lost girl

Maya Machado || 20 || Cloaking

[battle--scarred-blog1]

She can get the urgency to do some last minute shopping as the days get closer and closer to Christmas, but Kris wasn’t in the mood. Not tonight. She had woken up at the ass crack of dawn and worked all day and was now the one left closing. She just wanted to go home. “No dice, buddy. C’mon, I gotta close up. If you’re desperate, I’m sure that the newspaper stands have those puzzles you want somewhere in the back and you can get that shit for free. Save yourself some cash that way,” Yeah she was a salesperson, but not when her shift ended an hour ago.

There is a part of Kris that wonders why in the hell this guy was so desperate to get a sudoku puzzle for his sister this late at night. It was a strange request that’s for sure. Couple that with that strange off feeling that she was getting from the moment he came in, nothing really felt right for Kris. Subconsciously, her dark eyes drift over to the cameras stationed throughout the store before she starts to head over behind the counter to go check up on the registers, not knowing that there was someone cloaked behind there. 

"Look, if you can come back tomorrow or some other day you’re free and I’ll help you out all you want. Swear on my life. But it’s way past closing time." she says, her tone a bit softer than before because despite the fact that she was a bit irritated, Kris was always the type to help out. And if this guy wanted her help any time other than tonight and right before closing, she’d oblige. That’s the thought running through her head as she makes sure one register is locked up securely before moving onto the next one. 

[ethan-ford-blog]

There’s a wrinkling of his nose, a look of frustration that Dylan doesn’t bother to hide because she can’t see him. He lets himself rock back on his heels, scrubbing fingers through his hair while he tries to figure out how to get her away from the counter that won’t just have her hitting the alarm instead. And whether his slow thought process is thanks to a few years behind bars or because he’s really that stupid, he doesn’t know right now. Crime of opportunity is turning out to be more work than it’s worth.

He lets his arms fall back down to his side before he rounds the shelves again, moving towards the counter where she’s counting down registers. He crosses his arms in front of himself, leaning across it while he tries to catch her eye. “I’m sorry. I know you probably just wanna go home. I do too. But I’m supposed to be traveling tomorrow and I won’t have time to stop.”

Which is a blatant lie, but it sounds convincing because if nothing else he’s good at the sad puppy dog act. It doesn’t always work, but that doesn’t mean he’s not good at it. “I’m supposed to go see my baby sister and I want to have something for her. You have any family? You know what it’s like to constantly disappoint them?” He shakes his head, hoping in the back of his mind that little sister appreciates all this. “Five minutes. Just help me for five minutes and I promise I’ll be out of your hair.”

[maya-machado-blog]

Dylan's got the eyes going. Maya can see him from where she stands just behind the registers. The woman had come over, making sure they were locked up and Maya was standing perfectly still because she could mask herself and not be scene, but that didn't mean she couldn't be heard. Her breathing was light, she didn't dare move an inch for fear her shoe would squeak, she just stood there and watched the whole thing transpire. 

Her brother was playing the pity card and with those pleading eyes, he was doing a fairly good job of it. The sob story he told was almost believable, except she hated Sudoku and she didn't think her brother would ever go this out of his way to bring her a stupid little present like that. The disappointment thing was probably something more personal, more accurate. They hadn't really talked about him getting arrested, because talking wasn't the Machado way. They ignored things until it went away or got them in trouble. But it did make her wonder if her brother was sorry he got arrested, not just because he hated prison, but because he'd left his little sister out there alone. And now she was homeless. 

That's what this whole thing was about. He was trying to turn their lives around and whether she thought he could do it or thought they'd just blow the money somewhere didn't matter. This was a good start. If this woman would just leave the damn registers alone. 

[battle--scarred-blog1]

Kris’s hands remain tight around the bundle of keys in her hand while as she turns to face the stranger. Kris was always more than helpful as an employee, but it was late and she had been on her feet all day. She was done. All she wanted to do was go home and curl up on the couch with a sandwich and her dog at her feet. A simple desire for someone with as many storm clouds in her head.

"Yeah, tomorrow," Kris says, her tone not budging because now that she was off the clock she didn’t exactly have to exhibit that ‘employee niceness’ everyone was required to put on. But beyond that, there was something about this that didn’t seem right. It was a feeling that was constantly present in Kris’s life since she had escaped capture. That something was always going to happen, that the shoe was going to drop in someway. She had been feeling that for three years now and while part of her had gotten used it, it always kept her alert. But right now, that feeling is magnified and she doesn’t know why.

