Alice Asher

Alice Asher || 31 || Prophet

[prophet-alice]

naecromantic‌:

“Isn’t that a saying? Something about the devil and idle hands?” His nose wrinkles for a moment, even if there’s no real annoyance that he can’t recall the rest of it. He’s sure one of his foster mother’s used to say something like that to him, but he’s alright with how hazy the memory feels.

“Anyway, he’s probably too busy taking over the world.” It’s easier to just laugh at it, as if he’s as careless as the posture he adopts. Kicked back and carefree, an illusion that he’s always clung to tightly. Who he wants to be, instead of every fear and insecurity that always seems to be fighting and screaming to make itself heard above the rest. At least they’re quieter here, quieter with Alice. 

There’s gratitude for that he rarely voices, or thinks on with any real clarity. The question of where he’d be if he hadn’t found her, what kind of group he might’ve fallen in with. Maybe he’d still be alone, and that seems even worse. Only the dead for company.

She puts genuine thought into it after he does, and a quiet laugh escapes him at the answer she finally comes to. Maybe they’re not welcome here. He can’t draw runes on the walls to keep them safe, she can’t read her cards. Or even half the things they might do if there wasn’t a man on a cross watching them just about everywhere they went. But it didn’t matter much when he didn’t expect they’d be staying that long.

“Think you’ll have to get in line. Already saw one dude with a bottle.” He stretches a hand out to toy with a stray lock of hair for a moment, as if in some childish retribution for the way she picks at his jeans. Not that he minds any of it. He craves those small affections more than he cares to admit, easier to breathe in his own frame when they’re offered.

Easier for a honest laugh to escape him when she comments on Buddha, his head bobbing in agreement. “The chillest.” 

She shouldn’t have grinned at the comment about the devil taking over the world, but a wide smile passes across her face anyway. It’s a morbid thing to smile at, something that should instill fear in them instead of that rebellious nature, but she can’t help and sit here and think it’s funny that outside these walls the devil has taken over the world and here they are sitting in a church feeling like outsiders. 

It was funny to her because she didn’t feel at home in the apocalypse run by the devil, but didn’t feel at home in a church either and if neither of those were places where she fit in, she didn’t know exactly where it was she was supposed to be. 

Probably right here. Not in this church and not in this world, but right here, next to Niko, picking at his jeans. 

She let’s Niko play with a strand of her hair, tilts her head so he’ll have easier access to it, because as much as he enjoys the affection, she enjoys it right back. Likes that there’s someone who likes her for who she is without wanting to get in her pants. Likes that there’s no ulterior motive to this friendship and no end in sight. That she doesn’t sense that Niko will one day just grow tired of her and kick her out of his life. 

She rests her chin on her arm and looks over at him, smile still light on her face as she watches him, just appreciating his existence here in the moment because she couldn’t imagine doing this without him. Couldn’t imagine any other existence for her. She would have died in that bar she’d holed herself up. Whether she’d drink herself to sleep or just let the monsters come and get her, she had been on a path to destruction. Then Niko had walked in. 

She still finds it funny she’d never seen him coming. 

“Tell me about California again,” she asks of him. 

[prophet-alice]

naecromantic‌:

Niko laughs again before he makes himself more comfortable. Feet kicking out on the back of the chair in front of him, legs stretched out and fingers laced behind his head in some attempt at casual. There’s the distant thought that the sisters would probably disapprove of that too, if they walked through the doors to find either of them like this.

But Alice had a way of making even bad ideas seem like good ones, the familiarity of her in front of him now just reminding him of golf courses and abandoned bars they’d holed up in. It made it easier to try and ignore that vague unease that threatened to crop up.

“Maybe they are the work of the devil.” He wiggles his fingers at her dramatically, even if the thought doesn’t bear any real contemplation. As far as he’s concerned it’s just her own brand of magic. Maybe not like his, but close enough.

“You think so?” He tilts his head at her, brow furrowing slightly as he gives that some real contemplation. Maybe that meant the kinder thing was to leave, before things got any more blasphemous just from their presence alone. Though he’s just as quick to wonder why they’d post signs everywhere if they were going to be selective about it.

