cosima ramsay

cosima margot ramsay | twenty-one | medical intern "She is a woman STRANDED at doorways and PASSIVITY is killing her. There is only one thing she can do. MAKE NOISE."

[chamcmiles]

addison.

Maybe Addison had had a little too much to drink at Luna’s, but whose business was that? she’d gone over for a late dinner and stayed almost until closing, playing cards with some of the guards and rangers. Whatever the case she was now slowly making her way home, a bit clumsy as she walked with a stupid grin on her face. It might be a little sad that Addison didn’t really loosen up without alcohol, but whatever, she had things under control. She turned and almost ran into someone and burst out laughing,” oh my god I didn’t see you!” she giggled. “Whatcha doin’?”

The rain had hit hard and heavy and Adam was still in danger of being discovered if she was not careful. Thankfully the storm provided a passable excuse for her run to the infirmary for supplies and, hopefully, an even better one for the blood that stained her mother’s fine carpets. With her pack heavy, Cosima pulled her hood tight over her eyes and trudged forward, visibility at an all time low. The woman startled her and Cosima jumped, dropping her pack in her surprise before scrambling to right it again. “It’s--it’s fine.” She cried out over the storm, voice with a twinge of the desperation she felt in her urgency to get home. “Nothing. I’m sorry for almost running into you.” It hadn’t even really been her fault; there was little to apologize for. “I’m just heading home.”

[chamcmiles]

adam.

     So much for casual, Adam thought as her shriek filled the quiet of the living room. If he hadn’t known her parents to often lull themselves to sleep with wine, Adam would have feared their coming downstairs and alerting the guard to his presence ; the Ramsays never liked him, merely tolerated him because of his father, but the good graces of his parentage DIED along with Shiloh Blake. He wasn’t completely safe, however, the houses of Farm Hills may have been far apart but the colony was quiet at night and surely the upper clearances would hear the terrified sounds of a PRECIOUS colony daughter if their bellies weren’t full of wine too. Every second inside the walls was another second where his life could end, truly end this time without a REBIRTH into the scarred monster he became at the last one, an end that ended with a bag over his head and a firing squad only a few feet away—he didn’t know if sneaking into the place he HATED to see the woman he once loved was a terrible death or a romantic one, probably romantic if he didn’t sneak in to see her only to spill thick blood all over the floor.

     It quickly became clear from her stammering that Cosima didn’t recognize him at first and through the copious amount of pain he was experiencing, Adam felt a bit OFFENDED ; he’d recognize her anywhere, any time, from any side. Adam didn’t realize then just how… nonhuman he looked, like a DEMON that had crawled their way out of Hell from the Earth’s surface. He was aware that blood was covering his body, probably dirt mixed in there too, just unaware of how everywhere it was, how it covered his face and body in dried and damp forms. Maybe if he saw how he looked in the mirror, he wouldn’t have recognized himself either, even more so than he didn’t recognize himself when he looked in the barracks bathroom mirror and his eyes could only see the three long scars that etched themselves into the left size of his face, permanently reminding him he was no longer that young man training to be a guard or the fresh faced boy stealing oranges off of the stalls in the market square.

     A rough cough crawled up his throat shortly after the first fountain of blood, sputtering little specks out of his mouth onto the floor, adding to the small puddle that collected underneath him. In the haze, he briefly wondered how exactly you were supposed to get this much blood out of carpet ( the Outpost 7 floor was entirely made of tile, easy to clean up ) and his mind recalling something about LADY MACBETH and spots that he didn’t pay attention to in his seventh year English class yet still somehow collected in his mind while he was too busy mouthing off with Gaius Spencer. Attention brought back from a simple haunt of a memory, he looked up to see Cosima gather TEARS in her eyes as she finally knew who he was. Finally, his hazed filled brain thought, still teetering on offended and wanting to fall face first into the pool of blood he emptied out.

     Hearing his REAL NAME spoken by her, spoken by anyone at all but especially her, clenched the heart beating fast against aching ribs. Ever since he chose that name for himself, Becks, he didn’t want to hear his true name come out of anyone’s mouth besides Cosima Ramsay’s. The name, while a fine one by anyone’s standards, didn’t belong to him, it belonged to his FATHER—the man chose it because Becks was supposed to be the first male born on this new planet and the Yates family had a tradition of using biblical names, hence his father’s name and his middle name of Abraham. BECKS, though? While the name came from his mother, the woman who owned the maiden name of Becher, he chose the shortened form as his first rebirth. Not as a Yates, not as the commander’s son, not as an ORPHAN, but as his own person. The name quickly became the name of the town bully, however, and he didn’t mind sharing the ownership of it with rolling eyes and fearful gasps.

