Delirium » Places

         

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❝ Virginia Hearst ❞

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Snake eyes, in my head
Forked lies, dripping red
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Three teenagers, of varying genders, huddled together in a cave. In the rain. After curfew.

Ginny looked from face to grimy face. Girl to boy. Stranger to almost-stranger. She looked at the drab little shelter, at the angry strokes of lightning, at the pitiful scrap of plastic at her feet.

The Pop Tarts were probably dead by now.

Vaguely, she wondered if she should cry. Her grandfather used to say that it made one feel better—called it "having a good cry." From a purely scientific standpoint, Ginny supposed it made sense. Crying released leucine-enkephalin. An endorphin. At least, that's what the school textbook said. Then again, the school textbook had also said that it was a common symptom of deliria—a sign of heart sickness, of emotional breakdown.

Still, Ginny wondered. It'd been a while since she let herself cry.

And then Skylar's brother suddenly flipped into paranoid-mode, and Ginny decided that she just didn't have time at the moment for silly things like crying. Once again, she reached for a neutral expression. Eventually, her breathing steadied, and the flush fell from her cheeks.

“Who are you?" Skylar's brother demanded, grabbing the strange girl by the wrist. "Are you some kind of Regulator-in-disguise? A snitch? A rat? Speak up, lady–”

"Obviously I'm a spy," the strange girl snapped back, apparently irritated with the relentless interrogation. "They're recruiting fifteen year old girls these days, haven't you heard?" She tore her hand away, glowering.

Ginny peered at Skylar's brother with something akin to curiosity—in all the time she'd known him, he'd never struck her as the suspicious type. Then again, he did nearly assault her when she collided into him earlier.

Hmm. Speaking of, she should probably apologize for that.

But anyway; back to the present.

She examined the girl, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she took in her figure. The girl was tall. Dark eyes and hair. Pointed face. Overall normal appearance, and yet…something bothered Ginny. Nagged at the back of her mind like a frantic, insistent flea.

"His concern is valid," Ginny said finally, voice as blank as her expression. "What are you doing here?"

The girl closed her eyes. "Look, I'm just lost. That's all. Thanks for the help—honestly, I really appreciate it—but I need to find my family."

With that, the girl turned to leave. And it was then that Ginny realized what was bothering her.

The girl was unfamiliar. Unfamiliar.

Ginny never forgot a face.

A million things flashed through her mind at once; almost in reflex, her hand snapped out, closing around the rubbery arm of the girl's coat to prevent her from leaving. The girl turned around again, something like surprise flitting across her face, before it melted into exasperation. She opened her mouth to speak—probably in some sort protest—but Ginny beat her to it.

"I don't recognize you. Where are you from?"

Her tone was conversational, masking the acceleration of her heartbeat. For Ginny could think of two immediate scenarios.

Scenario 1—the girl was telling the truth, but the moment she left she'd get caught by regulators, thus leading them to Ginny and Finnegan's position.

Scenario 2—Skylar's brother was right, and the moment the girl left she'd be heading out to rat on them.

Neither situation was acceptable.

The girl had to stay.

Unfortunately for Ginny and Finnegan, it seemed that the girl had other plans. Ginny wasn't exactly the athletic type, you see, and the strange girl had the advantage in height and strength. Before Ginny could fully comprehend what was happening, the unknown girl had muscled her way out of her grip and was dashing across the beach all full speed.

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Won't you look, dear, at my credentials?
Well it's just a faceless figurehead
I've forgotten all those small essentials
In chasing scraps of gingerbread
•

         

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❝ Finnegan Slade Everett ❞

♮ I'm quite the joke to you ♮

♫♫♫

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In the air, in-between his teeth, something felt inexplicably strange. He'd always wished for attention and love and people he could trust, and he first thought that if he snuck away from Portland and reinvented himself in ways they couldn't control, then he'd definitely have that little piece of himself to save for moment's like this – in a teeny tiny cave settled into a well-hidden grove by Shell Beach, momentarily trapped because there was some kind of torrential storm in full-swing just outside the cave's jagged mouth. It was in the rhythmic beating of his heart parapumping against Ginny's fingertips, blaring through his own, as if it could transcend straight through her palm. At least, Finnegan had enough sense to know better than to transfer his hand onto Ginny's chest to see whether or not her heart sounded the same, though the flighty thought passed like a diving sparrow, fluttering it's wings back as if it'd stricken a barrier. He was so sure she'd throttle him until he was little more than a jelly-armed mess and throw him into the sea – maybe, she'd apologize to Skylar later, or say she saw him scuttling across the cliffs after a runaway box of Pop Tarts before valiantly falling to his death. She'd have the proof scattered around her feet, where she'd suddenly dropped her sopping wet box.

