More Blurbness
Jul. 6th, 2006 03:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladybug_archiveI have had trouble sleeping the past week, and I had a suspicion as to why. Now it's been confirmed. Blurgh. **beats cramping with the Golf Club of DOOOM.**
I saw the Detective Conan two-parter that introduces the Kaitou Kid. XD It was great. I'm impressed with his disguise skills. And I read that he became the Kaitou Kid because he's trying to solve the mystery of his father's death. Fascinating. X3
I wonder what would happen if Baby Face-tachi ever met up with Gin and the Black Organization. I picture the latter as possibly having ties to the Syndicate. It might be an interesting thing to toy with.
And no doubt about it, Gin is a very good-looking man. XD; I wish something more was known about him. Hamda says that no one in the Black Organization has a lot of background info, except perhaps Sherry.
Here's the rest of the blurb. XD The first draft is now completed, and so I shall ponder over what, if anything, I should add.
I've never believed easily in anything that I couldn't back up with proof. The dead living on is a nice thought, something comforting to the ones left behind, but I've never been able to acknowledge that it's true. I don't want to give in to any kind of false hopes and then be let down later. I don't want to be played for a fool. But I can't deny that Ruby and I both saw something this time. If it was just me, I would dismiss it again, but as it stands I have to wonder.
Ruby slumps back into the couch. "I still have nightmares about it," she says softly. "I see myself finding him there on the docks, and I run to him. . . . Sometimes the things we say aren't what really happened, but it always ends the same way . . . he dies in my arms, and I'm left there all alone. . . ." She's still crying, but she doesn't try to stop it. I can see and recognize all of the feelings going through her eyes---horror, confusion, sadness, loneliness. . . .
"Sometimes I hear him screaming in agony," she goes on, "as if I'm watching him get shot again and again . . . or like . . . like he's burning in Hell . . ." She trails off and looks down, a strangled sob tearing free from her lips.
I come over and sit down beside her, not really knowing why I'm doing it. There's nothing I can do or say that can take her sorrow away. I can't bring him back. And I can't say words that seem hollow and useless. That's never been in my nature. I can't say something I don't believe just to try to make someone else feel better. So I just keep sitting here, silently watching her.
After a while she looks up at me again. "He wasn't really a bad person!" she chokes out, as if she's not really talking to me and is trying to defend him against someone else. "He never set out to kill people . . . not unless he was trying to protect himself and the gang! He . . . he just had a really bad temper. . . . He didn't mean to kill a lot of the people he did! He wasn't malicious. . . . Not really. . . ."
She and I both know that he has killed out of hate sometimes, or tried to, like when he went after Micky Dolenz. But it's also true that he never was a psychopathic serial killer. A lot of times the deaths really were just accidental, a result of him lashing out in anger and fury and taking it too far without even thinking. I don't think he ever deserved the title of "Most Vicious Killer in America." There are so many out there much worse than him.
"He was just trying to survive," Ruby blurts out now. "He never had the chance to be anything except what he was! His family hated him! He had to wander the streets all the time and go home to nothing but hatred and cruelty, and when someone finally took him in and started being kind to him, he started learning all about organized crime. . . . Then the man was killed. . . ." She keeps looking at me, desperate, and I know that in her mind she's still addressing someone else. Who, I don't know. The police, maybe. The judge . . . even God. It could be anyone. "Of course he ended up like he did!" she's wailing. "He never knew anything else!"
I grip her shoulders firmly but gently. "I know, Ruby. I know," I tell her calmly.
She starts somewhat, coming back to the present, and seems to notice I'm here for the first time. "I'm sorry," she says, sobered, and falls back against the couch again. "It just . . . it upsets me so much . . . not knowing what's become of him, and knowing how everyone hates him. . . . I just wish they could understand. . . ."
"They'll never understand, Ruby. You know that." I lean back as well, still watching her. "And he probably wouldn't even want them to. You know how he always wanted to make sure that he kept up his tough image." He didn't even want word to get out that he'd finally died. He made Ruby promise that we would keep up the illusion that he's still around, lurking in the shadows. We've done that, but there's always those who are suspicious. They can't prove he's dead, but they can't prove he's not, either.
Ruby sighs sadly. "Yeah . . . I sure know."
"There's nothin' wrong with that, either." This statement is followed by several curses that I prefer not to repeat, and I'm certain that Baby Face is leaning on the other side of the couch, his arms crossed on the top of it. Of course I can't see him, but it seems likely that he's there. I know I heard him just now.
