Post by Campion on Feb 17, 2010 13:08:39 GMT -5
Early evening, not a lot to do, and he's still in search of other certain capos. Good place to check, as always, is the Lamb. Campion enters the tavern, glancing around for any sign of the be-monocled member of their ranks, and his search comes up empty. Ah well. Though there IS another already present. Hands in his pockets, he strolls over to where the gnome is sitting. "Good evening, Lilifred. I don't suppose you've seen Natharai around, have you?"
Lilifred doesn't look up from her cheap, dime-store serial. She's got her feet propped up on the table (sitting on several thick texts apparently borrowed from the warlocks downstairs) and an unlit cigar between her teeth. "Prof's busy," she grunts, flipping a page idly, "So take a seat."
He doesn't expect the invitation, and it makes him blink. But, well. If she's being sociable, or maybe she has something in particular to say, might as well. He shrugs and pulls out a chair (his usual one) and sits himself down. "I trust you've been keeping busy as well."
Another page turns absently, "When am I not busy? It's all business in Bumblehurst land, you know." She flips yet another page. Is she even reading that? Suddenly, she glances up and looks him over and a slight frown. With a snap of her wrist she gestures to Jeral, "Hey! Barkeep- fetch a drink for Campy, huh?"
The mention of her last name idly reminds him of the conversation he and Tezzy had once. What does it mean? How does one bumble a hurst? Bringing THAT up, however, seems a little too jovial and absurd for the moment. This IS the first time he's been alone with her in ages. And the 'tooth incident' was recently refreshed in HIS mind, what with running into and speaking with Lexie just a few days prior. When she orders a drink, Campion raises an eyebrow. "Generous of you," he mutters, sounding...skeptical.
Lilifred shrugs as Jeral brings the drink over, snapping her book shut and finally lighting her cigar. "I can afford to be generous, so why not. We're doing good right now. I want to celebrate." she smiles sincerely before taking the first draw off the cigar. "Besides," she adds, easing back into her seat, "I didn't want you to think I was bitter about the whole tooth thing."
Well, there it goes. He sighs, leaning on the table with his elbows. "I'm not proud of that. I-...Hnn." Spouting justification seems like too little, too late. And who wants to hear about the whys and hows of why someone's friend was hurt? He doesn't want to justify him being a beast, but he doesn't want to apologize either. He needs to shoulder this. "She DID say some things about the Kamil that could not pass, however. That whole damn night was a disaster."
Lilifred's smile falters for just a half second and she shrugs, opening her book again. It looks really exciting! Promising of daring adventure and romance in Stranglethron Vale! "I told you," she sighs a little irritably, "I'm not bitter."
"Glad to hear it," the paladin mumbles, looking away. A cigarette is fetched and put between his lips as he gets a match. "Sounds like she's keeping busy as well." This is awkward. He half wishes he hadn't sat down by now. But making ammends is appealing. If he could figure out how to do it without discrediting his 'cred' in front of her. Since Lilifred seems to be just as wrapped up in keeping an 'image' within the Kamil present and running. He's not going to show his throat anymore than he already has in the past.
Lilifred turns the page over and puffs out a shaky smoke ring, "Stop making this so damn awkward, Campy, and drink your fekking booze, huh?" she spares him an amused and familiar grin over the edge of her novel.
He frowns at her, and then takes a drink in a 'THERE, happy now?' gesture. "I'm just saying. It's good to see her...applying herself. We don't need another Merosiel in this operation." Maaan, Merosiel. The thought of THAT one gets him to drink more.
"Mmm," Lilifred mutters flatly. The grin has melted into a serious line and she's just staring at Campion expectantly.
Campion is a slow drinker. One of those irritating people that just nurses it for a time, but pressure of being around Lilifred and recollection of Merosiel and all THAT baggage he presently represents gets him to drain the better part of it right off. Or maybe if he just finishes the drink, he can excuse himself that much more quickly. Lilifred asked him to sit, but refuses to talk. This is annoying. The drink is finished and Campion sets to trying to light the cigarette he'd fetched earlier. But his fingers kind of aren't...cooperating. It's not even his left; he's gotten into the habit of not using that hand for the fiddly, fine-tuned jobs. But he can't even strike the match properly. He frowns, even as his vision starts to double. This? Isn't right...
This time when Lilifred shuts the book it's a triumphant action. Oh, the grin is back again but it's unpleasant this time. Shark-like and perhaps a little GIDDY. "Oh good, that was faster than I thought." she nods appraisingly and taps her cigar against her lips, "I was half afraid you'd notice considering brewing shit like this day in and day out is your job."
He's not quite catching what she's saying, given that he's NOW noticed how his vision is going blotchy and blurry. And THAT'S not right at all. Campion holds out his hands and examines them with a frown, as if they're the problem here. They WERE being all useless, after all, and now they're kind of tingly. He wobbles in his seat, even as he's still frowning at his fingers. "L-Lilifred...?" Sounds are starting to go muffled and cacophonic, meaningless noises rather than words or sounds.
If Jarel seems at all concerned or surprised by Campion's distress he's not showing it. He washes glasses behind the counter calmly, ever in the pocket of whichever Kamil Capo handles his protection cheques.
Lilifred clambers on top of the table to get a better view of the paladin as he rapidly slips into unconciousness. She leans over him, still grinning wide and nasty, "So anyways, Campy. When I said I wasn't bitter?" she pauses artfully, tapping a bit of ash from her cigar into his eyes before finishing her thought, "Well. I was lying."
He looks up, bleary and not really being able to see at all anymore. Pupils are dilated uselessly against the closing, chemical darkness, and he stares slack-jawed at the gnome. He can't see her past the black and blotches, but he can make out that grin. And it's the last thing he sees before he topples out of his chair in a heap. He stirs his numb limbs a few times in some pointless attempt to stand or escape, but soon goes still, passed clean out.
--------------------------
She's gotten through three whole cigars waiting for him to wake up and she's reminded fleetingly of that old goblish bit of wisdom, 'Time is money, friend!'. With an impatient growl, she whirls around and kicks Campion square in the knee, "Oh, for fek's sake, wake the hell up! I don't got all day!"
He grunts and stirs at the kicking, head jerking forward. He opens his eyes slowly, but his vision is still blotchy and spotty. He strains them, trying to get it to clear. But even when it DOES, he still sees nothing but black. He blinks, groaning in confusion, blinking to ensure he IS seeing, that his eyes ARE open. That they're still THERE. He attempts to rub at his face, but his hands still aren't obeying, it seems. He can't lift them. He can't SEE...
"Good morning, sunshine." Lilifred quips.
He grunts again at hearing a voice. A woman's voice? Lilifred's. He can't see her, but he knows that voice. Things are slowly slipping back into place. He'd been talking to her, and he had a drink, and now he's here. He's here and he can't SEE, he can't MOVE. He keeps trying to raise his hands to his face, but only now he's noticing there's an obstruction. They're pinned or held back, he can't tell which, but he can't MOVE, and he can't see. "Lil...?" He croaks her name uncertainly, unsure if that's her, hoping she'll help, that she'll explain.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm Lilifred. Take your time, Campy. I'm sure this must all be very confusing for you." Lilifred is jovially condescending at the best of times but right now, her voice is dripping utter contempt. Strange, because despite all the words that have passed between them- even the worst of them- she's never been disrespectful. Preachy and "disappointed" sure, but not like this.
"I'm pretty good at tying knots so if you keep struggling you're just gonna strain something." Her tone is flat and weary. Let's get on with this already.
Campion doesn't know what knots have to do with anything, but he DOES keep straining at what's got him held back. The connection isn't made between knots being tied and him being unable to move. It's still a sluggish straining at his bound wrists, and his chin his resting on his chest. Clarity returns ever so slowly, but that's not much of a help. He's only noticing now that, on top of being unable to see, there's something close to his face, something cinched around his neck. He tries to stand, but his ankles are bound as well. These details coming into focus aren't helping in the least.
"...Lilifred. Lilifred, this is insane. Lilifred, let me go." The bound paladin keeps saying her name, as if that'll help his pleas. He sounds mildly irritated is all right now, groggy. And he keeps trying to get his hands free.
"I'll let you go," Lilifred promises, "After we've had a little heart to heart." she begins to pace again, trailing smoke behind her, "After all- you're the one who made it clear to me that we have to deal with rabid DOGS in the midst of our organization."
He's silent for a moment, nothing but the sound of his breathing, deep and controlled, behind that sack tied over his head. His mind is racing to catch up, but it keeps veering to the fact he's TRAPPED. Keep calm, keep rational, talk to her. Talk to her and she'll let you go. "I'm under control." A response to her statement, or telling that to himself? Maybe both. "Lilifred, it was-...It's what the Kamil expects of us. I'm not proud of it. I didn't mean to-..." He cuts off as he makes a quiet, tight-throated grunt, pulling at his bonds again. Keep calm, keep rational...
Her pacing stops abruptly and she spins on her heel, fuming. Not that he can see her anger, but it makes her feel better to be visibly raging anyways. "What the Kamil EXPECTS of us!?" she repeats, "Don't give me that shit, Campion. You did it because you WANTED to."
She stops and catches her breath, gathers her thoughts. He did it because he wanted to and she's doing this because she wants to. Maybe it IS what the Kamil expects of them; for all its poetry about family and devotion, isn't it better to have your attack dogs at each other's throats? In an organization where anyone can leave in a box at any time no reason to get so attached, huh?
"You did it because you wanted to," she said again, "Because you were angry and you were waiting for an excuse to take it out on someone."
The man's voice is guttural now, catching in hesitation as he expends too much focus and concentration on just breathing, and it gets in the way of getting WORDS out. "N-nnno, no, please. Please, Lilifred. Please, I swear. I didn't want to. I have to be wh-...What the Kamil expects of me. I-...I won't do it again." Promises, while sincere, are a too little, too late. It doesn't undo the beatings or the removed tooth, after all. "Lilifred, PLEASE let me go." His voice has a note of strain now.
Lilifred is less than impressed with Campion's begging. She didn't expect it to be like this. So many excuses and... is he pleading? A petulant frown dips down from either edge of her mouth and she lets her hands fall to the side, cigar ash sprinkling on around her boots like snow.
"What do you think I'm going to do to you, Campy?" She asked honestly. "You're sounding a little desperate. S'not like I'm going to KILL you. If I'd wanted to do that," she snorts, "I'd have put you in a box."
Campion's moving a bit more now, sluggish pulls at his bonds growing more fitful, more desperate. She's asking what he thinks she's going to DO? She means there's MORE beyond this? Maybe it's because he's presently trapped like this, but he can't think of anything that could make this worse. He'd endure or give ANYTHING right now just to be set free.
It's getting harder to breathe, and the fabric of his 'mask' is starting to puff in and out with the labour of it. "Lilifred, please." Control is starting to slip. He's TRAPPED, it's dark, and he can't see and he can't breathe and he can't move. "Please, I didn't want-...I won't-...Lilifred, PLEASE. I can't BREATHE..."
