βΈ» anya taylor-joy, 27, cisfemale, she/her; ] β¦ the photo on the missing poster is of VALENTINA MACKIE. they are TWENTY-SEVEN, and have been missing for TEN YEARS. when the sun rises, they work as SEAMSTRESS. rumors in town say they can be NARCISSISTIC and FREE-SPIRITED. they chose to live in THE CHURCH, and have an uncanny resemblance to REGINA GEORGE (Mean Girls), BARBIE (Barbie), PENNY LANE (Almost Famous), SATINE (Moulin Rouge!), MAYSILEE DONNER (Sunrise on the Reaping), RANSOM DRYSDALE (Knives Out), ALEXIS ROSE (Schitt's Creek).
BIO - STATS - MIRROR - PINTEREST
*// A E S T H E T I C S
glitter stained fingertips, rainbows at golden hour, heart-shaped lollipops, scuffed white cowboy boots clicking against tile floors, red kisses on mirrors, flickering neon signs at four o'clock in the morning, the grainy static at the end of a record, soft pink lighting from a crystal chandelier, the bright orbs leftover in your eyes from flashing cameras, carefully placed jewels along eyeshadow, ice cream melted down your wrist, walking around on tip-toes because the floor is too cold, lip gloss residue on the rim of a champagne bottle.
*// I N Q U I R I E S
How did your muse spend their first night in Arcadia, and where?
Picture this:Β a frightened girl running through the town in a sequined red prom dress muddied from the bottom and bleeding from a gash in her chest, and from somewhere beyond her hairline. The sash and crown naming her Prom Queen were dirty and dotted with bloodstains. Thereβs been a car crash, she said. After the tree, just at the edge of the woods. Nevermind that here the sun was just setting when before, it had already been nightfall. It took an older woman, around her momβs age, to calm her down and bring her something to eat and drink at the diner.
At that point, though, the doors were locked and there was nothing that could be done to save him. He was injured, and at the mercy of Them. Valentina screeched and cried, demanding they help him when she looked out the window and saw him - his corpse, rather, missing a leg and being dragged through the streets. The thing holding onto him locked eyes with her through the window, smiled, and Valentina had mercifully fainted from shock.
Why did your muse choose to live where they do?
When she first got here, she foolishly believed that They were abominations of some unholy order, and believed the church would give refuge. Sure, she sinned a bit, and hadnβt been to church in a long timeβ¦ but she had to be safe if she found safety in a holy place, right? The longer time went on, she found that wasnβt the case, and ended up still returning to her self centered anyway.
If there really was a god, what the hell was he doing trapping her in a place like this?
An unused rectory became something of a refuge for her, hidden by various fabrics and cloths she had found over her decade-long tenure in Arcadia, a home-office of sorts for those that needed a quick stitch.
What was your muse doing when they came across the tree?
Drinking and driving - well, she wasnβt driving. But her boyfriend was, and they had just left a successful prom to go to a secluded vacation home, farther from LA, up in Paradise Springs where a few of them and their friends decided to go for a prom weekend. They left earlier, wanting a head start, and were trading a bottle of champagne back and forth in the BMW. She never noticed the tree, but the when the woods became thicker, and the roads more winding, that she realized there was a problem into the car went careening off the road, injuring the both of them in the crash.
Has your muse left anything behind that they are desperately trying to return to or escape?
Yeah, everything. Valentina was ready to head for the Fashion Institute of Technology, to make a name for herself in her own right. Everyone she knew from LA was doing something in movies, all wannabe nepo-actors, but she held herself to a far higher standards than the rest of those people. Although it was a great place to grow up in, she didnβt want to be stuck in her childhood hometown forever; what a waste.
Now that sheβs gone though, she misses everything about it - the beaches, the shopping malls, the bright sun through the palm trees. And she misses the life that she could have had, the one she knows she actually deserves.
Mav had all the composition of a department store mannequin, solid and still as Valentina assessed the cause of the tight fit around his arm. In truth, he probably had more than enough room in there. He found himself doing this often; looking for the tinniest excuses to spend more time in her presence, to hear the sweet songlike way she spoke, to be gifted (unworthy in many ways) of her attention and care. Eloquence was not a skill he possessed. Expressing his desire to know her was not an undertaking he was prepared or suited for.
