#mrwalkers

[dulcissimosagna]

             One deep breath, and then another. Mary Eunice sits in her used Chevy (a ghastly pea clean monstrosity that, unfortunately, was all she had been able to afford) desperately trying to calm her nerves, settle her erratic breathing, calm the tremor that threatens in her already clammy hand. Adjusting the rearview mirror, she moves to nervously groom herself. Brushing softly curling blond strands out of her face. There's something comforting in knowing that while she can't control of the situation--of Kit's reaction or of Jude's--she can control the arrangement of her hair, the way her shirt hangs.                     It’s been years since she’s renounced her vows, but she’s still yet to get used to the sensation of her hair being loosed from her cornette—there time she feels queerly exposed without the the thick, comforting fabric of her old habit.                     With a final breath, she reaches for the door, steeling herself again. She’s been waiting for this moment for a long time, and she’s not about to let her cowardice get the better of her now. Shoes crunching on gravel, she makes her way up the driveway, rosy lips curving into a pleased smile as she looks up at the charming country home. It makes her heart swell to see the way he’s made a home for himself, despite his tragedies. It gives her hope. She smooths her hands nervously over her long skirt, straightening her posture, and with her porcelain features set in an expression of determination she gives three firm knocks on the wood of the door. God, I hope he’s home.

[apparentlyexceptional-blog]

{ Zoe and Kit }

There was an awful lot of commotion for a lazy Sunday afternoon. She had been sprawled on her bed with a book she was hardly paying attention to held in front of her face. It wasn't as though she was paying much attention to it, though. She could barely focus on much of anything. Too many thoughts, too many worries running through her mind. Zoe wasn't sure how long she was laying there, staring at the pages where the words seemed to blur together to form some sort of image she didn't want to stare at too closely. Too afraid of what she might see.

She barely heard it at first, the chorus of laughter that rang just down the hall. It was coming from the girls, that she knew. And the longer she heard their hushed whispers and muted laughter, Zoe grew all the more curious.  Setting her book down on the twin mattress, the witch rose from the bed and ventured out into the hall. She walked up behind the group of girls huddled together - each peeking out of the large window that allowed light to illuminate the hall, effectively casting out any shadows or hints of sadness from the outside area. It wasn't until she caught sight of what they were so thrilled by that she understood.

A man. She should have guessed. A smile worked at the edges of her lips as she watched him. He seemed awfully busy, working on what seemed to be Cordelia's car. She was intrigued, if only because she'd never seen him before. He was something new. Something out of the ordinary. A possible distraction.

Zoe wasn't sure who he was, or what it was he was doing exactly. And maybe she could have asked the others; prodded for details. But Zoe always was the adventurous type. She always wanted to learn things for herself. Perhaps that was one of her greatest weaknesses. She was down the stairs before the others could really take much notice of her; out the front door before she could stop herself. Slowing her steps considerably as she walked outside, she immediately questioned herself. He was obviously busy. She shouldn't be bothering him.

But the temptation to cure some of the restless boredom that had been stirring inside of her all day was too great to resist. "Excuse me?" She fidgeted with her hands slightly, staying some distance away from him and the car he was so diligently working on. She was sure the girls spotted her now, if they were still even watching. Zoe's bet was that they were paying even closer attention, now that she was there. Wondering why she was there. Zoe didn't fully know herself. "I - what are you doing?" An idiotic question, but the only one she could think of at the moment. "I mean...what are you working on?" Anxiety plagued her. Obviously he wasn't there to talk, and she was immediately regretting her decision, but didn't leave just yet. She'd already made a fool of herself by coming down in the first place.

[dulcissimosagna]

| ✟ ;; ——                One of the most despicable serial murderers that Briarcliff Manor Mental Asylum has ever housed--                 "I'd avoid reading that garbage--if I was you, little Sister," Frank interrupts her reading, and Mary spins round to face him with a sheepish smile. "You're probably right," she agrees mildly, stepping forward. Frank smiles down at her warmly, says something about journalists being, "nothin' but sharks an' glorified fear mongers." Mary agrees, admitting that she was nervous about the murderer's arrival. Even as he'd walked up the steps this morning, Mary couldn't help but shiver at the sight of him--shackled and squinting in the light.                        "Ah, there ain't no reason to be afraid of a man like that, Sister. Not in here," The pair progresses down the wall toward the commons, chatting amicably about more pleasant subjects for a while. They part as they reach the heavy double doors of the common area, Mary muttering a quick goodbye as she pushes the doors open with effort.                         Scanning the bustling area, wrinkling her nose against the pungent scent of the industrial cleaner used to mop the area, Mary spies the usual inmates, smiling slightly at Pepper when their gaze meets. Her eye catches on the boy at her side, looking sullen in his seat. "Mister--Mister Walker. Good morning," she greets with an apprehensive brightness.