LATE BITE. . .

"I'm not scare of you."

"When I play soccer I can kick really big."

do you remember what i told you last time?

have you been doing well since i saw you?

that's not what you told me back then.

when was the last time i saw you?

you were shorter then.

i'm picking the restaurant this time.

we've known each other since we were children.

always knew i could count on you.

that time was different. this is worse.

you're not going to let me live that down, are you?

i seem to remember a conversation we had back then.

so you changed your mind about it?

do you remember our encounter in paris?

you should know me by now.

am i the only one that knows the truth?

we had a lot of help back then.

your mom told me to look out for you.

you just love bringing that back up to annoy me.

maybe don't mention my past indescretions?

this was never going to work out between us.

i told you not to get attached.

i know more about you than you think.

i was there, remember?

i'm not about to forget all the shit you put me through.

you told me you were going to try and make this work.

remember what i said to you?

the last time i saw you, things were good between us.

you never mentioned this before.

that was the longest flight of my life, and you made it worse.

can i still trust you after all that?

at least we tried to make something work.

we never discussed what happened between us.

okay, but i'm driving the car this time.

i haven't forgotten what you said last week.

i'm still thinking about your comment.

i didn't realize it was you when i first saw you.

you seem to make a lot of enemies around here.

there's not much for us to talk about.

we worked it out last time.

i know you far better than you know yourself.

we have a long history.

is that the shirt you were wearing last time?

what don't i know about you?

i haven't told them about us.

you were the only person i could go to.

you know me.

this is bigger than both of us.

i can't stand your driving.

are you taking me to the place we had dinner last time?

that's not at all what you said.

didn't we agree on that?

i thought i made it very clear where i stand.

are these the same people that came after you last time?

are you still going on about it?

can we talk about it?

staying silent about it won't help.

you're the only person who knows the real me.

"a burden is only a burden if it is not made useful," she said. self-preservation pitted against intrigue, drawing her closer...

🦷 LATEBITE. coming to you live from the lbc studios.

fandomless oc. horror-fantasy. gore heavy. 📺

"think of all the ways we'll make use of you."

Their proximity is welcomed. Silas takes it as a sign of trust, that Conrad does not hide his open mouth — his true nature — from him.

(Perhaps there is a second of loss, then, when Conrad does widen the distance between them to a more commonly accepted degree.)

Silas does not think much of closing it again, just a little more than a moment later, when he sees tension fighting in Conrad's body. He reaches out to ease his hand over Conrad's closed hand, encouraging his palm to open up, and his thumbnails to stop warring with his skin, so that Silas might place his own palm against Conrad's instead.

"I would like to encourage you to think more kindly of yourself." Silas watches Conrad's show often, when time allows. He sees the fondness that has grown in audience after audience for this strange, sweet man. "There are more people on your side than I believe you might think. You have been taught to see yourself in one light, but the world sees you in many; you are an amalgamation of every soul who has ever sat in your audience and laughed, and every person who has sat before their television set and smiled, perhaps even sought comfort in the nightly — well, almost — broadcast of your show."

When you work in the business of communication, you learn to improvise.

"They're watching a projection, Silas," he protests, speaking to the man as though he might be naive or simple, but with unbridled affection for his efforts to convince the Monster. Each delicate suggestion is received carefully, tucked away in some cranial fold to be called upon during the quiet hours spent in a dim hotel room. But never to be believed. Never to become his truth.

"They're watching after the make-up artist has coated me in all that powder, that make-believe dust. After I've flubbed my way through rehearsal after rehearsal. They don't see me. They don't see this."

No other aspect of production is as demanding as the concealment of Conrad's non-conformity. His gums are brushed by each movement of his tongue, and they smart from memories of the metal caps that clamp over those unsightly tools of ceaseless mastication.

"I'm a mimic. I do a good job of pretending. But that's all it'll ever be. Pretending."

The windows to his soul are pinned to Silas' face, searchingly. They gradually begin to soften, to grow wistful.

"I'm lucky, in a lot of ways. Most people escape in books, movies... maybe they make art." Maybe they watch the same videotapes over and over again, in a draughty attic bedroom where the floorboards nip at the balls of your feet. So much for heat rising. There was never much warmth in the O'Malley house.