  ”We do, but I’m afraid your sister’s hobby’s gonna have to wait til you can find time and come back. Either that or look for a free puzzle online. There’s shit tons of them.” Kris says with a shrug, not moving from her spot. “C’mon ya gotta leave.”  

[ethan-ford-blog]

"Don’t have a computer." The answer’s flippant, but also true. They didn’t really have a home, though there’s some thought there that if they get a good haul out of tonight then maybe they can afford one. At least for a month. He can get his little sister back on her feet and out of the situation she’s been living in.

Which sounds noble in his head, but there’s also the thought that he might take half of it and splurge at a casino because he’s always been more addicted to the adrenaline rush than the money.

She doesn’t follow him though, and that’s a small wrench in his plans. It has him making a face where she can’t see. It has him sticking his head over the shelves in the next moment to look back at her. The woman just looks mad, and he almost makes some crack about Christmas spirit, though he doesn’t think it’ll win him any points. He doesn’t know where Maya is right now, because when she doesn’t want to be seen, she won’t be. Hopefully ready to grab and dash if it comes down to it. “Just one? Please? Then I’ll go. Promise.”

[maya-machado-blog]

The lady's not moving from her spot and Maya rolls her eyes because of course this wouldn't go according to plan. Nothing ever did with the Machados. She watches her brother make his way through the aisles and she follows suit, heading towards the back office, heading towards the cash register. If there's an alarm system, she hopes it's not armed. Once outside the manager's office, she crouches down and starts trying to pick the lot. The money bag will be inside, she knows at least that much. This late, banks were closed, it'd be taken to the bank in the morning or put in a safe until they had a mass. 

She works quietly, quickly and when the lock clicks open, she opens the door slowly so it won't make any noise. She's good at sneaking around, good at working while her brother is the loud mouthed distraction. The money in a zipped up bag is easy to find in the bottom drawer of the desk. She unzips it to make sure there's no surprise in there that will track anyone to them and puts the whole thing inside her jacket pocket. There are a few other things she takes off the office desk, small things here and there she thinks she can take to a pawn shop and get some petty cash from. 

Done in the office, she makes her way back out to the cash register and this she's going to need the woman gone for, because this thing is going to make some noise when she gets it open. She waits for Dylan to do his thing, or for the woman to make her move. 

[battle--scarred-blog1]

As the holidays get closer and closer, the more crowded, longer, and hectic her shifts seemed to become. It didn’t help that the lot of employees in the store were taking vacation days during this time.  But, it’s nothing Kris holds against anyone. Everyone had friends and family they could be getting back to and Kris didn’t have any and so she always signed up for the longest and the latest shifts during this time.

Perhaps it’s because she felt bad for those who wanted to get back to their loved ones and so she lifted the burden from their shoulders. Or maybe it was because Kris had nothing really to go back to beyond her dog, who she would shower with affection the minute she got back home. That the empty apartment reminded her that she was without the only family she really cared for and couldn’t reach out to no matter how much she wanted to. It was that constant reminder that had her working twice as hard during the holidays and probably one of the many reasons she kept picking up double and sometimes triple shifts. If she was busy with work, then her mind would be preoccupied and she wouldn’t drift too far. 

It’s been about an hour since the store officially closed and Kris was left by herself. Kris spent the hour going about the typical closing time routine, cleaning up and locking down everything. All that was left was the front entrance. She’s got her keys in her hand and is about to lock the door when she hears someone approach her from behind. Every muscle in her body instinctively tenses and she grips onto her keys tightly. She slowly winds the lanyard around her wrist as though she were ready to use them for a weapon just in case. All apart of that paranoia that was deeply in her. “Store’s closing up. If you wanna do your holiday shopping, you’re gonna have to come back tomorrow.” 

[ethan-ford-blog]

Petty theft was always on his mind, but knocking off a bookstore hadn’t completely been Dylan’s plan when they’d come in here. They’d just made it too easy. Most of the employees had checked out early, and he was good at making himself unobtrusive when he wanted to be. If he was right, there was only the one woman left, the doors not even locked yet. It was like asking them to rob the place, and he tried to hide a smile behind the magazine he pretended to read. If it was breaking parole, well, they’d have to catch him first.