Women like Valentina were, in his eyes, to be admired for their tenacity and beauty, and feared for the way the way they could confidently break his heart if he was so inclined to hand it to them. It was better to come up with silly excuses to stick around than admit that he was interested in getting to know her.
"Ahh like a dark green," he stated, eyes on her. Dark green like the luscious pine forests of Montana. Her eyes were complimentary. Like the bark of fir trees, like mulch under moss. A dark green and her dark brown eyes and Mav would be dreaming of home. "Lak the forest heyur. Not sure I'm suited fo-wah yellows, but I trust ya judgement."
He averted his eyes then and looked around the room, an uncomfortable feeling creeping back in as he remembered where he was. "Ahh bet ya lak this kind of stuff, socialisin' and all that, yeah?"
βYes!β she exclaimed, still circling like a carrion bird, instead of just an astutely observant young woman with a penchant for fashion and making things pretty. βA dark green, like a pine or emerald - not kelly, thatβs too bright. And I donβt mean like, canary yellow, but something softer, a hint of a pastel to keep things from getting too dark.βΒ
Once she was finished with the mental notetaking of what to do next, she felt she could finally relax a bit and enjoy the party for what it was worth. She had her own personal vendetta against the settlement - there was a boy once upon a time that fell into their ideology, one she was friendly with, who had gotten himself killed eventually. But that was five years ago, maybe even more than that now. If anything, that just proved how long Valentina was willing to go for a grudge.Β
She gave a little shrug at Maverickβs questioning, acknowledging that she heard him but was still doing her general sweep over the party. Valentina wasnβt actively judgmental on nights like this - itβs not as if anyone here had easy access to boutiques or the like, and this was supposedly for camaraderie, nothing more - but she tended to look at those who lived in the settlement like how one would watch animals at a zoo, with a curiosity in relation to their habits and whether or not they understood they were captive here. βIβll take what I can get, I suppose,β she said, before turning back to Maverick. βHow about you? Far cry from the farmlands, I canβt see this being your favorite scene.β
how long. ten years had been a long time trapped in one place. a sigh depleted, sadly, "mm, suppose after the last person who stole my loewe jacket and cut it up into rags for washing dishes." casually spoken when the scene had been gruesome. an irate margot lashing out in such a feral manner β using the very scissors to make cuts in that thief of a person. she'd lured them into the thick of the wood, mauled their body to bits with the craft utensil and then left their disappearance to the fate of the night creatures. "about three years in." seven years ago. there had been other blood on her hand kept silent, treated to her own amusement. nonchalant, margot peeled her jacket off and folded it to the floor. some brand she didn't know. dirty, but warm. "give anything to feel fine silk on me again..." giving it all up, she hadn't really.
βClassic,β she corrected. Timeless beauty that felt like no matter what, it would always be in style to be polished and tailored. At least, thatβs what sheβd repeat to herself whenever she was styling something new. Valentina was proud of herself for what sheβd managed to accomplish here, with essentially all the time in the world, but her fingers ached to work on real fabric - not deconstruct something here that was already beautifully made, left behind by someone who had the bank account to back up their spending on fashion.Β
Valentina wondered sometimes what it was about her that prevented her from becoming the sort of grizzled realist like Margot seemed to her. Perhaps it was her own stubbornness that got in the way.
Her nose crinkled at the fate of such a piece, and she shook her head. βI can assure you that was not me,β she said. βIβd recognize something like that actually had value.β She sighed. βNot that value like that seems to matter hereβ¦ well, it matters to me.β Spoken defiantly, she knew that it wasnβt like she could trade fine apparel for goods and services around here, but there were some things about the past she just refused to let go of. Style was one. It was so much a part of her that it felt like a betrayal to her own self to leave it behind. Besides, it earned her keep here. βI might be able to help,β she said, quietly, as if they were sharing a secret.
