fluxscape | Closed - Won't you please talk to me

Entry tags:

Closed - Won't you please talk to me

Who: Donna and Mysterio
Where: House Beneviento
When: June 26th
What: Quentin and Donna had set up a lunch visit - unfortunately, things have gotten a little...rough since then.

CW: Trauma, body horror. Will add if necessary.

Donna had actually been looking forward to this day since they had planned it. Evie had done much to work on helping her to come out of her shell, and Quentin had so far shown himself to perhaps be another potential kindred spirit. She and Angie had talked it over, planning to make a nice little lunch and have some good conversation over a little coffee. Making friends. Something still alien, but...a little exciting all the same.

But that was then. Now it's the day and the time, and instead of having the chance to even be nervous about having company, the puppeteer is hunched on the floor in her entryway, shaking after a strange tearing sensation had wracked her whole body. Donna is no stranger to terrible pain, far from it - that's not why she's crying. Angie is cradled in her arms, unmoving, lifeless. Her Angie. Her voice. It's all wrong, all wrong.

She's trying to be ready, just in case he still came, but the doubt has set in without Angie 'there' to bolster her.

"Oh, please...please talk, I don't know if I can do this without you...."

No answer. She knows there's not going to be one right now. She sets her jaw and throws her voice to the dummy from behind her veil, using skills she hasn't had to exercise in a while.

"I bet he won't even come! You're USELESS without me! You're...you're...."

The words dissolve into more sobs, near enough to the front door to be audible.

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He's a sturdy-built man and he offers her a supportive arm and hand if she needs it.

"What was it?" His voice is softer; concerned. "Can you tell me?"

Gratefully, she takes his hand - her own is startlingly chilly, almost waxy to the touch. She's shaking a little, and her frame is extremely light. Frail.

Angie is conspicuously still and silent.

"It was...like my body was...tearing apart. It...it hurt. I thought I was dying again."

"That's a terrible feeling," he frowns, speaking as if he knows what that's like.

He guides an arm around her waist, seemingly not bothered by the way she feels but concerned about her state nonetheless.

"Do you have a ... couch? Somewhere we can sit? Maybe have a warm drink?"

"...Has it...happened to you, too? The...tearing, I mean." Not the death. Though stranger things have happened.

Donna lets him guide her along, gesturing towards the little dining table in the main room past the foyer. There are carving tools, wooden blocks, and doll parts in various levels of completion - and they have all been swept to one side, making room for the tea set that she had been preparing for his visit.

"Yes. Right there. I'm sorry, this is...embarrassing."

He was about to answer, meaning the death part. He had died before, sent to a Hell to be tormented by demonic forces... Or maybe it was a symptom of his delusional insanity. Even he wasn't sure sometimes, but it had certainly felt real - and terrifying. He shivers.

But she meant the tearing. The glitching...

"Yes, there's something very strange going on," he sighs as he gets her to a seat.

Beck glances at the doll parts and other tools. It reminds him of his own work, except his is more mechanical.

"No, no, don't be embarrassed... Are you... both of you... are you okay?" Yes, he's acknowledging the strangely quiet Angie along with Donna.

Once seated, Donna considers setting Angie to one side - but she can't bear to, not right now. Sniffling, she makes Angie turn towards Beck, throwing her voice...but it just isn't the same.

"I can't move by myself right now! It's awwwwwwful. Donna is SOOOOO RUSTY!"

The puppeteer lowers her head a little, sighing. "My powers aren't working. And it...my...my face is...hurting. Quite a bit. I'm technically not supposed to be alive, so I don't know if...I don't know how long I can get on without the Cadou active."

"I'm sorry," he directs toward Angie, treating her as real as anyone else.

Then he turns to Donna. "Cadou? What's that?"

He wonders if it's something fixable, like flicking a switch.

The normalization of Angie is soothing, actually - Donna's tight grip on the doll loosens a bit, feeling like she is being taken seriously. She makes Angie clack her jaw like she often does when she's idle, just to feel a sense of comfort.

