habits:Â always takes the stairs, flares her nostrils and clenches her jaw when irritated, avoids small talk, only smokes cigarettes when the sun isn't out.
AT A GLANCE.
genesis hannah howell, or gen, was born a miracle baby to her two parents in 1966. her father is a preacher and her mother was a teacher who died in 1971.
she attended camp as a camper from 1974â1982 as a camper, and 1985-1986 as a counselor/first aide trainer. this is her first year back since.
she was a golden girl her entire life â perfect grades, perfect boyfriend, a real girl-next-door type who wouldn't dare cuss but would jump into the river with you at dusk. while her smarts didn't change, everything else did after she left camp three weeks early in 1982.
she's a registered nurse now â but she's not on the clock, so she'll definitely roll her eyes if you ask her to bandage you up.
gen stopped practicing christianity in 1984.
she's an only child; her parents would've liked more kids, but it wasn't in the cards for them.
she was born with a cleft palate and had it repaired as an infant. the scar is barely noticeable.
location: second bonfire, just before lights out, fog rolling in.
maybe sheâs an idiot. maybe genesis howell has gone completely insane â the sun has been down for longer than she can remember, and she can barely see five feet in front of her in the thick fog draping itself over camp hollowâs river. no doubt an aftershock of the storm and blackout, she reckons.
she canât be afraid. she wonât let herself. not when she has roughly a dozen junior high schoolers in her care, watching her every expression like theyâre waiting for permission to panic.
she wonât let them.
so sheâs balancing a cigarette between her teeth, making her way back to counselorâs corner after putting the little troublemakers to bed. sheâs just past the arts building and headed towards the second bonfire when she hears movement before seeing it.
âhey, you alright?â she calls out as she nears, hoping one of the littler campers hasnât gotten themselves lost in this shit. âdonât worry, i canâoh.â
about a foot away from thalia now, she can see her crystal clear. gen takes a long drag from her cigarette before tossing it down to the ground, stomping it out with two quick movements. âwhat are you doing out here?â she asks softly, as gentle as she can manage. âyou on patrol?â
location: first bonfire, just after 10pm, blackout patrol.
âyouâre late,â gen deadpans as soon as she sees them approach. this entire week has been a drag, to say the very least â insane storm, a blackout with no end in sight â and thatâs not even considering the ten tweens gen had to console during a nasty bout of thunder two nights ago.
patrol in the dark, guided only by flashlights reflecting off thick raindrops, is the cherry on top. she wants to get it over with, and having your partner arrive five (yes, five) minutes late doesnât lend itself to an early bedtime.
but itâs not duckieâs fault sheâs in a piss-poor mood. her eyes follow in the direction of where she assumes they came from. maybe the lake? âdidnât know frogs came out at night,â she adds, a half-assed attempt at softening the blow of her earlier words.
âi hope you brought a flashlight, because thisââ she tucks her umbrella in her armpit to give the flashlight a sharp thwack, ââisnât doing us any good.â
location: cabin two, outside their rooms, dead of night.
gen canât sleep, which is nothing out of the ordinary. if sheâs honest, she could get some shut-eye in, but who wants to close their eyes only to see the same loops play over and over again? not her. whateverâs infested camp hollowâs river isnât the only thing haunting genesis this summer.
when the blackout hit, she bitched for a moment about receiving what sheâs convinced is the shittiest flashlight in the world, but itâs perfect for her needs now. she smacks it twice against her palm, clicking it on once sheâs snuck past a snoring jamie below her. quietly, carefully, she tiptoes from the roomâŠ
and runs straight into a figure after shutting the door behind her. she gasps, fumbling the flashlight for a moment before she makes out the familiar features in the dim light. âlucas? fuck, you scared the shit out of me. what are you doing?â her wrist tilts up, bathing him in half-assed battery powered light.
fated for   open to all .
pinpoint    radio tower , near the bottom of the stairs, the day after group two's patrol practice fiasco .
each time she clenches her jaw, a tooth in the back of her mouth aches. she suspects it's a product of last night â it having been spent in a fifty fifty split between mouth wide open in horror or jaw cemented shut in . . . well, horror. looking down at her hands, the blood crusted under her fingernails sets her heart a pumping once more â until she remembers it's fake. compliments of miss brandy's gruelling first aid training. the sound of feet on gravel captures her attention, eyes squinted against the afternoon sun. â if you're here for static roulette, i ain't much in the mood for yapping. â shocking, if you knew georgia - lee at all.
