Well, it seems like we were steadily getting better at writing together each year, and the House of Mercy seems quite polished in a number of ways — there’s a lot of consistency between the months, we move between characters fairly fluidly without sticking to a single one, and the storyline moves as though there’s some plotting behind it. The regular admissions that we have no clue what we’re doing though is a giveaway that that wasn’t really true :) As always, I think the months when Morganna joined us are slightly more interesting than otherwise — not because we don’t write well together, but because she adds another dimension to it and definitely had a viewpoint that we don’t. Point in case: September where she kicks our arses into gear so that the story can actually finish in December! I think it’s out strongest story so far, and makes me interested now to see how our next collaboration will fare!
House of Mercy — three months later “And what’s the reason for admission?” Julie smiled at the young woman sat, elbows on knees and face hidden, opposite her. Next to her was a short, hairy man with bad teeth and a vibe of bad temper about him. He had introduced himself as her husband, and explained that she was quite useless. “She’s no good,” said the man, sounding frustrated. “She’s bad at everything! Just take her in and lock her up and let me get on with my life.” Julie waited a moment for her thoughts to get big and warm and tell her HE’S RIGHT. BRING HER IN AND AWAY FROM HIM. HELP HER ESCAPE, which always made her feel a little better about herself. This time though the thoughts didn’t happen, and instead there were small, cold thoughts that muttered nastily what the hell are you doing, Julie? She waited again, smiling now at the man, but still there were only small thoughts: are you at the House of Mercy? Dear gods.... “Of course,” she said, wondering what was wrong with her. Maybe she could ask Anne for some headache pills, they always helped when her mood got low. “We’ll put the cause down as—“ she looked down at her form, and to her surprise saw it was prefilled. “— as suicidal tendencies,” she said. “We always try to help patients recover—“ the man sighed, “— but some patients are inventive and we don’t always reach them in time.” “I’m getting married again in September,” said the man, standing up. “So don’t be too quick to run to her aid when she tries to choke herself on a teaspoon.” “Of course not,” agreed Julie, standing as well and wondering why her thoughts weren’t reassuring her that SHE WILL GO ON TO GREAT THINGS AND BE GLORIOUS WITHOUT HIM IN HER WAY. She offered her hand, which was ignored, and the man left through the door to reception. Julie turned to the young woman who was still crouching on the edge of her seat. “We’ll put you in a nice room,” she said, surprised to find that she meant it. “And drug you until you think you’re Jimmy Hendrix.” As she walked out of the room to find security she also found herself wondering where those last words had come from.
When Security were dispatched to handle the new admission Julie headed to the Pharmacy to get a headache pill. She rubbed her temples, massaging them, and walked into the Pharmacy with her eyes half-closed. She tripped over something on the floor and sprawled; her right wrist flared with pain as she caught herself, but it died down quickly. Probably just the impact. She sat up and looked at what she’d tripped on and saw Anne lying on the floor. “Anne?” she said, puzzled. Anne didn’t even limp anymore after she’d been shot in the leg. “I’ve been a monster,” said Anne, her voice shaky and hoarse. “Oh my God, Julie, I’ve been a monster.” “What?” Julie stood up and looked around. They were alone in the Pharmacy, and so she went behind the counter to find the pills. “I’ve been a monster. Oh god, I only got free maybe half an hour ago. She left me. She finally pulled herself beastly self out of me and left me. I think she healed, Julie. I think she’s coming back.” “Who is?” Julie picked up bottles looking for the pink pills. There were lots of bottles, and the labels all had long names on them that meant nothing to her. “Cecilie.” That name froze Julie to the bone and the most recent pill bottle dropped from her numbed fingers and rolled on the floor, rattling its pills around. “Cecilie. She occupied me, Julie, she possessed me when I thought I killed her. She’s been living inside me, making me do things while she recovered. While she healed. Oh God Julie, why didn’t you stick a stake in me too?” Memories started coming back: being admitted, seeing lizards and owls and bumble bees. Babs who was everyone’s grandmother. And Cecilie, mad demonic, possibly-a-vampire Cecilie. Who wanted to turn all women into one woman somehow. “We’re at the House of Mercy,” said Julie, wondering why she felt so incredibly cold. “Anne, I don’t think it was just you.” “Oh no,” said Anne faintly.
"Okay," Julie said, although it was obvious to both women that everything was very much *not* okay. They were sitting in Julie's cramped office, her door locked and the blinds drawn shut. They hadn't spoken since they'd left the Pharmacy and Julie had felt the need to break their shared stunned silence.
"Right," Anne responded flatly, her gaze fixed on the empty space a foot above Julie's head.
"So," Julie tried again. "So... it... that's what we decided on, right? It? It's coming back. In a new... host, I guess? Who can we tell? To help us?"
"The Ghostbusters?" Anne's laugh held no mirth.
"I think you mean Van Helsing," Julie said with the briefest and tiniest of smiles. "It's not a ghost, remember?"
"I don't want to remember any of this. Any of what I've done since... oh God, Julie we need to release all the patients - we've imprisoned them here!"
"Not without weaning them off the drug cocktails we've been funneling into them first. And some serious psychological therapy."
"Well, we can get started on that at least," Anne said as she stood up and headed for the door.
"First things first, Anne. We need to figure out how to find Cecilie. And how to deal with it... permanently this time."
Anne looked at her for a long time, one hand resting on the door knob. Her expression flickered between horror and sadness and revulsion and defiance. At last resignation settled onto her features and she returned, slowly, to her chair.
"It has to be us again, doesn't it?"
"Yes," Julie told her quietly but firmly. "Again."
