someday we'll learn

[valenciaowens]

I think the kindest thing to do would be to avoid the subject entirely. Seeing as how it’s none of your business. Is this how all of you are? Entirely and irritatingly rude? With that interactions I’ve had thus far, I’d have to say so. I should have made Mara homeschool me.

[ilanprice]

She's probably not qualified.

[valenciaowens]

You don’t think it’s unkind, or rather- insensitive, to casually bring up the murder of my mother when I’ve never spoken with you before? Were you raised under a rock?

[ilanprice]

I think it's more kind than asking you how you're dealing with the loss. I've never understood what you're supposed to respond in situations like that––"Oh, I'm totally great. Living it up, in fact." I mean, you're obviously not having fun, and on top of that, someone sent you off to public school for the first time, and it's not even a particularly good or successful one in any regard. At least I'm not pretending that you should be having the time of your life.

[valenciaowens]

That’s very kind of you to bring up to a complete stranger.

[ilanprice]

I hardly think facts are unkind. Besides, it's fairly common knowledge, I'd assume. In the newspaper and all that––front page for a few days, until the man who runs that market won a statewide competition with that awful squash he grows.

[valenciaowens]

Unfortunately yes. Yes I am.

[ilanprice]

Strange time to start––end of the year and everything. I wondered if I'd see you though. "Local Woman Slain, Two Children, No Suspects." You'd think they'd let you take some time off.

[ilanprice]

So, you're new.

[valenciaowens]

It took hours to work up the courage to move from the spot she was laying in. One that she distinctly remembered dying in. For a moment she wondered if she had died at all, or if she had simply had a very long and weird nightmare. But then she saw the cuts on her arms and the ones that littered her chest like freckles on a child’s nose. And there was blood- everywhere. It was on her white summer dress, soaked right through and covered her body. It had even tie-dyed her shoes. They were ratty old shoes that she probably stole from Winona. She pressed a bloody finger to the toes of her left foot, finger hitting the toe ring her mother had given her when she was a kid.  Bea had to talk herself into going to town because she feared at every turn that Porter would be standing there with a knife. Arm raised, ready to swoop down and stab her again. But she made it safely to her house- or rather, the area in front of her and Winona’s homes. Perhaps it was the safety she had once felt when she was around Winona that pulled her towards Winona’s house instead of her own. Even as a child she felt safe around Winona, like nothing bad could happen to her if Winona was there. Bea went into the house and up towards Winona’s room, quietly stepping through the doorway and into her cousin’s world once again. The area above her desk was splattered with drawings, most of which were indistinguishable to Bea. A few caught her eye, though. There were some that told her that maybe Winona had a boyfriend. Then she saw a few that seemed to be her, but in a more abstract sense. Bea searched the room for herself, finding a few metals tucked away in different places. The one that caught her was quite visible, a medal she received from her last ice skating competition that took place just days before her murder.  

  Before she knew it she had wormed her way under Winona’s bed in search of old, forgotten things. One moment she was awake, pictures clasped in her hand and the next she was asleep, foot just barely visible to someone walking in through the door.

[ilanprice]

It was never easy––waking up, getting out of bed, living, every day. That's what people don't tell you: it may get better, but it never gets good. Winona was fine, now (she guessed). She had a life––art, and work, and a boyfriend who reached inside her chest and pumped her heart when she seemed to forget how to do it on her own. By most standards, other people had it much worse; they had real, tangible problems. They had pink slips and cheating husbands, bills to pay and mouths to feed. All Winona had was the abstract––the problems that existed solely in the recesses of her own mind. As far as she was concerned, those was the worst of them all. Sure, it sucks to get hit by someone––by the bill collectors through their incessant calls, by your husband when you finally confront him––but it's worse when you're hitting yourself, over, and over, and over, until you can't breathe, but your fist keeps coming until you can't remember what it's like to quit. Stop hitting yourself. Stop hitting yourself. Stop hitting yourself. Easier said than done.

Escaping Bea seemed to be easy for some. Over the years, the world moved on. Then the town moved on. Then their families moved on. Sure, her room stood as a shrine––frozen just like the day she died, sans a few items that Winona had claimed for herself––but their parents still found the strength to carry on. Only she was drowning. Winona saw her everywhere––in the places they used to go, in the things they used to do. She saw her when she put brush to canvas, even when that wasn't her intention. Her room was full to the brim with "disturbing"––her mother's word, overheard in a hushed conversation with Winona's father––images of eerily similar brunettes, all faceless, all being pulled into some sort of peril. They were only contrasted by sketches of Jace––of the face that comforted her, the arms that held her, as disgustingly cliché as it was.