     That name, ADAM, though. He didn’t want to share it without anyone but Cosima, anyone that wasn’t her that called him by the name would receive a glare and an instance to call him Becks—save for Cressida, who simply didn’t dare let anyone tell her what to do, his instances falling on defiant ears so he allowed it–occasionally. Cosima repeating his name was a siren song, he wanted to FALL into it, if only she hadn’t sounded so scared. He sometimes dreamed of her speaking his name, either dreams where she was moaning it into his ear like she had so many times before or dreams where she was SCREAMING it in the distance, cloaked by the thick of the trees and far too gone for him to save her. Hearing her voice again, saying anything after a year without it ( he sometimes confused Tamsin’s voice for hers at the Outpost and his heart would briefly think it was Cosima, though Tamsin didn’t speak very much these days ) was calming and torturous all the same, for he knew this was truly the last time he’d ever hear it ; he couldn’t risk sneaking into Alia Terra again, this wouldn’t work a second time and it seemed like it only worked because luck owed him a favor after allowing him to get attacked by a Carno.

     Adam couldn’t answer her question even if he wanted to, chest heaving now from the fear that more blood would come up his throat ( he hated puking, detested it from the simple feeling and from his mother’s death puking up her guts ) but it seemed he got everything out the first time. His eyes, one halfway shut from swelling, were focused on the floor he ruined and he hadn’t realized Cosima moved until she was right next to him, pulling him up. His teeth gritted again, a small gasp of mixed pain and surprise as his right ankle stung from the sudden pressure of being lifted up. He stumbled along as best as he could into the kitchen, feeling more like a RAGDOLL now than when he was knocked over by the Carno’s tail as his back collided with the edge of the counter, thankful the landing didn’t irritate his left arm.

     Face to face with her now, or at least standing up and not kneeling on the ground like he had been worshiping his own bile, Adam was almost shocked at what he saw : she looked pretty much the same—still the most beautiful girl ( or rather woman, now, he supposed since he considered himself a man ) he had ever seen in his entire life, maybe a slight hint of being a year older, but something was different. Cosima always had a COOL AIR around her, both Ramsay sisters did, but this cool air now felt draining instead of refreshing. It wasn’t just the tears in her eyes now, it was as if tears had been scars down her cheeks like the scars that ran crimson along his cheekbone. She seemed SAD, not exactly the picture of what he feared when he thought of her with a new boyfriend or what he hoped when he thought of her as the most brilliant scientist Alia Terra had ever seen. Well, if his mind ALLOWED him to hold on to a thought for more than a few seconds, he would have instantly known why she seemed so sad—her ex-boyfriend was a MURDERER and her sister left her behind, of course she would be sad.

     His impaired vision tore from her face quickly, head turning towards the sink behind him before he spat a small glob of leftover blood into the basin. Outsiders don’t have manners, his father once told him when he didn’t say thank you in the fashion Abraham wanted him to, and he figured injured Outsiders cared less about decorum and appropriate behavior to do in front of your girl–whatever. Normally he would have wiped his mouth after spitting but with his left arm hanging limply at his side and the general bloodiness of his face, Adam only spat again to get rid of every bit of red-tinted saliva out of his mouth. A shallow breath, he tried to CALM himself long enough to give an actual answer,  ❝  He still hasn’t fixed those loose panels behind the energy center.  ❞  If the Commander hadn’t fixed them by now, Adam was convinced his father KNEW about them and didn’t repair the panels simply to turn a blind eye to kids going OTG to party—it was really only a matter of time before someone used them the other way around, dear father.

     Grunting softly, Adam tried to re-position himself against the sink. His left arm bumped the counter lightly and his soft grunt turned into a harsh hiss, eyelids squeezing tight.  ❝  Fuck,  ❞  He whispered harshly, eyes opening and quickly landing on Cosima’s face.  ❝  I heard you went Med,  ❞  Adam began, head tilting backward, a silent question as to WHY she didn’t join the research and science team like she had dreamt of for years,  ❝  and I didn’t know where else to go.  ❞  Had he wanted to see her? Of course, every single second of every single fucking day he wanted to see her ; he thought about coming in and stealing her away to Outpost 7 where, yeah, life was harder but they would be TOGETHER at least–Tamsin, too. Well, if not busting in guns blazing, he wondered about a getting a message to her, maybe telling that one nurse that dropped off supplies sometimes to tell Cosima something, anything to let her know he was still ALIVE, or maybe writing a note of where to meet him so she could sneak away with him forever — his fear of her hatred of him, of her DISGUST over his killing stopped him every time.

