Issy was on her to grab food for the station when she came to the open door. Pausing she looked at Mia. “Holy shit. You remodeling in here?” She questioned with wide eyes.
Mia resisted the urge to snark as best she could. “Yep. I was going for a post-twister sort of feel. Organized chaos with a sense of what the fuck happened? What do you think?”
Gripping the last of the sheets, rising to his feet slowly as he grimaced. “Just.. a bit. Not really, actually, no.” John admitted, half tossing the unsorted papers back onto the pile of other shit that seemingly felt unsorted. “No lollipops in people’s hairs today, huh?” He added a bit more kindly, offering a small smile.
“I mean, if it would help you feel better, I am sure I can oblige.” Amused, grateful for a distraction, she shrugged. “Here, you missed this one.” Bending, she retrieved and then placed it in the pile.
Most mornings spent as always, running. Releasing endorphins, all that other spewed shit that people said, but Raya could not understand. All she knew was running made her feel a sliver of free, something close to it. She was not about to let it go. Catching the tone, the door open, Raya turned, and stood far enough not to alert the woman, or worse, herself. “Are you alright?”
Mia didn’t exactly feel like stepping into the office quiet yet, so she continued to survey the damage while sending a quick message to her insurance agent. They would go over the damage when he could get his head out of his ass. “Yeah.. it’ll be alright.” It didn’t occur to Mia that the question had been towards herself, not the office.
Cara downed her third shot and took a sip of her beer. “Really good tequila, and really efficient bartenders,” she noted as the empty disappeared and another shot was placed before her. “What keeps you coming back?”
“Whiskey and the scenery,” Mia half-muttered with a slight smile. “But you’ve got some good points.”
Mia surveyed the damage to her office from the open door and sighed. Looters looking for something and just scattering her papers instead. “Fuck me,” she sighed and shoved a hand through her hair, grateful that Bruce was at a two week summer camp.
Chuck just wanted to go home, change her waitress uniform for boxers and an old New Orleans Saints shirt and pass out in front of the TV. However her plans are momentarily put on the back burner as a drunk decides to get all up in her space. ‘Sugar, you goin’ move now? I got places to be.’ He just leered closer, breath so strong it could peel paint and a grip on her wrist that made her bones ache. ‘If you don’t let me go right now I’m goin’ to have to hurt you, sugar. And this be my work uniform, I don’t want to have to clean blood off of it.’
Mia watched the exchange in silence for a hot second before recognizing the man as a former client she’d deliberately lost the case on. Apparently he hadn’t gotten the message about sobriety for six months and she let out a cheerful whistle in greeting while she approached. “Hey there, gorgeous,” she greeted the woman and turned her attention to the drunk. “Maybe you should do what she wants with a healthy tip, huh? I heard the judge is out for head’s lately.” That had him scurrying away and she sighed, slipped a couple double-digit bills on the waitresses tray. “Sorry about him. I should’ve gotten him jail time.”
The day had been a little draining for John. Having spent most of the night in the office, attempting a breakthrough of cancer cells to virtually slow and diminish their development through the production of white blood cells, he was officially wiped. Almost dragging his feet by that point, and a quick four hour nap on his desk, face down in a pile of papers, John assumed the best thing to do was find food. And a lot of it. Entering the nearest restaurant, he sat down at the nearby table, setting his work down to finish, or at least attempt too, before heading home for the day. Bumping the table slightly, some papers filtering off as he grumbled. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit!” He muttered, crouching to pick the up.
Mia arched a brow from her own table, her own files here and there on the surface. “Having fun there, sugar?”
Evan gave her a wry smile. “Like I said, I’m fine.” He was just a little tired, probably from whatever Kitty had done to jumpstart his body again. He was sore too, feeling like he had been hit by a truck and had an elephant sit on his chest and stomp on him a little bit. But so far, the doctors hadn’t come back saying there was anything physically wrong with him. They were just worried about the strain on his heart, and organs. They wanted to make sure everything was working properly.
His smile softened. “That’s-that’s sweet.” A thought entered his head, and he sat up, worried. “You weren’t here already, right? Bruce is okay?” he would feel like shit if he had just pouted at her and she had come to tell him that something had happened to her son.
Feeling slightly at a loss for what exactly would be the best action, Mia hesitated. She didn’t particularly believe his claims, given her protective maternal nature, but she kept that to herself, watching him with the care of a wary cat. “How many times have you had to say that?” Mia joked lightly, fighting the urge to come closer, to blubber. She was scared and hurting already, but he didn’t need to see that—it wasn’t because of him anyway.
