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EARLY MOURNING | PENELOPE, QUINN, && BIJOU
there had been a WEIGHT sitting on penelope’s chest since tuesday’s wheel ceremony, growing heavier and heavier with each name that was called. some of her close friends had been among the missing people ( t a k e n, not missing – she knew that, they all knew that, but it was still too much to think about ) and the sense of loss, of being left alone to figure out a mess that was bigger than she could even comprehend was both familiar and all-too consuming.
the heavy silence that seemed to hang over the entire town ( what seemed to be left of it, anyways ) was o v e r w h e l m i n g. the air felt thick enough to choke on and nobody would meet anybody else’s eyes. it left penelope feeling lost and afraid and helpless, and whenever that happened the only way she could manage to deal with her feelings was to attempt to bake them out. it almost never worked, of course, but it hadn’t stopped her from trying. penelope had gone home from the ceremony, locked herself in her apartment, and had been non-stop baking ever since. instead of leaving her feeling satisfied, though, it left her with flour in her hair and a sickly-sweet sense of d r e a d in the pit of her stomach. cookies weren’t going to solve her problems, she knew that rationally, but it was like she couldn’t stop her hands from moving. by late afternoon it seemed as though she had covered every available surface of her apartment in some kind of baked good, and before long she realized it was time for everyone to join their search party.
she wasn’t exactly sure what one needed for a search party, but she filled a small pink backpack with what she hoped were essentials – a flashlight, a few water bottles, and a mini first aid kit ( being who she was, penelope had quite a few of these on-hand at all times anyways ). and then, before she could talk herself out of it, she had also filled a large tupperware container with macarons. she had enough to go around by now, and, well, they were going to need to keep their energy up for their search. that’s what she told herself anyways.
soon enough penelope was striding towards the northern end of town, backpack over her shoulder and cookies in her hand, towards the two other women ( who also seemed to have come prepared, although neither of them were lugging around a giant tupperware box ), who she had been teamed up with. she approached slowly, her own nerves beginning to show as she held out the box to the other ladies with shaking hands.
❛ does….does anyone want a macaron before we start? ❜
@hackerspvce
it was no surprise she wasn’t taken , too ; after all , bijou had only arrived in town a couple of weeks back for the first time in four years , she lived , for the most part , underwater , and prided herself on her stealth capabilities and aptitude at remaining under the radar . well , that last part wasn’t quite true anymore , not since her activist , altruistic surge to constantly bleed the truth through the written word and expose mass corruption , but . . . d e t a i l s . and , actually , she wasn’t quite beat up about the whole ordeal . perhaps she should be , but her line of work requires the cipher to abandon any emotional attachment in favour of delivering to the public the well - deserved reality , regardless of how harsh the facts in question may be .
and so , really , an investigation was e x a c t l y what she needs , what the TOWN needs . because searching and rescuing implies , somewhere in between , the success in LOCATING . and findings , in journalism , in hacking , in espionage , any sort of intel was detrimental in the pursuit for success . the only thing that stood in her way , then , were the two people with whom she was travelling : a natural - born , innate wallflower , bijou demure has a tendency to stick out as a lone wolf . granted , her introversion adapted from how it’d been years prior , but she still functions best by herself , to this day , a solitary brooder , ever confident in her capacity to tackle the arduous challenges of the vast planet and her plane of existence a l o n e .
which seemed not like an option this time , the wheel of fortune had condemned her circumstances and sealed her with [ her friend ? acquaintance ? bijou could never quite tell , she wasn’t good with people and less so with human relationships ] quinn davies , and a girl by the name of penelope park . she did some research , discovered the truth behind their mutations , all of them had managed , in some form or fashion , to avoid the fate so many others of their kind now suffered . but that didn’t mean they were lucky , or at least , not to bijou , who would’ve been more than enthralled to awaken wherever the other half of their town was now , trojan horse style , collect as much intel as she could , directly from the source .
but those were fantasies for another time and it was besides the point now . especially when macarons were called into question .
« i would love one , or two , or maybe . . . a handful ? » the parisienne giggles , popping a robin blue delicacy into her mouth , grinning now from ear to ear . her native paris childhood was certainly on display , but the cipher didn’t quite c a r e . french cuisine was the best , and arguably one of the only , ways to her heart . « i’m bijou demure, by the way . hard - hitting journalist , seeker of truth , yada yada . . . » she waves the introduction away , slinging a simple , black knapsack off one shoulder to sift out a tablet , popping up a map of northern aglæca . « let’s get this party started , huh ? i say we venture out into and beyond the forest , i doubt there’d be a huge laboratory experimenting on mutants right here in town without anyone knowing . doesn’t make sense . » another macaron is shovelled into her mouth . « we have to look into the outskirts , that’s where kidnappers would take their victims . somewhere secluded . trust me , i’d know . »
@inconscientism