It was Vanessa’s first free day back in town in a few weeks, since a whirlwind start to the year. Between wrapping the Princess Switch sequel across the pond, NY press and the LA premiere of Bad Boys, officially meeting the cast of Tick Tick Boom in New York and the gala in town last night, Vanessa had been going non stop. She had been living in airplanes and cars for days, hadn’t even taken the time to process that her break up had now been publicized to the world. All that the girl wanted at this point was time with her girlfriends. She’d seen Laura in LA, Shelly in New York and now was back in Bayview. Vanessa decided that there was no better time to hit up her little sister for some time together. She’d already spent Sunday morning at church and was hanging around Downtown, when she texted Selena to see if she wanted to join in grabbing a bite to eat at Sand Dollar. Upon receiving a response confirming lunch, Vanessa headed out of the worship center parking lot and headed towards the restaurant. The woman sat in her car for a bit, waiting for her friend to arrive before they could head into the place together.
WHO: Mercedes Jones and The Jones Parents including the littlest Jones with mentions about Rachel Berry and Ji-Hun Cohen-Chang
WHAT: The prodigal daughter returns to Castleport.
WHERE: The Jones home.
WHEN: 11/28/19; Thanksgiving Day.
WARNINGS: I am currently sleep deprived so my brain isn’t functioning beyond one cylinder. There’s a heavy undercurrent of sadness here my friends. Be safe loves.
Round my hometown
Memories are fresh
Round my hometown
Oh the people I've met
She’s home.
The two-story house still sat the same, awning jutting out over top the door. It’s the same color, even in the cool grey of deep autumn, but she can tell her dad finally convinced her mother to give it a fresh coat. Probably during the summer.
She was watching for something else that could’ve been new. Did they paint the front door again? Were those new mums in the garden? Who kept cutting the grass past October?
Short legs slid out of her car and all Mercedes Jones can do is continue to look at her childhood home. It’s not too hard to see what’s changed. To tell the gate got fixed while she was gone, the metal that once scraped the pavement now hanging straight. When did her mom find the time to plant new rose bushes? When’d her dad find the time to hang the lights before dinner? Did anyone help her mom with the inside decorations?
Everything in her view felt too clear. She’d been sure the numerous people she watched walk in and out of her house, could feel her gaze. They could feel those brown eyes stare and stare. They’d just known she was watching, waiting, appraising outfits, trying to guess what covered dishes they were bringing in. And she watched a little person at the door grinning up as they entered, a smile so wide she’s sure those cheeks are going to bust open. They’ve never been the kind of family to be insular, no the Jones’ had just about an open door policy and Mercedes remembered this time last year watching from the kitchen as the cars parked along her street and guessing.
It’s different now.
It’s sobering to stand on the street after so long, to stand and watch the people enter her home.
And God it’s heavy to stand out there.
She wasn’t sure when she moved but she doesn’t remember moving. She only remembered opening the door and the silence. Was that Donny Hathaway in the background? The little face felt out of place as it watched her. A sea of adults and one little girl with a face that reminded her of…
She couldn’t guess that right now.
She wouldn’t try to guess that right. When she stopped at the door, she waved. The gesture was small, unsure. Feeling strangely like the stories she’d heard in Sunday School as child. Another return home. This time there was no meeting down the road.
This time the feast was not for her.
This time she’d gambled away her fortunes and returned with nothing but herself and the heaviness on her chest. And the longer she stood and waved, the heavier it became.
Her father found her first.
When he pulled her to his chest, she’s sure she sobbed. She just knew everyone could hear the noise, wet and brittle and loud break through the music. They could hear her. They could hear the months of silent tears. They could hear her ruining the evening. They had to hear her pain. They could hear mourning.
All of Castleport could hear the death of her best friend.
She can’t see, but her feet were moving. The gusting wind of movement and that damn song in the background and the noise drifting farther and farther away the further she was pulled into her home. She can’t hear the flurry of feet behind her. Doesn’t see her mother’s worried face or that little face all screwed up in worry as they pull her past the kitchen to somewhere else.
