Chapter Text
Cassia enters, and leaves, the bathroom.
Her visits are few and far between, rarely lasting more than two minutes. Initially, she fetches her soaps and shampoos from the stainless steel holder by the faucet, then exits to transport them to a different bathroom. The second time she visits, she inspects the temperature of the water, and then the ceiling vent, commenting something about plants needing air circulation to thrive. On the third, Cassia is carrying a tray of dishes, turning the door handle with her elbow and pushing the door with her back, and places it on the sink counter, which bears a cavity in the ceramic about Manty’s size, L.L. curiously notices.
L.L. has stopped keeping count by the fourth time, but this time, Cassia holds the door ajar, and peeks in from her bedroom. L.L. spots the line under the doorframe that divides their rooms, the juxtaposition of dark timber linoleum flooring and arctic square tiles.
“You didn’t eat the lunch I prepared you.”
Though cognizant that Cassia’s statement is an invitation for conversation, L.L. does not deign to give her a reply. Moreover, L.L. sees no room for rebuttal when the irrefutable evidence stands on the counter.
“Still upset that you’ve been abducted by a strange yet alluring woman?” Cassia’s songlike tone lays the bait thick.
Of course not. This is the least of her concerns. Whether caged or isolated, L.L. is hellbent on not empowering this sinner to add anguish to her travesty of a life. She also doubts that Cassia has been making active efforts towards devastating her psyche. Because so far, she really has not. Compared to online comic book villains and those mythological monsters that inspire copypastas and chain messages, L.L. would say Cassia is a failure, a saint. Even more so when objectively considering that it is uncomplicated to kidnap someone who is bathtub-ridden from an unguarded, abandoned house.
“Or are you upset that the strange yet alluring woman did not give you internet access?”
Of course. L.L. eats her words, or rather, internal thoughts. She tastes her own indignation as she bites the inside of her lip. Cassia can condescendingly pamper her as much as she pleases, but she has absolutely no right for mockery. For starters, she is no longer a sheltered child wailing to extend her screentime. She needs her internet connection, the same way Manty needs data and the same way her muscles need water; Cassia has usurped her only means of independence and unjustly rendered her powerless.
“Ah,” she shuts her eyes as she draws in the air, sucking on the faint sourness that L.L.’s fieriness stained it with, “I’ve struck a nerve.”
She pushes the door half open, head tilted upwards. L.L. catches a glimpse of her legs; she is standing like a proud victor. Annoyingly, her feet remain on the wooden floor.
Although mainly as flavourless as it was yesterday, there is a weak sprinkling of citric acid in the room’s scent, and it means a world of difference to Cassia. It rekindles a spark, the one that plagued her sensibilities after she set foot in Elysiland, after she witnessed as a woman covered in bright blue twirled and swayed with the wave of zombies.
Spellbound. Possessed. There are many words for it, many other words Cassia would prefer, but L.L. is of the view that she looks stoned.
“I’ll let this be your dinner. Be sure to finish it, otherwise…” She trails off. She winks, puts the edge of her thumb by her lower lip and performs a salacious display of licking it. L.L. wonders how such shameless indecency is allowed to persist outside Elysiland.
With that, Cassia achieves the illusion of a threat, but L.L. sees through it. Or Cassia intended to create the illusion of the illusion of a threat, purely to deceive her for fun, in which case L.L. does not see through that. Lost in mazes of misconceptions, she learns that she is still as mystical as the moment she barged into her house.
Although one should tread cautiously in fog, L.L. half-hopes she would threaten to feed her again. It is because her hands are stiff from being mercilessly constrained yesterday, that’s what she tells herself.
However, Cassia leaves the untouched food untouched and shuts the door. Its mechanism produces a click, like a castanet marking the end of a bar. L.L. finds her chest tense and her neck feverish whenever Cassia is present, but there is no fear in her mind.
Ergo, L.L.’s first day in her new aquarium is uneventful. After the adrenaline from her unforeseen displacement wore off, her hyperactive personality desires the next thrill, and then the next, and then the next, but in this stale seclusion cell, L.L. falls victim to boredom and listlessness.
On the other hand, Manty restlessly paces on the floor of the bathtub, clusters of bubbles boiling over its fins with every swish. Its tiny brain is overwhelmed by the dilemma of fleeing with every ounce of strength and risking the loss of L.L.’s hydration, or grovelling to fate like its mistress. It worries for its long-term security, it mourns its beloved freedom and it frets over the prospect of L.L. descending deeper into temperamental maniacal broodings.