gen stops in her tracks at the base of the tower, looking at georgia-lee like she's walked in on someone doing something unholy right after sunday service. truth is, she was hoping she'd bump into the girl at some point â though she'd hoped for a little more time to prepare what she'd say. or at least to think of something.
she doesn't want to play fucking static roulette. she wants to apologize. but what would she even be sorry for? grinding georgia-lee's gears? barking orders at her through the unforgiving dark in a treacherous forest? wanting, deep inside and hidden behind all the twisted shit near the surface, for georgia-lee to be safe?
she's sorry, but she's not going to say it. not outright. "no," she responds before inhaling sharply. "wanted t'check on you. was that you pacin' around last night?" she would've been doing the same, had she not been in bed, paralyzed with shock, debating whether or not she should shake jamie awake and tell him every detail.
gen never fails to set georgia - lee's piss a boilin'. even now, she'd swear she can feel her forehead heating up. she wouldn't be shocked if someone walked by and told her there was steam coming up off her head. then again, it could also be the remnants of the day's sun blazing as it threatened to dip below the horizon behind her. " i ain't got five minutes t' wait, " she pesters, though she has damn near all the time in the world â staff week had been nothing short of a cake walk, thus far. if you disregarded the ouija board incident, of course. but georgia - lee'd made it her mission not to dwell on that, lest she be haunted by her own thoughts as well as whatever poltergeist was living in the mess hall. she hadn't set foot in there since. " busy, busy, " she insists with a click of her tongue, gazing off into the distance. still not moving. shadow still cast across the page of gen's journal. " what've you got planned for 'em so far? " she queries despite her disdain for the other counsellor â her curiosity getting the better of her.
jesus, mary, and joseph. it's not like gen is blocking the door â sure, georgia-lee was probably only stepping inside the cabin past her, but the unmoving shadow she casts over gen's lap as she speaks to her makes her think otherwise. busybody, she wants to say, but presses her lips together tightly instead. gen might be harsh, but she's not cruel.
"you really care?" she asks flatly, blue eyes looking into her soft features. for a moment, it's like looking into a fucked up funhouse mirror â except the image before her is distorted into what she could've been. maybe what she should've been.
after an agonizing pause, she reaches for her makeshift-footrest chair to pull it beside her, patting twice. maybe the ginger won't take her invitation, but she doesn't much care. "unpackin' and rules before lunch, then capture the flag and swimming to tire 'em out â but i'm handing 'em off to lucas for that," she recites. "then we're tie-dyin' our shirts. you're welcome to bring yours, but you can't have light blue."
fuck. not who she was expecting. it's like a rainbow threw up on her âor maybe that's just paint on her hands. "what are you doing here?" she asks, staring her down like a pair of headlights freezing a deer in its tracks. "this isn't yourâdid they move you?"
no, she would've heard something. thalia's probably just being thalia â all giggles and smiles and fluttering around like a little social butterfly. it would make gen sick if they didn't have such a history. instead, it makes her want to shut down. she's almost thankful for the girl's rambling; she's half-dumbfounded and fully speechless.
after a moment, she blinks. "yeah, i can see that," she says with a little nod of her head. "what's the mural? colonel and miss brandy singing 'kumbaya'?" clearly she's been avoiding the building like a plague.
open starter / gen & anyone
location: outside cabin two, just before dusk, staff week.
"go the fuck away for five minutes," gen says, voice strong despite her head not moving an inch. her hand continues to furiously scribble away in the notebook, even when the shadow before her makes no move to leave her to her evening task (though really, she's just biding time until darkness falls and she can light up).
finishing her fragmented sentence, she smacks the pencil against the paper and eyes her company. hot air pushes through her nostrils quickly. "welcome week," she explains with a quick wave of the notebook, taking her feet down from the chair across from her.
lucas was not nearly as perceptive upon arriving at cabin two, taking zero note of who he would be sharing quarters with this summer. heâd simply plopped his shit on the creaky floorâjust one ratty backpack, used since high school and littered with holesâand scurried off to get reacquainted with the olâ stomping grounds.