It’s not the reunion Cosima has had a million time between sunset and sunrise. Not the one she drifts off into daydreams about while breaking apart cookies at The Spot, studying in her favorite booth. Shiloh Blake’s killer was baptised in her blood and sentenced to banishment for his sins. Cosima was just left behind. She’s not ungrateful, however, alia terra is a boring, empty house with cobwebs in every corner. Most days she haunts it like a PASSIVE GHOST. Nobody sees her unless they’ve misplaced their keys and need someone to blame. Adam Becher--for all the distance between them and despite whatever has kept him away so long--has always SEEN HER. There are places within her that want to take him in her arms and forget that any bad thing has ever happened to them. There are others still that want to scream the contents of every bad day at him since he’s been gone. Cosima Ramsey is not a selfish girl; both visceral options are self-serving and so she does neither. He came because he needs her--whatever that’s worth, she won’t let him down.

“You--You heard?” That was almost more painful. He’d HEARD about her. Did he know what life had been like for her here, isolated and alone in a town full of eyes that bled her like daggers; no bloodletting could purify her to them. No apologies or explanations--they didn’t care that she was a good person. They only wanted someone to hang their hatred of Adam Becher on. Even though he’d left her there without a goodbye, she would be that person for him. Everyday she’d hoped that he’d return--that he’d slip in through the panels with an easy smirk and a backpack and say Hey Cozy, sorry I’m late. Before scooping her up and muttering, I missed your boobs. A far cry from the greeting she’d gotten. She wondered if he’d ever planned to come back at all of if this was merely an act of desperation. The dark look on his red face made the tears come easily and even though she wanted to kiss the places where he bled, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He hadn’t come back for her in a YEAR; if he wanted her kisses he wouldn’t have waited til he was dying on her carpet for them.

“Adam, I don’t--I don’t know what to do.” Her hands were shaking. Sure, she’d seen people come in after dozens of attacks by now--dino and outsider alike. They were rangers, guards, members of higher clearances. Sometimes scientists who’d not known how to run or hide when faced with a threat. None of them had ever meant anything to her before. None of them were Adam. His bloodied face stole every useful thought from her as rapid heartbeats robbed her of her breath. She was PARALYZED before him--weak, weak, weaker. He had left her among enemies only to return a ghost and her sister hadn’t even done her that kindness. She wanted to be able to tell him that he made the right choice in seeking her out, but how could she when she wasn’t sure she could pull herself together to help him? It took several breaths to calm herself, to remember that she could do this--that she was the ONLY one who could help him inside the gates and she had to get her shit together. There’d be time for being angry at him later, but only if he lived long enough to explain himself.

Cordelia’s fine monogrammed kitchen towels sat folded in their home in the drawer beside the stove. She’d told her daughters a thousand times that white towels were easier to bleach, but Cosima suspected that it was their implied purity--a pristine and BOLD statement--that kept them here. It screamed we don’t make mistakes to dinner guests, whose matching white cloth napkins would go unused tucked in a collar or spread across their laps. It was almost satisfying to wet them in the sink, gingerly bringing the cold, damp towel to Becks’ face with big, blue eyes asking ‘May I?’ before dyeing the towel the color of her mother’s winestains. Not all of the wounds washed clean. Three substantial scars revealed themselves beneath the dirt and blood. There was something worse about them than his current wounds, they were permanent. A story was written on his face that she knew nothing about. Some horrible thing had happened to him in the jungle while she sat inside the safety of these hallowed gates and cried silent tears for her own suffering. It’s not the right time to ask about them. When he’s clean and resting in her room--after she figures out how to stage the mess downstairs--she’ll ask him then.

“What happened? Where does it hurt?” The questions seemed insipid, but she’d asked them near a dozen times of other people. Harper’s folded arms at the door watching her with that unreadable face of hers as Cosima struggled to make it through head to toe assessments on every patient from tummy aches and stubbed toes to incarcerated hernias and trauma patients. She can practically hear him scoffing before he has the chance to draw a breath. Wide eyes scan him from head to toe. The nose--she knew it was broken on sight--but the rest remains elusive. Is it bad or deadly? That’s what she needs to find out. The LIMP isn’t obvious now but it finally dawns on her and the arm. “We need to get your shirt off, Becks.” Her voice is soothing, but it doesn’t sound like her own--it’s a distant echo somewhere else. “I need to get a good look at you.” Her fingertips are already at the hem before he can respond. She wants to cut them off; to call Harper and ask for help, but she can’t risk anything MORE happening to Adam.

