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Aimee Scott

"Be a part of this world, but not of it."

0 · 747 views · located in Modern Day

a character in “Wicker House”, as played by Attie

Description

ImageName: Amelia Grace Scott

Nickname: Aimee

Age: Twenty-one years old // September 18th, 1993 // Virgo // INFJ

Gender: Female

Physical Description: Aimee has one of those faces that either ruined your grade school life because of the litter of freckles all about it, or in the case of Amelia Grace Scott, it provided a unique canvas for photography modelling. Piercings align both ears. Her body adorns various tattoos in both conventional and non-conventional places. She honors an anchor and wheel for stability and guidance. The sun and the moon, right beneath her right arm. Finally,a small piece for her little sister above her heart.

Personality: In grade-school, Aimee was described by a plethora of adjective. Fake. Manipulative. Perfectionist. Flake. Flighty. Passionate. Insightful.

But who is she really?

If she knew, she would tell you. Aimee finds herself in an ever-long journey of self-discovery that she wished was over the moment she started. When you're growing up, wanting friends and people to like you is only natural. Being herself was too awkward, so she conformed and adapted to the person people liked. In later years, that turned in to manipulation to make people like her. In the final year of high school, she realized that everything she'd built herself up to be was nothing like who she wanted to be in the future. She had one of those revelations that everyone gets (or should): High School ends. When it did, when the glamour and popularity fled, so did her spirits and confidence. All she was left with was a depressing sense of self and a pair of parents who wondered what went wrong with their promising daughter.

With the idea being that she couldn't figure out who she was until she was stripped of all of the extra stuff, Aimee left home. Got out of town. She makes decisions on an impulse, or she doesn't make them at all because she'd think herself to death if she considered all the possibilities. She found what she likes (photography and art in general) and continues to pursue it, despite the growing notion that it will make jack shit for cash. She keeps to herself nowadays, not only to keep people at bay, but also because she's still discovering who she is to anyone to even let someone in. The sensitive parts of her couldn't handle thinking she was one thing, such as caring and kind and considerate, only to find out that someone can prove to her she's not the front she puts out.

In the end, she thinks far too much of what everyone else thinks, and it clouds her ability to think about what she cares for.

A Brief History: Aimee has been disconnected as a 'runaway' from her high-standards, socialite family since she was eighteen. For three years, she has traveled as a minimalist with a backpack through the Gulf Coast from Florida to Texas. She landed in Cobailaville as a photographer and model after having made a living off modelling for various small-time, just-out-of-grade-school photographers. She attends the local University.






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Describe what happened on the open-house you attended that made your character take the plunge and become a tenant?

Privilege was something Aimee was born in to, from the color of her skin, to the dollar amount in her bank account. Even in her running away, she's spoken to her parents on three different occasions. In this, they insisted three times.

1) Come home. - Well, that wasn't going to happen. She'd come to far and that wasn't about to change.

2) Get a phone. - They wanted to check in on her, sure, but Aimee denied them even this for more reasons than one. She held a personal grudge against cell phones. The smart phones of today had great quality cameras, which gave every joe-schmoe the idea they didn't need to bother with paying for quality photography when they could simply selfie their way to fame on Instagram. In addition, people in a crowd never looked up from the damn things. Her final reason would be that it had more options on it than she knew what to do with, being old fashioned at heart.

3) Keep her debit card to her family account. - It was an account all her own that her parents put money in, despite her up and leaving and rarely speaking to them. Even after all of this, they seemed to want her alive and well, so they continually put money in the fund in hopes she'd use it. While Aimee had kept her hands off the money save for emergencies - the girl was luckily well-learned in finances - she felt no problem using this as a down payment for a place on Wicker Hill.

Wicker House. What a name. She caught the ad in the newspaper at the local cafe off the square near campus. While she wasn't a huge coffee drinker, Aimee loved a good cup of tea and didn't have a place of her own to make it for herself.

Well, until now.

Ad in hand, Aimee hiked her backpack up on her shoulders and made her way up the drive to the aged house on the hill. It was aged, but the house itself had obviously had some renovations done over the years. What was once a house of the 20th, or maybe even 19th century by the looks of it, was now mage stronger with the bricks and stone relayed, reinforced. The glass was old, but it was thick and she noticed the reinforced panels along their sides. The trees that walked the drive up from the entrance at the gate (the land was obviously a couple of acres in total) were trimmed and neatly cared for in contrast to the 'forest' that seemed to grow just beyond the house's perch.

Ms. Burns greeted her at the stairs to the front porch, her expression not quite a smile, but rather a look of pity. It made sense, Aimee thought. Only those in desperate need were the most likely to trust a shady ad in the paper promising a low rent for a nice place. She probably saw Aimee's backpack and assumed her homeless, which while it wasn't technically false, she wasn't as helpless as the appearance let on. But she'd play the part, for certain.

"Welcome to Wicker House."

Aimee nodded, noting the other people already inside the house for the open day. Maybe three or four, but none of them seemed to know each other. Maybe that would be the charm on the whole thing... Experiencing a close-quartered apartment scenario, but in actuality being roommates. Did she trust people enough to share a home with them?

No. Not a home. This was just a temporary situation.

"Thank you.. Are you Mrs. Watters? I'm Aimee." She extended her hand to the elderly woman dressed in the sort of dress-suit only a grandmother would think was still in style.

"Ahh, no. Just the housekeeper, Ms. Burns." She paused a moment, holding up a hand, "Don't fret. Mrs. Watters is just simply unavailable, so I take care of the arrangements for her. Would you like to join the others and see the house?"

Aimee nodded, rolling her shoulders underneath the straps of her backpack to ease the strain that had built there.

From the grandiose curtains and paper on the walls to the polished banisters and door frames that were laced in lemon from dusting, Aimee was overwhelmed by the cleanliness and repair of the old home. The kitchen was the size prepared for a full staff of workers - likely a home used when slavery was 'a thing'. The dining room hosted a table prepared for twelve in rich mahogany and chairs to match. The entire house was furnished in a style that looked as old as the house, but anyone with an eye could tell it was recently bought - likely from one of those faux-antic furniture shops.

Dutifully, Ms. Burns showed the first floor, room-by-room, until she entered the master bedroom. "This is the largest of the rooms. They're all pre-furnished, and we'd prefer it if you didn't actually remove or replace any of the pieces. Not the major things, that is." Aimee nodded. "But you can rearrange the room how you see fit. Careful of the floors for scratches."

Aimee nodded so much she felt like a bobble head until she walked through the door way to the master bathroom. It was about the size of the dining room she'd been in moments ago. A shower, a claw tub. A sink designed for His and Hers. A bench in the center made of wood help fresh towels. "Wow. This is all so much."

"It is. Do you want to see the upstairs? Six rooms. Two bathrooms. Third floor is just open space to be decided by the rest of the residents together."

"Yeah, absolutely."

And so Ms. Burns took her hand gently in her frail fingers, leading Aimee up the stairs to the second floor. Each room was relatively identical, furnished with a queen-sized bed, a dresser, a bedside table on either end. Some had closets. Some had a large wardrobe closet. Some had vanities. At the end of the day, though, they were all basically the same size and live able if you needed solitude from living in such a space with six other people at minimum. Two bathrooms were at the end of each hall way, completely identical with large garden baths that also hosted shower heads above them in the case you wanted to make it in and out instead of luxury with bubbles.