He shrugs after a moment, because in the end he’s not really convinced there’s a god to piss off. “Buddha wouldn’t mind. I’m just saying.”  

Niko makes a joke that maybe the cards are the work of the devil and she narrows her eyes at him like the words are incredulous for her to believe. Though she can’t say for certain that it wasn’t. She just knows that her cards work. Her cards actually did what she sought out to do with them and not everyone had that sort of ability. It makes her itch to get her hands on them all the more. 

“Then the devil’s got too much idle time,” she counters and watches him him back in the chair. Like they owned the place and it’s not too far fetched in her mind. Owning whatever place they walked into and she knew this place was different. There was someone who called this place home, more than just their little group of squatters. She couldn’t do the normal things that they did when they came to new places and start to defame the walls or break down the furniture to build forts. There were expectations on behavior that she had to be distinctly aware of. 

A shrug escapes her when Niko asks if that’s what she really thinks and she doesn’t honestly know. It has her placing her hand in her chin and looking out at the little sanctuary some more. She didn’t know what to make of this place or the people who called it home. Didn’t know why they would allow other people to come and join them and for the most part, Alice wonders where the others are. If they were so inviting of people, she wondered why their little group was one of the few people who took residence here with these nuns. 

“I dunno,” she says simply to Niko. “Either way I’m gonna bust out their wine when they’re not looking.” 

She gives a snort when he says that Buddha wouldn’t mind and reaches over to pick at the bottom of his jeans, that familiarity with each other not stilling her hands or making her think that she was out of line to play with him. “Buddha seems like a cool dude.” 

[prophet-alice]

wesley-kelley‌:

It’s a loud, uninhibited thing. Alice laughing and clapping and Wes feeling incredibly normal for a brief moment. Less trapped, less surrounded by death and God and his fleet of chaste, weird wives in the building behind them. “Thank you, doll. I tried my best.” He flashes a grin, then laughs once more as she stands and appraises it, an idle comment about the sisters comes in time for a heavy, metallic creak.

Wes bolts upright, looking back to follow the sound of a shutting door in the distance. A woman in a black habit has her back turned to them. “Oh shit, one of ‘em’s in the garden.” Wes looks back to Alice. His surprise gives way to a shit-eating grin and … He bolts. 

He was gonna try and leave quietly but he can’t help the deep belly laugh as he sprints away looking a fool. Crouching low in an attempt to be hidden by the plants, his backpack in hand and dragging along with him, knocking leaves and petals off plants as he takes a sharp turn and ducks out of view. 

Alive may see where he’s hiding if she followed him quickly enough. The Sister hopefully won’t see him. Or her. He wouldn’t blame Alice for snitching. He’d probably like her more for it. 

There’s something nice about this. Something nice about defacing a religious figure surrounded by a group of nun’s and she only wishes that Niko was here because she thinks he’d get a kick out of it. But this feels like something that she can control, something that she has power over instead of being a victim of this world and that’s always been a goal of these actions. To regain control of their lives. 

One moment, they’re both there laughing about the drawings and in the next, a door is closing somewhere behind them. She turns to look over her shoulder, hears Wes’s comment and when she’s turned back, he’s already bolting across the garden. She squawks in surprise and takes off after him.

“They’ll never take me alive!” she calls to him, giggling at herself and the antics as she races to keep up. He’s darted around a corner and when she reaches the place he disappeared, she finds him crouching low in some plants. She does the same, pressing her back up against a wall and breathing heavily, her head turned away like if she doesn’t lay eyes on one of the nuns, she’ll stay hidden. 

Biting her bottom lip, she has to hold back laughter at the whole ordeal, but she looks over at Wes. “Do you think she saw us?” she whispers. “Here’s the plan. If she comes around this corner with a ruler in hand, you go for the tackle, I’ll take out her ankles.”

[prophet-alice]

wesley-kelley‌:

Her laughter’s enough of an agreement. Even if she doesn’t say as much, that’s better than a bad reaction. She’s all right. Even if her little fortune telling trick had terrified them both. She’s grinning and playing along and that’s more than he could’ve asked for right now. 

