You're Not Here

indie Cheryl Mason from Silent Hill 3 and Dead By Daylight

[soulguarded-blog]

ohreinsof​:

The reaction was to be expected, but what Sandalphon gets from this person isn’t the biting words, isn’t the thorns she initially exposes. It is the way she flinches when his voice rings out. Different from someone who was caught doing a bad thing. It is the reaction of someone who was trapped for so, so long.

Sandalphon knows the feeling well. Perhaps it was why he identified it in such a way, or simply… projected it. Either way, he was not gonna press the issue further. Everyone has their burden to bear. What he does is simply move towards the counter, stopping just for a second to take a better look at the girl talking to him. The dirt did not seem out of place considering some people he had met, but the blood on her clothes was… harder to ignore. But he continues to do so. 

If she is here, then the Singularity had accepted her. And Sandalphon trusts that person enough to accept their judgement and decision. The primarch continues on his route, simply deciding to pick one cup and putting down in front of her. 

“If you don’t tell me what you want help with, probably not.”

There is no bite to his words, he is simply not letting it go. Almost childishly. There is no real hostility. No reason, as he now is focused on his craft once more; again thinking about this stranger’s words. Odd. 

Odd and uncomfortable, at the bare minimum. Sandalphon understands, and yet wishes he did not. What did he do when he joined was no different. It was hiding. It was avoiding. It was being active when all the other members were asleep. It was running from the warmth, running from the sun. He still does that now, just… not as bad. Not as obvious. 

“I understand. And you can say that I run this place, though it is far from what I want with it.”

He raises his eyes to look at Cheryl once more. For whatever reason, he just accepts her presence. It took so many tries from a lot of people, but here he is. Brewing coffee for a total and complete stranger, simply because her tired and lost gaze was not something he could leave alone.

“Here.”

The filled coffee cup is then pushed gently at her direction, along with two small jars. One containing warm milk and the other one sugar cubes. He didn’t judge (openly). There was a fair share of surprises with how differently people enjoyed their coffee. Again, he finds himself staring. Probably thinking too much. Curiosity gets the better out of him, and wins over manners. She must be a new arrival. But there is something out there, something he can’t really explain. Something wrong, something amiss.

And it is unfortunately his duty to make sure whatever this unknown gut feeling that he has isn’t anything really bad. He is not wholly unfamiliar with relatively tame people being capable of truly horrible things. 

Sandalphon knows this too well.

“… Your name. What is it?”

The cup slides over to her and she watches it slosh and settle. Watches the steam rise from it. It reminds her of something from too long ago, yet not long enough. Reminds her of home, a place she’ll never turn to. Reminds her of early mornings, rolling out of bed to see her dad over the stove. Doing his best to make them both something, his coffee cooling beside him.

She remembers him offering her one, every morning. Breakfast and coffee that was always a little too dark, too bitter for her tastes. She remembers complaining, playfully, that he’d never make it as a barista. ‘Don’t quit your day job for this’ she’d said then.

She remembers her father laughing.

She remembers so much.

And it fills her with loneliness.

Cheryl wraps her hands around the cup. It’s warm, and real, and grounding. Takes her out of the melancholy of her memories, plentiful as they are they will haunt her another time. And she’s more than okay with that, being here away from everyone else with someone who at least doesn’t seem inclined to be nosy right now. Being given a little bit of time away from confronting her past is perfectly fine, refreshing even.

She holds the cup a while longer, before she reaches over to the offered milk and sugar and adds barely any of both. 

Just the way her dad always made it.

“Thanks.”

It’s only then that Cheryl really comes to realize just how changed she is. How much more sad she sounds. Sad and lost and scared. How much of that girl who was a ball of anger and hurt was burned away. ‘Time to roll the credits’ she’d said at the end, time to roll the credits for what? Her life? Her entire person?

And she hates it, but what can you do. As far as she was concerned at this point, the world really had it out for her in a way she could only somewhat struggle against.

The sharp bitterness and the burning heat of the coffee pulls her out of her anger this time, and once more she’s thankful for it. 

It’s hard to exist anymore. Not without something rooting her back in place.

She takes another drink to stay a little more rooted in reality than her thoughts before Cheryl even thinks to talk again.

“The name’s-”

‘Heather’ almost comes out. She doesn’t really know this man, doesn’t really know the rest of the crew and that scared part of her reaches back. Back into the memory of her dad holding onto her after he killed a man: 

‘We’re going to call you Heather, it’s a very pretty name and it’s to keep you safe okay? Don’t tell anyone your real name until I tell you to, okay sweetheart?’

She chases the fear away, opts for the real name her father gave her once upon a time:

“Cheryl, Cheryl Mason.”