At the question, though, she takes a deep breath, thinking of how to explain.

"...The Cadou...means 'gift.' It's...well, it's...sort of like...a parasite. Or a symbiotic relationship," she stumbles over the words. "It's a sort of...fungus. I have a piece inside me, and...so does Angie. But it isn't working."

A pause.

"I can...show you, Mister Beck, but...I...I wear this veil for a reason. I'm...ugly, and the Cadou...has made it...worse."

"Who told you you were ugly?" Is his immediate response, sight unseen. He sounds offended and frowns deeply, shaking his head. "I'm sorry... It's just that people have told me I'm too ugly to do this or that. I just... I wouldn't want to judge you like they have me. If you... are comfortable to show me, I promise I won't think you're ugly."

He's also seen a lot of strange beings and Donna appeared kind and relatable to him. He doesn't want to upset her.

"...People told you you were ugly?" Softly. Behind the veil, her eyes are fixed on him, searching his face. "But you...you look fine. You look like a man who has worked hard for a long time, like much of my village did. I don't think you're ugly at all."

But his reaction is actually...comforting. It's genuine. And so, steeling herself and swallowing hard, she sets Angie aside in a little chair intended for her...and with shaking hands, she lifts the veil for the first time since she has arrived.

Donna Beneviento is not, at large, an ugly woman at all. Some might call her a bit plain, perhaps, with dark eyes and shock-pale skin and hair that hasn't seen sun in years. The thing that made people call her ugly in the first place, however, is as plain as day - an angry, mottled-gray mass growing outward from what very well may have been a very minor scar or birthmark before. It engulfs half her face, the eye in the mass almost obscured completely...and it looks...painful. Parts of it even look like it has gone necrotic.

She keeps her gaze down, unable to look up, her absolute terror at being seen now laid bare. Waiting for the proverbial axe to fall.

He kept the mention of a 'fungus' in mind so that's how he was seeing it. As some sort of growth apart from her.

There's more concern and sympathy on his face. If she was expecting disgust, it didn't happen. Again, it was reminding him of something he'd gone through himself - a terminal illness diagnosis and the despair that followed. He looks sadly at her and reaches for her shoulder, intending to lay a reassuring hand on it.

Then he just gives her a soft, silent smile.

Even though she sees the hand coming, it still almost makes her jump - she's still not used to contact that isn't a doll, let alone reassurance from another human being. Slowly, she looks up to his face, seeing the smile, and...letting out the breath she had been holding.

Her own smile is sad and flimsy, but it's there.

"...Thank you for...not screaming." Awkward, but sincere. "...It...didn't used to be this bad, and normally, if I'm at home, I could...make people not see it." Her eyes flick briefly to a planter of sunny yellow flowers thriving nearby. "But if my other abilities don't work, that one certainly doesn't, either." Hand just a little bit steadier than before, she reaches out to pull the tea tray closer.

"Um...I didn't know if you...would prefer tea or coffee, so I...made both."

It was odd to have the conversation take a more normal turn after that reveal but he keeps the smile steady and answers her graciously.

"Tea would be nice."

He then continues on as if to pick up the earlier conversation about himself. He's sure that she wouldn't want her appearance dwelled on.

"I wanted to be an actor when I was younger. That's when I was told that I didn't have the face for it. So I went into a behind the scenes career."

Grateful that he's willing to move on in the conversation, Donna pours the tea, setting it in front of him along with cream and sugar. For herself, she pours a cup of coffee, as well as another, smaller cup of tea to set in front of Angie (with four sugars).

"Like in...movies? I haven't seen very many movies, but that isn't a very nice thing for them to have said." A little frown. She really doesn't understand what's wrong with the way he looks, that much is very clear.

"What did you do behind scenes, then?"

