So Quiet... [open]

[castor cahill]

Sleepy... so sleepy! It was so late, did he need to be here? Did someone really need to sit here, at this desk, at this time, when pretty much everyone else would be asleep? Castor wished he could be asleep right now. No matter how much you loved books, it was easy to get bored once all the lights were out and the sweet calls of sleep beckoned. There was but a single lamp on the librarian's desk, the orange-yellow light of which was both warming and comforting. His personal copy of Poe's poetry lay open beneath the lamp, forgotten, discarded, the yellowing pages of the ancient paperback curling at the edges. Castor himself was leaning back on the two back legs of his chair, feet propped unceremoniously against the edge of the desk. His back was arched, head tilted back, eyes fixed on the endless darkness that was the ceiling.

"No rays from the holy heaven come down
on the long night-time of that town..."

His voice seemed eerie in the silent room; he could imagine it echoing through the towers of shelves and leather-bound novels, disturbing dust that had lingered there for years.

"Argh!" He returned the chairs four legs to the ground, resulting in a crash emphasized by the uncapreted floor, and the silence of the extreme early morning. He slumped forward on the desk, staring aimlessly into dark space as he rested his head on the hard wood. So... so boring! So quiet! So little entertainment! He reached into his pocket and brought out a switchblade, the top of which he absently started digging in to the underside of the desk. Really, why did there need to be someone in the library at this hour? Crazy foreign place. Who gives a fuck about what goes on at a library at 1am? The tip of the blade was pushed further in to the desk, and he imagined the wood was... something else. Rather, someone, that is, what ever damn idiot decided the library needed to be supervised at this ungodly hour.

[cécile alabaster]

maybe i've gone far too deep—
maybe i'm just too weak,

It was 1 AM and she was wide awake.

Cécile had been lurking the hallways of the Alabaster House for twenty minutes and, yes, she had been counting. Sleep never came easily to her these days. Ever since she had found the ANTi-HOLiCs, all she could think about was killing Arlynn. Arlynn, Arlynn, Arlynn. Hate, hate, hate. Almost always, her thoughts went over to her sister. Her want to kill her, her need to see her dead. Sleep wasn't important when her sister was still alive and kicking. Only her death would bring her peace.

So, really, sleeping wasn't an option nowadays.

The corridor was silent, yet still brightly lit at this hour. Cécile never really had a destination in mind whenever she found herself up and about during the night. Her thought process was slower, as was her reaction time—it was a miracle that she hadn't been attacked yet. Then again, there was a reason why she only lurked the halls of where the ANTi-HOLiCs resided. Despite being half-asleep whenever she went on these sudden walks, Cécile's intelligence didn't decrease at all. She made it a point to avoid any HOLiC territory, only staying on the third floor. It was safer, after all. Besides, even if she wanted to go down to the second floor, it'd just be much too tedious. Not worth it at all.

Twenty-five minutes. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. Sometimes she had to remind herself what to do, or else Cécile would just end up standing there, obviously sleep-deprived. Pfft, sleep. She laughed at it, mocked it. Sleep was for the weak, anyways, Cécile decided. Who needed sleep? Besides, she could always just sleep in later. When it wasn't so dark and when everyone up and about. Then she could sleep. Just for a little bit anyways. A nap, if you will. Not even for thirty minutes. Twenty-five minutes, that's all that she would need. Or, at least, Cécile was convinced that it was. And not only that, but—

Cécile blinked, not once, but twice. Somehow, she had ended up outside the library. This was, unsurprisingly, not the first time this had happen. All the other times, she would go about her own way. However, not this time. If Cécile couldn't sleep, it was only logical to kill time somewhere until the sun had come up, at least. While lurking around the third floor was quite a good way to kill time, it wasn't as if it was the safest thing to do. It was probably only good luck that she hadn't been attacked by any of the HOLiCs. "Damn, Arlynn and her stupid possé," she muttered unhappily as she opened the door to the library and entered it. There was no hesitance in in her step because, considering what time it was, Cécile was just beyond caring.