The words have his head lifting, focusing on her with narrowed eyes. “Tomorrow?” He shakes his head in the next minute, like he had to think about it at all. “Tomorrow’s no good for me. Got a lotta shit planned already.”

He puts the magazine down, rocking back on his heels before he’s turning sharply on one. He heads down one of the aisles like he belongs here, like the doors aren’t shut and locked to keep people like him out. “You got any of those books on Sudoku?” He calls it over his shoulder, and he hopes he follows her. It leaves Maya to do whatever she wants, and the words are meant more for her than the lone employee. “Little sister’s got boring hobbies.”

[maya-machado-blog]

It's easy to stay invisible like this. To walk quietly a bit a ways from them where the woman can't see her, not even her brother can see her. Invisible from the world just like she prefers for it to be. She wasn't sure she'd really wanted to rob a bookstore, pretty sure it was Dylan's idea, but not really sure where the idea had come from. Maybe it was just a crime of opportunity and while Maya was good at picking pockets and sneaking in places to take money from cash registers, it was different now that there was someone in there. Different because Dylan was talking to her. 

At the comment, she rolls her eyes and resists the urge to tell him to fuck off. Her hobbies were stealing and surviving, who needed anything else. She didn't waste her money on entertainment when she could just as easily be productive in other areas. Or maybe she'd just gotten into the habit of making the best of her time while her brother had been in prison because she didn't know how else to be. 

She waits for the woman to follow after Dylan, if she's going to. Because there's a cash register she wants to get at. A money bag in a back office somewhere probably with all the haul from the day that she's going to stuff into the pocket of her jacket. It should be a good take. Should be easy money if everything went according to plan. 

[forbellamy]

[eileen-savage-blog]

"Bother me?" Eileen smirks at the idea, at the attitude this young woman has. It takes guts. It also takes stupidity in her book. The newspaper rustles in her grasp as she turns the page and flicks it into a stiff position, easier to read that way. "It’s not way to live," the woman offers as her answer, "And that bothers me. As did that man’s stench, however. I’d prefer to have some hoodlum next to me than that guy."

It’s honest, the man who had sat beside her could’ve used a good shower. Maybe two, but the comments are mostly for her own enjoyment, mouth quirking into a small, amused smile as her eyes scan the page for anything that’s truly newsworthy, and perhaps a few names she knows, just in case someone could be in trouble. And she thinks Eli Gray’s name is the most likely to come up.

"How about you watch your mouth, young lady," Eileen demands, however, with a fierce sort of aggravation at the thief’s temperament. And if she thinks, for one second, that the older woman will back down then she’s in for a surprise. But there’s still something calm about her, something similar to the silence before a storm as she continues to mull over her paper. "You could do with some respect for your elders."

[maya-machado-blog]

"It's my way," Maya sasses back, unable to really help it. She's always on the defensive, no matter who she's defending herself against. She doesn't trust people with money or people who have their life together because they probably stepped on someone to get there. It's a pessimistic way to think, but that's just the way the world taught her to be and no matter how she looks at what's happening around her, there's not really much that can change that point of view at this point. The best people she knows live shit lives. 

"What have you done to earn my respect? Time doesn't make the crime, lady," Maya spits back at her. She doesn't respect her elders. If this woman knew where respecting her elders had gotten Maya, where trusting people who were supposed to be in a position of authority had gotten her. It meant a step father who lingered too long in her doorway at night or police officers who just shooed her away from store fronts instead of asking her if she needed help. It meant her brother going to prison instead and while most of that was Dylan's fault, it still left her with a sore attitude towards authority. 

[ethan-ford-blog]

He laughs at her reaction, the faint look of disgust that curls her lip up, enough that he thinks if the opportunity arose he might actually do it. Dumpster diving seemed like a line somewhere, one that maybe he still has. But as long as she does, that’s enough. Prison didn’t really leave a lot of room for shame anyway. And where they’d taken him next, hi smind slides past the thought with any real impression at all.

"Two words to all of it, manguita: prison food.” He flashes her a grin before he finishes the roll and kicks back in his seat. Despite the nonchalance, there’s a certain awareness of the people around them, the thought that he doesn’t want to land himself in a new kind of trouble just because they were stealing leftovers.