Ruby looks up, her eyes filled with a wistful longing. "Baby Face . . . you're here, aren't you?" she says softly. There's no reply, but by now we're both pretty well convinced that he's with us. Maybe we're both crazy tonight, or maybe it's the storm outside, but in any case right now I'm willing to say that he hasn't died . . . not really. And if that's true, then maybe there actually is hope for Alice. In the morning I'll probably wonder why I let myself get deceived, but tonight I don't want to let logic get in the way.
"He's probably always going to haunt us," I remark.
Ruby continues to look around the room, vainly hoping to find him. "I don't care," she answers. "If I could just talk to him again. . . ." Tears are filling her eyes, but they don't fall yet. She sighs sadly. "I'll never get to hold him again . . . or brush his hair back . . . or kiss him. . . . but if I could talk to him . . . and know that he's still here . . . then . . . then that'd at least be something that would still have meaning in my life."
"It's dangerous, when one person is your everything in that way," I respond flatly. Alice was that for me. I was completely broken when she was killed, and I couldn't even see straight to figure out how to clear my name from all the trumped-up murder charges that I'd been saddled with. It left a wound in my heart that never has healed. And when I think about it, even though I always tried to say I wasn't close to Baby Face, there's been another open wound since his death.
"I love him so completely, so fully . . . and nothing can change that." Ruby's voice is still quiet, but fervent and sincere. "I was setting myself up for this when I first fell in love with him. . . . I knew he'd probably die young. . . . He always thought it himself. Sometimes I'd tell myself how stupid I was to ever get involved with him, but I knew that there wasn't anything I could do about it. I'll always love him . . . and I don't think I'll ever be able to love anyone else like that."
I nod slowly. That's how I feel too. I can't imagine myself being with anyone other than Alice. My heart can never belong to anyone else. And while Alice might want me to marry again, I know she'd understand that I don't feel like I ever can.
I'm lost in these thoughts for a while, and I'm only drawn out again when I feel a weight on my shoulder. Surprised, I look over to see that Ruby is wearily falling asleep and slumping against me. I feel uncomfortable by this, as I know she would if she was at all aware of things, so I stand up and move her so that she can lay on the couch with the old decorative pillow. She looks comfortable enough, but I doubt her mind is, even in sleep.
"She's hardly got any sleep for the last few days. Naw . . . she hasn't slept well for the whole past month."
I grunt in reply, not feeling as startled by his voice as I might have been several days ago. "And whose fault is that?" I say flatly.
He curses. "You think I wanted to die?!" he snaps.
"I know you didn't." I find an old throw and drape that over Ruby too. When I look up, I can see him standing across from me, at the other end of the couch. He's transparent, but otherwise he looks the same as he always did---the blue suit, the gray fedora tipped slightly on his head, the carefully combed brown hair, and the annoyed hazel eyes.
I never have understood why some people are so disturbed at the thought of any ghosts that they entirely lose control if they see one (or think they see one), even if it's someone whom they know and even trust. Do they think that the person changes just because they've died? That's idiocy. They're still the same as they always were in life. And if they wouldn't hurt you in life, they won't in death.
He glares at me gruffly. "Take care of her," he orders. "I can't anymore, and you're the only one I really trust to do a decent job." And I can see in his eyes that he's furious about it. He hates for anyone to do what he feels he should do himself. It takes a lot of strength for him to even say this to me.
"You know I'll do my best." I glance down at Ruby, then back up at him. "She wants to talk to you," I say now. "Why haven't you tried talking to her?"
He curses again. "I have," he replies, "and to you, too. It just doesn't work most of the time. I dunno why it's working now." He starts to pace around the room liked a caged tiger. "I don't even know why I'm still kickin' around---if it's 'cause this is the afterlife, or if it's 'cause I've got some kinda unfinished business that I'm supposed to take care of first . . . or maybe a mixture of both. I dunno what I'd be supposed to take care of, though."
I shrug. "Maybe you're just here because of a fluke," I suggest.
Baby Face snorts. "Ruby'd probably say that I'm here because it's where I wanna be," he retorts. He stops pacing and looks down at Ruby, and I'm almost sure that I can see a longing in his eyes. He half-reaches out with his hand, as if to caress her cheek, but he stops. I don't know whether it's because he knows his hand would pass through, or because he doesn't want to show affection, but he has an expression almost of defeat. I don't like seeing that from him. It doesn't seem right.
Then again, none of this seems right. He shouldn't be dead. We shouldn't be having the conversation in the first place.
"What's wrong?" I ask him.
He looks at me, annoyed. "What isn't wrong?!" he retorts furiously, and turns away, clenching a fist. "There's a lot of things I'll never get to do now," he says quietly. I can hear the underlying anger in his voice.
"That's life," I answer bitterly.