Teeth worry lines into her bottom lip as she excuses herself briefly to grab her bag from the living room, pausing briefly--like a cat on a kitchen counter surprised by the family dog--when she hears movement upstairs. A door opens and closes, the bathroom light glowing from the staircase. She works silently picking up her books and supplies from the floor, clutching them in her hands ( are they heavier than usual ? ) as she waits with baited breath for the light to turn off. It does. The door closes once more and she slips off her sneakers, padding silently back into the kitchen with worry on her face. A finger to her lips, she catches Adam’s eyes before gingerly placing her supplies on the table and squatting in front of his to help him with his shoes. “What’s going on with your leg? Is it the foot or higher up?” She takes on too much at once, but it’s hard to focus on just one injury at a time. “What’s hurting you the most?”

[pwdrkeg-blog]

would you call anyone a friend? if so, who?

     Friends? Becks didn’t have friends, he had goons who followed him around Alia Terra and Outsiders he was vaguely acquainted with.  ❝  I, uh, guess Mariella is my friend, no matter how much I tried to fight that, she kinda grows on you. Aurora is pretty cool. I hang around Cressida a lot.  ❞  And Cosima, the best friend he ever had, but she was from before.

( @notporcelain : @fromdanes : @cruorise : @chamcmiles )

[chamcmiles]

Please don't ask me about them

[mytrouble-mind-deactivated20211]

[chamcmiles]

luciano.

Luc braced his boots in the soft top-soil and took a small shovel from his tool-box, digging a neat hole between his favorite reddish plant, and a rather new flower he’d been observing. Carefully handling its roots, he lifted a new plant into the hole, as delicately as handling a small, frail animal. “This garden holds very few of my specimens,” He admitted, “The plants that I introduce here aren’t picky, and they won’t wage war on each other.. Not like some of the ones I have to keep in the lab. My job is to learn about the plants around here, so others don’t have to. I’m the designated plant man,”

“Yeah, I, uh--” Never one to feel empowered to disagree--at least not since drawing attention to herself had become a social death sentence--Cosima struggled to clarify politely. Forcing a brighter smile, she continued. “I mean...of course you’re studying plants. I meant to ask what about these plants in this garden you were studying. It seems like such a chaotic place for scientific observation to me, so I wondered what you were looking for.” Between the inability to control for weather, light, water source, and the trampling of the smaller alia terrans who were less careful, the study piqued her curiosity. And, having been unable to pursue her interest in botany since her reputation had been tarnished, it was a bittersweet thing to discuss.

[aryawhiteyes]

Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below ; But nothing drear can move me : I will not, cannot go.

The Night is Darkening Around Me by Emily Bronte insp.

[pigmenting]

We all have bullets beneath our skin we pray our lovers won’t flinch at when they find.

Andrea Gibson, from “Piano” in The Madness Vase (via pigmenting)

[izzylghtwood]

grounderoctaviea    -    want one?

[aliaterrahq-blog]

❝ people do not see you, they invent you and accuse you. ❞

C A S E  F I L E ,

f u l l  n a m e, Cosima ‘Cozy’ Margot Ramsay a g e, 21 p r o n o u n s, She/Her/Hers p l a c e  o f  o r i g i n, Alia Terra Colony, Earth 2-c p i l g r i m a g e, First a l l i a n c e, Alia Terra o c c u p a t i o n, Medical Intern

P E R S O N A L I T Y ,

p o s i t i v e, loyal & adroit n e g a t i v e, mercurial & notorious

B I O G R A P H Y ,

triggers: death mention, pregnancy mention

Two sisters are almost twins; they’re only a year apart. Cosima and Tamsin grow up together, hold confidence in one another. They whisper at night in bunk beds, closet swallowing matching outfits instead of monsters. Cosima dreamed of exploring the jungle and its many inhabitants from girlhood. Nigel and Cordelia Ramsay hardly encouraged either girl to follow their passions, rather they focused more on keeping up appearances. One of the first families through the lottery system, the Ramsays’ stalwart loyalty to Yates was accepted without question.

It’s no surprise then that the two sisters, more soulmates than womb mates, would find their own paths–leading them to stray from their parents’ flock. The Ramsay girls do everything together: sneak OTG, study in their favorite booth at the spot ( each ordering their own cookie and splitting it with the other ), disappoint their parents. It’s rare that the two are ever seen apart and, for most of their lives, their world is each other. The two of them have nothing to worry about–it’s a great, wide world OTG and they’re young enough they have their whole lives ahead of them to make something of it.

