laurence nimith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
outdistanced) wrote2025-03-04 11:09 pm
outdistanced) wrote2025-03-04 11:09 pm
Entry tags:
memory: rosalie
1 2 3 4
Iris is gone, and it's all anyone can talk about. It doesn't help that Madam and the other staff keep pulling them aside. Anyone who's ever spoken to Iris is being interrogated for any shred of a clue to where he's gone. Naturally, you'd already gone through the motions, played off your innocence. He's gone, like he'd always wanted, so why send them on a wild goose chase for someone who doesn't even want to be here?
But it's the way your friends talk about Iris now that you can't handle, and what really ticks you off is the joking about selling Iris, as if Spawncampers are something funny, something any demiflora deserves to suffer. You slam your hands on the table and get up to leave, offering a half-assed excuse and letting your feet take you where they will.
Which is to the elderly sector, evidently, where that old lady Iris used to hang out with, Rosalie, is looking out. You join her, hands in your pockets, to watch a bird fly far above the trees.
"You were right... He's really gone."
Smiling, she asks, "I take it you were able to say goodbye, at least?"
You scoff and deny it, of course. (It would be foolish to do otherwise.) Besides, Iris is just an idiot who's still causing trouble for you, even after he's left the Tower. And now you and everyone else have to deal with the fallout, while he's run off with that strange demiflora doing who knows what.
"...Laurence," Rosalie says, interrupting your rant, "It's okay."
"What about this is okay?" you counter in a flash of anger. "He just--"
"It's okay to wish you were there for him."
It catches you off guard, steals the wind right from your sails. Just as you start to get defensive again, the old lady carries on. She claims that Iris, the one connection between the two of you, would hate to see either of you unhappy because of him. Says he doesn't blame you, and while she doesn't specify what for, your heart becomes heavy with guilt and remorse.
"Madam's going to stop at nothing to find out the truth of that night. He'd hate it if you were to get hurt." Because you both know that if Madam does learn the truth, there won't be any saving you. There's nowhere to run, and she is stronger and more frightening than anyone you know. Rosalie clutches her cardigan a little closer around her body, and continues, "So for his sake, forget you ever bade him farewell. Forget you ever knew an Iris Black. You're quite the expert at it already."
Stunned into silence, all you can do is watch as she turns to leave. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, white-knuckled, as those words echo in your ears. Your jaw clenches. She's right, after all. For years, you'd forced yourself to pretend as if you'd never been friends with Iris Black, let alone best friends. But those memories of when you could laugh together, when he'd show you his latest drawing and you'd cheer him on when he pulled something out of the page, no matter how small - they've always been with you, even when you ran from him.
You jerk with surprise as tears roll down your cheeks, hurriedly brushing them away on the same sleeve you'd used to wipe away his drawing on the wall last night.
"Damn you, Iris...! Wherever you are..."
Iris is gone, and it's all anyone can talk about. It doesn't help that Madam and the other staff keep pulling them aside. Anyone who's ever spoken to Iris is being interrogated for any shred of a clue to where he's gone. Naturally, you'd already gone through the motions, played off your innocence. He's gone, like he'd always wanted, so why send them on a wild goose chase for someone who doesn't even want to be here?
But it's the way your friends talk about Iris now that you can't handle, and what really ticks you off is the joking about selling Iris, as if Spawncampers are something funny, something any demiflora deserves to suffer. You slam your hands on the table and get up to leave, offering a half-assed excuse and letting your feet take you where they will.
Which is to the elderly sector, evidently, where that old lady Iris used to hang out with, Rosalie, is looking out. You join her, hands in your pockets, to watch a bird fly far above the trees.
"You were right... He's really gone."
Smiling, she asks, "I take it you were able to say goodbye, at least?"
You scoff and deny it, of course. (It would be foolish to do otherwise.) Besides, Iris is just an idiot who's still causing trouble for you, even after he's left the Tower. And now you and everyone else have to deal with the fallout, while he's run off with that strange demiflora doing who knows what.
"...Laurence," Rosalie says, interrupting your rant, "It's okay."
"What about this is okay?" you counter in a flash of anger. "He just--"
"It's okay to wish you were there for him."
It catches you off guard, steals the wind right from your sails. Just as you start to get defensive again, the old lady carries on. She claims that Iris, the one connection between the two of you, would hate to see either of you unhappy because of him. Says he doesn't blame you, and while she doesn't specify what for, your heart becomes heavy with guilt and remorse.
"Madam's going to stop at nothing to find out the truth of that night. He'd hate it if you were to get hurt." Because you both know that if Madam does learn the truth, there won't be any saving you. There's nowhere to run, and she is stronger and more frightening than anyone you know. Rosalie clutches her cardigan a little closer around her body, and continues, "So for his sake, forget you ever bade him farewell. Forget you ever knew an Iris Black. You're quite the expert at it already."
Stunned into silence, all you can do is watch as she turns to leave. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, white-knuckled, as those words echo in your ears. Your jaw clenches. She's right, after all. For years, you'd forced yourself to pretend as if you'd never been friends with Iris Black, let alone best friends. But those memories of when you could laugh together, when he'd show you his latest drawing and you'd cheer him on when he pulled something out of the page, no matter how small - they've always been with you, even when you ran from him.
You jerk with surprise as tears roll down your cheeks, hurriedly brushing them away on the same sleeve you'd used to wipe away his drawing on the wall last night.
"Damn you, Iris...! Wherever you are..."