which was fine. Tiresome, at times, but fine. He could be a dipshit about it, but he was Charthur's favorite horny dipshit, so she let it slide. <<if visited("more")>>And, as established, he was punchable.<<else>>And if nothing else, he was certainly fun to punch.<<endif>> So that worked out nicely.
When she felt like enduring his stupid flirts, she could count on him to deliver. And when she didn't, she could eyeroll at him hard enough to make him double over with laughter. For all that they pricked at each other's nerves, they ultimately managed to craft a lively rapport.
And, [[well]]...
...no, no, he was waiting outside the [[door]]. She needed to answer it....well...
...//well//...
...if absolutely //<span id="l1"><<link "forced">><<replace "#kw" t8n>>(... as [[Jasmaby|JasmabyThought]] had forced her in certain, shall we say, desperate circumstances)<</replace>><<replace "#l1">>forced<</replace>><</link>></span>// to admit it <span id="kw"></span>... it's not as Toyle had never crossed Charthur's mind...
...the thought of losing a bet... put in a situation where she wasn't allowed to defend herself against his desires...
...
This was exactly the wrong train of thought to be pursuing with him waiting right outside her [[door]].
Charthur reached for the doorknob, and...
...
Her imagination suddenly went to a [[terrible]] place.Charthur reached for the doorknob, a-- ppffttthahahahahahaaa!!
No, hahaha, no, absolutely not.
Okay. Right. The [[door]]. Sorry.<<if visited("pleased")>>"Looking pretty good! Looking like you're taking care of yourself. Maybe you got dressed up for me, huh?"<<else>>"The casual look, huh? Well, I dig it. Shows you're comfortable around me, what more could I ask for?"<</if>>Charthur had never been fonder of Toyle than in this moment.
The tension that she had been carrying in her spine evaporated all at once. Gladly, she gestured for him to [[enter]]....
He...
...he wouldn't mind Toyle visiting like this, right? Regardless of what happened?
...
It's not like they had been exclusive while they were dating so...
So... Jasmaby probably wouldn't mind. [[Whatever|well]] happened.Charthur pretended not to hear Toyle's chuckle and he unwrapped his own burger. She ate, keeping her mouth full to avoid having to talk. That was fine. Toyle was happy to talk for her, it seemed.
"I'm sure it must be nice to have me drop by, huh? Well, I'm happy to do it. You're important to me, you know?" He paused here to take a bite, before continuing, "And not just because WAR coverage sells so well. You're important to me as a friend."
Charthur...
...[[thanked him]].
...[[said nothing]]."...thanks," Charthur mumbled. Not //just// a way to sell magazines. Well, that lined up neatly with her feelings of worthlessness.
She continued to [[eat]] while Toyle continued to talk. Charthur said nothing. There was no point in explaining Toyle's back-handed compliment to him. He meant well-enough. He was just a fucking idiot.
Well. That gave them one thing in common, at least.
She continued to [[eat]] while Toyle continued to talk.Charthur ate. The initial delight of eating had worn off. Now her gut complained, and Charthur had no way to tell if was from hungry or from being too full. So she ate, slowly, trying to remember how to enjoy the taste.
She became extremely aware of Toyle's eyes traveling up and down her body. <<if visited("get cleaned up")>>She wasn't used to him seeing her so casually dressed. No hat, no style. She was glad she had put on //something//, but this was still a new experience. She had to suppose she was comfortable with him, or something.<<else>>She suddenly felt just how thin the white cotton of her tanktop really was. The gap between it and her sleep shorts instantly became a vulnerable gulf. The length of those shorts felt indecent. She shifted the weight on her feet, tugged at the hem of her tanktop, but nothing helped. It was uncomfortable, the impression that someone else was in the act of caring far more about your body than you could manage to.<<endif>>
<<if visited("get cleaned up")>>"You taking care of yourself at all, dude?" Toyle asked. Charthur nodded cautiously. There was no need for Toyle to know precisely how little she had eaten, how long it had been since the shower she just took, or the desperate circumstances of her drawers.
"Good, good!" Toyle went on. "I can tell. Or at least, that you got yourself together for my visit," he added with a wink. Shit. Was that [[just a joke]], or did he really [[see through her]]?<<elseif visited("sleep some more")>>"You getting any sleep, dude?" He asked. She nodded, still tired, but far less so after squeezing in the nap. There was no need for him to know how often she woke up in the night, head burning with shame. She had started being able to fall asleep faster, at least. She was down to twenty minutes of restless tossing and turning before being able to relax again at this point.
"Ah, that's important," Toyle confirmed. "I mean..." he added. "It's important to be well-rested sometimes, huh?"
Shit. Was he [[flirting]] with her? Or just [[trying to make conversation]]?<<else>>"Man, you are looking rough, dude." Charthur tried to glare at him, but her bleary eyes refused to focus properly. her cheeks burned, realizing she was only proving his point, so she contented herself with taking a vicious bite out of her burger instead.
Toyle seemed unphased. "Don't sweat it, though. You can be like, super casual with me, I don't mind at all. I'd never give you a hard time over that."
Oh. So that was it.
The [[implication]] was clear. But the fog in her head told her [[not to worry about it]].<<endif>>He could couldn't resist the jab at Jasmaby, huh? Just had to take it. Like this was Jasmaby's fault.
Well. [[Fuck him]].
... or was he [[right]]...?Yeah, of course he'd take a jab at Jasmaby. He'd consider that supportive, huh?
Well, whatever. She just wouldn't think about it. That's not what her [[heart]] wanted right now.Just a joke. Right.
I mean. One of those jokes that's true. But.
Still just a joke.
Toyle couldn't possibly know it was true.
Charthur [[reflected]] on this.Fuck. He //had// spotted it. That was embarrassing.
There was no way he was going to live this down. She had gotten cleaned up just for him, and...
And... he [[recognized]] it.
Oh, he was absolutely flirting. That horny little dipshit never missed an opportunity to get into her pants. Or her unfortunately undersized sleep shorts, as the case may be.
...on the other hand... well...
She hadn't made up her mind yet whether she was actually interested in reciprocating his interest. But [[either way]]...He //might// just be trying to make conversation. Maybe he hadn't meant it to come across like that. Maybe it was just automatic; maybe he could just never shut it off.
Because... oh. [[Of course]].On her way to the door, she caught a glimpse of herself in the living room mirror.
...it wasn't a pretty sight. Her dishelved hair fit pretty well with her slim sleep shorts and cheap tanktop, one strap hanging messily off her shoulder. She made a few quick adjustments, running her fingers through her hair with one hand while the other tugged at her shorts, trying to get them to cover as much as possible. This pair had an unfortunate tendency to ride up, and as much of a disgrace as she was, she still felt she could do better than to answer the door with a wedgie.
...a minute of work made her look less like an embarrassing disaster, and more like a... well, no, she still looked like an embarrassing disaster. That was fine. At least that way, she wouldn't be lying.
She proceeded to [[answer the door]].Oh.