As soon as she entered the room, Cécile immediately noticed that another person was in the room. To be honest, he didn't quite seem to be quite happy. Then again, she didn't really blame him. What time was it again? Sometime pass midnight, definitely. Oh well. "You seem to be enjoying youself," Cécile mumbled to the young man at the desk, as she began making her way toward a book shelf. She didn't even know what she was looking for on the book shelf. Just something.

NOTES! hope you don't mind me hopping into the thread~

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[castor cahill]

"You seem to be enjoying yourself."

"Mmph. " Woah. Wait. Double take. Someone was... actually here? As in, actually awake, actually willing to walk around, actually walking past him and towards the shelves? He pushed himself from the desk (after struggling to free his knife, that is; he had gotten somewhat enthusiastic about hollowing out the table) and stared after the girl. IT wasn't a dream, or his imagination? Red hair... surely it was Cécile Alabaster, the daughter of his employer. This was sort of like her house, right? There was nothing unusual about someone walking around their own house at night, but this weak logic was lost on Castor, who just wanted to go and sleep.

"Can I help you, miss?" He said, stifling a yawn. He lent back in his chair, stretched, and stood, the wooden feet scraping over the bare floor. He rubbed his eyes, and was hit by a yawn that he couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried. He hadn't realised just how tired he was! But now there was something here, something to capture his attention, surely the hours would pass somewhat faster.

"The waves have now a redder glow-
The hours are breathing faint and low..."

He smiled to himself as he whispered the lines. They had no real meaning nor relevance to what was happening, but they seemed like they could. That was the thing about quoting out of context; you could make the words suit nearly anything. He reached out, closed his book (what had possessed him, to leave it open like that? He needed to take more care, to make the yellowing pages last as long as possible...) and stepped out from behind the desk. He walked (or was it more a shuffle?) towards the girl, and the shelf she was looking through in such a non-committal manner.

"You know what you're looking for, yeah? Or just after something to read?" Talking helped. God, talking helped so much, although it was possible his words were slurring in to each other. His accent was more prominent when he was tired; perhaps she wouldn't be able to understand him. Would hilarity ensure? Only one way to find out...

[cécile alabaster]

Was that a knife? Interesting, but not worth pondering over at this hour. It wasn't surprising to see the faculty carry weapons these days. Fear was an ugly thing, no matter how necessary it was. Sometimes, it was almost amusing to watch them become the very 'monsters' they cleaned up after or studied. Watching them realize that they weren't as above them as they had once thought they were. Not that Cécile thought of herself or most of the other 'patients', excluding Arlynn of course, as monsters. More like unjust victims who were being forced to play some sick game. While being a fun and enjoyable game in her eyes, it was obvious that many others thought otherwise.

"Just something to read," Cécile answered, after she finally noticed that he had asked her a question. Really, her reaction time was probably that of a seventy-year-old's by now. Well, most likely, anyways. "A book that'll keep me awake." Being specific was overrated, these days. Besides, it wasn't as if she were looking for anything in particular, anyhow. And it wasn't as if she were picky with what kind of prose she read, either. She liked to think of herself as an open individual. However, Cécile was probably the only person who believed that, unfortunately. Those cretins. They just didn't understand her and her open ways, obviously!

They being Arlynn and her stupid possé of HOLiCs. Just thinking about her sister made her even more tired than she already was. So, of course, thoughts of her uterrly annoying older sister were promptly burried under a million more important thoughts. Like her not-yet-completed plan to kill Arlynn. Yes, she still had many kinks to cover before Cécile could call the plan done and initiate it. Which meant that the plan wouldn't be ready until...next spring. Shit.

Another unimportant thought to trample, burn, and throw out of her head-space.

Why was she even wasting her time thinking about someone like Arlynn. Cécile had to think about her current dilemma: Staying awake long enough to at least pick out a book to kill time with. Yeah, focus Cécile. She isn't even worth thinking about~ So with a slight shake of her head—as if she were trying to shake away thoughts of Arlynn—Cécile, unconsciously, began to comb her fingers through her hair. As though that would make Arlynn disappear completely.

