Chronic Charm of the GrotesqueRating:
John Dawlish and Alecto CarrowWord Count:
Dawlish finds himself compelled to renew an old acquaintanceship and rediscovers the joy of knives.Notes:
Written for luciusmistress as a part of hpbeholder 2011 on insanejournal. This hazes (in potentially suspect fashion) through time, present being at some point during DH, ranging back to Dawlish and Alecto’s schooldays. The line from “Black No. 1” more or less sparked much of this, but The 69 Eyes’ “Sleeping with Lions” would probably be a more apt song for the pair, overall. Just sayin’.“I went lookin’ for trouble, and boy… I found her.”
-Type O Negative, 'Black No. 1'-
Clawing out from a haze of unconsciousness—sleep or daze or, no, no, some deep confounding—his first clear thought is that this must be a nightmare. There is a grin he horribly seems to recognize, recalled from a face years ago, and there swimming into out of into focus is the face itself, scarcely changed from memory, only more insistent. Beyond the face, he barely notices stone walls grime moss a nondescript nowhere, a place removed from the world where it is only his rising consciousness and this, this nightmare.
But he sees the firm presence of her, that physical being so long unseen but never fully forgotten, and he knows that he no longer dreams. This familiar horror stands for actuality.
“Why, John, dearie, you’re awake!” The voice a grating sort of chirp, wavering between threat and fondness.
He tries to move but cannot, tries to speak but can scarce feel his own throat. He can only think, and even the double-stranded thought wavers, at once “You bitch,”
and “Alecto, darling, you’re looking as noxious as ever.”
Without surprise, he notes that she holds a knife dangled half-negligently in her hand. Almost as if forgotten, but he knows better. Memory of pain desired and repeated, hot lash of recollection and even in his current haze, his numb defeat, he finds an old sense of pleasure and some fresh pulse of yearning.“Darling.”
Disgust and desire. And when she draws the knife into action, he doesn’t flinch against the sudden steel, only drops back into blackness as a sharpness touches his mind.( How long had he been under, held inside himself against his will? )