The Needle and the Damage Done|Tag: Lucy/FINISHED

[LUCY "KITTY" HARRIS]

The moment she let herself give voice to any condolences, she had an immense inkling that it would not be accepted fairly well, if it was at all. Never mind the glaring fact that they were inarguably still strangers and knew next to nothing about the other, but it was the realization that her expressed compassion could be received as slightly presuming and insincere that made her regret having commented on it in the first place.

It was not at all her intention to emotionally rile an already riled up human being. She was not one for grandiose displays of emotion, after all. Even if the vast emotions inside of her warred and raged with the righteous anger of her neglect and imprisonment of them, she refused to let others even possess a mere glimpse. Or so she was fond of thinking. Perhaps her performances were slipping in plausibility as of late. So seemed to be the case considering that she had already partially slid the veils of her soul open for the viewing of two people and it seemed like she was reaching for the veils yet again with Roger. It was unsettling to ponder, made even more so by the truth behind it. So jaded was she that true emotional connections with others frightened her to her very core. Yet, there she was, standing in the wake of something she grasped all too well, about to give her words the wings necessary for them to soar and resonate within the sorrowful alleyway of the city’s squalor and dejection.

Kitty stood her ground, firm stare holding true, despite Roger’s refuting of her commiseration. She didn’t bristle at his words, much to her inner conscious’s discontent. She listened to the angst spilling past his lips with alarming rapidity. She listened to the inner turmoil made public by his grudging exhibition. She listened and understood.

With the expelling of a wearisome breath, she spoke, “Not pity, Roger. Understanding.” The emphasis she placed on that word indicated no falsities, stressing the sincerity of it with the flash of tenderness brimming within her kind eyes of green. Eyes that were disproportionate to the caricature she promoted. Eyes that had darkened with the cruelties and brutalities she never had the chance to revenge and probably never would. Green eyes of a woman fallen into a state of perpetual limbo with not the slightest initiative on how to gather herself together and rise again.

Kitty let him conclude his troubled rambling, watching him pensively as tears fought for triumph over him and his voice was assailed by emotions, leaving it raw and withered. This was the second time she had stumbled into a man’s most vulnerable of moments and had been witness to their eyes watering with grief, Henry included. She noted with a slight and peculiar reverence that both incidents had been tragically beautiful and disarming. How such sorrow could ever be beautiful was only evident to Kitty. Before Henry and Roger, she had never personally known anguish in others. It was something precious to her because it solidified the notion that she wasn’t alone in the dead of night, that there were others whose torment equaled her own. It wasn’t the most favorable connection to possess, but she cherished it nonetheless.

“I know a thing or two about not having any control,” she began, making sure that her tone was significantly softened and non-confrontational so that he would not think that she was attempting to unjustifiably compare their situations. “All the time . . . I feel like I have no control. Like I’m a puppet whose strings are tangled from being pulled in too many directions at once.”

Leading her gaze down to where he’d sunk to, she gave him the saddest of smiles. “I’m not saying my issues are in any way similar to yours, but I do understand. We just have different puppeteers pulling the strings, if that makes any sense,” she added, stepping closer to him and offering him a hand up, that benevolent smile of hers still intact.

“Look, I’ll help you get a hold of some AZT to tide you over. I’m pretty sure I can wrangle some pills up from this prostitute I know that’s got AIDS,” she offered, internally loathing the fact that she’d likely have to compensate Kris by handing over a sizeable amount of her pay. Everything came at a price, she’d learned.

“Do you think you can walk on your own or do I have to help you with that?”




(OOC: Sorry for the delay. I’ve been battling with my muse lately and my writing has been suffering. Above post explains pretty well. Also, apologies that it got a bit dry towards the end. I have no idea if AZT can actually be shared between people, so let me know if it can’t so I can edit this post accordingly.)

[ROGER DAVIS]

Not pity, Roger. Understanding.

It was the drugs. It was the drugs that were making him feel this way and the way Mimi was probably puking her guts out. And he knew that he should have been there, but it was simply like he had said before...everyone had their breaking point. Silently, Roger looked up at Kitty from where he sat on the ground, tears filling in his eyes.

Of course she understood. She was what some would say nothing more than a whore, a woman who sold her body for nothing more than pocket change. Someone who ran drugs for probably nothing more than pocket change in the end. Maybe they had something in common, Roger thought silently. They both knew how low they were, but Roger hoped they were in common in the way that they both had something that kept them tied to this world and not six feet under in the ground. He knew it was something that April hadn't realised and what he hadn't realised shortly after she had died; they both had thought they had nothing to live for. But unlike April, Roger had realised that he had many things to live for. If not, for himself alone.

She spoke again, saying that she knew about not having control. Once upon a time (and even now, it seemed) Roger had willingly let himself be under control of something else, whether it be under the control of heroin or under the control of April. He even let himself easily be under the control of Mimi when she wanted. However, it almost felt impossible to take control back of himself, of his head and his heart if he wanted to, because even now, Mimi controlled it. The drugs controlled it. Her voice broke his thoughts when he heard her mention AZT, and he looked up at her, her hand extended to help him up.

"I don't want to take anyone's meds. They might need them." Though, the way she was talking, the girl had enough to spare. He moved, wrapping his larger hand around her wrist to pull himself up. His head spun and for a brief second, he stood, eyes fixed on her eyes before he slowly released her hand.

"I think I can walk." Though, he stepped shakily, and paused, moving to take her hand once more to steady himself.