There was a rack far behind the others, that some of her favorites were hidden in. One happened to be a silk nightgown that the psychiatrist owned, the one who had the impeccably well-kept clothing that Valentina offered to fix and tailor essentially for free, just to get her hands on it. This one was a gift as a thank you - good timing, too, as the woman was killed about a week after the fact. βYou can try it on, but it doesnβt leave this room.β
The longer she sat here, the longer it turned out to be not at joke at all. Valentine wasn't laughing, not even a hint of a smirk that would tell her this town was just some kind of fucked up prank some wealthy prick played on her - on them. She didn't want to give in - she hated to think of this place as real, but with how long Rylee had been missing... Defeat started to infect her brain, the same kind she'd seen for however long she'd been spending time in the diner. Ever since she arrived. Defeat that'd been written all over people's faces, a hopelessness that Ophelia resisted of giving into. She didn't want to. But sitting next to a girl who'd been here longer than ten years made that hopelessness seep into her chest.
''Even longer?!'' Her voice visibly softer, dying out as she brought out those words with a choked breath. ''Ten years -'' she wanted to ask so many questions, as her thoughts ran through her mind with a speed even she couldn't keep up on. Her lips parted, her eyes wide as she stared at the other, but the words wouldn't come out. She was taken aback by the harsh reality. Like a punch to the throat, she choked on her own words.
It took everything, every bit of willpower, for Ophelia to tear her gaze off the other. In order to ground herself. In order to gather her thoughts and not freak out over the situation. She felt a headache coming on. Fuck, she desperately needed a glass of wine. It physically hurt her throat when she managed to speak again, after a moment of closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. ''W- what have you been up to all these years? It's no life living here, it's......it's Hell,'' she drew her own conclusion after everything she'd heard about this place.
From how tired she was, how exhausted Valentina was over the last few nights of poor sleep, it was no wonder she felt a ping of pity in her chest for the other woman. Any other time she would tell someone feeling this way to dust it off and figure out a way to cope. Horrible advice, and people had given her gentler words when she was at her lower moments in the beginning of her Arcadian tenure, but that wasnβt who Valentina was.
So instead of going the pessimistic/realist route (the outlook she was comfortable with), she simply sat there in a mourning silence with Ophelia, waiting patiently until she could find the words and Valentina could feel she had something more to offer.
βYeah, thatβs where the Hell Town nickname comes in,β she snorted. Even in the midst of the weariness, she still found a way to be her snarky self in some capacity.
valentina's space was nice. perhaps even lovely. a familiar itch to a more careful margot. one that had slipped in the shadows of arcadia, and the years that kept her locked in it's cage. a former self. it was so easy to slip away. much more difficult to cling to who you were before in a life full of so much luxury.
eyes lifted to the sound of her name spoken β clearing the familiar mirage. after all, they were not the same. they possibly couldn't be. margot always carried a deep rooted feeling that no one had been like her β not beneath the surface where aspects of herself that she should be shameful of where delighted by herself.
"wardrobe full of dior. mother always said dior was elegant enough to not age out." lip twitched at the mention of her adopted mother. "timelessly hand crafted. not like chanel. no, chanel was best suited for old women who smelled of baby powder, and let their pomeranians lick off their overload of makeup... versace was gaudy, but dior.... timeless." margot repeated. her mind taken back to a memory she wore the designer clothes, while her hands viciously wrapped around another girls throat for saying some childish insult.
βMy mother used to swear by Chanel,β Valentina piped up. βI never really agreed with that, though. Something about it always being high status.β And she fought the urge to roll her eyes as well - not at Margot, not at all. But rather at a faded memory of her mother insisting that Chanel (as a brand) was the greatest thing of all time. She had seen the red carpet looks herself, and wasnβt a fan, but her mother loved the handbags, the shoes, the perfumes. Valentina missed it now, and wished she could inhale a bit of that old scent, the scent of a mother - second only to the warmth embrace of one.
She watched Margot take in her space, and she puffed up with pride. There was something aged to it, some dust that had gathered on windowsills, the fact the single trash can close to the middle of the room was nearly filled to the brim with discarded fabrics and thread. She tried to save everything she could, as some people seemed to like the patchwork look, even if it made her want to gag at the sight of it. Maybe someday sheβd grow into someone more hardened like Margot, someone who let go of the finer things in life, with a dog and a rabbit and boots thudding on the floor of another girlβs inner sanctum. But she wasnβt sure sheβd ever get to that point; she was too stubborn to let go of these things here she loved.
βSo how long did it take you to let all of that go?β she asked, pulling herself up to sit on her bed, her long blanket draped over the sides of it. Even on her worst days, at least she had her room, and all its comforting glory. One leg bent and the other dangled off the side, arms crossing in curiosity. "Or did you ever? At least, completely."
