vanessagalore: (!Precipitation)
[personal profile] vanessagalore
TITLE: Paradox (7/?)
AUTHOR: [personal profile] vanessagalore
CHARACTERS: Veronica, Logan, Keith
WORD COUNT: 5,051
RATING: PG13/R for this chapter
SUMMARY: Sometimes it's best to just get the hell out of Dodge. Set right after 'The Bitch Is Back'.
SPOILERS: Spoilers for the whole series, especially season 3.
WARNINGS: Cursing.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars. This story is written as a tribute only. Beta'd by [livejournal.com profile] zaftig_darling. All remaining errors are my responsibility.

1~Precipitation 2~Precarious 3~Paranoia 4~Prevarication 5~Probation 6~Predicament

RECAP OF THE FIRST SIX CHAPTERS: (Highlight to read)

Keith loses the election. Gory breaks into Logan's suite at the Neptune Grand, breaking the fish sculpture and peeing on Logan's bed, and Keith finds out that Vinnie and the DA plan to pursue felony charges against him. They realize that any investigation will cause Veronica's B&E at the Kane mansion to come to light as well. Veronica, Logan, and Keith decide to flee Neptune, and they lay numerous fake trails and drive to the east in a slightly illegal car provided by Weevil.

Once they're on the road, the dismal reality of life on the run begins to sink in. Logan reveals that he's on probation for beating up Mercer and Moe in the Neptune jail. Keith, feeling Logan is endangering them, wants Logan to go on his own, but Veronica chases after Logan, and Keith reluctantly decides to keep going as a team. Logan tells them about his preliminary hearing and his plea agreement, and Veronica realizes that the party in Aspen when Logan slept with Madison was right before Logan's hearing. They reach out to Cliff back in Neptune and find out that Vinnie has filed charges for Keith's crimes, and, more ominously, Gory has filed a complaint on Logan for having assaulted him in the food court. Logan's probation has officially been revoked, and both he and Keith are listed on the NCIC computer system used by law enforcement.




We don't look at each other. We don't say anything. All three of us are replaying the conversation with Cliff.

It feels like the room has tightened in on us...like a trap that's ready to spring. In the distance, we hear a police siren nearing, then deafening through the thin motel walls, and then...relief as the siren moves away and fades. All of us let out a collective breath we hadn't realized we were holding.

Finally Dad clears his throat. "I think I want to try to get a couple newspapers. It's going to take at least a week before the story could show up in something like People or Entertainment Weekly, but I'd like to see what's actually in the newspapers around here. I'm hoping maybe I can even find an LA Times."

I nod without speaking.

Dad shrugs on a light jacket despite the early summer weather, and, turning his back to us, he fumbles in his bag. When he turns around, the jacket's been zipped up, and I realize he must have shoved his revolver in his waistband. He catches his reflection in the mirror and frowns.

For a moment, I see his hands shaking, just barely perceptibly, as he withdraws a ball cap from his backpack and pulls it down low on his forehead...and then he changes his mind and pulls the hat off.  He adjusts the ugly aviator glasses a little and smoothes the front of his jacket before turning to us again.

Dad says, "Put the chain on the door behind me, all right? Don't open the door unless I say...let's see..."

"Backup," I suggest.

"All right, 'Backup' it is. I might be a while. Couple hours maybe."

The door shuts with a scraping sound and I go to attach the chain. It's an economy model lock, and I'm betting a good kick above the door knob would strip the screws and pop the device right off the door. I double-check the handset lock and then I collapse onto the bed, my head in my hands and my eyes running over with tears.

I feel a weight beside me on the bed, an arm tentatively encircling me, and I sag against the solid form of Logan's body.

"It's going to be okay, Veronica, it's going to be okay. Your dad knows what he's doing."

"Didn't you see him? He's scared to death. He was shaking. And he took his gun. Oh god, Logan."

"Shh, it's going to be okay." He holds me a little tighter, more confident that I'm not going to pull away, I guess. "This is okay?" he asks, reading my mind. "It's okay to hold you?"

"Oh god, is this what we are now? You can't even hug me anymore? I've ruined everything."

"You didn't do it all by yourself. I helped a little," he reminds me. "You didn't bash in a police car. I did that all on my own."

I laugh despite myself. "You have a funny way of trying to make me feel better."

"You laughed, didn't you?" With his free hand, he threads his fingers through mine. "It feels good to hug you again, and you know I'll always care about you, but now that it's...the three of us...I just don't want to mess things up by starting up, I guess you'd call it a love affair. We can't mess up—we can't start having the fights we always had when we tried to go out. If we're going to try again...we can't be fighting when it's just the three of us in close quarters and we can't get away from each other if we're fighting."

