It takes Ellie a moment to put it together, that this magic definitely wouldn't have been the kind that anyone approved of.
Blood magic.
A shiver crawls up between her shoulder blades, and Ellie smooths her hands over her arms, pushing all the breath out of her lungs.
"What fucking choice did you have?" she asks, because obviously there wasn't one. They couldn't just let their friend die. Not when it was possible to save him. If Ellie had been in that position, she wouldn't have hesitated either.
But she understands, now. Why Abby would struggle with it, and why she would need to tell someone. Later, she'll be a little fucked up over the fact that it was her. Not because she disagrees; but because they both know that Ellie will never, ever breathe a word to anyone. And Abby knows that about her.
"Exactly." Yeah she had no idea what she was being asked, but even if she had Abby would have said yes. She doesn't regret any part of what they did, only wishes it wouldn't linger in her mouth like a bad taste.
At least she can trust that Ellie won't talk about this, to anybody. She doesn't know how she knows that, she just does. And admittedly, it feels better to have talked about it.
She leans back in the chair with an almighty sigh, her eyes closing. "... I didn't know he knew how to do that. The healing, yeah. The- blood magic? Not so much."
Abby snorts. "The first thing. He said he needed blood."
She opens her eyes, and sits up, rolling one sleeve up to her bicep to better show Ellie the thin, seam-like scar behind her elbow. "There's a matching one on the other side." Both healed, now. Added to Abby's collection; nobody will ever notice, unless she tells them.
Abby's eyes track that half-movement, catching it for what it might have been, and it calls to mind something that Dickerson said to her in that moment. Shucking her sleeve back down with careful motions, she thinks to glance back over her shoulder at Ellie's desk, and the sketch of the ship that spans it.
Hmm...
Without asking, she lifts the corner to check underneath of it for anything else. Don't mind her. "Yeah, I think if it were ever something demony, you'd hear about it long before I could mention it."
Underneath there isn't anything else of interest- just a charcoal drawing of a fawn curled up in the grass, doing its best to blend in with its environment. It's nothing worth hiding, but Ellie gets up anyway to slap a hand down on the edge of the paper, half standing over her.
She's bristling, but far less than they're used to. It's more a grumpy vibe than an imminent warning.
Aw, the fawn drawing is cute- she's in the midst of lifting the paper higher to check past it, when Ellie cuts her off with the flat of her hand. Abby huffs, looking up at her, and-
"Dickerson." She really doesn't have to say it slowly and clearly, but being an asshole to Ellie is the most normal she's felt in the last 24 hours so, "He told me you're fascinated with my eyes."
So she didn't tell him about it or accidentally leave the sketches where he could have seen them... the plot thickens. Abby straights in her chair, greatly amused; her heart is beating quickly again, an anxious thing.
Oh, she remembers. And she can guess at exactly why sketches of her would exist in an old notebook of Ellie's from back home, and why she would be remembered enough to be drawn there. She really doesn't need to hear Ellie say it.
They aren't close to snapping but everything is tense in a way it hasn't been in a while. Abby didn't forget what it felt like, but it comes as a surprise.
She stares until the nape of her neck starts to prickle.
"No."
And, relenting, "I'm just fucking with you. Relax."
The tension snaps between them, a hint of something old and painful, and Ellie almost regrets it- it doesn't feel nice to fight with Abby, even if it's just this. They've been doing better with each other. Not gentle, but- enough.
Her expression settles inwards from the fighter Abby knew to the somewhat awkward young woman she's still learning, and Ellie bites the inside of her cheek. Try.
"... if you want to see it you can. There's just- some writing in there too."
Things that are more personal. But the drawings are of Abby, and that- well. That makes them hers too, in a way.
She reaches out to gather up the sketchbook, thumbing through the pages. Abby will get glimpses of things. A shambler in profile. Joel, with his eyes crossed out. Dozens of scribbled moths, over and over. Jesse, the man Abby had shot in the face in the theater- and finally Abby.
Ellie puts the sketchbook down on the desk, on top of the rest of her work. She places her hand across the text, but it can't hide all of it. The picture of Abby floats over a broken watch, scribbles of moths. A dozen shots of her eyes.
The words are crossed out in some places, like a draft. But words peek out, the end of each line, sneaking along the side of Ellie's cupped fingers.
When does it get quiet? heavier harder to breathe cut the cordrope cord?
Ellie doesn’t reply right away, and Abby finds that they’ve fallen back into that same, old rut of not wanting to say anything more to each other, but not being able to leave just yet. Surprise surprise: she still hates it. The air between them gets thick.
So she’s noticeably surprised when Ellie actually… relents.