The third floor was as Ms. Burns had said, a large open room the width and length of the house. Two sides were closed in as the shape of the roof was made, but there also seemed to be a draw string in a square, indicating an attic existed. "Nothing to worry with up there. Spare furniture and old baubles from Mrs. Watters' chhildhood. Aimee simply nodded in compliance as they made their way back to the bottom floor.

"There is also.. a basement." Ms. Burns began to speak, stopping Aimee in her tracks as she'd headed for the door. She'd seen enough and was almost certain the price would be too costly for her, yet something draw her to Ms. Burns in the way that piqued a person's curiosity at a freak show. It was morbid, but it was there.

"Oh? Anything down there?"

"Oh, just the past residents." Ms. Burns joked, cracking a smile. Aimee shrugged, laughing with her softly.

"Show me."




Ms. Burns didn't join her when she descended the flight of stairs. The room was black until Aimee pulled the string at the base of the stairs. The entire place lit up like a ballroom. It appeared like a photo-shoot, draped over long pieces of wood with various backgrounds, solid colors, and photo-booth sequences. The place was set up with extensive cameras on a long table, all for the picking. Aimee found herself reaching a hand out, striding over to the table to examine the cameras. She gasped at the latest model of her favorite brand, chuckling softly. "This is amazing."

"Isn't it?" A hand rested on her shoulder, a whisper in her ear. It felt like a feather, and then all at once weighed her and shoved her in to the ground.




Blinking in the darkness, Aimee woke up to a dark, empty room. The floor beneath her was cemented, the walls smelling of a damp, lifeless air. Sitting up slowly, seeing nothing, she lifted her hand through what felt like dust to brush hair from out of her face. "Hello?"

No one answered.

It took her no time at all to gather her footing with a pounding headache. She was shivering and the whole place smelled an unimaginable foul stench. Eventually, through what felt like rooms with open door frames, she felt her way along the walls to the stair case again. The drawstring hung from the rafter just above her, but she didn't bother. One by one, she took the steps and tried to recall what had just happened. Nothing came to mind.

Whatever was down there, Aimee didn't speak of. Whatever it was, it persuaded her to look Ms. Burns straight in the eyes and claim, "I'll take it. West room, end of the hall upstairs."

Ms. Burns smiled with nostalgia. "Ahh. We called that one Black Bird."

"Black Bird sounds great."

So begins...

Aimee Scott's Story

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Character Portrait: Aimee Scott Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Attie
The room was black until Aimee pulled the string at the base of the stairs. The entire place lit up like a ballroom. It appeared like a photo-shoot, draped over long pieces of wood with various backgrounds, solid colors, and photo-booth sequences. The place was set up with extensive cameras on a long table, all for the picking. Aimee found herself reaching a hand out, striding over to the table to examine the cameras. She gasped at the latest model of her favorite brand, chuckling softly. "This is amazing."

"Isn't it?" A hand rested on her shoulder, a whisper in her ear. It felt like a feather, and then all at once weighed her and shoved her in to the ground.



Whatever was down there, Aimee didn't speak of. Whatever it was, it persuaded her to look Ms. Burns straight in the eyes and claim, "I'll take it. West room, end of the hall upstairs."

Ms. Burns smiled with nostalgia. "Ahh. We called that one Black Bird."

"Black Bird sounds great."





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Saturday Night


Aimee was the kind of girl who did change well. When you spend the last few years of your life backpacking and traveling along the coast of the gulf, you meet alot of different people. But when you're traveling by yourself, you also get lonely. These new people you meet won't last very long. They're going to be there for as long as you're in the area. Is that a month? Six months? Aimee never really knew. And what was the point of getting to know someone when you were only going to leave them in an undetermined amount of time.

That's how Aimee had lived for what felt like the longest time, but something about this place.. It gave her the biggest hope. She was enrolled in a school now. She was living in a house full of roommates, some that she was bound to like. Everything about this was attempting with the highest hopes at stability.

Saturday had ended without much excitement. When you only have what fits in your backpack, you don't have a lot of things to unpack. Two pairs of jeans, four shirts. Five pairs of socks. Neither of these are including that which she's wearing currently. The only pair of shoes she had were the ones on her feet; a nice pair of hiking boots, actually. She unloaded these things in to the room called Black Bird. This one in particular did not feature a walk-in closet, but it did offer her a wardrobe. Not that she'd need all the room even that offered her, she unloaded the clothes and hung them up on the hangers left by whomever lived here last.

After she was finished with the wardrobe, Aimee moved over to the bedside table on the left side of her bed, pulling out a journal and placing it inside. Cliche? Maybe. She kept a journal because she'd always liked the idea of someone finding it when her generation was extinct. gone.

On the right side of the bed, she put the remaining miscellaneous items left in her backpack: A glass water bottle. A small bag that looked like it once held make up due to it's size, but it was in fact holding essential oils, A brush. A few hair ties. A pocket knife, sharp to the touch. Her wallet, which contained her CHL for the handgun she placed under her pillow.

When all was said and done, she pulled her hair back in to a braid that tugged down her back and out of her face. She didn't have toiletries, pajamas, or anything of that nature and would need to get some. She tucked the wallet in to the pair of shorts she current wore, slipped the knife in to her front right pocket and retied the boots to her feet. She laughed at her reflection in the vanity, dust and dirt having collected in her hair and palms.

Down the stairs, if anyone were present, she didn't interrupt them. She left, and within two hours had returned. An hour round-trip to drive to the story, and then an hours worth of shopping for necessities that turned themselves in to three bags on each arm. Being a young adult, she was a professional at not taking more than one trip from the car - a taxi she'd rented. She hauled the goods upstairs and in to her room, shut the door, and she didn't come out all evening.




Sunday Morning


The kitchen was massive, and at 6:00AM, it was empty. Aimee was already up, pan and bowl out, whisk, eggs, cheese, milk, tortillas. Taquitos were her favorite breakfast, and fortunately, it was very easy to make. After whisking, she poured in to the pan and began to scramble the eggs. At the same time, she heated the tortillas in the microwave and checked the various cabinets for spices or ground pepper. The whole ordeal was finished around 6:20AM, which left her eating them alone at the island in the center of kitchen. There were a couple of stools, she supposed, for just this reason. When you're eating solo, there's really no reason to use the entire dining room table and risk having to clean it later.

Why was she eating solo? Well, for one, she didn't know anyone. Second, no one in their right mind is ever awake this early in the morning - or for some, this late at night. It was the former for Aimee, and backpacking will do that to you. The day's only as useful as the sunlight is out unless you want to take chances of getting mugged in certain states.

Then an idea hit her.

On the opposite wall to the refrigerator was a wall that had been painted (or replaced? she wasn't sure how it worked) with chalkboard. The utensils were to the side. Aimee grabbed a piece of blue chalk and began to scribble on the board in large, legible print.

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That will be that, she thought to herself.

After finishing her taquitos, she washed the dishes she used by hand and set them out to dry. Fortunately, it seemed regularly house-ware, soap, and even the spices were all already present and here. She'd hoped that was an offering from the landlady, but it occurred to her that it may also be one of the resident's. And she just used their ingredients. What about the baking girl? She just used two of her eggs. Fuck.