That's right.
She couldn't trust anyone else to recognize her struggles.
Only Jasmaby did that.
Charthur quietly put down the remains of her burger, as the weight in her [[heart]] grew heavier. Charthur didn't respond, but continued to eat. Toyle nodded to himself, and kept going.
"The important thing is, you look good to me." He, along with his mask gave her a pair of winks. "'course, you'd look good in just about anything to me."
She blinked at him. <<if visited("get cleaned up")>>Like she was really going to believe he could find her attactive in a promo t-shirt from a fighting game tournament.<<else>>Like she was really going to believe he could find her attactive in her overworn sleep stuff. (She reflexively reached down to tug at her shorts where they were riding up again.)<<endif>> That was [[ridiculous]].
...[[or was it]]?He recognized it.
As embarrassing as it was that he understood she had barely cleaned just to look decent for him, it meant he knew how miserably she had been struggling.
That insight... well, if it meant enduring some teasing, she could live with that.
She tried to take Toyle's insight to [[heart]].Either way... there was something nice about him showing interest in her.
Yeah, it was embarrassing. The fact that he was probably here, now, at her most vulnerable, to try to squirm his way into her pants was pretty fucked up.
But a part of her just wanted to be //wanted// by //someone//. And on that front, Toyle fit the bill.
For everything else that was miserable about the situation, it was something to take to [[heart]].No, of course he wasn't interested in her, not //actually// interested. What was she thinking? Not even //Toyle// could be interested in //her//.
What exactly did she have to offer? Was it her idiotic anxiety? Her absolute inability to communicate? The power to fuck up at every opportunity? The gift of ruining even the most perfect relationship?
Like she //deserved// intimacy. Now that was a joke.
Her [[heart]] was crushed, but she pretended not to notice.Seriously, fuck him. //Fuck// him. Trying to drive a wedge between her and her <<linkreplace "boyfriend" t8n>>ex-boyfriend<</linkreplace>>? Just so he could, what, get his dick wet? Fuuuck that.
She didn't feel like calling it on him at the moment, but she held that bitter note of resentment in her [[heart]].Charthur thought about this.
God. It wasn't unfair to say that having Jasmaby as a boyfriend <<linkreplace "isn't" t8n>>wasn't<</linkreplace>> complicated. His intensity could definitely be a challenge at times. There was just nothing //simple// about him...
...
Everything she thought was true. Yet each thought felt like another slice into her [[heart]].Yeah. No. Complimenting her outfit was clearly just a way of trying to get her to remove it.
[[Nice try]], dipshit. ...
...maybe she was actually was attractive to him, even like this? It felt like an alien thought.
If nothing else, it was a [[nice try|Nice try]] at cheering her up, she supposed. For the moment, Charthur just nodded, letting Toyle interpret that as he wanted.
The two tigers quickly finished up the rest of the meal. When the last bite had been taken, Toyle took a step towards Charthur.
"Hey," he said, getting her attention. "I know how rough things are for you right now." He took another step towards her and threw his arms wide. "You need a hug."
Charthur battled with the question of whether to [[accept]] it or [[reject]] it....she felt guilty about doing so. But he was right there, and...
She opened her arms as well, and he stepped forward to embrace her.
She really did need this. She really did. It felt good just to be held. She squeezed him, and he squeezed her back. She shuddered, the touch of another person feeling almost overwhelming. His hug felt good. His hug felt good.
<<if visited("get cleaned up")>>She barely even minded when one of his hands traveled downward, finding the bottom of her tshirt and slipping its way inside to come to rest on the small of her back.<<else>>She barely even minded when one of his hands traveled down her back, coming to rest on the small of her back, just above waistband of her sleep shorts<<endif>> That hand pulled her in tight, and that total closeness felt absolutely right.
When Toyle's tail looped around her as well, she almost laughed. It had been so long since she had almost laughed, much less laughed. But in this moment, she felt like she could just about barely manage a smile.
They stayed like that a while longer, before [[breaking away]].
Charthur's whole body tensed. She threw up her hands and shook her head, more defensively than she had intended. Toyle nodded, dropping his arms immediately.
She sighed an exhausted sigh. He should have known better. He should have known there was no way she deserved anything like that. Any kind of comfort.
The two [[stood in silence|breaking away]] for a while.There was an awkward pause.
So when Toyle cocked his head and said, "C'mon, let's go sit on the sofa," Charthur simply followed his lead, padding behind him as his talon clicked across her wooden floor.
He sat, and she sat. And shifted to sit closer to her.
"Hey," he said, "C'mon, let's talk."
That sounded [[acceptable]], Charthur thought, as she declined to move closer or further away.She nodded her assent. Toyle leaned back on the couch, puffing a sigh at the ceiling. "Man," he said. "I'm real sorry about this whole mess. This is so unfair to you." Charthur watched as his mask closed its eyes and pursed its lips, as if drinking in Toyle's wisdom.
Charthur thought about this, and...
...[[agreed]].
...[[disagreed]].She nodded. Her voice cracking with disuse, she confirmed, "To blame me such is hardly fair. He doesn't seem to give a care."
Toyle patted her on the shoulder. "Yeah, exactly!" Giving it a squeeze, he added, "Listen. Jasmaby's a smart guy. He'll figure out he's being unfair sooner or later."
This made Charthur feel a tiny bit better.
And then Toyle shrugged. "Or not," he added. "In which case you deserve better than him anyway."
This did not make Charthur feel better.
She [[hung her head]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "say something else">>?)@@<<endif>>Charthur bit her lip, trying to find her words. Her voice cracking with disuse, she argued. "It's not about what you find fair. Make no mistake, I did but err."
Toyle scoffed at her. "Okay, yeah, you fucked up." Charthur recoiled slightly, stung by the words she had been [[afraid]] of hearing...Charthur slumped forward, putting her head between her knees. "Hey!" Toyle asked. "You okay? You want to stop talking about this?"
Charthur nodded quietly.
"Sure thing," Toyle accepted. "You're okay, right?"
Charthur didn't know how to answer this. So she didn't.
Minutes passed in silence, before she finally found the resolve to [[sit back up]]....but a moment later, she was overcome by a feeling a relief. Finally. Finally, someone had just said it...
Toyle was still talking. "...but, come on, it was an //accident//. How the fuck is he blaming you for an //accident//?"
Charthur...
...[[agreed|agreed2]].
...[[disagreed|disagreed2]].That... sounded right. "An accident, and nothing more... what even is he angry for?"
Toyle patted her on the shoulder. "Yeah, exactly!" Giving it a squeeze, he added, "Listen. Jasmaby's a smart guy. He'll figure out it wasn't really your fault sooner or later."
This made Charthur feel a tiny bit better.
And then Toyle shrugged. "Or not," he added. "In which case you deserve better than him anyway."
This did not make Charthur feel better.
She [[hung her head]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "say something else">>?)@@<<endif>>Charthur grit her teeth. She hadn't really wanted to go down this road, but here she was. "...t'was worse than intended, I do bemoan. But the actions were mine, and mine alone."
