croissantkatie

Title: Bury This Town
Author:

croissantkatie
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Victoria Asher/Greta Salpeter
Summary: She's falling and falling and she's completely lost but she doesn't care. It's wonderful.

She should have known better. If she had known, what would she have done? If she had paid a bit more attention, if she had listened to other people’s warnings, if she had paid attention to what was going on around her before it was too late to turn back. There are a lot of ifs and shoulds and coulds in all of this but Victoria’s not sure she cares. She had always prided herself in the fact that she didn’t do regret. And even after all of this, she still doesn’t regret anything. This is better than what she had before.

***

She can still hear Gabe saying that this is her doing. That she brought this on them all. She can hear his laughter fading as he burns with the city. It would echo but there’s nothing left but rubble.

***

When she first met her she had been struck by her innocence. She had radiated it, flowing locks and big brown eyes. Greta had seemed perfect in her innocence. There had been a glint in her eye though which Victoria took for a slight mischievousness. It was that which had made her thing she could corrupt Greta. Make Greta into something like her, show her the more dangerous and wild parts of life. Victoria had been wrong though. The glint was pure wickedness and Greta wasn’t the one who would be corrupted.

***

There is chaos. The world is crumbling and it is breath taking. Victoria is surrounded by it and she wants to run away from it and deeper into the heart of it all at once.

She wants to see everything that she has done. Victoria can feel the power at her fingertips. The head rush is incredible and she’s barely done a thing. It was all Greta. All amazing, thundercloud-like Greta. Victoria is merely privy to a small part of it and it is intoxicating. She wants more but knows, somehow, that more is a bad idea. Victoria couldn’t cope with that much power inside her. It would just be a matter of time before her mind or her body broke. At least Greta would get some sort of enjoyment out of trying to guess which part of her would break first.

Not everything is wondrous though. The guilt builds and builds until it is nearly too much. She sees screaming children every she looks, hears voices begging. But then she looks into Greta’s eyes and the destruction is beautiful again.

Everything exists in shades of grey and the nuances are beautiful. Victoria never thought that a world without colour could be so captivating. It’s not completely colourless though. There are these bright flashes of it at the corner of her vision and a very few she can see all the time. The blonde of Greta’s hair, the brown of her eyes and the orange of the ever greedy flames.

***

She sidled up to her, closer than what was really considered polite, invading the other girl’s space. Victoria’s smirk was firmly in place. She didn’t want to pretend. She wanted it to be obvious. Temptation laid right in front of her and impossible to resist. Victoria wasn’t the least bit modest. She knew she was good and she shamelessly used every little thing to her advantage.

“Knitwear, cute,” she murmured, voice thick with disdain.

“Thank you,” Greta replied, smiling softly. She seemed to Victoria as if she hadn’t noticed her tone of voice; her smile seemed sweet and genuine. Honey and cooling summer evenings as the season begins to change. Greta’s real smile is something sharper with jagged edges and a fierce burn. But Victoria doesn’t know that yet.

***

Everything was so ordered before and Victoria had hated it. Everything forced into neat little boxes. Now there is nothing but chaos. Every time she thinks she posts a pattern it is gone as soon as she is aware of its existence. The moment something is close to some form of repetition it is ripped apart from the inside out and destroyed. Although, Victoria supposes, that in itself is a kind of pattern.

They stand together above it all, close but not quite touching. Victoria knows somehow that if she touches Greta now it would all be too much. It would be beautiful but it would destroy her. Victoria almost wants that, but not yet. She wants this moment to stretch on forever. It won’t though. Nothing in this world of Greta’s lasts. At least, not unless that is what Greta wants. Victoria only hopes that she wants what is between them to last.

***

“It’s almost as if you’re seeking me out,” Victoria yelled, standing right beside Greta to be heard above the music. They were pressed together, sticky with sweat, but still Greta wore her cardigan.

“Maybe I am,” Greta replied as she turned her head to smile at Victoria. She didn’t raise her voice at all but Victoria could make out every word. “But now is not the time for talking,” she added, turning fully and pressing herself flush up against Victoria. “You said tonight was for dancing.”

***

The flames licked at Greta, surrounding her in colour. She twirled on the spot, arms thrown out and grinning wide. She held out a hand to Victoria, gesturing her closer. And Victoria goes. The fire still scares her but the idea of there being no Greta scares her even more.

***

Victoria had planned to woo Greta with sex and drugs and music which thrummed through your bones. Sway her to a more dangerous life. Her plan had failed though. In the end Greta had taken her hand and shown her fire and destruction and colour and magic. It turned out that Victoria’s wild life was not so wild at all. This instead was true wickedness and it was astounding.

***

“I’ve got more than enough, I can share a little bit if you’d like,” Greta told her.

Victoria’s eyes widened and she nodded. She was lost from then on. She was falling and falling and tumbling further into this world of blackness and bright, dancing spots of colour. It’s as magical as Greta had made it seem, better even.

***

From where they’re standing, high above it all, Victoria can see spirals of colour whirling through the rubble. Bright threads of orange, red, yellow and blue. The ground is scorched black. That at least is a constant. It frames the colours so beautifully, sets them off so that they seem even brighter.

***

“Hmm, I like you,” Greta admits, voice soft and dangerous. The flames have reached them now, even this far away from the centre of destruction, and Greta is pleased. “I might even keep you,” she muses as she leans in to kiss Victoria, fire burning in her eyes.