How she had ended up here again was beyond her. Juliette was trying to make her way back to the boat and had been for how ever many hours now. She was still so uncertain as to what time of the day it was meant to be. The need to sleep pulled permanently at her but the fear of missing even just a sliver of sunlight kept her awake in spite of her exhaustion. Her resource gathering in the town had been somewhat affective, backpack full of enough food to last a few more days at least in the solitude of her boat.
The problem was that the layout of the town was nearly impossible to navigate without any light. Sometime she ventured out just past the last building only for the steady thudding of creature footstep to turn her around. There was just no feasible way for her to navigate the suffocating darkness that laid between the town and the dock without the certainty of getting lost and getting killed. She needed to regroup and rest, so maybe that's why she had entered the church. Once she was sure the door was shut, she felt around the dark room until she located the candle holder. From the back pocket of her pants she pulled a lighter and lit one of the candles before shrugging off her backpack and collapsing on one of the benches. She felt her eyes close and kept them shut, even as she heard footsteps enter the room.
"Sorry for the intrusion, hot pastor dude βI forget your name, I just really need somewhere to rest."
Valentina hated the dark - she grew up in a city, in a place where there were streets lined with light and buildings and spotlights and the glow of the sunset over the beachβ¦ there was not a thing about Arcadia that was appealing to her in any way, shape or form. And this place had surely fucked with her in the past in more ways than one, but this was new. This hadnβt happened before - the sun never just not rose in the sky.Β
Not a single part of her had wanted to leave the safety of the church, of her candlelit refuge where she could sew or read or cry herself to sleep in the cushion of her bed. But there was only so much food left in the churchβs stock and she felt that it was for the best to save it for the children. She debated just starving for the evening, having sleep for dinner, but she wasnβt even sure if it was dinner - the timing was horrible and impossible without a functioning clock. And what was the deal with Them - did perpetual night make them always out, or did they have their own circadian rhythm they stuck to?
Regardless, she knew the diner had to have something spare, and she had her stomach set on some fruit, jams, breads, things that would be easy to eat in the dark and could keep her full for longer periods of time. Ten years spent in Hell Town didnβt mean she hadnβt picked up on survival skills over time. She had walked fast and navigated as much as she could, successful in her plight. Leandro had been with the kids downstairs, so when she heard a racket in amongst the pews, she assumed the worst. Valentina had her sheers, positioned by her hip as she inched closer to the heart of the church. She knew they were a primitive weapon against Them, but it still made her feel safe.
How relieved she was when it was a woman, who just needed a place of refuge in the dark. Normally, sheβd be pissed that someone would waltz themselves in here in the middle of the night, but this was a perpetual night and these were not normal circumstances. She had no choice but to be civil. βNot the pastor, but Iβll still take a compliment,β she said, leaving the sheers behind on a pew as she moved closer, trying to see if she recognized her. βThereβs spare blankets and stuff, somewhere. Or are you planning on waking up with a stiff back and neck?β
Mav knew he wasn't the fitting in type of guy. His stature meant almost always that he stuck out and could be singled out easily in a crowd. It was why he had almost never attended large group events unless forced to do as a work requirement. If he had to recall how many large scale events he had attended, Mav could probably count them all on one hand, starting with his army graduation dinner and ending with the current predicament he found himself in.
There had been no interest or curiosity for Mav to ever set foot in the settlement. Like oil to water he just knew that the lifestyle of the people that lived here and his didn't mix. No, he was much better suited for the quiet ranch left, and, when that couldn't be met, a shoebox in the clinic basement where the creaking of the waterpipes was a surefire lullaby. But Shaw had all but been summoned here which meant that Mav had to attend. While the doctor appeared to have improve massively since a tree had fallen on them, Mav still had reservations about their safety. He would never admit it but there was always a bit of fear that if he left them out of his sight long enough another tree would somehow spawn and crush them to death. And that wouldn't be very good for Mav. One, because he cared very much about Shaw's wellbeing. But two, because Jude was such a hard ass already, God forbid she wrung him out even more. Hell, a wet towel was shown more mercy from her temperament in that regards.