"I know. We're doing good. We're getting along. It's good to be—I guess, we're just a little more than friends." He rocks me a little, and I do feel better.

I'm very glad he's here with us. I can't imagine how horrible it would have been to be worrying about him if he'd gone off on his own, and how frightening it would have been for him, to try to figure out how to do this by himself.

I keep my eyes closed, and I pretend we're back in my bedroom in Neptune...not that Logan ever got to spend any significant time there, with Dad breathing down his neck from the next room. My desk is over that way—it looks messy, but really it's organized down to every last paper. The louvered windows that I'd hated at first, but then I grew to love the beautifully filtered light that suffused the room at sunset. A few photos on the wall over there: Lilly and me in our soccer uniforms; the four of us at Homecoming; high school graduation with me, Wallace, Mac, and Logan; Mom and Dad cooking barbecue at our old house.

I try to remember every detail, no matter how small: a pile of folded clothes, fresh from the laundry; books for school; a schedule for Hearst College Spring 2007 and a bill from the bursar's office; and a couple photos for a case Dad and I are working on. And my bed—just soft enough, with sheets smelling like fabric softener and our favorite laundry detergent, a couple grungy stuffed animals and that pillow that cradles my head just the way I like it. "Oh, I miss home already," I murmur. I keep my eyes closed tight, to keep the images from disappearing.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Even the Grand...it wasn't home, but it was familiar, and it felt safe."

"Yeah." I hold onto his interlaced fingers tightly, and I ask the question that's been bugging me all day. "Logan, why didn't you tell me when you got yourself arrested?"

"I told you, I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to be disappointed in me again."

"You're lying." He tries to pull his hand away, but I'm ready for him, and his hand doesn't escape my grip. "So does that mean you did want me to know?"

"Veronica, I don't know if I want to talk about this."

"Please! Please help me understand."

All of a sudden there's an edge to his voice. "You spent the whole fall semester tracking me. You had a bug in my phone. Remember, Veronica? Maybe even other bugs I didn't know about! If I was five minutes late for anything, you wanted to know where the hell I was. But then...you stopped caring. You couldn't care less what I was doing."

"That's not true. I would have wanted to know—"

"Veronica. I watched you...in the food court."

His words are not what I expect, and before I realize it, he's pulled his hand away from mine, and dropped his arm from around my shoulders. There's only a couple inches between us, but it might as well be a mile. He starts to stand up to walk away from me, and I grab his shirt sleeve and force him to sit back down beside me. "What in the world are you talking about? What happened in the food court? When?"

Logan breathes heavily, trying to calm himself I suspect, and when he finally speaks, his voice is thick, muddy with emotion, maybe even a little anger. "It was a few days before I broke up with you. I was calling you, and I could see you across the court answering your phone. You checked the display, and then you hit 'ignore'. You didn't want anything to do with me."

"Oh god, Logan, I'm—"

"Look, I know it was bad between us. I just never thought that you'd ignore me like that. And then...when I was sitting in a jail cell after I beat up Mercer and Moe, I figured you'd show up and start screaming at me, telling me what an asshat I'd been, as usual. I guess I was hoping, maybe, just maybe, you'd calm down and realize that I did it for you—that I did it because I couldn't stand to think of you hurting and them unscathed in a prison cell."

His words start spilling out, as if he's afraid I won't let him finish. "Maybe you'd even be glad I did it for you and realize...realize how much I fucking love you and care about you, even when we're not together! But then you never showed up, you never called, and I realized you didn't even care what I did anymore." Logan stands up, and this time I let him go. He starts pacing around the room, clenching and unclenching his fists, and I wonder if those anger management classes had any impact at all.

My god...on some level, Logan had been making a grand declaration of love with that baseball bat, and he'd expected me to...what? Come running back? Swear my undying love? God, how fucked up the two of us are if this is what passes for a romantic gesture. My head hurts trying to process it all.

I try to reason with him. "Logan, how could I care if I didn't know—"

"Veronica, you always knew everything I did. And all of a sudden you couldn't be bothered to find out what I was up to? Especially when it involved me being my usual jackass self?"

"I was a little preoccupied at the time, giving testimony about what Mercer and Moe did to me." There's an iciness to my voice, and I try to put on the brakes before I say something that can't ever be taken back. "Logan, I swear to you I didn't know about it. Maybe people were trying to protect me and keeping it from me, did you ever think of that?"