"Yeah, but..." Toyle tried.
Charthur wouldn't hear it. "No hand forced mine upon that board. I acted alone, of my own accord."
Toyle huffed again. "Fine, fine." He lapsed into quiet, a hunting look on his face and mask at once. It took him only a few seconds to try his next approach. "Still. Dude. You were trying to be funny. It was just a prank. Why can't he understand that?"
The heat of anger tickled the back of Charthur's brain. What Toyle had just said was...
...[[absolutely right]].
...[[not right at all]]....he was right. There was something she was overlooking here.
She had seen Jasmaby throw money at problems plenty of times. By his own words, that was the whole point of "accollecting" money at all -- to spend it. She had never seen him get mad about anything with regards to having to spend.
So... what was she missing here?
...it... was probably...
...how [[embarrassed]] he must have been.
...how it was going to hurt his [[sales]].
...how it must have affected [[everyone else]].
...actually, it probably was the [[money]]....that must be it. Toyle was just completely wrong. Jasmaby had every reason to be mad, because the fuckup really was that hideous.
The hope for forgiveness in Charthur's heart dimmed slightly, and she [[hung her head]] in accordance.
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>That... could be it.
Charthur tried out the thought. "Jasmaby's ego, well beyond vain." Her tongue felt heavy, as she finished the rhyme: "No wonder he's in so much pain."
Toyle gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Yeah, but that's just it, Stripes. There's no way this won't blow over." She nodded cautiously, nervous about the hope he was offering.
Her trepidation was justified when Toyle added, "Or else he's exactly as stuck-up and closed-minded as everyone thinks he is."
The words were all more terrible, in that Charthur had invited them against her <<linkreplace "boyfriend" t8n>>ex-boyfriend<</linkreplace>>.
Suddenly feeling guilty, she [[hung her head]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "say something else">>?)@@<<endif>>Charthur thought.
Mad. When did Jasmaby get mad? Properly mad?
Mad enough to... break up with her.
It hurt to think about this. And yet, Charthur [[thought|thought2]]....really, what else was Jasmaby even interested in? Certainly not //her//.
Charthur put the thought to words. "You're right! I knew this whole thing stank. Holding me to account, to account for his bank."
Toyle slapped her on the shoulder encouragingly. "Yeah, that's //right//." His tone was victorious. "Who needs a money-grubbing asshole like that, anyway, huh? Who could even put up with him?"
Charthur did not say "I do," or "I could." Instead, she quietly [[hung her head]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "say something else">>?)@@<<endif>>She had just been trying to pull a prank. That explained it.
"'twas just a prank," she murmured. "for our prank war. 'twas just a prank, and nothing more."
It was the perfect excuse.
She [[hung her head]], suddenly feeling heavy.
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "say something else">>?)@@<<endif>>The way Toyle kept speaking for her was starting to grate on Charthur's nerves. "A trick was played, on me it fell." She clutched her hands into fists, a wave of nauseous self-loathing briefly washing over her. "...a jealous mind misled me well."
Toyle waggled his head from side-to-side, trying to find a way to dispel this self-incrimination. When that failed, he tried instead, "But really, so what? Jasmaby's //loaded//." Toyle rubbed two fingers in Charthur's face. "He's got dosh for days. This whole thing is a drop in the bucket! So what's he acting so pissed about, huh?"
Charthur opened her mouth to answer, but hesitated. The thing was... he was...
...[[right about something]].
...[[completely wrong]]. Memories came back. She tried to focus.
Their relationship had been strong. [[Had been|fail]], [[had been|fail]], [[had been|fail]], [[had been|fail]].
Which means he really did love her. [[love|fail]], [[love|fail]], [[love|fail]], [[love|fail]].
Which means he really had been angry. [[angry|fail]], [[mad|fail]], [[pissed|fail]], [[enraged|fail]].
So... when did that happen? [[When|when3]], [[when|when3]], [[when|when3]], [[when|when3]]?She couldn't focus on this. Not right now.
She looked hard at Toyle's face. Noticing her attention, he shot her a salacious grin back, his mask taking on an expression of delighted amusement.
Yeah. No. Especially not right now.
She let the thought pass, then [[hung her head]], words just out of reach.
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "think about it some more">>?)@@<<endif>>Charthur knew this. Jasmaby only got really mad when...
Oh.
When he was defending other people.
Charthur suddenly felt [[sick]].<<set $everyone = true>>...every designer, every techie, every model...
...@@.yellow;everyone@@ who had worked so hard to make the show a success...
...all those hours, stolen from them... ...all that passion, all those hopes, snuffed out by a thoughtless mistake...
Charthur felt nauseous. No wonder Jasmaby had broken up with her.
She had finally [[realized]] it. Charthur slumped forward, putting her head between her knees. "Hey!" Toyle asked. "You okay? You want to stop talking about this?"
Charthur nodded. "Just give me a minute to face this regret," she asked him. "Show me some patience; I'll work through this yet."
"Sure thing," Toyle accepted. "You're okay, right?"
Charthur nodded again. This wasn't strictly true -- she'd have to trust Toyle to understand what she really meant was, "I might be okay someday," which was better than she had been feeling these last few days.
Minutes passed as the thoughts in Charthur's brain turned, re-evaluating every word and pitfall she could rememeber from their break up. Only when she was ready did she finally [[sit back up]] on the sofa.She sat up, and sighed. <<if visited("realized")>>Her head felt foggy, but less foggy than it had in a while. In the midst of it was a quiet burning, her thoughts fueled by the realization she had just come upon.<<else>>Her head felt foggy, even foggier than it had been feeling. She didn't get it. She did not get it.<<endif>>
That was the moment she felt Toyle's gaze upon her, intense and purposeful. She turned her head to [[face him]].She could cancel. It would be short notice, but...
...but, actually, Toyle would understand that. He was a dumbass, but a self-aware dumbass. <<if visited("comforted")>>It wasn't just that he was "punchable," she figured. He knew how to toe that line without ever crossing it beyond what she could handle.<<else>>The thing about Toyle was that he was good at rolling with the punches, sometimes literally. But he made it work -- he irked her, but never missed a signal to back off.<<endif>> When it came down to it, he was trustworthy... in that she could trust him to be Toyle. He'd listen to her when it mattered, she was confident in that.
Well. She time before his visit, still. She could...
...[[get cleaned up]].
...[[sleep some more]].
...[[do nothing]].She held her breath as she approached her chest of drawers. So far, the fates had been mercifully, always delivering up what felt like one last outfit, no matter how long she neglected the holy duty of laundry. She might be a mess, but she wasn't planning on dressing like one in front of Toyle if there was <span id="l1"><<link "any">><<replace "#any" t8n>>
(...there's no way Nim would notice //one// pair of underwear go missing, right?)<</replace>><<replace "#l1">>any<</replace>><</link>></span> other option. <span id="any"></span>
She opened the drawer, and breathed a sigh of relief. Some scattered articles, hastily crammed into the back of the drawer after a long trip. They would do.