Although the list of benefits to attending was dastardly short, there was a certain name on there that also somehow outweighed the bad. See, Mav had ran out of excuses to run into the seamstress and although he was of the opinion that he stuck out like a sore thumb, she was well suited to events like this in his mind. He would have loved to be more prepared and composed when running into her, but the maze that was the settlement had a different idea. And so seeing her for the first time was a bolt from the blue.
Despite his best manners he found himself eyeing her up in appreciation. And her hand on his shoulder did nothing to alleviate the hammering of his heart. He cleared his throat. "Ya look... good too," he started, "as pretty as a pitc-shur." Though no photo would do her justice. "Though aah've to ask if ya made the inner seam of mah shirt tighter o-wn purpose? Aah can barely move mah arms."
A pause. "Err ya enjoying yerself?"
Now that she was up close, now that there was a model that she could readily admire her handiwork on instead of the assumptions based on the measurements she took, she could also see the spots that needed some improvements. Itβs not like this was a wedding or anything, that would require lots of tailoring and testing - just a simple nice shirt that could withstand the whole three events this town had year after year. Still, Valentina was surprised that this held up as much as it had - seeing Maverick in his other clothes, she half-expected him to just tear the sleeves off in favor of comfort. Sheβd give credit where itβs due.
βAw, how sweet!β she smiled, giving a little twirl so that the ends of her dress could flutter a bit. Black seemed to be the right choice of the evening, seeing as how many people she saw that looked a bit too burlap-y for Valentinaβs sake. But she loved compliments and would never turn one down. Though at his critique, she was alert - given her entire personality and temperament, one would assume someone like Valentina was horrible at taking criticism - and to an extent, she was - but this had to do with the craft in a different way. She must have taken in a seam when she shouldnβt have, or assumed his arms were smaller than they were. It was more than likely the latter, as she did take the careful time to measure.Β
βI can fix it,β she mused, staring at the fabric. βAdd a stripe along the underside or something, to give it an extra little flair. Whatβs your favorite color, Maverick? You strike me as like, a green or yellow kind of guy. Youβre a gold, not a silver, I think, so something along that color palette would be so helpful.β
βΆ πππππππππ ; earlier at the party
βΆ π ππ ; open
Parties were easy to get lost in. If there was one thing that Joel enjoyed more than unraveling in his paintings, it was getting the chance to fuck around with a pretty girl or two. He didnβt tend to linger for longer than a few hours with them, but just enough to enjoy himself, make them happy in some way, and effortlessly depart. No promises of another time, or even seeing each other again. Just live by the moment and enjoy it while it lasted. That was his defining romance, though he had often yearned for more. Granted theirβ¦ death? upon entering Arcadia, all yearning of finding more became moot. βΒ How much of the rumors do you think are true?Β β he asked, taking a sip of his - whatever the fuck they put in the container - drink and turning towards his current partner in crime. He couldnβt be caught dead hanging around alone in that house of horrors.
Makeup was a difficult thing to find here by and large, and when she did have it, Valentina savored it. Before, sheβd be throwing out makeup once every six months, afraid of an expiration date or just by going through it so quickly, with a full face of makeup at all times, hair always poised - luckily, it stayed fairly straight on its own, maybe with a bit of a wave in it, and was always strong and long, but makeup was more difficult around here - least of all makeup that was in her shade. Luckily, between the gifts Ophelia bestowed to her and all of the stuff she stole from that rich lady who died about a month back, that psychiatrist with the nice clothes and all, she felt now was as good a time as ever to test it all. At least sheβd know she looked better than everyone else here.