Saying nothing, she cranes her neck to watch her page through the book. It’s encased in grubby leather, with a well worn spine. She can imagine Ellie creasing it in earnest to make the page lie flat, and then while she’s looking, Joel’s fucking eyeless face jumps out of a new page at her; she stops paying attention for a numb and buzzing moment.
She goes for the tail end words first when she looks back, absorbs them with what is, hopefully, a neutral expression even though this has swiftly become intimidating and deeply unnerving. Ellie’s fucking pocket sketchbook of ghosts; cool. Well, she asked. She makes herself keep looking.
A lot of her. A lot of moths.
“This is fucked up,” is her verdict, gaze flicking back up to Ellie.
It is unnerving. Intimidating. There's a deep sick feeling in her stomach, an itching that's spreading across her skin, digging in like bugs. She doesn't feel right inside of her own body, and this is just an echo of it.
There's nothing like looking at a glimpse of what she used to be, to make her realize how far she's come. To make her realize just how lost she was. How twisted, and angry, and desperate.
How close to the edge.
Looking back on it makes her feel closer.
"Yeah," she answers, unflinching. She's looking at the page, not Abby's face.
"I was fucked up."
With a sharp twist of her wrist, she flips the journal shut.
Ellie doesn’t say anything for a moment and Abby falls silent, tracing the outline of her own face and braid, fingers tucked underneath of her lip. She couldn’t contain it. Abby was starting to burst at the fucking seams by the end. She had a clenched jaw sitting, aching in her skull and the nightmares were completely out of her control, killing her people off left right and centre. Maybe writing and drawing was helpful. A way of putting it all out there.
She won’t know for sure, she can’t bring herself to ask.
The sharp snap of the book startles her, and she sits up straight in the chair, hands dropping to her knees.
Ellie falls silent, existing in this weird place where she just doesn't know how to handle it. They share the kind of pain few others will ever really get, and Abby's the source of Ellie's side of it. Different pieces of the same fractured circle.
By all rights they should have each other, but they don't. Their choices made sure of it.
Ellie sets a hand heavily on top of her journal, protective of her hurts, but after a few seconds her fingers relax, and she leans her hip against the desk, looking down at her fingers.
She has something of her tongue and it's digging a hole in her, too heartbreaking to say, too venomous to keep inside.
"I thought killing you would fix me," Ellie says quietly.
Abby doesn't need to look at her to know what expression she's making. There's a furrow in her brow as she considers a spot on her knee where the fabric of her pants is fraying, picking at it with blunt fingernails. She says, "I thought killing him would fix me," quietly. "All it did was make me worse." And she doubts that it would have been any different for Ellie.
She didn't take that final step, the same way that Abby did. She was able to pull herself back from the brink. Not an easy thing.
She stands up.
Distractedly, "Don't– rush Ellis about all of this, okay. I don't think he really wants people knowing," because they'd fuss, obviously, and he isn't about that. She probably shouldn't have told Ellie in the first place, but oh well. Abby doesn't regret it.
The answer leaves her breath short, catching at the edges. It's not better. Joel dying that disgusting, excruciating death ultimately did nothing but make it everything worse.
Ellie doesn't know what she might have answered with. Is fine with not answering that at all. It's best if she doesn't. Instead she takes half a step back, her fingertips still resting on the journal, eyes following Abby's shoulder, if not quite her face.
"Yeah." She taps her fingers once. "I'll keep it under wraps."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Blood magic.
A shiver crawls up between her shoulder blades, and Ellie smooths her hands over her arms, pushing all the breath out of her lungs.
"What fucking choice did you have?" she asks, because obviously there wasn't one. They couldn't just let their friend die. Not when it was possible to save him. If Ellie had been in that position, she wouldn't have hesitated either.
But she understands, now. Why Abby would struggle with it, and why she would need to tell someone. Later, she'll be a little fucked up over the fact that it was her. Not because she disagrees; but because they both know that Ellie will never, ever breathe a word to anyone. And Abby knows that about her.
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At least she can trust that Ellie won't talk about this, to anybody. She doesn't know how she knows that, she just does. And admittedly, it feels better to have talked about it.
She leans back in the chair with an almighty sigh, her eyes closing. "... I didn't know he knew how to do that. The healing, yeah. The- blood magic? Not so much."
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Ellie pauses.
"So was it like a magical blood transfusion or did you... I don't know, make a pact with a demon, or what?"
She's half kidding, half devastatingly serious.
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She opens her eyes, and sits up, rolling one sleeve up to her bicep to better show Ellie the thin, seam-like scar behind her elbow. "There's a matching one on the other side." Both healed, now. Added to Abby's collection; nobody will ever notice, unless she tells them.
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This one is of relief. It seems like a little thing, a couple of scars, being a little woozy. What a small price for saving a life.
She half reaches up as if to touch, pulls her hand back.
