Theodore Carter's Story

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Thursday night//10:00//Cafe Hugo and Wicker House

Haven had stored her life away into five different boxes earlier that day, at the express permission of Hugo. She wasn't much for organization, so things were stuffed in such a way that everything fit, but she could find nothing. She'd started with her closet-- Haven, on a limited budget, still found time to love clothing-- and it had taken up two crates in it of itself. It was amazing, as the closet wasn't really a closet at all (it was an old industrial fridge Hugo had been planning to throw out, but Haven was nothing if not inventive). She had skirts, tops, more than one pair of worn-out combat boots, along with sneakers and a few aprons, thrown into the boxes before she even began on the rest of her room.

It wasn't that she was a pack-rat-- she just had things. It wouldn't seem like much in her new room, she was sure, but in the tiny hovel of a place it seemed like she owned more than she'd ever need. Blankets stacked on top of blankets (Haven hated the cold), a few books stacked haphazardly into a corner, journals filled with both thoughts and ideas. All of it looked quite messy, but packed away-- suddenly the room seemed large.

"I packed away your mixer-- we have another one here, I want you to have yours there," Hugo said, climbing the stairs. "I'm going to miss you, you know."

"Hugo, I'll still work here! I'm just... settling in, is all," Haven said, her voice lighter than the tone she normally used. Hugo wrapped her into a hug and she hugged back. She would miss hearing him make coffee for customers, in the mornings.

---

"Do you have everything in the car?" Hugo yelled, staring at her as she closed the trunk of his car. Haven would need to get a new car, and soon, but for now Hugo was within walking distance of the cafe and she would soon not be, so he let her have his until she could find something for herself.

"Yea, yea," Haven said, pulling her glasses up to the top of her face as she pulled on the large shirt she wore (it was late, she saw no reason to get dressed up).

Hugo didn't say anything else-- Haven simply got in the car and started it up. She felt happy, in the way that her stomach rolled up and she wanted to scream. Exited, in a way she hadn't been before.

---

Haven didn't wait for anyone else, or to see if anyone was around-- she had a goal in her mind and she didn't really care to meet the roomies, just then. Haven was stronger than she looked-- she had, after all, worked on the streets for quite some time, and defended herself (and, as an after thought, her mind supplied that she carried around sacks of flour and heavy mixers and such quite often). She simply unloaded everything she had, left the car in the drive, and made her way upstairs.

It didn't seem like all that much, when she was unpacked.

---

Saturday Night//12:00//Cafe Hugo and Wicker House

"Does the lord hate me?" Haven whispered, as she yet again began to mix up a batch of Choux pastry dough. She thought she'd made enough, but she had to make lots of things with it-- Beignets, eclairs-- and she had vastly underestimated how much it would take, and hadn't realized she'd needed more until the bakery was closed. She'd made three batches already, but in her haste ruined two of them, and she knew she'd have to make everything Monday because otherwise it would go bad (even if she could make the dough tonight), and that meant having to come into work early. Damn it.

The car ride home was terse, even with just herself, and she pulled into the house at 12:34 p.m, her fingers clutched over the steering wheel of the car. She'd pulled off her apron before she left the cafe, and now instead she wore a pair of combat boots and a short, black-pleated skirt, and pullover she'd found in the very back of her (new!) closet.

Haven might have noticed the man passed out on the lawn, if she'd not been so tired. As it was she simply opened the door and found her way upstairs, shoving her way through the door, and passed out on the bed without even changing clothing.

Sunday Morning//5:30 Am//Wicker House

It was morning, and Haven was awake. For some reason this ticked her off-- be it as it was that she'd moved into this house because she didn't have to work today at all, and also because she didn't want to be up. But she was, and for a very long time she simply tried to go back to bed.

Count sheep? No.
Play a song and try to go to sleep to that? No.
Roll over and lay face down, hope for the best? That somehow made her more awake.