It starts off slowly, neither sister is interested in waking up for church any longer. They often miss their curfew by just a few minutes. Neither will cave on one another either–their loyalty is paramount only two one another. When Cosima starts seeing Adam Yates, it’s Tamsin who knows before anyone else. Cosima isn’t embarrassed of Becks by any means, only afraid of what her parents would do with the information. Unfortunately, it’s much worse than the forbidden love she’d imagined. Instead, they shower him with hollow kindness–always inviting him and his father over for dinner. She can see that there’s actually a good person in Adam Becher and it’s patronizing the way they pretend. She’s insulted that they can’t see it too.

SHILOH BLAKE WAS NO HERO. He was no better than Becks and yet death turns a blind eye to crimes of the living. The collective memory of the colony forgets the words that antagonized her boyfriend, but she doesn’t. Everything happens so fast. A boy is dead; a boy is banished. By the time the news reaches Cosima’s ears, he’s already gone. The only person to ever capture her attention and affection–outside of her sister Tamsin–is gone, without a trace. Can he even survive out there on his own? There’s solace in knowing that sisters never leave.

Cosima lives in a shell for days. Her science internship is declined. It doesn’t come as much of a surprise after the dirty looks that burn into her like phosphemes every time she walks through the town. Soon after, Tamsin tells her of the pregnancy. It’s hard to be unhappy at the thought of a baby, but both girls know their parents and the town will never let them cling to that small blanket of comfort. They sleep together on Cosima’s bottom bunk in their childhood room that night. The paper stars are faded above them, wilting down with the weight of the girls beneath them. It’s not much long after, that Cosima sleeps there alone again. She sits in their regular booth at the spot–splits two cookies with no one and leaves half of each on the plate. Tamsin said goodbye so fast that she didn’t know how to do anything but freeze. Guilt sticks to ice like a warm tongue; Cosima is so tired of goodbyes.

Weary of the dirty looks and the contemptuous whispers, Cosima becomes a medical intern. Maybe if they can see her doing real good–helping people and healing where her greatest loves only seemed to tear things apart–people will like her ( or at least forget about her ). She pushes her peas around on her plate at dinners with her parents. She keeps to herself. It starts to work. If people still hate Cozy Ramsay, they forget. They start to talk around her and she listens–happy to be a fly on the wall, instead of the one caught in a web. Maybe someone knows something about Tamsin or Becks. Maybe there’s someone else in town she can trust. Cosima sips her coffee, stares out the window, breaks off pieces of cookie on her plate, and listens.

C E N S U S ,

f a c e c l a i m, Eliza Taylor p l a y e d  b y, Bea

[helpersofindie-archive]

ER resident ft Eliza Taylor for anon.

[chamcmiles]

adam.

( @chamcmiles )

     SUNLIGHT. It’s warm, glowing sunlight, making the ground shine bright green and the blood covering his body almost a pinkish red, that let Adam know he wasn’t dead. Oh, and the pain, everything hurting even when he was lying still next to the dead infant Carnotaurus. It hurt just to breathe, from his chest and from his nose, and if it wasn’t for the burning yet numbing pain in his fingers, Adam would have been sure his left arm was no longer attached to his body. Despite the pain, oh God the fucking pain, Adam was motionless, starring at the sunlight streaming through the treetops. No, this wasn’t Heaven, for his Heaven would icy and COLD—it was hard to know what that felt like when his entire life had been spent in the humid climate of Earth 2-c, though he imagined this wasn’t it. It was a surreal moment, to think yourself alive and DEAD at the same time. Luck didn’t come to Adam easily, though, and he knew he had to move before the dinosaur’s pack came to look for it. He had to thank whatever God was out there that it was just one and it was young. If he ran into a pack of adult Carnos, he would be lying there dead.

     He was willing his body to move even an inch, every nerve screaming as legs that felt like LEAD wiggled limply and it was then that Adam realized he had been crying. His own voice sounded far away, like groaning and screaming coming from miles away, or hearing the sound of someone jumping into the water off of Grant Falls right after him while he was submerged. For as long as it took for his mind to finally clear from the fog, sitting up seemed to take only a second as he leaned on his right hand and shot up, catching himself on a tree trunk when a sharp pain ( he was surprised he could feel more pain at all over everything else that hurt ) felt like someone was stabbing him in the right ankle. He screamed again, quieter this time but still loud enough to attract attention. If he didn’t man the fuck up, something–or someone dangerous could find him. Teeth gritting so hard he was afraid they might shatter underneath the weight of his upper jaw, his chest heaving heavily with breaths he had to steal, Adam pushed himself off of the tree trunk and began to walk aimlessly north, hoping to simply stumble upon camp.