Lilifred quirks an eyebrow, "... now that's just silly. That bag is perfectly breathable material! I tested it myself!' she did too! She really doesn't mean to kill him.
He moans, a frightened, despairing sound. Behind the mask, his eyes are open wide, straining against the cloth keeping him in the dark. "Please, I'm-...I'm s-sorry." He finally cracks; he said he wouldn't apologize, because he can't go back on what he's done. He HATES himself for it, he HATES that he did it, but he HAS to preserve that facade of being someone to be feared and respected in the Kamil, he CAN'T go back on it, even though he wants to.
But all of that doesn't matter NOW. He will apologize, he will beg, if it just gets him OUT. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm s-so-sorry, I'm sorryyyy..."
Lilifred stays quite still, examining Campion with a mixture of trepidition and fascination. Slowly, the pieces start to fall into place- of course, of course- dear Miles isn't afraid of her (Lilifred must admit, she feels the slightest tinge of disappointment)... he's afraid of the dark, or small spaces, of not being able to move...
As he begs, she taps her chin. She'd had an inkling that Campion wasn't the kind of guy who appreciated waking up with a bag tied over his head but there was no way to know that he'd break so fast. The whole scenario was descending quickly into a torture session and she-....
'Don't do anything too rash...' Marton's words ring so clearly in her mind he might as well have been right there watching her do this terrible thing. She considers briefly how to use Campion's panic to her advantage but just as brieflty she imagines what Marton would say if he knew she did something like this. She imagines the look Elexine would have had before she died and that's enough to make her feel guilty.
"Okay, okay," the gnome mutters hesitantly, tucking her cigar haphazardly behind one ear. She approaches him cautiously and loosens the tie on the sack.
The theme of 'too little, too late' seems to be turning into a running one. Even as she's mulling this all over, his breathing grows more broken, soon giving way to a ragged sob by the time she approaches. The cinching loosening around his neck does very little for him, because there's still something close around his face, he's still in the dark, he's still TRAPPED.
The levee's been a delicate one ever since he came back from Icecrown, and it's broken now. He's lost the thread of the situation outside of the fact he's trapped and can't move, and he's being punished. "Oh Light, please, What did I do? What did I do wrong!? What did I do wrong, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again! I won't, I swear, please! PLEASE! LET ME OUT! Please, please, please, please, I won't do it again, I'm SORRY!"
The force of Campion's plea makes Lilifred wince. She's not as good at inflicting pain as she should be considering her occupation. In one swoop, she pulls the sack off completely and tries not to look apologetic.
The sack coming off prompts a sharp and deep reflexive gasp, like he'd been underwater for too long. But Campion's eyes keep rolling and remain wide, like a frightened animal. His head falls to the back of the chair, and he stares upward, mouth open and still gasping.
It's not much of an improvement, where they are. From being trapped behind a sack to being trapped in a a small catacomb's room. The walls are too close, it's too dark, he still can't move, he can't BREATHE. The only sound he makes now is a weak, scared whimper in the back of his throat. He knows how this works, he had to do this for YEARS. This was the lesson he learned quickly in childhood; you aren't let go until you're quiet, until you can shut up, grow a pair, and take it like a man. He can be quiet. He'll stop screaming and begging, and then he'll be let go.
Lilifred backs off, scrunching the sack up in her hands anxiously. This feels like a mistake already and she's not even begun. A pinch of ash falls out of the corner of her vision and pools on her shoulder, reminding her that her cigar's still lit and burning a line to her hair. She snatches it back and takes a drag, tossing the sack behind her casually. Okay, I can do this.
"... get ahold of yourself, Campion."
His response is another thin moan made in the back of his throat, still staring upward blindly. He's not here anymore, not really. There's a recess of his mind that was carved out decades ago. The hysterics and the panic come, but there's a little place he goes mentally that's nothing but an internal loop of prayers, of reminders of the rules. Man up and grow a pair. Man up, man up, man up. The virtue of tenacity. Endure it. Endure it. Light hold me, Light forgive me.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, what did I do, I won't do it again, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." It's a rambling whisper, the same he always gave. He blinks slowly, causing tears to finally spill unfelt. He's not here anymore, not really.
"Oh fek," Lilifred whispers under her breath. She fucked this up brilliantly! She grinds a palm into her forehead, wracking her brain for ideas to snap Campion out of it.
"Hey!" The gnome flails her arms out desperately, "Campy, listen to me! Stop fekking apologizing, you're making me feel like a monster here!"
The paladin jerks, a spastic strain again at the bonds, at those words. A sharp keyword that's like a splash of cold water, jolting him partway to the present again. He gasps again, shuddering and ragged. "M-Monster...I'm a monster and I'm SORRY, I'm sorry! I don't know what you WANT from me, and I'm SORRY! I'm trying, I'm trying, but I CAN'T! It's too late...!"
"N-no, no-" Lilifred shakes her head vehemently, "You're not listening to me. C'mon, Campion, this is serious business, calm. The. Hell. Down."
This is a contradiction to The Rules of How This Works; keeping quiet is what lets you go, but she wants to talk to him. He's uncertain if this is a trap. Taunt him into doing just what he shouldn't be to make it end, but he's desperate. "I'm calm, I'm calm, I'm calm, please let me go, I'm calm, please..." He is NOT calm, his chest is rising and falling rapidly in shallow, desperate breaths, but he'll say anything, do anything, allow anything at this point.
Lilifred has eyes and definitely notices that he's lying through his teeth. She takes a stoic drag from her cigar and exhales slowly, "Look, I ain't letting you go until we talk and we can't talk until you calm down. For fek's sake, Campion, you're a grown man."
Oh Light. The spike of deep, cold and abiding shame for that chiding stabs straight through his chest and pins his heart to his ribs. Man up and grow a pair.
He shuts his eyes, trying to will calm and control through the panic and fear. He is pathetic. He is a miserable wretch not good for anything, and there's no undoing it now. She's seen him for what he is for ages now. Just the final nail in the coffin here. He's trembling and his eyes are still closed, but he's doing his very best to be calm, just like she asked. He can do that. Can't he prove himself just with THIS small, stupid request?
What Lilifred probably meant through her brusque and prickly words is: 'Campion, you're better than this'. She almost says that out loud, but bites back on it. This isn't a therapy session for dear Miles, she reminds herself, this is about equivalent exchange. She watches him tremble and waits for the shift in his countenance.
"All this crying and begging and trembling is for children," she continues, "We're both adults here and we're both criminals. We can't just wiggle our way out of shit with a few whimpers and tears. You've lived through worst than this." She's trying to be encouraging without being kind and that's a task not easily accomplished in a situation like this. Why did Campion have to go and show all his weakness right off the bat like this? It reminds her that, despite everything, she DOES care about him and that's pretty obnoxious to say the least. Her cigar's nearly burnt to the butt and she crushes it under her boot, smoothly producing a new one as she does so.
Clarity is always a fucking curse in these situations. He SHOULD be taking this like an adult. Why CAN'T he!? Why can't he be a fucking MAN about this!? Why does it always make him lose his damn mind now so easily? Granted, small places, even before, made him fall apart, but no excuse. She's saying there's no excuse for being as ruined as he is. He should be USED to this, he should see this shit COMING. He HAS been through worse.
Light, but he is a WRETCH.
"F-Fuck," he curses hoarsely, his throat gone tight. He can't STOP shaking now, and now everything he can't control about his frightened reactions is making him frustrated, the tears now gone bitter. "I'm-...I c-can't DO this anymore. I'm broken. I'm broken, I can't-...Can't be a p-paladin, can't be Kamil. Look at me, LOOK AT ME."
Tobacco flavour lingering comfortingly in her throat, Lilifred curls her free hand into a loose fist attempting to find a bit of the steel in her nature that gave her the gall to drug and drag a man at least three times her mass in the first place. She isn't equipped to deal with this either kindly or cruelly. There is a knife at her side and a plan in her head that runs on mathematical percision. Lil's good with numbers but sometimes she forgets to plan for the unknown variable.
She speaks very carefully, "Campion... are you saying that you want to quit?" it's a loaded question; the Kamil is the one job you can't quit.
The FIRST answer that springs to mind is that he wants to DIE, but he knows that stupid, that's melodramatic, and that is NOT the answer either way.
He's trying to be better, but there's always these things, these little steel-trap fears that tear off the patches to his resolve and thoughts, open floodgates to wretched emotions and senseless horror. Like being TRAPPED, oh Light, he still can't MOVE. But he's given up struggling. He just slumps in the chair and still stares upward. "N-NO. You're all I have, you're all I have left, but I'm-...Oh Light. I don't know, I don't KNOW! I'm unfit for anything else, I can't strive for better after what I've done. I'm too broken, I'm too far g-gone." He laughs a high, incredulous, and humourless laugh that chokes off after so long. Look at him, such a wreck.
Lilifred takes another long drag off her cigar and waits a few beats before replying. "Hey, Campy." she flicks her wrist dismissively and raises her chin, "Listen to the words coming out of your mouth before you say them, okay? 'All you've got left'? Orc shit. You're better than this life. What the hell do you mean you ain't fit for anything else?"
He groans, a strained sound. He's still scared out of his fucking mind; this room is too SMALL and he still can't MOVE. His heart is hammering in his chest that feels too tight, and he still can't properly breathe. But fear just fuels frustration now.
"Y-YOU said it! YOU said it ages ago! I'm u-unfit to be a paladin, I'm too WRETCHED, too much of a horrid person, and now I'm too BROKEN! I want to be, I keep trying to be, but I know I'm u-unfit. But I can't be Kamil either. I tried, I tried, but Lexin showed that I CAN'T. That warlock showed that I can't. I'm too broken even for THIS. I can't be virtuous enough, I can't be cruel enough, SO WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?!" He SCREAMS it at Lilifred, finally lifting his head to stare at her through furious tears.
Yelling! Excellent! THIS is what she wanted. Yelling is definitely more in her element and she would be smiling if Campion wasn't saying such dumbshit things. "Dammnit, Campy!" She inhales sharply, gritting her teeth and squishing her poor cogar between two very irritated fingers,
"You selfish, self-pitying ASSHOLE. I never said that you weren't fit to be a fekking paladin! I said that your fekking BEHAVIOUR wasn't fit for YOU. I told you to live up to your fekking ideals! Being a hypocrite ain't the same thing as being worthless."
"You don't know SHIT-ALL about me, Lilifred!" Campion bellows back. He's shaking harder now, still from nerves and fear, still from straining against his bonds, now from frustration and anger as well.
"Wh-Who are YOU to hold me to ideals?! WHO'S ideals!? You don't even give two squirts of piss about the faith and the Light, why would YOU care if I measured up or not? Why are you holding me to ANYTHING?!" LIGHT, but he wishes he could MOVE. That fact now coupled with his anger is making his head buzz.