Meanwhile, L.L. worries about missing her Project: Duck dailies and breaking her DisChat streaks.
Mindful of Manty’s distress, L.L. proposes children’s games throughout the day. However, Manty is unfortunately not well-equipped for Rock, Paper, Scissors or Chopsticks and Hide and Seek poses a potential safety hazard. They try nevertheless.
“Rock, scissor, paper… Shoot!”
Manty emerges triumphant, fluttering and showing off its ‘paper hand’ to the loser. L.L. chortles, slaps Manty lightly and accuses it of cheating.
After a few more of her clearly deliberate losses, Manty grows weary of the repetitive game. It starts to ponder about how they will pay the utilities bills at home without Wi-Fi, will the providers disconnect them?
But it does not ponder for long; L.L. proposes a new game. And then the next. They play mindlessly through the afternoon, evening and night; the lunch-turned-dinner by the bathroom sink goes overlooked and frigid.
*\+sƨ+/*
Splash!
A lock of hair lashes at the spot in front of Manty, spraying water from all sides, but it dodges seamlessly! Manty readies its comeback, coiling its lithe tail into the heavens, and whips ferociously! L.L., constrained in a movement, is drenched by the oncoming torrent.
“Not yet, there’s the second health bar!” L.L. unleashes the ultimate power in RPGs: making shit up.
As fountains implode from the bathtub, the creaking of the door goes unnoticed by the two excessively immersed players. Cassia manages to slither into the bathroom without breaking their immersion, right until her foot crosses the line.
Like lightning, L.L.’s sixth sense warns of her unexpected presence. Flight, fight or freeze. Due to her innate disability coupled with her social anxiety, she has never been licensed for the first or second choice. So, freeze. And yet, a natural inquisitiveness causes her to stray from that nature.
“You’re awake?”
“Yes. Don’t let me disturb your little Elysiland.”
After having Cassia’s signature smirk hauntingly etched into her thoughts, L.L. notes that the one on her face now looks slightly overexerted, and her teeth don’t show. There’s always something unpleasantly out of place about her.
L.L. checks the time quickly, using Manty’s internal clock. Manty receives her mental command, then flips its body to display the time on its dorsal: 2:05am.
“Useful. And cute. If I knew, I wouldn’t have hit your stingray with a mallet earlier.”
It’s a manta ray, L.L. corrects consciously, then “What?!”
“I thought its ivory epidermis and jelly blue tendrils could be ground into a fine powder and become a finishing touch to my perfumes. My perfumes could shimmer in light and dark, and it wouldn’t alter the fragrance. Alas, that didn’t work out. Your pet looks very fragile but its outer shell is very tough, tougher than my pestle… And other tools.”
Ah. She’s a perfumer, who is mad enough to use ‘unique’ ingredients. That explains why a mortar and pestle is beside the bathroom sink, and why there is a crater there as well.
Manty cowers, palpitating, quivering and convulsing. Its tummy screen is flashing repeatedly, even the numbers are glitching with every spasm. 0 to 1 to 9 to 0, and the AM glitching to PM to AM. Oddly, Manty is physically unscathed, but the same cannot be said for its mental health.
“It’s flickering. Did I damage the screen?”
L.L. could not fully discern whether that question was rhetorical or sarcastic and safely elected to ignore it. L.L. does not engage in the eye contact, letting Cassia’s gaze bore the side of her head.
Meanwhile, Cassia awaits the acknowledgement of her genuine question. She reflects on what she possibly could have said to offend L.L. and clam her up again, despite the glaring offense of unlawful confinement.
A yawn erupts from within her weary frame, Cassia tries to stifle its escape but it passes. Even on the brink of total exhaustion, her captor looks ethereal.
As L.L. watches her silk nightgown accentuate the rise and fall of her diaphragm, and her hand suavely cover her parting lips, L.L. wants to blame that traitorous thought on her own sleepiness. But there’s none. Not a drop of weariness for herself.
L.L. and Manty, forever nocturnal beasts, were romping around in their aquatic playground, while Cassia, innocently praying for rest, struggles to find respite from whatever work she does in the day that constantly beckons her away from home.
“S…” L.L. almost apologises.
It was like a muffled hiss, but Cassia perks up and her eyes burst open. “What was that?”
L.L. decides against it; it was an involuntary action after all. “Nothing.”
“No,” she rebuffs, “What were you saying?” Her breaths shorten, her breaths accelerate. Her eyes flare. Fervid carmine, like that morning. Her focus is all on L.L. now.