     It wasn’t until an hour full of labored breathing and painful steps that Adam realized he was headed in the WRONG direction, the ( begrudgingly breathtaking ) vista of the Alia Terra colony poking through the distant haze of the foothills—his body must have memorized the way to his former home, forgetting he wasn’t welcome there anymore.  ❝  Fuuuuuuck,  ❞  Adam cursed brazenly, eyes shutting tight as his head hung low to his chest. Sunlight was quickly fading, pushing past the treetops and now just peeking through to the floor, and the only place more DANGEROUS than the jungle during the day was the jungle during the night. He had two choices: allow his body to continue on its excruciating autopilot towards the very colony he made his personal mission to destroy, or turn around and walk the extra hour and however-the-fuck in the dark back to the outpost. ( There was a third choice, DIE, but Adam didn’t find this a fitting death, not when Alia Terra was still standing. )  ❝  To Hell with it,  ❞  Adam whispered to himself, carefully stepping over roots and downed trees.

     It took another hour to navigate the soft downward hill, the sunlight barely a faint light in the sky, with still so far to go. His mind was still clouded with pain but fear, too. What was he to do when he got to Alia Terra? No one would help him, they sent him out here to die, and they wouldn’t willingly waste supplies on a MURDERER even if he could convince someone to help him. He could threaten a doctor or something, sure, but he doubted a man with an arm out of its socket, a broken nose, and a twisted ankle ( among other injuries ) would be able to inspire FEAR even in the weakest Alia Terran—and Adam thought all of them as weak. Suddenly a vision came into his thoughts, one of blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes, and it had him confused for a moment ; surely this wasn’t one of those ‘ life flashing before your eyes ’ things, was it? A few more slow, burning steps and suddenly the vision held meaning beyond what, or rather who, he wanted to see last before he closed his eyes for the last time. 

     COSIMA RAMSAY, his mind screaming at him to remember the overheard mention of her becoming a Medical Intern — he, at first, assumed they must have been wrong, science was always her DREAM, but a gruff instance on a clarification proved that Cosima had gone a different route. ( It made him worry just how different she became, how much she must have HATED him now. ) Idea firmly planted in his head, Adam hastened his steps towards the colony, feeling the weight of the jungle pressing against his back. The moon was hanging brightly in the sky by the time he finally made it to his birthplace.

     There was still a weak spot in the Alia Terra fences—he took a brief moment to bitterly laugh about how his father still hadn’t fixed it, the fucking idiot—and he slipped between it as casually as he did when he was just a simple town bully, albeit a bit more uncoordinated. He had done this so many times before it was routine, but there was nothing normal about this ; he was BANISHED from this place, he could be executed just for entering. Another thing that was routine? The Guards shift change ( he had memorized it from when he would sneak out OTG to party and from when he was training to be one of those assholes ) would end quickly and it was still such a long way to Farm Hills. Oh shit, what if she got her own apartment and didn’t live with her parents anymore? What if she married some guy and moved into a house with him, forgetting all about the bad boyfriend who murdered another person? The inter-camps gossip mill hadn’t mentioned anything beyond her profession change. He didn’t have more than a second to wonder–or rather fear, the sound of approaching Guardsmen forcing him to move quickly, swollen ankle dragging slightly behind him as he ducked into the shadows and hid behind trees and houses.

     The amount of street lamps and trees dwindled as the houses on the lane got bigger and farther away from each other, Adam could spare a moment to reflect that the colony hadn’t changed or at least nothing major he could see in the dark, and the FAMILIAR sight of the Ramsay household shined like a beacon under the moonlight. His entire body felt like a livewire, limbs shaking uncontrollably and vision blurring at the edges, his throat tasting heavily of COPPER as he stumbled towards the house. He could have sworn he saw the soft glow of a lamp in the window of the living room, prompting a heavy heartbeat against his chest—he didn’t have time to WORRY if maybe her mother stayed up late reading a book or her father was waiting for his daughter to return home from a date. 

     His breathing was louder now, almost a pant as he hurried his debilitated steps towards the back door, a familiar path feeling another mile away every INCH he walked. Finally, the miles turned back into inches, and his working arm jutted out gracelessly against the siding as he realized the back door was open, curtain flowing into the night breeze. Briefly placing his left shoulder lightly against the door frame, he used his other arm to push the curtain out of the way to see HER inside. His panting breath hitched, an overwhelming sense to cry from something other than the pain ( emotional pain, maybe ) pricking behind his eyes, silent as he saw the one person he never thought he’d ever see again look so… clean.

     ❝  Miss me, Cozy?  ❞  Adam whispered loudly, sounding strained and hoarse, attempting a casual approach to catch her attention without waking up her parents—like he had done countless times before he beat the LIFE out of another human being. A twitch of a smile fluttered against his cracked, bloodied lips and he moved without thinking, injured shoulder taking a large blow against the frame he was resting upon. Suddenly a hot, thick mass crawled up his throat and he dropped onto his knees on the living room floor, emptying blood onto the pristine carpet — Cordelia Ramsay certainly wouldn’t like that.

