maskormenacelogs | something something gaga lyric

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something something gaga lyric

WHO: Countess and JPM
WHERE: The Castile
WHEN: Earlier this month
WHAT: contagions make affection a not-just-one-way thing?
WARNINGS: assholes, murders, vampires, etc

She blames the quiet. It's unusually quiet this morning.

That's the reason she goes off looking for him, eventually winding up in the wine cellar, where she is unsurprised to find him occupied with a victim. What else would he be doing? Hotel owning business??? Don't be ridiculous.

"Having fun?" she asks, looking half interested as she runs her fingers along the bottles before she picks one out. "You must be the only one not feeling sluggish today. Not a peep throughout the rest of the whole hotel."

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Not sluggish at all. March is in full gear! He's made a damn good copy of his old outfit, and that familiar mask is what greets her when he looks up from what he's currently doing.

"Hello, darling!" Ever chipper in her presence, he moves to take up a canister of acid from a shelf. His current project is in a tub for a reason and only groans faintly as March begins to pour it all over a now useless body. "I am indeed, I am indeed! No jewels or money on this one, I'm afraid. Nothing but lies and debt."

Glug glug glug, groan becoming more of a whine, March's compassion soaring deeper into the negatives.

"You look like a bug in that thing," she comments lightly, taking a perch atop a stack of crates, wooden boxes containing more alcohol. She uses her glove to open the wine, stabbing the blade into the cork and pulling it out. Necessity is the mother of invention and all that jazz.

Peering toward the tub, she watches the acid fall through the air and then splash onto already-bloody clothes. She observes like he's making a risotto instead of people/acid soup.

"That's pathetic. You wasted your energy killing him, dear. He would have suffered more alive."

She's certainly seen more formidable marinades from him. Bug comments earn her no response, but the idea he's wasted anything does have him looking up. She can easily imagine the displeased look behind buggy mask and glasses. Glug glug glug, the canister empties with a loud sound and March sets it back in place.

"I didn't want him alive." And whatever the Master wants, the Master gets. "I've plenty energy left, my dear. That is no concern of mine! The fire will take care of the work left to be done. All I need do is light the match."

She can deal with terrible smells or they can leave him alone for a while to rot in peace.

"Well, he's not alive now, so it's a moot point." She sips off the bottle for lack of a glass, then balances it on the wood next to herself. She unearths her lighter and idly starts to burn away at the cork, until it smolders and catches flame.

Being the Countess, she watches him instead of the slowly-burning cork in her hand.

"And how to do you plan to spend the rest of your day?" she asks, looking at him in a way reminiscent of when she found him interesting, when she wanted to spend time with him. She's not entirely sure why she wants to talk to him, actually, why he isn't currently registering as the obligation she normally finds him to be.

It must be boredom. And he is a certain level of dark she's not finding so easily here. There's comfort in it.

Grabbing the wine bottle, she hops down and stands near him, dropping the cork into the basin and letting the fire catch madly on the acid, the flame going from slow and steady to wild in just seconds.

He's pushed the mask up his face and begun to pull his gloves off when she expresses an interest in his plans. He wonders, first, what she must have planned to be asking him. Surely it's just because she needs something of him. Even if that something is nothing, he expects her to be expecting something of him, and he's ready to ask of her in return when the flaming cork makes its voyage.

Jaw dropped, James watches the flames lick over flesh with the usual glee reflecting in those dark eyes. Glee that turns to absolute adoration when he has his fill of that, for now, and gives her his full attention, all smiles.

"I have no plans I cannot rearrange, darling." Especially not now she's gone and helped with the disposal. He smiles, awash in flickering orange, a boyish devil. "What would you have me do?"

She's close enough that the air wafts hot against her cold skin, that the heat creates movement in the hair around her face. She only really casts a glance at the body, catching the always interesting moment where bone shows through a patch of flesh, skin and fat melted away.

He grins at her like a puppy with a wagging tail, and she looks up at him appraisingly. Considering. "Entertain me," she finally says, with no real other guidance in her tone. With conversation? With more murder? With pathetic displays of devotion and need? Who knows what she wants!!!