There’s a small shake of his head before he looks over at her, teasing smirk on his lips. “Don’t pretend you don’t want it.”

[maya-machado-blog]

"Oh, please," she rolls her eyes, the teasing nonstop between the two of them and it never crosses a line that neither of them are comfortable with. If anything, the constant teasing and poking at each other is a comfort in itself. It's a reminder they're together in this. And there was a long period of time when they weren't. She's well aware of what her brother did for her, packing everything and leaving their family behind. It's nothing he would have done normally, but he'd done it for her and there will always be a fortified gratitude for that. 

"You think you're such a hardass now, don't you? What a felon. And what a load of horseshit, don't play that hardass card on me," she tells him, the tone still teasing as ever. In truth, there's nothing big brother can't do. Even if he had been caught and thrown in prison. He'd made it through it and he'd found his way back. She'd just have to accept that as proof. 

It does make her pause though, jaw clenched as she watches him. "Lemon cupcake or no deal," she tells him. 

[ethan-ford-blog]

He takes another bite out of the roll, chewing it loudly and obnoxiously as he turns his head towards her. And while his demeanor doesn’t change, that thought that he doesn’t want this for her is ever present. It makes him almost desperate enough to think about asking his parole officer to help him get a job. He didn’t like that idea either, because he wanted his life to go back to the way it was before.

"That’s ‘cause it’s a sandwich," he tells her. Though at least she’s not dumpster diving, and right now he can say the same. "Now a burrito, then maybe." There’s a smirk, and if it’s some knock at their own heritage, he’s alright with it. They’re a mixed breed, mom best known for screaming at them in Spanish and dad for an Irish fondness for liquor. Stepdad didn’t count for shit in any direction.

It’s easy to hide the smile, the next words almost mocking, because if nothing else this is familiar. Teasing little sister. “You wanna go knock off a bake shop for dessert?”

[maya-machado-blog]

"A burrito out of the trash, huh?" she makes a face at that, knowing he's just joking but it still leaves a disgusted feeling in the pit of her stomach. She's been desperate, but never that desperate. Still, it makes her laugh because that's typical of something Dylan would say, of course. He's always had an odd sense of humor and if three years of prison and a year of just...absence has warped his sense of humor, she doesn't really mind it. He's still him, still her big brother with a bad attitude. 

He asks if she wants to go knock off a bake shop and her immediate answer is yes. It's been a long time since she's had anything sweet and sugary and entirely unhealthy. At least something that wasn't half eaten or straight out of a box from the gas station, just something small that she chanced pocketing. She leans back to seemingly appraise him. ""You don't need to watch your girlish figure?" she asks playfully. 

[ethan-ford-blog]

If little sister is quiet and subtle as her ability allows, Dylan is substantially less so. It’s an easy climb over the short fence to the patio, strolling across it like he belongs there. Because half the time that’s how he gets away with anything, just by acting like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. Either way it’s not a far walk to her table, slipping into the seat next to her before grabbing a roll off her plate. He rips a chunk out of it before gesturing at her.  “You know other people have spit on this. You’re eating other people’s spit.”

The words are playful, and he’s shameless enough that he doesn’t care what he eats. But there’s the thought there that little sister shouldn’t be eating like this, not now that he’s back around at least. And it grates on him that he doesn’t have the money or the stability right now to tell her she doesn’t have to, that he can take care of them both.

The world looks different than he remembers it outside those bars. And he wonders if it’s because of a missing year, or what three of them in a cage did to him.

[maya-machado-blog]

"Meh," she just gives with a shrug, glaring at him when he takes the roll because she was going to eat that. It was an adjustment, getting use to having him around again. It wasn't that she didn't want him here. It was just that she hadn't realized how used she was to being alone. How used she was to the quiet, to doing things completely for herself and not with anyone else to worry over. How used she was just to being invisible, in every sense of the word. World had forgotten here, even while she was standing right beside it, and now the only person who remembered she existed was back. It took some getting used to. 

She still hadn't brought up the time he had missing, or that he couldn't remember exactly where he'd gone. She didn't know how to approach it or even if she should. It worried her, but she was just glad Dylan was back. She wasn't going to start asking questions that could jeopardize that, even if it meant something might come back and bite her later. 

