tallulahgs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tallulahgs) wrote2014-03-30 04:13 pm
tallulahgs) wrote2014-03-30 04:13 pm
Entry tags:
40fandoms: Fandom 19
[Title] Life Support
[Fandom] Repo! The Genetic Opera
[Rating] PG-13 for language and mentions of death
[Notes/Summary] Set after the end of the film. Shilo goes to find the Graverobber. A few italicised song lyrics included.
Bloodbath
There's gonna be a bloodbath
She did the sensible thing, asked the grapevine where to find him. He wants to tell her she made the right choice, pretty much everything in this city is worse than he is – but he thinks even that is fucking with her head a little, and she's probably had enough of that to last her a lifetime.
She arrives the day after it all went down, at the opera tonight. Walks into the junkyard in a dress crusted with blood. Her hair's gone dreadlocked from where it's dried. She walks like most of her's dead already. He stopped caring about most people a very long time ago – not worth it, in this place – but he wants her not to be dead. He's had to bring himself and others back from hypothermia, from overdose, before now, he kids himself he can bring her back too.
He flirts with her a little, he bows when he shows her the shower unit he's rigged up from an oil drum and piping and boards. Like before. But this time she doesn't blush, she doesn't not know how to deal. This time she doesn't seem to notice. She strips off in the shower and he sees how the water runs red over the ground. He hangs some clothes on the nail in one of the boards, calls to her that they're there, hears himself sounding too loud, sounding like a host. He spends his time literally knee-deep in corpses. Who's he think he's kidding?
They sit on splintered boxes by the fire and she stares at it, arms wrapped tightly round her body. He offers her food, but she doesn't seem to hear that, either. He tells himself she's gone and she's the one who's got to decide if she comes back. He really hopes she isn't planning to starve herself to death. She's a kid, and it's a stupid kid thing to do. While you can, you live. It's not like the city isn't full of people who are happy to take that privilege away.
All night, the drones fly overhead broadcasting all the shit that went down. She lies on her back staring at her face and the faces of the dead in the clouds.
“Stop looking, kid,” he tells her. “That stuff rots your brain.”
He thinks he might be supposed to tell her she needs to forget it and move on. He's not sure this'd actually help. He's not sure what would. Well, other than Zydrate. But getting her hooked now is pretty low, even for him, right? Plus, she's flat broke, it'd be throwing away good stock.
In the morning, just as he's getting worried, she accepts a drink of water and some bread and meat bought from the crazy lady on the other side of the junkyard. He wonders if she's gonna ask what the meat is, how he's gonna dodge that one (although why should he? She's got to learn how fucked up the world is if she's going to survive in it) but she just chews and swallows like she doesn't care what she's eating.
Another drone overhead. Her dad, dying onstage. Her other dad, dying onstage. Her face twitches a little.
“You're gonna have to go through it,” he says. “It'll suck. Then it'll be a bit better.”
She swallows.
“I know,” she says. Her voice is very dry. “I thought I'd... but it keeps coming back.”
“Some things are hard to kill.”
Blood flowing back into blue-white fingers.
“Will it – that – would it help?” She nods to the glowing blue vials he's lining up. You've got to keep the day job going, after all.
“With the feeling? Yeah.” He whistles, I can't feel nothing at all, and she nods. “With the going through it? No way. You never had any surgery, did you?”
She shakes her head. “Dad – Dad never let -”
Of course it all breaks over her then like a bout of food poisoning. She cries like a child – a much younger child, that is – sobbing so hard she can't breathe – and tugging at lengths of her hair as if that's the only thing stopping her falling apart. But it stops, eventually. She rubs her eyes and she looks at him and she says, warily, like she can't believe he's just going to carry on the conversation, “No. I never needed any and... I guess it all makes sense now, he didn't want me to start thinking it was... so easy to get a new face or new eyes or anything.”
Of course, carrying on the conversation's no big deal for him, what just happened was her emotional earthquake rather than his (but he is glad she's not dead after all). He nods: “They have their first cut and they take it to numb the pain, and then they do it again and they take it some more, and then when they stop, everything hurts. It's better to feel what you can. When you can. Get to bear it.”
She nods again.
“You do what you can,” he says. “Before the clock runs out.”