Why the hell was she holding Pop Tarts? Where had they come from? Was she some kind of magician or something?

Did he stutter or something—

No. Ginny was just uncomfortable touching his chest. Or something like that. This didn't particularly feel any different, did it? He was always slinging his arm around Skylar's neck, pretty much wringing her neck in bear-hugs, until she squirmed away and told him that he better not do that to anyone outside of their house or they'd tattle on him. With all of his other siblings, it wasn't much different, though he tended not to be too affectionate towards the ones who crinkled their eyes, full of irrefutable arguments countering his ridiculously dangerous actions. He couldn't smile too much, or high five them unless they were in the privacy of their own home. All his life he remembered affection, or rather affectionate actions. It was rarer now, but he still treasured every moment. He was the happy one, after all. The brother full of laughter. Finnegan grinned, Finnegan laughed loudly, with abandon, at the stupidest things, and tended to make others follow suit no matter how grudgingly. That was his role.

She was staring at him. He was staring back. That's as far as his memory will go at the moment, because, to be perfectly honest, he was way too caught up in the warmth of her hand, captured beneath his own. His face pulled into a slight pout, but there's something sincere in his eyes, something he's hiding. This wasn't as awkward for him as it was for her because he was used to this. He was used to cuddling up with his siblings and twining his hands through tufts of hair, or locking elbows, recklessly prancing down the street in full-view before disconnecting like they'd just robbed a bank or escaped a troupe of Regulators. All wild-eyed, messy-haired and happy. It was normal. Wasn't it? Maybe one day she'd look at him and find him dazzling. He was the average boy, the boy next door – he definitely didn't have Ginny's unscrupulous grades, or Theodin's knack for doing everything correctly, nor was he fabulous or famous, but he was someone who could figure out their weak points and still, once upon a time, didn't need to raise his fists to get his point across. Things were different, now.

Finnegan's fingers twitched when he heard someone call out to them, effectively loosening his grip on Ginny's fingertips, then allowing them to fall away completely as they were gently plucked. Regulators – how had they found them? A quick snarl transformed his features, wrinkled his forehead and furrowed his eyebrows. Of course, Finnegan had no intention of letting her bumble out into the storm when there was possibly an enemy-in-wait hunched in the shadows, waiting to gobble her up or drag her away to the Crypts. Hunching his shoulders and stalking silently behind her, Finnegan peered over Ginny's head and squinted into the darkness at the hazy figure wandering outside. His hands curled into tight fists, knuckled white, then loosened when he got a better look. Definitely not a Regulator. There would've been lamplight’s strobing across the entire area, searching for unlikely beach-goers.

He very nearly smashed into Ginny before back-peddling gracelessly, realizing that she was trying to drag the sopping-wet-girl back inside. Now, this was ridiculous. Three kids huddled in a briny-cave, hiding from something or another. When they finally stumbled back inside, breathing hard, possibly wondering why the other was even here on the beach at this ungodly hour. The dishevelled box of Pop Tarts flopped to the side, as if judging their midnight caper, drug down by it's miserable-looking corners. He glanced down at it, then back to the drenched schoolgirl – er, well, she looked as if she was their age, anyway. He snatched up her wrist in one quick snap, gripping it above her head, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Who are you? Are you some kind of Regulator-in-disguise? A snitch? A rat? Speak up, lady–”

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Baby I'm in love and maybe it's not to tell
Only thing that I can do is hold it in, hold it in
I was told that I'm a man now and I'm not allowed to cry
The only thing that I can do is hold it in, hold it in

         

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❝ Hannah Everett ❞
When you meet someone for the first time, that's not the whole book. That's just the first page.

