moritat | Victorian weenie au

It's a good thing she's so much stronger than he is, because his next instinct is to hold true to his word and try to push her into the fireplace. "Go to hell, I swear I'll kill you, monster." But that fabric starts getting stuffed in his face, and he can't keep shouting at her...

That was a silly threat, wasn't it?

Paloma's not nearly done. Feet planted -- not going anywhere NEAR the fireplace, thank you, sir!!! -- she pries his fingers off from around her throat, for no apparent reason other than to begin popping off all of her dress's buttons. Every single one. And bouncing them off of him.

"I see you in Hell first, dog! Rake!" She'd learned that one recently. Her accent has gotten thicker to the extreme, and her English suffers for the upset. "Or send me there, and I drag you with me!"

"That's right, that is exactly what I am, good work!" But all he does is laugh as he grabs hold of her hair instead, and yanks. "You won't harm me, you wouldn't kill him!"

He does like where her dress is going, though. Off of her. Yes, he thinks he'll do the same, prying at his waistcoat with his free hand.

If she hollers let her go, didn't anyone tell Hyde that rhyme. Paloma belts out a good one when her hair comes under fire (thankfully not literally as threatened). Twisting under his hand like a stricken banshee, she hops in place, yanking the last boot off to beat him repeatedly around his legs.

"You know I can make you forget! Little toy man! You hold on me? Time will come and you wish I never come!!"

Somewhere inside him, Jekyll thinks that fading English is really cute.

Hyde, however, doesn't hesitate to grab a lamp from the table and smash it into her face! Just playing around. And still he laughs for being beaten with her shoe, and every little thing. It's all incredibly amusing, it's all so much fun. "No, I never want to forget, no one else gives me such a fight! I feel much more alive this way - thank you!"

The blood on her face doesn't mean a thing to Paloma when she was already seeing red, figuratively speaking. The shards in her skin, the blood slicking them enough to encourage their sliding out and falling, it goes ignored.

She screams at him outright in fury-laden bewilderment. Denial, more like. Another massive tear, this time from around her waist and baring the corset. That follows immediately, as it has a harsher solidity when slapping upstart monsters upside their idiot heads. "DO NOT THANK ME!!"

Paloma gives up on English completely and reverts to a rancid stream of curses from her native tongue.

"Thank you, Paloma!" He says it purely to spite her.

It's all so wonderful, it's perfect, such fun! He never wants it to end. And by the time they've smashed into and broken a bookshelf, and toppled over onto the pieces of it, the room long ago became a shambles. And even locked together, using anything to do her harm, he steals a kiss. It's all the better.

A screech from the abysses of Hell rewards his spite.

With only a single stocking and some bloomers to boast of, having long ago slapped him silly with her gloves, Paloma manages to wallop him in the back of the head with a finely crafted globe. She doesn't know where it came from. Somewhere in their wreckage of wood, shards, and the remains of her dress.

She yells into his mouth, too, and gives two unkind welts from her fangs in his lip. None of the pleasure or paralysis for him, but then ... well. Her eyes burn him. "Rotten! You ROT!"

With that crack, he feels as if his skull must be bleeding, but he can't tell, and isn't about to take a hand away to check. The room is a mess, everything is broken, he's in pain, she's nearly nude and bleeding too. But just as he starts to think about how funny it will be when Jekyll sees the place, he howls, worse than in reaction to anything Paloma's done to him. Between exhaustion and thinking about his other side, it starts to seep through. He latches onto her all the more as his very bones seem to contract with the pain of it, until he's left dazed and hurting all over, but not the same monster.

The abnormality of his pain caused by something other than herself gives Paloma pause. Her chest heaves not from exertion but solely from rage and rage alone.

She clutches at him in turn, holding on as though he's a lifeline and not the bane of her unsteady existence. It shatters the mood they've built utterly. Only the destruction is left.

In a state of shock, her head drops back, neck bare. "What ...?"

It takes Jekyll a moment to fully realise he's won, but he hadn't quite anticipated the pain he would be in. Still, more importantly he all but squeaks out, "I'm sorry..." His face lands in her bare titties, but he either doesn't notice, or can't bring himself to care at the moment.

Would Edward apologize to her? "Harry ..."

There's a world of relief in that call. Oh. Oh, oh, she's done him an awful wrong in encouraging this disaster. He was only ever human. Paloma's throat closes and her vision blurs. Her cheeks are wet; tears leave muddy tracks through the streaks of her own blood.

"Sorry. I am sorry, I am sorry, please, I am sorry, so sorry, sorry." Does she dare try and hold him as she shifts to sit upright? Yes, and carefully as though he's a porcelain set. Real porcelain is scattered across the room, of course.

Hyde, with all his adrenaline, just doesn't feel pain in the same way, it seems. It makes sense, with all the organised fighting he gets into in the East End, even. Another reason to be tempted to allow him in. But he isn't as concerned with his own wounds, after collecting himself for a moment, he looks up, to study her face. "No - no, I am the one to be sorry. I cannot apologise enough - wil, will you be alright?"

By way of answer, the flesh pushes out foreign glass and shards of pottery before his eyes. While skin knits itself together -- doing nothing for the bloody smears -- she attempts to smile even as she blubbers with violence.

"I survive always." God. The doctor should see a doctor. Paloma could share vitae with him, but the risk of enthrallment ... no, never, not ever. "You fought with that man?"

No the doctor will absolutely not see a doctor, he doesn't need to explain this to anyone, he can patch himself up. But he watches Paloma's body heal itself, and wonders if science could find a way to allow humans to do the same.

maybe he'll just have to become a corrupted heroic spirit haha

"Yes, I suppose I must have managed to fight and win. I wouldn't know how to describe the experience, there is not full awareness of my own self, perhaps it's what some would call an out of body experience. Regardless, 'I fought with him' is a close enough description." His arms slip from her grip, to wrap around her neck, with a hand placed in her hair. "Please forgive me, I knew it was happening, and yet I said nothing."

The revulsion of her choices and actions swirls to make room for a chilling suspicion, an idea she does not want to entertain. Paloma's tears slow to a meandering crawl.

"You ... knew he would take your body? Or only his struggle?" Afraid of the former and what that means, still her fingers curl over the center of his back. "Please say it is the second."

Jekyll tenses when he hears how much he's fucked up. "...The former, more so. I thought I might fight it." Excuses, excuses. He knew, he just chose to think it was just a struggle. And then there was the unfortunate desire to allow it simply because he would like it. Because he does want her, but can't allow himself.

Lucky he can't see the hurt in her face, or how it twists.

She hangs limply. He'd known the takeover was imminent, that he would lose the fight? He must know the mouth of a man like Mr. Hyde won't be controlled by anyone, that he might say those disgusting things to her. He must have. "If you wanted to kiss me, o-or have me, you did not need to do this."

"No, no! I mean that, it entered my mind, I wished at least to kiss you - as I...always do - only I had no intention of acting on such obscene thoughts!" Oh no, he's digging himself into a hole, isn't he. "It was far from intentional!"

Paloma picks at his wreck of a collar, unsure of what if anything to think. It would please her at any other time to hear him be forthright with his desire, but it is not any other time.

What is it? Not anger. Dull horror, but not the flare of ugliness she's come to dread from herself. She remembers what she'd sobbed and begged Carlos to understand after that tragedy: I did not mean to, I did not mean to hurt them. And this confuses more of her feelings until none of them can be made sense of.

"I would have kissed you, if you let me to."

Edited 2016-01-04 04:03 (UTC)

"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.

Edited 2016-01-04 04:21 (UTC)

The Hell he's not telling her!!

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."

He's awfully dramatic.

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