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Ha.

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Bugs

Under my skin in my eyes crawling skittering whispering never knowing always trying to understand oh why won't they stop please stop p l e a s e s t o p i a m g o i n g t o d r own in the bugs they're everywhere they're everything they're

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Raven

Dead fish, dull feather, wait wait wait it’s Nicolas. Where's Nicolas?

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boo.

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And So the Fish Flies Away

Tagging: Cordelia DeClan

Location: West Harbor Health Center, Island Town Hospital

Timeframe: Over the course of about a month, located in the present-future.

Gist: Why it is that Cordelia DeClan is no longer living in West Harbor Mental Health Community.

Etc.: So... This is it, I suppose.

It was nothing if it was not abrupt. Cordelia DeClan, after being found with weaponry and admitting to killing any and all ravens she found - she was convinced that they hosted a demon out to kill her - was placed in the second story of the Health Center. She was evaluated and tested, and all the help possible was offered to her. But it was not enough. She grew ever more delusional, increasingly unstable. And so it was that on the fifth night of her stay, her hold on reality broke, and she went to be with her Raven, the one that wasn't like the others.

But on pain of being caught, and not being a stealthy thing, Cordelia thought that perhaps it would be best to fly. After all if her demon could fly, surely so could she. And out the window, chased by orderlies, she went.

Of course, she did not die. She was severely injured, however, and taken to the local hospital. From there, her transfer papers were efficiently and quickly arranged, and as soon as she had healed, Cordelia was moved to a new facility out in California, where now she and her family are currently residing.

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You will have years to go on, Nicolas, years that can be named and, hah, categorized, but all the same it might feel endless. Live in that endlessness. It's so much better. You don't have to worry about withered wings or the wrong raven. There is only you... Your lovely thoughts as your perfect companions, and it is simply so. much. better.

Lux in tenebris lucet.

In my opinion even the mind has an end, but thank you all the same. I must stop eventually, however when that might be I aim will take a long time for me to reach.

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Eloquent speaker, endless mind, my, uh...dear Nicolas. Never stop, because a bird that can fly without wings is all too rare.

Lux in tenebris lucet.

Clipped wings might be a big hinder, yet it is not the end, and until my end comes I will not stop.

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You are the enduring optimist, Clever Craven. Even clipped wings could not deter you.

Lux in tenebris lucet.

Yet the phantom remains, and how lovely they are. It takes more to survive without them, as there are felines lurking in each corner, yet here you are.

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But of course you may. Why couldn't you?

I am Cordelia DeClan.

Fuck, there are a lot of you.

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My wings have long been clipped, Nicolas. Sad fact, but, ah, I've learned to live with it. I merely hop from place to place, trying not to slip from the trees.

Lux in tenebris lucet.

Oh, no, but there she is! Gaudeamus hodie, stretch her wings, I would say, yes. It looks so. 

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Bugs → Headcanon

Cordelia sees bugs in a view that is actually much higher than it is for most human beings. Bugs have a point to their lives, and they scurry on with that one task in mind, no diverging and no extraneous endeavors that are worse than simply pointless. She respects their smallness, that their life could so easily and often violently be ended without repercussion. In the end, she doesn’t like bugs, but she doesn’t dislike them, either.

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Has your "she" flown away, Craven? Left her, ah...nest for another, or just to, uh, stretch her wings? Flown into the sun, perhaps?

Lux in tenebris lucet.

But where has she gone, I wonder…

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http://cordelia-declan.tumblr.com/ask

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Don't. If you'd rather no-ot... Wellll, why bother?

Fuck, there are a lot of you.

How am I gonna remember all these names..

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I'm he-ere due to the fact that I have been diagnosed with schizotypal personality disorder, and with all of the very...little and very strange facets which come with that apparently make me an unstable person who is not fit to be out in norrrmal society. Not that I mind. I don't like people, uh, anyways.

Ah no I’m not asking one of those deep philosophical questions you could never actually give an adequate answer to. I do that only when I’m high or on some other shit.  So why are you here , in the asylum ?

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Tagging: Nicolas Craven and Cordelia DeClan

Location: House 3

Time: Afternoon

Notes: Nicolas thinks he has pondered enough, and goes to return the Harry Potter book left behind on his porch on a previous encounter.

Extra Notes: 

"I hope I am not disturbing you…" he said with a humble tone, continuing to roll his ankle while brushing the sides of his fingers against each other. Understanding why Cordelia would want to be joined by only the ghosts of her own mind and not a single living soul, Nicolas still wanted to make certain he was not imposing. Whenever people would take the liberty to prance in, as if it had been their own home, beginning to move their lips to articulate words that were meant to be coherent and make some sort of sense, Nicolas would start to tick. There were plenty of those back at home, and he had always been one to repay debts, hence repaying their rudeness with his own, though his was of course much better. Instead of being blunt and straight out with whatever it was they had on their mind, Nicolas wrapped the insults in a bundle of politeness, the very best way to be rude. Back to where he had begun, Nicolas wished that he would not have taken their role in this scenario. He had been invited in, and did not sense any wishes for him to leave just yet, but still thought it well to ask, giving the girl a chance to ask for privacy. It would disappoint, but nevertheless if that was the case, her wish would be granted.