"Yeah," he growls, "and death, too. I guess if your existence is messed up while you're alive, that's not gonna change when you croak. It just gets worse then." He still sounds defeated, and I realize that there's probably not a way to change that now. His time is over, whether he likes it or not, and he's been left with only a shell of his former life.
****
He opens his eyes slowly, adjusting to the darkness around him. It takes him a while to fully register that he is awake, and not still in his dream. But though he can barely see anything in front of him, he holds up his hand, studying both sides to see if it is for certain solid. Still not satisfied, he touches his face and happens to run across the bandage over his left cheek. Grunting to himself, he struggles to sit up, finding it a challenge and a pain---literally, as his wounds are aching.
He throws back the quilt, relieved that he can touch it, and eases himself off the couch, grabbing at the wall for support. Cursing to himself, he moves forward slowly, not wanting to further upset his still-healing injuries. He is not sure exactly why it is, but he feels compelled to check on her and see how she is doing.
And so he makes his way out of the living room and down the hall to where her bedroom is. She always leaves the door unlocked, even when he is staying with her. She does not fear him, and she knows that he will always respect her and never try to do anything inappropriate. He never would say so, but it means a lot to him, to be trusted so much.
Quietly and carefully he turns the knob and steps inside. The moonlight from the window is shining into the room, lighting upon her sweet face as she lays asleep in her bed, the quilt falling half onto the floor. He watches her for a moment, lost in his thoughts.
It was only recently when he had moved to the couch. Before that, he had been too injured and so she had insisted that he stay in the bed while she had the couch. But he is confident now that he is healing more, and so despite her protests, they have switched places again. The couch is soft enough for him anyway. He does not mind.
He moves forward, limping slightly, and comes to stand closer to her, still watching. After a moment he reaches out and pulls the covers up over her shoulder, then nods approvingly. "I ain't dead yet," he mutters low, a faint smirk gracing his features as he turns to leave.
I saw the Detective Conan two-parter that introduces the Kaitou Kid. XD It was great. I'm impressed with his disguise skills. And I read that he became the Kaitou Kid because he's trying to solve the mystery of his father's death. Fascinating. X3
I wonder what would happen if Baby Face-tachi ever met up with Gin and the Black Organization. I picture the latter as possibly having ties to the Syndicate. It might be an interesting thing to toy with.
And no doubt about it, Gin is a very good-looking man. XD; I wish something more was known about him. Hamda says that no one in the Black Organization has a lot of background info, except perhaps Sherry.
Here's the rest of the blurb. XD The first draft is now completed, and so I shall ponder over what, if anything, I should add.
I've never believed easily in anything that I couldn't back up with proof. The dead living on is a nice thought, something comforting to the ones left behind, but I've never been able to acknowledge that it's true. I don't want to give in to any kind of false hopes and then be let down later. I don't want to be played for a fool. But I can't deny that Ruby and I both saw something this time. If it was just me, I would dismiss it again, but as it stands I have to wonder.
Ruby slumps back into the couch. "I still have nightmares about it," she says softly. "I see myself finding him there on the docks, and I run to him. . . . Sometimes the things we say aren't what really happened, but it always ends the same way . . . he dies in my arms, and I'm left there all alone. . . ." She's still crying, but she doesn't try to stop it. I can see and recognize all of the feelings going through her eyes---horror, confusion, sadness, loneliness. . . .
"Sometimes I hear him screaming in agony," she goes on, "as if I'm watching him get shot again and again . . . or like . . . like he's burning in Hell . . ." She trails off and looks down, a strangled sob tearing free from her lips.
I come over and sit down beside her, not really knowing why I'm doing it. There's nothing I can do or say that can take her sorrow away. I can't bring him back. And I can't say words that seem hollow and useless. That's never been in my nature. I can't say something I don't believe just to try to make someone else feel better. So I just keep sitting here, silently watching her.
After a while she looks up at me again. "He wasn't really a bad person!" she chokes out, as if she's not really talking to me and is trying to defend him against someone else. "He never set out to kill people . . . not unless he was trying to protect himself and the gang! He . . . he just had a really bad temper. . . . He didn't mean to kill a lot of the people he did! He wasn't malicious. . . . Not really. . . ."
She and I both know that he has killed out of hate sometimes, or tried to, like when he went after Micky Dolenz. But it's also true that he never was a psychopathic serial killer. A lot of times the deaths really were just accidental, a result of him lashing out in anger and fury and taking it too far without even thinking. I don't think he ever deserved the title of "Most Vicious Killer in America." There are so many out there much worse than him.