"At least I'm not picking it out of the trash," she waggles her brow at him somewhat playfully, but she'd never really stooped that low before. She still had to maintain some sort of dignity. 

[eileen-savage-blog]

It’s a late lunch for Eileen today, which made her more irritable with the amount of patients filing in and out of the office for a few hours. Wednesday must be a popular day to have holes drilled in one’s teeth. When she had a free moment, she took the advantage of popping outside to stop at the small diner down the road. Always quick and efficient, and the waitresses usually know her by name. It always earns her a free cup of coffee.

Sipping from her mug, she mulls over the boring headlines on the newspaper draped over the small table, fingers pulling apart pages and pages of unfortunate circumstances in other people’s lives. The paper is rarely full of positive things. Except the comics. Those are always enjoyable.

Taking another bite of her sandwich, she glances at the woman sitting to her right, noting that she isn’t the man who had just been there a few moments before. She eyes her curiously, noting that she smells the food before eating it. Homeless, maybe. But definitely starving. She hadn’t seen the young girl come in. Then again, she hadn’t been paying much attention.

"You make a habit of stealing people’s scraps?" Eileen questions dryly, eyes back on the newspaper before she takes a sip of her own coffee, one she paid for.

[maya-machado-blog]

The sandwich isn't anything special. Some turkey sandwich with a spicy mustard on it and she makes a face when she also finds apple slices stuck between the bread. It's too fancy, but it's food and she's got about a fourth of the sandwich left. Lucky that someone's eyes were bigger than their stomach, at least. It would make for a pretty good meal and at least she could get it all down before the restaurant workers come over to kick her out. 

It's the voice from the table next to her that has her attention rising to the woman. No one she knows, no one she cares to know. She's stuck mostly to herself for a while now. The only people she'll really talk to or even show any sort of sympathy or kindness towards are the people in similar situations as her. People who don't have a roof of their heads or a place to call home. She at least has set up a good hideout for herself, where she can return to and at least feel some sort of comfort. 

"Does that bother you?" she snaps at the woman, attitude hitching the inflections in her voice. She doesn't really care if the woman says yes. Doesn't care what the woman thinks. "How 'bout you mind your own business, lady?" 

[maya-machado-blog]

The outdoor patio to the diner was bustling this time of day and it was just the type of environment she needed to case the people sitting there. And the food left on plates when they got up to leave. She'd hoped the fence with ease, cloaking herself so no one would see and had slipped her way through the diner to the patio. All she needed was one plate of leftovers so she could sit down and treat herself to a free meal. Someone else's meal, granted, but at least it would let her save her money for something more essential. If she could steal instead of buy, it always left her with more in her pocket than she would have if she'd lived honestly. 

Seeing her opportunity when someone gets up from one of the tables, the cloaking is gone and she slips into a chair with ease, leaning back like she's not doing something that could get her kicked out. She supposes it just depends on how much the busboy is paying attention right now. They'd taken their bill up front to pay and this was the perfect little diner to be stealing scraps off of plates, just because the waiter never came back to the table after they dropped off the bill.

It's the leftovers of a sandwich and she doesn't hesitate to lift it up, sniff at it, and then take a bite. Best meal, and probably only, she'd have all day.

[whitexhot]

Layla looks around, not overly familiar with the neighborhood, or at least not this section of it. She didn’t live far, but she worked closer to the strip, did her shopping in between the two. Casual strolls around the area weren’t a common occurrence for her. Layla isn’t sure if she’s supposed to be scared of this part of the neighborhood or not. She isn’t, either way. For all the fear and anxiety she had been dealing with for the past few days, none of it had to do with where she was.

"Oh well. Worse things than looking weird." Layla says with another small smile, only because she doesn’t quite know what else to say. It’s not as though she’s going to apologize, and truth be told, she finds it just a little funny in her own twisted way. Running looked weird. She wondered how weird this woman would think she looked if her clothes were beginning to singe and the pole she was touching started to melt. "I was looking for a corner store before I got distracted. Can you point me in the right direction?"