honestly, itâs not like it matters much who he ends up bunking withâthere would be familiar faces, sure, but he doesnât have any lingering ghosts or scorned exes. he just sees this as an opportunity to reunite with old friends and make new ones. naive? probably.
and he just genuinely did not expect to see her.
heâs mid-jog back to room one, having left behind his much-needed walkman, when he smacks right into her while absentmindedly looping his headphones around his neck. and, honestly? he doesnât even recognize her at first. sheâs now a little less goody-two-shoes and a little more⊠well. again, heâs not the most perceptive guy, but thereâs something kinda sad behind her eyes now. she also just looks⊠cooler? edgier, maybe? truthfully, heâs having a hard time figuring out what he thinks of her, just standing like a dumbass with his mouth agape.
âoh, shit, uh⊠hey, gen.â thereâs a wide-eyed look, accompanied by an awkward half-wave with the hand thatâs gripping his walkman.
after sheâd left that summer, heâd thought a lot about what heâd say when (if?) he saw her again. first, there were all the fun stories of what sheâd missed out on in the last three weeks of camp. then, there were the questionsâmostly just, âyou all good?â and âdude, what the hell happened?â but everything eventually just boiled down to âi missed you,â until he eventually stopped thinking about her at all.
and now sheâs here, in the flesh, and all he can think to say is: âguess weâre gonna be cabin buddies this summer, huh? thatâs⊠thatâs pretty sick. how, uh... how ya been?"
for some reason, she canât take her eyes off the hand holding that damn walkman â is it the same one they used to hold in their laps together a decade ago? the same headphones theyâd press their temples together to share? gen (by some grace of god) has never been punched before, but she fleetingly imagines that this is what it feels like; the air seems to escape her without warning, silently and quickly.
like she did.
the air is filling her lungs again, enough for her to flatly say, âyou smell like pot.â itâs not judgmental â even ten years ago, she couldnât bring herself to think poorly of lucas. she liked him. and fuck, he looks exactly the same with that off-guard smile and smells just likeâ
fuck it. âyou goinâ for a smoke?â her eyes land on his face for a moment before drifting to his pockets, where she doesnât doubt at least something is tucked away. three months isnât long, but it was long enough for her to learn his habits.
ââcause i could be better,â she adds, narrowly dodging his question in a way not so unlike her old self. her hands find her back pockets, resting there awkwardly as she waits for him to take the hint or leave her standing there in the silence.
genâs eyes blink once as she hears his voice pierce through the droning of miss brandy. she canât judge the womanâs job â she herself is called nurse howell by countless kids once summer closes â but she can judge her delivery. at least nurse howell keeps things snappy. to top it all off, every question miss brandy asks to the group is met with a pack of eyes flying to gen, expecting or urging an answer. real fun way to spend an afternoon.
but not mads. heâs entirely uninterested â anyone could see that. and she does, as she glances over to him and then traces his gaze to the bridge. a race? she readjusts her seating position, rolling each shoulder once. âyou done callinâ me killer material, then?â she whispers with a teasing smirk.
âwhatâs your offer?â she asks under her breath as she reaches down to tighten the damp laces on each of her shoes. the opposite shore is close enough for comfort, sheâs been cpr trained since before she could drive, and thereâs a finish line beckoning to her.
âthanks for the clarification there,â she says, shoulder nudging mads as she lets out a humored puff of air through the nose. âfuck, i can still remember the summer that the green team won the color war. was it⊠â79? i dunno, but by the end of it, we were scratched to shit nâ covered in dirt and sweat and grassââ
her eyes are shining, catching the light upon hollowâs river in a way they havenât in a decade.
Wren let out a clipped laugh that she didn't even try to mask as nice. "My own size?" She repeated, her gaze drifting lazily over the firepit crowd, but it was just theatrics. She wasn't looking for someone else, she was making a point. Then her eyes snapped back to Gen, sudden. "Newsflash! I'm looking right at it."
She stood up and stepped forward, cutting down the space between them. For a moment, Wren's gaze flicked to the marshmallow that was now fused to the firewood, then back to Gen. "You really think that's how this works? You tell me to shut the fuck up and, what? I do?" The laugh that came out was unintentional. This was comical for her, a show. "No, because then you'd miss it. And get bored. And bored girls," Wren said each sentence like she was ticking it off a list. "They do stupid shit. Like, burning their fingertips off for funsies."