"I'm not always like this, you know. I'm actually nice to be around. Unless I'm being a dick. And then I'm horrible to be around." Roger commented honestly. "It's--it just hasn't been a good couple of weeks. Or months. Or years, really. If--if you do happen to see my girlfriend, please, don't tell her about this. She thinks I'm strong. She's very misguided in her thinking, but it keeps her from hurting herself. It didn't keep my ex from hurting herself, but...but Mimi's a good girl. She's young." Of course, that didn't mean fuck all, really, Roger knew. April was just as young, but April had lived a life of sex and drugs and rock and roll and when it had all came crashing down...well, she had ran. Sure, Mimi had done the same thing (and so had he) but Mimi had wanted to live, even though she probably would have never admitted it. They had needed to live for each other.

"If she found out I was using, even just small shit like this...I think she'd maybe leave me. I don't know. What doesn't know won't hurt her." Sure, it was lying, but lying was something that, sadly, Roger did very well.

[LUCY "KITTY" HARRIS]

(BBBLLLAAAAAARRRRGGGGGG. Translation: Muse is as dry as a raisin. -.- Sorry.)


Expressing genuine sympathy and compassion were commendable traits in most people, or at least Kitty surmised. When in the presence of her fellow prostitutes and whilst under the scrutiny of the men she referred to as sin seekers, she made a sizeable effort to make sure that those inherent traits were shrouded by the skillfully crafted visage of detachment and beckoning countenances. Applying her feminine wiles was a nightly occurrence and no shady dealings like the ones she was privy to solicited the implementation of those traits of hers. There was no call for sympathy or tenderness. That was not what coaxed money from the men she dealt with. So, in essence, those admirable qualities about her went largely disregarded and fallow.

As was the case with Roger, however, employing those aspects was not as daunting or as difficult a task to manage. It actually bothered her that she had let her guard down, even for a fleeting moment, to level with him. That seemed to be an inclination of hers that she had only just recently developed, not without the aid of two people in particular to nourish it. It would not have been cause for concern if it hadn’t been for the fact that it interfered with her aim of self-preservation. Kitty, with this new-found sense of virtuousness, now bore the heady tonic of trust, if only minutely. It was disorienting attempting to filter out those who had earned a fraction of her tarnished trust and those whose faces remained strangers and she needed to distance herself from. The question of the night was whether or not she trusted Roger. Not necessarily, especially with his state of mind altered as it was and the irrepressible outpouring of emotions on his part. That fact did not, however, hinder that scarcely existent sliver of confidence in him from stealing over her actions and influencing her decision to be of some assistance to him.

An almost dry laugh escaped her when he based his refusal of her offer to obtain AZT on the grounds that Kris might actually need that medication. Well, he was partly correct. Fortunately for him, despite his obliviousness of that fortunate circumstance, he was also partly incorrect in his reasoning. “If she really needed or cared about her meds, she wouldn’t be slanging them, now would she?” Kitty commented with a barely audible underchuckle.

Finally rousing Roger from his self-proclaimed post on the alley floor, she managed to get him back to a standing position, not without some effort on her part. Kitty did not exactly have the final word on strength, neither physically or mentally. Could’ve fooled most and she often did. Not lately since her vulnerability seemed to enjoy hijacking her mind and allowing itself to be viewed by the eyes of those looking in.

Following the exhalation of yet another sigh, she willed away her aversion for contact that did not hold the same context as the touches she customarily received and took hold of his left arm, winding it around her narrow shoulders. While steering Roger towards the mouth of the alleyway, Kitty listened to him practicing his plea for her not to mention this entire incident to some girlfriend that he seemed to think she would come across one day. That was an immediate red flag in Kitty’s mind, the lying was. Despite the fact that it was more than likely that she would never meet said girlfriend and thus never have the opportunity to uphold Roger’s request for her silence, something within her bristled. Rarely was the truth ever entrusted to her so her appreciation of it, disheartening in its nature or not, was all too genuine. She harbored a residual hypersensitivity when it came to being dishonest. True, she herself had to utilize a bit of deceit now and then, but only when dealing with clients and those she deemed to have duplicitous intentions as well. She was all too familiar with being the one in which the truth was never provided.

“I don’t know about all that, Roger,” she began, making sure to keep her tone collected so as not to rile him up with her next comments. Advice being given by Kitty was admittedly laughable, all things considered, but she still forged ahead regardless.

“What she doesn’t know might not hurt her now, but in my experience, these types of omissions have a nasty way of coming to light sooner or later. When they do, they actually hurt worse than if you’d been upfront in the first place, but it’s not my place to say anything so I won’t,” she concluded, not bothering with a glance his way and simply shrugging, causing the arm of his to rise slightly along with her shoulders.

Nearing the end of the alleyway, it finally occurred to her that she’d yet to run Spider’s drugs. No doubt some time had passed since she had first come upon Roger’s crumpled and defeated form beside the dumpster and if she had any hope of evading Spider’s rage, she needed to complete her assignment.

Unfortunately, Roger was a slight hindrance. Mutely mulling over possible solutions, only one came to the forefront that could possibly serve both Spider’s cause and Roger’s debilitating state of mind. There was a definite possibility that he would be more trouble than he was actually worth, but Kitty attempted to remain optimistic, something so uncharacteristic that it was nearly inconceivable to attribute to her.

Pausing where the alleyway floor gave way to sidewalk, she looked up at him with wistful eyes of green, paled by the reflecting streetlight gleaming off of them faintly. “Alright, I need to run this by you before I take you along and let you walk into this blindsided,” she spoke, none of her anxiety over this solution manifesting on her face or in her voice. “I’m going to get some AZT for you and also help you sober up, but before I do that, I have to run this . . . merchandise," she indicated the drugs with the patting of her free hand on the bag she was lugging around. "You can come with or, if you want, you can wait for me here. I won’t desert you if I can help it, though. Choice is yours,” Kitty offered, analyzing his expression from behind a veil of put-upon serenity.