Alice flips the statue around and puts the first ruinous mark on it’s back. And it’s fucking hilarious. Wes busts out laughing when she slaps it’s ‘ass’ and hops back: over the moon with herself.  “Goddamit, doll. I’m not creative enough to do anything better than that…”

Wes takes the sharpie, stands up and looks at the statue’s back like this is the most important thing he’s ever done. He goes in. Wes draws two curves: a voluptuous pair of cheeks ready for admissions. Then, the piece de la resistance: a shit. Just a pile of shit with flies and stink lines.

“It’s free cause ya don’t wanna go there.”

There’s something liberating about defiling this statue. Something that makes it feel like they aren’t just trapped somewhere with a bunch of God worshiping and God fearing nuns that were enacting rules on them that Alice didn’t want to follow. 

She’s proud of the work they’re doing to the statue and when Wes steps up to add his own flare, she’s grinning and clapping her hands together, pleased with where he’s going with the marks he’s making. 

“Not creative, huh?” she asks when he’s finished and she can see what he’s drawn on the stone. “Now that’s fucking art,” she tells him, coming to stand beside him and rub at her chin like she were viewing some genuine piece of art in a gallery. 

“Ah shit, these sisters aren’t gonna know what hit ‘em.” 

[prophet-alice]

sistermaryhelen‌:

She gives a quiet hum when the woman answers her, not much effort placed into hiding that veiled suspicion written on her face. She’s certain it’s a personal question, just as certain in her beliefs and the unflinching nature of them. Especially now, when enough people had passed through here to prove that magic wasn’t just confined to Bible verses.

If she had always been somewhat flexible in just how literally any of them were meant to take the good book, that had only driven home a belief that it was a tool designed for something wicked. Likely one that had been used to start all this. 

It has her committing the woman’s face to memory, even if the smile doesn’t shift much.

“If your friend is looking for guidance I would be happy to sit with them in prayer.“

That sparks her humor, the smile widening into something more genuine. A slight shrug the only answer she gives at first. Most people didn’t want to know anyway. They wanted to know about the things they denied themselves. “What’s it like not being one?” she asks. “I didn’t catch your name.” 

The offer to sit with someone in prayer has Alice giving a genuinely nervous laugh. She scratches at the back of her neck and tries to make herself look as nonchalant as possible. “Uh, yeah, I’ll see if they’re up for it,” she tries to offer. 

She knows she’s probably failing at disguising herself as the person she was asking for, but there’s no way she was going to sit with this woman and start praying. Not when her own belief and religion wasn’t anywhere close to talking to some invisible deity. 

Though, when her own question gets turned back at her, she grins for a moment, shrugging like she’s honestly trying to think about what a good way to answer would be. 

“Oh, you know,” she says, trying to think of a way to explain what not being a nun was like. “Lots of smoking, drinking, getting my groove on with others who haven’t pledged their chastity to the Almighty. Fun times.” 

[prophet-alice]

naecromantic‌:

The comment earns him teeth in his shoulder, a thing that pulls a laugh from him even as they dig into leather. “Okay, ow,” he says, even if it’s only mock offense taken. He rubs at his arm, shaking his head at her as she pulls away. “Little shark.”

The question pulls his gaze away, fixating on the gold Jesus set up behind the pulpit, the windows behind it that just look out into green. It’s strange in it’s own right, that they haven’t barricaded the glass, or posted guards. His fingers drift along his knuckles, the spells he’s scrawled there in case of emergency. He’d feel better if they were marked on the walls.

But he shrugs after a moment.  “Very uh… pious.”  

Which just makes him laugh again. Faith had never been a part of his life, at least not the kind that belonged to a Christian god. It seems blasphemous to think Cas had taken that role, that all the ritual and blood he’d offered up had been to a living man, instead of a long dead one.

He changes his answer after a moment, fingers wandering across the back of a chair before he slumps down in it. “Lots of ghosts in the garden. I think they buried bodies there.”