His immediate concern for her son, though, certainly weakened her just enough that she moved to his bedside. Hesitantly, hands in her pockets, but she did. Progress. “He’s fine. A little belchy because he practically inhaled eggs, but he’s fine.” Her smile softened, kind as often she was not, and she gently pressed a hand to his shoulder, urging him back to the bed. “Please lay back, I just came to see if you’re alright. Okay?”
Maggie: I'll try to get to him before Joslyn attempts popping all the bubble wrap with him still encased in it.
Maggie: Apologize again and I'll kick your butt when you get back. Since we're on the topic... how's everything going?
Mia: I mean, if it entertains both of them, that’s less damage to your place?
Mia: I’m heading home now, but not so great. The appeals board is corrupt, I’m filing suits to get them removed and decisions reversed. They’re letting him out. The stupid use your Gandalf blooper you idiot sorry speak to text bastards.
Mia: Never thought I would say this, but I missed Hollow Grove.
Summary: After receiving word from a cautious warden, Mia Conroe drives alone to Louisiana with her son in trusted care. Her ex-husband, Thomas LaRue, is vying and very close to appealing his sentence due to good behavior (and greased palms) for an early release with probation.
Mia has no intention of letting the man who abused, raped, and broke her over seven years walk free. At least, not without making sure his life would forever be a horrible hell.
NOTE: Mia is not in Hollow Grove and will not return until Saturday, July 22nd. This prose explains why and her return.
The warden greeted her the moment she stepped outside of her car. Perhaps it was a respect for her situation, for her career. Maybe—and she figured on it—he was a fifty-five year old man who had been married since twenty-one but had a weakness for exotic features, legs, and a confident look to a woman, loyal and unshakeable as his love was for the ever-sociable Mrs. Wallerpike. Still, he looked her in the eyes, shook her hand firmly, and walked side-by-side into the prison.
Warden Jimmy Wallerpike had been warden of the prison for ten years, a firm and fair hand, never once having a dust of corruption to his name. He was truly, deeply a good man and gave her a hug akin to something from a beloved uncle. Considering how often he had consoled her during multiple appeals, the initial court hearings and trials, although with no intention except helping a scared woman, it was a warranted position.
She trembled a little and he patted her back, only too aware of how terrified she was. Only too aware of how much she risked by defending himself, his wife, and their admittedly big family. Witches in the human areas were not welcome, even so many years after the third war.
“How are you doing, pretty girl?” he drew out in his reedy, somewhat droning voice, as she took a breath, pulled back. “Tell me you didn’t drive all this way?”
“You’re worth the leg cramps,” she returned with a smile so gentle it was reserved for her son and someone most beloved. A vampire and maybe two, three others qualified. “I’m..” Mia paused when he aimed steel-blue eyes her way, the same way that had his inmates in order. Although her tongue remained intact, her dignity unshaken, it was her trust in the warden that had the honesty coming through. “I’m worried. How far along is the process? What is the board’s stance so far?”
Jimmy didn’t bother to smile, knowing the seriousness of the situation and sat on the edge of his desk, knowing her just enough that she wouldn’t take the offer to sit, although he gestured out of politeness and habit ingrained since he was in nappies and on his mama’s knee. Which reminded him to bring her flowers under that old willow tree she’d been buried under. “It’s not good,” he disclosed in his blunt way. “Mama and Papa LaRue got sick of baby boy whining and getting in the medical wing because inmates don’t like a wife beater ‘round here. Rapist makes it worse.”
He paused when she lifted a hand, pale as a ghost already. “I appreciate the candor but please avoid those.. terms.” They still made her sick, just as much as the memories of the actions. Mia shook her head when he started to apologize, stopping him. “It’s okay. I’m just.. punchy. Just.. keep going.”
She listened quietly, with the patience and wisdom of both an attorney and mother. The nuances of his voice, the hitch when a detail worried him—Thomas had become sweet and docile, how there were many following him like he was a leader—and the restless way he turned his wedding ring and the second that signaled a renewal of vows. She noticed everything about the warden. Habit born from years with Thomas. From the fear.
He was so close to being released and she was the only chance of keeping him in. Even that, given the heavy bills plying the appeal board, may not work.
