"No, you mustn't do that!" He tries to watch her expression still, but he can't quite tell what she's thinking. That's all the more frightening.
"I am not worthy of that and I must not harm you in turn." To tell her the reason would be truly horrible. No doubt she would never wish to see him again. At least she would likely keep his secret.
Taken aback by his outburst, Paloma draws away enough to give him a puzzled, frazzled stare. This confounding man. Is it the streak of blood over a tit? Or the destroyed bookcase? "What!? Harry, why?" One of Hyde's malicious remarks on the nature of evil echoes, to be discarded for irrelevance. "My blood is spilled because I let him. Why can we not ...?"
Oh, oh no, that's right, Hyde was kissing her. A hand jolts to cover his mouth. "Oh no- I am so, incredibly sorry." He bites down on his lip. Can he tell her though? It's horrible, worse than anything she's seen yet. "I- I can't. It is better that you don't know, it would be worse if you did."
Her head shakes emphatically from side to side. "No! I meant, I allowed my blood to spill." But, uh, also true that Hyde decided it was a good opportunity for making out. Paloma is about to bite her lips when she recalls the prominence of her fangs in the nick of time.
She'd like to touch him, to hold on, but contents herself with hugging her waist. "Please. Do not be unkind and keep me in darkness."
"...I am worse than you think." He presses his lips together. "You saw an extent of it, that night in the tavern. ...Such lust is disturbing enough. A-and at the time I had not! Not...not yet. The desire has existed a very long time, yet I had always been certain to keep it well buried!"
More excuses, incessant blabbering to avoid the subject. "...I have-- I have been, with men." He can't look her in the eyes. "It is sin enough on its own, but worse still to inflict it on another. No woman deserves to be touched by such a man."
The crimes she feared he'd be guilty of dissipate. Compared to the mass poisoning of a brothel or setting an orphanage on fire, fucking another man seems the least of all possible woes.
Not that she cannot understand his guilt. Paloma exhales and shivers, remembering in detail the thrill of Samantha's hand on her knee, and also the denouncements of her Catholic upbringing.
"This is not for me or you to judge. That is for God, and He has already judged me. Heaven is not for my kind, Harry."
"No, it is not for man to judge, however the Bible, it speaks for Him, and denounces such acts. But I do not speak of your soul in the eyes of Heaven being tainted by me, that is mine alone. To society, you would be nearly as bad as I." She seems to take it well, though. That's surprising, but good, he thinks. At the same time, part of him wants to be berated, despite the other wanting validation and acceptance.
...Oh, that's right. He flushes, sitting upright bit averting his eyes from her bare breasts. "That is largely my own fault as well! I shall find you something to wear immediately!"
He jumps to his feet, which might be a mistake with how much he aches.
"No, it was my wish to beat him with my dress, do not blame ...!"
Ah, no!! Quick as a wink she shoots upright to catch him, so carefully. Practically a babe in arms. Their faces inch closer together not for lascivious purposes but to study his condition. "I gave him what he wanted by becoming so base, I am sorry. Where can I take you?"
"It's alright, no need to worry, a little rest will do the trick." Well, he should probably bandage himself in a few places too, but he doesn't want her to worry. He's a doctor, he can take care of it. Please don't call any of his other doctor friends.
She responds by lifting and cradling him, bridal style. Despite being filthier and more desperately in need of a good cleaning than Jekyll, caring for him seems to be no strain whatsoever. Paloma braves a smile. Shaky, but there.
"To your lab ...? I would stay, as long as you have me."
"Ah-!" This is...strange. He blushes deeply - shouldn't this be the other way around? On the other hand, he let himself get fucked like a woman, maybe it's only appropriate, he hardly counts as a man anymooooreeee!!! "Really, it's quite alright!"
He wants her to stay. But maybe she wouldn't want to stay if she saw his lab at the moment.
But she insists and therefore gets exposed to the rude shock of his lab's state.
Higgledypiggledy corpses in various states of undress, blood high and low. Destruction of expensive lab equipment and chipped tables. When Paloma can move again, glass crunches up and into the soles of her feet. Her lips purse at the distant pain. "Ah. Ah ... you must need to hide these?"
He doesn't know what to do when she starts going to the lab anyway. She knows, but he still doesn't want her to see something so shameful. He might not be able to pretend, even to himself, that he's a good man if someone actually sees it. He's supposed to help people. When they step inside, he keeps his eyes low, staring at her shoulder rather than look at these things he's done.
Paloma clings tighter, like he's a teddy bear and not a grown adult who should be getting medical attention. Was it an orgy gone wrong? She won't ask yet.
"My first bodies were not very long ago." Oh, that's her voice all casual and conversational. Is she speaking? Must be. "In America. There was a night event, a festival open to everyone that likes a dance."
Nothing else follows for an awkward while, and then: "Where do I sit you?"
He should see it, Paloma thinks but does not say for the moment. To spare him the sight of wrongdoing she fetches a chair to some table hardly marked by rutting or killing.
In letting him down, her lips brush past his temple.
"Teach me to help you, you are unwell." And she's utterly forgotten her nakedness. Praise be for bloomers and that lone stocking. "Yes, that is why he took me here. Fear can be so terrible as hatred. I did not, and will never know who I killed."
"I am absolutely fine, really! A little sore, that only needs a bit of time, a good sleep." It's more like he's mentally unwell, haha. Crazier by the day. "You need clothing."
He doesn't say that he thinks it's better she doesn't know who she killed. That won't sound good, no matter how he puts it. But he feels for her. "It wasn't your fault."
Ah ... he sure isn't wrong about clothes. Those should happen. Paloma at least is embarrassed enough to cover herself with one arm while her free hand cups his shoulder.