He flashes a quick smile, only half kidding before he nods at her. “What do you think of this place?” 

The humming of the Jaws theme song escapes her and she makes another biting motion towards him, but this time her teeth don’t find purchase. There’s a lazy smile across her lips and she climbs up onto one of the pews, sitting on the back of it as he gives his viewpoint of the place. 

At first it’s just a comment and she nods her head because, yeah, this place was pretty pious. A little too much for her liking and even if she was mostly playing when she’d proclaimed her joy at not bursting into flames, there was some truth to the idea that she was stepping into someone else’s house uninvited. That this had never been and never would be where she belonged. 

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans over them, closing in on herself when he says that there’s lots of ghosts in the garden. She makes a face when he adds on that perhaps they’d buried bodies back there and she can’t tell if he’s joking or not. She wouldn’t put it passed those nuns, that’s for sure. 

Then the question comes about what she thinks of the place and she’s quiet for a little moment, staring up at the crucifix behind the pulpit. She scratches slightly at the side of her face. 

“Shit, I don’t know,” she tells him. “They think my cards are the work of the devil and banned them,” she complains, scrunching up her nose, whining a little bit because she wanted to get a good read on the place, but she also didn’t want to be the reason the group got kicked the heck out of here. 

Another moment and she looks over at him. “We probably don’t belong here, you know? If God was saving them, he’s probably pissed they let us in here.” 

[prophet-alice]

wesley-kelley‌:

“Nah. Don’t trust anyone who thinks they’re holier than thou.” Wes’ scowl returns as he says it. The most honest words he’s said about them since arriving. Or about any religious folk since he’d been lumped in with strangers. It doesn’t stop him though. “Always a buncha cunts.” 

In fact, Alice only encourages him. Especially with her enthusiasm over it all. She crosses her heart and he’s almost tempted to make her pinky swear on it too. Instead, she’s grabbing that Sharpie and gets to work like this was her life’s calling. 

Alice is literally just graffitied every child’s go-to crude image but he’s an easily amused man. A well-placed dick drawing gets him every time. Wes busts out laughing – something not helped by the way she cringes and laughs at her own handiwork.

“You’re a true fucken artist, doll.” He looks back over his shoulder, the coast still clear, “His back’s lookin’ a lil bare, don’t ya think?”

Alice laughs heartily at the comment about being holier than thou. She can’t say she fully agrees with the sentiment, but she doesn’t disagree with it either. Her run ins with religious types hadn’t been all that bad, most of it had been in her own mind, telling her just how they’d judge her for who she was and what she chose to do with her life. 

She grins as he laughs, calls her an artist and then tells her that the statue’s back is looking a little bare. “You’re absolutely fucking right,” she tells him, swinging around the statue to stand at it’s back. She trusts Wes to watch their surroundings so they won’t be pinned for this heinous deed. 

There’s something familiar about the vandalism that feels like home. Though her and Niko’s own works of art had never been something so blasphemous before, but this felt familiar. Like it always did, like just two people making their mark on a world that was no longer theirs in the hopes that even just a little corner of it could be claimed by them. 

After drawing the words, “Free Admission” with a big arrow pointing down to the statue’s butt, she gives the statue a nice slap on the buttocks before laughing and hopping back over to Wes excitedly. “Okay, your turn,” she tells him, handing him the sharpie. 

[prophet-alice]

naecromantic‌:

Niko hadn’t actively been seeking her out, but his feet still drag to a stop the moment he sees Alice. But before he can say anything she’s taking a hesitant step into the chapel, and he can’t help the amusement coloring his expression as he watches her outburst.

There’s considerably less hesitation when Niko steps down the aisle, though it’s more out of ignorance than anything else. His exposure to religion was too varied a thing for this to carry any kind of importance to him either way. At most he’d kept most of his witchcraft to a minimum, etched spells on his hands instead of the walls, even if it meant he had to go over them again every day. 