In truth, Cassia misunderstood, mistaken that L.L. was on the verge of calling her name. Though, by rational principles, that does not explain the exhilaration and adrenaline, such principles were never applicable with Cassia. Irrationally, she pants as if it is a need. As if she needs it, like the mirror her father used to hang above her bed to frighten away evil spirits. Like a good night kiss.
Not aware of this truth, L.L. becomes perplexed, but she is affable, and doesn’t kick dogs when they’re down. Or sleepy.
“Sorry… about the noise, we- I didn’t mean to wake you.” L.L. appends that clause, afraid of being too accommodating and inviting more trouble. At the last second, she excludes Manty from the apology; the two are far from even until Manty gets to bash her with a mallet back.
Cassia freezes; face, hands, everything. Then, she laughs, and afterwards, she guffaws.
If this is how her sincere deference is returned, L.L. wants to take it back immediately, and never give it back. She doesn’t though.
“You sweet little thing. Don’t fret, you and your creature can splash around as much as you like. I didn’t hear it at all, but I could detect an awful, decaying stench from the bathroom. Your meal must have rot by now. It crept through the cracks of the door and pervaded my dreams. I’m sorry, as well, for serving this as your dinner.”
Her reply drips with a startling amount of sincerity, but… Really? L.L. thinks it smells nice, just as nice as it did in the noon. Even now, its meaty, tempting aroma wafts inside her nose. She refused to eat it simply because she didn’t think lifting the spoon was worth the energy. And she had to exhibit some defiance too, of course.
Cassia picks up the tray and heads towards the door, “I’ll bake you something fresh tomorrow.” Before she leaves, she seizes the opportunity to indulge herself, to take a dip before she dives. She gawks at the expanse of L.L.’s sea, trails down her oceanic tresses of hair as they cascade from the top of her head, towards her shoulders, beside her arms, down her body, out of the bathtub and at the dewdrops that trickle from her strands to the floor.
She so badly desires to encapsule this moment, where she could taste the seasalt, marvel at the waves rolling and feel the water cleanse the detritus of Mania off her body as she rides down that waterfall. Yet, she can’t smell anything. Not the sea breeze, not the particles of metal in the sand or the fish swimming below. How will she create the Immortal Fragrance out of an ingredient that does not even have a temporary one? She’s definitely going to take a lot of work, but it will be worth it. She’s crazy sure.
With how long she has been studied and how thoroughly Cassia’s gleaming orbs has been sweeping her every inch, L.L. anticipates a lascivious compliment, or a callback to that threat about not eating dinner. She bets more on the former.
So, she is a bit disillusioned when she is subjected to a neutral comment instead. “You should recharge. Soak up. You haven’t slept since I poisoned you.” Cassia states as if confessing to drugging someone else is merely an everyday matter.
Is L.L.’s lack of sleep evident on her face? She snoozed plenty the previous night. It makes no sense, as long as one dismisses the fact that the only sleep she had in the past week was drug-induced by Cassia. L.L. hates to admit it, but she needed that chloroform.
“I wish you sweet, sweet dreams, sweeter than you are. My beautiful L. L.” She emphasizes each ‘L’ like a charm. She turns to leave and L.L. can finally respire normally again, but she stops herself, re-enters and dangles by the doorway, regarding L.L. expectantly. The oxygen is jerked out of her throat.
“What?”
“Are you going to make me beg for it?”
L.L. raises her eyebrow, utterly lost.
“…Nothing.” It’s the perfect revenge. She leaves and shuts the door.
Once more, she is alone. She glances back at Manty, who is slumbering comfortably, floating on the water surface. It must have been worn out from all that dread and water gun fights.
“I guess I’ll see you in dreamland, Manty.”
L.L. crosses her arms on the edge of the bathtub and uses them as a pillow. She hopes that sleep will chase her soon- if it will at all- and let her join Manty as it frolics in the fields of coral, or whatever she used to dream of a child. She forgot. After Manty materialised several years ago, she no longer had dreams, just nightmares. Manty must have cached all of her good dreams, but that’s okay.
She tries to doze off, yet her eyes are fixed on that closed wooden door. Unlike Manty, she can’t phase through.
Maybe her unconscious state has been relegated to a realm of nightmares, red hot, clamorous and mired in bloodshed. If she doesn’t go to the Heaven of daydreams, maybe she will find Cassia in Hell instead.
Window-less and time-blind, she doesn’t know how many minutes or hours have passed, but sleep does catch her.
She doesn’t meet Cassia or Manty. It’s just as usual; she doesn’t meet anyone.