Listening to her answer to his question, and later her own, Nicolas wore a smile on his lips. “Ah, but I would be the Raven, you see. So I would not be the one weak and weary, pondering while I heard a tapping on my chamber door. For I would be the tapper, and I would sing the ‘Nevermore’." Sensing the smile growing wider, he looked out in the room, picturing the lovely dove sitting curled together as she was now, in one of the big, antique chairs, her figure dressed in the smoothest of velvet, either red or blue — details, it was all about the details. “I would spread my wings to rest on the gentle breeze, soaring in the dark sky, underneath the stars, and perhaps a moon, catching the glimpse of you through the window." As he spoke of himself inhabiting the shape of a raven, he held out his hand flat to gesture soaring, tilting it from side to side and then diving and rising. “Oh, but I would not whisper ‘nevermore’," he added. “For it would not be of any meaning to me, not to you, but there we are, I would sing ‘Cordis Mei’, for it is something we are much more acquainted with, you and I, would you not say so?" A light, blithe sigh passed his lips. “Quoth the Raven, Cordis Mei."

Regaining the connection of his gaze which was previously locked with hers, Nicolas tapped the fabric draping over his kneecap. “Would you let me in if I came to you, once upon a midnight dreary? Or would you simply crush my hollow bones, or perhaps snap my neck? Would you shout: “Prophet! Thing of evil!", attempting to end this dark feathered bird?" This was something he found quite enjoyable, and he approved of using the story of a beloved author to case his own scenarios, riddling much more fun, the enigma and the deciphering. “Be I a bird or the devil…?"

Cordelia DeClan

Cordelia shook her head again, her eyes watching the room around her blur. She focused on that blurring, really, which led to her belatedly stopping, leaving her head feeling heavy and her neck like a turntable. She let out a little, “Hmm..”, blinking slowly a few times as she let the world focus. “No-o-o...” she intoned. “It’s okay because, ah... It’s you. I don’t mind you so much, Raven. It’s funny.” The corners of her lips twitched upwards for a moment, and a tiny giggle was held in the way she ever so slightly wrinkled up her nose. She shook her head again, letting her thoughts swirl and rattle. Her toes and fingers curled and flexed in sync with one another, and she timed her breath to them. Nicolas was strangely welcome in her presence. Why else would that rage have so quickly evaporated at the sight of him? She was sure that if it had been anyone else, they would be in the infirmary and she would be in solitary. The thought of solitary confinement caught her again, and her slack smile returned.

“You would be the Raven,” she echoed, slowly coming around as his voice filled her head, the sound of it bouncing around within the confines. She watched his hand, imaging the Raven it wished to impersonate, and she shivered. Lazily, her mind too busy thinking now of the raven and the fish from the previous days, she met his eyes, hers so suddenly blank and glassy. “You... You couldn’t tap on my window,” she said slowly, the words working themselves unsteadily from her mind to her mouth. “I’ve already done it. I killed you. Days ago.” Her  neck reached its final arch as her head got as close as it could to her shoulder. Her fingers twitched and wriggled, and her eyes grew wide. “No, no, the Raven is dea-ad.” she whispered. “The knife...” Her eyes trained onto his left one. “Went right through.” Her head slowly lifted upright.

“I might scream, maybe...” she murmured. “And I might tear you open... You wouldn’t be able to sing to me because I wouldn’t let you. I couldn’t let you open your beak. He might come out and I would have to kill you either way... So sad, Raven, that I killed you.” The bugs were scuttling faster now, traveling up from her ankles, skittering. She began to shake, dusting at her body. Her covered her, though, and she saw the bumps in her skin, the itch that shrouded her. She gave out a half-whimper, half-groan and began to rub at her face as they tried to get in her mouth and nose and ears and eyes. She rubbed harder and harder at the skin of her face, a scream building in her lungs as the air burned out and the bugs took its place. “He’s the Raven, he’s the Raven, he’s the Raven too!” Her head whipped to stare at Nicolas, her eyes bloodshot now, angry tears that reflected blood-ish gathered at the bottom. “He is the Raven, too! He was there, and he killed me, but I was in two forms, like him! But I killed him, killed him deaddeaddeaddead! and let him drown too, but there’s so many more! But you aren’t him you can’t be him you’re the Craven Raven, not-not-not sandy black shine of scale and yell and silver silver flash screams mine or his but he’s still not gone he’s everywhere Nicolas everywheere!”

Cordelia jumped up, scratching violently now at any skin she could, pacing faster and faster, her whole body wracked by tremors, her scratches turning pink, then red, some beginning to shallowly ooze blood. A low, uneven moan that was indicative of the pain she seemed to be in rolled out of her throat and her movements began to be increasingly more jerky. Her hands curled to fists against her skin and she pulled at her hair, mumbling about ravens and “him” and knives, occasionally about the blood-silver scales of her own other self. Her head pounded loudly, and she couldn’t focus on  the swimming world around her, Nicolas’s presence all but forgotten. Finally, as the bugs roved over her and began to burrow within her so painfully, her skin seeming to split, Cordelia let out a shriek that grew to a keening scream, her hands flying to peel away the skin of her face, even though they found no purchase. She fell to her knees, picking, pulling, scratching at whatever she could. She rocked back and forth, eyes and mouth squeezed shut against the bugs that simply dug into the skin instead. ‘Nononononononononononononono,’ was her infinite train of thought, and the tears began to flood over her cheeks, making them shine like the raven’s feathers had. She needed to scream again, but she couldn’t get it out. She could only take painfully short breaths, and then the bugs would flood inside. Somewhere, she thought of Nicolas, the Raven that wasn’t a raven, wasn’t couldn’t wouldn’t be him, and decided that he must have flown away.

Merely Stories → Nicolas & Cordelia