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The day had gone by quicker than she'd thought. She'd spent the day studying mostly, cleaning up casually around the house, daily chores. Though souding extremely boring, it was normal for Hannah and she tried to make the best of most things. It was about 7 in the evening, and she'd lost track of time. She'd planned on starting her run at 6, and be home by at most 7. Usually, she ran though a path in the woods, jogging nicely until she reached her usual stopping point by a spring. There she'd take a quick drink, and start to head back. As always today would be no different, because messing something up in her schedule may just give her a break down. Running gave her space to think, or to clear her head of pressing thoughts.

She leaned over her knee, her right foot up on her bed. She tied her laces of the shoe, then let her foot slide off the covers. She stood up straight and tall in front of a full length mirror. She wore her running shorts and tshirt. Her semi-old sneakers were still in pretty good shape, and her hair was pulled up into a pony tail, the tip just touching the back of her neck.

She left her room, closing the door lightly behind her. She gracefully made her way down the stairs, her hair lightly bouncing along with her. At the bottom she called for her Aunt, or anyone really, saying she was going on a run. No one responded that she heard, which she expected. She didn't give much time for an answer either, eager to leave. She slipped through the front door, shutting it behind her. There she stood outside of the house, stretching a bit before she began to jog down towards the trees.

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She was aware that there was a chance of rain, and she'd hoped she'd make him home before it would hit. It was around 7:40 when she'd felt a small drop of rain hit her cheek. She'd brushed it off, and decided she might want to pick up her pace. Though she thought she was making progress, it was pouring at 7:55. Drenched, soaked, tired, and somewhat breathless, she decided she should take some sort of shelter for the time being. She was blinded by darkness and water, but she could make out an overhang.

Once she'd entered, she pulled the tie out of her hair, and let her red locks fall. She was ringing the water out of her hair when she noticed she wasn't alone. From what she saw, he was male, taller than her, with dark hair. She started to say something, not knowing exactly what to say.

"Oh.. um. I didn't see you there.. I hope you don't mind I join you to take shelter.." she started and trailed off. He seemed deep in thought, and she felt a bit guilty for disrupting him. Just then a boom of thunder and a flash of lighting hit, making her jump a bit. Caught slightly off guard, she flinched, but luckily she wasn't very scared of storms, and it wouldn't be a huge problem.

         

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❝ AN N E T T E - M A K O T A❞
"It made her happy, and for now, that was all she wanted. To be happy, and to be with her family, and to be happy with her family."

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Of course, Annette was one of the last to force herself out of slumber and the warmth of thick blankets and quilts. She curled up into a ball, pulled the blankets over her head, and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the shouts of her siblings downstairs and control the slippery grasp she had on what little rest she had left. She had stayed up too late again, staring out into the night sky and daydreaming. She couldn't forget the memories. The first few nights after her mother’s death, nightmares had taken control of her sleep, until Annette was terrified of closing her eyes. Her mother would be asking her why she let her parents die, of the bleak future that would surely come - all because of Annette’s carelessness. She could have saved her parents. She could have kept her father from leaving, getting caught in the electrical fences of Portland. She could have made her mother happy, by being a good child. Instead, Annette had continued to play pranks, tease the others, and get into so much trouble that her mother would look at her with disappointment sometimes. Or at least, that’s what Annette dreamed.

Years had passed since the tragedy, and Annette had no doubt in her mind that the nightmares were gone. Despite this, she chose to fight the already-gone nightmares by staying up late. She remembered everything. She replayed memories over and over, sometimes repeating the same one for hours. She just couldn’t get enough of the happiness that she found in the past. She tried to remember as accurately as possible, but time had a way of changing your perspective, emphasizing what you wanted and diminishing the truth. Annette didn’t mind. It made her happy, and for now, that was all she wanted. To be happy, and to be with her family, and to be happy with her family.

The ominous nature of the night, however, made Annette excited, sometimes. What excitement could she find the next morning? Her and Jo would find something, Annette was sure. Oh, the fun they could have! With new energy, she burst out of bed in a flurry, stretching to get the sleepiness of of her. Maybe they could go climb trees today. Or somehow convince Morgan to play with them. She bounced down the stairs, literally, and began to hum the tune in her head. “Bum de bum bum,” she murmured, wanting to dance but afraid to fall and hurt herself. Not today! She was going to have the best day of her life, she was sure. Today, nothing could go wrong. It was what she told herself everyday. Call it superstition or a ritual, Annette couldn’t shake the habit of proclaiming the hopes of the current day.

