inbox.

[gunshooting]

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Nancy Wheeler, 18

NIEZ

CODE BY

Comments

voice; morning-ish of march 3rd

[ligature]

[someone has just come back to their shared room at the boarding house, after a morning spent foraging in the woods, to discover half of the space suspiciously bereft of a teenager. the spike of panic he feels is misplaced, he knows, but it's there all the same.]

Hey. [endeavouring to be chill.] You going to be back for lunch?

afternoon-ish

[gunshooting]

[ It still feels weird to have someone's voice inside her head.

Weird enough to buy a few hours of time before formulating an answer? Maybe. ]

I don't think I'm going to make it back for lunch. Or dinner.

[ The absolute weirdness of feeling as if she's snuck out?? ]

You shouldn't wait up for me, Will.

[ligature]

[well that's not ominous at all.]

Nancy, where are you?

[gunshooting]

[ WELL........ ]

I went with Nami and the others to look for the heart. [ a beat ] I was going to tell you.

[ligature]

Yeah? When?

[that spark of anger fizzles out almost immediately, subsumed under regret and remorse. Will pushes his hands through his hair and stills his restless pacing.]

Sorry. [blunt but no less sincere for it.] I know I'm not your--you don't owe me anything, I'm just. [just. what?] Maybe I should've gone, too.

[gunshooting]

[ Not unaware of the complicated, messy dimensions of this conversation, but— ]

No, it's—I'm okay.

[ a beat, a little reluctant. ]

And I'm sorry. I should have said something.

[ligature]

It's all right. [he'd go to her now, if he could. if he had any real idea of where she is, of how to reach her in that wilderness.] Who else is out there with you? Other than Nami.

[not that he'll recognize many names, but it doesn't hurt to ask.]

[gunshooting]

Iggy, [ is the first name Nancy says, and there's a pause while she tallies up the rest: ] Kovacs and Felipe. Gilia.

[ She doesn't know any of them any better than Will does.

She doesn't say Danny. ]

I'm still learning names. But there's a lot of us. We'll be okay.

[ligature]

[he doesn't know to have reservations about Danny yet. this will probably come back to haunt him later, for one reason or another. reluctantly,]

...All right, well. If I can do anything.

[what, exactly, he expects to be able to do from all the way over here is anyone's guess. still, he makes the offer anyway.]

[gunshooting]

You could be safe?

[ To whatever extent this was within Will's control. ]

So I don't have to worry about you.

[ligature]

Me?

[a huff of incredulous laughter, but sheepish gratitude wends throughout it.]

Nancy, I'm not the one going spelunking in a monster-infested cave. I'll be fine. [famous last words. but also, with genuine fondness,] But thanks, for worrying. I appreciate it.

text, during Cave Time

[ghostface]

( watch where you're treading in the dark, nancy. )

i hear you. ( no, that's not right. ) i feel you.

( like a heartbeat, like a pulse, like another limb. )

you're still wearing my bruises. they look good on you. i'm still wearing yours, too.

[gunshooting]

I hate you.

[ With real feeling behind it, frustrated and furious. ]

Can you feel that?

[ Or can he feel the tender, sore pulse of sensation when she tongues the split in her lip? When she remembers the taste of blood in her mouth, how it lingered even when she spat into the dirt? ]

[ghostface]

not as much as you'd like, i imagine.

( he feels it. he hopes she feels how gingerly he touches his cheek, too — or not gingerly, but reverently, a humble bow of his tattooed knuckles across his jawline where nancy's purple bruise claims a patch of his skin. )

i ain't gonna hurt you, wheeler.

[gunshooting]

[ Disbelief blooms between them, not enough to mask the reverberation of knuckles at her jaw. (His jaw, not hers, even if it feels otherwise.) A frenetic rush of memory follows in its wake, a rush of impressions: the bite of a knife, a heavy weight driving into the dirt, gloved hands tightening in her hair. And blood, so much blood, all of it hers, or worse, Steve's. Quentin's. So many others— ]

Why should I believe that?

[ghostface]

'cause this ain't the fog.

( though this place feels close enough to it. )

what do i get out of hurting you when you don't want it?

[gunshooting]

[ Her scoff is more impression than vocalized objection.

Beneath it, a question forms. Curiosity mingling with disgust coloring this breath of a query: When would I ever want it?

It clings to the syllables of what she does lob back: ]

What did you get out of killing Quentin?

[ghostface]

what did quentin get out of killing me?

[gunshooting]

Answer me.

[ghostface]

answer me first, and you'll have your answer.

[gunshooting]

Stop playing games and answer me.

[ The more they talk, the more the yawning void of him opens in her own head. A whisper in a language she doesn't know. A scream she does. ]

[ghostface]

for the dopamine, because it felt good, because i wanted to, because he's a dumb slut who deserved it. i could pump out a hundred other factory default responses just like that, but you ain't gonna know unless you already know.

did he tell you what we were to each other before i did it?

[gunshooting]

[ Here is the thing that can't be denied, because they are linked so closely. Because Nancy doesn't know how to hide, not when this cave has flayed her open and spilled her thoughts out for everyone to feel:

You ain't gonna know unless you already know and the great, yawning void that lives inside Nancy, all her curiosity made endless and all consuming as her monster crawls up across her skin, clicks over to narrow its focus onto him. Does she know? Maybe. Does she want to know? yes, yes, yes— ]

We didn't talk about it.

You tell me.

[gunshooting]

I'll be back soon.

[ Famous last words ]

I promise.