"Well. If any demony shit comes up... let me know."
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Hmm...
Without asking, she lifts the corner to check underneath of it for anything else. Don't mind her. "Yeah, I think if it were ever something demony, you'd hear about it long before I could mention it."
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Underneath there isn't anything else of interest- just a charcoal drawing of a fawn curled up in the grass, doing its best to blend in with its environment. It's nothing worth hiding, but Ellie gets up anyway to slap a hand down on the edge of the paper, half standing over her.
She's bristling, but far less than they're used to. It's more a grumpy vibe than an imminent warning.
"Anything else?" she asks.
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makes a decision: she wants to know!
"Yeah." Challenging, "Where are the ones of me?"
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Ellie pauses for just half a second too long.
"The fuck makes you think I have drawings of you?"
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Then, "Wow," Abby says, eyebrows flying to her hairline, "Kinda thought he was lying just to throw me off."
No elaboration, only, "Where are they?"
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No point in lying now, she rolled a 12 on that bluff check.
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"And anyway, I'm not."
And because that's obviously not true-
"It was from before here."
Mostly.
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"What were you drawing me for?"
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"Do you really want me to answer that question?"
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They aren't close to snapping but everything is tense in a way it hasn't been in a while. Abby didn't forget what it felt like, but it comes as a surprise.
She stares until the nape of her neck starts to prickle.
"No."
And, relenting, "I'm just fucking with you. Relax."
cw: suicidal ideation
Her expression settles inwards from the fighter Abby knew to the somewhat awkward young woman she's still learning, and Ellie bites the inside of her cheek. Try.
"... if you want to see it you can. There's just- some writing in there too."
Things that are more personal. But the drawings are of Abby, and that- well. That makes them hers too, in a way.
She reaches out to gather up the sketchbook, thumbing through the pages. Abby will get glimpses of things. A shambler in profile. Joel, with his eyes crossed out. Dozens of scribbled moths, over and over. Jesse, the man Abby had shot in the face in the theater- and finally Abby.
Ellie puts the sketchbook down on the desk, on top of the rest of her work. She places her hand across the text, but it can't hide all of it. The picture of Abby floats over a broken watch, scribbles of moths. A dozen shots of her eyes.
The words are crossed out in some places, like a draft. But words peek out, the end of each line, sneaking along the side of Ellie's cupped fingers.
When does it get quiet?
heavier
harder to breathe
cut the
cordropecord?Can I leave it all behind?
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So she’s noticeably surprised when Ellie actually… relents.
Saying nothing, she cranes her neck to watch her page through the book. It’s encased in grubby leather, with a well worn spine. She can imagine Ellie creasing it in earnest to make the page lie flat, and then while she’s looking, Joel’s fucking eyeless face jumps out of a new page at her; she stops paying attention for a numb and buzzing moment.
She goes for the tail end words first when she looks back, absorbs them with what is, hopefully, a neutral expression even though this has swiftly become intimidating and deeply unnerving. Ellie’s fucking pocket sketchbook of ghosts; cool. Well, she asked. She makes herself keep looking.
A lot of her. A lot of moths.
“This is fucked up,” is her verdict, gaze flicking back up to Ellie.
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There's nothing like looking at a glimpse of what she used to be, to make her realize how far she's come. To make her realize just how lost she was. How twisted, and angry, and desperate.
How close to the edge.
Looking back on it makes her feel closer.
"Yeah," she answers, unflinching. She's looking at the page, not Abby's face.
"I was fucked up."
With a sharp twist of her wrist, she flips the journal shut.
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She won’t know for sure, she can’t bring herself to ask.
The sharp snap of the book startles her, and she sits up straight in the chair, hands dropping to her knees.
“So was I.” She still is. Sometimes.
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By all rights they should have each other, but they don't. Their choices made sure of it.
Ellie sets a hand heavily on top of her journal, protective of her hurts, but after a few seconds her fingers relax, and she leans her hip against the desk, looking down at her fingers.
She has something of her tongue and it's digging a hole in her, too heartbreaking to say, too venomous to keep inside.
"I thought killing you would fix me," Ellie says quietly.
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She didn't take that final step, the same way that Abby did. She was able to pull herself back from the brink. Not an easy thing.
She stands up.
Distractedly, "Don't– rush Ellis about all of this, okay. I don't think he really wants people knowing," because they'd fuss, obviously, and he isn't about that. She probably shouldn't have told Ellie in the first place, but oh well. Abby doesn't regret it.
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Ellie doesn't know what she might have answered with. Is fine with not answering that at all. It's best if she doesn't. Instead she takes half a step back, her fingertips still resting on the journal, eyes following Abby's shoulder, if not quite her face.
"Yeah." She taps her fingers once. "I'll keep it under wraps."
Even to Ellis.