Because here there is no one here hunting down Cheryl Mason so she will be okay. She can open up, just a little to someone who gave her a small offering of sanctuary from the rest of the crew.

“So, Really Helpful Barista Man. You got a name to share or is that just what I get to call you from now on?”

He’d already shown her enough that whatever teenager snappiness she could muster would bounce off of him and Cheryl. Well she’d been a good girl once, then fell right into being a rebellious, snarky teen. She could do it again.

Probably, anyways.

[ohreinsof]

prayer to the lost;

It was not uncommon to see people come and go from the crew; sometimes it was more than one could keep track of. The Singularity had a way with people, to sometimes offer them a promise of change. A safe place, a way to fulfill what they desired. This was not entirely wrong, but what they did was simply push people towards the right direction. 

A skill that Sandalphon lacked, but admired. Most of times he would tend to the plants he decided to raise, refine his craft and… simply be. Not exactly someone who was willing to help people, but as he decided to set up shop there has been a couple of individuals who would decide to sit down for a drink in return for their opinion about it… and some that would simply sit and try to chatter with the primarch (to varying degrees of success), and to say it confused him was an understatement. He had knowledge of Ladiva’s place, and people would find it to be another thing entirely if they thought Sandalphon would extend the same warm hospitality as she did. 

It was still a tad awkward to be with people, after all. He did not push them away, but there was no real effort to open up. A mystery how their Captain managed to do the same, but mask their efforts so much better. 

So he had no reaction to the woman standing in the room, staring at the equipment he managed to buy from the last place they visited. Again: he was no stranger to the fact that it was common to have several different people abroad the ship. Did not make it less weird, especially to someone like him… to sense something was wrong. Amiss. 

Maybe she noticed him behind her, or maybe she was just too fixated on what was in front of her to have any kind of situational awareness. His eyes went to the uncommon clothes she was using, but something inside his head could not simply dismiss it as some unique kind of fashion sense. There was something wrong, and one of his hands gripped the sword he carried gently. 

There was no threat, however. Whoever was this, had no hostility. Sandalphon shrugged before giving up and now resting the same hand on his hips. 

“… Can I help you?”

Certainly too weird to be any kind of “customer”, too odd to be a thief. That combo seemed to fit the weirdness of the skies just fine.

[soulguarded-blog]

She doesn’t exactly startle.

There’s no obvious jump, no frightened noise, no whimper. But she pulls into herself so tightly, makes herself a little bit smaller as her crossed arms cling just a little tighter. Her legs straighten and back bends. A cornered animal ready to run, such a far cry from the raging spitfire of a woman she used to be. 

‘I’m safe’ she thinks ‘I’m safe here. I’m safe. This is not hell. He is not here to hurt me.’

Whoever is behind her is not the multitudes of masked men and women at the behest of a malevolent god. He is not a man of the cloth - and could not be because she’d seen to it to snuff out those lives before - but most importantly they did not exist here. She knows that whoever is behind her is a good person. They are good and trusted because they belong with the Captain, a person who drew good people to them like a moth to flame.

And sometimes they drew in people like her. 

Troubled people and people who were so bad. So so bad, and so so sad. But by whatever god there was here, they were trying. Trying to be anything but so so bad and so terrible sad. Usually anyways. She is no stranger to those who simply revel in who they are, no matter where she may physically be.

So, she thinks, by process of elimination whoever is behind her is. Just fine. Besides, who exactly is going to get on an airship and barge into a cafe just to. Just to do away with her.

Cheryl relaxes, little by little looks a little less frightened. But she keeps her arms close, guarded, while she turns on her heels and tries to will some of that biting sarcasm and flare of sass she used to have. That she used to get in trouble with, that used to make the problems of the world bounce off her.

“I dunno can you.”

Nailed it, as the kids might say. But there’s only so much of her old self she can muster on a whim, whatever was leftover from the ravenous spider god that tore at her and the years of. Too many feelings about exactly one too many things. But she reconsiders that approach for a moment, eyes darting from him to his sword and something like fear tries to worm its way back.

To Cheryl’s credit however, she doesn’t particularly back down after coming off so poorly. Just lets the silence stay for a moment until it becomes just a hair too awkward for even her to stand it. One of her hands finally lets go of an arm and finds its way to her neck, rubbing nervously enough to betray her prior snappy bravado.

“I just needed to be somewhere not out there y’know.”

She hopes he understands. The crew is nice and all but. Sometimes overbearing, overwhelming. After being tossed around by life, and then a little more it was hard to always find the abundance of character to be comforting at all. Sometimes someone just needs to run away from it, in the darkest corner that they could find.

So, Cheryl found the darkest little corner she could hide in.

“You the guy that runs this place or...”

[residentdevious]

Memory of Alessa

[residentdevious]

Heather Mason

[soulguarded-blog]

haha im in danger