Ah, now there's a brilliant thread of anger- exactly what she was looking for, Campion's fucking BACKBONE. His sudden snap mood change is like a wine stain on freshly-washed linen and she would be relieved that he's finally reacting like a man drugged and bound should, except that his words are drudging up a sharp and deep well of guilt in HER. C'mon, Lilifred, keep your shit together. This is about HIM, not you.
"This is about what I said before. I... I already apologized for that. This is about..." it's about Lexie, "- t-this is about-" she stumbles over her words, suddenly at a loss for them. What is this about? She realizes that her hands are shaking as well, but that's impossible. She's been so calm, so collected this whole time, right?
When HER nerve falters, so does his. Anger is outweighed by fear and panic again, feeling helpless and hurt in a fresh wave. It makes his stomach sick and knotted, and the muscles in his arms and legs ache from all the useless straining. Campion's head falls back again, and he breathes. Please be calm. Please be calm. Please, please, please. He's whispering it again without knowing it. "...Please untie me," he croaks, hesitant and small. "I-...I can't think like this. Please. I can't breathe like this..."
Once again, Lil's eyebrow quirks. With a weak snicker, she says: "Campion, air doesn't travel through your wrists."
Her mockery makes him groan helplessly. Oh Light, such a wretch. "Lilifred, please. PLEASE..." But he gives up after so long, sagging against his bonds, going back to concentrating on breathing.
This shouldn't be a big deal. Who's scared of shit like small spaces and rats? Children; stupid children. His rumination on this might not have been so bad if he wasn't muttering this all beneath his breath.
Lilifred was learning a little more than she needed to know about Campion today. There was no way this wasn't going to be awkward in retrospect. Rats, small spaces... Campy was right, they were childish fears but...
"Well, it ain't always easy to grow out of our childhoods, huh." she takes a hit of tobacco and sighs, "Still, you can't let it just nail you to the fekking fence, otherwise your father wins."
WELL. THAT'S another sharp dose of clarity. It'd been a blind terror up until now, just his animal reactions to being trapped lovingly cultivated over the years. But now it has a face and a voice, the one core of all this trauma now blatantly at the front of his mind, the one he's been actively avoiding having to dwell on because he knows he can't bear it, not with everything ELSE. His eyes go wide and he moans in fright and despair. "Please don't..." is all he manages get out past his closing throat.
Lilifred shakes her head and waves her cigar in Campy's face, "Not this again. Where the hell is the anger? You're right- I don't have any fekking right to question your morals, your judgement or what the hell you live up to. What the fuck is this, folding like a freaking deck of cards?" c'mon, Campy. Be angry again. It'll be so much easier to do what I have to do if you're ANGRY.
"I d-don't-...Please. Please. Just end this. Please, take what you want, do what you want, PLEASE, just let me GO!" Campion wants nothing more to be able to MOVE again, to be out of this small, dank, dark room, now rank with memories of similar treatment years ago. And what of other times being left to rot in stone rooms? His induction? Where he earned the whipmarks that now stripe his back? The tomb-like, frigid barracks room back in the Scarlet Harbour?
"Just let me go, please, PLEASE. Lilifred, I-I-I-...If I could take it back, I would. I should have never done it. I was wrong, I WAS WRONG. It wasn't my place, it wasn't my job, I went too far. I won't do it again, I swear it, I SWEAR IT."
"I don't want you to SWEAR it!" Lilifred shouts, "I don't want any apologies or any damn promises! I want back what you took from me!"
The man's mind races, trying to make sense of what she's saying. What she wants. "I'll give it back. Anything, what did I take. Please, Lilifred, please. Let me make it right again..."
"You ca-" she yells again, but stops herself and takes a deep breath, spinning around so she doesn't have to look at Campion's pathetic writhing anymore. Dammnit. He's not making any sense, she's not making any sense. This is stupid and it's ugly and she can't exactly just turn around, cut him free and say: 'Oops, sorry. This never happened'.
So instead, she asks him again: "Campion. Do you want to quit the Kamil?"
That question again. There is no answer but ragged breathing for a time. Then a quiet, hesitant, "...N-No. The Kamil is my family. YOU'RE my family, Lilifred..." The statement carries a certain note of pain, a hint of betrayal. "I want to stay, I want to take care of you all. I was wrong, and I have to make it right. Lilifred, fa-family doesn't hurt one another. I was wrong, and I don't want to be like him, PLEASE."
Lilifred is quiet a moment. She stares at the dirty cobblestone beneath her and smokes throughtfully, "... the Kamil isn't my family, Campion." she corrects herself, "It WASN'T my family. My family is... it's... Elexine... Lexie is my family and now she is Kamil and now I have no choice."
She bites her lip worriedly, knowing that she might be revealing too much here, "... Before, I had a choice."
There's always that moment of nothing but laboured breathing as he tries to piece together what she's saying. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt her. Lilifred, It was sick, it was wrong. I c-can't take it back. But please. You ARE family to me. She is as well. I'll never harm her again. I'll never harm ANY of them again, because you're the only family I've ever HAD, and family isn't supposed to HURT one another..." His voice chokes. This is still striking to close to raw, exposed nerves.
Lilifred is shaking her head again. He still doesn't get it. But that's fine- she has no clue what the fuck she's trying to prove here anymore. She sets her jaw firmly, mouth a stern line, and tosses her cigar. With a steeled determination, she spins and takes steady, even strides around the bound paladin,
"Fine," she grunts, "Then let's get this over with."
Campion's numb to the present in most ways. Whatever she does, it doesn't matter. If it ends with him getting free, that's all he cares about. His eyes are closed now, head still resting on the back of the chair, chest rising and falling quickly.
She grabs one of his palms, twisting his wrist at a bit of an unnatural angle, "Damn," she mutters under her breath, "You had to make this so difficult..."
Louder, she adds, "How was it the old guard punish their own? Is it a specific finger I need to take?"
His hand tenses in hers, but only at the uncomfortable twist. Finger flex, then relax, though they shake. "Lilifred..." He doesn't know the answer either way, of course. She's going to take a finger, and the thought makes him sick, but only because he deserves this. Only because she views him with nothing but disgust.
Lilifred glances up at Campion furitively, "What? You're not going to argue? Aren't you at least going to beg?" Wincing before she does it, she grabs his index finger and bends it back until she hears a sick, cracking noise.
Campion cries out, of course, at the break. But he bites it back, squeezing his eyes shut, biting his lower lip. And he breathes a shaky laugh. Pain has a funny way of making you lucid. "Mm-M-Muh...Marton talked about leaving. A-Are you leaving together...?" It's a sweet thought. Useless and pointless, because he knows the relentless dogs of the Kamil and how they find people who don't want to be found. But it's still sweet.
Is that damned sugary sentiment and sincerity in Campion's voice? For a moment, Lilifred is so blindingly angry that she grabs the next finger and breaks it easily just out of spite. "Yeah, we were going to leave together," she hisses, "But he doesn't know that. And he doesn't need to know it because it's not going to happen."
He cries out again at the sudden, second break and sweat is beginning to form on his brow from the pain of it. But pain is negligible in comparison to fear and trauma. It masks it and makes him able to think. "I w-wish he could. I wish YOU could, s-since you're so miserable. I can't leave. C-Couldn't even if I wanted. I would leave too many behind, th-the ones that I'm being kept for in the first place. I know Yeva's game. I-I-I'm not kept for the drugs, I'm kept as-...as COLLATERAL."
He swallows hard, his voice shaking. "...I wish you could leave. This isn't you. Neither of us belong here, doing these things, and yet..." His fingers twitch; out of reflex, or demonstrating just what it is she shouldn't be doing?
Lilifred completely glosses over whatever else the Paladin is saying and zeroes in on the word 'collateral'. Without even realizing it, she breaks a third finger as she asks, somewhat bewildered, "What?"
The third break only gets a strained grunt, another hard swallow before he speaks again. This whole thing is making him feel so ill; his skin is crawling and he feels cold.
"Wh-What. We don't belong h-here. I'm here b-because I'm an addict, and now I'm here because I keep the rest in line. I-I'm kept in line when Grinne gets shot or Auroran gets cut. She needs me functioning or I'm no use. If they do something wrong, she KNOWS I only have to be hurt and it'll stop..."
He groans, his twisted fingers twitching again. "I hate it. I hate it, Lilifred."
She let's his hand loose and turns this over in her head a few times. She'd been aware that Campion's association with the Kamil came about through and because of his dirty little habit, but that Yeva would promote someone like him- a damned liability like him- just to keep firm reign on the rest of her Capos...
Lilifred starts to laugh.
The laughter, of course, confuses the hell out of Campion. And frightens him. Only NOW does he start to wonder what he's said, if it was too much. She's a fucking GNOME; they live for calculation and strategy. She said she wants to leave. What if she's now finding some connection between her way out and his supposed collateral status? "L-Lilifred..." The bare-faced fear is plain in his voice.
The lauhgter won't stop. She's shaking with it as she pulls the knife from her belt and begins to cut Campion free, "Of c-course," she sputters, "OF course." Lilifred isn't explaining herself- it's hard to do through the exhausted mirth. It feels good to laugh this honestly, even if it is over something so terrible. She tries to remember the last time she laughed freely and it's a hard thing to do.
The paladin doesn't move even as the ropes fall away. He wants to RUN. he wants to scramble up those steps as fast as he can manage, collapse somewhere out in the open, clean air. Maybe puke his damn, fool guts out, then try and find someone to reset his fingers because he's shaking too much to do it on his own. But he's frozen in place, waiting to see where this is going, what she wants.
Lilifred ambles into Campion's view, still laughing, with a knife in one hand and frayed rope in the other. She shakes her head and wipes a tear from the corner of one eye, "Look at us." she chortles, smacking her palm and knife-handle to her forehead, "Look how we're acting! And for what? For who? Don't you get it- I was right all along!"
Lilifred seems proud of her proved hypothesis, even if she's being kind of irritatingly vague about it.
He stares at her, wide-eyed and mute, hardly understanding what she's on about. After all he's been through down here, he's starting to feel like the victim of blunt force trauma to the head. Nothing makes sense, everything make him feel dizzy and sick.
The gnome tips her head, perplexed. What, Campy- you haven't figured it out? Well, that's not fair, so she reveals the reason for her amusement: "Don't you GET it!" she repeats for emphasis, "Yeva. Is. A. Moron!"
Well, okay, maybe that's a bit too far. If Lilifred were being honest with herself she would have to admit that Yeva at least knows what she's doing at the basic level. She knows the mafia business and she knows what strings to pull, but nevertheless death or war or the damned crash of the Exodar must have robbed her of some savvy because... "Campion." Lilifred spreads her arms jubilantly, "Don't you get it? Yeva's a moron!"
However, Campion just stares at her now. He's almost certain he's hallucinating at this point. What she's saying makes little to no sense, and is mob blasphemy at that. His attention is diverted when he finally, shakily pulls his hands out from behind himself, looking down with blank dismay at his mangled fingers and rope-raw wrists.