The front door closed with a familiar apathy as Winona returned home. She had become accustomed to spending time with Jace. Misery loved company and her love was as miserable as she was. He didn't judge her; he didn't even bat an eyelash at her more questionable behavior. He understood her, and that would have been enough, even if he didn't care for her so fiercely. To them, loss was a chronic ailment and their diagnoses had been handed down almost simultaneously. Discarding her bag by the door, Winona dropped herself on her bed, flush against the mattress, legs dangling off the side. With her gaze fixed in the ceiling, she let out a groan, raising her tired body to pull off her shoes. As she let the first go, watching it drop to the floor, her gaze was pulled to something new––a foot, belonging to the assumed stranger who had taken up residence under her bed. Quietly, Winona reached for the baseball bat that leaned idly against the wall––call her crazy, but when your cousin is murdered in cold blood and you wake up screaming four nights a week, it's a way to sleep. With the weapon tightly in her grip, Winona stood, her free hand wrapping around the ankle and pulling. And suddenly, there she was: a real, tangible problem.

Convinced that it had finally happened––she had finally gone insane––Winona dropped the bat, stumbling backwards as she reached for her phone. Paying little mind to the girl, the body, the hallucination sprawled out on her carpet, unsure if she had risen, if she was following, if she had disappeared, Winona tried to dial Jace, but her hands were shaking too intensely to do much of anything. She kept walking––walking until she had reached the farthest end of her small house, and with her back against the wall, she sunk, entire body now trembling, chest heaving with deep breaths.

[valenciaowens]

"I am not a boring person." Bea walked towards the door of her room, knowing fully that her parents wouldn’t worry about them leaving the house. They were probably dead asleep anyway, tired after a long day of work. But they had no reason to worry, Cape Jane was small and safe. Bea and Winona had done this a million times before. "Well let’s get going before I die of old age."

[ilanprice]

After slipping out of the front door, Winona closed it quietly, not wanting to wake Bea's parents. The walk to the other side of town wasn't short, but it was one Winona knew well. Cape Jane was her home and she had spent 18 years getting to know every inch, every nook, every crack. She loved the town––even the shitty housing by the docks, which, really, was what she liked best––and even though the large, oceanfront houses weren't her favorite––something about homogeneity and the excess produced by extravagant wealth––no one could deny that their backyards were the best place to swim. "You're not boring," Winona confirmed Bea's earlier statement, shrugging slightly, "But your idea of fun is very legal."

[ilanprice]

valenciavanderbilt:

There was a certain twinkle in her cousins eye that Bea was all too familiar with. She could have made a suggestion of something else but instead picked up her sweater and shook her head. “You will be the death of me, I swear.” 

Taking a few steps back from the door, still facing Bea, Winona rolled her eyes, "Boredom will kill you before I do."

[valenciaowens]

"Yeah, I’ll be sad when I move to Dartmouth. It’ll be weird." Bea could almost see the thought form in her cousins mind. "At the docks, right? We’d safely go swimming at the docks where there is no threat to our clean criminal record."

[ilanprice]

"Something like that." Okay, it wasn't at all like that. Winona may have liked the docks, but she wasn't stupid enough to swim near them. It was bad enough that people ate fish plucked from that water.

[valenciaowens]

"I’m going to make us rich. I’m sure we’ll never fully escape Cape Jane’s dock society, but I have to try. " Bea placed her book on her desk and sat on the back of the chair. "Now that I’m finished and free, what should we do?"

[ilanprice]

"I like the docks," Winona shrugged. Taking a step forward into the room, she uncrossed her arms, shoulders slumping as she tucked a hand into her pocket, "Let's go swimming."

[valenciaowens]

"If high school is this stressful, college is going to actually drive me insane. But I think I’m finished with homework for tonight." Finally she set her books aside, looking up at Winona.

[ilanprice]

"You would have been done two hours ago if you were a slacker like me, but someone just has to go to Dartmouth," Winona feigned exasperation, peering down at Bea from where she stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

[valenciaowens]

There was a lot wrong, but Rhiannon didn’t know where to begin. Ever since she had been adopted she had always had an inner struggle of not feeling like she belonged. It was clear that she hadn’t been born into the family. The pictures of her started at five as opposed to starting from birth, like they did with Mara and Merrick. She didn’t fit in with the kids her age, though that wasn’t much of a loss. Being a witch made her different, and being adopted made her feel even more different. It was hard to express that feeling with Mara because she never wanted to hurt her sisters feelings. Mara was the rock in her life. She was always there and unmoving. It felt wrong to relay such negative feelings to her. If she lied though, Mara would know. “I feel out of place sometimes.” Usually it was something she could just ignore, but sometimes it was too much. “And it’s my fault because I’m the one who was adopted into this family. It’s my fault that I feel this way. Mom and you love me. But sometimes I just feel really different and it makes me sad. And she’s not here to talk about it anymore.”