At precisely 6:52AM, Aimee left the house with intent to buy groceries. She wouldn't be back until around 9:00AM.

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Character Portrait: Aimee Scott Character Portrait: Theodore Carter Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Saturday Night

Theo unpacked, had unpacked rather. Several days ago in fact, having been the first to claim his space on the top floor, east side, middle room. No stranger to couch-surfing and frequent location change, this fella traveled light. Two bags, and his bike. The duffel was full of clothes, thrown in and crumpled haphazardly from either haste or laziness, not that it really mattered. The exchange from bag to draw was quite simple. The second container of belongings was his backpack, loaded with the essentials and things of sentiment. A few books, a toothbrush, deodorant - ect. All of this is irrelevant however, because Theo wasn't home Saturday night.

After some minimal exploring of his new abode - he'd ventured out, in need of stimulation - entertainment -- but most importantly food. No one had stocked up the cabinets or fridge yet, and on a Saturday night, he really couldn't be bothered. The idea of ordering pizza was tossed around, but ultimately Theo decided to go explore the town and get a sense of his locale. Really, he ought to have to been applying for jobs online or something..but what jobs? And with what qualifications, or resume?

Regardless, work wasn't on his mind as he pulled on a pair of jeans and meandered about around the college campus like a chameleon, hands in his pockets, enjoying the breeze. Theo had a hankering for pizza, and sure enough - the local joint was flooded with new and returning students. He strode in, grabbed two slices of pepperoni and some garlic knots and was content to relax and people until his stomach was satiated. It became hard to ignore the obnoxious festivities a few tables down, and more than once he was caught raising an eyebrow in their direction or snickering as some bad joke that was made. It wasn't long before someone of the female variety came over and invited him to join in, and subsequently back to the house party that was being held a few buildings down. The kind meant to kick off the semester that would be starting up relatively soon with some real, carefree excitement.

"Nah, no thanks. I'm good." Sure, that's what he said initially-- but the young man was visibly torn, and his new companions knew it. Peer pressure did wonders, as did the allure of free alcohol. Old habits died hard. When all was said and done, Theo had woken up around six-thirty and stumbled on home like an idiot. Rest assured, he felt like one too.

Sunday Morning


Tiredtiredtiredtiredtiredtired. His skull felt like it had been rammed by a freight train, and hell -- he hadn't even drank that much. Squinting at the front steps from across the lawn, Theo eked out a silent prayer. No one in their right mind would be awake at this hour, right? None of his new roommates would have the privilege of catching him in a state of such disarray? -- at least not more disarray than usual. Then again, he wondered why he even cared - he supposed he didn't, but there was something about this being their more concrete first impression of him didn't quite sit well. Or maybe that was the vodka. Whatever the case, he had to head in and take his chances, so up the stairs Theo went. He was met with silence. Sweet, sweet silence.

The mission: Get water, get aspirin, get to his room. Plus 20% to dignity if objective is completed in stealth mode.

Go, go, go, go.

The kitchen was first. Rummaging through some of the high cabinets, a drinking glass was procured, filled with tap water and chugged. Once refilled a second time, Theo's groggy legs carried him across the ancient wooden flooring towards where he thought he remembered there to be a downstairs bathroom. On his way, an out of place streak of blue claimed his attention. Don't stray from the mission, agent. And yet, he stopped instinctively to read the message, and got the jist. Dinner Tonight. Ain't that cute. Except, he didn't even want to think about food right now, just the idea was making him queasy. So, the young man moved on, walking with pointed focus in the hopes that it would help the room stop moving.

Theo soon found himself at the base of the stairs, and all it took was once steep glance up for the wave of nausea to crash into him enough to cause him to double over. "Jeezus christ, - that ain't happenin'". He spat, turning towards the nearest stable object that just so happened to be an old wing backed couch. Collapsing into it, he settled his water glass down on the antique end table before sinking further into a sprawled out position and staring at the ceiling. It continued to spin, and Theo began the process of trying to breath twenty different ways to quell the lurching in his gut. "Five minutes." He told himself. "Just five...maybe ten minutes."

The sound of a door shutting around 9am stirred him from his second-slumber. He felt the vague, distant panic that told him to get the fuck up. And yet, he laid there - hand shifting itself to rub against his forehead, subconsciously concerned that perhaps, someone had drawn an aesthetically unpleasing penis there.

Mission Failed.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Haven Nicols Character Portrait: Aimee Scott Character Portrait: Olav Fossen Character Portrait: Theodore Carter Character Portrait: Mabel North Character Portrait:
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While Aimee had done her morning up well before the others bothered coming out, and bought groceries to replace the ones she'd used -- and also for the supplies for dinner that night -- she didn't feel an ounce of 'tired'. Since she arrived back at home she'd restocked the shelves and refrigerator (( I assume before or between Hazel's presence in the kitchen. )), she'd made her way back upstairs and took the world's most refreshing shower. On the brink of cold and luke warm, with the new toilettries she'd bought the night before, Aimee stepped out on to the bathroom's tile flooring.

Call it paranoia of an older house, but she could have sworn she heard someone knock at the door of the bathroom. With a towel wrapped around her torso, covering her only semi-modestly, she poked her head around the door. "Hello?"

No answer.

It was probably just the noise of people getting up, opening their doors, going downstairs -- at least, that's what Aimee told herself. Back inside the bathroom she elected not to put her old, dirty clothes back on. She wasn't ashamed of her body in any way, and why should anyone be? They're bodies. So, with the same towel wrapped around her, one arm holding the dirty clothes, and the other arm carrying the tote that had her toiletries in it, she walked the whole ten feet from point A (the bathroom) to point B (her bedroom).

She shrugged on a pair of yoga pants over a clean pair of underwear -- she would never deny herself the comfort of those things, whether or not she worked out every time she wore them -- and then slipped on an airy tank top. She never bothered with a bra, because let's face it, when you're somewhere between an A and a B cup, you really don't need a bra unless you're trying to create something that's not there for a certain outfit. Aimee'd learned that trick in high school.

The next couple of hours were a mixture of yoga, aroma-therapy with her oils, and finally, a quick nap. When she emerged from said nap, she re-braided her hair over her shoulder and stepped out in to the hallway. Now, Aimee decided, was the time to go meet her roommates. She wasn't nervous, per say, but it was still a challenge for her to be who she was and not who would fit in to the group more.

Step One: Go in there, and announce your presence with a smile. -- No, not because smiles are nice, but because you are nice.

Step Two: Introduce yourself. The enigma of your identity is ridiculous in a house of people you'll be sharing with for at least six months.

Step Two-Point-Five: Listen to their responses and memorize their names.

Step Three: Tea. And under no circumstances will you chameleon to their personalities.

Step Four: Remember the excuse in case you need to escape in an emergency: "Oops. I forgot I left my oils cap open and they'll evaporate if I don't go right now." Yeah. That's a good one. Oh God.

Aimee opened the door, stepped backwards to shut it behind her, and when she turned back around to make her way down the hallway she smacked right in to something -- no, some one. The collision didn't have a lot of momentum, so it didn't leave either of them falling over themselves, but Aimee was quite certain she'd have a headache form near her temple from smacking in to whomever this poor -- oh God, booze-ridden soul -- was.