"Oh, right. Your feet!" Lilifred snaps out of her reverie and goes to cut the rope binding Campion's feet. There, now he's free. She leans back on her heels and meets his gaze seriously. There's still laughter on her tongue, but this isn't a flippant topic, "So, are you just going to sit there?"
She's out of her mind. Or maybe he is. Both of them are. Light. Fuck. He looks up from his hands to her. Confused. Just so very, very confused. "What...should I do?" What the HELL is even going on anymore.
Lilifred obviously isn't just talking about the chair. She says it again, "Are you just going to sit there? I can't tell you what to do, Campy. You gotta make up your mind. So are you going to sit there and be collateral?"
She's full of ideas but none of them are crystallizing into anything usable. Campion is collateral but there is no one in the Azerothian branch of the Kamil more loyal to Yeva than to Campy, is there? And suddenly it hits Lilifred: who the hell ARE they afraid of?
Meanwhile, Campion seems to be taking this prompt of 'getting up' as the best direction he's going to get right now. He can follow orders. It's easier when you're messed up and scared than having to decide what else to do. So he stands, his mangled hand held close to his chest. And he takes a few tottering steps towards the staircase...But he doesn't make it far before he doubles over and retches. Aaaand now he's sick all over the floor. Wonderful.
Lilifred leans to the side to watch Campion retch for some reason. She regrets it immediately, furrowing her brow. There's guilt nibbling at her pretty ferociously ("I did that to him"), but more than that, she actually wants him to answer her question. She phrases it differently.
"Campion," she tries again when he's finished throwing up, "What happens when Yeva decides to punish you? Who does it? Does Natharai do it? Aleyna? Smiley is the head of enforcement, it's his job, right?"
She rolls back her shoulders and digs for another cigar. D-damn, is she out? "Her old guard thugs, then? Sure, they have no sentimentality, but they'd have to touch you first, right?"
"We are family, Campy. You're right about that. But we're YOUR family, not hers."
He spits and coughs, shakily wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. "I-It doesn't make a difference. She's got me. Either she hurts me to keep them, or she hurts them to keep me. It doesn't matter, Lilifred. I'm-...I just want to stop being something that hurts the family." He spits again, moaning slightly in his nausea. "We're all stuck here, and I want to keep u-us as safe as we can be."
'Your soul burns as the Naaru does...' Lilifred's fingers rest on her chest, just above her tattoo, "... I..." her voice falters a moment before she manages, "Tattoos aren't forever, y'know. You can remove them. You have to sear your skin and it hurts more than getting them burnt in, but you can do it."
The paladin laughs shakily. He's feeling better, for what very little that's worth, just no longer being bound. He's sick, his fingers are broken, he feels like he's been through hell, his head is pounding from the drugs, but he's lucid again at least.
"I don't even know what you think of me anymore," he mutters. "Look down on me for w-wanting or having to stay? Think I'm weak for crying and shaking like a child through all of this, for being so fucking BROKEN? Hate me for what I'd done to L-Lexie? You came and gloated when I was back from Icecrown, for losing my faith, b-but you still rail on me for not keeping it..." He's gone quiet by the time he trails off.
Gloated? Oh fek, there goes all the good cheer Lilifred had accumulated from realizing Yeva's error. Is that really what he thought? She let's her eyes fall half lidded and tugs at one of her earrings (she's wearing her old, tarnished pair today; for some reason it seemed wrong to wear the ones Marton gave her to a torture session), ashamed. She opens her mouth to explain herself but decides better of it. There's no point- there's a better way to explain everything.
"... Why do you think I'm in the Kamil?" she asks softly.
"I don't know. S-Same reason we all are?" He hugs his injured hand closer to his chest. "No where else to go. No one else who wants us."
Lilifred laughs some more, weakly and ironically this time, "No offense, but I had a future. I was really good at what I did."
"Yeah, me too," the paladin says numbly. "But then...you know. Plague. Home falls to the Lich King. Order is run by demons. The usual." He deadpans this in weary sarcasm.
"The Kamil isn't the only place to run, Campy." Lilifred answers numbly. "I'm here because I don't like myself very much." There. She said it.
He straightens up and turns to look back at her, slightly bewildered. Lilifred? The sassy little gnome lady with a big mouth, a big plan, and a big gun? The one who is always, despite her physical size, a looming paragon of seeming self-confidence?
The paladin has stumbled over to where she's standing before he realizes he's done it, and drops to his knees. At her level now. And he looks at her with sad sympathy. "Same boat, huh," he says quietly.
She's not going to tear up. It's not fucking happening, "Y-you asked me... what I must t-think of you..." she tugs at the earring harder, hard enough it stings a little, "B-but all you've done is-... is behave like anyone with a f-freaking functioning metaphorical heart w-would. B-but I..." Lilifred raises her eyes to the low ceiling and it's not to keep a stray tear from rolling down her face, no it most certainly isn't.
"Campion, I just... t-this job is killing me. I-it's turning me into a monster. Y-you humans turn into dogs but I guess gnomes t-turn into machines or whatever. I j-just broke your fingers. I-I tortured you. I suggested that w-we kill Merosiel e-even though he's with child! I... fek, what do you think of ME?"
His answer is his arms around her and pulling her close, tears and all, broken fingers and all. He remembers how she brusquely rebuffed his offers on an embrace when he got married. But whether she likes it or not, she's getting hugged NOW.
"I love you, Lilifred Bumblehurst. And I forgive you."
Lilifred goes stiff, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. This is a very touching moment and all but Lilifred has no idea how to behave in these. She didn't have parents and her brother isn't exactly the affectionate type. If she could successfully navigate her way out of a patented Elexine Iaarthis embrace and if she could easily brush off a laboured romantic confession from a guy who might be the love of her life, Lilifred can take this shit like a man too.
"If I'd have known sooner..." He sighs shakily. He can feel her going rigid, and he relaxes his hold just slightly, enough that she can escape or squirm away if she wants. He's also one who doesn't understand affection from years of neglect, but it caused him to go in the opposite direction. He has to use tactile affection because he can't figure out any other way to convey that he wants someone to feel cared about. Words get muddled and misunderstood; contact is always simple and honest, at least coming from him.
"Uh, Campy..."
When she speaks up, he finally sits back, looking at her with tired eyes. "Hm."
Lilifred swallows thickly. Now that he's not hugging her, she can look at Campion again. She tries talking again. Words- she's good at those, "Campy... what I meant is that I joined the Kamil as some sort of really creative suicide. But I changed my mind."
She shuts her eyes and tries very hard to force her lopsided smile, "Do you get it, Campy? I changed my mind."
He blinks. His brain is still only clicking along at half capacity, but he nods slowly. "I do. I do. Lilifred, it's not wrong. This-...All of this. It makes us into people we aren't. Or makes us feel we HAVE to be. It's why I hurt Lexie. It's why you hurt ME. What are we trying to prove? Nothing, but that we can be unfeeling monsters who don't care when we have to maim others.
"And I know you want out. I know Marton wants out. But it-...I'm scared for you both. And I KNOW, and maybe-...Maybe it can happen. But you have to bide your time. And in the meantime, you don't HAVE to force youself to be a monster. Th-There are ways to preserve your morality."
Campion smiles weakly, a key, fond phrase coming to mind. 'You don't have to put your heart in a fire."
Lilifred nods. Maybe it's true, maybe not, but she nods anyways. She's not even sure why she's bothered hardening her heart anyways- is it because she cares about the job, or because she doesn't want to care about the job.
"Thank you," she says simply. The words come out clear, which is hardly indicitive of the struggle she goes through getting them past her lips.
"You're welcome." He takes a shaky breath; his fingers are still broken and still hurt like hell, but physical pain is still doing its job of keeping him here in the present, keeping him focused on it instead of the fears. "Lilifred, it'll get better. Please. Don't do this to yourself. I'm not going to anymore. If I'd have known that all along you were killing yourself, your soul, bit by bit..." He rests a hand, his unbroken (but scarred) one, on her shoulder.
"H-hey," Lilifred shrugs under the weight of his hand, "No need t-to get melodramatic about it, huh? I told you. I changed my mind." She laughs it off, but not convincingly, "I-... I have other plans now."
"That's good. So long as your plans aren't...rash." He smiles wearily. He looks like he needs to just go and pass out somewhere. Hell, he could have just gotten up and run from her and this awful room ages ago. But no, he's going to stick around and comfort the gnome instead. "You've always confused me, m-mostly by merit of not knowing what you want from me, but you are a remarkable person all the same, Lilifred."
"Campion," she says firmly, "I broke your fingers and caused you emotional distress and you're trying to comfort me? D-doesn't something about this situation seem a littl-" she doesn't finish that thought because she knows the answers. There's nothing off about the situation at all- it just means that she was wrong; Campion lives up to his own ideals after all. He lives beyond them. But there's no way she's going to say something that stupid and mushy out loud. Campy can keep embarassing himself but she's way too manly for that.
"Anyways, I'm s-s-sorry-" ouch, that one hurt to get out, "- about all of this. I, uh..."
He shrugs, as if this ISN'T unusual. "This is what I want to be. For the family. I want to keep us safe and BE a comfort. I-I'm not arrogant enough to think I'm able to fix anything, or single-handedly am what people need, or even that I can overcome my OWN brokenness for it, but..." Another shrug. "And you are forgiven, Lilifred. I understand." He says it with FAR more sincerity than any person who'd just been tormented and finger-broken should be, but there you have it.
His sincerity stings too. Lilifred just says "Mmm," and nods absently. She really wishes she hadn't smoked all of her cigars waiting for Campion to wake up. This entire affair has left a sour taste in her mouth for all it's up and downs. It's going to be hard to look Campy in the eye for a while.
The weary numbness is seeping in, and the man looks down at his mangled fingers again, as if remembering they were there at all. "I should...get these fixed," he mumbles. Then pushes himself up to his feet unsteadily. Getting out of this room sounds so splendid to him right now. He might end up wandering aimlessly when he gets out, just until he finds his legs and head. "Lilifred, I-..." Words and thoughts are failing. But he knows the sentiments he wants to get across, so they are broken down into their simplest, most honest form.
"Lilifred, it'll be all right in the end. You're not a monster if you don't want to be. Don't MAKE yourself into one. And I love you because you're family, all right."
Lilifred nods absently as he pulls himself to his feet. She not really listening to him anymore- the cogs and gears in her head are turning and ticking. No regrets- like Marton always says, you have to keep moving, you have to keep looking to the future and, well, the future was certainly looking a fair deal brighter. Later she would stop to think more specifically about what she's done today, but that will be when she's alone with a bottle of whiskey.