"Yeah, movies. I grew up near Hollywood, in Riverside. I saw King Kong when I was little and loved it. I made my own little stop motion films with a camera my uncle bought me until it...," he pauses, shakes his head and leaves the trailed off thought unfinished. "Anyway, I also tried my hand with special effects and so I settled into that and stuntwork. I was real good at it too," he adds proudly.

Being without the veil is strange, but it is more comfortable - and certainly much easier to eat and drink. She sips from her mug, nodding in plain interest.

"I'm sorry for my ignorance, but my village was very small and set in old ways - what are 'special effects'?" Stunts she thinks she could understand. He seems very passionate about all this, willing to put himself on the line for it.

She's willing to do the same for her dolls, but that's considerably less dangerous.

Donna helps Angie take a 'sip' of tea.

Beck does glance at Angie. It's a little sad to have her so quiet, he thinks.

Then back to Donna.

"Oh, making monsters, creatures, aliens. Fictional ones but they seem real. And make-up effects as well. Like a... magic show, caught on camera."

Angie's silence is...very difficult for Donna. She isn't normally this talkative herself, after all.

"Oh," the puppeteer breathes, her one visible eye widening a little. "That must have been so wonderful. I'm sure you must be an incredible craftsman." A sip of coffee. Her hand is still shaking a little.

"What did you use to make monsters? I really don't know anything about any of this, and I'm very interested."

"Oh, there are many tricks to bring such fantastical beings to life," he's happy to talk about it, his enthusiasm showing as he goes on. "If from scratch, sculptures can be made, cast and created with painting and puppetry. I've also created things with mechanical robotics and optical illusions. There are many methods and I've used them all."

For the first time since Donna has known Quentin, he can see her as she gets noticeably, genuinely excited. Her pale face flushes a fraction, eye sparkling as she leans a little forward in her seat.

"Oh, that's amazing! I...I make dolls, and puppets, plainly, but nothing on that level. I imagine you could teach me a thing or two, Mister Beck." The words are spoken in an excited rush - and after a moment, she seems to realize herself, pulling herself back in her seat.

"I'm...I'm sorry. I just don't...usually meet anyone who...likes these things as much as I do."

He's glad to see her enthusiasm in return. He's used to more mockery and people telling him that he was wasting his time with such things - especially when he was a kid.

Beck smiles at her, clearly pleased.

"Don't be sorry. Likewise, truly. Not everyone appreciates the craft."

Edited 2021-07-16 08:53 (UTC)

Donna smiles, breathing a sigh of relief, and takes a sip of her coffee. Reaching over, she 'helps' Angie have a 'sip' of tea. While she's hanging in there as best she can, it's more than a little evident that she's...really only doing so by a thread.

Probably a good thing she has company, huh?

"If you're interested, once we've finished eating, I can...show you my workshop?"

He's happy to be a positive distraction for her.

"Oh, I would like that very much," he says with genuine interest.

The puppeteer perks up noticeably at his enthusism, stealing a little glance at the part finished pieces on her table. She wonders what he'll think about the workshop, but she also doesn't want to get ahead of herself and be impolite.

"I hope the food is all right. I...I don't...entertain. Ever."

"Everything's fine," he says politely; the good guest.

He smiles at her reassuringly.

"Is there something special you're working on right now?"

He is more interested in what she does more than the lunch.

“Oh, good,” she breathes, relieved. A beat of silence as she searches for what to say - but then he decides for her, and she perks up again. No one ever asks. Maybe no one ever HAS, not before him, not before Evie.

It’s novel, and it helps her forget how much her scar is aching, how silent it is in here.

“Some new dolls,” she blurts out, unable to temper her excitement. “Since this place was empty when I arrived. It feels so empty, and I just can’t bear it. My wages from my…job…have been enough for me to get new supplies.”

"What job do you have here?" It's more casual questions, getting to know each other.

"Oh, I...we cashier. At the craft store."

From her tone, it's more than evident that it's mostly Angie doing the interacting with people. But that suits Donna just fine, too.