"I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" Whatever pain had come of it, smelling the booze immediately reminded Aimee of what a hangover was described as. -- Yes, that's right, she'd never had one before, but her mother and father had. People were not very nice and easily irritable under the influence of the morning after booze-induced highs. "Can I, um, get you anything? I was going down stairs."

Shit. You forgot Step One and Two. Fix it.

"I'm Aimee."

Oh, sure. Hello, my name is Aimee. It's a custom where I'm from to attack someone in greeting, then state your name. You understand.

"Ifyoujustwannamovealongtowhereveryouweregoingandpretendthisneverhappened, I'dbeokaywithit, nobiddealreally." She gasped for air after all of that and cleared her throat, "I mean.. Yeah, I'm just gonna.. I'll bring you some tea and be back to help you with .. uh.. this."




Whether he managed to get a word in edgewise or not, Aimee was walking briskly down the flight of stairs at the end of the hall behind him and entering the rather busy kitchen. Her eyes lit up as she watched the firey red head in her natural habitat, speaking to her hobby as if she herself were nothing but an ingredient to the masterpiece, rather than the creator. Maybe, Aimee thought, she could be bother. Be a part of the baking, and of it. A blondish guy was around, and by the smell of things, coffee was in the making. Remember your steps.

A flash of her pearly whites emitted from the parting of Aimee's lips as she tilted her corners upright and bowed her head slightly. "Hi there. I'm Aimee, in the far west corner room. You must be..?"

Setting

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Character Portrait: Haven Nicols Character Portrait: Aimee Scott Character Portrait: Olav Fossen Character Portrait: Theodore Carter Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Sunday//Noon-ish//Wicker House



Haven fiddled with the coffee machine with an absent thought—her fingers ran over the sides as it began to work. Olav took his coffee black, apparently, and that was by far one of the easiest things to do—she could make black coffee blindfolded, in her sleep. Of course, there was such a thing as bad black coffee, and bad bitter coffee, but in her knowledge she only ever made it when she’d been about seven, and wasn’t sure how to do anything, much less make coffee. Haven herself liked her Café Au Lait, with hazelnut extract. She liked to play with the cream, as well, and make designs—leaves, flowers. She hated bitter coffee—it bit at the back of her throat. She only drank it when there were no other options available to her—when she was busy or too tired to stand up for much longer. She’d lowered the oven temperature before she put the piecrust in for a second time, even before she’s put the pie filling in—she didn’t really have much else to do. So, she fiddled mercilessly with the coffee machine.

”So, what do you like doing when you’re not working at the café?”

It took Haven much longer than it should have to figure out he was making conversation with her, as caught up in her single-minded task as she was. When she did, she smiled lightly and placed his coffee—as they were both done—in front of him and sat down on a stool with her own messily-made café au lait.

“I like to dance… Nola has a lot of festivals, parties… I like to go to those… —dancing is what you do to pass the time, to ward of the heat. I did ballet before—when I was in private school-- but I like dancing for fun more than that, dancing to a beat of the local music. Fish, catch frogs, so on. I sing, read—fill my time well enough,”

“So what do you do?” she asked, messing with the little spoon on the side of her coffee cup. She sipped from it every so often, and sat back in the chair. She tapped her foot against the side of the chair. She sat there, listening.

"Hi there. I'm Aimee, in the far west corner room. You must be..?"” Haven heard, after a long moment, and she turned to the voice.

This girl was pretty, that was for sure, but Haven hadn’t seen her before. She must have moved in last night—probably before Haven got home, she looked punctual.

“Haven, end of the east hall,” she said, in return, offering her name but not her hand (as it was occupied with sipping coffee).

“I’m making pie, for the…” Haven waved her hand in the direction of the chalkboard by way of explanation. “It should be done, sooner rather than later.”

Haven wondered if she had time to take a shower—she wanted one, now that she not only had flour in her hair but also brown sugar. She rolled a bit of her hair over one of her fingers, rolling it up into a fiery rope, and then letting it go.

Aimee seemed deeply uncomfortable by all this, but Haven didn't want to say anything-- but because she was afraid, but mostly because she just couldn't find it within herself to care enough to speak up. Thankfully, she didn't have to:

Theo swarmed passed the group, and Haven for a second thought he was simply going to come in and leave, but--

""Morning team, glad to see the Avengers Assembled bright and early," he said, and Haven rolled her eyes. "Morning," she said, tilting her head in his direction. It was terse, but it served it's purpose. "Something smells good -- Is it kosher for me to nab the coffee pot when y'all are finished?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere, dear-heart," Haven said, sarcasm (with a bit of very sarcastic flirting, mostly for effect) lacing every letter. "So, because I made the thing that smells amazing-- Pecan Pie, you can thank me later-- and I also made the coffee, help yourself," she said. She'd seen him around. Passed out, in multiple places, generally.

"Theo, by the way," he said, and Haven realized she hadn't really known his name before (she might have heard it, in passing, because he'd been around for a few days, but... Haven couldn't recall him actually introducing himself. Haven was struck by an uncanny need to say 'and you're theodorable but she didn't, mostly because even if she enjoyed puns, there was a time and a place and this wasn't it.

"Bonjour, mon ami. Mes Amis" she said, at first toward Theo and then the rest. "Et au revoir. I'll be in the shower, if anyone needs me. I should be back before the pie is done, so don't touch it."

Haven could be very threatening, when she wanted to be.

The red-head went back up to her room and grabbed a towel (she didn't feel comfortable using the house's, yet, along with her hair dryer. Haven couldn't stand being in water for more than ten minutes, and she hated the feeling of having wet hair-- especially after... well. She'd never liked water, but circumstances what they were she now feared it, in much the same way most people feared wasps. Of course, no one has to shower in wasps, so she felt with her fear as well as she could because she did have to shower in water.

She didn't plan on changing her clothes-- they weren't dirty and frankly she'd just put them on this morning, so they would be fine to wear. She turned on the water, ignoring the chill of the spray, and went back to the mirror. She looked happy, at least a little bit. Less stressed than she was living alone in the cafe, but... tired. She'd work on that.

The warm spray of the water should have been comforting, but it wasn't, even when Haven relaxed under it and began to shampoo her hair, and then grabbed a bottle of conditioner. Of course, she was already afraid, she could have gone without...

"Do you ever wonder what it's like to drown? Hmm?"

Haven spun around, her heart beating quickly, and she cuffed a hand over her mouth. Her eyes got quite wide and her throat tightened, holding in any noise she might have made. She did drop the container of conditioner, and that pulled her from her shock-still state long enough to pull herself into movement. She was shaking her head, violently, her body wracked by fear as she opened the curtains and looked around. Nobody. But she'd-- she'd heard....

She wasn't used to this house, yet. She was imagining things.

Right.

Right.

Haven counted to ten in her head, finished showering, and booked it out of the room without even drying her hair (she rolled it up in her towel, after she was done dressing. Then she booked it, as fast as her feet could carry her, to her room.