[maya-machado-blog]

Maya just shrugs at that. Yeah, there were worse things than looking weird, didn't mean she was going to go out of her way to do it, though. But she won't judge the woman. At least she looked put together despite that. Maya didn't even have a place to live that was legal. She didn't pay rent, just squatted some place and called it home. It's how it'd been for a while now. With Dylan back, she wondered if that would change, but they hadn't really talked about it yet. 

When the woman asks if she knows where a corner store is, Maya's first reaction is to ask just what she means by a corner store. Drug store? 7-11? Is that the old fashioned way to say she needs some smokes and a bottle of tylenol? She doesn't say it out loud because she thinks she's being enough of a smart ass to a total stranger as is. She gives a shrug and points down the street a little ways. "There's a Circle K down the street about three blocks." 

[whitexhot]

"From? Nothing. Just…running to run." Layla says with a shrug, glancing behind her just to make sure there wasn’t a cop chasing her, or a deceptively good looking psychopath… she wasn’t sure which she would have been more afraid of, but she thinks the latter. "I’ve been parked on my couch for days. Felt the need to stretch my legs." she says with a little smirk.

Pushing some hair back from her face, she laughs lightly and then shakes her head. “Didn’t think about how it must look- the random woman bookin’ it down the street.” she says, pulling her hair up off her neck for a moment even though she’s not overheated. She should be. No doubt her temperature was hovering above it’s usual 106, but there was a trace of it on her features.

[maya-machado-blog]

Maya's not sure she buys it. Not sure she buys the smile either unless the woman's on something. She doesn't trust people who are overly happy for no reason. Doesn't trust people who run just to run without changing into gym clothes. It means they're not in their right mind and she's fairly certain this chick isn't. But she doesn't say anything about it because half the time Maya's not in her right mind either. She's not a drug addict, but she'll smoke a joint now and again if the opportunity arises. Just something to keep life interesting and take the edge off. 

"Yeah, looks kinda weird," Maya nods her head, trying to get the woman to understand what it looks like from her perspective. "Especially in this neighborhood, you know?" She waves her hand around. Maya's a street kid. No home, but a shelter of something she's made for herself. She's pretty sure Dylan doesn't like it. Doesn't like that she's been living on the streets but what the hell did he expect her to do. At least she looks somewhat presentable, even if all of her clothes are clearly from the thrift store and heavily used and abused. 

[whitexhot]

Layla turns until she meets the eye of the person who spoke and she can’t help the way her anxiety rockets up a few notches. Her face is blank and for a moment she tries to keep her mind the same, because maybe this woman is like the man from the alley. Maybe somehow this woman knows something she shouldn’t. Layla tries to dismiss that though, because she knows if she keeps thinking that way, she really will drive herself insane.

"Yep. Don’t worry. They never answer back. That’s when the real problems begin." Layla says, trying to summon a small smile for the stranger, which same much easier than she had expected.

[maya-machado-blog]

Maya snorts, more in dry amusement than anything else. It's cooler out now that it's gotten dark out and the streets are shuffling with people heading their way towards the strip. She thinks they're mostly lost down here or going to or coming home from work. This isn't a good place to be and the only reason Maya is out here is because it's easy pickings. And this is her stomping ground. She knows these back streets like the back of her hand and even if it's gotten a bit dangerous out here, she's not really concerned. 

"What are you running from?" she asks, looking down the street to see if anyone was coming up belatedly. There was no sign of anyone pursuing the woman, so she doubted she was being chased. Still, people ran from a lot of things out here. 

[whitexhot]

Layla wasn’t sure what possessed her to start running. Maybe it was the Adderall she had been popping to avoid sleep. Maybe it was all the excess energy built up since she’d been avoiding the strip club and her private clients. Or maybe it was just the desire to get the fuck away from the thoughts in her head, though it seemed no matter what she couldn’t outrun them. Smoking for years didn’t help things much and as she reached the corner she grabbed onto a pole to slow herself, spinning slightly. It made her feel like a little kid, which is not how she normally felt with her hand on a pole.

Looking around, she tried to remember where she was. couldn’t be far from her house, seeing as she’d only meant to run to the store a few blocks over for smokes and snacks. The impromptu run had taken her down streets she was a bit unfamiliar with. Standing there on the corner, she was breathing a bit heavily as her heart rate regulated. “Now what?” she asked herself out loud.