It’s not her father’s careful hand that cradled her face. It’s her mother’s. The quiet sobs turned louder, turned desperate as she leaned heavily into her mother. Mercedes could hear the quiet shushing and she’s sure her mother is pushing everyone else out of the pantry with one hand.
She stopped crying, somewhere along the line. Mercedes could feel her mother rocking her slow, could feel the warmth of her breath as she hummed and just past her own tight shuffle, she could hear the song had changed.
“Mom?” She could feel the arm around her back tighten.
“Yes, baby?” She stilled in her arms.
“How long have we been here? Are people even still h--” Before the words could come out, she’s being shushed, and this nostalgia sat. Weighed just as heavily as the songs that played on the radio. This nostalgia had past visions playing. She remembers being held, in this place.
Mercedes remembered the groove of the music. It was something old, that much she knew. But just over that old groove was that gentle hum, this time it’s just above her head. This time wasn’t in the middle of her Saturn return. This time she was five. This time her mother pulled something from the shelf as a smaller Mercedes clung to her. And she could smell her occasions only perfume. That was…
“The last time we were here was Mama June’s funeral, right?” Her voice remained muffled on her mother’s shoulder and she sighed before clinging to her mother tighter.
Just a little bit longer. That’s all they needed.
Older Mercedes pulled away and sniffled as she tried to wipe clean her face. The elder Jones woman worked in the stillness of the pantry to collect herself. The mask of familial concern faded and on came the mask of the homemaker.
“Later,” it slips, and she can see the woman who so many hugged in the hallway. “You come find me later alright?” All she could do was nod. That wasn’t a request.
When she stepped back into the well-lit kitchen, brown eyes burned trying desperately to readjust.
With the light returned Castleport’s success story. She walked back out and the smile spread across her face felt wrong, a puzzle piece jammed in place. At least this time it wouldn’t move.
She decided to put on a show. She’ll pull out the keyboard from upstairs and cut the radio and call everyone around her.
The piece almost fits. She sings and plays and plays and sing, trading actual conversations for songs. When the people around her smile, her own feels a little less wrong. When she finally stood to get her own food Mercedes could see the crowd had thinned. That little face peeked around a corner, wide brown eyes watching her.
When the guests leave, Mercedes wandered. She started outside, pulling her sweater closer as she tried to not think. The leaves crunch underfoot and she’s thankful the wind pushes her around stacked corners, makes her feet and not have to think about anything besides how to move. By the time she pulls open the patio door and begins to wander the downstairs, she runs into her father’s sleeping form. He’s sprawled out on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table and it’s all she can do but stand and watch him.
Watch each breath he took. Watch those eyes she’d inherited finally appear to relax. Watch his shoulders rise and fall.
She remembers watching Tina’s dad in his coffin and the vice grip she’d had on her father’s hand then. That pain never stopped feeling so fresh and watching her own father brought a fresh wave of grief.
Walking up the stairs in her house brought a small form of relief. That grief no longer sat in the middle of her throat. Mercedes could deal with it hanging heavy on her chest.
“Mama?” She stopped short at the top of the landing and watched as her mother pressed a finger to her lips before glancing back in the room she’d just left. Tilly Jones waved her daughter closer as she pulled the door to a crack and walked further down the hallway. It’s all she can do to follow wordlessly behind her mother as they walked into her bedroom with Mercedes close behind.
She’d been quiet as she watched her mother set about for her night routine. And when the woman spoke again, brown eyes glance back up.
“You were right you know. I’m surprised you still remember that.” The confusion is evident on her face while her mother wiped her makeup off. “Mama June’s repast was here, at the house and you’d been crying all day it seemed.” Matilda paused, thoughtful and reminiscent. “I wanted to cry but you were sick all day and what kind of mother would I have been to not tend to your needs? And then I saw something of hers—I think it was a note she’d left reminding me to pickup some kind of candy for her grandbaby.”
The words tumbled out fast and when she heard her mother sniffle all Mercedes could do was pick at the bedspread she sat on. “I didn’t want to let go so you took me with you to—” The word hung in the air as her mother gripped the vanity tight.