And then she screamed into her pillow and tried not to imagine herself drowning-- like she hadn't had the nightmare of that happening over and over again for years. She wasn't crying, but her body was shaking, wildly, and she sat up in bed and waited for the shakes to stop. She knew her pie would be ready, now. She had to go downstairs. She pulled the towel off her head and pulled her (still wet) hair into a pony tail, trying to avoid it touching her anywhere, and raced back down the stairs in the direction of the kitchen, her face still drained of blood.

She was imagining things.

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#, as written by Olav
Aimee had entered the scene and introduced herself before Olav had a chance to respond to Haven's question.
"I'm Olav, " he said at about the same time as Haven introduced herself to Aimee. "A pleasure to meet you. "
He took a couple sips of the coffee that Haven had brewed for him as he examined Aimee and Theo, who had just entered the room as well. Haven then left to take a shower, telling them not to mess with the pecan pie.
"So, " Olav said, taking another sip. "What are you guys' plans for today other than preparing a Thanksgiving-worthy dinner? "

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#, as written by Attie
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"I'm Haven." The firey redhead spoke first. She had the kind of eyes that contrasted with her hair so well, so dark and focused. Aimee found herself staring if only for a second or two, thinking on how the woman lived as she did up unto this point.

And almost just as soon as Haven had spoke, the blonde one introduced himself, "I'm Olav. A pleasure to meet you." He spoke very politely, cordial even. She didn't count a single ounce of hesitation in his voice. There was definitely an air of confidence about these two.

“I’m making pie, for the…” Haven waved her hand in the direction of the chalkboard by way of explanation. “It should be done, sooner rather than later.”

Aimee beamed at her, the tension in her shoulders visibly realeasing. "Oh! That's great. I figured with the smell of things, you'd be a shoe-in, and I was going to ask, but --" You're talking too much, idiot. Short and sweet. "That's great. Thank you." You used to be so good at this. -- Well, that was also when you manipulated people.

"Morning team, glad to see the Avengers Assembled bright and early," Said the man she'd bumped in to moments before. He smelled significantly better than earlier. "Theo, by the way."

"Ahh, yeah. How's your head?" She was immediately relieved that it seemed her words were back and in functioning order.

"So, what are you guys' plans for today other than preparing a Thanksgiving-worthy dinner? "

"Aha, aha." Aimee offered a chuckle, for this was surely a joke. When no one else seemed to laugh with her, she cleared her throat and smoothed back her bangs in to her braid. "Ahh, right. Well, I wouldn't consider it nearly as delicate as the disaster of Thanksgiving could be. I'll be making quest the feast, though. There will be.. " Aimee's mind unrolled the grocery list she paid for hours earlier. "Mashed potatoes -- I need to start those, actually, -- Ahhh, corn.. And the main course will be Swai. -- It's a fish. I'm pescetarian. -- It means I eat poultry and fish, but not other meats. -- And no, I'm not some save-the-animals nut. I just don't enjoy red meat. Too chewy." Wow, they didn't ask for any of that information.

Have you ever tried human flesh?

Aimee blinked, assuming that one of them had asked that question, "Excuse me, what?"

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#, as written by Olav
"Hmm? " Olav said, looking rather curiously at Aimee. Then he looked at Theo, thinking he had just said something.
Assuming that Aimee had only misheard something, he said, "Well, that doesn't sound like it'll take the entire day to prepare. Since we're not too busy today, as it is a Sunday, I was wondering if you guys might want to go out and hang out somewhere before dinner. I dunno, go check out the town maybe? I think it's a good chance for us to get to know each other. What do you think? "

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#, as written by Artik


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"Flattery will get you everywhere, dear-heart," -- "So, because I made the thing that smells amazing-- Pecan Pie, you can thank me later-- and I also made the coffee, help yourself,"

Listening to the other idle conversations regarding dinner and what-have-you, Theo's gaze flickered from person to person as they spoke. Truly however, at the moment, he had a one-track mind and that was manifest in him pausing and turning to pour himself a cup of the glorious black liquid. He needed it about now, if he wanted to function properly for the duration of the day. "Good to know, I'll keep that in mind. He retorted back at the baker with a bemused twitch of the lip, before taking a sip of his beverage. "You might be my new favorite stranger, " Fingers wracked this hair causing it to stick up in wild places, it was soon smushed back as he motioned with his chin towards Olav. "But this one's a close second, so don't go slacking on me." Grey eyes settled on Yoga--Aimee, and Theo pointedly quirked his brows and gave a mock-serious shake of the head in response to her inquiry. "Head's fine, but you ought to know that it knocked you back a few places in the rankings."

By this time, Haven was making her exit a la her fancy french, and Mable the quiet wild card was long gone and had retreated upstairs. With a quick thumb and forefinger pressed to his temples, Theo tried to suppress the building chuckle in his gut the more and more Aimee spoke herself into a nervous tizzy. She really didn't need to try so hard, but he was quickly realizing it must've been a habit of hers when in these new sort of social situations -- so he let it be, and reigned in the grin. "Sounds delicious. Though, he was a red meat kinda' guy, no need to complain. Fish was food. Food was good. "If you need help, just -- ah -- say the word." Theo began reaching a hand into his pocket and fished out a cigarette, that for the moment he simply fidgeted with out of courtesy. "Though, for the record -- there's this pizza place over by the college campus that's pretty incredible." Obviously that was important information.

"Excuse me, what?"

He blinked, hoping his mention of alternative eating wasn't an insult to her meal. Nonetheless, he repeated it, because it seemed like she hadn't heard. "The pizza place on campus? It's really good." The foreign fella chimed in now, and Theo tossed his shoulders back in a shrug as he considered the request. It had the chance to either be kinda of a nice time, or a really miserable one where they were all searching desperately for escape. But..Ah-er--why not? Live a little, Carter. Give the Motley Crew a real chance. If you can survive this with a hangover, then living normally should be a real breeze. "I.... could be convinced to do a bit of family bonding, sure." The thoughtful way he uttered the words was further solidified with a nod. "We've gotta wait for Red to finish the pie first though.-- Theo gave a moments pause, placing the cancer stick between his lips so he could in turn waggle his fingers all spooky like. "--or else." Haven's threat still lingered, didn't it? With that said, he mumbled a curt 'scuse me' and meandered towards the front steps. After his lighter was successfully claimed amidst the pocket lint, the youth took a seat, rubbed his eyes and took a steady drag of nicotine. Inhale. Exhale.

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#, as written by Attie
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"Out? Well." Aimee considered this as Theo gave his two cents and exited to smoke. God, that cigarette looked good. The carrier wasn't half bad, but nicotine is an ex-lover that took me a great deal to shrug.

"I think he's right. Let's wait for Haven's pie to complete, and.. Since he'd mentioned the pizza.." That's certainly not what she heard the first time, and.. It's strange, but his voice sounded different, too. "Well, why don't we just eat there. The point was to all meet and 'family bonding' as he put it, and if everyone's up for it, then I'll just cook some other time."

She sent Olav a smile and a wink, "Great thinking, mm? I'm going to go and tell the other girl. I think I saw her in passing head off to her room." (( On that note, I read somewhere that Mabel had retreated to her room, so all of us assuming she was still there was wrong. OOPS. Sorry Mabel! ))

Aimee reached the landing to the stairs, spotting Theo over her shoulder with his cigarette out the door. She thought for a moment to question him about what he'd said earlier, but if she wanted to make this room-mating situation happen, maybe it wasn't such a great idea to confront him about it. No, it's far more normal to accept that your roommate is a cannibal and you'll be living under the same roof.