A small compact mirror was really all that could fit in the tiny handbag she had, and she dabbed a bit of gloss on her lips as she heard a voice from a man behind her. She had positioned herself against the wall somewhat, a quiet observer to all else going on. βAbout what?β Valentina asked, shutting the compact with a click and giving her full attention to the stranger - where else would she put it? βSpill, handsome, if thereβs some sort of gossip in this place, Iβd like to be one of the first ones to know.β
The longer Dilara listened to the girl speak, the more irritated she became. It was the same as talking to a child. A bratty, entitled, snob of a child, but she was far too grown to entertain and stoop down to her level. So while the girl went on and on complaining about something that could have easily happened to any one of them, and likely had to her too, Dilara couldnβt help but think back to the sound of her childβs voice. How sweet and innocent it had sounded, so close in tone to the evading sound of Emreβs, despite it coming from one of those things. It still left her curious to find out the source. Dee had a plethora of questions festering inside her mind. What did they look like? Was the smile as odd and sinister as others made it appear? And lastly, how powerful were they really? If they could so easily take over a personβs mind.Β
She shivered, shaking herself back to the present interaction, and gave an exasperated sigh. βΒ Just because you feel entitled to a response does not mean that youβll get one from me. I am not some little girl you can bully into compliance because youβve been here ten years. Congratulations. Or would it be, my condolences, instead?Β β The entirety of this interaction was more draining than the town itself. Dilara had dealt with girls like this plenty of times in her lifetime. Growing up in the high society of New York meant sheβd met plenty of versions of this girl. By Dilaraβs age, it was more annoying than irritating. βΒ You deserve nothing as far as Iβm concerned.Β β
Fuck the talk about Godβs house being for everyone - times were different here, and this was Valentinaβs home still. She could tell she was grating on the womanβs nerves, and she didnβt care. If anything, it only made her feel more empowered. It was an ugly side to her, sure, and one that she didnβt unleash very often - in the last few years of living here, when Leandro and his children showed up, she made the conscious effort to be a little bit better, something that was a bit more of a role model as opposed to the straight up bitch she was before.Β
But who was she kidding; it was only dormant, never truly gone.
βCondolences are just fine, thank you,β Valentina said, generosity dripping from her tone, the only thing to focus on instead of the womanβs words. Regardless of what she said, Valentina didnβt believe that if she didnβt walk in on her tugging at the curtains, she wouldnβt have let whatever was out there in. It was a very specific, very unique approach They had, one that had that delightful personal touch of hell with it. Still, after all these years, she saw Robbie, and had long since stopped seeing her family members after she began to wonder how they looked as they aged - their faces were faded with memory, and itβs not as if she had pictures with her to remind herself. Those remained on a phone that no longer worked, that was cracked from the accident anyway. βAre you done?β she asked, picking at the split ends in her hair while the woman complained. βOnto things that matter - someone hopefully gave you a rundown of how this place was? Or did you just not pay attention? Otherwise, I'll fill in the blanks.β
Valentina purposefully kept her busy around Arcadia in order to make sure she didnβt go completely insane. Some people would have decided that keeping busy meant keeping their bodies busy, their minds occupied with temporary bliss in the night - Valentina was not one of those people. For starters, and overriding just about anything else, she had high standards for herself. Secondly, this was a small town. And when she inevitably got bored, that was that. Besides, many of the people sheβd ever consider any sort of relationship with were dead now.
That didnβt mean she couldnβt indulge in the basic pastime of ogling, especially when Maverick was involved. He was muscular in a way that made him look like one of her little brotherβs old action figures, a GI Joe that made a wish to be a real man, popping up into Arcadia and doing some work around the ranch. They had struck up something of a flirtatious friendship for awhile now, and it was Maverick who had brought up the party at the Settlement. Valentina was still on edge, not entirely unconvinced the nightmares she was seeing before had something to do with the residents' collective voodoo of sorts.