"Or maybe you just didn't give a shit any more."

"Jesus. Logan, is that what you think?"

His head drops to his hands, and he grinds his fists into his eyes, trying to erase something, some memory, some perception that he wished he didn't have. And then he lets his hands fall to his side, and he looks me right in the eye. His gaze burns me. "Yes, I wanted you to know. Yes, I wanted you to give a shit. Yes, I wanted you to check up on me, and be glad that I still cared about you enough to get myself thrown into jail for you. And then when you didn't—"

"You said, 'fuck her.'"

He closes his eyes again and nods.  "Maybe...a little."

"And then..." I can barely see through the tears that suddenly overrun my eyes. "And then you slept with Madison. I'm right, aren't I? That's when you slept with Madison, at that party in Aspen right before your hearing. You slept with Madison to hurt me, because you thought I didn't give a shit any more."

"Jesus, Veronica! I don't think I was quite that organized in my thinking! You're giving me a lot of credit for plotting revenge against you. Do you think you could accept the possibility that—just maybe—I slept with the first skank who threw herself at me that night, because I felt like shit about everything, and I didn't even think about the particular skank that I screwed that night?"

"Oh, well, when you put it that way, it feels so much better."

"I mean, I know you don't like her, but...Jesus, Veronica, why the hell do you hate Madison so much?"

"You should know!" I cry.

"Goddamn it, Veronica, I don't know."

"If you cared about me—"

"Oh, you do not get to say that I don't care about you. You do not get to say that. I beat up a fucking mobster for you! I'm not perfect, but you don't get to say that I don't care about you."

We stare at each other. No one can fight the way we do. We don't even need to hate each other; love seems to be perfectly enough for us to destroy each other.

And I don't want to destroy him. I don't. God, I don't want to fight about this any more. Dad's out there, doing god knows what with a gun in his belt, and Vinnie and a platoon of state troopers might be right around the corner, ready to lock on the handcuffs and haul us back to Neptune...and Gory might be aiming a sniper rifle at us right this second. My skin crawls, just imagining Gory targeting the two of us, sitting ducks in a motel with cheap locks and a desk clerk who'd probably sell us out for twenty bucks.

So...everything Logan did? Every stupid thing the two of us did to each other in the name of love? I just don't care any more, and I do know that I love this guy, whatever he did.

I take a breath, and then, as calmly as I can, without a hint of sarcasm, I say, "You're right. Beating up a mobster? That's love all right, and that's all that matters."

"What??" He was expecting a fastball, ready to knock it out of the park with a biting retort, but my curveball takes him by surprise, and it's a swing and a miss. Logan's practically gaping at me, and he sags against the bureau for support.

"It's what every girl dreams of: a cafeteria fight with a mobster. Her boyfriend defending her honor. It's practically a fairy tale." I reach out for his hand and pull him back to the bed with me. He flops down onto the mattress beside me, the springs squeaking in protest.

"Are you mad at me for beating up Mercer and Moe?" I can hear the confusion in Logan's voice.

"No. I wish you hadn't done it, but...will you promise me something?"

"It depends."

"Promise me that you won't ever beat anybody up for me again. You can't do that. It's not the way to tell me that you love me. You can't beat up anybody ever again, no matter what they do to me. Especially now, the way things are."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mars. All right, I promise."

"You're sure?"

"I promise, I swear to you."

"Okay. Logan...now that we got that out of the way...I love that you beat up Mercer and Moe. And I wish I'd seen you bust up that police car. I miss all the good stuff."

He huffs quietly. "Yeah, it was epic. You should have seen the faces on those cops. I'd already assumed the position by the time they got to the cruiser, and I thought they were going to shit a brick."

"Aluminum or wood? Your bat."

"Old school, of course. Wood, you know what a purist I am."

He stands up and tugs at my wrist, pulling me up to the head of the bed with him. He lies down on the bed, and after a moment's hesitation I lie down beside him. Logan pulls me into his arms.

Despite his protestations to the contrary, he's never been opposed to cuddling. And it feels good to be held by him again. There's still a barrier between us, but the familiarity of his muscular arms and the sound of his breathing in my ear is comfortable. It's amazing the way our limbs unerringly find their old positions, even after months apart.

He whispers, so soft I have to strain to hear him. "Why do you hate her so much?"

"What?"

"Madison. Why do you hate her so much?"