Campion, not getting a response, takes that as his cue. That he can leave, or should leave. He stumbles up the stairs, out of the catacombs, out of the Lamb. The night air is a relief. When he's not in pain and still reeling from all the raw emotional wounds, well. He'll think about this night as well. Perhaps seek her out afterwards. But right now? He needs sleep. Maybe finger resetting will still be secondary. Sleep sounds perfect.
Lilifred doesn't look up from her cheap, dime-store serial. She's got her feet propped up on the table (sitting on several thick texts apparently borrowed from the warlocks downstairs) and an unlit cigar between her teeth. "Prof's busy," she grunts, flipping a page idly, "So take a seat."
He doesn't expect the invitation, and it makes him blink. But, well. If she's being sociable, or maybe she has something in particular to say, might as well. He shrugs and pulls out a chair (his usual one) and sits himself down. "I trust you've been keeping busy as well."
Another page turns absently, "When am I not busy? It's all business in Bumblehurst land, you know." She flips yet another page. Is she even reading that? Suddenly, she glances up and looks him over and a slight frown. With a snap of her wrist she gestures to Jeral, "Hey! Barkeep- fetch a drink for Campy, huh?"
The mention of her last name idly reminds him of the conversation he and Tezzy had once. What does it mean? How does one bumble a hurst? Bringing THAT up, however, seems a little too jovial and absurd for the moment. This IS the first time he's been alone with her in ages. And the 'tooth incident' was recently refreshed in HIS mind, what with running into and speaking with Lexie just a few days prior. When she orders a drink, Campion raises an eyebrow. "Generous of you," he mutters, sounding...skeptical.
Lilifred shrugs as Jeral brings the drink over, snapping her book shut and finally lighting her cigar. "I can afford to be generous, so why not. We're doing good right now. I want to celebrate." she smiles sincerely before taking the first draw off the cigar. "Besides," she adds, easing back into her seat, "I didn't want you to think I was bitter about the whole tooth thing."
Well, there it goes. He sighs, leaning on the table with his elbows. "I'm not proud of that. I-...Hnn." Spouting justification seems like too little, too late. And who wants to hear about the whys and hows of why someone's friend was hurt? He doesn't want to justify him being a beast, but he doesn't want to apologize either. He needs to shoulder this. "She DID say some things about the Kamil that could not pass, however. That whole damn night was a disaster."
Lilifred's smile falters for just a half second and she shrugs, opening her book again. It looks really exciting! Promising of daring adventure and romance in Stranglethron Vale! "I told you," she sighs a little irritably, "I'm not bitter."
"Glad to hear it," the paladin mumbles, looking away. A cigarette is fetched and put between his lips as he gets a match. "Sounds like she's keeping busy as well." This is awkward. He half wishes he hadn't sat down by now. But making ammends is appealing. If he could figure out how to do it without discrediting his 'cred' in front of her. Since Lilifred seems to be just as wrapped up in keeping an 'image' within the Kamil present and running. He's not going to show his throat anymore than he already has in the past.
Lilifred turns the page over and puffs out a shaky smoke ring, "Stop making this so damn awkward, Campy, and drink your fekking booze, huh?" she spares him an amused and familiar grin over the edge of her novel.
He frowns at her, and then takes a drink in a 'THERE, happy now?' gesture. "I'm just saying. It's good to see her...applying herself. We don't need another Merosiel in this operation." Maaan, Merosiel. The thought of THAT one gets him to drink more.
"Mmm," Lilifred mutters flatly. The grin has melted into a serious line and she's just staring at Campion expectantly.
Campion is a slow drinker. One of those irritating people that just nurses it for a time, but pressure of being around Lilifred and recollection of Merosiel and all THAT baggage he presently represents gets him to drain the better part of it right off. Or maybe if he just finishes the drink, he can excuse himself that much more quickly. Lilifred asked him to sit, but refuses to talk. This is annoying. The drink is finished and Campion sets to trying to light the cigarette he'd fetched earlier. But his fingers kind of aren't...cooperating. It's not even his left; he's gotten into the habit of not using that hand for the fiddly, fine-tuned jobs. But he can't even strike the match properly. He frowns, even as his vision starts to double. This? Isn't right...
This time when Lilifred shuts the book it's a triumphant action. Oh, the grin is back again but it's unpleasant this time. Shark-like and perhaps a little GIDDY. "Oh good, that was faster than I thought." she nods appraisingly and taps her cigar against her lips, "I was half afraid you'd notice considering brewing shit like this day in and day out is your job."
He's not quite catching what she's saying, given that he's NOW noticed how his vision is going blotchy and blurry. And THAT'S not right at all. Campion holds out his hands and examines them with a frown, as if they're the problem here. They WERE being all useless, after all, and now they're kind of tingly. He wobbles in his seat, even as he's still frowning at his fingers. "L-Lilifred...?" Sounds are starting to go muffled and cacophonic, meaningless noises rather than words or sounds.
If Jarel seems at all concerned or surprised by Campion's distress he's not showing it. He washes glasses behind the counter calmly, ever in the pocket of whichever Kamil Capo handles his protection cheques.
Lilifred clambers on top of the table to get a better view of the paladin as he rapidly slips into unconciousness. She leans over him, still grinning wide and nasty, "So anyways, Campy. When I said I wasn't bitter?" she pauses artfully, tapping a bit of ash from her cigar into his eyes before finishing her thought, "Well. I was lying."
He looks up, bleary and not really being able to see at all anymore. Pupils are dilated uselessly against the closing, chemical darkness, and he stares slack-jawed at the gnome. He can't see her past the black and blotches, but he can make out that grin. And it's the last thing he sees before he topples out of his chair in a heap. He stirs his numb limbs a few times in some pointless attempt to stand or escape, but soon goes still, passed clean out.
--------------------------
She's gotten through three whole cigars waiting for him to wake up and she's reminded fleetingly of that old goblish bit of wisdom, 'Time is money, friend!'. With an impatient growl, she whirls around and kicks Campion square in the knee, "Oh, for fek's sake, wake the hell up! I don't got all day!"
He grunts and stirs at the kicking, head jerking forward. He opens his eyes slowly, but his vision is still blotchy and spotty. He strains them, trying to get it to clear. But even when it DOES, he still sees nothing but black. He blinks, groaning in confusion, blinking to ensure he IS seeing, that his eyes ARE open. That they're still THERE. He attempts to rub at his face, but his hands still aren't obeying, it seems. He can't lift them. He can't SEE...
"Good morning, sunshine." Lilifred quips.
He grunts again at hearing a voice. A woman's voice? Lilifred's. He can't see her, but he knows that voice. Things are slowly slipping back into place. He'd been talking to her, and he had a drink, and now he's here. He's here and he can't SEE, he can't MOVE. He keeps trying to raise his hands to his face, but only now he's noticing there's an obstruction. They're pinned or held back, he can't tell which, but he can't MOVE, and he can't see. "Lil...?" He croaks her name uncertainly, unsure if that's her, hoping she'll help, that she'll explain.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm Lilifred. Take your time, Campy. I'm sure this must all be very confusing for you." Lilifred is jovially condescending at the best of times but right now, her voice is dripping utter contempt. Strange, because despite all the words that have passed between them- even the worst of them- she's never been disrespectful. Preachy and "disappointed" sure, but not like this.
"I'm pretty good at tying knots so if you keep struggling you're just gonna strain something." Her tone is flat and weary. Let's get on with this already.
Campion doesn't know what knots have to do with anything, but he DOES keep straining at what's got him held back. The connection isn't made between knots being tied and him being unable to move. It's still a sluggish straining at his bound wrists, and his chin his resting on his chest. Clarity returns ever so slowly, but that's not much of a help. He's only noticing now that, on top of being unable to see, there's something close to his face, something cinched around his neck. He tries to stand, but his ankles are bound as well. These details coming into focus aren't helping in the least.
"...Lilifred. Lilifred, this is insane. Lilifred, let me go." The bound paladin keeps saying her name, as if that'll help his pleas. He sounds mildly irritated is all right now, groggy. And he keeps trying to get his hands free.
"I'll let you go," Lilifred promises, "After we've had a little heart to heart." she begins to pace again, trailing smoke behind her, "After all- you're the one who made it clear to me that we have to deal with rabid DOGS in the midst of our organization."
He's silent for a moment, nothing but the sound of his breathing, deep and controlled, behind that sack tied over his head. His mind is racing to catch up, but it keeps veering to the fact he's TRAPPED. Keep calm, keep rational, talk to her. Talk to her and she'll let you go. "I'm under control." A response to her statement, or telling that to himself? Maybe both. "Lilifred, it was-...It's what the Kamil expects of us. I'm not proud of it. I didn't mean to-..." He cuts off as he makes a quiet, tight-throated grunt, pulling at his bonds again. Keep calm, keep rational...
Her pacing stops abruptly and she spins on her heel, fuming. Not that he can see her anger, but it makes her feel better to be visibly raging anyways. "What the Kamil EXPECTS of us!?" she repeats, "Don't give me that shit, Campion. You did it because you WANTED to."
She stops and catches her breath, gathers her thoughts. He did it because he wanted to and she's doing this because she wants to. Maybe it IS what the Kamil expects of them; for all its poetry about family and devotion, isn't it better to have your attack dogs at each other's throats? In an organization where anyone can leave in a box at any time no reason to get so attached, huh?
"You did it because you wanted to," she said again, "Because you were angry and you were waiting for an excuse to take it out on someone."
The man's voice is guttural now, catching in hesitation as he expends too much focus and concentration on just breathing, and it gets in the way of getting WORDS out. "N-nnno, no, please. Please, Lilifred. Please, I swear. I didn't want to. I have to be wh-...What the Kamil expects of me. I-...I won't do it again." Promises, while sincere, are a too little, too late. It doesn't undo the beatings or the removed tooth, after all. "Lilifred, PLEASE let me go." His voice has a note of strain now.
Lilifred is less than impressed with Campion's begging. She didn't expect it to be like this. So many excuses and... is he pleading? A petulant frown dips down from either edge of her mouth and she lets her hands fall to the side, cigar ash sprinkling on around her boots like snow.
"What do you think I'm going to do to you, Campy?" She asked honestly. "You're sounding a little desperate. S'not like I'm going to KILL you. If I'd wanted to do that," she snorts, "I'd have put you in a box."
Campion's moving a bit more now, sluggish pulls at his bonds growing more fitful, more desperate. She's asking what he thinks she's going to DO? She means there's MORE beyond this? Maybe it's because he's presently trapped like this, but he can't think of anything that could make this worse. He'd endure or give ANYTHING right now just to be set free.
It's getting harder to breathe, and the fabric of his 'mask' is starting to puff in and out with the labour of it. "Lilifred, please." Control is starting to slip. He's TRAPPED, it's dark, and he can't see and he can't breathe and he can't move. "Please, I didn't want-...I won't-...Lilifred, PLEASE. I can't BREATHE..."
Lilifred quirks an eyebrow, "... now that's just silly. That bag is perfectly breathable material! I tested it myself!' she did too! She really doesn't mean to kill him.