Still, though, she was not going to turn down a party. Valentina only gave a coy I'll think about it when asked, but the opportunity to fashion a dress for herself was too good to pass up. Spaghetti strap A-line, all black, fit going from snug to a bit more flowing at the drop waist, only having enough fabric to end at her knees. "You look good," she spoke up, spotting Maverick turned around in one of the settlement's common areas. She ran her hand along his shoulder, admiring. "I did a good job." *// @maverickxbell
She pressed their lips to keep from apologizing once more and nodded her head in response. Dilara understood. This was all a trick on her mind - Emre was nowhere near here. Thank God. Taking a couple of deep breaths before she allowed herself to respond, Dilara pried her eyes away from the window, βI got it, alright?β Sheβs just never experienced this before. It was so fucking real she could still feel the goosebumps running down her arms. Her heart still pounding in her ears as if the answer to all stood just beyond the front door.Β
It was easy to see the girl was upset, but the harsh tone used forced Dee to snap her face towards her. βI donβt owe you a response, nor do you decide where I choose to find shelter. Last I checked this was a church. My business stays between me and the good Lord above.β While she could easily understand being scared of a stranger opening the door when monsters waited beyond, Dilara was not about to let some little girl speak to her in such a manner. Nobody deserved to be spoken down to for a lapse in consciousness. Especially when the world outside was as screwed as this. What was she going to do? Open the door and kick her out?Β
βIt wasnβt my intention to put anyone in harm's way, nor was I opening the door. Thereβs no reason for you to be disrespectful.βΒ
βDo you?β Valentina asked, stepping forward, brows raised expectantly. The curtains were hanging loose, no flutters or cracks through the fabric to allow Them to see inside. Some of the windows were still stained glass, and it was a shame they couldnβt keep the curtains open all the time to revel in their glory.Β
βYes, but you donβt live here,β Valentina said. Though the womanβs tone was no longer upset, matching her own, Valentina was not one to back down. βSo I donβt know who you are, and I deserve to know the person that almost killed me, now do I?β The eye roll that escaped her was palpable, even in the dim light. βI donβt think Godβs in any hurry for a meet and greet.β Least of all with anyone in Arcadia. She looked the woman up and down, gaze steely and judgemental - it was too late, and she was too tired to even attempt to cover up her distaste. Though, she didnβt have much of an excuse when she wasnβt any of those things.Β
βI donβt think either of us will care much how I spoke to you if we end up dead,β she stated, plainly, then sat on the pew closest to where she was standing, resigning herself to essentially be on guard duty tonight. βIβve been here for ten years and I was woken up by a stranger, so if anyoneβs being disrespected hereββ She gestured over to the woman with a passive aggressive smile.
God - she even sounded like her. But Rosa could tell there was still a lightness in this version of Valentina that she had never gotten in her past. Something she never really enjoyed reflecting on. She had always been a one-track mind woman, attempting to steer down one path and never stray. Rosa could allow this girl into her life in some way, she reasoned, without constantly thinking of what hurt the most back home. βHm. Yes, I hope so. You seem a - unique sort.β It was meant to be a compliment - Rosa had cracked a tiny, harmless grin as sheβd said it, but she knew her tone could come across asβ¦ indifferent. Naturally so, it seemed to run through her veins more than anything else.
Raising a brow, Rosa couldnβt tell if she was threatened or impressed by Valentinaβs skills of observation. It was usually her forte, and she enjoyed taking pieces of people and filing them away for later. For when she could use it - though she wouldnβt describe herself as manipulative, Rosa had always been selfish in putting herself first if she needed to. βIβve never enjoyed fashion.β It was a broad statement, when in actuality, sheβd just never gotten the hang of it. Sheβd never been comfortable in anything objectively feminine, but had never quite nailed a more androgynous style. Apparently, it was obvious. βDo you make a lot of stuff for the people here? If you can find me something Iβd be comfortable in, Iβd be thoroughly floored. Andβ¦ grateful. I need something thatβs - mine, here.β
βThanks!β Goodness, it was like this girl was raining compliments onto Valentina, and it made her decide then and there that sheβd keep her around. She could remember having some girls in her grade follow around Valentina and her friends - well, follow maybe wasnβt right, but people who would copy trends they set, outfits, doing their makeup or hair in similar fashions, and every time Valentina would talk to one of them, theyβd be flustered messes. It was probably a bad thing to feed the ego of a teenager like her, but she found herself in that similar mindset now, walking and talking with Rosa.
The church wasnβt too far away, and Valentina was a fast walker. She moved as if she still had purpose to her day, not in the ambling, directionless way others seemed to. In a way, she did anyway - she always had clothes to wash and fix, fabric to go and find, things to do while daylight was still around before the night fell, and it became impossible to do anything but plug her ears and try to sleep. After the nightmarish week or so where she kept seeing Robbie, she had gone back to her usual ministrations with a vengeance. βItβs not for everyone,β she said, but it was spoken with an air of betterment. Itβs usually how she spoke about fashion, but she barely noticed anymore. The church was just ahead, she could see that back door that led to her βstudioβ.Β
βI do now,β she said. βI didnβt for a long time, there was a seamstress before, but she passed away about five years ago and I took all of her stuff after. Now I just like to fix things up, make stuff extra from any fabrics or whatever I can find.β Some materials were a bit exotic, and difficult to sew with, but she was learning. It was the most annoying schooling she could think of, but it was effective. βIβm sure I have something in there somewhere thatβll catch your eye. I have a few racks of spare stuff.β
If she focused all of her attention on her hand she could almost feel the flexion and contraction of her pinkie βa ghost sensation, one of her many hauntings in this town. It was different than Conor's spectral appearance: more a manifestation of the things that Charlie had given up by simply existing here than of the things that had been forcefully taken from her. Some days she wondered if the digit would grow back, if this town was so cruel as to keep her alive and whole, to hurt and kill her on its own terms.