Soft, grey underpants. Her black FirstStrike t-shirt. Denim shorts.
She was just buttoning up her pants when she heard the "ding-dong" of the doorbell. Fumbling briefly, she rushed to [[answer it|answer the door]].The masked chimera's expression was intense, his lips slightly parted as if on the verge of saying something. Charthur swallowed, unnerved by the sight of Toyle looking serious.
His breathing became heavier, and she found herself mirroring him breath for breath. His eyes bore into hers, searching for something. The invitation to say something.
He pursed his lips, gathering up his courage.
And [[spoke]]."Hey," he said.
Charthur's eyes narrowed. Goddamnit.
Nevertheless, Toyle took this opportunity to [[lean forward]]....<<linkappend "Oh" t8n>>.
<<linkappend "He was going to try to kiss her" t8n>>.
It was quite a <<linkappend "moment" t8n>>. For all his bragging and boasting, for all his flirting, for every salacious glance he had thrown her way, now here they where, one foot apart. His intentions were clear, and it was obvious he wasn't about to <<linkappend "ask" t8n>>.
His eyes hunted in hers for an <<linkappend "answer" t8n>>.
She...
...shot him a [[daring look]].
...[[rolled her eyes]] as hard as she could<<endlinkappend>><<endlinkappend>><<endlinkappend>><<endlinkappend>><<endlinkappend>>.She hadn't been sure up until now, but it came to her in a <<linkappend "heartbeat" t8n>>.
It was so obvious, so projected, that she felt it throughout her entire body: his feeling of //wanting// her. She drank it up, that unrequited <<linkappend "need" t8n>>.
And yet here he <<linkappend "was" t8n>>. <<linkappend "Hesitating" t8n>>. <<linkappend "Uncertain" t8n>>.
She <<linkappend "smirked" t8n>>.
She let her eyes give him the answer he needed. A sarcastic, biting look of questioning, a faux expression of curiosity and confusion. But that isn't what they truly <<linkappend "said" t8n>>.
//Do it,// is what they said. //I <span id="l1"><<link "dare">><<replace "#dare" t8n>>.
[[He dared]]<</replace>><<replace "#l1">>dare<</replace>><</link>> </span> you//<span id="dare"></span><<endlinkappend>><<endlinkappend>><<endlinkappend>><<endlinkappend>><<endlinkappend>><<endlinkappend>><<endlinkappend>>.
She shot Toyle her hardest, most obvious eyeroll.
The imp stared at her for a moment.
And then he laughed, doubling over like the whole thing had been one amazing joke from the start.
"Aaah... can't blame a guy for trying, huh?" he sniggered once the initial wave ended. Charthur gave him a gentle smile, accepting his out from the situation.
Without hesitation, Toyle pulled his compact out of his pocket. "Well, I also happened to have some funny videos to watch, maybe that'd be more your speed. Just the thing to cheer up a pal!"
Charthur [[shrugged]]. Funny videos were acceptable. Scooting in close on the couch, Toyle pulled out his compact and begin flicking through a playlist of videos. "Oh, you'll love this one," he was already saying, "This guy... well, you'll see, but watch the cagroo in the background, it's hilarious..."
Charthur couldn't help but notice the playlist's title: "Charthur Cheer Up." That was... kind of touching.<<if visited("swallowing")>>
(...she also couldn't help but notice she was naked, while Toyle was still fully dressed, and that their arms were touching. Somehow, the way he leaned up against her felt slightly flustering, despite the immediately preceeding activities.)<<endif>>
The two tigers settled in next to each other, and as Toyle flicked through one video after another, Charthur's mind began to [[wander]].He leaned in and kissed her.
//Oh no//, she realized.
She was enjoying this. She was actually //enjoying// this.
The way he pressed his lips to hers, the satisfied sigh escaping him, how earnestly and sincerely he pressed himself against her...
He had been right. Fuck. She really //did// need this. She could feel a tension she had been holding in her heart slip away, replaced by a potent gratitude for the attention.
This was it. She was kissing Toyle. She was making out with the same prick of a reporter who had tested her boundaries so many times, and it felt //good//.
She [[indulged]]. She kissed him. Nothing else mattered at this moment. She could just kiss him, and be content with that.
When his tongue nudged eagerly at her lips, she allowed it in, allowing him to press it against her own. His technique was crude, but passionate, and she simply let herself go, enjoying it.
She was <<linkreplace "content" t8n>>[[thinking about Jasmaby]]<<endlinkreplace>>.
No. No. Not now. She didn't want to think about Jasmaby right now. She just wanted to enjoy this.
So when Toyle's hands began to wander, she didn't complain. <<if visited("get cleaned up")>>His hands found the bottom of her t-shirt and, without a moment's hestitation, began to lift it. He broke away from his kiss just long enough to pull it off her head -- as soon as her lips were exposed, he leaned back in, kissing her deeply while her eyes were still blinded and her arms were still entangled within the fabric.
She could picture herself -- how ridiculous she looked -- and found herself squirming in her seat. This impromptu, juvenile facsimile of bondage had caught her off-guard, and the embarrassment burned in just the right way. She really was ready to just go along with this, she realized.
She was "helpless." He could kiss her as she pleased, touch her as she pleased -- he broke away briefly here to nip at her lip, and rewarded him with a gasp of surprise -- and there was nothing she could do about it. She had no choice but to let him make out with her, however he pleased.
He took his time, his tongue pushing hers around, almost bullying it. Finally, he finished pulling the shirt off her head, chucking it over the back of the couch.<<else>>His hands teased at her tanktop straps, edging them off her shoulders inch-by-inch. One fell, then the other. When she made no move to fix them, he gripped both, pulling the straps down off her arms. She compiled, allowing him to tug her top down to her waist, exposing her chest to him.
He didn't stop kissing her, not for a moment. He didn't hesitate at all. He wanted, so he did. It was what she had expected of him, and she allowed him that freedom, to undress her at his leisure. That embarrassing thought flooded her mind. She really was ready to just go along with this, she realized.
With her tanktop now uselessly encircling her waist, she continued to accept his kisses.<<endif>> He pressed his furry chest to hers, a hand on her back guiding her to press against him in return.
She [[indulged him]].
Charthur allowed him to guide her, to show her what he wanted.
With each passing moment that she allowed it, his hands grew more brazen. They roamed her now-exposed chest freely, explored the musculature of her back, found their way to back of her head to hold it in place for his kisses. His lips traveled to the side of her head, finding the soft spot at the base of her jaw, before traveling down to her neck. His breath was warm and needy. She leaned back, allowing him to lean in over her.
Let him. Let him. Let him.
[[Thoughts]] tugged at her. But his [[touches]] promised to bury them.He //never// cared about her relationship. He //never// cared about her. He was taking advantage of the situation, taking advantage of //her//. He was //using// her...
[[It didn't matter]].