So, at Six am Haven found herself groggily sitting up in bed, pulling her phone out and replying in haste to the messages her mother had left for her. She thought she heard someone downstairs, but she wasn't about to go check-- she was in no mood to deal with anyone, much less an early-bird roommate.

Eventually, she found some form of rest-- the half awake kind that wasn't fulfilling at all, but at least it was rest-- until about 8, but by then she was restless, and her clothing stuck to her in uncomfortable ways. She felt like she needed a shower, but at the same time she didn't want to mentally prepare herself for that, and she didn't smell bad-- she was just covered in a thin layer of flour and sugar.

No one could exactly blame her for being afraid of water, right? Well, her roommates could-- they didn't know her-- but she highly doubted she'd care right now.

Instead, she pulled off her outfit from work the day before and pulled on a pullover that went to about mid-thigh, and threw some shorts underneath it. She debated wearing shoes, but then again, this was her home now, so she stayed barefoot.

---

Haven didn't scream, she didn't yell, and later she would congratulate herself. She'd run into one of her roommates, passed out on the couch, but at first she didn't think that. Haven had never had roommates before, so when she'd run into him (literally, as she almost tripped over the couch where he was passed out) she squeaked and almost made to pull a knife -- which she no longer carried-- and shove it into his ribcage. After a few moments, though, she realized she was not, in fact, a murderer and this man did, in fact, live in the same house as her. Haven wasn't skittish, but she did have fast reflexes, and in the environment she'd grown up in-- well, it payed to be wary. But this man lived here, she had seen him before, and so that was no excuse.

God she needed coffee.

That would be her excuse.

To the kitchen, then: Haven made her way into the kitchen, content to stop the "I'm going to look around" train of thought she'd been going on before, at least until she was well-caffinated. The machine spurted and sputtered, but Haven was a goddamn master of coffee machines and she made it work for her, just as she saw the bright blue lettering on the wall.

Dinner? Here?

Haven smirked, grabbing her now-made coffee and pulling herself to sit on the counter (what her roommates didn't know wouldn't hurt them, and Haven preferred it to chairs). They'd not seen what she could do yet-- why not win them over? She'd bought groceries for herself (and the house, but she'd not told them that), she could bake something.

Haven smiled, set the coffee down, and pressed a few buttons on her phone.

"Mom! Hey," Haven said, listening to the barely- there, weak voice her mother had gotten after the death of her father. "Hey... I need a recipe from you, you always made them better than I did-- yes, right, you were always better at american deserts... just tell me how to make the gosh darn pecan pie!"

Her mother talked quite loudly as she related the ingredients, and her accent was much thicker than Haven's own-- though Haven did have a creole accent to her words-- but Haven persevered. She had pecans-- Haven did, after all, like to eat things other than desserts and she really didn't like the idea of going to the gym often, so she tried to eat fairly healthily aside from her sweet tooth. She had the rest of it too (she even had bourbon, taken from the back of Hugo's shelves while he wasn't looking-- okay, it wasn't legal, but still).

Of course, making a pie crust takes time when done correctly, so she cracked her knuckles and prayed to every god there was that she would be done by twelve. Haven didn't even like baking pies, but they were familiar and she knew everyone would like them, plus they were a sure-fire way to win over anyone. She hung up on her mother and found a very large bowl, and set to work.

Wednesday Night

Olav parked his cab beside the curb to the Wicker House. It was late so Olav went up quietly to his flat and tried not to wake anyone who might have already moved in. He set his luggages on his bed and proceeded to unpack his belongings. There were not many items: clothing, a shaving kit, his contact lenses, some toothpaste, some shampoo, laptop, a couple books, etc. At the bottom of his luggage was one last item - a framed black and white photograph of himself posing with another young lad of similar age:



He stared at the photograph with a vacant expression on his face for some time before placing it on the dresser, facing down. When the tedious business of getting settled into a new flat was satisfactorily complete, he surrendered his fatigued body upon the bed on his front with his arms to his sides. He remained motionless in that position until the next morning.