"Preferably something horrific," she mumbled offhandedly, almost languidly. She was not tired. That was just unthinkable. Hah. Her sleepy? Nope. No way. She wasn't. At all. Cécile refused to admit to feeling deprived of sleep. Stubbornness seemed to run in the family; even when it came down to wanting to sleep and not wanting to. Even when she was arguing with herself. Was that was she was doing? Arguing with herself, really? That was pathetic. Utterly pathetic. Almost as pathetic as her sister and her little—

And then she just stopped that certain train of thought. Right. Books. Killing time. Get back on track, Cécile~ Her train of thought was digressing away from the matter at hand. Cécile didn't want to blame her lack of sleep, because, then, wouldn't she really be blaming herself in an indirect sort of way? Whatever, whatever. Books. Killing time. She could barely even think in complete sentences anymore.

"Do you have any personal recommendations?"

However, she could still, apparently, speak in complete sentences.

[/justify]

[castor cahill]

"Horror? Recommendation? Hmmm...." Think, dammit, think! He felt another yawn creeping up... would he get in trouble if he didn't work tomorrow? If he stayed in bed instead? Surely there was some sort of thing that meant you couldn't over-work your employees? "Well," here he paused to yawn, being unable to suppress it, "what I would recommend..." He tried to think, but found his eyes kept wandering to the desk, and the battered paperback lying beneath the lamp. "Well, this is my favourite, although I admit I'm a little biased." He reached out and brushed the spine of an old and elegant looking leather bound book, the word 'Tales' imprinted in faded gold leaf. "Although the language is dry, and probably too hard to understand this late at night." After all, Gothic lyricism is enough to put anyone to sleep even during the day, let alone at one in the morning. He took a step back, thoughts of tiredness pushed to the back of his mind as his eyes poured over the volumes on the shelf. "What about this one? My brother loves it..."

Shit!

Damn depth perception! Damn tiredness, and its tendency to blur the eyes! He had reached out to indicate the book, and instead pushed somewhat roughly past Cécile, his hand bumping into her shoulder more forcefully than was appropriate.

"S-sorry..." Was it really that hard to think straight? He cursed his own feeble mind as he pulled the actual book from the shelf, and cursed it again when he remembered it was a book of horror stories... aimed at children. What would she think? Would she complain to her father? Would he get fired? He couldn't afford to lose another job. He'd probably have to go home, back across the Ocean, go back to that place, where that woman was... and that was something he wouldn't, couldn't do. it's OK, calm down. Just because things aren't like in Australia doesn't mean I'll get fired for doing something little... His attempts at comforting himself weren't exactly working, as he was remembering just how laz the country of his birth was. What would his friends say at this situation?

"Wooooooooooooooo, hook in!"
"Go for it Cas!"
"Hook in with the boss' daughter!"

.... sleep. It had to be the lack of sleep. He was pretty sure his hypothetical friends weren't usually bogan, and he would never let anyone call him Cas, Caz, Cazza, or any variation they might come up with.

Besides, there was only one person who could call him 'Cas'. And they had died twelve years ago.

ooc :: I'll try to link to as much slang as possible ^^; also sorry if uh some of this makes no sense, I'm probably more tired than Castor at the moment xD

[cécile alabaster]

Her eyes were barely opened when she felt herself being roughly pushed passed. Cécile blinked sleepily before shaking her head, as if that would help her stay awake. To be honest, the young woman was in no mood to retaliate, only giving him a half-hearted glare. "...fine. It's fine," she said tersely, just a bit irritated and amused as the same time. Mostly amused, though. Must. Resist. No sleeping allowed. To distract herself from the increasingly more attractive thoughts of sleep, Cécile decided that speaking, conversing, was a fine way to stay awake.

"A brother?" Cécile inquired, attempting, and failing, to sound as amiable as she did whenever she wasn't sleep deprived. "Siblings are just wonderful, aren't they?" Of course, Cécile didn't actually believe her own words. Considering her current relationship with her own sister, one wouldn't be able to call Cécile a good judge at telling whether having a sibling was wonderful or not. The only experience she had with Arlynn that was, at least, borderline sisterly had occured when they were children. She couldn't even clearly remember having shared a sisterly moment with Arlynn. Hah! It probably wasn't even worth remembering. So, really, Cécile wasn't even going to try. Remembering, that is.