[[It did matter]].Charthur let her body relax, as much as she could. She closed her eyes, trying to forget about everything.
His touch was eager, and so much cruder than [[Jasmaby|It did matter]]'s.
He stroked her tenderly, and so clumsily, unlike [[Jasmaby|It did matter]].
He gripped, and squeezed, hunting blindly for what might work, whereas [[Jasmaby|It did matter]]...
Toyle. Focus on [[Toyle]], she told herself.He was using her. So what?
She was using him.
She let him [[keep going|touches]]."W-wait," she hissed. "I can't..."
He was off of her in an instant. "Hey, that's cool, that's cool," he said. There was enough disappointment dripping off his words that Charthur couldn't help but spare a glance down at the crotch of his pants.
Yeah. She bet he was disappointed. That was fine, though. She was used to being a disappointment by now.
Toyle, meanwhile, was retrieving his compact from his pants (in addition to making what he probably thought was a discreet adjustment). "I came prepared. Funny videos, just the thing to cheer up a pal!"
Charthur [[shrugged]]. Funny videos were acceptable. Toyle. Toyle was here. Toyle was now.
His fingers traveled lower. He probed at the waistband of her shorts, seeing what resistance they might find. It wasn't in her to offer any, certainly; she spread her legs slightly, and waited. It took Toyle no time at all to accept the invitation, and bring his hand to cup her between the legs.
"Oh, you're //really// enjoying this," he crooned.
His words, teasing and smug, did more for her than his hand stroking her through the <<if visited("get cleaned up")>>rough<<else>>thin<<endif>> material of her shorts. He worked his hand up and down without any particular skill, but the unearned possessiveness of his grasp still struck her.
For a time, he was content to play with her like that, rubbing her most personal region as if it his to tease. With each casual remark, she pressed herself against his palm, earning a self-satisfied chuckle whenever she did so.
"Well now," he said after extracting a quiet moan from her, "I think these are getting in the way, hm?" Charthur hunched over, not sure if she was ready for this.
"[[Stand up]]," he instructed.
Ah. This was happening.Charthur stood, legs slightly wobbly, turned to face Toyle. Her eyes flickered between the smug grin on his face, the knowing smile on his mask, and the eager flicking of his tail's tongue. She felt a hideous blush burning on her face, her audience of one suddenly feeling like it had tripled. Her arms hung by her side, simply waiting.
<<if visited("get cleaned up")>>Toyle reached for the waist of her shorts. With a practiced flick, he undid the button. He gave the sides a tug, and Charthur only barely managed to rescue her underpants from coming down with them as well. It was only a matter of seconds before her shorts were on the floor, and she found herself stepping out of them.
Toyle's eyes stared greedily at her last remaining article of clothing. "Cute panties," he smirked.
Charthur reeled. It wasn't fair. When Jasmaby was demeaning, it was crafted, constructed, built to break her down. Toyle just to had say whatever dumb shit crossed his mind, and it managed to slightly destroy her.
His claws reached for her final protective layer. They slipped inside, right near the soft, sensitive dimples of her hips. They gripped, and tugged upward gently, causing the thin material to pull taut against her. She hissed, caught off-guard by the sudden, intimate pressure, her flesh made sensitive by Toyle's earlier attention.
Toyle gave another tug, and Charthur let herself go up on her toes slightly to relieve the pressure. As she came back down, the material settled in deeper, intensifying the sensitivity.
As if by instinct, Charthur [[put her hands behind her back]].<<else>>Toyle reached for Charthur's thighs, sliding his hands beneath them to come to rest on either side of her sex. He slid them up and down, causing the fabric in-between to rub up against her.
Toyle's eyes stared greedily at the motion, each rub threatening to expose her further. "No panties, huh?" he taunted. "You really //were// looking forward to this."
Charthur reeled. It wasn't fair. When Jasmaby was demeaning, it was crafted, constructed, built to break her down. Toyle just to had say whatever dumb shit crossed his mind, and it managed to slightly destroy her.
He removed his hands, instead reaching with his claws for the waistband of her sleep shorts. They slipped inside, right near the soft, sensitive dimples of her hips. They gripped, and tugged upward gently, causing the slick material to pull taut against her. She hissed, caught off-guard by the sudden, intimate pressure, her flesh made sensitive by Toyle's earlier attention.
Toyle gave another tug, and Charthur let herself go up on her toes slightly to relieve the pressure. As she came back down, the material settled in deeper, intensifying the sensitivity.
As if by instinct, Charthur [[put her hands behind her back]].<<endif>>He tugged again, and she bounced again. He was grinning from ear-to-ear, the look of a boy who's discovered a new game. He tugged, she bounced, and the fabric would end up hugged up against her ever tighter. As he started to settle into a rhythm, timing each tug as she settled back down on her paws, she noticed Toyle's mask giving her a devastatingly cocky smirk.
This was ridiculous. It was humiliating. It was //juvenile//.
And it was what he wanted, so it was what she wanted.
She clutched one wrist with a hand behind her back, keeping both pinned there. All she wanted right now was: Nothing. Let him have his way. Let him enjoy himself. It was just that easy.
And so when he next tugged, she couldn't help but let out a weak moan. Toyle sniggered in response, and Charthur never knew wanting to die could feel good.
"All worked up, huh?" he said with a sneer. His hands moved to grip the sides of her <<if visited("get cleaned up")>>panties<<else>>sleep shorts<<endif>>, pulling them away from her hips. The //threat// of yanking them down at any moment made sweat bead on her forehead. She squirmed, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.
"Ready?" Toyle asked her.
When she nodded ever so slightly, he tugged, [[exposing her completely]].
He tugged downward, relieving the pressure on her pussy all at once.
Just like that, her <<if visited("get cleaned up")>>panties<<else>>sleep shorts<<endif>> were on the floor. Just like that, she was kicking them off. <<if not visited("get cleaned up")>>Just like that, her tanktop fell to join them, and was kicked away as well.<<endif>>She stood before Toyle, utterly naked.
She stood there, arms behind her back, while Toyle eagerly drank her in.
She stood there, as three sets of eyes looked at her, taking every curve and fold.
Toyle's snaketail approached, hovering a foot away, its tongue flicking curiously at the air. She swore she could feel its breath on her mound as it drew closer and closer.
Her mortification was just reaching its peak when Toyle patted the couch cushion beside her. Gratefully, she [[sat down]] next to him.
She sat, and as soon as she sat, he was upon her. He was //hungry// for her. His long tongue lapped at her neck, one hand dipping between her thighs. She squeezed her legs together tight, but he wouldn't be denied, not like that. He pushed, a physical sort of begging, and after a needy minute of whines escaping from his throat, she relaxed, allowing his fingers to seek downward.
He found what he was looking for. She hadn't realized quite how hot she was feeling until his finger worked its way inside her.
She groaned. As clumsy as he was, his eagerness and excitement worked for her. Let him tease her. Let him slobber on her. Let him do whatever he liked...