If it weren’t for the unpredictability of the work, Cosima would never be able to separate one day from the next. Even still, after a few days work it was hard to differentiate one series of patients from another. The work was harder than science was. Even with her clever mind and human heart it didn’t come as naturally. She worried frequently about how to interact with the patients--wondering if they could ever truly trust her after everything the colony had been through since Shiloh Blake. If they hated her there, they at least had the decency to let their own medical problems overshadow rumor and old wounds.

The post shift ritual was to discuss with whoever her preceptor was that day how things went. This conversation could go any manner of ways depending on the individual. With Harper, whom she’d had the last few shifts, it generally ended with ‘what felt good about today; what needs improvement.’ Usually the answer she gave felt awkward and ingenuine, but she was getting the hang of this reflection thing. “I think I really helped that kid feel better about the stitches.” She recalled of the eleven year old who was terrified of the prospect of the small finger lac being sewn up. “But--” Cosima began remembering how slow and clumsy she’d felt doing them. Her first set of sutures weren’t perfect, but they’d do. “--I felt like I was wearing oven mitts the whole time and I wanted to puke.” Harper had laughed. “It comes with time.” She’d told her. “You’re doing better than you think. Remember when you felt this way about injections a few months ago?”

The perspective helped and, for the first time in short of a year, Cosima held her head high when she walked home that day. It wasn’t her dream--no, it wasn’t part of the plan she’d had for herself. Nothing about her new life was as she’d imagined it since that day. Not a single goddamn thing. But being a medical intern ... maybe it wasn’t such a bad second choice either. If she could make a difference, maybe she could lighten the weight of the sins of her loved ones. Could she clean their slates, give them a TABULA RASA and bring them back from the jungle fresh and clean? So far, it didn’t seem like the mountains of bituminous coal could be chipped away to the weight of a feather. But Cosima had to try.

The Spot was packed by the time she left the infirmary. The rush of people left her breathless and weary. Too many faces and voices melting into one horrible hum--A SWARM OF HORNETS watching her every move. One misstep and they would sting. Twirling a golden curl around her finger nervously, she waited patiently with her backpack between her feet ( so as not to take up too much space ) and her gaze cast downward. The melody of a familiar song buzzed at the tip of her tongue, a gentle low hum comforting her went undetected beneath the din of busy, socializing colonists. When it was finally her turn she paid for her cookies and tea without a word before slipping out the front door with the pastry bag and mug in hand, eager to get home out of the summer sun’s accusatory glare as it set--red and purple with anger--behind the walls.

The night was largely uneventful to Cosima’s delight. Her parents had an event to attend that she politely ignored the context of while spreading out her books on the living room floor and dumping out the contents of her pack to practice stitching pig skin together, applying splints to her own legs, and several stacks of flashcards with anatomical or medical terms. They were good company and the soft colors of her textbook illustrations were almost lovely in the dwindling light--a comfort that lulled her to sleep sometime long before her parents returned and ate, setting her supper out on the counter before waking her and making their way to bed for the evening. They weren’t good for many things, Cosima thought, ashamed at their shallow dispositions, but despite themselves they really do try some days. And perhaps they did.

Turning on a soft desk lamp, Cosima made her way to the kitchen, heating up the leftover meal and pushing it around on the plate before placing it back in the fridge--mostly undisturbed--and choosing to eat the remaining pieces of cookie from her pastry bag in the living room. The door curtain seemed to move through some unseen force--likely the unpredictable breeze of a summer night--and she did her best to ignore it in favor of her studies.

It was the FRIGHT that got her first, long before the words themselves translated into her head. The scream she let out was a shriek that would’ve woken sober parents, but they had long since been lulled into the darkness behind their lids with red wine and whatever else the upper crust did in alia terra to forget the mundane boredom that set in and took root to vacant minds. “Who--What do--” The stammering of two competing questions merged into a meaningless gasp. Blonde hair fell from her shoulders as she instinctively pushed herself away from the door in a display that would later bring her shame. There was a familiarity in the voice, the nickname, and when she’d found her breath it was curiosity that snuffed out the initial fear. She hardly noticed the volume of regurgitated blood on her mother’s pristine beige carpets as her eyes wandered over him, conjuring his name from a gravestone she had never visited.