Anyways, speaking. Right. Speaking always did seem to help in these sort of borderline awkward situations, in her opinion. "You two must be close," Cécile said in a seemingly amicable manner, "I mean, you even know what book he loves!" So what if she was just assuming things? She had something to talk about, now. Talking, Cécile had always thought, was the best way to stay awake. Despite being sleep deprived and unable to think in complete sentences, Cécile was still able to plaster an affable smile on her face. Facial features were much easier to manipulate than words and thoughts. Smiling required less effort than attempting to staying awake, that was for sure.

Thoughts of spending her time reading were slowly diminishing, bit by bit. While she did enjoy literature, Cécile found conversing and socializing much more enjoyable. Especially about their personal life. Why? Well, Cécile didn't care about being considered intrusive or rude. As long as she got the information she needed or, most of the time, desired—Cécile wouldn't care. In fact, she was just fine with being known as a bother.

Even so, her original objective wasn't completely lost to her. Just mostly. Quickly looking at the book he had indicated to just a moment ago, Cécile raised a questioning eyebrow. She could have sworn seeing one of the younger ANTi-HOLiCs reading it in their spare time. A children's book? I don't look like a nine-year-old, do I? The nineteen-year-old was feeling a mixture of curious and confused. "Just how old is your brother?" Not that she was insinuating that an adult couldn't enjoy a book targeted at a younger audience, Cécile was just somewhat intrigued, is all. Nothing more, nothing less.

NOTES! s-sob, sorry for the delay. and don't worry, it's fine. i'm sorry if my post doesn't make any sense. i'm a bit tired myself, gaaah.

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[castor cahill]

"Wonderful? Some of them are." One of them was. In truth Castor had many half-siblings, although he only knew the name of one of them. An awful older brother? Some might say so. He just didn't bother with people he had only met once or twice. Foster families made it hard to keep in touch with real family; not that he wanted to keep in touch with her anyway.

"You two must be close, I mean, you even know what book he loves!"

He looked at the floor, put his hands in his jacket pockets, thinking; I really need to stop thinking he's still around.

"We are... were... close. He is... was... is... we're twins. Were. He died." I really, really need to stop thinking he's still alive. It just gets me in to situations like this! He kept staring at the floor, lecturing himself in his head over and over. It really was a problem. It had been what, twelve years? But there were some things you couldn't just forget about.

"We... he... was nine. To be honest I didn't like horror, or anything scary at the time; I think I remember because he used to taunt me with it." Look at the ground look at the ground look at the ground, oh god I'm not crying, those are not tears. Shit. Way to get emotional! It was the lack of sleep, that was it, making him say things and feel things that he would ordinarily have more control over. Yes, that's right, blame the lack of sleep.

A plan! It might not work, it might, who really cares when it's so early in the morning? The early hours of the day were not famed for their ability to bring about genius. He tried anyway; that is, to yawn (again) to try to cover up the fact that his eyes were all of a sudden very watery.

Did it work? Who knows.

"You have a sister, right?" He had gathered that they didn't really get along, and he didn't really blame them. He didn't get along with his sisters either. "It must be hard to live here, but at least you have your... family, right?" Family. he'd heard that most people liked being around theirs.

...but what if she was like he was? What if she hated her family? And was he being too forward, too friendly, too personal? Probably. Probably. But see, he could always blame the lack of sleep, and everything would be fine. Right?

[cécile alabaster]

She listened, surprisingly quiet. It was almost uncharacteristic of her not to make a single comment. After all, she had always been a bit callous, just a bit insensitve to others. Nobody got anywhere in life by playing nice, after all. However, this time around, she stayed quiet. Perhaps Cécile was attempting to be considerate by staying silent, or maybe she just didn't know what to say. To be honest, Cécile hadn't expected him to answer her honestly or sincerely. It was almost disquieting. Almost.

Cécile peered at him intently and opened her mouth, as if she were about to say something. However, before she could, she was interrupted by own voice.