"My knife slipped," she offered. My mind slipped. The nine years of this town had finally started to make craters from the fissures in her sanity. She wouldn't get into that with Valentina now. Maybe another day, maybe when she felt better (if better was even a real). The thought of a hot shower was the most enticing thing in the world and Charlie was quick to nod in thanks. "Thank you, and none taken, I know it will definitely make me feel better. Is it just through here?" She gestured towards a door.
βOh, the knife slipped,β Valentina said, as if that was the end-all answer to everything she had been told and witnessed by the girl this afternoon. But Charlie was someone who - while sheβd never admit this, or say this to her face - had a pretty strong resolve about her. If something so trivial could result in something so traumatic, what did they say about the rest of them? Was it only a matter of time before the town sunk its teeth into Valentina? Sheβd be long overdue.
But in no way would she allow herself to think that way. She knew herself, she knew she had a strong resolve when necessary, and it was always necessary. This frantic routine she had been keeping up for years was her saving grace. βYeah, through the door. Thereβs some homemade soap in there - itβs not top of the line, but it works enough.β As she watched Charlie leave, she sat there for a moment, sighing and thinking. Her fingers could make easy work of the fixing that needed to be done, so that when Charlie was finished she had a nice new glove waiting for her. But she couldnβt shake that feeling, that there was more to the injury, and wondered where else the town would infest itself in the future.
This was a world rife with complication. Far too many years had passed, memories pressed far too deeply the folds of their mind, people lost to time and even their own minds. βI donβt blame you,β Shaw replied. Normalcy here only came in sputters, stretches of silence far too easily quelled by even a window accidentally left ajar or a visitor that knew nothing of Them, who pulled people into the dirt, but not before leaving a trail of blood in their wake. An appetite that could not be satiated and rested only as the sun drew upon them; only brightness could be repugnant to creatures who fed in the dark.Β
At least Valentina had remained relatively unscathed. Among the few, still, who kept their heads at bay but Shaw knew that even the most resilient could be broken. It was starting now. Nightmares in a town already weaned by poison, was there simply no recourse but to simply live through them? To endure again?Β
From their seat on the desk, they leaned further forward, elbows resting on the grain of the rough-hewn wood. Splinters of it bit against their skin, but it was a sensation that at least came familiar to the doctor. βN-No. No boy. But I see a ghost of my own.β How Shaw had thought, however incorrectly, that his would also be a memory that could be nailed and hammered shut. This town would not be nearly so merciful. βThey all speak in riddles, then?βΒ
Their lips pressed together, gaze tracking the grain of the wood, how it had moved beneath the light. How it would not settle against eyes that had only gotten a fitful of rest. Moving. Always moving. βWhat keeps growing in this place?β They asked. The gears of their mind worked. Body at the cost of oneβs life, the riddle had said. What else could be sacrificed beyond themselves? βIn a place where hardly anything grows?β
Valentina had been here a long time for someone so young. She felt many of the people that lasted through the years, the ones who had easily made this normal for themselves, were older and wiser, people that she could look up to. She didn't usually, her own pride believing that the only way to survive this place was the way that she came up with herself, but in this moment, she felt there was an understanding that passed between her and Shaw. Two people who have spent far too long in this limbo of existence, having seen more than the average person was equipped to handle.
The two of them were more advanced in their understanding of the new world than others. The idea of forceful amnesia seemed to be one of them, an idea most inviting.
"Alright," Valentina eyed them suspiciously, her tone suggesting she was expecting Shaw to follow up. What kind of ghost? Was it as personal as Valentina's own? Was this all some cruel trick of the past worming its way into the present? She snorted at their question. "I don't know, the only thing that seems to grow here is the population," she said, crossing her arms in front of her and wincing when the injured parts of her fingers brushed against skin. "But people don't bark."