Up the stairs, Aimee wasn't quite sure where the girl's room was. She check a couple of doors, knocking on each one before cracking open unless she heard an audible 'No'. At this point, the shower was still running -- must be Haven -- so the final door Aimee checked, she rapped the door with her knuckles.

"..Hello? Excuse me, anyone there?" She bit her lip. "I.. The others were going to go out to get pizza. You should come." She pressed her ear to the door, hoping to hear someone on the other side. "Haven's made pie for afterward?"

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Mabels trip back to her room had been fairly uneventful in a way that she assumed she would have been running into more of her roommates and continuing to have awkward encounters with them. Thankfully no such encounters were had and Mabel was able to peacefully find her way back to her chosen room. She waits until her stomach has settled before finding some cleaner clothes to change into. By this point shes a little less shaky, and thankfully some color has returned to her cheeks. Though she assumes thats because of her earlier embarrassment.

'They must think I'm nuts...' She thinks. Plopping down on her bed with a heavy sigh. Her boredom beginning to get the best of her, she almost wishes she would have packed a few books but knew the boredom would come about anyway. Luckily it isn't more than a few minutes later - or perhaps more, Mabel isn't quite used to keeping track of time - she hears a knock on the door and on the other side a womans voice.

"..Hello? Excuse me, anyone there?" Mabel presses her ear against the door, not yet opening it. "I.. The others were going to go out to get pizza. You should come." She isn't quite sure if shes ready for bonding time, but its better than sticking around here. "Haven's made pie for afterward?" The woman finishes, and Mabel nods her head before she realizes that the person on the other side of the door can't exactly see.

"Um..." She considers her words for a few moments, "Hold on just a sec!" She calls through the door before scurrying around to the side of her bed thats piled up with clothes. Most of them need a good washing, but eventually she manages to find a hat and a jacket clean enough to wear, wrapping the slightly too large clothing around her body. She runs her fingers through her hair to tame it before slipping on the hand-knit hat, hopefully looking just a little better now that shes up and about and dressed in something other than what she had been wearing for the past two days. She throws open the door in hopes that the other person hasn't given up on her yet, and is glad to see her still standing there.

"I'm a bit of a mess..." Mabel starts with a small humorless laugh, then stops herself from continuing on her self-deprecating path. If given the chance she would end up listing a million reasons why it would be bad to be seen in public with Mabel - even though Mabel understands its just her self-consciousness talking. Instead she tries for a small, unsure smile and steps out of her room, pulling the door closed behind her. She stares for a minute before the realization hits her that she hasn't even introduced herself, which is something she should have done by this point.

"My names Mabel...I uh, don't know if you knew that already or not." She hasn't really introduced herself to anyone yet, and mentally kicks herself for assuming that the other would already know her name. She shifts uncomfortably, tugging on her jacket strings, trying not to chew on the inside of her lip too much in fear it will start bleeding. "So...Pizza? Sounds good." It actually sounds like a rather bad idea, with Mabels stomach almost always rejecting anything she puts in it. But shes been less sick lately, maybe a single slice wouldn't hurt...and if not then at least she can say she tried, which is something she can rarely say these days. She yawns a little, then covers her mouth with an apologetic look. "Sorry, didn't sleep well."

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#, as written by Attie
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"Um..." The girl behind the door began, "Hold on just a sec!"

Aimee smiled. This was the door. This was a girl. This would be easier than it had been a moment ago trying not to be entirely ridiculous in front of two boths and the girl -- Haven -- who seemed to radiate confidence out of her pores. Not in an unkind way, but she was so carefree-seeming and assertive. Aimee used to be that way, too.

Good God, just go to school tomorrow and see one of the Psych undergrads. They need hours, anyway, to get their degreee.

"I'm a bit of a mess..." Mabel starts with a small humorless laugh.

"Hah! Me, too." Aimee immediately responded, and it came so naturally that she laughed, too.

"My names Mabel...I uh, don't know if you knew that already or not." Mabel went on. "So...Pizza? Sounds good." She yawns a little, then covers her mouth with an apologetic look. "Sorry, didn't sleep well."

"You know," Aimee went on with a odd smirk, "I didn't sleep very well, either. I was up at like six this morning, but I didn't even get to bed until about midnight. - Oh." She blinked to realize when she looked down her attire wouldn't be very suitable for an outing. "Here I am, worrying about inviting everyone when I wasn't even dressed or ready to go." She shrugged an apologetic smile. "Give me just a moment, myself?"

Aimee left Mabel's side if only to enter her own room. She left the door half open -- partially because she didn't care if anyone saw her nude, but also because she was too lazy to go back and shut it when she was already mid-throw-shirt-off. She opened the wardrobe to retrieve one of the dresses she'd bought yesterday. On top of that, she shrugged on a cardigan-- another item from last night's adventure -- and slipped out of her yoga pants. Both the discarded items were neatly laid out on the bed, because if you didn't wear it for 24 hours - or do anything so extraneously physical that you sweat a lot in them, then they were clean as far Aimee was concerned. Finally, she slipped on a pair of cheap white flip flops and entered the hallway once more, eyes immediately checking to see if Mabel was there and she hadn't run off.

"Does this look okay? I, uh, hadn't been clothes shopping in at least six months, and I'm not the best fashionista. Comfy is my prerogative." She flashed a smile in Mabel's direction before rolled her shoulders back and meeting Mabel, shoulder to shoulder with a grin. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm a little nervous," she joked, honestly.

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"You know," Aimee says, "I didn't sleep very well, either. I was up at like six this morning, but I didn't even get to bed until about midnight. - Oh." Mabel nods in understanding. "Its a little creepy sleeping somewhere new," she doesn't really elaborate on her own reasons for not sleeping. But for the most part its true, since her arrival here Mabel has felt strangely about the place. However most of the time she can convince herself that its just because she isn't used to having so much space.

"Here I am, worrying about inviting everyone when I wasn't even dressed or ready to go." Aimee shrugs, giving her own apologetic smile. "Give me just a moment, myself?"

"Okay," Mabel says, finding herself suddenly alone with her own thoughts. She silently congratulates herself on not making a fool out of herself. Glad that at least one of her roommates won't assume shes some kind of shy shut-in. Even if its somewhat true about her. She wasn't this way before, with the drugs, she hasn't been so aware of herself since she was a kid. Back then it didn't matter if you were weird or not, but it doesn't exactly work that way as an adult.

As usual she loses herself in thought, then startles a little when Aimee is suddenly standing with her again. "Does this look okay? I, uh, hadn't been clothes shopping in at least six months, and I'm not the best fashionista. Comfy is my prerogative." Mabel can agree entirely with that sentiment. She flashes a thumbs up, trying to look as natural about it as possible. "Same goes for me, I can't stand uncomfortable clothes." She never has been able to, in fact as a child it was a morning ritual to fight with her parents over having to wear a school uniform, she hates how tight and itchy it was. Even now she prefers loose and soft over anything else.