"Carlos would disagree," she says with false lightness. It can't be anyone else's fault, that is definite. Her mouth quivers. "I cut your lip very badly."
"Carlos is gone." And how he wishes he could have killed the man. His lip, though - oh. He'd hardly even noticed, but now he raises a hand to dab at it, and it does seem to be flowing quite a bit, doesn't it. More than quite a bit, it might need stitches by the look of it. "I suppose I need a needle and thread, then."
She smiles tremulously in return, vanishing to hunt for the supplies.
It's a short trip, even with a detour to take a discarded skirt and tie it across her chest. All of the other scattered clothes have ... dubious stains, dirtying them beyond salvation. Paloma huddles up close to his side to place down needle, then thread, looking hopefully up at him. "Do you really wish for me to go?"
His heart leaps into his throat. No, he definitely doesn't want her to go! He wants her to stay, preferably forever. That he can't say. But if she still wants to stay after all the things she'd heard and seen tonight, then...? A hand finds hers, and lays overtop of it. "No, I wish that you would stay." There goes his face again, and that pounding heart. He can't look at her, but not for the same reasons he normally would, it isn't shame or fear, or because she's undressed, just shyness. "...I love you."
Theirs is the most romantic scene. Fresh bodies lying here and there, some whole and others less so. Glass lodged in her feet. A missing person's skirt moonlighting as a shirt for Paloma. Him with a possible concussion.
She quiets. Desires so badly for that to be true; her face shows everything going on in her head, especially a mire of doubt and hopelessness. They block elation's path.
"I do not know how you could." Or, hey, anybody could. "I am frightened of how badly I want to stay by you, stand by you."
Looks like she's afraid to come out and say love, too.
"I swear to you that it's true. Although I understand your fear too well. I want nothing more than to have you here with me, and your visits, no matter the circumstances, make me feel like a child. Excited over much, positively giddy." Even speaking of it, he starts to get himself worked up, smiling wide, lighting up despite the flush in his cheeks. And it does make him look more childlike - at least, more innocent. Almost too innocent, especially with their surroundings, and what transpired only recently. Surely not someone capable of it at all, he is young, sweet and pure, if his face is to be believed. "How could I not, when you are not only beautiful but too kind to me. I feel at one more vulnerable and exposed, yet secure with you."
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"I am not worthy of that and I must not harm you in turn." To tell her the reason would be truly horrible. No doubt she would never wish to see him again. At least she would likely keep his secret.
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Taken aback by his outburst, Paloma draws away enough to give him a puzzled, frazzled stare. This confounding man. Is it the streak of blood over a tit? Or the destroyed bookcase? "What!? Harry, why?" One of Hyde's malicious remarks on the nature of evil echoes, to be discarded for irrelevance. "My blood is spilled because I let him. Why can we not ...?"
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She'd like to touch him, to hold on, but contents herself with hugging her waist. "Please. Do not be unkind and keep me in darkness."
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More excuses, incessant blabbering to avoid the subject. "...I have-- I have been, with men." He can't look her in the eyes. "It is sin enough on its own, but worse still to inflict it on another. No woman deserves to be touched by such a man."
He's awfully dramatic.
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Not that she cannot understand his guilt. Paloma exhales and shivers, remembering in detail the thrill of Samantha's hand on her knee, and also the denouncements of her Catholic upbringing.
"This is not for me or you to judge. That is for God, and He has already judged me. Heaven is not for my kind, Harry."
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"Society. Do you see how naked I am?"
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He jumps to his feet, which might be a mistake with how much he aches.
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Ah, no!! Quick as a wink she shoots upright to catch him, so carefully. Practically a babe in arms. Their faces inch closer together not for lascivious purposes but to study his condition. "I gave him what he wanted by becoming so base, I am sorry. Where can I take you?"
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"To your lab ...? I would stay, as long as you have me."
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He wants her to stay. But maybe she wouldn't want to stay if she saw his lab at the moment.
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Higgledypiggledy corpses in various states of undress, blood high and low. Destruction of expensive lab equipment and chipped tables. When Paloma can move again, glass crunches up and into the soles of her feet. Her lips purse at the distant pain. "Ah. Ah ... you must need to hide these?"
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"Yes, something needs to be done about it..."
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"My first bodies were not very long ago." Oh, that's her voice all casual and conversational. Is she speaking? Must be. "In America. There was a night event, a festival open to everyone that likes a dance."
Nothing else follows for an awkward while, and then: "Where do I sit you?"
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Another awkward silence. "Is that the reason you came here?"
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In letting him down, her lips brush past his temple.
"Teach me to help you, you are unwell." And she's utterly forgotten her nakedness. Praise be for bloomers and that lone stocking. "Yes, that is why he took me here. Fear can be so terrible as hatred. I did not, and will never know who I killed."
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He doesn't say that he thinks it's better she doesn't know who she killed. That won't sound good, no matter how he puts it. But he feels for her. "It wasn't your fault."
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"Carlos would disagree," she says with false lightness. It can't be anyone else's fault, that is definite. Her mouth quivers. "I cut your lip very badly."
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It's a short trip, even with a detour to take a discarded skirt and tie it across her chest. All of the other scattered clothes have ... dubious stains, dirtying them beyond salvation. Paloma huddles up close to his side to place down needle, then thread, looking hopefully up at him. "Do you really wish for me to go?"
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She quiets. Desires so badly for that to be true; her face shows everything going on in her head, especially a mire of doubt and hopelessness. They block elation's path.
"I do not know how you could." Or, hey, anybody could. "I am frightened of how badly I want to stay by you, stand by you."
Looks like she's afraid to come out and say love, too.
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