[maya-machado-blog]

It's a familiar street for her. One she's used to walking up and down, slipping her fingers into pockets to produce wallets and billfolds and whatever else could help pay for her lunch on that certain day. Today didn't seem like as much of an important score, because Dylan was back in town. Just showed up out of the blue like he hadn't been gone for more than a day or two. Swiped her newly stolen wallet straight out of her fingers and started back in her life like he'd never fucking left. He had and while she was glad he was back, there was still the concern that he didn't know where he'd been. She didn't know what exactly that meant.

The woman running up the street was a funny sight, because she wasn't in jogging clothes and didn't seem to have a pursuer chasing after her. She watched with an unimpressed frown on her face and when she got in front of her, twirling around the pole, Maya snorted in amusement. She spoke to herself outloud and she just couldn't help. "Talking to your invisible friend?" she asked, the joke lost on the woman. Maya could be that friend. Or at least invisible. 

[ethan-ford-blog]

"Uncross it." It’s all he says about it, and if there’s an answering humor in the words, there’s also an equal amount of sincerity. There’s a reason they ran away from home and the thought of her whoring herself is too close to that to ever sit comfortably. And the thought of someone touching his baby sister without her permission is enough to make him see red, and then they’ll be putting him behind bars for a completely different reason.

The question makes him turn to look at her, just staring blankly for a moment, and if his expression can be read as disbelief she even has to ask, it gives him a minute to think about the question. He wants to say no. Closer to say he doesn’t think so. More honest to say he doesn’t really remember. If that’s a thing that should scare him more, that for the most part he’s missing a year of his life, his thoughts can’t fixate on the thought long enough for it to really concern him. “I went to prison. Not Guantanamo.”

He pulls his arm back then, flicking his thumb across the stolen bills right by her face. It’s as much to be obnoxious as it is to try and distract her with anything else than questions he doesn’t have the answers to. “Better question is if you want to buy food with this, or help me hustle a poker game?”

[maya-machado-blog]

She too happy to see him to make a joke about whether he means her mind or her legs. She thinks that joke would just make him irritated so she keeps it to herself. He turns to look at her and she watches his face as he actually has to give her question thought. That concerns her more than anything. That when he says he doesn't know, he means he doesn't know because there's more going on that they just didn't tell him. It has her taking in a breath like maybe she'd hit the nail on the head with her assumption of some underground testing facility. There'd been runaway teenagers going missing from the streets for a month now. It wasn't too far off that most of the people still left behind were thinking the same thing. Maybe that's where Dylan had just come from. 

It's all thoughts she keeps to herself. He pulls his arm back and asks if she wants to eat or hustle poker. If he still has the skills he went to prison with, she knows he can turn that twenty six bucks into fifty easily. Seventy five if he tries hard and a hundred if they both work on it together. Still, he's been in prison and God knows where for a year and maybe he's rusty. She doesn't know when he got out, doesn't know if she was his first stop and she has the urge to tell him that the apartment's gone. That she hadn't been able to keep up with it and that they'd tried to send her to live with Mom but she'd still wanted to pay for it. 

He could come and stay with her, at her hideout and she doubted he had any other plans. That they were still in this together even if he was gone for so long. They could just start back up where they'd left off. Them against the world. She tries to snatch the money out of his hands when he flicks it in front of her. "Only if you promise we can eat afterwards," she says. "I mean massive cheeseburger eat. With fries and everything."

[ethan-ford-blog]

For a moment her answer puts the smile back on his lips, hand moving up to ruffle her hair. It’s affectionate and obnoxious and everything he couldn’t be on the other side of those bars, looking out at his baby sister growing up without him. But there’s a sense of pride that she’s made it this far, a thing that maybe he shouldn’t feel because there’s his mother’s voice screaming away in the back of his head that it’s no life for either of them. His answer’s been the same. She didn’t give them a choice. So he’ll never be sorry.

And now that he’s free he can fix this, make it better for her like it had been. There’s a lot he doesn’t know, a lot he should be asking, and when he was still in an orange jumpsuit he’d started a list. It was gone now, and he doesn’t know where it went. It wasn’t returned with his things, his clothes, his shoes, his rings, an expired driver’s license, everything material he’d had left by the time they released him. Which is about as much as little sister looks like she has now. “Long as you’re not turning tricks.”