Well, she does want one thing, and that's to not be so close to the fire. They are both flammable and alcohol-soaked enough that it's kind of bad idea to hang out next to an open flame. So she wraps a finger around the strap of his apron and pulls, guides him away so that his toy can peacefully burn out on its own.

She might as well be wrapping her finger around his heart if the way he follows is anything to go by. One shuffling step first, the rest that follow eager, confident. He's not really sure where this is headed but if it keeps him close to Countess he is on board.

"I'd love to." Murder, conversation, pathetic displays of devotion and need, more, it's all good with James. As long as he holds her attention without having to be part of the trophy gallery he is quite ready. He is just short of drooling right now, after all. "Has your company left us?"

Raina, he means, mindlessly opening the door to the wine cellar as her fire rages on. Do they really have the run of the place, right to Countess' sacred spot?

"Oh, yes." The way Countess looks at him conveys surprise that he hadn't noticed. "She left to meet up with the doctor for Valentine's Day and she hasn't been back since. I'm sure she planned something special for him and it simply worked out well."

Is there a bad ending, really? Either they made up or he's probably dead, and that seems like a win-win, so obviously everything worked out for the best. Countess is happy for Raina. So happy. Perhaps she'll send a fruit bouquet.

She keeps pulling him, though she eventually lets go to allow him to just follow in her wake. "We've hardly spoken since you returned." By design. But now she... wants to talk? It's like opposite day.

Her wake is absolutely the best place to be, short of by her side. He is content in her wake for some time before he fixes himself to her, arm out as though they're just a young lady and young gentleman out on the town, pristine and with manners for days.

"Right you are, darling. We have, however, both been quite busy." He is trying to give her an out here. Not that she needs one, of course, but it's the polite thing to do. "I'm never too busy for you, though. You know that better than anyone."

Just gonna heap on praise in hopes this behavior of wanting him anywhere near her continues.

She takes his arm automatically and without thought, her hand resting delicately on his forearm. It's vaguely interesting that the way he calls her "darling" doesn't immediately make her want to cringe, that her insides don't squirm with displeasure over it. But she can only sense it in the distant way that she knows something feels off, but not what.

"I wouldn't have dragged you away if I thought you'd mind it," she answers, ignoring the out though a century of experience suggests she would take it. The dimming sunlight catches on her early evening couture as they walk by a window and turn the corner. "I need to hear more about what's happened in my absence. Tell me."

"A great deal of hullabaloo, mostly."

Tell her, she says, and he does not hesitate to do just that. Countess snaps her fingers in any way and March is there, jumping as high as he can, knife between his teeth and in his back. He may not have this chance again, he always thinks whenever it comes around, and does his best to prove that he can a Good Boy (limited time offer).

"I arranged for a public murder in October, you did miss that. An accidental decapitation. Very very tragic incident, faulty equipment, you know how it is." Super casual but he is very proud of his spooky Halloween episode, please approve!!! "We've had new residents move in. I would enjoy a few more...if the selection crosses our paths."

"Hullabaloo."

Her echo is absent-minded, because she's actually paying attention to him, only pausing once they reach the door of room 64. She fixes her eyes on his face and watches, completely invested in the conversation, and a man less optimistic than March would probably realize right around now that something's wrong. That her behavior is strange.

"Was it someone notable, then, to make it public? Or was it just for the shock value?" Countess's fingers skim the fabric of his shirt, then his wrist, her nails on his skin. "It's been quite a long time since I've seen you have real fun with it."

"He was someone who needed to die."

His face morphs into an old one, recognition, dawning rays of obsessive love lighting up his eyes like a blood red sunrise. She is acting strange but this strange has led her to touch him so wonderfully, he cannot be bothered to look past that in this moment. He opens the door without another word, smiling with all the dopey-eyed nature of a newlywed.

"Darling Raina has asked for my help with her doctor, too. We could have real fun with them, I know we could. I'd be honored to see him to his full potential together."

The first room is an office, filled with all sorts of papers but tidy. A curtain to one side separates that from his bedroom. There are men who live their work and then there's this, but Countess already knew March was tied down to his hotels.