"He was just trying to survive," Ruby blurts out now. "He never had the chance to be anything except what he was! His family hated him! He had to wander the streets all the time and go home to nothing but hatred and cruelty, and when someone finally took him in and started being kind to him, he started learning all about organized crime. . . . Then the man was killed. . . ." She keeps looking at me, desperate, and I know that in her mind she's still addressing someone else. Who, I don't know. The police, maybe. The judge . . . even God. It could be anyone. "Of course he ended up like he did!" she's wailing. "He never knew anything else!"
I grip her shoulders firmly but gently. "I know, Ruby. I know," I tell her calmly.
She starts somewhat, coming back to the present, and seems to notice I'm here for the first time. "I'm sorry," she says, sobered, and falls back against the couch again. "It just . . . it upsets me so much . . . not knowing what's become of him, and knowing how everyone hates him. . . . I just wish they could understand. . . ."
"They'll never understand, Ruby. You know that." I lean back as well, still watching her. "And he probably wouldn't even want them to. You know how he always wanted to make sure that he kept up his tough image." He didn't even want word to get out that he'd finally died. He made Ruby promise that we would keep up the illusion that he's still around, lurking in the shadows. We've done that, but there's always those who are suspicious. They can't prove he's dead, but they can't prove he's not, either.
Ruby sighs sadly. "Yeah . . . I sure know."
"There's nothin' wrong with that, either." This statement is followed by several curses that I prefer not to repeat, and I'm certain that Baby Face is leaning on the other side of the couch, his arms crossed on the top of it. Of course I can't see him, but it seems likely that he's there. I know I heard him just now.
Ruby looks up, her eyes filled with a wistful longing. "Baby Face . . . you're here, aren't you?" she says softly. There's no reply, but by now we're both pretty well convinced that he's with us. Maybe we're both crazy tonight, or maybe it's the storm outside, but in any case right now I'm willing to say that he hasn't died . . . not really. And if that's true, then maybe there actually is hope for Alice. In the morning I'll probably wonder why I let myself get deceived, but tonight I don't want to let logic get in the way.
"He's probably always going to haunt us," I remark.
Ruby continues to look around the room, vainly hoping to find him. "I don't care," she answers. "If I could just talk to him again. . . ." Tears are filling her eyes, but they don't fall yet. She sighs sadly. "I'll never get to hold him again . . . or brush his hair back . . . or kiss him. . . . but if I could talk to him . . . and know that he's still here . . . then . . . then that'd at least be something that would still have meaning in my life."
"It's dangerous, when one person is your everything in that way," I respond flatly. Alice was that for me. I was completely broken when she was killed, and I couldn't even see straight to figure out how to clear my name from all the trumped-up murder charges that I'd been saddled with. It left a wound in my heart that never has healed. And when I think about it, even though I always tried to say I wasn't close to Baby Face, there's been another open wound since his death.
"I love him so completely, so fully . . . and nothing can change that." Ruby's voice is still quiet, but fervent and sincere. "I was setting myself up for this when I first fell in love with him. . . . I knew he'd probably die young. . . . He always thought it himself. Sometimes I'd tell myself how stupid I was to ever get involved with him, but I knew that there wasn't anything I could do about it. I'll always love him . . . and I don't think I'll ever be able to love anyone else like that."
I nod slowly. That's how I feel too. I can't imagine myself being with anyone other than Alice. My heart can never belong to anyone else. And while Alice might want me to marry again, I know she'd understand that I don't feel like I ever can.
I'm lost in these thoughts for a while, and I'm only drawn out again when I feel a weight on my shoulder. Surprised, I look over to see that Ruby is wearily falling asleep and slumping against me. I feel uncomfortable by this, as I know she would if she was at all aware of things, so I stand up and move her so that she can lay on the couch with the old decorative pillow. She looks comfortable enough, but I doubt her mind is, even in sleep.
"She's hardly got any sleep for the last few days. Naw . . . she hasn't slept well for the whole past month."
I grunt in reply, not feeling as startled by his voice as I might have been several days ago. "And whose fault is that?" I say flatly.
He curses. "You think I wanted to die?!" he snaps.
"I know you didn't." I find an old throw and drape that over Ruby too. When I look up, I can see him standing across from me, at the other end of the couch. He's transparent, but otherwise he looks the same as he always did---the blue suit, the gray fedora tipped slightly on his head, the carefully combed brown hair, and the annoyed hazel eyes.
I never have understood why some people are so disturbed at the thought of any ghosts that they entirely lose control if they see one (or think they see one), even if it's someone whom they know and even trust. Do they think that the person changes just because they've died? That's idiocy. They're still the same as they always were in life. And if they wouldn't hurt you in life, they won't in death.