Her sister. Her wretched, wretched sister has been brought up. As well as her family. It was all their fault she was so tortured. If only, she could just— "Not when you're trying to kill each other," she muttered darkly. When it came down to matters on family, Cécile's temper was at it's shortest. Why would anyone want to know about such a dysfunctional family? Wasn't Cécile and Arlynn's hate for one another obvious? Maybe they should start openly spitting in each others faces, if it wasn't. Then again, Cécile was above such crudeness; such immaturity.

Even so, it wasn't as if she had total self control over herself whenever Arlynn was in the vicinity. Really, it was almost instinct to try to throttle each other whenever the other sibling was in the area. Except most of the time they both seemed to have some restraint. Other times, however, were another story entirely, though. But could you really blame her? Just seeing the one person who kept on torturing them in their dreams—wouldn't you want to be rid of that person, too?

Just thinking about Arlynn made her angry these days. Made her want to decapitate someone, just hurt someone. Restraint is your friend, Cécile, she reminded herself. Right. Self-restraint. Practice it. While, Cécile understood how important restraint was, Arlynn just seemed to bring the worst out of her. Without even trying too! It was infuriating how easily her older sister was able to make her lose her composure.

To keep herself from thinking too much on her sister, Cécile decided that it was time for a change in subject. "Must be hard, though," Cécile said offhandedly, "Losing your brother at such a young age. Especially if that sibling was your twin." Not that she would know how he felt. If Arlynn was dead, Cécile was sure that she would be having a party of sorts, though. Celebrating a life without Arlynn. If only she could, though—

Damn it. Cécile was thinking about her again. She was sure that she wasn't on Arlynn's mind as much as Arlynn was on hers. So, shit. Even when Arlynn wasn't there, even when she was nowhere near the area; why couldn't Cécile stop thinking about her? Just keep talking, Cécile. Maybe that way, everything will be better. A lie, but one she wanted to believe.

"Do you have any other family? Even though they might not be here, at least you have them, right?"

[/justify]

[castor cahill]

"Not when you're trying to kill each other."

He looked up, blinking to clear his eyes, surprised at the coldness of her voice. Although with hindsight he really should have expected it; wasn't there like, a feud or something? Who knows? He hadn't been employed that long, and didn't really visit the other areas of the asylum much. Perhaps he should change that; find out what else went in on the place he worked at. It was sort of sad, he guessed, but he knew better than most how easy it was to grow to hate the people you should theoretically be closest to. Really, who's to say that he wouldn't have grown to feel the same way of Pol as he did the rest of his family? His brother had died young, too young to really say if it was real affection they felt, or just habit. Castor turned his eyes, stinging, back to the shelf in front. All just maybes. Maybe this. Maybe that. What if things had been like this instead of like that? Maybe I wouldn't hate her so much if she hadn't killed him. Maybe I'd still be in Australia. Maybe ugh maybe I just don't give a fuck! He was shaking slightly, trying hard to resist the temptation of angrily throwing his knife into the shelf; to dig the thin blade into the leather covers, to feel it slice through thin paper, only to stick with a solid thud into the wood of the shelf...

Thinking about her made him want to stab something. Perhaps it was an action based on a single guilty hope; maybe one day, I can do the same to her.

"Must be hard, though, losing your brother at such a young age. Especially if that sibling was your twin."

"Mhm." He stared fixedly at the shelf, as if he were trying to unnerve the solid wood and books. "It was hard... especially when..." when the murderer is your own mother. He couldn't bring himself to say it; he had never been able to, and he doubted he ever would. She was crazy, insane, mentally unstable. A lot like the people here then. But they had never been able to prove she did it. Were never able to find a clear motive. It was an accident, some said. Caused by lack of supervision, said others. Castor had been there. He had been there, and even he couldn't remember. But that was hardly a basis for forgiveness!

"Do you have any other family? Even though they might not be here, at least you have them, right?"

"I do. I never see them. Don't really want to." Short. Sharp. His eyes were stinging more now, and he felt yet another yawn coming on. The soft orange light... the night, all enveloping. Despite his inner rage, he wouldn't be surprised if he fell asleep standing up. A stretch, a yawn; a loosening of muscles too tight with unconscious tension. "But none of this matters, anyway. I just work here. Was there anything else you needed? I could go look for more books for you, if you want."