His room looks much the same as it did before she was ported out, if perhaps a bit more lived in. More papers on the desk, more personal knick-knacks on the shelves. She supposes that it's to be expected, settling in over all those months she was gone. "Did he do something to offend you personally?"

She doesn't echo his expression, but then she never did, even when they were newlyweds. The look she has isn't the same as the hungry one she gets when she spies a new potential lover, someone she wants to take in and subsume -- no, she looks at March with a sense of appreciation, and it seems too impersonal to sit in his office, so she brushes aside the curtain and draws away to take a seat on the settee.

"Hmm. Does he have that potential, do you think? Or are you only toying with him?" She doesn't care, really, since she can have Raina for herself if it all backfires.

"Not me. Only people who knew to ask for my help."

He stops inside the frame, holding the curtain a moment or two as he watches her from behind. He is still a man, after all, he does take the simple pleasures of a man watching a woman's hips move in front of him. Just a few seconds and then he begins to strip of gloves and apron and bug mask. They are tossed on the nearest surface before he joins her.

"Oh, he does! It's buried and ignored, I believe, but very much there. He just needs the right hand to come in and give pull it out of him. He's been waiting in fear and I aim to give him relief."

He is the perfect person to do just that, perched with legs crossed, giving her ample personal space and looking at her with that ding dong grin of his. He's only being a gentleman, currently, because he's been given no indication to do anything else, but he would certainly jump at the opportunity, if given even the slightest cue.

"You're going to get yourself caught if you keep being so showy," she warns, and for once, it doesn't necessarily seem like she would actually find that funny or desirable. Because then he would be caught and she wants him near.

The sound of his heart beating resonates in her ears, and she's close again, only just far away enough to be a tease. Far enough that he can't say he was invited, but close enough that he can't say he wasn't. She's an expert at finding that distance.

"He doesn't have children. He has Raina back. What.... desperation is there for you to tap into?"

It's been so long since he's had even that dubious sort of invitation that March can't help himself. He shifts, and goes so far as to put a hand atop her knee.

"The threat Raina might be taken from him forever, of course. Suspect the man's been alone for more than he'd care to admit. Merely planting that idea," and so his fingers begin to walk up her leg to illustrate this point of planting, "is enough to set him on edge. He may try for help but in the end, you see, he won't have a real choice. He needs that push. You've seen them before, my darling. The ones who don't seem like much at all until they have that nudge."

He settles against the settee and stares at her, the dopey look slowly but surely crawling back into his eyes.

She doesn't flinch. Doesn't even glance down at his hand. She fixates on his face instead, and though she could literally take control of him with the twitch of an eyebrow, she doesn't.

Her fingers cover his, cold skin on that of a man now living again, and she purses her lips.

"Is she going to leave if he doesn't fall over the edge? Or are you going to kill her?" Ordinarily she'd be at his throat for even the potential of it, but there's something equally alluring about the idea of Raina dying. If Countess can't have her, then Chilton certainly shouldn't. He should be a good, patient boy, and lick up the scraps once Countess moves on.

March looks dopey and Countess looks like she's eyeing prey.

"I've no plans to kill her."

He leans an arm on the cushion behind him so he can prop his cheek up with his hand. It's rather picturesque, young man enamored with a lady, though the setting would likely be more a park bench, lake filled with ducks and other lovers on boats behind them. Only no one would paint these two with soft pastels and quiet blues. That would simply be obscene.

"Raina doesn't strike me as a woman who gives up. He may stumble at the edge once or twice, but he will jump right over it. I'd prefer sooner and not later, but. Ah. We cannot always have what we desire in quick timing! Waiting can be its own reward."

Just like getting to gaze upon his predatory wife is its own reward. Hearts are all but falling out of his eyes.

"Good. I'd rather she live. I'm quite fond."

She twists her wrist and links their fingers, digs her nails into the back of his hand as she leans toward him. "Although... James, what would happen if she died here? Would she stay? Forever?"

People have died in the Castile, but she's never bothered to ask if it has the same powers as the Cortez, if it feeds on souls and keeps them around for their misery. Understandably, she's been a bit more fascinated with the souls she already knew suddenly being alive and free to roam again.

"It would be terribly lonely if everyone eventually checks out."

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