therapize: (yeah you've got zero chance)
Camille O'Connell ([personal profile] therapize) wrote2015-02-12 06:43 pm
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[Entranceway] IC Inbox



This is Cami; sorry I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks.
poppycock: (#10801149)

[personal profile] poppycock 2017-02-09 02:31 am (UTC)(link)
[ she need not say another word nor endure another moment; she is in his embrace and that is where she'll stay until they reach his room in a gust of movement and the blink of an eye. even as he does he knows he'll be back: he will make this disappear for her. he will clean up the pieces and tuck them away and when the mirror reappears, he will cover it knowing it is all he can do.

for now he quells the trumpets of alarm and terror in his heart. he quiets them with ease only practiced by imperative: to take care of her. to be there for her. klaus gently extracts himself from her, only enough to guide her to sit on his bed, and then reaches for the bourbon on his end table. he hands it to her, knowing if nothing else it will soothe her nerves, and lowers to kneel before her.

(his touch never leaves her. his palm stays at her neck, his finger move down her shoulder, and now his hands rest on her thighs.)

he's here, kind and worried eyes searching and trained on her face.
]
poppycock: (#11005899)

[personal profile] poppycock 2017-02-10 12:51 am (UTC)(link)
[ there is no force in this world or another that could pull him away. not fully, not in the ways that matter. if it soothes her he lets her clutch at him, his hands caressing up and down her arms, coaxing and comforting when she doesn't relent; it's certainly no burden to do so. (he wants her to feel safe and it's a rare privilege to have even an ounce of that power.)

his fingers rest over hers, shaking against the glass, wanting and seeking to steady them. to steady her fears and suffering, the torment she's no doubt experienced. his hand lifts to hers reaching for him and stays it before it reaches his cheek, the copper and tang of blood filling his senses. he knew it before, scented it, but now the significance of the wound torn into her skin is a blow: it's a product of her, once again hurt, in the line of loving him. (and of being who she, so strong and resilient.) anger and the helpless need for retribution build in him, but klaus merely meets her eyes for a moment.

(an apology will do little, will accomplish nothing, for he is not sorry she loves him. but he can do this.) klaus lifts his hand draped over the glass of bourbon, his fangs dropping, his veins pulsing, and bites down into the heel of his palm. he presses it to hers, cradles her hand between both of his, and drops his lips to them, entwined.
] Tell me what he said to you. [ he knows. he knew. of course he did, and this is his confession. there is a promise of violence in his eyes, unmistakable. ]
Edited 2017-02-10 01:00 (UTC)
poppycock: (#10305221)

[personal profile] poppycock 2017-02-10 02:03 am (UTC)(link)
[ no, it has not been his mirror's first. it's not the first time he has heard the details of his mirror's terrorization and strategies. he's heard them from caroline. he's heard them from rebekah. he's even experienced his own himself, from his sister's alternate ego.

klaus is not foolish enough to not believe his mirror didn't make his mark. he's making his mark now, evident in how camille trembles, how thirstily she drinks, in how even he falters and flounders hearing the description of what befell her. klaus swallows thickly, his eyes dropping and searching the space beside them. he considers: all the notes were hit. every terrible, heartbreaking one.

it wrenches him inside, the pain disguised by the attempted evenness in her voice. it wrenches him, feeling her pain as his. it is his because what hurts her hurts him, and what's more, he shares that wrath and will that flares in her; he meets her eyes as she meets his.

(of course his reflection would. he wouldn't stand to have his worthlessness; his lack pointed out so plain. he wouldn't, once upon a time. it's the first he's heard of someone, anyone, exploiting, let alone perceiving that invaluable weakness.

his eyes fill and his lips quiver as his jaw works: it's rage, for his mirror. it's pride and admiration, for her.)

klaus reaches to stroke her cheek with his thumb. he rises to sit beside her.
]

Then he made a terrible error, believing he could shake you.
poppycock: (#10514111)

[personal profile] poppycock 2017-02-10 02:47 am (UTC)(link)
[ his fire was forged in frailty, as so many fires are. this kindled pyre is no different. he has lost her not once but twice and that agony will be his strength. for her, he would make it anything it need be.

what he needs to be now is decided. what she needs is someone to protect her at any cost, and to help her protect herself. he is no stranger nor coward to those worser truths, and the words she speaks aloud he knows bone-deep.

everyone he loves is a target. it is not he who will suffer his mirror's wrath past anxiety and grief. it's his sisters. those he loves. it's camille. the tips of his fingers weave into the hair cascading over the nape of her neck. there is fear in his eyes as she vocalizes what they both know, a hard rock of horror in his throat, but it blends and dissolves into the resolve they both need.

the resolve he has in spades and in centuries, for her.
] So we will build an army around you, and we will figure out a way.
Edited 2017-02-10 03:46 (UTC)
poppycock: (#10509526)

[personal profile] poppycock 2017-02-11 12:36 am (UTC)(link)
[ he needs no weapons from the vendors. the weapon is already here, hidden away in the recesses of wonderland where only klaus knows to look. he knows what will kill his mirror; what will stop himself. anything else or less is simply a distraction. a tool.

something flickers in his eyes at her surety, at her faith so decidedly and fully given, for however he has failed her and can fail her now, there is nothing in the world he will not do to protect her, to save her, and there is strength to take from her belief. his chin lifts. his fingertips rub gentle and unthinking caresses into the skin at the nape of her neck, into her hair: small circles that begin to twine wisps of gold.

what he's not expecting is the ferocity of her kiss, the softness and heat of her lips urgent against his. it's instinct and months—years and centuries—in the fullness of his heart's and the electricity of his body's desires to respond, his breath caught as her lips capture his, his own parting over hers.

he's not expecting it, but in her needy, seeking pursuit perhaps he should. she is frightened, upset, and after a moment of unease considering what her motives might be, he lifts a hand to touch her wrist and pulls away: to look at her, to discern her. he doesn't know what she wants, but he can guess. (the blindness of distraction. the immersion of intimacy to numb or conquer all else.

he would understand it, but he does not want to make love to her to forget.)
]
poppycock: (#10259359)

[personal profile] poppycock 2017-02-11 02:20 am (UTC)(link)
[ they are not alone in this room. there are figures and forces at work. at another time, when they are in another place, perhaps he would not hesitate. he would indulge what they both long for and need. but not now. the world has never turned in just the right way to lead them to that moment; the longing he feels for her and that intimacy has only begun to build again. he has only begun to let himself want and reach carefully for that joy and the exhilaration of loving; of being loved, of being with her for all she is and all she is to him, inextricably tied to each other and that moment.

she's right. it wasn't, but that doesn't mean it won't be, that he doesn't want it with every breath inside of him, including this one. she grins and his lips curl up, bashful and stirred both as he too glances down. there is a new sort of fear in his eyes: but it is passionate and eager. he's not about to comment on her sex life (or his own for that matter) but—
] Well, it'd hardly be a chore. [ gaze bright and sweet, he tucks hair behind her ear, smooths and feels it against his fingertips again and again in soothing caresses.

he wants her and he wishes there were words to tell her so, to reassure her. instead, he exhales a shallow breath, his eyes roaming down to her lips and then back up to her eyes.
]