The thought skates by briefly that he wouldn’t have this problem if he’d asked AJ to just tattoo them on him years ago, but it’s not one he allows to settle. And it’s easier to ignore when Alice is reaching for him, a grin curving his lips as he bumps his shoulder against hers.

“Of course not,” he says, with absolute sincerity. Right before his hand settles on the top of her head to mess her hair. "You’re too short.”

Alice laughs and growls, grinning as she bites at his shoulder, holding her teeth there for a long moment before she pulls away and starts walking up the center aisle. Her arms hold out to the sides like she’s daring God or Jesus or the Holy Spirit or whoever to smite her right then and there. Walking into someone else’s house and she didn’t even take her shoes off. 

Stopping right in the center of it, she looks around and the smile stalls on her face because now that she’s here, she doesn’t find it so great. There’s no real sense of holiness that she can feel, just a weird...ritualistic feeling that sets her uneasiness. She doesn’t let it show on her face, but she turns back around and grabs on to a pew on either side of her, stiffening her arms to swing between them, her legs dangling as she looks back at Niko. 

“Well? What do you think of this place?” she asks him and while the tone of her voice is nonchalant, it’s something she really wants to know. She looked to Niko for guidance when it came to those sort of things and now that they were following a group instead of choosing the places themselves, Alice wasn’t reading her cards to get a feel for where they were going. It was like walking in blind and it was something she had to get used to. 

[prophet-alice]

sistermaryhelen‌:

The smile widens briefly when the woman attempts to cross herself, enough to illustrate clearly that it’s not a common practice. She doesn’t hold it against her, because she didn’t expect it of anyone they’d let through the gates. 

A question follows swiftly, little time to answer her even if she wouldn’t have denied the request. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

Though despite the lingering amusement, she does pause to give thought to it. Less because her answer is uncertain, and more how to phrase it. “People look for guidance where they can find it. Especially in these trying times. I’m sure that’s the intended purpose of it.” 

There’s a brief pause. “But the Bible is very clear when it comes to fortune telling. When people turn to cards and spirits for guidance, they’re turning their back on God. It’s one more form of black magic, one more road for the devil to find purchase in this world. And I don’t feel he needs any more assistance, do you?“

“Certainly we aren’t going to start burning people at the stake. At least not any time soon. But I would appreciate it kept out of the house of our Lord.”

For once, Alice gives a small, shy smile in return when the woman tells her she doesn’t beat around the bush. She’s not sure why she’s so cognizant of this woman’s authority, because she’d never really been one to follow religion, but there was something about her and the idea that she was one of the people who were running this place, and keeping that whole connection with God in tact, that had Alice standing up a little bit straighter and trying to look more presentable. 

The answer, at first, has her nodding her head, glad that someone can see why people would turn to tarot cards. While Alice’s own relationship with the cards and the spirituality behind it is a little different than most, she still knows what kind of connotations they bring with them for some people. And she shouldn’t be surprised when the woman doesn’t stop there. When she goes on to call it black magic, another road for the devil to find purchase. 

It has her standing there for a moment unsure what to do or say, feeling like she’d been caught red handed, hand in the cookie jar of devilry. She chews her bottom lip for a moment before nodding her head. 

“Sure, sure yeah,” she agrees, nodding her head. “God’s House, God’s Rules. I’ll, uh...I’ll tell my friend.” She grins at the woman and hopes that it’s the right answer the woman wants to hear. 

“So, um...what’s it like being a nun?” 

[prophet-alice]

@naecromantic

Alice stood in the doorway of the chapel, looking at the pews lined up on either side and the crucifix behind a pulpit at the front of the sanctuary. She couldn’t rightfully say when the last time she was at church was and even after everything that had happened with the world, she still finds herself a bit nervous and out of place just standing in the doorway. But, she takes a deep breath, holds it, and steps through the doorway. 

Just one step. Her eyes scrunch shut and she holds her breath, waiting for something to happen. The moment drags on and after a few, pregnant seconds, she opens one eye to peer around. Her breath leaves her lungs in a whoosh and she grins, taking another step and holding her arms out to her side. 