[ilanprice]

"You know that isn't true," Mara replied, frowning slightly. She didn't take her sister's upset lightly, as there were only three things in the world that she truly cared about. One, of course, was the coven. The Saevas had been her family for as long as she could remember, having been there since the girl's darkest days. Despite their importance to Mara, however, they took a backseat to what she considered her true purpose in life: her siblings. Though Merrick had been gone for years, Mara thought of him daily, spending many a day worried for his wellbeing, and despite the fact that Rhiannon was always within arm's reach, Mara's care and concern for her was not lessened. She had always known that she was born for this––born to be an older sister––and seeing her siblings struggle always felt like a knife through her gut. "You're as much a part of this family as anyone."

[valenciaowens]

“Everyone around here could do well to have a guard dog." Truthfully, he just wanted her to be safe. Maybe her father would dangle a slab of meat out for too long and the dog would kill him. He knew that he probably shouldn’t think that way, but Declan truly hated Mason’s father for what he did to her. He had such a beautiful, smart daughter and he beat her like she was nothing. Her wrapped his arm around her as the two left the house, "Of course I’m ready, let’s go." The door slammed behind them and they set out into the city. No one gave them a second look, of course. Not even the police officers that really should have asked why they weren’t in school. None of the officers in the area cared, truthfully, and Declan was long used to avoiding the ones who did. They were usually newbies on the force who weren’t used to what they were doing. "We could hop a bus. Or we could just walk. I really don’t care." The bus would be a good option if the two were feeling lazy. Both of them had knives, and it would drop them off at the outskirts of the city where the rich people dropped their uniformed children off at school.

[ilanprice]

"Bus," Mason replied quickly. Though she didn't mind walking––which was her most common mode of transportation, as neither she nor Declan had a car––she was too hungry to walk to the other side of the city. The Abraham's refrigerator was too empty to enjoy a proper breakfast, lunch, or dinner, and her house wasn't much better. In fact, the Cook home was only flush with food when Mason found her way to the store and spent some time in the kitchen. Despite her last name, she was by no means a master chef, but her brothers and father had never been known to lift a finger, so Mason was the only thing standing between them and mass starvation. "I want to get there quick. I mean, it's not that I didn't enjoy our feast of stale bread at your place, but I'm hungry as fuck," she teased, letting out a laugh.

[valenciaowens]

After throwing the old man a hand signal that was most definitely not Owens approved, she let go of Noah’s arm and turned back towards him. “You know how much I hate old people." There was a decently sized list of things that Arely hated, but old people was near the top. They were just so useless. Then came his question and Arely smiled back, an already rehearsed answer falling from her tongue all too quickly. "Jesus boarding school, didn’t you hear?" Part of her knew that there was a chance Noah would see through the lie. He knew her better then most people. And there was also a little bit of her that wanted him to find out. To come marching to her house demanding to see his kid that he didn’t even know was his, at the moment. Not in some Romeo type of way, mostly so Arely could sit back on the lawn with a beach chair and Indiana to watch as fireworks exploded around them. People finding out the Owens youngest daughter got knocked up by the football star. That Lifetime special already wrote itself.

[ilanprice]

It didn't make sense––none of it did. Arely and her sister were far past saving and Noah knew that her parents had picked up on that fact by now. Why they would waste their money on a trip to Jesus Camp hoping to make the girl see the error of her ways was beyond him, specifically when everyone in town knew that nothing was going to change her––not pleading from her parents and not some old priest reading older words from an ancient book. Though Noah didn't want to admit to feeling any of that cheesy shit, he knew Arely better than most; that was simply undeniable. He could feel that she was lying, but he knew better than to accuse her, so instead, he decided to test her. "Jesus school, huh?" he raised his eyebrows, cocking his head slightly. "Sounds like a fucking blast. Where?"

[valenciaowens]

She was a mess in every single area of her life, and she knew that she was. Gone were the days where she feigned the idea of her having a life comparable to others. The truth was that she didn’t have a life comparable to others. Her family was historically and astronomically rich. She could have anything she wanted all within the snap of her fingers. Compared to Valencia, the other students at Ramsey were poor. But what she made up for in money, she severely lacked in the area of family. Valencia looked at her driver as far more of a parent then either of parents. And her brother was nosey little mole with an attitude that made her want to punch him in the face. Of course she loved them all, but most days she felt like they wished she wasn’t in the family. Phone calls ending in screaming, holidays spent alone, birthdays only acknowledged through gifts picked out not by them but by some assistant was the norm. Valencia knew that her life wasn’t normal and that she fucked up pretty consistently, and tonight was just another confirmation of that. But Ilan was there and he was actually seeming like he wasn’t an asshole. “Yeah, that’d be great." She reached out for the jacket, pulling it over herself as she shakily stood up. The jacket smelled good, she wasn’t sure what kind of cologne he was using- it was definitely one she hadn’t ever smelled, but it was good. It didn’t remind her of the assholes on the lacrosse team who seemed to bathe in it. "Most guys around here are assholes, honestly. Assholes with trust funds and lawyers, which is a combination that is pretty deadly honestly.”