"Don't tell anyone, but I'm a little nervous," Aimee joked. Mabel flashes a true smile at that, knowing the feeling probably just as well as Aimee. "Secrets safe with me," She answers, using her fingers to do a zipping motion at her lips. Finding it a bit surprising that its this easy to actually hold a conversation with someone. Mabel tries not to jinx it yet. After all its just going to get harder from here, once everyones together at least. "Its refreshing to know I'm not the only one freaking out a little bit," Mabel confesses, then frowns a little bit, "We should probably get going, they might be waiting on us." Although she isn't quite sure, she does know that she doesn't want to keep anyone waiting.

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#, as written by Olav
"We can get there in my cab! " Olav replied. "I can drive it for personal uses when I'm not on duty."
He then realized he was still in his pajamas, sipping coffee.
"Umm.. Give me some time to get dressed real quick! " he said as he ran up the stairs to his room. He put on a pair of blue jeans, a white v-neck T shirt, and a pair of sunglasses. He ran down the stairs, grinning, apparently excited to go out for some fun with his new roommates.
He stepped outside the front door, finding Theo sitting on the steps and taking a cigarette break.
"Looks like we'll be visiting the town in my cab there mate. " Olav said to him as he walked over to his vehicle. "Can you tell them I'm ready when they are?"
He started the ignition, pulled away from the curb, and put on the parking breaks. After adjusting his rear-view mirror, he gave a light honk to signal them to come out.

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Sunday//4:10//Wicker House


Theo had called her Betty Crocker before she went up, that was absolutely charming, or it would have been, if Haven hadn't heard it before. Still, she laughed, because it was still quite funny to her (she often laughed at the fact that her very domestic hobby coupled with a very non-domestic life).

Once Haven got dressed, she found herself in the kitchen again, as Amiee brought down Mabel and introduced her. Haven offered a wave, smiled politely, and nodded. She asked about a ride, and to that Haven almost got out that she did, indeed, own a car, but that it was old and rickety and every time she got into it she feared for her life, but she couldn't complain because it wasn't like it was her car. Though, Theodore offered-- but a ride that fit two wouldn't much help them.

Olav had a cab, one he drove for a living, and Haven was gracious to him when he offered to ride them (for free, which, in Haven's opinion, was very nice. She'd have probably demanded at least gas for a ride in her Death Trap on Wheels).

"Sounds great to me," Haven said, just before Olav noticed he was not wearing "going out clothing" and skipped himself over to his room.





The car was cramped. Very cramped. Terribly cramped. Sardine-can cramped.

Well, she was overreacting-- it was just 'full' or 'at capacity' with four people inside it (with Theo driving ahead) but Haven still didn't like it. She sat in the back, jeering to get Olav or whomever was in the front to change the radio station. She didn't want to seem rude, but she couldn't deal with country music, even so far as a five-ten minute drive.

But, they made it, and Haven wanted to praise the ground she stood on when she got out of the stuffy car.

Haven could almost see her work from here, and she gathered the attention of the whole group and pointed that direction.

"Hey, that's where I work, if anyone wants to come see me," she said, though when she yelled her "yat" (well, as most people called it, Creole) accent got more apparent and her 'that' sounded like 'dat' but she decided not to go back and try to fix her speech-- her mother was a parish girl, her accent was ten times worse, and whenever Haven's got prominent she kind of felt closer to her mother, miles away, in an odd way.

"But, we have sweets at home, so... pizza!" she exclaimed as they all crowded outside of the shop.

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#, as written by Olav
Olav motioned for them to find seating for five. Slightly walking ahead of them, his typical big brother attitude became apparent at the occasion.
"What do you ladies like?" he asked them as he walked over to the cash register. He took a glance up at the overhead menu. "One Large Combination pizza with extra cheese? Sounds right?"
After some thought he placed an order for one that was half combination, half vegetarian. He brought the order number stand and five empty plastic cups to the table, in case anyone wanted drinks, and took a seat.
"So," he said, "What made you ladies decide to move into Wicker? The location is quite nice I should say. I moved in mostly because it's fairly close to my cab company's office. And it seems like alot of interesting stuff is going on in this neighborhood."

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For the most part of the entire trip over, Aimee kept to herself but plastered a genuine smile on her lips. When they arrived, she'd kept close to Mabel perhaps out of habit of always wanting to be nearest to the person who intimidated her the least. This one, she felt, likely had so much in common what with their similar demeanor that she sensed a friendship on the rise.

Fast forward, and she was following Haven and company over to the booth.

"What made you ladies decide to move into Wicker? The location is quite nice I should say. I moved in mostly because it's fairly close to my cab company's office. And it seems like alot of interesting stuff is going on in this neighborhood." Olav asked.

"I needed a place to stay that wasn't given to me out of the kind heart of my employer. I stayed above Hugo's for two years-- I was bored of it. The house's rent was cheap... That's about it, actually." Haven answered.

"--The house's rent was cheap...That's about it actually." Theo gave his own excuse, short and simple.

It was Mabel or Aimee's go, and Aimee opened her mouth to answer when the group of rambunctious college students -- who apparently knew Theo -- interrupted their 'bonding' outing. She closed her mouth to listen to the exchange between the students and Theo, but the only thing worth a damn that she cared for was the words: "Ghost House, actually.'

Now, Aimee was a religious sort - believe it or not - in that she believed in a heaven and a hell. Whether or not Jesus came to die for everyone's sins was irrelevant to her, as she wasn't sure she trusted a book written by man on a creator's opinions on how the world should be run. But, the important part to her, was that she believed there was a place to go if you were a good person, and a place you went to if you were not. Naturally, demons, ghosts, or whatever ruled either 'place' had to be possible.

But did she really believe in ghost stories? I mean, they all seem so fun to listen to, to read about, or to see made in to major motion pictures, but nothing had ever happened to her. And, to consider the source of where this fable was coming from, Aimee rolled her eyes. She'd seen these kids around campus. In fact, the one speaking about the story as if it were life and death shared Composition I with her.

"Have you nothing better to do?" She snapped, back bone in tact and everything.

"Now let's go Mike. I don't want my greek salad to get soggy, leave Teddy to have recover from our awesome bash with his....uh..friends."

"Mmhm. Yeah, well. Alright. That was oodles of fun and not at all painfully awkward, amiright?" Theo chimed once the others had left them in 'peace' or 'pieces', dependent on who you asked, probably.

"What's to be awkward about? They're hardly credible sources on any accounts -- and I'm pretty sure that one guy was still drunk." She shrugged her shoulders of the situation and took another bite of the vegetarian pizza, throwing a wink at Olav, "Oh, and thanks for the consideration on the veggie pizza."




Wicker House - 6:00PM


Ms. Burns dusted her attire - the very same dress suit she wore the day each of the tenants arrived at Wicker House for Open house - and rolled back her shoulders. Her eyes watched as dust flew behind a car driving up the dirt road to the house, a grimace on her features. She stood in the door way of the front porch, the door open behind her.

"Six out of seven," She said, seemingly to no one in particular.

A voice called from behind her, raspy and hollow.

"Upstairs. The last remaining room." Ms. Burns spoke monotonously. After a moment, she smiled with a nod. "As you wish." The door shut behind her and she made her way to the steps to greet the next tenant.