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LATER THAT NIGHT; 8:00 P.M.

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It was getting dark. Annette peered out the window curiously. The clouds were more ominous than usual, the darkness a little more terrifying. She shivered in nervous anticipation. There may be a storm tonight, she realized with fear. What if there was thunder? Without realizing it, Annette let out a whimper, her shoulders beginning to shake delicately. There was something about the roar of thunder that terrified her; it drove her to tears, to dive underneath a table and weep silently, waiting for the deafening sound to go away. It had something to do with the time she was a child, when she left the house during a storm on accident and found herself in the middle of a thunderstorm. She had barely escaped being struck by lightning, and her parents brought her and covered her with blankets. Her hair was matted to her forehead, wet as it was, and she couldn't forget the helplessness of being surrounded by thunder. She didn't understand thunder; how could she? She wished she was as intelligent as her siblings, but she wasn't. Instead, she was crippled by this babyish fear, from her babyish past, in her babyish self. Annette whimpered once more and wrapped a blanket tighter around her body. What had her mother always told her to do, again? Oh, yes. Find a distraction. A distraction? Like what?

Or like who?

A smile lightened up her face then, and she flung the blanket off of her and began leaping down the stairs. "Jo!" she called out, running around the house. "Jo Jo Jo Jo Jo Jo Jo," she said, matching the rhythm of her cries to the rhythm of her footsetps. "Where aaaare you?"

         

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❝ Paul Makota ❞
Mumble grumble

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Paul arrived at the Labor Bureau with plenty of time. Alva had her regular job at the bookstore, but Paul didn't like traceability. The most he was traceable to was his false name and ID, and that was a simple matter to discard, whether by burial or anything else. Day-labor courtesy of the Bureau was more in his vein. He could do manual labor, remain relatively anonymous, and collect some coin to buy more supplies. He could get through the day and remain anonymous, and preferred it that way.

That aside, he had a role to play now, the role of the humble laborer, Paul Barton. He had adopted the half-alias in the interest of greater anonymity. He wasn't sure how well it would work; the test of fire had yet to happen. He didn't want to think about it now. He just wanted to get to work. He turned in the ID card to the unpleasant lady behind the desk. She handed back a work permit. Paul read it as he left the Bureau, and groaned. Road work. Great. That was always the hardest work. He could deal with it, though. He would have to, or he would have no supplies for the day. With a heart full of irritation, Paul set out for the truck that would cart workers to the worksite.

Today was going to be a long day.

         

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❝ Paul Makota ❞
Let's make like chameleons, sis.

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Paul wove his way through the trees, hearing Alva's footsteps right behind him. He hated the long trek through the woods to reach Portland. He was constantly afraid of missing a turn and getting them both lost. Fortunately, he had the blue marks on the trees to serve as his guide. The paint was wearing off, though. Perhaps he could spare a bit of coin for some paint to refurbish the paint. Or he could carve a symbol into the trees instead; they would understand.

Soon they reached the edge of the woods. Paul held out his hand to keep Alva back out of habit, even though he knew she wouldn't try to run out ahead of him. He had to be absolutely sure that they would be fine. The morning was still dark, and cold, perfect for infiltrating the city. Nobody would notice two roughshod youths in the city if everyone was preoccupied with the cold. Just look down, speak quietly, don't cause a ruckus, and you'd be fine, he reminded himself. Someday you can get them back for what they did to Mother, Father, and everybody else. But for now, you just have to survive, and learn more.

Paul soon decided that the coast was clear of any unknown compromising agents. He turned to Alva, nodded, then took off, knowing she was right behind him. He ran for the fence, slowing only to prevent himself from crashing headlong into the fence. He jumped as quietly as he could manage, and ascended the fence quickly, giving it a minimum of time to shake and make any noise that might betray his highly illegal entrance. He climbed over the top and let himself drop, landing quietly before moving away from the fence quickly to let Alva follow him.

First destination: Labor Bureau. There, he could pick up a small job to work for the day, and get some money for supplies.