cannulalingus | BARH-L2 || SPAM

[ O P E N ]

[ It's hard to do much of anything - breathing's the worst of it, though. Something so simple and she hears her own breath heaving and whistling with every inhale and exhale. She's propped upright by now, at least, shaky and shaken, but okay. Living. Alive. That's crazy. How is she alive?

The cannula's back in place, her sweater sleeves are pulled well and nervously over her hands, and she keeps constantly playing with her hair, adjusting herself, if she's not sleeping it off outright. She wishes she had some of the good stuff. She wishes she had a book, or something, while her limbs shook and shuddered too much to stand, but that was neither here nor there.

She can't blame Helena. Not when she knows the basics. She can't blame her any more than those poor pitbulls can be blamed for being whipped into fighting dogs. She was raised cruel, and she was raised a killer. That's not easy to shake. Logically, at least, she knows.

Consciously, it's kind of hard not to hold it against her.

It's not easy for her to lay on her side - physically, yeah, because she's sore as hell and all over, for that matter - but because she has a strange new temporary paranoia of pointing her back towards anything in particular (or rather away from anyone in particular. But she does anyway, curls on her side and faces the door for anyone who might be walking in. She doesn't expect many visitors, not when she's new here. ]

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[ Those eyes, man.

Especially when she's taking in deep and ragged breaths that almost have her racked with hacking coughs all the time, with her adjusting her cannula accordingly back into place being exhausting in and of itself.

The prospect sounds dangerous. It sounds ludicrous. But there's something curious about it. ]

Mason - [ She leans back against her pillows, sinking deeply into them and giving a lazy shake of her head that makes the room spin. ] That's an awful lot of faith I'm investing, y'know. Have you ever done this here?

Well...No, I haven't. Not yet. [He'll freely admit to that, at least, looking away]

But I mean...what's the worst than can happen? Logically, I mean. Because you've already just died, so...?

[His hand reaches up to play with the hem of the bedspread, focusing on that instead of Cosima's face]

I mean, logically - you could fuck up my soul eternally?

[ So there's that. ]

Mason, if - if you're gonna try this then you gotta give me something a little more than that.

I doubt it. I mean, it's the Barge, isn't it? Fuck-ups get healed over time.

I've done it a million times before. I know I could do it now.

Fuck-ups have, uh - Have kind of been saving my life so far, I'm a fan of the fixing fuck-ups kind of thing this place has.

[ A blunt smile, and she glances Mason over with more of that skepticism. ]

Say I let you try. Say I let you do it, and my spirit - can't talk to anybody? Can't interact? How does a spirit work?

Well, it could talk to me.

[He gives an odd sort of guilty smile at the idea]

..An' it wouldn't be like you could get hurt. You could walk through walls. You could talk to me. You could wander around unseen poking into people's rooms without them knowing.

[ Her smile is tired, withered, but not any the less welcoming. ]

You just want me all to yourself, don't you?

[He gives a small grin at that, putting the lower half of his face near his arm to hide the smile. It's still obvious in his eyes]

I only don't like seeing you here in this bed.

[ The realist side of her thinks it's too dangerous. The wannabe daredevil can't wait to try it. She'd literally be a ghost. ]

Get used to it, bub.

[ Her breath rattles as she inhales and she grits her teeth together, weighing and weighing and weighing and - ]

What if we tried it? For just a couple days. [ She can scarcely breathe, she aches like she got hit by a truck - ] Until the worst of it's over.

We could. We could do that.

[Mason nods eagerly, wanting to help. The sounds Cosima is making scare the hell out of him. He usually gets the quick deaths; reapers don't have to watch them linger]

How, uh - how does this work?

[ She realizes she's nervous, and coughs again, this time into a tissue. There's blood there - there tends to be - but she always tries to be as discreet as possible, folding away the kleenex and giving a minute shake of her head. ]

It won't hurt?

It won't hurt. I promise.

[Mason is oddly serious about this. Of all the many, many things he doesn't know how to do, reaping is one thing he knows a lot about]

Happened to me, back in...oh, I want to say 1966. Quick an' easy. You just sit there, and I'll take care of everything.

You're from '66? [ She grins a little, wiping at her mouth further with the tissue and then gripping it tightly in her fist. Nervously, maybe. ] You just missed out on Woodstock.

[ With shaking arms, she starts to push herself up regardless - it's dizzying, shifting perspectives, but she sits up and slings her legs over the side of the bed. Slowly, carefully, sitting up straight as possible without her back cricking the wrong way. ]

Alright, Mr. Charming. Let's see your moves.

Nah, I'm from 2004. But I died in 1966. Was already on the job, couldn't take off for Woodstock. No one died there.

Which sounds like a good thing until you realize I was shut out of it.

[Mason reaches up, helping Cosima by gently grasping her upper arm and easing her towards the edge of the bed]

Right. Let's...give it a go, shall we?

[Rubbing his hands together, Mason wiggles his fingers, reaches out, and ghosts his hand down along Cosima's arm.

Nothing happens.]

Come on. What's a festival without sneaking in, anyway?

[ She asks as he gears up, a hypothetical question as the goosebumps raise on her arms under her sweater in anticipation.

He does his thing, and she nearly shivers for the same reason, but instead she's just left hanging onto the edge of the mattress and sinking into herself.

Her eyes shift, and then scan herself over. ]

Maybe I'm not an expert on this - this whole dying thing situation, but I think I'm supposed to feel different.

Yes, but you see, by then they'd shipped me down to Virginia. Hurricane Camille, right? Over a hundred people, dead. That's what we call a working vacation in the reaping world.

[Mason frowns down at his hands, reaching up to try it again]

...I don't understand.

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