sarah manning (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
coppelganger) wrote2023-06-02 10:46 am
coppelganger) wrote2023-06-02 10:46 am
Entry tags:
ic contact; MoM
Hey, it's Sarah. Leave a message.
Hey, it's Sarah. Leave a message.
You're not late. [Which in the world of Cosima is essentially the same as being early. Sorry to ruin your image, Sarah.]
Yeah, I'm on time. It's what most people do.
[She pokes her gently in the middle of her forehead.]
Hey. Be nice. It's my birthday.
Hey. Be nice. It's my birthday.
I know it is. That's why I brought you this.
[ She pulls a small wrapped package from her pocket and hands it over. ]
[ She pulls a small wrapped package from her pocket and hands it over. ]
[Cosima grins (a real grin this time) and makes grabby hands toward the present. Sarah has about five seconds before she starts tearing into the wrapping.]
What's this?
What's this?
I dunno, I just thought you'd like it.
[ Inside Cosima will find a few different rings, science-y but fashionable, like this. ]
[ Inside Cosima will find a few different rings, science-y but fashionable, like this. ]
[Cosima's eyes widen with delight, and she pulls Sarah into a one-armed hug.]
Holy watershed. These couldn't be more amazing!
Holy watershed. These couldn't be more amazing!
Yeah? You like?
[ She had a feeling Cosima would. Score one, Sarah. ]
[ She had a feeling Cosima would. Score one, Sarah. ]
They're perfect. You're getting good at this nerdy gift thing.
Well try not to panic. [ Sarah says, panicking. ] Come over if you want
Dear Sarah,
God, that sounds dramatic, don’t it? I feel like if I ever actually said “dear Sarah” to you your eyes’d roll right out of their sockets. We’d probably be doing some stupid shit while watching the daily soapies.
Saroula,
If you’re reading this then it probably means I’m gone, and I’ve been gone for a little bit, and the odds are that at the very least I won’t be back for a while. It might be that it means we’re never going to see each other again. That sucks, and I don’t have colourful enough language for just how much.
Just know this: the time we spent together was some of the most important time in my life. I’ve never met anyone like you before, and I know for sure I’ll never have a bond like this with anyone else ever again.
I thought, for the longest time, that all that mattered was the people around me, like they were what defined me, and I couldn’t make sense without them. And then I thought that maybe I’d just been broken the whole time, and that’s just how I was. Do you know what I mean? Like I was some kind of damaged cassette tape with the guts of it pulled out that kept getting mangled over and over whenever it got played. And you helped me see that I wasn’t. I didn’t need someone to be in love with me to be worth something, or to make me make sense, or absolve me. And I know it’s weird to say that you gave me that, but you did.
And that’s not to say I didn’t love being around you, or say that you didn’t make me want to do better or feel better, because you did. You’re my north star, my bloody compass. But it’s because I chose you, and I adore you, not because I can’t escape you, you know? You’re my sister, and you’re the person I love most in any world. You saved me in so many ways I can’t even say.
I know I wasn’t always a good sister. I get it wrong a lot, and I worry sometimes that I was the one who got all the good out of his, and that I left you with a lot of hurt. I hope not, but that worry is there all the same. Please know that if there are things I’ve done that have hurt you, that I am so fucking sorry. And if I could do anything in the world to make it right, I would, in a heartbeat.
You’re real hard on yourself a lot. Call yourself a shitshow and a mess and talk about fucking stuff up and bad choices. I understand. I think maybe that’s why we get along sood good, because we have torn up edges that we both understand. But the thing is, Sarah, you aren’t a shitshow or a mess or anything bad. You make mistakes sometimes, but shit, who doesn’t? Thing is that you’re protective and you’re kind, and you’ll do anything for the people you love. Those are all really good, really important things. You’re smart. I reckon you could do just about anything in the world you set your mind to. I meant what I said, about you being like a painting. I hope you remember that.
Shit, I can’t kept writing this. No amount of words are going to cover all the things I want to be able to say, and I’m crying in this stupid lawyers office just putting this together. The thought of not remembering you when I leave this place is the worst thing in the world, because you are so, so important to me. When I was here, though, you meant everything to me. Thank you for everything.
I’ll miss you. I love you.
Sarissa
PS. a lady will be in touch about the pigs, and a gentleman will be in touch about Mendel, in case you don’t want to keep looking after them.
God, that sounds dramatic, don’t it? I feel like if I ever actually said “dear Sarah” to you your eyes’d roll right out of their sockets. We’d probably be doing some stupid shit while watching the daily soapies.
Saroula,
If you’re reading this then it probably means I’m gone, and I’ve been gone for a little bit, and the odds are that at the very least I won’t be back for a while. It might be that it means we’re never going to see each other again. That sucks, and I don’t have colourful enough language for just how much.
Just know this: the time we spent together was some of the most important time in my life. I’ve never met anyone like you before, and I know for sure I’ll never have a bond like this with anyone else ever again.