At least, that was the impression Mia heard before shock and fear had her crumbling into a faint.
The room seemed smaller than the last time she had sat behind the warden and head of the guards in solitary confinement. The appeals board faced her, views only partially shaded by the table. A lawyer—the fifth or sixth, although Mia had lost count of how many the LaRue’s kept in circulation in case a result was unsavory.
It made her snort, derisive that they couldn’t accept the simple answer of no. They had hated when she’d refused money for an abortion and whatever else would have covered her staying away. She should have taken the damn money, minus whatever needed for the abortion; no money could have kept her away from Bruce. His father? Probably.
Given the cruel, cold smile said man was aiming towards Mia, who remained impassive except the somewhat-cocky arch of her brow, the answer amped right on up to a ‘definitely.’
Thomas had once been a lean, handsome man with a chiseled bone structure, enough talent to cover his ego, and a drive to be the very best. Having a child and marrying in high school hadn’t stopped that. Drink, drugs, and general entitlement had. That and the beauty of karma kicking his ass. Each time he had hit her, something bad had seemed to occur; a drug bust, multiple DUI’s, the pile-up of idiotic mistakes had resulted in expulsion from college, the forced employment in one of his family’s chain stores.
The bruises worsened, the cruelty to who she was as a person, as a mother, broke her. But he continued to fail.
Mia didn’t break eye contact, very clearly aware of his eyes going down to her chest, legs, stopping at her crotch with his lips pulling back in a sneer. They crawled up and she felt nothing but disgust and anger, both carefully held behind a cold, impassive exterior.
She was already crafting something to match his cruelty when his attention was pulled back to the table by the windows where the board sat. They were going to be dealt with as well. It paid, Mia knew, to be friends with some of the higher-up judges of the state and a few very dedicated cops.
In social circles, her ex-husband may have been popular and beloved. For those who’d had to deal with him on a legal level, though? Not so much.
So she waited, ammunition in her briefcase, and ready to be dispatched.
Three hours later,
Mia was pale as a ghost, both in righteous fury and fear.
They were letting him free. They were letting the man who had made her life hell, who had screamed and howled like a spoiled baby when they’d dragged him away after court sentencing, free. And he had laughed, immediately hysterical, and stood to laugh in her face.
The evidence against him had gone ignored. Everything she had said went ignored under the status of a woman making up stories, just wanting more money from her rich ex-husband.
Bastards. “Bastards,” she hissed violently and paced outside her car. Anger didn’t even begin to cover what she felt. Betrayal, fear, panic. She had fainted twice in two goddamn days, and for this? To have the system she worked with, cherished, manipulated fail her.. it was unacceptable.
So she did the worst thing Mia could do: she lost her temper and strode right back into the prison and into the appeals room. Most of the board was still there, although they paled at her presence. They knew what she held against them was true, could damn them into social and financial hell.
But Thomas was the one who let out a low whistle, smirking when she turned to him. “Always did like you walking away. How about you give us a spin around?” he crooned and reached for her hand, snagging her forearm instead and freezing when her eyes flashed with fury fresh.
“Do you really want to risk it, little boy?” she murmured, murderous intent in dark hues. His hand tightened on her arm, the ex-spouses ignoring shouts and demands of the guards and warden.
“Sure. You never could do anything to stop me.”
“My son is safe, far from you. If you come near us, I promise what you did to me will be returned back, three on three. You will know exactly what kind of hell you put me through.”
“Threats?”
Her eyes flashed and, without a single breath wasted, she tugged her arm free as his hand went limp. The curse was cast, layer on layer to cause him hell. “Promises. And you,” she added with a look at the appeals board. “I will see you in court. Warden, please see me out.”
@katrinalaw: What do you celebrate today? Day 23 of 365. Today I celebrate my fellow half Asians of Hollywood! Too often people (& studio execs) see us and have no idea “what we are,” but our Asian parents still raised us respecting the culture and speaking the language. We are a rare breed and I am so happy to share stories & laughter with beauties like Chloe who have walked the same path and experienced the same struggles. There’s a beauty in being who you are and living that truth loudly and proudly. @chloebennet #appreciate #celebrate (x)
katrinalaw: What do you celebrate today? Day 24 of 365. Today I celebrate making friends with strange new creatures and loving the little stinker in each and every one of us!! 💋 💋 💋 #celebrate #appreciate #skunk @heroesfanfest #chicago
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