"I hate her because she's a bitch. Isn't that enough?" My breathing is speeding up, and I can feel the sweat pooling in my armpits. I really, really, really, don't want to talk about this. Shut up, shut up, shut up...just hold me.

But he doesn't shut up, and suddenly I've boarded a cruel rollercoaster of emotion, completely out of control as it careens downhill. I'm in an insane amusement park of distorted funhouse mirrors and rides where the floor suddenly drops out from under you. You must be at least 40 inches tall and emotionally traumatized to ride this attraction. Do not attempt to exit until the ride comes to a complete stop. Welcome to Madison World, the scariest place on earth.

He's insistent. He's decided we need to talk about this. "I know she's a bitch...I know, she wrote 'SLUT' on your car. It was cruel, it was horrible what she did...but Veronica, half the sophomore class wrote 'SLUT' on your locker that year. And I know...Madison passed you the drink with the GHB in it. But you know she didn't know about that when she did it. There were a lot of people who were much worse to you than Madison was. Hell, I was worse to you. I said it to your face. Veronica...I don't think we can get past this—"

"I don't want to talk about this," I retort.

This must be what rigor mortis feels like. Every muscle in my body has tensed. If he would just let me go, I'd run...run until I dropped in exhaustion, far away from— Except...there's really no 'far away' any more. There's no way to get away from this.

But I beg him to stop. I try to convince him that I'm okay with it all. "Can't we just drop this? I'm okay with you sleeping with her, all right? I don't care. I don't want to talk about it." Liar. You'll never be okay with...

"Veronica, you do care. We have to talk about this. We're going to be together all the time now, like it or not. We've got to be able to get along, at least as friends. So why? Make me understand. Why do you hate Madison so much?"

Damn him. Damn him! I try to pull away from him, and he holds me tight. "Let me go, Logan. I don't want to talk about this."

"Please, Veronica. We have to talk about this."

"Damn you, let me go!" I try to pound his chest with my fist, and he grabs my wrist.

"Veronica. Please talk to me. Why do you hate Madison so much?"

"Because...because I needed somebody to blame for my rape!"

His grip on my fist slackens, and I pull my hand away. "I don't understand. Blame the guy who did it to you...blame Beaver." I can hear the confusion in his voice. He's trying so hard, and I'm not making it any easier.

"No, you're not getting it. When I first started asking around...all I learned was that Duncan and I had ended up sleeping together that night. But I still felt raped. You don't know what it's like, to wake up without your panties and not know what happened. I felt violated. And I couldn't hate Duncan for raping me. For a long time, I wanted to hate him, but I couldn't. I knew that Duncan had been drugged, and that he thought I wanted to have sex. He didn't know I'd been given GHB and couldn't say yes or no.

"Logan, I couldn't hate Duncan. You know that there's not an aggressive bone in his body. He would never have slept with me that night if he's wasn't stoned out of his mind, and if I hadn't been...oh god, I'm pretty sure I was coming on to him because of the GHB. Duncan was a victim just like me. So that left hating myself or hating Madison."

"What—? Hating yourself? Why the hell would you—"

"Because I...I let it happen. I took that drink without thinking."

Finally, he gets it. "And because Madison passed you the drink—

"Yeah. So in my mind, she's the one who roofied me. She's the one I blame for my rape. So, yeah, that's why I hate her."

"Veronica, that's ridiculous. Hate me. I'm the one that brought the Liquid X that ended up in your drink that night. And I'm the one who dosed Duncan!"

"Yeah, I couldn't do that either. I was pretty sure that I loved you." His breath catches at my words—the easiness with which I'd just blurted that I'd loved him. "...So you see, I kind of had no choice. It was easiest to just hate her."

"Do you really think I slept with her just to make you mad? Do you really think I could do that?"

"So then why did you sleep with her?"

"Before the hearing...I was such a mess, Veronica. The lawyers told me that there was always a chance the judge would reject the plea deal we'd worked out, and that I had to be prepared to go to prison if that happened. Veronica, the lawyers said I needed to get 'my affairs' in order, just in case. And then they told me that the support of my family would be crucial while I was 'inside', so you can guess how optimistic I was feeling."

I try to imagine Logan calling Trina for help and support, and I know that he probably didn't even bother picking up the phone. It makes me ill to think of him going through all that alone, especially after what he'd done for me.

"That night in Aspen, I figured it might be my last chance to get drunk for a long time, so I really did it up. Enbom was feeding me shots, egging me on. I don't think I've ever been that drunk before."

"Even more than...? You know, the night when you made that speech..." I feel ridiculous and stop talking.