He knows he can't really be affording to pick up strays, but she doesn't seem like one, not now.
[Fandom] Repo! The Genetic Opera
[Rating] PG-13 for language and mentions of death
[Notes/Summary] Set after the end of the film. Shilo goes to find the Graverobber. A few italicised song lyrics included.
Bloodbath
There's gonna be a bloodbath
She did the sensible thing, asked the grapevine where to find him. He wants to tell her she made the right choice, pretty much everything in this city is worse than he is – but he thinks even that is fucking with her head a little, and she's probably had enough of that to last her a lifetime.
She arrives the day after it all went down, at the opera tonight. Walks into the junkyard in a dress crusted with blood. Her hair's gone dreadlocked from where it's dried. She walks like most of her's dead already. He stopped caring about most people a very long time ago – not worth it, in this place – but he wants her not to be dead. He's had to bring himself and others back from hypothermia, from overdose, before now, he kids himself he can bring her back too.
He flirts with her a little, he bows when he shows her the shower unit he's rigged up from an oil drum and piping and boards. Like before. But this time she doesn't blush, she doesn't not know how to deal. This time she doesn't seem to notice. She strips off in the shower and he sees how the water runs red over the ground. He hangs some clothes on the nail in one of the boards, calls to her that they're there, hears himself sounding too loud, sounding like a host. He spends his time literally knee-deep in corpses. Who's he think he's kidding?
They sit on splintered boxes by the fire and she stares at it, arms wrapped tightly round her body. He offers her food, but she doesn't seem to hear that, either. He tells himself she's gone and she's the one who's got to decide if she comes back. He really hopes she isn't planning to starve herself to death. She's a kid, and it's a stupid kid thing to do. While you can, you live. It's not like the city isn't full of people who are happy to take that privilege away.
All night, the drones fly overhead broadcasting all the shit that went down. She lies on her back staring at her face and the faces of the dead in the clouds.
“Stop looking, kid,” he tells her. “That stuff rots your brain.”
He thinks he might be supposed to tell her she needs to forget it and move on. He's not sure this'd actually help. He's not sure what would. Well, other than Zydrate. But getting her hooked now is pretty low, even for him, right? Plus, she's flat broke, it'd be throwing away good stock.
In the morning, just as he's getting worried, she accepts a drink of water and some bread and meat bought from the crazy lady on the other side of the junkyard. He wonders if she's gonna ask what the meat is, how he's gonna dodge that one (although why should he? She's got to learn how fucked up the world is if she's going to survive in it) but she just chews and swallows like she doesn't care what she's eating.
Another drone overhead. Her dad, dying onstage. Her other dad, dying onstage. Her face twitches a little.
“You're gonna have to go through it,” he says. “It'll suck. Then it'll be a bit better.”
She swallows.
“I know,” she says. Her voice is very dry. “I thought I'd... but it keeps coming back.”
“Some things are hard to kill.”
Blood flowing back into blue-white fingers.
“Will it – that – would it help?” She nods to the glowing blue vials he's lining up. You've got to keep the day job going, after all.
“With the feeling? Yeah.” He whistles, I can't feel nothing at all, and she nods. “With the going through it? No way. You never had any surgery, did you?”
She shakes her head. “Dad – Dad never let -”
Of course it all breaks over her then like a bout of food poisoning. She cries like a child – a much younger child, that is – sobbing so hard she can't breathe – and tugging at lengths of her hair as if that's the only thing stopping her falling apart. But it stops, eventually. She rubs her eyes and she looks at him and she says, warily, like she can't believe he's just going to carry on the conversation, “No. I never needed any and... I guess it all makes sense now, he didn't want me to start thinking it was... so easy to get a new face or new eyes or anything.”
Of course, carrying on the conversation's no big deal for him, what just happened was her emotional earthquake rather than his (but he is glad she's not dead after all). He nods: “They have their first cut and they take it to numb the pain, and then they do it again and they take it some more, and then when they stop, everything hurts. It's better to feel what you can. When you can. Get to bear it.”
She nods again.
“You do what you can,” he says. “Before the clock runs out.”
He knows he can't really be affording to pick up strays, but she doesn't seem like one, not now.