[ilanprice]

She was right about that. Though he hadn't been at the school long, Ilan had yet to meet one peer at Knox who had managed to spark his interest. While he and his roommate got along fine, they were only school friends, and once the year's first break rolled around, communication would cease entirely until they were forced back into the same living space. The lack of friends may have made some students feel lonely, specifically when they were far from home, but Ilan had never been an extrovert. He wasn't a loner, per say, as he had a close family and a few friends, but he had always felt that time spent alone was beneficial. Still, that time had doubled since his first day at Knox, as the lacrosse jocks weren't the type of people he generally busied himself with. Most of them couldn't hold any semblance of an intelligent conversation, let alone hold their own in a discussion with him. "I think it's causal," he shrugged, smirking slightly in an attempt to lighten the mood, "The money and the lawyers create the assholes." In that sense, Ilan was lucky, he supposed, to have found Valencia. It wasn't hard to pick up on the fact that he was a scholarship kid, and once most people realized that glaringly obvious detail, they shied away from him; after all, no one wanted to bring the poor kid around to ruin everyone's good time. "Maybe you should lead the way," he gestured toward the door, "It's a Price family tradition––whoever's having the shittiest day gets to pick the plans."

[valenciaowens]

It was always something small that ended up bothering her. Something extraordinarily small that ended up being the last piece of jenga that caused everything to come toppling down. Rhiannon was a pro at bottling things inside. If there was an award for putting on a strong facade, she’d be in the running for winner. Sometimes, times like these, when she had held out for too long- everything came crashing down. It had been a while since she had an episode as large as this one. What set her off today was a picture of her mother holding baby Merrick. She missed her more than anything in the world. Life without her mother was unimaginably painful. Mara stepped up and was amazing at filling the role, but she still missed her. Seeing the picture briefly reminded her of the fact that she would never have baby pictures. It almost like before the age of five, she wasn’t there. Of course she had memories before being adopted, but they were different from the ones she had now. Upon seeing the picture she stood for a moment, eyes glued to it. It was striking to see just how much Mara looked like her. The day had already started off badly. She was off schedule by a few minutes, and she couldn’t find the right pair of socks that she put out the night before. Something told her one of the cats had it somewhere. So when she reached the studio basement, she slammed the door so loudly that it vibrated the floor. She didn’t even notice it, but she was crying and nervously digging her thumb into the palm of her hand. Pressing ‘play’ on the remote she turned the volume up much louder than someone normally would. Rhiannon didn’t dance through the words of the song, which she couldn’t hear. She felt through vibrations. Ones put out through the sound system which Tabitha had specially put in. The music poured on but Rhiannon sat on the floor, breathing in and out slowly.

[ilanprice]

There were very few things in the world that Mara had left to count on. It seemed that every time she grabbed hold of something stable, it dissolved within her grasp and slipped through her fingers, leaving her with a reality that shifted as often as the tides. There were a few details, however, that had managed to remain static, and one was the sound of the basement door slamming closed whenever Rhiannon was upset. Since they were children, that's where Mara would find her sister at her worst, and that wasn't likely to change soon. It was just seconds after the noise ripped through the house, followed by the sound of deafening music, that Mara was on her way downstairs. Though most thought of Rhiannon as a tough girl, Mara knew her––her weaknesses, her insecurities––and she was accustomed to comforting her in her softer moments. Approaching her cautiously, not wanting to startle Rhiannon with her sudden presence, Mara placed a hand on her shoulder as she moved to sit down in front of her, signing to her sister, "What's wrong, little bird?"

[valenciaowens]

Her mother had made a small attempt at teaching her to play nice with others. It was a somewhat difficult task, owing to the beautiful first five years of life she had. A time which she only got her way through screaming, kicking and violently hitting the people who took care of her. But now that she was older, things were a bit different. Of course she would have much rather stuck to talking with the people she knew, she wasn’t entirely opposed to speaking with those she didn’t. Not that she liked speaking much at all to begin with. Signing was much easier, but she didn’t expect a stranger to take her up on that. “You say local like we’re some back road town where people make moonshine in their bath tub.”

[ilanprice]

"Do people still make moonshine?" Nic asked with a force laugh, though it sounded fairly natural to the untrained ear. "I think most people just go down to the liquor store these days––unless you don't have one. If that's the case, I don't think I'll be around for long," she continued, grinning slightly. Playing the part of a kind stranger was nauseating, but as conversations continued on, adapting to the personality of her prey became easy. Rhiannon seemed to be a bitch in sheep's clothing, one who liked to have fun, and since Nic wasn't going to be beaten down by her, she'd simply have to play the same part.