“Ha!” she tells the world, turning around in a circle. It’s then that she spots another figure in the doorway and it’s someone she’s been looking for since they’d gotten here. She grins widely at him. 

“Boo,” she takes his arm. “I thought for sure I was going to burst into flames. Guess I’m not the biggest sinner in the world.” 

[prophet-alice]

wesley-kelley‌:

Alice agrees without hesitation. They’re definitely something – that’s the better way to put it. She sits down right next to him and he can appreciate it because she seems as amused by the whole thing as he is. Or wants to be. Instead, it feels like the little he can do to say he doesn’t like this place. 

“I don’t think nuns are allowed to be pissed off,” Wes says, tilting his head as though appreciating his handiwork for more than it is.  “Kinda hoping it’d really fuck someone off. Not just piss ‘em off.”

Wes rolls his head to the side, flashes a shit eating grin Alice’s way, “Promise you’re no stitch?” He watches her a moment for her answer, he already pegs her as the sort to leave him to his shit or join in. Either way she won’t spoil his fun. No matter what she says he pulls the Sharpie out of his bag and wiggles it, “Feeling inspired?”

Alice grins right along with him. She had a feeling that he wasn’t a fan of the religious type either and that meant he was okay in her books. She’d never really been forced into religion and had never really chosen to express it, either. It simply wasn’t for her, she knew what kind of sinner people would take her for and there was no doubt in her mind that anyone who judged her for her sins were just big fat hypocrites. 

“Not a fan of the nuns?” she asks, pulling her legs up to her chest and biting her bottom like. It was like they were having a forbidden conversation in a place where the walls had ears and she resisted the urge to look around and try to see if a nun was coming after them with a ruler. 

“Cross my heart, hope to die,” she says, crossing her fingers over her chest. “I ain’t a snitch,” she adds and then beams when he pulls out the offending sharpie marker. Her smile grows wider and more devilish as she reaches out and takes the marker. “You’re looking at the Queen of drawing dicks in places they don’t belong.” 

She makes her move, stands up quickly and starts in on the statue before stepping back to view her handiwork. 

[prophet-alice]

sistermaryhelen‌:

There are more of them than she thought there’d be.

It’s a distant thought, one she doesn’t dwell on for long when it doesn’t change much. Their doors are still opened, gates closed behind them, and her rituals remain the same. Checking all the doors before she heads to sleep, keys jangling in hand. The majority of the slowly burning candles snuffed out for the night, with the exception of the one she carries.

For a moment it almost serves to startle her, a longer shadow cast as she rounds a corner and almost runs into someone. It’s short-lived, the soft, welcoming smile back in place within a moment. “Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“Was there anything you needed?”

She’s startled when she comes face to face with another person rounding the corner. She’d been looking for Niko, certain that her bestie was going to be out some place doing his normal routine of warding the place up. But the more she explored this Monastery, the more she got distracted by all the things it had to offer. A strange fascination with the religious aspect, because that had never been her life and she’d never thought it would be. 

“Oh, hey,” she greets and then awkwardly crosses herself, like that’s the appropriate greeting when coming across someone like this woman. 

“Nah, I’m just -... I’m...” she fumbles for a moment over the words before she perks up. “Hey, yeah, can I ask you something?” Without giving her time to respond, she goes into her question. “What’s your all’s take on tarot cards? You don’t think they’re like, work of the devil or anything like that, right? Asking for a friend.” 

[prophet-alice]

wesley-kelley‌:

The Lord protects us. Bullshit.

Wes hasn’t stopped scowling since the group stopped in this so-called safe haven. He moved straight through the building. Short and curt with all of the ‘sisters’. The only place that felt even slightly untouched by God was the garden. Well looked after and so very much alive compared to every other part of the world. Wes hates it. On principle. 

There were no crucifixes but there was a statue. Some saint. Wes had a sharpie in his bag but he definitely was not the one who graffitied the statue. He would never write something so obscene or draw something so childish across the forehead of a Saint.

“The sisters are sick fucks, aren’t they?” 