I thought, for the longest time, that all that mattered was the people around me, like they were what defined me, and I couldn’t make sense without them. And then I thought that maybe I’d just been broken the whole time, and that’s just how I was. Do you know what I mean? Like I was some kind of damaged cassette tape with the guts of it pulled out that kept getting mangled over and over whenever it got played. And you helped me see that I wasn’t. I didn’t need someone to be in love with me to be worth something, or to make me make sense, or absolve me. And I know it’s weird to say that you gave me that, but you did.
And that’s not to say I didn’t love being around you, or say that you didn’t make me want to do better or feel better, because you did. You’re my north star, my bloody compass. But it’s because I chose you, and I adore you, not because I can’t escape you, you know? You’re my sister, and you’re the person I love most in any world. You saved me in so many ways I can’t even say.
I know I wasn’t always a good sister. I get it wrong a lot, and I worry sometimes that I was the one who got all the good out of his, and that I left you with a lot of hurt. I hope not, but that worry is there all the same. Please know that if there are things I’ve done that have hurt you, that I am so fucking sorry. And if I could do anything in the world to make it right, I would, in a heartbeat.
You’re real hard on yourself a lot. Call yourself a shitshow and a mess and talk about fucking stuff up and bad choices. I understand. I think maybe that’s why we get along sood good, because we have torn up edges that we both understand. But the thing is, Sarah, you aren’t a shitshow or a mess or anything bad. You make mistakes sometimes, but shit, who doesn’t? Thing is that you’re protective and you’re kind, and you’ll do anything for the people you love. Those are all really good, really important things. You’re smart. I reckon you could do just about anything in the world you set your mind to. I meant what I said, about you being like a painting. I hope you remember that.
Shit, I can’t kept writing this. No amount of words are going to cover all the things I want to be able to say, and I’m crying in this stupid lawyers office just putting this together. The thought of not remembering you when I leave this place is the worst thing in the world, because you are so, so important to me. When I was here, though, you meant everything to me. Thank you for everything.
I’ll miss you. I love you.
Sarissa
PS. a lady will be in touch about the pigs, and a gentleman will be in touch about Mendel, in case you don’t want to keep looking after them.
i will
[4:41 A.M. the following morning marks twenty-four hours since Clara woke up and saw the clock through where her wife should have been laying. By that moment she's already tearing at the walls of her own head, ready to run from the ruins. And once the clock strikes 4:42, then 4:43, then 4:44, and Cosima's number is still unavailable, still stricken from the database...
She leaves food for the animals, shoots a text to the Doctor, and gets her bike from the garage. The station wagon sits cold in the driveway, another piece of the family-centered life she'd built.]
still gone
i'm coming over
[4:41 A.M. the following morning marks twenty-four hours since Clara woke up and saw the clock through where her wife should have been laying. By that moment she's already tearing at the walls of her own head, ready to run from the ruins. And once the clock strikes 4:42, then 4:43, then 4:44, and Cosima's number is still unavailable, still stricken from the database...
She leaves food for the animals, shoots a text to the Doctor, and gets her bike from the garage. The station wagon sits cold in the driveway, another piece of the family-centered life she'd built.]
still gone
i'm coming over
See you soon.
[ What? Of course Sarah's still up. ]
[ What? Of course Sarah's still up. ]
[Clara's bike pulls into the drive at about 5:30, and a moment later she knocks on the front door, soft and even.
She's looked worse at Sarah's door, but this time something is different. She isn't a whirlwind of anger and self-destruction; this grief is quieter, more distracted. Her boots and leather are nowhere in sight, replaced with old sweatpants, and her hair is a wreck. Her eyes are pink and distant.]
I brought whiskey.
She's looked worse at Sarah's door, but this time something is different. She isn't a whirlwind of anger and self-destruction; this grief is quieter, more distracted. Her boots and leather are nowhere in sight, replaced with old sweatpants, and her hair is a wreck. Her eyes are pink and distant.]
I brought whiskey.
[ Sarah opens the door, looking much the same as always—kind of tired, kind of grumpy, but mostly okay. She steps back to allow Clara to come in. ]
Hey. Come in. Alison is sleeping, but— [ She shrugs. As long as they're not screaming, it's probably fine. ]
Hey. Come in. Alison is sleeping, but— [ She shrugs. As long as they're not screaming, it's probably fine. ]
[Clara steps inside silently, toeing off her shoes at the door. The house seems unnatural, too quiet without Sarissa's voice.]
I hope I'm overreacting.
[She pulls the bottle out of her backpack, hand gripped tight around the neck, and makes a shuffling move towards the sofa.]
I hope I'm overreacting.
[She pulls the bottle out of her backpack, hand gripped tight around the neck, and makes a shuffling move towards the sofa.]
Shall I get glasses, or are we gonna do this right?
[ Sarah follows her to the sofa, hands in her pockets. ]
[ Sarah follows her to the sofa, hands in her pockets. ]
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