Sunday Morning

Olav awoke to the divine scent of homemade baking. He had arrived home from work at 2:00 AM of today and must have slept well almost til perhaps noon? One of his roommates - Theo was passed out near the base of the stairs.
"Cheers mate. " he said quietly, chuckling to himself.
He proceeded to follow the blissful aroma, still in his pajamas, which led him to the kitchen where one of his new roommates - Haven, was busy doing what she does best.

"Morning Ginger! " he greeted her with a smirk. "What's cooking? "

Waking up after a sleepless night spent trying to stop herself from shaking awake every ten minutes is awful. Her head hurts, eyes refusing to open. Her mouth is cotton dry and tacky with dry drool at the corners of her lips. Probably from sleeping with her mouth open all night so she could get a sufficient amount of oxygen since her nose seems uncooperative. She sniffles, the pressure in her head increasing as she gets up. Her bare feet hit the cold floor and she shudders from the contact.

She doesn't even know what day it is. But she knows that its been long enough that she shouldnt be as sick as she was on the day of the open house - that in and of itself was a horrible experience once she left and had to endure another long Taxi ride to retrieve her stuff from home. Returning nearly a day later with two bags of useless junk she should have just left home.

She hasn't been here long enough to have memorized where everything is yet, but she tries her best to navigate towards the bathroom. Taking a quick glance in the mirror and hating herself for it. Her eyes are bloodshot and framed by heavy dark circles that stand out against her skin. Her lips chapped from being dry for so long. And as usual the rest of her is a disheveled mess.

Mabel strips and showers before anything else, throwing on a loose long-sleeve shirt and a pair of sweats once finished. She doesn't bother with much else besides brushing her teeth to hopefully keep the smell of vomit from taking up permanent residence in her mouth. She returns to her room feeling a little better, despite the throbbing in her skull.

Her few possessions are littered about like trash, her clothes already being formed into an untidy pile on one side of the bed. She'll have to clean soon if she wants to get ahead of the inevitable chaos this room will soon become. Her stomach grumbles, and she knows she should eat something, even if she doesn't feel up to it. No use getting into one bad habit after kicking the first.

On her way to the kitchen she spots one of her new roomates Theo on an old couch. She isn't quite sure why he's sleeping on the couch but from the looks of him there's a good reason. She pauses to tentatively touch his shoulder, leaning in to check that he's breathing alright. She gets a faint whiff of booze and sighs. Once satisfied she steps away to continue her kitchen journey, though she wasn't all that worried in the first place; simply the idea of one of her roommates ending up dead for whatever reason freaked her out.

In the kitchen she spots two more occupants of the Wicker House, Haven and Olav. She casts her eyes to the floor as she passes by to get to the fridge, digging around for anything that isn't going to upset her stomach too much. She notices some sort of announcement written in bright blue letters. Dinner...tonight, probably some kind of housewarming thing. Mabel isn't sure shes prepared, but resolves to at least show up.

She settles on making toast when she decides that its too much work to try and eat anything else. At this point she's been ignoring the other two in the room but with the toaster being so slow she has time to examine them a little, trying not to make it obvious.

"Hey there," she says, feeling a little awkward for being so quiet.Thankfully once the toast pops she quickly eats and flees the kitchen in an attempt to avoid any further uncomfortable situations. God what a nightmare.

---

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..?"

---

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.

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? "

---

"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?"

"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? "

---

"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?"

---

Sunday//12:45//Wicker House

Haven still shook with the aftermath of whatever that had been in the bathroom, her fingers idly messing with her wet hair. It wouldn’t take long to dry, but she dreaded going back in that bathroom for now. Still, as she approached the kitchen, she heard them talking about forgoing actual dinner in favor of pizza, which sounded great to her. The pizza place she assumed they were talking about—near campus—was good, and only a scant block from Haven’s place of work, so she knew the place well. Still, it would be nice to confirm, so Haven went into the kitchen, pulled the pie out of the oven, and placed it down on the counter, covering it with a paper towel (she figured it would be safe until they got back, possibly even still warm).