He moans, a frightened, despairing sound. Behind the mask, his eyes are open wide, straining against the cloth keeping him in the dark. "Please, I'm-...I'm s-sorry." He finally cracks; he said he wouldn't apologize, because he can't go back on what he's done. He HATES himself for it, he HATES that he did it, but he HAS to preserve that facade of being someone to be feared and respected in the Kamil, he CAN'T go back on it, even though he wants to.
But all of that doesn't matter NOW. He will apologize, he will beg, if it just gets him OUT. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm s-so-sorry, I'm sorryyyy..."
Lilifred stays quite still, examining Campion with a mixture of trepidition and fascination. Slowly, the pieces start to fall into place- of course, of course- dear Miles isn't afraid of her (Lilifred must admit, she feels the slightest tinge of disappointment)... he's afraid of the dark, or small spaces, of not being able to move...
As he begs, she taps her chin. She'd had an inkling that Campion wasn't the kind of guy who appreciated waking up with a bag tied over his head but there was no way to know that he'd break so fast. The whole scenario was descending quickly into a torture session and she-....
'Don't do anything too rash...' Marton's words ring so clearly in her mind he might as well have been right there watching her do this terrible thing. She considers briefly how to use Campion's panic to her advantage but just as brieflty she imagines what Marton would say if he knew she did something like this. She imagines the look Elexine would have had before she died and that's enough to make her feel guilty.
"Okay, okay," the gnome mutters hesitantly, tucking her cigar haphazardly behind one ear. She approaches him cautiously and loosens the tie on the sack.
The theme of 'too little, too late' seems to be turning into a running one. Even as she's mulling this all over, his breathing grows more broken, soon giving way to a ragged sob by the time she approaches. The cinching loosening around his neck does very little for him, because there's still something close around his face, he's still in the dark, he's still TRAPPED.
The levee's been a delicate one ever since he came back from Icecrown, and it's broken now. He's lost the thread of the situation outside of the fact he's trapped and can't move, and he's being punished. "Oh Light, please, What did I do? What did I do wrong!? What did I do wrong, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again! I won't, I swear, please! PLEASE! LET ME OUT! Please, please, please, please, I won't do it again, I'm SORRY!"
The force of Campion's plea makes Lilifred wince. She's not as good at inflicting pain as she should be considering her occupation. In one swoop, she pulls the sack off completely and tries not to look apologetic.
The sack coming off prompts a sharp and deep reflexive gasp, like he'd been underwater for too long. But Campion's eyes keep rolling and remain wide, like a frightened animal. His head falls to the back of the chair, and he stares upward, mouth open and still gasping.
It's not much of an improvement, where they are. From being trapped behind a sack to being trapped in a a small catacomb's room. The walls are too close, it's too dark, he still can't move, he can't BREATHE. The only sound he makes now is a weak, scared whimper in the back of his throat. He knows how this works, he had to do this for YEARS. This was the lesson he learned quickly in childhood; you aren't let go until you're quiet, until you can shut up, grow a pair, and take it like a man. He can be quiet. He'll stop screaming and begging, and then he'll be let go.
Lilifred backs off, scrunching the sack up in her hands anxiously. This feels like a mistake already and she's not even begun. A pinch of ash falls out of the corner of her vision and pools on her shoulder, reminding her that her cigar's still lit and burning a line to her hair. She snatches it back and takes a drag, tossing the sack behind her casually. Okay, I can do this.
"... get ahold of yourself, Campion."
His response is another thin moan made in the back of his throat, still staring upward blindly. He's not here anymore, not really. There's a recess of his mind that was carved out decades ago. The hysterics and the panic come, but there's a little place he goes mentally that's nothing but an internal loop of prayers, of reminders of the rules. Man up and grow a pair. Man up, man up, man up. The virtue of tenacity. Endure it. Endure it. Light hold me, Light forgive me.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, what did I do, I won't do it again, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." It's a rambling whisper, the same he always gave. He blinks slowly, causing tears to finally spill unfelt. He's not here anymore, not really.
"Oh fek," Lilifred whispers under her breath. She fucked this up brilliantly! She grinds a palm into her forehead, wracking her brain for ideas to snap Campion out of it.
"Hey!" The gnome flails her arms out desperately, "Campy, listen to me! Stop fekking apologizing, you're making me feel like a monster here!"
The paladin jerks, a spastic strain again at the bonds, at those words. A sharp keyword that's like a splash of cold water, jolting him partway to the present again. He gasps again, shuddering and ragged. "M-Monster...I'm a monster and I'm SORRY, I'm sorry! I don't know what you WANT from me, and I'm SORRY! I'm trying, I'm trying, but I CAN'T! It's too late...!"
"N-no, no-" Lilifred shakes her head vehemently, "You're not listening to me. C'mon, Campion, this is serious business, calm. The. Hell. Down."
This is a contradiction to The Rules of How This Works; keeping quiet is what lets you go, but she wants to talk to him. He's uncertain if this is a trap. Taunt him into doing just what he shouldn't be to make it end, but he's desperate. "I'm calm, I'm calm, I'm calm, please let me go, I'm calm, please..." He is NOT calm, his chest is rising and falling rapidly in shallow, desperate breaths, but he'll say anything, do anything, allow anything at this point.
Lilifred has eyes and definitely notices that he's lying through his teeth. She takes a stoic drag from her cigar and exhales slowly, "Look, I ain't letting you go until we talk and we can't talk until you calm down. For fek's sake, Campion, you're a grown man."
Oh Light. The spike of deep, cold and abiding shame for that chiding stabs straight through his chest and pins his heart to his ribs. Man up and grow a pair.
He shuts his eyes, trying to will calm and control through the panic and fear. He is pathetic. He is a miserable wretch not good for anything, and there's no undoing it now. She's seen him for what he is for ages now. Just the final nail in the coffin here. He's trembling and his eyes are still closed, but he's doing his very best to be calm, just like she asked. He can do that. Can't he prove himself just with THIS small, stupid request?
What Lilifred probably meant through her brusque and prickly words is: 'Campion, you're better than this'. She almost says that out loud, but bites back on it. This isn't a therapy session for dear Miles, she reminds herself, this is about equivalent exchange. She watches him tremble and waits for the shift in his countenance.
"All this crying and begging and trembling is for children," she continues, "We're both adults here and we're both criminals. We can't just wiggle our way out of shit with a few whimpers and tears. You've lived through worst than this." She's trying to be encouraging without being kind and that's a task not easily accomplished in a situation like this. Why did Campion have to go and show all his weakness right off the bat like this? It reminds her that, despite everything, she DOES care about him and that's pretty obnoxious to say the least. Her cigar's nearly burnt to the butt and she crushes it under her boot, smoothly producing a new one as she does so.
Clarity is always a fucking curse in these situations. He SHOULD be taking this like an adult. Why CAN'T he!? Why can't he be a fucking MAN about this!? Why does it always make him lose his damn mind now so easily? Granted, small places, even before, made him fall apart, but no excuse. She's saying there's no excuse for being as ruined as he is. He should be USED to this, he should see this shit COMING. He HAS been through worse.
Light, but he is a WRETCH.
"F-Fuck," he curses hoarsely, his throat gone tight. He can't STOP shaking now, and now everything he can't control about his frightened reactions is making him frustrated, the tears now gone bitter. "I'm-...I c-can't DO this anymore. I'm broken. I'm broken, I can't-...Can't be a p-paladin, can't be Kamil. Look at me, LOOK AT ME."
Tobacco flavour lingering comfortingly in her throat, Lilifred curls her free hand into a loose fist attempting to find a bit of the steel in her nature that gave her the gall to drug and drag a man at least three times her mass in the first place. She isn't equipped to deal with this either kindly or cruelly. There is a knife at her side and a plan in her head that runs on mathematical percision. Lil's good with numbers but sometimes she forgets to plan for the unknown variable.
She speaks very carefully, "Campion... are you saying that you want to quit?" it's a loaded question; the Kamil is the one job you can't quit.
The FIRST answer that springs to mind is that he wants to DIE, but he knows that stupid, that's melodramatic, and that is NOT the answer either way.
He's trying to be better, but there's always these things, these little steel-trap fears that tear off the patches to his resolve and thoughts, open floodgates to wretched emotions and senseless horror. Like being TRAPPED, oh Light, he still can't MOVE. But he's given up struggling. He just slumps in the chair and still stares upward. "N-NO. You're all I have, you're all I have left, but I'm-...Oh Light. I don't know, I don't KNOW! I'm unfit for anything else, I can't strive for better after what I've done. I'm too broken, I'm too far g-gone." He laughs a high, incredulous, and humourless laugh that chokes off after so long. Look at him, such a wreck.
Lilifred takes another long drag off her cigar and waits a few beats before replying. "Hey, Campy." she flicks her wrist dismissively and raises her chin, "Listen to the words coming out of your mouth before you say them, okay? 'All you've got left'? Orc shit. You're better than this life. What the hell do you mean you ain't fit for anything else?"
He groans, a strained sound. He's still scared out of his fucking mind; this room is too SMALL and he still can't MOVE. His heart is hammering in his chest that feels too tight, and he still can't properly breathe. But fear just fuels frustration now.
"Y-YOU said it! YOU said it ages ago! I'm u-unfit to be a paladin, I'm too WRETCHED, too much of a horrid person, and now I'm too BROKEN! I want to be, I keep trying to be, but I know I'm u-unfit. But I can't be Kamil either. I tried, I tried, but Lexin showed that I CAN'T. That warlock showed that I can't. I'm too broken even for THIS. I can't be virtuous enough, I can't be cruel enough, SO WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?!" He SCREAMS it at Lilifred, finally lifting his head to stare at her through furious tears.
Yelling! Excellent! THIS is what she wanted. Yelling is definitely more in her element and she would be smiling if Campion wasn't saying such dumbshit things. "Dammnit, Campy!" She inhales sharply, gritting her teeth and squishing her poor cogar between two very irritated fingers,
"You selfish, self-pitying ASSHOLE. I never said that you weren't fit to be a fekking paladin! I said that your fekking BEHAVIOUR wasn't fit for YOU. I told you to live up to your fekking ideals! Being a hypocrite ain't the same thing as being worthless."
"You don't know SHIT-ALL about me, Lilifred!" Campion bellows back. He's shaking harder now, still from nerves and fear, still from straining against his bonds, now from frustration and anger as well.
"Wh-Who are YOU to hold me to ideals?! WHO'S ideals!? You don't even give two squirts of piss about the faith and the Light, why would YOU care if I measured up or not? Why are you holding me to ANYTHING?!" LIGHT, but he wishes he could MOVE. That fact now coupled with his anger is making his head buzz.
Ah, now there's a brilliant thread of anger- exactly what she was looking for, Campion's fucking BACKBONE. His sudden snap mood change is like a wine stain on freshly-washed linen and she would be relieved that he's finally reacting like a man drugged and bound should, except that his words are drudging up a sharp and deep well of guilt in HER. C'mon, Lilifred, keep your shit together. This is about HIM, not you.