He glares at me gruffly. "Take care of her," he orders. "I can't anymore, and you're the only one I really trust to do a decent job." And I can see in his eyes that he's furious about it. He hates for anyone to do what he feels he should do himself. It takes a lot of strength for him to even say this to me.
"You know I'll do my best." I glance down at Ruby, then back up at him. "She wants to talk to you," I say now. "Why haven't you tried talking to her?"
He curses again. "I have," he replies, "and to you, too. It just doesn't work most of the time. I dunno why it's working now." He starts to pace around the room liked a caged tiger. "I don't even know why I'm still kickin' around---if it's 'cause this is the afterlife, or if it's 'cause I've got some kinda unfinished business that I'm supposed to take care of first . . . or maybe a mixture of both. I dunno what I'd be supposed to take care of, though."
I shrug. "Maybe you're just here because of a fluke," I suggest.
Baby Face snorts. "Ruby'd probably say that I'm here because it's where I wanna be," he retorts. He stops pacing and looks down at Ruby, and I'm almost sure that I can see a longing in his eyes. He half-reaches out with his hand, as if to caress her cheek, but he stops. I don't know whether it's because he knows his hand would pass through, or because he doesn't want to show affection, but he has an expression almost of defeat. I don't like seeing that from him. It doesn't seem right.
Then again, none of this seems right. He shouldn't be dead. We shouldn't be having the conversation in the first place.
"What's wrong?" I ask him.
He looks at me, annoyed. "What isn't wrong?!" he retorts furiously, and turns away, clenching a fist. "There's a lot of things I'll never get to do now," he says quietly. I can hear the underlying anger in his voice.
"That's life," I answer bitterly.
"Yeah," he growls, "and death, too. I guess if your existence is messed up while you're alive, that's not gonna change when you croak. It just gets worse then." He still sounds defeated, and I realize that there's probably not a way to change that now. His time is over, whether he likes it or not, and he's been left with only a shell of his former life.
****
He opens his eyes slowly, adjusting to the darkness around him. It takes him a while to fully register that he is awake, and not still in his dream. But though he can barely see anything in front of him, he holds up his hand, studying both sides to see if it is for certain solid. Still not satisfied, he touches his face and happens to run across the bandage over his left cheek. Grunting to himself, he struggles to sit up, finding it a challenge and a pain---literally, as his wounds are aching.
He throws back the quilt, relieved that he can touch it, and eases himself off the couch, grabbing at the wall for support. Cursing to himself, he moves forward slowly, not wanting to further upset his still-healing injuries. He is not sure exactly why it is, but he feels compelled to check on her and see how she is doing.
And so he makes his way out of the living room and down the hall to where her bedroom is. She always leaves the door unlocked, even when he is staying with her. She does not fear him, and she knows that he will always respect her and never try to do anything inappropriate. He never would say so, but it means a lot to him, to be trusted so much.
Quietly and carefully he turns the knob and steps inside. The moonlight from the window is shining into the room, lighting upon her sweet face as she lays asleep in her bed, the quilt falling half onto the floor. He watches her for a moment, lost in his thoughts.
It was only recently when he had moved to the couch. Before that, he had been too injured and so she had insisted that he stay in the bed while she had the couch. But he is confident now that he is healing more, and so despite her protests, they have switched places again. The couch is soft enough for him anyway. He does not mind.
He moves forward, limping slightly, and comes to stand closer to her, still watching. After a moment he reaches out and pulls the covers up over her shoulder, then nods approvingly. "I ain't dead yet," he mutters low, a faint smirk gracing his features as he turns to leave.
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Date: 2006-07-06 02:08 pm (UTC)The Kaitou Kid and all that sounds so familiar. XD I wish they still played that show on Cartoon Network.
I liked this half even more than the first. >3 There was a bit more detail into it, though it's a little different when doing a story in first person. It depends how observant the person telling the story is. . . . It'd be a nightmare if I wrote myself as the narrator. LOL You'd get a paragraph just on the bumps and discolorations and whatnot about the paint on the wall nearest to me. XD;
The fact that this is left open to either that all being a dream or that later on they found him somehow makes this increadibly appealing. That or if you wanna be really twisted and say the second half is the dream or something of the sort. And the slight hints of affection Baby Face shows for Ruby are beyond kawaii. X3
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Date: 2006-07-07 02:21 am (UTC)XD Well, it wasn't really left open. When Tony started to narrate, he mentioned that they buried him.... It continues from the "Live for Myself" one-shot, in which Baby Face is shot to death. I debated over whether to add in the final scene or not. I would have found it too depressing to not, but I guess if someone wants to interpret the last scene as the dream, they could. I did kinda leave things a little vague on purpose. XD