“I did.” Matilda glanced back at her daughter, brown eyes trying to take her lost daughter in.
“It’s been tough for everyone.”
“I know Mom.”
“You don’t. You haven’t been home Mercedes.” Her voice was gentle as she pulled her hair back and rose to go to her bathroom. She stopped at the door turning back to look fully at her daughter.
“At least you haven’t been here in this house.”
“Mom, wait—“
How do you say staying away felt easier?
The silence hung as the elder Jones woman flipped on the faucet and braced the counter, letting the water empty down the drain.
“I had to see my own daughter twice at funerals. And you didn’t speak to me. You didn’t even let me know you were okay.” And the words keep rolling out. “Your brother drops off a child to my doorstep and when one of us calls you, it seems you can’t be bothered to fucking answer, but the worst part is you won’t even call your father Mercedes. I don’t expect you to want to talk to me but him? He doesn’t deserve that.”
She doesn’t know how to process any of it.
“Mercedes, I need you to say something.”
“Robin came home?” It’s the first of the questions she can process and when the frustration on her mother’s face falls it felt rather wrong.
“He’s not here now if that’s what you’re asking.” Standing up, Mercedes abandoned her spot on the bed and stood up.
“How?” Before her question can finish her mother cuts her off.
“I don’t know. He didn’t stay long. Just… dropped her off and promised to come back.” Another silence stretched over them and this time when her mother turned the faucet back on, she proceeds to wash her face and day off.
Mercedes drifted out the room and paused at the door her mother had been at earlier. Pushing the hand, she stepped into the dark room and tried to study the little form in the bed. The tears drip quietly down her face as watched and she’s quiet as she pressed a gentle kiss to the little girl’s eyebrow. When she exits the room she’s met by her mother.
“Leave it cracked. She gets scared.” Mercedes nodded. And when her mother reached for her hand, she lets her lace her fingers and kiss her cheek. When she spoke again, her mother’s voice is gentle.
“Mercedes. We need you here.” Brown eyes glanced back at the door behind them. “So if you’re going to go, please just do that. But if you’re staying. Stay. This town is not a revolving door.” Her voice picked up as she finished. “This family isn’t a revolving door. You understand me?”
from this
“A favor?” Gysella echoed the words back at Konu not for lack of understanding, but rather because it seemed like such a poor word choice to describe the situation that’d befallen her.
Though Gysella was happy to have her mother and sisters with her once more during their stay in Cayb to oversee wedding preparations, she was admittedly unnerved by just how close they were. While her Uncle was undoubtedly the pressing force in accelerating the plans for Gysella and Konu to marry, her mother was similarly insistent upon pushing for it – and found a way to address it in each and every conversation they had. Gysella suspected that the marriage would be beneficial to her mother seeing as it would retain her importance and prestige in the Golden Isles, though her mother never quite worded it that way. Everything was instead cloaked in pretty words about duty, and the importance of becoming a Queen in some respect. Gysella did not disagree with her mother – she only wanted to hear less of it.
The fact that Konu had taken it upon himself to locate guest rooms for her family as close as possible to her own was no doubt meant to be a kind gesture, but it provided her mother with the ability to have her daughter’s ear for as long and as often as she pleased. After a few brief days of it, she was at her wits’ end.
“Thank you,” Gysella said with a sigh, “but it is not a favor. It is like…” She furrowed her brows as the word for punishment evaded her, and explained as best she could: “it is like a bad thing. I do not want her to go, but I do not want to stay there…” Gysella gestured to him, her words matter-of-fact as she explained: “so I will stay with you instead.”
Konu simply did not understand how he’d made a mistake. It defied sense to him. She had mentioned, albeit indirectly, that she was homesick. Referenced a longing to see her family. Expressed jealousy that his was right here all the time. So he’d put her family close to hers. Furthermore, even though she’d asked for rooms near his on that first, awful day, he’d still ensured they faced the harbor, figuring the reminder of home would make her less homesick. Surely, her family warranted the same courtesy. There were not many parts of being King Konu fancied himself equipped for, but this was one of them, and he did not understand where he’d failed.