"This is about what I said before. I... I already apologized for that. This is about..." it's about Lexie, "- t-this is about-" she stumbles over her words, suddenly at a loss for them. What is this about? She realizes that her hands are shaking as well, but that's impossible. She's been so calm, so collected this whole time, right?
When HER nerve falters, so does his. Anger is outweighed by fear and panic again, feeling helpless and hurt in a fresh wave. It makes his stomach sick and knotted, and the muscles in his arms and legs ache from all the useless straining. Campion's head falls back again, and he breathes. Please be calm. Please be calm. Please, please, please. He's whispering it again without knowing it. "...Please untie me," he croaks, hesitant and small. "I-...I can't think like this. Please. I can't breathe like this..."
Once again, Lil's eyebrow quirks. With a weak snicker, she says: "Campion, air doesn't travel through your wrists."
Her mockery makes him groan helplessly. Oh Light, such a wretch. "Lilifred, please. PLEASE..." But he gives up after so long, sagging against his bonds, going back to concentrating on breathing.
This shouldn't be a big deal. Who's scared of shit like small spaces and rats? Children; stupid children. His rumination on this might not have been so bad if he wasn't muttering this all beneath his breath.
Lilifred was learning a little more than she needed to know about Campion today. There was no way this wasn't going to be awkward in retrospect. Rats, small spaces... Campy was right, they were childish fears but...
"Well, it ain't always easy to grow out of our childhoods, huh." she takes a hit of tobacco and sighs, "Still, you can't let it just nail you to the fekking fence, otherwise your father wins."
WELL. THAT'S another sharp dose of clarity. It'd been a blind terror up until now, just his animal reactions to being trapped lovingly cultivated over the years. But now it has a face and a voice, the one core of all this trauma now blatantly at the front of his mind, the one he's been actively avoiding having to dwell on because he knows he can't bear it, not with everything ELSE. His eyes go wide and he moans in fright and despair. "Please don't..." is all he manages get out past his closing throat.
Lilifred shakes her head and waves her cigar in Campy's face, "Not this again. Where the hell is the anger? You're right- I don't have any fekking right to question your morals, your judgement or what the hell you live up to. What the fuck is this, folding like a freaking deck of cards?" c'mon, Campy. Be angry again. It'll be so much easier to do what I have to do if you're ANGRY.
"I d-don't-...Please. Please. Just end this. Please, take what you want, do what you want, PLEASE, just let me GO!" Campion wants nothing more to be able to MOVE again, to be out of this small, dank, dark room, now rank with memories of similar treatment years ago. And what of other times being left to rot in stone rooms? His induction? Where he earned the whipmarks that now stripe his back? The tomb-like, frigid barracks room back in the Scarlet Harbour?
"Just let me go, please, PLEASE. Lilifred, I-I-I-...If I could take it back, I would. I should have never done it. I was wrong, I WAS WRONG. It wasn't my place, it wasn't my job, I went too far. I won't do it again, I swear it, I SWEAR IT."
"I don't want you to SWEAR it!" Lilifred shouts, "I don't want any apologies or any damn promises! I want back what you took from me!"
The man's mind races, trying to make sense of what she's saying. What she wants. "I'll give it back. Anything, what did I take. Please, Lilifred, please. Let me make it right again..."
"You ca-" she yells again, but stops herself and takes a deep breath, spinning around so she doesn't have to look at Campion's pathetic writhing anymore. Dammnit. He's not making any sense, she's not making any sense. This is stupid and it's ugly and she can't exactly just turn around, cut him free and say: 'Oops, sorry. This never happened'.
So instead, she asks him again: "Campion. Do you want to quit the Kamil?"
That question again. There is no answer but ragged breathing for a time. Then a quiet, hesitant, "...N-No. The Kamil is my family. YOU'RE my family, Lilifred..." The statement carries a certain note of pain, a hint of betrayal. "I want to stay, I want to take care of you all. I was wrong, and I have to make it right. Lilifred, fa-family doesn't hurt one another. I was wrong, and I don't want to be like him, PLEASE."
Lilifred is quiet a moment. She stares at the dirty cobblestone beneath her and smokes throughtfully, "... the Kamil isn't my family, Campion." she corrects herself, "It WASN'T my family. My family is... it's... Elexine... Lexie is my family and now she is Kamil and now I have no choice."
She bites her lip worriedly, knowing that she might be revealing too much here, "... Before, I had a choice."
There's always that moment of nothing but laboured breathing as he tries to piece together what she's saying. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt her. Lilifred, It was sick, it was wrong. I c-can't take it back. But please. You ARE family to me. She is as well. I'll never harm her again. I'll never harm ANY of them again, because you're the only family I've ever HAD, and family isn't supposed to HURT one another..." His voice chokes. This is still striking to close to raw, exposed nerves.
Lilifred is shaking her head again. He still doesn't get it. But that's fine- she has no clue what the fuck she's trying to prove here anymore. She sets her jaw firmly, mouth a stern line, and tosses her cigar. With a steeled determination, she spins and takes steady, even strides around the bound paladin,
"Fine," she grunts, "Then let's get this over with."
Campion's numb to the present in most ways. Whatever she does, it doesn't matter. If it ends with him getting free, that's all he cares about. His eyes are closed now, head still resting on the back of the chair, chest rising and falling quickly.
She grabs one of his palms, twisting his wrist at a bit of an unnatural angle, "Damn," she mutters under her breath, "You had to make this so difficult..."
Louder, she adds, "How was it the old guard punish their own? Is it a specific finger I need to take?"
His hand tenses in hers, but only at the uncomfortable twist. Finger flex, then relax, though they shake. "Lilifred..." He doesn't know the answer either way, of course. She's going to take a finger, and the thought makes him sick, but only because he deserves this. Only because she views him with nothing but disgust.
Lilifred glances up at Campion furitively, "What? You're not going to argue? Aren't you at least going to beg?" Wincing before she does it, she grabs his index finger and bends it back until she hears a sick, cracking noise.
Campion cries out, of course, at the break. But he bites it back, squeezing his eyes shut, biting his lower lip. And he breathes a shaky laugh. Pain has a funny way of making you lucid. "Mm-M-Muh...Marton talked about leaving. A-Are you leaving together...?" It's a sweet thought. Useless and pointless, because he knows the relentless dogs of the Kamil and how they find people who don't want to be found. But it's still sweet.
Is that damned sugary sentiment and sincerity in Campion's voice? For a moment, Lilifred is so blindingly angry that she grabs the next finger and breaks it easily just out of spite. "Yeah, we were going to leave together," she hisses, "But he doesn't know that. And he doesn't need to know it because it's not going to happen."
He cries out again at the sudden, second break and sweat is beginning to form on his brow from the pain of it. But pain is negligible in comparison to fear and trauma. It masks it and makes him able to think. "I w-wish he could. I wish YOU could, s-since you're so miserable. I can't leave. C-Couldn't even if I wanted. I would leave too many behind, th-the ones that I'm being kept for in the first place. I know Yeva's game. I-I-I'm not kept for the drugs, I'm kept as-...as COLLATERAL."
He swallows hard, his voice shaking. "...I wish you could leave. This isn't you. Neither of us belong here, doing these things, and yet..." His fingers twitch; out of reflex, or demonstrating just what it is she shouldn't be doing?
Lilifred completely glosses over whatever else the Paladin is saying and zeroes in on the word 'collateral'. Without even realizing it, she breaks a third finger as she asks, somewhat bewildered, "What?"
The third break only gets a strained grunt, another hard swallow before he speaks again. This whole thing is making him feel so ill; his skin is crawling and he feels cold.
"Wh-What. We don't belong h-here. I'm here b-because I'm an addict, and now I'm here because I keep the rest in line. I-I'm kept in line when Grinne gets shot or Auroran gets cut. She needs me functioning or I'm no use. If they do something wrong, she KNOWS I only have to be hurt and it'll stop..."
He groans, his twisted fingers twitching again. "I hate it. I hate it, Lilifred."
She let's his hand loose and turns this over in her head a few times. She'd been aware that Campion's association with the Kamil came about through and because of his dirty little habit, but that Yeva would promote someone like him- a damned liability like him- just to keep firm reign on the rest of her Capos...
Lilifred starts to laugh.
The laughter, of course, confuses the hell out of Campion. And frightens him. Only NOW does he start to wonder what he's said, if it was too much. She's a fucking GNOME; they live for calculation and strategy. She said she wants to leave. What if she's now finding some connection between her way out and his supposed collateral status? "L-Lilifred..." The bare-faced fear is plain in his voice.
The lauhgter won't stop. She's shaking with it as she pulls the knife from her belt and begins to cut Campion free, "Of c-course," she sputters, "OF course." Lilifred isn't explaining herself- it's hard to do through the exhausted mirth. It feels good to laugh this honestly, even if it is over something so terrible. She tries to remember the last time she laughed freely and it's a hard thing to do.
The paladin doesn't move even as the ropes fall away. He wants to RUN. he wants to scramble up those steps as fast as he can manage, collapse somewhere out in the open, clean air. Maybe puke his damn, fool guts out, then try and find someone to reset his fingers because he's shaking too much to do it on his own. But he's frozen in place, waiting to see where this is going, what she wants.
Lilifred ambles into Campion's view, still laughing, with a knife in one hand and frayed rope in the other. She shakes her head and wipes a tear from the corner of one eye, "Look at us." she chortles, smacking her palm and knife-handle to her forehead, "Look how we're acting! And for what? For who? Don't you get it- I was right all along!"
Lilifred seems proud of her proved hypothesis, even if she's being kind of irritatingly vague about it.
He stares at her, wide-eyed and mute, hardly understanding what she's on about. After all he's been through down here, he's starting to feel like the victim of blunt force trauma to the head. Nothing makes sense, everything make him feel dizzy and sick.
The gnome tips her head, perplexed. What, Campy- you haven't figured it out? Well, that's not fair, so she reveals the reason for her amusement: "Don't you GET it!" she repeats for emphasis, "Yeva. Is. A. Moron!"
Well, okay, maybe that's a bit too far. If Lilifred were being honest with herself she would have to admit that Yeva at least knows what she's doing at the basic level. She knows the mafia business and she knows what strings to pull, but nevertheless death or war or the damned crash of the Exodar must have robbed her of some savvy because... "Campion." Lilifred spreads her arms jubilantly, "Don't you get it? Yeva's a moron!"
However, Campion just stares at her now. He's almost certain he's hallucinating at this point. What she's saying makes little to no sense, and is mob blasphemy at that. His attention is diverted when he finally, shakily pulls his hands out from behind himself, looking down with blank dismay at his mangled fingers and rope-raw wrists.