"The Alterna-prom? Yeah, drunker than that. I at least remember bits and pieces of that night. At Aspen, all I remember is that Madison was there and hanging all over me, and I kind of felt like I wanted to do the most degrading thing possible, because that was the kind of low-life that I was. I was sure they were going to find a way to throw the book at me, Veronica. I felt like scum.

"So yeah, I went off with her. But I don't remember anything about it. I woke up with her all tangled up in my sheets, and I couldn't believe that I'd been so stupid. Then Madison tried to kiss me, and I kicked her out of the bed. She accused me of saying your name in my sleep, and then she called me an asshole, and then I called her a fucking whore. Why do you think she made such a point of telling you about it? It was the easiest way to get back at me for throwing her out of my bed that morning."

I remember that old video loop I'd had in my head, my imaginings of their night together. It never included Logan throwing her out of his bed and cursing at her. This is a much better ending than that fade-to-black with the two of them in each other's loving arms that I've been obsessing about all these months.

"I fucked her and told her to hit the road, Veronica. That's all it was, I swear to you. And I hate that it hurts you what I did with her. I've never been that drunk before, and I'll never do it again."

"God, Logan. You said that the judge made you go to AA meetings...how did you ever go to those meetings without me finding out?"

He shrugs.

All those times when Logan tied one on at an 09er party...was he really more out of control than everyone else? He had way better booze than the rest of us because he had much more money to spend...but there were a lot of kids who were drunker and more stoned than him. I try to picture him saying, 'Hi, my name is Logan...and I'm an alcoholic,' and I can't imagine how difficult that had been for him. "Logan, do you think you might be an alcoholic?"

I can feel the tension throughout his body as he responds. This is hitting awfully close to home, for both of us. "I don't know. I wasn't really drinking when I was going out with Parker. Just a couple beers if we went out on the weekend. It felt okay to be sober most of the time."

"But you...you were drinking when we were together. And you said you were drinking before you got arrested—"

"You don't make me drink, Veronica."

The speed of his response stuns me. "Did they teach you that at AA?"

"Not exactly. It was a lot of bullshit about turning yourself over to a higher power. I mumbled the phrases along with everyone else...I even stood up and 'shared' a couple times."

I know I shouldn't ask, but I can't help myself. "Do you want to tell me what you shared?"

"It's kind of the point not to tell you, Veronica. Alcoholics Anonymous."

"Oh. ...Still, don't you think you could—"

Logan laughs. "You can't stand not knowing, can you? All right...I didn't really talk about you, if it makes you feel any better. I just talked about all the stupid things I'd done when I was drunk or high. And I talked about what a coward my mother was, the way she used to drink until she passed out while Aaron was beating me, and then she threw herself off a motherfucking bridge rather than go through a divorce, and I swore that I was never going to be a coward like her."

"You're not a coward."

"Yeah, maybe." He scoots a little closer. "A coward wouldn't be so afraid to snuggle with you like this. Right now, I'm scared out of my mind to be holding you like this."

It's true: he's dangerously close, courageously close to me. I think of all the times we've lain together like this, naked and horny for each other, teasing and tempting each other to just let go of everything, to just let the haze of sex cloud our brains so we'd forget all the tragedies we'd been through. His torso presses against my shoulder, and I feel the delicate thump of his heart beating and his chest rising and falling with his exhalations. I'm too aware of the clothes he's wearing—the seam of his jeans pressed against my leg, the thin cotton fabric of his shirt bunched between us—and I imagine what it would be like, to give in to the desperate heat of skin on skin.

With one finger, he traces the edge of my hairline. I'd forgotten how gently he could touch me, how deliberately he could use one finger to caress me until I begged for more.

As he plays with a tendril of my hair, in that timbre of arousal that always jangled my nerve endings, his voice, a little hoarse, confesses, "I've missed this. I love your hair, even brown like it is now. You know, in high school...I always used to look to see how you did your hair that day. Every other girl, she had one hairdo, maybe two, or maybe she'd pull her hair back into a ponytail once in a while.

"But you...once you started growing your hair out junior year, you started wearing your hair differently every day. You'd sweep it up off your face, or into those crazy pigtails way up high, or you'd pull it back with a little barrette. Or you'd curl it, or part it differently, or just let it fall down onto your shoulders all casual and flippy. I always wanted to see how you'd done it that day, because every new hairstyle made me look at your face in a new way."