Tentatively, she rose, a golden halo sticking to her forehead and neck, which were thick with sweat despite the chill running down her spine. The face of the man was almost unrecognizable. Long scars carved canyons into FERTILE FLESH that she had once planted with soft kisses. Adam Becher had not deigned to come back to her a whole man in near a year and here he stood beneath layers of his own blood as if no time had passed at all. She wanted to smack him across the face until her hand STUNG like her eyes did. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and fall apart with the weight of an eternity of grief. She did neither. Either option took more strength than she had left in her and he weak voice still caught in her throat, whining like cricket wings as it searched for words ( she did not have the quick wit of a man with nothing left to lose ).

“Adam,” She began finally. Her voice unsoothed by the chamomile she’d been sipping for the better part of an evening. “Oh, my god, Adam.” The tears came easily now, invoked into being by speaking HIS NAME, which she had not been able to speak aloud since he’d left ( without so much as a goodbye--couldn’t he have snuck back in then and taken her and Tamsin with him? ). “What happened to you?” With the words came the ability to control her body once more and she was on her knees next to him in an instant, pulling him farther into the house and to the adjacent kitchen where she could get a better look at him--where there was running water and towels and--ADAM BECHER, who was now in her house and her life once more. “Where the hell have you been?” Anger crept in at the edges and she quickly swallowed it. There would be time for that later--if there was a later. “How did you get here?”

[chamcmiles]

It's just another day, Cosima smiled weakly--a shade too eager--at Mrs. Haversham as she passed. The greeting was not returned, but Cosima’s face only fell once she had passed. If you can make it to the next corner, you can make it to the door. The backpack, with her scrubs and packed lunch, bounced with each step--urging her forward. The infirmary was a chaotic place. There was no soft light, no sweet scent of lavender. It was not home, but alia terra had stopped being home when Becks and Tamsin left. Now it was just an empty house where dust gathered and spiders wove their homes in corners.

If you can get through the next few hours, you can make it to lunch, Cosima hummed the mantra--augmenting it with each new goal until her workday was done. Unable, or unwilling, to head home until her parents were close to bed, she stopped in at the Spot. With the hours she kept, it was mostly empty on arrival--her booth ( much too large for the broken half of the sisters Ramsay ) lay vacant ahead of her. She tossed her pack and jacket on the seat and ordered two cookies and a chamomile tea with milk and honey.

Consumed with her studies, Cosima hardly noticed the steady increase in volume of the cafe’s patrons. It wasn’t until every seat in the house was taken that she caught the glance of someone in similar need of a table to spread out on. “You can join me, if you want.” The weak offer didn’t quite carry over the din of the crowd. Cosima cleared her throat and repeated the words--gesturing to the vacant place in front of her. No one wants to sit with the girlfriend of a murderer and the sister of a girl who ran away with a growing belly. “If there’s no other place.” No one’s sat there with her since Tamsin; her sister’s been gone a year. It feels like a betrayal, but how can she betray someone who left her alone?

[chamcmiles]

luciano.

“It may not look like much more than weeds but I’ve got a lot of specimens in this garden- though I started it myself and it doesn’t technically belong to the lab, it’s still important to my research.” Luc knelt down to fix the tiny, d-i-y fence that he’d built around the miniature garden outside of his building. “There’s nothing worth stealing, it’s all inedible and toxic, just be careful not to step on it or it could damage the samples and throw my research off for a week,”

“I don’t think it looks like weeds.” Cosima told him, a pang of jealousy burning in her chest at the mention of research. “It looks really nice.” After she was sure he was talking to her, she approached the miniature garden gingerly, aware of even the folding of grass beneath her boots. “Isn’t it ... difficult to control for so many variables with it out here? Do you have a control group somewhere else?” It’s not that she means to be insufferable--she hasn’t spoken to someone else socially for the better part of the day. All of her conversations are tasks. “What are you studying?” It’s painful to talk about things she can’t have, but failure doesn’t snuff out the flame of a scientific mind.

[chamcmiles]

maya.

“Thank you,” Maya gave the women a smile as she paid for the fruit in her hand and turned to walk back to her house. Only that she didn’t get very far, running into someone as soon as she turned around. “Wow, the queue isn’t very long, no need to become one while waiting.”

“Sorry, I--” Cosima glanced furtively at the market to make sure she hadn’t been seen by the Blakes, who seemed to regard her with a special kind of disgust in Becks’ absence. “--I was trying to avoid someone. And, what an astonishing success, now I can go.” Biting her lower lip, Cosima made to leave. It was hard enough to face Shiloh Blake’s parents on any given day, she didn’t need to piss off any guards in the process. The inside of alia terra’s gates are lined with shards of glass and nails; they snag and rip at soft edges. Cosima Ramsay has enough enemies.

[vaesna]

The Civil Wars // Devil’s Backbone

[melisica]

André Josselin