Alice wasn’t sure what to make of this place. It seemed like it was untouched by the way the world was outside these walls and that made her wary of it. Her fingers were itching to get on her tarot cards, but there was almost a little embarrassment to even pull them out in front of some of those sisters for fear they’d call her a witch or a heathen and cast her out. 

She’d have to find some quiet time and place to do so, maybe with Niko’s help because if they thought that about her, she couldn’t begin to guess what they’d think about Niko. 

The words bring her attention to Wes and she smiles, the same nonchalant smile she always has, and heads over to where he’s seated. She takes a seat next to him, cross legged on the ground and glances around, her eyes falling on the statue in the garden. A laugh escapes her. 

“They’re something,” she agrees with the sentiment and points to the statue. “That’s gonna piss someone off.” 

[prophet-alice]

kane-e:

The reassurance and gently pat do nothing to calm him. If anything he gets more worked up. How could she know that? Blind fucking reassurances. Empty promises ‘cause he’s a dumbass who lost one of the most important people to him. He thinks he’d have bought her a dress for this anniversary. Maybe ask her mom.

Alice spots it before he does. Kane squints. Pushing his face against the metal shelf and the floor. It is her.

Kane drops the torch, slides down flat onto his belly and reaches his arm beneath the shelf. He’s not small enough, even as he forces it, feeling the metal edge push and bruise close to cutting his arm just to reach her. Kane growls with frustration. Instead of asking for help he pushes back and grunts with the effort: Kane bends the metal shelving up. If he can’t fit he’ll make it fit.

Soon as it’s high enough to reach he dives back under, arm up to the shoulder, fingers blind in the dark till they touch it. A smooth paper surface. The second he has a solid grip he’s back out holding the photo and slapping the ground for the torch. The moment it’s lit up he breathes.

Sersh’s smiling, looking as beautiful as ever. Kane sniffles. Something he covers with a rough wipe against his nose. “That’s her.” His hands shake. It takes a moment to find himself but when he does he doesn’t go all the way back. “That’s her…” he repeats more quietly, with the panic gone he’s only got the sad-drunk left in him. Kane fails at a smile and turns the photo to Alice, holding it tight even as slight tremors still shake his grip, “Isn’t she beautiful?”

She’s getting ready to reach for it when the guy bends the shelves, drunken dumb strength getting him to reach the photograph and for a moment, Alice just sits there and pities the man. She sits back on her haunches before sitting all the way down, crossing her legs in front of her and watching him. Some people could hold their liquor better than others and she wonders if this was why he was so judgey the first time she’d come across him. 

Relief floods through him and she smiles at that, at least. Better to appease the sad drunks with something that’ll make them happy then let them sit there and wallow. She’s glad he’s found what he’s looking for and she’s about to leave him there on the floor, reaching up to pull herself up when suddenly he’s turning the picture her way and asking her to confirm the woman’s beauty. 

Alice doesn’t look at the picture right away, she just watches him for a moment. It’s almost enviable. That he had something, someone, to lose. That someone had wanted him and he had wanted someone and they had been happy and known love and cared for one another. It’s almost enviable that he could feel that sting of loss because he felt that height of happiness. But in the end, she decides that she doesn’t envy him. That there’s nothing to envy. Because of the two of them sitting here, Alice was the happy drunk and he was...this. 

She finally looks at the picture and nods her head. “Damn gorgeous, buddy,” she tells him with a sad smile of her own. She meant the words, the woman in the picture was pretty, someone capable of being loved, someone capable of being someone that people could miss when they were gone. 

“What’s her name?” she asks, smiling across at him. 

[prophet-alice]

jackwesson:

“Wasn’t the original plan” He said with a grin. “But now that you mention it, that is a damn fine idea. Think I’d need more blankets though…maybe some pillows.” 

The longer he spent on the fringes of this group, the more he was surprised. There were more than a dozen people all coexisting. Nice to see, after so long by himself. It might be easy to slip in and become one of theirs. Maybe. 

“I’m Jack, new to the club. You the lady in charge of very serious fort building supplies?” He chuckled, pleased to be teasing someone again. 