3 comments:
Well, it seems like we were steadily getting better at writing together each year, and the House of Mercy seems quite polished in a number of ways — there’s a lot of consistency between the months, we move between characters fairly fluidly without sticking to a single one, and the storyline moves as though there’s some plotting behind it. The regular admissions that we have no clue what we’re doing though is a giveaway that that wasn’t really true :)
As always, I think the months when Morganna joined us are slightly more interesting than otherwise — not because we don’t write well together, but because she adds another dimension to it and definitely had a viewpoint that we don’t. Point in case: September where she kicks our arses into gear so that the story can actually finish in December!
I think it’s out strongest story so far, and makes me interested now to see how our next collaboration will fare!
House of Mercy — three months later
“And what’s the reason for admission?” Julie smiled at the young woman sat, elbows on knees and face hidden, opposite her. Next to her was a short, hairy man with bad teeth and a vibe of bad temper about him. He had introduced himself as her husband, and explained that she was quite useless.
“She’s no good,” said the man, sounding frustrated. “She’s bad at everything! Just take her in and lock her up and let me get on with my life.”
Julie waited a moment for her thoughts to get big and warm and tell her HE’S RIGHT. BRING HER IN AND AWAY FROM HIM. HELP HER ESCAPE, which always made her feel a little better about herself. This time though the thoughts didn’t happen, and instead there were small, cold thoughts that muttered nastily what the hell are you doing, Julie? She waited again, smiling now at the man, but still there were only small thoughts: are you at the House of Mercy? Dear gods....
“Of course,” she said, wondering what was wrong with her. Maybe she could ask Anne for some headache pills, they always helped when her mood got low. “We’ll put the cause down as—“ she looked down at her form, and to her surprise saw it was prefilled. “— as suicidal tendencies,” she said. “We always try to help patients recover—“ the man sighed, “— but some patients are inventive and we don’t always reach them in time.”
“I’m getting married again in September,” said the man, standing up. “So don’t be too quick to run to her aid when she tries to choke herself on a teaspoon.”
“Of course not,” agreed Julie, standing as well and wondering why her thoughts weren’t reassuring her that SHE WILL GO ON TO GREAT THINGS AND BE GLORIOUS WITHOUT HIM IN HER WAY. She offered her hand, which was ignored, and the man left through the door to reception. Julie turned to the young woman who was still crouching on the edge of her seat. “We’ll put you in a nice room,” she said, surprised to find that she meant it. “And drug you until you think you’re Jimmy Hendrix.”
As she walked out of the room to find security she also found herself wondering where those last words had come from.
When Security were dispatched to handle the new admission Julie headed to the Pharmacy to get a headache pill. She rubbed her temples, massaging them, and walked into the Pharmacy with her eyes half-closed. She tripped over something on the floor and sprawled; her right wrist flared with pain as she caught herself, but it died down quickly. Probably just the impact. She sat up and looked at what she’d tripped on and saw Anne lying on the floor.
“Anne?” she said, puzzled. Anne didn’t even limp anymore after she’d been shot in the leg.
“I’ve been a monster,” said Anne, her voice shaky and hoarse. “Oh my God, Julie, I’ve been a monster.”
“What?” Julie stood up and looked around. They were alone in the Pharmacy, and so she went behind the counter to find the pills.
“I’ve been a monster. Oh god, I only got free maybe half an hour ago. She left me. She finally pulled herself beastly self out of me and left me. I think she healed, Julie. I think she’s coming back.”
“Who is?” Julie picked up bottles looking for the pink pills. There were lots of bottles, and the labels all had long names on them that meant nothing to her.
“Cecilie.”
That name froze Julie to the bone and the most recent pill bottle dropped from her numbed fingers and rolled on the floor, rattling its pills around.
“Cecilie. She occupied me, Julie, she possessed me when I thought I killed her. She’s been living inside me, making me do things while she recovered. While she healed. Oh God Julie, why didn’t you stick a stake in me too?”
Memories started coming back: being admitted, seeing lizards and owls and bumble bees. Babs who was everyone’s grandmother. And Cecilie, mad demonic, possibly-a-vampire Cecilie. Who wanted to turn all women into one woman somehow.
“We’re at the House of Mercy,” said Julie, wondering why she felt so incredibly cold. “Anne, I don’t think it was just you.”
“Oh no,” said Anne faintly.
"Okay," Julie said, although it was obvious to both women that everything was very much *not* okay. They were sitting in Julie's cramped office, her door locked and the blinds drawn shut. They hadn't spoken since they'd left the Pharmacy and Julie had felt the need to break their shared stunned silence.
"Right," Anne responded flatly, her gaze fixed on the empty space a foot above Julie's head.
"So," Julie tried again. "So... it... that's what we decided on, right? It? It's coming back. In a new... host, I guess? Who can we tell? To help us?"
"The Ghostbusters?" Anne's laugh held no mirth.
"I think you mean Van Helsing," Julie said with the briefest and tiniest of smiles. "It's not a ghost, remember?"
"I don't want to remember any of this. Any of what I've done since... oh God, Julie we need to release all the patients - we've imprisoned them here!"
"Not without weaning them off the drug cocktails we've been funneling into them first. And some serious psychological therapy."
"Well, we can get started on that at least," Anne said as she stood up and headed for the door.
"First things first, Anne. We need to figure out how to find Cecilie. And how to deal with it... permanently this time."
Anne looked at her for a long time, one hand resting on the door knob. Her expression flickered between horror and sadness and revulsion and defiance. At last resignation settled onto her features and she returned, slowly, to her chair.
"It has to be us again, doesn't it?"
"Yes," Julie told her quietly but firmly. "Again."
Post a Comment