Olav was still around, but Amiee and Theo seemed to have vacated, so Haven spoke to Olav:

“Pizza, right? I heard you from the stairs, but I couldn’t say anything,” she said. She didn’t really wait for conformation—it was enough that Olaf didn’t say no—and the creeping feeling of water falling down her back from her hair was causing her to be on the verge of having (another, her mind supplied, as what had happened in the room earlier counted) a mental break.

She hadn’t even been here long and she relished in the idea of getting out, if only for a little while. Go figure.

Haven, instead of thinking on that much, opened the door to the back and stuck her head out, looking at Theo.

“Hey, Theodork—“ God, his name was so punable, and she said the words with the most upstanding tone of friendship she could manage, so she figured it would be okay-- “Pie’s done. We can leave whenever.”

With that, and trusting either Theo or Olav would inform the rest of the happy campers, she ran back upstairs (grabbed her hair dryer as quickly as she could from the bathroom, very aware she was overreacting and needed to be able to actually enter into the bathroom again), and went to her room.

Haven’s room was a misplaced array of mostly-unpacked things, though she had one box (of her mixer and a few recipe books, along with whatever else made it into there) that she’d yet to pull out and go through.

Still, it was fairly neat—in one corner she had all the books she owned, stacked into a haphazard pile, the thicker recipe books at the very bottom and the fiction books she owned taking up space at the top. Her clothing wasn’t too bad (Haven dug out a pair of boots from the bottom, small and worn, and pulled them on over a pair of fuzzy socks), it was at least all hung up in the closet her room came with. Her bed was made, there wasn’t really anything on the floor—her mother would have been proud.

Haven plugged in her hair dryer and had her hair dry in ten minutes, the dark red locks turning steadily to their regular bright ginger. Her hair was naturally straight, and it fell about her back like fire. She smiled when it was done, decided she didn’t want to do anything with it, and smiled a very bright smile to herself.

She didn’t hate her roommates, which was at least something. Plus, pizza. No bad person loved pizza, right?

She was going to go with right .

If the house was a little creepy, that was more a matter of it’s age than anything else, it was only natural to imagine things. Almost all the houses in New Orleans were old like this, and everyone there seemed fine—

Well, her mind supplied , they do complain a lot about ghosts.

Haven believed in ghosts—she always had, almost everyone in New Orleans did (how could you not, their town had a resident voodoo queen!) but, she’d never thought of them as bad. Haven spent a great deal of her time in graveyards, watching the mausoleums—and she never could think that real people would want to hurt anyone. Of course, she also believed in demons and other entities, but she figured they were very rare.

Haven was the product of years of private, Christian academies, so even if she’d not gone to church in years she still believed in a higher power, and lower powers, and everything in between (she was catholic by blood, and she said she was catholic even if she was disillusioned with the whole idea of religion). Plus, the parishes and places in and around New Orleans were rich with ghosts—everywhere had a ghost, everywhere had a story, and if you wanted Voodoo someone would point you in the direction of Madame Marie Laveau, or perhaps the woman who ruled as the voodoo queen in this day and age.

So Haven had grown up around the supernatural, that didn’t mean she thought it was bad. She didn’t think it was malicious any more than person was, and she certainly didn’t think they could attack her, speak to her, and know things about her without something very odd happening.

And Haven refused to believe it was a ghost at all (it was her nerves) because she refused to be a crazy witch lady, and she definitely didn’t think anything odd was going on. Plus, one incident was nothing. She wouldn’t jump immediately to anything weird because she was imagining things.

Most spirits were kind, so she still stood by her assumption that there was no way what had happened in the bathroom was anything other than her nerves running amok.

She kept telling herself this as she pulled her wallet away from it’s place in one of her coat pockets, and shoved it into her pocket before she headed back downstairs.

"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.

---

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.

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."

---

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."

---

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."

"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."

---

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.

---

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.