She straightened just enough to circle her, eyes dragging over her like she was cataloguing flaws. Then, in a sudden flicker of movement, Wren reached down and kicked at the log Gen had been sitting near, just hard enough to make the fire pop and crackle dangerously close. Wren didn't expect Gen to flinch or make a notice of it. This was just playtime for the redhead.
She stepped in again, so close now that Gen would have to back up or stay pressed between her and the fire. "Spoiler," Wren murmured, "I'm not going anywhere. So unless you want to find out just how creative I can get when I'm ignored," her hand brushed the handle of one of the skewers, idly toying with it.
"You're gonna give me something better than that pouty silence."
wren circles her not unlike a snake waiting to strike, and gen wants to laugh out loud â so she does. itâs quick and low, but still breaks through all the same. sheâs confused as she watches the ginger watch her, feeling some mixture of impressed, irritated, and resigned.
the log kick was a nice touch, she thinks in the long silence.
âgrab me one,â she says finally, finger pointing just past wren to the stack of marshmallows long forgotten to socializing. when she doesnât move immediately, she raises her brows. âcâmon, youâre at least gonna make yourself useful.â
once the sweet cylinder is finally in her palm, she gestures for wren to join her in a squat near the closest part of the open flame. balancing it between two fingers (carefully, this time), she holds it just close enough for the heat to lick it. within a few seconds, the bottom browns.
ânot bored,â she begins her explanation before popping the gen-approved marshmallow into her mouth, âjust particular.â the rest of the words are muffled as she looks over at wren, blue eyes staring into blue. and maybe itâs just the bonfire, but is there the slightest hint of warmth in their shared stare?
âtry,â she urges, right side of her mouth curling into the ghost of a smile. nodding, she glances over to the marshmallows. âbut be careful. iâm not getting paid to bandage you up, so i wonât be doinâ it if you get burned.â
( XVI. )  whatâs your scariest childhood memory?
âwhat the fuck?â genâs eyes bore into mads unforgivingly, without even a blink to break up the lasers of bright blue. thereâs a moment where her bottom lip catches her top teeth, and maybe, maybe she has something to say â but her mouth presses into a thin line, silencing all hopes. gen doesnât believe in ghosts. she doesnât need to, especially when she sees them every night when she dreams, or in the mirror, or on the other side of the cabin. reality is much scarier.
âdonât ask me that again,â she snaps, with a nearly undetectable drop of affection whisked in.
âseriously?â genâs head snaps over to lily at the speed of light, eyes brightening like sheâs just been told sheâs won the lottery. and then the rest of the question comes, and she realizes that it is in fact, a hypothetical â thereâs no escaping the biggest ghost of all just down the hall in cabin two. still, sheâll take awkward towel-wrapped conversations over random power outages any day. âobviously iâm staying in two. can i make someone else switch for a night instead?â
cabin two smells like absolute shit. more specifically, it smells like an emaciated, rabid skunk crawled into the deepest nook of the cabin walls it could find, and died after releasing one last eye-watering spray. genâs pacing around her room, which is entirely full of belongings yet entirely void of counselors, shirt over her nose as she audibly curses jamie for not being there.
thereâs not much left to do after she drops her two duffels and backpack off. after the unpacking comes the adventure, right? the only thing she can think of immediately is getting outside, away from whatever putrid stench was seeping into the walls of cabin two.
blue eyes still peeking out above her blue jumper, she exits room two, deciding to take a quick peek at the names scribbled on lined paper taped to the door just across the hall in a very ransom-note-esque manner. mads â good, she thinks, someone she wonât immediately have the urge to strangle until their eyes pop. her eyes travel down, down the short list of names, until her heart drops through her ass and to the floor.
sakamoto, l.
fuck. so thatâs what (or rather, who) reeks. without even needing to think, she turns on her heel, ready to bolt before sheâs caught staring at the satisfying swoop of the ballpoint âsâ for too longâ
and smacks right into the green giant himself. âfuck,â she mutters, lower half of her face popping free from her makeshift scent barrier. âoh, fuck,â she echoes, eyebrows furrowing as she studies lucas like heâs the one whoâs changed night and day. âhey, luc.â
