stilljustandrew | (no subject)

(no subject)

*The wake is going on outside, somewhere. There will be glitter, and tulle, and drinking, and funny stories, and general celebration of Meg Giry's life.*

*The thought of being there right now makes Andrew feel sick.*

*He has work to do. His desk is all but invisible under the piles of paper, the stacks of books, the odd dagger paperweight. Angel and his people will be dead in a matter of days, outside time.*

*Anthy's in the cells, and will stay there until they can find a better suspect. She didn't do it. He knows she didn't do it.*

*Andrew sits on the edge of his bed, his hands resting loosely in his lap, and doesn't move.*

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*There's a pause, and then Andrew returns the smile. It's a dangerously fey look.*

We could always try option one again.

Finding a way to keep you dead could occupy me a good while.

Todd shrugs. "What would be the point? You know I'm dead already."

He squints at the other boy. "...Don't you? I mean, I thought it was obvious."

So very casual.

Undead.

*The tone is one of mild correction, just a little condescending. The face still holds that fey smile.*

The part where you're walking around and talking and killing people? Kind of a giveaway.

Todd just stares at him. His eyes hold nothing. Whatever they hold is not for you.

He has an eerie patience that one supposes only the dead can have. Then again, Todd could always be eerily patient.

At last, Todd sighs.

"Well, now that you know I did it, I guess I'll be going then."

He smiles very pleasantly and turns towards the door. Simple as that, right?

Guess you will.

Guess you'll be coming back later for your next victim, huh?

Todd turns his head briefly to look over his shoulder.

"Is that what you want me to do?"

*The fey look slowly fades from Andrew's face, and he bites off every word when he speaks.*

All I ever wanted you to do was leave us alone.

What I want you to do now is die. Again.

Todd turns around.

There's a blank look in his eye. His face is masklike. Whatever emotion contained inside, there's no way in hell he's going to let you or anyone else see it.

"Here."

He reaches into his white jacket and pulls out an old, worn orange paperback copy of a book. Different Seasons. Stephen King. He tosses it loosely at the bed, but it lands with an even thump.

"See for yourself. I'm done with it."

His hand reaches for the doorway, and when he pulls it open and steps out, it's into a land of glass and mirrors, of sunlight and shadow - far away from this place, closer to his true origins.

Bye bye, Todd-baby.

*He should be worried that Todd's going to come back and kill again, in his selectively physical state, virtually unstoppable.*

*Somehow he isn't. This feels more final than that. This feels like Todd's last word on the subject.*

*His eye falls on the book. No. No, that's Todd's last word on the subject.*

*Almost unable to stop himself, Andrew reaches for the book and flips it open at random. And finds himself staring at the last page of the novella "Apt Pupil."*

*At the last line.*

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