His nose wrinkles at the question, not hiding the irritation on his face. “How the fuck am I supposed to know how I don’t know what I don’t know?” If he’s dodging the answers, if he’s dodging the thought, he’s not fully aware of it. Some part of his mind is trying to unravel those answers for her, but the thoughts keep slipping away like he’s grasping a fistful of sand. Pieces stick, but the rest just slides between his fingers until those few impressions are all he’s left with. And most of it doesn’t make it as far as his lips. “They didn’t tell me. It’s not hard.”

[maya-machado-blog]

"Thought's crossed my mind," she joked. But the humor was a little lost because it had, more than once. She'd never gone through with it because while some days were better than others, they weren't bad enough for that. She didn't like to be touched in that way unless it was on her terms and while that wasn't anything different from most people, she was very strict about it. There wasn't a thing in the world that was bad enough that would drive her to making that sort of thing be on her terms. 

He's petulant when he responds. Telling her that he doesn't know and they didn't tell him and getting gruff with his responses. She grinds her teeth together, but her annoyance isn't so much for him as it is for the situation. It doesn't sound like he was just transferred to another prison. That he was just transferred upstate to a minimum security for good behavior or something of the like. It sounds like something out of a movie. Transferred to a secret facility and if she didn't know for sure that those existed, she would have laughed at the thought. 

"Damn, dude, did they waterboard you?" she asks and again, it's meant as a joke but she wants to gauge his reaction. To see if he went through something along those lines because if he did, she'd back off a little more on it all. She doesn't like the thought. Dylan was a fucking super hero, not someone's guinea pig. 

[ethan-ford-blog]

There’s a bark of laughter at the words, the quiet defensiveness to them. Though for a moment he wonders if it’s less little sister getting annoyed with him and instead stemming from some genuine need. She was homeless. He knew that much. If he’d had friends outside a jail cell he would’ve called them to check up on her, but there weren’t any he trusted that much. None he trusted not to try and take advantage of her, and that was the problem with being a thief. Anyone close to him before he got caught was either a mark or a fellow thief. Honor only went so far.

It has him slinging his arm around her shoulder in the next moment, as much to keep her at his side as it is to show her the money back between his fingers. Even the lottery ticket. Because while it’s tempting to keep it for himself, some thought that he’s back and now he’ll put everything right, it stirs the quietest sense of guilt for being gone so long. Doubtful that it’s anything that’ll carry over into tomorrow, but it’s enough for today. “Stolen fair and square?”

He smirks down at her, but it’s not until she asks him where he was that his lips flatten into a thin line, brow furrowing while he tries to come up with an answer. The truth sits somewhere just beyond his reach, some vague thought in his head that he can’t seem to grasp or hold onto. He wore white scrubs. They fed him better. A song runs through his head before he’s shaking it, dismissing the question. “I don’t know.” And there’s a sense of annoyance that follows it, not for her, not that she asked, but because he can’t formulate anything specific. “Not like they give you a welcome packet at the front door. Christ, it’s like you’ve never been in prison before.”

[maya-machado-blog]

"Hey,some people flip burgers, I make money my own way," she says, the words proud as they come out of her mouth. If she was supposed to feel guilty about that, supposed to think that it wasn't a way a person was supposed to live, she didn't. This was just what she did. Just what she was good at and she'd gotten better at it while he was away because it was either get good or starve and she wasn't a fan of going hungry. At least she'd been in Las Vegas, where she didn't have to worry too much about colder weather. There were some nights, but she had a decent spot that she'd claimed as her own. A spot the cops didn't come bother her over and a spot others didn't come in and try to take her stuff from. 

He says he doesn't know where he's been. He doesn't know where they took him and even with his arms around her shoulders, she turns to glare at him. At first she thinks he's just trying to bullshit her. That he just doesn't want to tell her, but the look on his face has nothing to do with the shit answer he'd given her either. He knows full well she's never been arrested before. Never been to prison, never even been to jail. She'd almost gotten arrested once, but people couldn't arrest who they couldn't see. 

"Well, how can you not know?" she demands and she knows she's being an annoying little sister, but it worries her that she thinks he's telling the truth. She'd thought he was dead and the justice system just didn't want to tell her that. She'd come up with all sorts of scenarios for where he could have been sent and she'd thought having him here now would have meant answers. It didn't. It just brought more questions.