“A bad thing? What, like some sort of punishment?” He paused on the word, realizing that she may not know it. It wasn’t the sort of thing her useless translator would find useful, he suspected. “That is a--uh,” he searched for a word he knew she knew. “A cost? Like a tax?” She’d been learning their laws, after all. She must be familiar with the term. His mind turned back to the idea of punishment though. Were they punishing her? “Are they hurting you in some way? Because if so--” God help him, if so, he wouldn’t know what to do. He couldn’t stand for it, obviously, as her future husband and Cayb’s future king, but standing up for her could be seen as an act of war. The last thing he needed was to re-escalate the very fighting their marriage had been intended to stop.
All of these thoughts were rioting through his mind, silenced only by her final response. At that, his mind went silent, blank with shock. “With me?” he repeated. “In--in my quarters?” If she wanted to stay with him, of course she was always welcome. But that sentence, thought aloud in his own mind, brought a blush to his cheeks. There were certain aspects of their relationship which they hadn’t precisely discussed yet and, well, sleeping arrangements continued to be one of them. He schooled his voice back to normal, even if he could not make his face less hot. “Of course, yes, I’ll call for someone to move your things, if you would like to pick out some clothes for the time being.”
Audrey left a note for Freddie saying she’d be at Mateo’s place helping him to cook and that she’d be home later with leftovers, and once she did she paced, trying to kill him, trying not to let her thoughts overrun. She was scared of telling Mateo the truth, scared of his reactions. And for the quickest of seconds, before she let her better judgement take hold again, she feared he’d judge her, that maybe he wouldn’t want her in his life anymore. But then her rational part kicked in and she exhaled shakily, trying to calm down again.
She decided to change her outfit, pulling on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, wanting to be comfortable, to feel as least-constricted as she could. And finally when at least eighteen minutes passed, she headed out, and in what was probably record time, she was at Mateo’s door and knocking, worrying her lower lip and glancing around as she waited to be let in.
Most days all Scout did for exercise was kicking and pushing around on her skateboard with some yoga thrown in there to keep her zen and shit. Except this week she didn’t have her usual outlet of jamming with her band. With a bunch of pent up energy she decided it was a good opportunity to use some of those free gym passes she’d been hoarding to catch a kickboxing class or something. Standing around in her basketball shorts and sleeveless shirt made her feel slightly out of place among the other ladies, but she stood as tall as she could at five foot two. “Team up with the person next to you,” the instructor encouraged. As the woman to her right approached her it took Scout a moment to place her familiarity. “Holy shit. I’m about to get my ass kicked by a Warbettle aren’t I?” She teased.
Ben: hummed appreciatively as he plopped the spoon down into the bowl that room service had brought them. "That was a really, good idea. I haven't had ice cream in awhile, so that was... Yeah." He said with a chuckle, placing the bowl on the side table and leaning back on the bed. "How are you liking it?"
Laura: hummed softly to herself as she flipped a pancake, swaying a little bit to ease the pain of her back. Wade had slept over the night before, and she wanted to surprise him with breakfast - even if it was as something as simple as pancakes with a little bit of fruit. Once that pancake was done, she plated it and adjusted the strawberries that she'd put on the plate into a smile on top of the first pancake in the stack, and put it on the try. There was OJ, syrup and some utensils for him and she nodded with pride, before making her way back into the bedroom. "Wade, I made you breakfast, I really fucking hope you like pancakes."
location: a lake in lima
time: friday evening
summary: alistair and beatrice go night swimming at the lake
tagging: @beatricepierce
Alistair had let his parents know that he was going out before kissing both of their cheeks and getting ready in a tee shirt, swim shorts and some flip flops. With his towel thrown over his shoulder, he made his way to his SUV and made his way to pick up Beatrice, knocking on her door once he got there.
He couldn’t remember the last time he went swimming close to dark, let alone with someone that wasn’t his family, but he adored Beatrice. She was fun and optimistic, and that’s the kind of person he needed in his life.