She was really starting to [[enjoy]] this....which is why she was shocked when he pulled away a moment later. She blinked, confused, and turned to look the imp next to her.
She looked at his face, a cocky, hopeful look. She looked down, and realized he had let his dick free from his pants. Ah. Her gaze alone was enough to make it twitch, an eager drop already forming at the tip. Ah.
Ah.
So that's how it was.
She reached down to take his cock in her grasp, and began to [[stroke]].She pumped the length of his dick, her palm gliding over the series of three ridges near the middle. Toyle looked down, totally self-satisfied at the sight. Charthur felt this was fine.
As her pace increased, Toyle leaned back, releasing a pleased sigh. At the same time, one hand came to rest at the back of Charthur's head, urging her gently but impatiently downward.
Ah.
Fine.
She lowered her head, coming face-to-face with Toyle's begging dick. She huffed through her nose, her breath causing it to jerk in her hand. He urged her down again, and she relented, opening her mouth to take his cock inside.
With Toyle's hand guiding her, she [[bobbed in his lap]].Charthur tried to work at her own pace, head sliding down until his dick touched the back of her throat, then gliding back up. As she rose, her tongue lapped at that sensitive region just below the tip of his cock, earning her a quiet "fuck yeah" from the reporter. His fingers ran through her hair,
She squeezed her thighs together, equal parts annoyed and aroused. It //shouldn't// affect her like this, she told herself. But the embarassment... for fuck's sake, the embarrassment was //just right//.
She lowered her head again, and this time, Toyle's hand pressed down at the lowest point. Charthur swallowed awkwardly, briefly choked. Fine, she told herself. That was fine. As long as he let her off when she needed it, that was fine.
He pressed her down, and she managed to take a little bit more this time. It was fine. He'd let her rise off when she needed it. He pressed her down, and if he didn't let her rise off, they were //done//. And then he was pressing her down again, and this time, she found herself ready to gag.
She tried to rise off... but Toyle was ready, pushing down on her once more, choking her again. His hand griped, taking her by the hair.
Fuck. //Fuck//. She hated how much she was enjoying this now. She kept going, suddenly in that heady, foggy mindset of needing to [[please]].It was the perfect storm.
Toyle, arrogant, overconfident.
Kissing her, touching her, teasing her, bullying her.
Stripping her naked. Not a single article of clothing allowed.
His hand in her hair, controlling her.
Her hand, working its way between her thighs to finish what he started.
Oh, how he'd boast about this, how he'd //boast//.
She'd never live it down.
It was humiliating, and it was exactly what she had been [[wanting]].He's not even going to fucking warn me, she realized, as he tightened his grip and began working her harder. There's no way, she thought to herself, as her own fingers teased her mercilessly. Her hips pumped back and forth in rhythm with her head.
She was letting him fuck her face, and he wasn't going to so much as give her the courtesy of a warning.
So it was no surprised when he suddenly pushed her all the way down and held her there. She braced herself, both for the inevitable cumshot into her mouth, as well as the bragging she knew would follow.
First things first. His dick twitched violently in her mouth, and she found herself [[swallowing]] his first load. Toyle's seed was thick and bitter, and she struggled to swallow the first load as the second one arrived. She gulped it down as quickly as she could, eager to earn her escape. Toyle's dick released a third load into her mouth, followed almost immediately by a fourth. Finally out of breath, Charthur extracted herself from his cock just in time to take a fifth shot across the face, a splash of cum nailing her between the eyes. She sat up, squinting as hard as she could manage, as the ejaculate ran down her nose and threatened to sting at her eyes. She could feel his plentiful cum resting in her gut, suddenly struck by the sinking realization she could never take this back.
Toyle, meanwhile, was sighing with total pleasure, his absolute satisfaction evident to Charthur's burning ears. "Man!" he said, "You were really thirsty for my dick, huh?"
He turned to give her a smirk, and only then noticed the mess on her face. "Oh shit," he said with a laugh. "Hang on a sec..." He leaned over, scooped up her <<if visited("get cleaned up")>>shirt<<else>>tanktop<<endif>> and went for her face.
She could have stopped him, but in that moment, she just couldn't find the willpower. Instead, she sat patiently while Toyle dabbed at and rubbed her face with her discarded garment. So much for getting redressed, she figured.
She waited for Toyle to finish smushing her face with her own cum-stained top. She wondered, as he casually chucked the soiled article behind the couch, if he was planning on helping her get off, or whether he'd even offer.
Toyle gave her another look up-and-down, a satisfied smile on his face. "So," he [[began]]...Charthur pondered her options quickly. She decided she...
...[[wanted Toyle to help get her off|funny]].
...[[did not want Toyle to help get her off|funny]].She opened her mouth to speak, but Toyle was faster.
"...so, how about some funny videos? I got some I think you're going to love." He waggled his compact at her.
Charthur stared at him, long and hard.
Then she sighed, and nodded her head. [[Funny videos|shrugged]] sounded good right about now.<<if true>><<set $tries = 3>><<set $reasonlist=["[[she's a terrible poet]]", "[[she's way too chipper]]", "[[she asks questions too easily]]", "[[she's trying to horn in on Jasmaby]]", "[[she doesn't participate in WARs]]", "[[she's too cute]]", "[[her voice is annoying]]"]>>...
...that poet.
Why was it so hard to deal with her?
...
Charthur realized it was <<for $reason range $reasonlist>>because $reason <<endfor>>...<<else>>...
...ugh. This whole thing was that girl's fault. End of story.
She messed up everything. Everything Charthur had. That girl, that poet, she took it all away. Always interfering, always undermining, always spoiling, always //ruining ''everything''//.
//''EVERYTHING''//
Charthur stewed in her black feelings until Toyle alerted her with a [[nudge|nudging]].<<endif>><<set $tries -= 1>><<run $reasonlist.delete("[["+passage()+"]]")>>...
...no... her poetry was... coarse, naïve, and at times, shallow. But there //was// a genuineness to it that Charthur recognized. That earnestness, that willingness to //strive//... she might not be a great poet yet, but she would be someday.
...
<<if $tries <= 0>><<include "failure">><<else>>Charthur realized it must instead be <<for $reason range $reasonlist>>because $reason <<endfor>>...<<endif>><<set $tries -= 1>><<run $reasonlist.delete("[["+passage()+"]]")>>...
...no... I mean, that could be annoying when Charthur was trying to cultivate a sour mood, but she couldn't really //resent// it. She really did just want to cheer everyone up.
...
<<if $tries <= 0>><<include "failure">><<else>>Charthur realized it must instead be <<for $reason range $reasonlist>>because $reason <<endfor>>...<<endif>><<set $asking = true>>...
That was it.
''That was it.''
The way she just... was always //asking// for things, it was //infuriating//.
"Could you read this and tell me what you think?" "Could I drop by your place tomorrow to talk about my poems?" "Could you tell me what you like about this one?" "Have you had a chance to read it yet?" "Do you really like me?" "Could you help me finish this stanza?" "You're not still mad, are you?" "Would you use my poetry in one of your shows?"