"Oh, right. Your feet!" Lilifred snaps out of her reverie and goes to cut the rope binding Campion's feet. There, now he's free. She leans back on her heels and meets his gaze seriously. There's still laughter on her tongue, but this isn't a flippant topic, "So, are you just going to sit there?"
She's out of her mind. Or maybe he is. Both of them are. Light. Fuck. He looks up from his hands to her. Confused. Just so very, very confused. "What...should I do?" What the HELL is even going on anymore.
Lilifred obviously isn't just talking about the chair. She says it again, "Are you just going to sit there? I can't tell you what to do, Campy. You gotta make up your mind. So are you going to sit there and be collateral?"
She's full of ideas but none of them are crystallizing into anything usable. Campion is collateral but there is no one in the Azerothian branch of the Kamil more loyal to Yeva than to Campy, is there? And suddenly it hits Lilifred: who the hell ARE they afraid of?
Meanwhile, Campion seems to be taking this prompt of 'getting up' as the best direction he's going to get right now. He can follow orders. It's easier when you're messed up and scared than having to decide what else to do. So he stands, his mangled hand held close to his chest. And he takes a few tottering steps towards the staircase...But he doesn't make it far before he doubles over and retches. Aaaand now he's sick all over the floor. Wonderful.
Lilifred leans to the side to watch Campion retch for some reason. She regrets it immediately, furrowing her brow. There's guilt nibbling at her pretty ferociously ("I did that to him"), but more than that, she actually wants him to answer her question. She phrases it differently.
"Campion," she tries again when he's finished throwing up, "What happens when Yeva decides to punish you? Who does it? Does Natharai do it? Aleyna? Smiley is the head of enforcement, it's his job, right?"
She rolls back her shoulders and digs for another cigar. D-damn, is she out? "Her old guard thugs, then? Sure, they have no sentimentality, but they'd have to touch you first, right?"
"We are family, Campy. You're right about that. But we're YOUR family, not hers."
He spits and coughs, shakily wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. "I-It doesn't make a difference. She's got me. Either she hurts me to keep them, or she hurts them to keep me. It doesn't matter, Lilifred. I'm-...I just want to stop being something that hurts the family." He spits again, moaning slightly in his nausea. "We're all stuck here, and I want to keep u-us as safe as we can be."
'Your soul burns as the Naaru does...' Lilifred's fingers rest on her chest, just above her tattoo, "... I..." her voice falters a moment before she manages, "Tattoos aren't forever, y'know. You can remove them. You have to sear your skin and it hurts more than getting them burnt in, but you can do it."
The paladin laughs shakily. He's feeling better, for what very little that's worth, just no longer being bound. He's sick, his fingers are broken, he feels like he's been through hell, his head is pounding from the drugs, but he's lucid again at least.
"I don't even know what you think of me anymore," he mutters. "Look down on me for w-wanting or having to stay? Think I'm weak for crying and shaking like a child through all of this, for being so fucking BROKEN? Hate me for what I'd done to L-Lexie? You came and gloated when I was back from Icecrown, for losing my faith, b-but you still rail on me for not keeping it..." He's gone quiet by the time he trails off.
Gloated? Oh fek, there goes all the good cheer Lilifred had accumulated from realizing Yeva's error. Is that really what he thought? She let's her eyes fall half lidded and tugs at one of her earrings (she's wearing her old, tarnished pair today; for some reason it seemed wrong to wear the ones Marton gave her to a torture session), ashamed. She opens her mouth to explain herself but decides better of it. There's no point- there's a better way to explain everything.
"... Why do you think I'm in the Kamil?" she asks softly.
"I don't know. S-Same reason we all are?" He hugs his injured hand closer to his chest. "No where else to go. No one else who wants us."
Lilifred laughs some more, weakly and ironically this time, "No offense, but I had a future. I was really good at what I did."
"Yeah, me too," the paladin says numbly. "But then...you know. Plague. Home falls to the Lich King. Order is run by demons. The usual." He deadpans this in weary sarcasm.
"The Kamil isn't the only place to run, Campy." Lilifred answers numbly. "I'm here because I don't like myself very much." There. She said it.
He straightens up and turns to look back at her, slightly bewildered. Lilifred? The sassy little gnome lady with a big mouth, a big plan, and a big gun? The one who is always, despite her physical size, a looming paragon of seeming self-confidence?
The paladin has stumbled over to where she's standing before he realizes he's done it, and drops to his knees. At her level now. And he looks at her with sad sympathy. "Same boat, huh," he says quietly.
She's not going to tear up. It's not fucking happening, "Y-you asked me... what I must t-think of you..." she tugs at the earring harder, hard enough it stings a little, "B-but all you've done is-... is behave like anyone with a f-freaking functioning metaphorical heart w-would. B-but I..." Lilifred raises her eyes to the low ceiling and it's not to keep a stray tear from rolling down her face, no it most certainly isn't.
"Campion, I just... t-this job is killing me. I-it's turning me into a monster. Y-you humans turn into dogs but I guess gnomes t-turn into machines or whatever. I j-just broke your fingers. I-I tortured you. I suggested that w-we kill Merosiel e-even though he's with child! I... fek, what do you think of ME?"
His answer is his arms around her and pulling her close, tears and all, broken fingers and all. He remembers how she brusquely rebuffed his offers on an embrace when he got married. But whether she likes it or not, she's getting hugged NOW.
"I love you, Lilifred Bumblehurst. And I forgive you."
Lilifred goes stiff, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. This is a very touching moment and all but Lilifred has no idea how to behave in these. She didn't have parents and her brother isn't exactly the affectionate type. If she could successfully navigate her way out of a patented Elexine Iaarthis embrace and if she could easily brush off a laboured romantic confession from a guy who might be the love of her life, Lilifred can take this shit like a man too.
"If I'd have known sooner..." He sighs shakily. He can feel her going rigid, and he relaxes his hold just slightly, enough that she can escape or squirm away if she wants. He's also one who doesn't understand affection from years of neglect, but it caused him to go in the opposite direction. He has to use tactile affection because he can't figure out any other way to convey that he wants someone to feel cared about. Words get muddled and misunderstood; contact is always simple and honest, at least coming from him.
"Uh, Campy..."
When she speaks up, he finally sits back, looking at her with tired eyes. "Hm."
Lilifred swallows thickly. Now that he's not hugging her, she can look at Campion again. She tries talking again. Words- she's good at those, "Campy... what I meant is that I joined the Kamil as some sort of really creative suicide. But I changed my mind."
She shuts her eyes and tries very hard to force her lopsided smile, "Do you get it, Campy? I changed my mind."
He blinks. His brain is still only clicking along at half capacity, but he nods slowly. "I do. I do. Lilifred, it's not wrong. This-...All of this. It makes us into people we aren't. Or makes us feel we HAVE to be. It's why I hurt Lexie. It's why you hurt ME. What are we trying to prove? Nothing, but that we can be unfeeling monsters who don't care when we have to maim others.
"And I know you want out. I know Marton wants out. But it-...I'm scared for you both. And I KNOW, and maybe-...Maybe it can happen. But you have to bide your time. And in the meantime, you don't HAVE to force youself to be a monster. Th-There are ways to preserve your morality."
Campion smiles weakly, a key, fond phrase coming to mind. 'You don't have to put your heart in a fire."
Lilifred nods. Maybe it's true, maybe not, but she nods anyways. She's not even sure why she's bothered hardening her heart anyways- is it because she cares about the job, or because she doesn't want to care about the job.
"Thank you," she says simply. The words come out clear, which is hardly indicitive of the struggle she goes through getting them past her lips.
"You're welcome." He takes a shaky breath; his fingers are still broken and still hurt like hell, but physical pain is still doing its job of keeping him here in the present, keeping him focused on it instead of the fears. "Lilifred, it'll get better. Please. Don't do this to yourself. I'm not going to anymore. If I'd have known that all along you were killing yourself, your soul, bit by bit..." He rests a hand, his unbroken (but scarred) one, on her shoulder.
"H-hey," Lilifred shrugs under the weight of his hand, "No need t-to get melodramatic about it, huh? I told you. I changed my mind." She laughs it off, but not convincingly, "I-... I have other plans now."
"That's good. So long as your plans aren't...rash." He smiles wearily. He looks like he needs to just go and pass out somewhere. Hell, he could have just gotten up and run from her and this awful room ages ago. But no, he's going to stick around and comfort the gnome instead. "You've always confused me, m-mostly by merit of not knowing what you want from me, but you are a remarkable person all the same, Lilifred."
"Campion," she says firmly, "I broke your fingers and caused you emotional distress and you're trying to comfort me? D-doesn't something about this situation seem a littl-" she doesn't finish that thought because she knows the answers. There's nothing off about the situation at all- it just means that she was wrong; Campion lives up to his own ideals after all. He lives beyond them. But there's no way she's going to say something that stupid and mushy out loud. Campy can keep embarassing himself but she's way too manly for that.
"Anyways, I'm s-s-sorry-" ouch, that one hurt to get out, "- about all of this. I, uh..."
He shrugs, as if this ISN'T unusual. "This is what I want to be. For the family. I want to keep us safe and BE a comfort. I-I'm not arrogant enough to think I'm able to fix anything, or single-handedly am what people need, or even that I can overcome my OWN brokenness for it, but..." Another shrug. "And you are forgiven, Lilifred. I understand." He says it with FAR more sincerity than any person who'd just been tormented and finger-broken should be, but there you have it.
His sincerity stings too. Lilifred just says "Mmm," and nods absently. She really wishes she hadn't smoked all of her cigars waiting for Campion to wake up. This entire affair has left a sour taste in her mouth for all it's up and downs. It's going to be hard to look Campy in the eye for a while.
The weary numbness is seeping in, and the man looks down at his mangled fingers again, as if remembering they were there at all. "I should...get these fixed," he mumbles. Then pushes himself up to his feet unsteadily. Getting out of this room sounds so splendid to him right now. He might end up wandering aimlessly when he gets out, just until he finds his legs and head. "Lilifred, I-..." Words and thoughts are failing. But he knows the sentiments he wants to get across, so they are broken down into their simplest, most honest form.
"Lilifred, it'll be all right in the end. You're not a monster if you don't want to be. Don't MAKE yourself into one. And I love you because you're family, all right."
Lilifred nods absently as he pulls himself to his feet. She not really listening to him anymore- the cogs and gears in her head are turning and ticking. No regrets- like Marton always says, you have to keep moving, you have to keep looking to the future and, well, the future was certainly looking a fair deal brighter. Later she would stop to think more specifically about what she's done today, but that will be when she's alone with a bottle of whiskey.
Campion, not getting a response, takes that as his cue. That he can leave, or should leave. He stumbles up the stairs, out of the catacombs, out of the Lamb. The night air is a relief. When he's not in pain and still reeling from all the raw emotional wounds, well. He'll think about this night as well. Perhaps seek her out afterwards. But right now? He needs sleep. Maybe finger resetting will still be secondary. Sleep sounds perfect.