He nuzzles against my neck, breathing in deeply. "I miss this too, the way your hair smells...the way you smell. When you— when you— when you left...I wouldn't let housekeeping in the room for days because the pillow still smelled like you. Dick tricked me and let them in to clean...I almost killed him, because the maid took that pillowcase away."

I know that ache in his voice. I'd felt it too. Right about now, it would be so easy to turn my face and find his lips with mine. "What was your favorite?"

"Mmm?"

"Your favorite way that I did my hair."

His hot breath brushes against my ear, the soft exhalations a little symphony of longing. "I loved it when you pulled it back, that braid thing, when you weave it on the back of your head, what do you call that?"

"A French braid?"

"I guess.  I liked that the best.  But my favorite...my favorite is when your long hair swings across my naked chest when you're on top of me. I hope I get to see that again. I really want to see that again. I want to see you on top of me again, the way you look all out of control and just...so fucking unbelievably beautiful. I want to hear you cry out my name again. I've missed that so much."

Brutal, raw honesty, scary and heartfelt. I just let his emotions roll over me for a long minute.

"How do you do that?" I murmur finally. "The way you just say it; you always just say everything you feel, without ever being self-conscious."

"Nothing's stopping you from telling me what you're feeling, Veronica."

"You want to know what I feel? I'm scared to death. I'm scared they're coming after us. I'm scared we're going to make a mistake. I'm...scared about getting close to you again. And I'm scared I'll never get to be close to you again."

"You can't get much closer than we are right this second."

"I can think of a way to be closer." I lean over and press my lips gently against his, and just then there's a knock on the door, and Dad's voice calls out, "It's Backup."

As I jump up to get the door, I glance back at Logan, and for the first time in months, I see that old look in his eyes, that look that I'd extinguished when I broke up with him over Madison.

Continue reading...

For the PG13 version of Chapter 8: Please

For the NC17 version of Chapter 8: Please

(no subject)

Date: 2010-12-24 09:12 pm (UTC)
afrocurl: (Default)
From: [personal profile] afrocurl
How am I supposed to get my work done on fic when I have these to read, VG?

However, THIS! ALL OF IT! Makes my heart swell and just bask in the ways that such a shit situation can lead to so much openness between them.

(no subject)

Date: 2010-12-24 09:44 pm (UTC)
afrocurl: (Default)
From: [personal profile] afrocurl
Yeah, Keith will surely love all those errands (and booze) just to give these two some time.

Oh, I will take it as a great gift for Christmas. Good thing I can read the fic for your beta right now and worry about my own fic later.

(no subject)

Date: 2010-12-31 08:54 pm (UTC)
ext_83307: (Logan)
From: [identity profile] skatey.livejournal.com
Wonderful, wonderful chapter. It was nice to have Logan and Veronica talk a bit, as at least that makes me feel like ONE situation is less likely to explode. Not that I should really count on it, knowing those two, but it's nice to have a little lightness!

The one thing that jolted me out of the story was Logan mentioned a French braid. I can see him watching Veronica's hairstyles, sure, but I have yet to meet a male who knew what a French braid was. Such males may exist, but that struck me as a bit odd.

I also loved the fact that when Logan prods Veronica to tell him how she feels, her response is about fear. You never explicitly come out and say it, but that comment also hints at a really interesting relationship between fear and feeling for Veronica. Yes, she's scared about getting caught and all that other stuff, but you manage to allude to the fact that for her, there's a very close link between feelings and fear. She's scared of feelings, but fear is also the feeling she's most able to name and express. Very interesting subtlety there.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-01-07 10:09 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] http://www.google.com/profiles/116264982644933904721
This line
"We don't even need to hate each other; love seems to be perfectly enough for us to destroy each other."

Gah - that is just them, so much. and why any in-character story about them is going to be angsty.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-01-07 10:13 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] http://www.google.com/profiles/116264982644933904721
One more thing . . .

I can't get past the image of L & V cuddling on top of the bed w/ the dirty, wrinkled bedspread. Gross! Please for the love of hygiene - Have them get rid of the bedspreads.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-01-08 01:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] http://www.google.com/profiles/116264982644933904721
Well, just take the very subtly implied compliment that you've done a very good job evoking a cheap hotel room. :D

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March 2014

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Base style: Yvonne
Theme: [personal profile] branchandroot
Resources: meow
Layout: [personal profile] arobynsung
Header: [personal profile] turlough
Screencaps: VM-Caps

Momentary Thing





The Edge of the Ocean





I Turn My Camera On





Sway





We Used to Be Friends





La Femme d'Argent




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