@@.yellow;Asking@@. Constantly.
It was endless, endless, endless, //''[[ENDLESS]]''//<<set $tries -= 1>><<run $reasonlist.delete("[["+passage()+"]]")>>...
...no... Charthur had the occasional pang of wanting Jasmaby all to herself, but Jasmaby had made it very clear that Charthur was, in every way, her Number One. Anyway, Charthur dealt with this all the fucking time -- there's no way it was the main reason here.
...
<<if $tries <= 0>><<include "failure">><<else>>Charthur realized it must instead be <<for $reason range $reasonlist>>because $reason <<endfor>>...<<endif>><<set $tries -= 1>><<run $reasonlist.delete("[["+passage()+"]]")>>...
...no, it definitely wasn't that. It was hard for Charthur to really bond with anyone who had no interest in WAR, but she didn't begrudge them their preferences. Those who had never even tried... well, that could be irksome, but it was their loss. The only thing that really frustrated her was when she saw someone clearly wanting to participate, but then letting something (or someone) else hold them back.
...
<<if $tries <= 0>><<include "failure">><<else>>Charthur realized it must instead be <<for $reason range $reasonlist>>because $reason <<endfor>>...<<endif>><<set $tries -= 1>><<run $reasonlist.delete("[["+passage()+"]]")>>...
...ugh. She really was cute. Charthur had come close to flirting with her a few times and ended up biting her tongue. That was annoying. Having to constantly decide whether she wanted to smack this girl in a good way or a bad way took up a lot of mental energy. It didn't explain //this// feeling, though.
...
<<if $tries <= 0>><<include "failure">><<else>>Charthur realized it must instead be <<for $reason range $reasonlist>>because $reason <<endfor>>...<<endif>><<set $tries -= 1>><<run $reasonlist.delete("[["+passage()+"]]")>>...
...no. That was nonsense. That was something Charthur's stupid brain had come up with to have a stupid reason to dislike her. She had no problem with her voice until the other feelings of disdain and jealousy crept in. That feeling was just Charthur being a stupid idiot, and she knew it.
...
<<if $tries <= 0>><<include "failure">><<else>>Charthur realized it must instead be <<for $reason range $reasonlist>>because $reason <<endfor>>...<<endif>>[[failure]]...never mind. Never mind. Never mind. It was impossible. Whatever. Whatever. She didn't like her. She was allowed not like someone. She was allowed that. She'd deal with it, she'd deal with it, she'd deal with it.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Toyle [[nudging]] her.
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(perhaps it [["wasn't impossible"|wander]] at all?)@@<<endif>>"Hey," Toyle interrupted. "You okay there? You gotta kind of a thousand-mile stare goin' on."
Charthur rubbed her temples, but nodded. "...yes, I'm fine, some thoughts to think." She hadn't planned on the second line, but it came immediately: "...I need to get them down in ink."
Toyle responded, "Oh, cool." Charthur let this slide. Her mind was elsewhere.
"So..." he went on. "Do you want to..."
Charthur held up a hand to interrupt him. "Wait," she insisted. "before what comes next, let me just... a simple text."
While Toyle turned back to his compact, Charthur hopped up and retrieved hers from <<if visited("get cleaned up")>>her discarded shorts<<else>>where it sat on the table<<endif>>. She pulled open DewChat, tapped Jasmaby's profile, and began to [[type]]...Didn't she know how valuable Jasmaby's time was??
Didn't she know how greedy it made her look?? How selfish??
Didn't she understand how demanding it was??
The thoughts ran through Charthur's head like rivulets of magma, [[burning her]] from the inside..."You can't just ask questions like that!"
Charthur blinked. She turned, coming face-to-face Toyle's concerned expression.
"Uh. You doin' okay there, Stripes?"
Charthur cleared her throat. "Erase that look from face and mask. I was thinking, 'tis rude to ask."
Toyle cocked his head to one side. "Uh, yeah. Some idiots believe that. But that's okay, we love you anyway."
[[What]].
Charthur leaned in, glaring, and Toyle<<if visited("daring look")>>, after deciding she wasn't going in for another makeout session,<<endif>> leaned back in equal measure. "Your words I'd have you quick explain; where did they come from, addled brain?"
The chimera snorted. "Dude, you like, suck at asking questions, no offense."
Charthur couldn't believe she was hearing this.
He was still talking, though. "I mean, not everyone is a //professional// like me. Trained reporter. Hunting down leads and scoops, getting the skinny. Kinda my thing, you know?"
Charthur wanted to scream. She didn't need this lecture from Toyle, of all tigers. Had he asked a //single// question since...
...had she asked a single question? To that poet? To Jasmaby?
...
She shivered, violently. <<if visited("Toyle")>>It had nothing to do with her nudity. <<endif>>Her thoughts went dark, and she suddenly felt very tired.
She was roused out of it by Toyle [[nudging]] her.<<set $score=0>><<if $owed>><<set $score += 1>><<endif>><<if $everyone>><<set $score += 1>><<endif>><<if $asking>><<set $score += 1>><<endif>>@@.continue-block;
Charthur's finger <span class="nudge">tapped</span> out a message...
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
Jasmaby, as I breathe and live,
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
<<if $owed>>your time is only yours to give.<<else>>are you ready to forgive?<<endif>>
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
There’s something that I’m sure you know,
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
<<if $owed>>never to feel that me you owe.<<else>>that I’ve been feeling oh so low.<<endif>>
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
I cannot rest ’til I atone
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
<<if $everyone>>I hurt you dear; not you alone.<<else>>so please, it’s time, answer your phone.<<endif>>
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
I’ll make right, until I’m done:
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
<<if $everyone>>not just with you, but everyone.<<else>>to be apart is just no fun.<<endif>>
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
It’s clear to all, I gravely err’d.
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
<<if $asking>>I’m insecure, so neatly bared.<<else>>Won’t you forgive? i’m feeling scared.<<endif>>
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
It’s time for me to drop the mask,
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
<<if $asking>>when doubt infects, i’ll simply ask.<<else>>in my regret, you clearly bask.<<endif>>
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
I prep to talk of my mistake,
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
<<if $score == 3>>to ensure again I will not make,<<else>>just tell me what it’s going to take,<<endif>>
@@
@@.continue-block.chartext;
<<if $score == 3>>to mend the trust that I did break.<<else>>hurry, please, relieve my ache.<<endif>>
@@
@@.continue-block;Heart pounding in her chest,@@ @@.continue-block;Charthur bit her lip,@@ @@.continue-block;and tapped <span class="consoletext">[[[Send]]]</span>.@@
<<set $owed = false>>
<<set $everyone = false>>
<<set $asking = false>>
<<set $paige = true>>Charthur stared at her phone. Her message glowed back at her from the compact screen, as if it had been etched into the glass. Each unread message indicator felt like a pinprick in her gut.