Alice grins back at the man, glad that someone at least had the decency to think her fort was a good idea. She didn’t know who he was or what his name was, but she liked him already and she hugged the fort supplies closer to her chest. 

“Hey Jack,” she greets him when he introduces himself. “I’m Alice.”

“Putting me in charge of anything would be a shit idea, Jackie Boy,” she tells him and she means that with all her heart. She’s not one to be relied upon, not even for something as simple as a pillow fortress. God knows how badly she’d fuck it up. 

[prophet-alice]

jackwesson:

The trick with IKEA was knowing where to look. What to look for. The place had been ransacked pretty early, sure. Not much left in the kitchen, and plenty of the downstairs had been cannabalized for whatever survivors could get their paws on in the early days. 

Plenty left for somebody enterprising who had put together furniture for no less than 5 younger sisters. You’d have thought they’d never seen plasterboard before in their lives. Didn’t matter. 

So he wasn’t surprised when pushing the cart around a corner he was face to face with one of the others in the group. He’d found some of the kids cooking sets, a couple of the tarps hidden behind a shelf that had come down, and the real find; a handful of still in one piece blankets. Sure, it was almost summer and hot and humid, but come fall he’d want them.

“There’s more blankets back that way.” He offered. “If you’re lookin to stay a bit warmer.”

The best part about this store was that there was plenty of fort making material. She’d made a nest for herself and for Niko if he wanted to come and stay with her. It gave her privacy, gave her warmth in the cool of the night and the dark of the store. It also, foolishly, gave her security. The way a child found security hiding under their covers from monsters. 

But now, she was out on a mission to make it better. Make it grander. Bigger, in case more people wanted to partake in Fort Alice. So she found herself wandering down aisles until she heard the squeak of a cart being pushed. She rounded the corner and came face to face with someone in the group who was stockpiling stuff for themselves as well. 

“Thanks, dude,” she grinned at the man, looking past him for blankets that she could go get to drape over some of the bedframes she’d jammed together. Though she paused and looked at him and his cart. 

“You building a fort, too?” 

[prophet-alice]

kane-e:

There’s nothing but dirt and grime under the shelves. Untouched for nearly a year. Hell, maybe years before then. The woman joins him, without question at first. Sliding down next to him. Kane takes a long moment to recognize her from her voice alone.

Distantly it registers he’d judged Alice for exactly the same thing. Tipsy and dancing to his shitty music. At least she was a happy drunk. It hits him worse, now, so easier to draw connections. Sersh’s friends drunkenly dancing, attempting to make conversation with him… They’d always think he disliked him when in fact he couldn’t stand drunks when he was sober unless it was her.

What are we looking for? Her.

He’s a mess. A fucking embarrassing mess on the floor, face smushed against the dirty ground. Kane pushes himself upright but still low to the ground. Grip loosening on the torch so he can peel the photo free from his grip. Three-quarters of their wedding photo. He slides it over to Alice, not looking away from the surroundings. Embarrassment will come later. He just needs to find her. Kane sits up fully now, back straight as he sweeps the surrounding area, torch following and so does a head rush.

“She fell.”

Alice isn’t really expecting much. Doesn’t let it bother her that he’d chastised her for being drunk and now she’d fallen upon him in a similar state. The man looked so forlorn and lost that she wasn’t going to twist that same judgment back on him now. Probably not ever. His thoughts about her probably rivaled some of her own when she was sober enough to feel embarrassment or humility. 

She fell. He tells her and holds something out so she can see. It’s a picture and it only takes her one glance to realize what it’s a picture of. Worn and loved, there’s a woman missing from it where the picture is torn and she tips her head back, mouth agape because she finally understands what’s going on here. 

He’s lost someone. 

“We’ll find her,” she says, patting his shoulder gently before he lays herself out on the ground, unashamed and unconcerned with the dirt and grime that starts to get all over them. She follows where he points his flashlight, her eyes adjusting to the light as she looks for any sign of the fallen picture. 

Spotting something a little bit away from where he was kneeling, she points in the direction of it. “Hey, hey. There. That her?” she asks, since he’s closer.