"What about you?"

"I make electronics repairs at a DIY shop. Gives me time to tinker and check out what the latest gadgets are too," he replies.

"Oh! I'm...I'm terrible with electronics," she admits, swirling her tea in her mug. "I know...knew someone who was better, but it's all I can do to keep the lights on. I'm better with things like levers and springs."

Reaching over to the edge of the table, she picks up a doll head she's been carving, holding it out to him. It's being made into a ventriloquist's style dummy - the eye mechanism fully built, but the jaw unfinished.

"The job I have is...not well fit for someone like me...but there are supplies. Much the same as yours, I suppose."

This may actually be the most she's spoken in one sitting.

He inspects the doll head with interest.

"I started off with more practical effects. Puppetry. Big rigged up monsters with moving parts. Smoke machines. Stop motion moving into animatronics. Later I used hard light technology to create realistic illusions. Creatures. Dinosaurs," he smiles a bit. "I made some fantastical scenes."

It's pretty well-made, really - it's not done, but the carving that has been worked is very fine. Donna's clearly been doing this for a long time.

"What is...hard light, Mister Beck?" Hearing about these things is still so alien - the village had electricity, but only just. Televisions with antennae were the height of technology.

"Do you know what holograms are?" His tone is patient.

"No, no I don't. If it's...newer than radio, or a television...."

Sort of explains a lot about her demeanor, that. Old fashioned.

"It's... something better to show you rather than explain. But we can do that another time. Um. Basically, it's like a three dimensional image. Like a photograph but I can make it move like television pictures and then look like it's standing right in front of you. As a hologram you wouldn't be able to touch it - like you can't touch a rainbow. The light can be seen but shines right through. But with hard light you can feel it and to a limited degree it can interact with others," he tries to explain simply anyway.

The concept is a little confusing - but Donna does pay attention, trying to picture what it must be like. It's quite a lot to take in.

"I see, so...it's like...a projector, but it projects...something solid?"

"Basically, yes. It would seem to be so much more realistic that way," he says. "And... destructive, if that's needed."

"Destructive?" She pauses, mid sip of coffee.

"Why would you need destruction?"

He grimaces, not looking at her.

"I used to do bad things. Crime. Robbery. It was a good distraction."

"Oh."

Softly. There is a long moment of awkward silence before, matter-of-factly -

"I have murdered many people. Or worse. I...cannot judge you, Mister Beck." A sip of her coffee, then she sets the cup down, looking to the sunny yellow flower decorating the table.

"Do you see those flowers?"

He's about to answer to her admission but then he concentrates instead on her question.

"Yes. What about them? Are they poisonous..?"

It's the first place his villainous mind goes.

"Not on their own."

She looks over to him, expression vaguely uncomfortable...but at peace, just a little. She feels that he won't judge her.

"They're spliced with a...unique type of mycete. And...so am I. Normally, I generate a pheromone...that reacts with the flowers. It makes people...see things." She frowns, looking down to the table. "I've made people...see things. Sometimes scared them to death."

He listens carefully then nods slightly, more interested that judging.

"It sounds like a gas I used to use... It would also cause hallucinations. Vivid ones. And terrors."

Seems they had a lot in common.

Donna lets out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. She knew he would understand, somehow.

She fixes him with a sad smile, the pain from the growth over her eye furrowing her brows a little. Without her powers, without Angie talking 'on her own,' she had been feeling...lost. But this is helping.

"...That does sound similar, yes." A beat. "I...I brought it up so that you would understand. I'm not in a position to judge you. Not at all."

He smiles a bit sadly, mirroring her expression in return.

"I'm sure we've both done things that we regret. It shouldn't take such drastic measures to change your ways but I... had to deal with a lot back home. Death. Hell. Torment... It's very hard to escape from your ultimate fate and I wonder if anything can really make a difference after such a life."

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Closed - Won't you please talk to me

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