And at the top of the screen:
<span style="font-family:'Lucida Console', Monaco, monospace;">Jasmaby: @@.offline;Online.@@</span>
Charthur stared.
In time, she became aware of Toyle's breath on her neck.
She turned to find the masked tiger staring at her compact screen. She gave him a look that said, "Do you mind?"
He looked up at her, with a look that said, "No."
"Wow," he said. <<switch $score>><<case 0>>"That was garbage."
Charthur tried to work up the energy to punch him, but she just couldn't. The fact was, he was [[right|correct]].<<case 1>>"There's no way that's going to work, you know."
Charthur tried to work up the energy to scream at him, but she just couldn't. The fact was, he was [[right|correct]].<<case 2>>"That's pretty good. Room for improvement, but pretty good."
Charthur tried to work up the energy to glare at him, but the fact is, he was [[right|correct]].<<default>>"...that's actually really good. You think that's going to work?"
Charthur didn't answer him. She had no idea. But his compliment stuck with her, anyway. For the first time since the incident, she felt a tiny spark of [[hope|correct]], painful and precious.<<endswitch>>
Charthur leaned back, and over to her side, suddenly exhausted. She leaned her entire body weight agaisnt Toyle, and he leaned back, supporting her.
He offered her his hand -- and after a minute, she took it, grateful, and gave it a squeeze.
"Hey," he told her. "No matter what happens, you're going to be okay. You know that, right? I'll be here for you."
Charthur nodded. There was some comfort to be found in that.
No matter what happens.
She had to accept that [[anything]] could happen.Charthur stared at her phone. Her message glowed back at her from the compact screen, as if it had been etched into the glass. Each unread message indicator felt like a pinprick in her gut.
And at the top of the screen:
<span style="font-family:'Lucida Console', Monaco, monospace;">Jasmaby: @@.online;Online.@@</span>
Charthur stared.
In time, she became aware of Toyle's breath on her neck.
She turned to find the masked tiger staring at her compact screen. She gave him a look that said, "Do you mind?"
He looked up at her, with a look that said, "No."
"Wow," he said. <<switch $score>><<case 0>>"That was garbage."
Charthur tried to work up the energy to punch him, but she just couldn't. The fact was, he was [[right|correct]].<<case 1>>"There's no way that's going to work, you know."
Charthur tried to work up the energy to scream at him, but she just couldn't. The fact was, he was [[right|correct]].<<case 2>>"That's pretty good. Room for improvement, but pretty good."
Charthur tried to work up the energy to glare at him, but the fact is, he was [[right|correct]].<<default>>"...that's actually really good. You think that's going to work?"
Charthur didn't answer him. She had no idea. But his compliment stuck with her, anyway. For the first time since the incident, she felt a tiny spark of [[hope|correct]], painful and precious.<<endswitch>>
She had such a vision of her life with Jasmaby.
Had it all been just an illusion?
Could it have ever been real, if it had been ruined, just like that?
Could she keep living like this -- living here in Dewclaw? Avoiding Jasmaby on the street? Ignoring each other in WAR?
Could... could they just be friends? Nothing more?
Just holding that yearning her heart forever?
Trying to live while the memories still burned inside her?
Wondering every day, "what if?"
Where was her life supposed to go from here?
[[What next?]]What came next was Toyle looping an arm around her.
"Hey, Char, thanks for being my friend," he said. She snorted lightly, and smiled at this strange sentiment. She was almost far gone enough to believe he meant it.
<<if visited("Toyle")>>And then he added, "And thanks for the blowjob. That felt great.
The punch also felt great, and Toyle mumbled something about deserving that as he gingerly touched his mask to check if it was still in place. "So, what now? You want to run down to the market? We could get smoothies, my treat."
Charthur shifted, still getting used to being naked around the fully-dressed reporter. "That just would dare, the crowd to stare; nothing to wear, I would go bare," she rattled off, a little disturbed by how quickly the idea came.
Toyle shot her his most shit-eating grin. "Oh, you wouldn't have to wear nothing. I know you've got a collar and leash tucked away, after all..."
This time, Toyle managed to execute a beautiful block, diverting her fist harmlessly to one side. Charthur was duly impressed. Impressed enough to give Toyle a winning, approving smile, right before shifting into an elbow lunge that nailed Toyle's gut and drove the wind from him. With what little air he had retained, he forced a weak laugh.
She had to admit, [[smoothies]] sounded good.<<else>>"So, what now?" he asked. "You want to run down to the market? We could get smoothies, my treat."
She had to admit, [[smoothies]] sounded good.<<endif>><<if visited("Toyle")>>While Toyle struggled to get his breath back, Charthur retreated to her bedroom to dig through her laundry pile for something not //too// dirty to wear.<<elseif visited("get cleaned up")>>While Toyle amused himself with his compact, Charthur retreated to her bedroom to find her nice hairties. Might as well try to look good, for her first outing since.<<else>>While Toyle amused himself with his compact, Charthur retreated her bedroom to get dressed. She was relieved to find that, yes, she had one good outfit remaining. She quickly stripped off her days-old sleep clothes and pulled on her last clean t-shirt and shorts.<<endif>>
<<if $score < 3>>When she returned to the living room, she found Toyle holding her compact out to her. "Ready to head out?" he asked.
Charthur stared at the compact.
No notifications.
"Yeah," she whispered.
And so, they left.
!THE END?<<else>>When she returned to the living room, she found Toyle holding her compact out to her. "Uh. You might want to take this."
Charthur stared at the compact.
One notification. From Jasmaby.
@@.jasmabytext;We should conversate.@@
Charthur took a long, slow gasp, filling her lungs with air.
That pinprick of hope pierced all the way through her now.
Trembling from head to toe, she swiped open the compact. And began the conversation.
!THE END<<endif>>!RADIO SILENCE
!!by Opa-Opa
[[Play|Paige's Question]]
! RADIO SILENCEThat... could be it.
Charthur tried out the thought. "Jasmaby's pain, beyond the pale -- he always hates to lose a sale."
Toyle gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Yeah, but that's just it, Stripes. There's no way this won't blow over." She nodded cautiously, nervous about the hope he was offering.
Her trepidation was justified when Toyle added, "Or else he's exactly as stuck-up and closed-minded as everyone thinks he is."
The words were all more terrible, in that Charthur had invited them against her <<linkreplace "boyfriend" t8n>>ex-boyfriend<</linkreplace>>.
Suddenly feeling guilty, she [[hung her head]].
<<if $paige>>@@.paige;(or did she <<back "say something else">>?)@@<<endif>>@@.paige;Before we begin... are you the kind of person who believes in second chances?@@
[[Yes, I do.]]
[[No, I don't.]]<<set $paige=true>>@@.paige;Oh, that's wonderful.
Then I can believe you deserve second chances as well.
We can begin the [[story|Opening]] now.@@<<set $paige=false>>@@.paige;Oh. How tragic.
Those who do not give second chances should not be expected to receive them.
We can begin the [[story|Opening]] now.@@