"Mr. Reid. Your fellow roommates seem to have departed for the evening, but I've got a key. This one is for you, and I'll show you to your room."

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#, as written by Olav
"Who were those guys?" Olav asked, looking somewhat disinterested. According to them the house he and his new roommates had moved into was a place of urban legend. There was indeed an unnatural calm surrounding the place, but it didn't quite seem like a place out of a horror story. Olav sat there quietly listening to the kids as he absent-mindedly sipped some soda. He had asked them why they chose to move into this place to break the ice and get a conversation going, and told them that his reason was the house's proximity to his company's headquarters, but that was somewhat a lie. He had done a little research into the house. Perhaps the place had history way back to western colonial times? Olav speculated that people such as explorers, rich oil men, pioneers, and the like having resided in the area. He looked at his roommates, wondering what they were thinking.
"So, " Olav said. "Do you ladies believe those guys? I mean, just because a place is old doesn't mean it's haunted right? Any of you know who used to live there or something? Other than the boy those guys mentioned."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Haven Nicols Character Portrait: Aimee Scott Character Portrait: Olav Fossen Character Portrait: Theodore Carter Character Portrait: Mabel North Character Portrait: William Deats
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#, as written by Attie
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Sunday Night

Having gone upstairs to her room to change, just like everyone else had, Aimee was back in yoga pants and the lose tank top. She, too, poked the fun at Theo's shirtless appearance, right after Haven's quip. "Should have told me the dress code. Now I feel underdressed." She smirked, and hardly even bothered further questioning the new guy, but though everyone was taking place in the pie-eating, Aimee walked over to the fridge, grabbed an orange, and began to peel it.

Why not pie, you say?

Pie doesn't taste good after a proper upchucking. Then again, neither does the acidity of a citrus fruit feel good against a grainy throat that's just been laced in stomach acid, but it feels better than pecans and crust scratching the walls.

Why the upchucking, you say?

Aimee originally had gone in to the bathroom to let out her hair and brush it, since they were all getting ready for bed any how. And then she remembered the pizza, and how pizza looked on thighs. And how thighs looked in photographs. And -- well, it all escalated rather quickly.

So there she was, tossing the cookies she'd collected throughout the day when all of a sudden, a tiny little hand patted her right shoulder and began to pull back her hair for her.

"It's going to be okay."

At first, Aimee choked up, thinking it was Haven or Mabel. She began to cry, thinking herself an idiot for not shutting the door, or locking it. - But wait, she had[/] shut it. She [i]had locked it. Looking over her shoulder, there was no one, but she could have sworn there was a hand at her shoulder, patting her down, holding back her hair.

If weight wasn't a motivator enough to want to throw up, the chill down her spine that the college kids may not have been so wrong definitely gave her another go at it. For good measure.



Monday Morning

Aimee had elected to take her orange upstairs to her room. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep, even with the chills, because fatigue gathered the body that had removed it's contents. She felt cold, her bones shivering beneath the covers, and she found she couldn't warm up even when she pulled a hoodie over her tank.

At precisely 3:09AM, she bolted awake when her own screams woke her. She stopped as soon as she realized it came from herself, her eyes wide. Did she wake anyone? Would they worry? What if they came in here?

She pushed her head back on to her pillow and feigned sleep just as soon as she'd sat up. If anyone was going to come, they wouldn't know it was her. Maybe they'd be as spooked out as she was over the whole thing. She couldn't even recall her dream.

It wouldn't be until she woke up around 6:57AM that she bothered to step out of the bed and begin her stretches for yoga. "And a jog." She told herself. Classes started at 10:15AM. She'd have time for it all, to get ready, grab a bite, and then walk towards downtown.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Haven Nicols Character Portrait: Aimee Scott Character Portrait: William Deats Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Attie
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10:47AM
Monday


"Perhaps, you'd find yourself resting more comfortably outside of the classroom, Ms. Scott." The professor slammed a ruler down maybe six inches from her forearm - the one that had presented itself as a reasonable horizontal surface for sleeping during class. Aimee jumped up with a start, bolting upright in her chair. She was pretty sure she shared this class with William Reid - so this was double embarrassing. Awesome.

"I'm, I'm very sorry. That was rude of m--"

"I don't have any more time to waste on your excuse than I do waking you up if only to kick you out. Come prepared next time - and that includes the mentality to function."

Aimee opened her mouth to protest, but gathered her belongings anyhow. "I--"

"Out the door, Ms. Scott. And might I add, not the best way to start off your semester here at Em Pale Uni."




It wasn't until after Aimee was out in to the corridor and walking towards the doors to get to the courtyard that she realized the professor's nickname for the university sounded a great deal like Impale. She laughed, and checked that off her list of things to call it once mid terms and finals came around to ruin her existence.




The rest of her classes took little to no time at all - or so it felt. It was the usual, "Welcome to the Semester. Here's the Obligatory Sheet of all the Things We'll be Learning About. Here's the Dates to All of the Exams. This Will be Inevitably Changed. Fair Warning." Repeat that for four classes, and you've got five o'clock in the afternoon hitting with a bus ride commute back towards the house. Sure, for lunch, Aimee did sneak a peak in to the cafe Haven was said to work within - though instead of chatting much with either her nor the man who ran the place, she grabbed her latte and baguette and was out the door just as soon as she'd arrived.

As per the first day she'd arrived, the bus wouldn't drive her all the way up to the doorstep, so Aimee was left to walk up the drive. It was a good mile, she'd wager, but it was just as good for the silence it allowed her.

Well, it would have been silent, but it appeared as if someone brought home a dog. She wasn't entirely sure what the policy on dogs was in the Wicker House, let alone the property. While she was an animal person, she was aware they were no small feat to care for and there was a reason boys gave their girlfriends dogs as pets before having kids because 1) it bought them time before that responsibility and 2) a dog was similar - even if only in a fraction.

This dog started a few yards out, running about with a trashed up yellow tennis ball. She'd heard it's playful barks before she saw the beagle charging up the way - well, charging as much as a beagle could muster. Aimee smiled by default, hunching down in her hiking boots and shorts to pet it as it drew closer.

The dog didn't stop, nor did it slow as it reached her. It kept running, panting, and was getting closer, and closer, and it was just about to pounce on top of her - which she had no doubt would tilt her on her backpack from impact - when it barked, lunged, and ---

---

And what the fuck just happened?

Aimee blinked, standing upright and turning around. There had been no impact. No touch. No feel. No smell. No saliva from it's jaws.

And no trace it'd even been there. Well, that was a lie. The yellow, beaten tennis ball rolled down the hill and tapped the toe of her hiking boot. It was a gesture so small, so real, that it sent shivers up her spine with the realization that only part of what she'd just witnessed was real.

She swallowed, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one had seen her - or to verify they saw it, too. No one was present, though. Just the gardener, and she was hunched well over in to the pits of the bushes that surrounded the house. Her brim hat seemed to keep her from looking much anywhere than her forward focus.

As she made it to the front, up the steps, and in to the doorway, Aimee took in a deep breath and leaned against the wood of the entry way, sliding down the wall and in to the floor of the foyer. She closed her eyes, and chose just to breathe.