they had gotten on the wrong foot when they first met. when lilah had caught wind of someone like jane, someone that could be a potentially powerful weapon if allied with wolfram and hart, she had no hesitation in trying to swoop her up. of course angel and his band of do-gooders got to her first and corrupted her with a sense of goodness. ugh, how annoying. but, now @shadowedvales had come to her in desperate help to get any information she could on portal jumping and dimensions — to help cordelia get back. why the hell would she ever help get her back? but, when lilah had pondered a little further, she realized she could use this little favor to her advantage.
so, lilah had given her a few rare texts that only wolfram and hart had their hands on. ❛ well, here it is, all the latest on the fancy portals your people need to get your precious cordelia back, ❜ she stated, sliding the texts to her across her desk.
don't think this changes anything between us.
a soft laugh escapes lilah's lips, ❛ i didn't think they would, ❜ she first responded, arms folded over her chest delicately. ❛ but, since i scratched your back, you can scratch my back ... everything comes with a price, jane, ❜ and then she places a protective hand on top of the texts, a single brow raised inquisitively with an accompanying smirk.
A GUILTY EXPRESSION passes across Steve's face as he lifts up his baseball cap, running a hand through his hair before he settles the hat back down on top of his head. He struggles to tell her, but she looks at him with a fierce determination and Steve doesn't have it in him to lie.
" --- A while, yeah, I'm sorry, Jane." and Steve truly does look apologetic, frowning as he looks over at her. "It's just... Chief said you weren't allowed any visitors, and..." He shrugs his shoulder a half inch, "--- You know how he gets." Adding rapidly, he continues, " --- but it's not for lack of trying. Henderson convinced me to go over with him to make sure you were good." He pauses, looking at her steadily, " --- You didn't look too good."
Steve then turns to his backpack, opening it up and holding out an assortment of snacks. "Didn't know what the big guy was feedin' ya -- probably healthy stuff, so I figured you could use some real snacks."
All new student records post-2000 have been digital--and what a fight it was to make the Board agree to that--but something made Larissa reluctant to put this information on the cloud; she has a sense of this particular file as vulnerable, and of the child in question as hunted, and she does not want something (pardon the term) hackable. She has reverted, in this case only, to an old-format physical file; she has dragged out an electric typewriter unused since her early school days, and in a combination of handwritten and typewritten notes, tracked the profound and wonderful progress of the child called “Eleven.”
Elle. That's how she's begun to sign her name now. Turning an unfortunate designation into a mark of her individuality.
(Larissa is unwillingly conscious, whenever thinking of young Elle, that she is particularly sensitive to this student. That the part of her which professional distance requires to be inactive--that is to say, her heart--is nonetheless active in Elle's presence, when thinking of Elle, when talking about Elle. That the throb of pride she feels when she sees that name, carefully written in the child's own cautious hand, is not appropriate to her position; that she cannot stop it; that she ought not to care.)
There is a sheaf of new papers in the file today. They've been provided to Larissa not from Elle's tutor, but from a private detective in her employ. She's invited Elle to her office to discuss them.
Her curling, dark hair has begun to grow out (thump from her irrational heart) and though she's filled out some, with a touch of color in her once-hollow cheeks, she still looks (thump again) terribly small, incredibly innocent. Larissa, with the file in her hands, hates to feel that she is placing a fresh burden on those small shoulders (and as she's been told by the infirmary head, those shoulders might never reach the full height they were meant for; early malnutrition, thump-thump-thump). With a gesture she invites Elle to sit with her in the leather armchairs before the fireplace.
“Elle,” she says, “thank you for coming. Don't worry--you're not in trouble. I have some things I'd like to discuss with you, so I can have your opinion on what I ought to do next. May I pour you a cup of tea?" (She never has tea with students.) » @shadowedvales
NOSFERATU SENTENCE STARTERS. ACCEPTING.
“ may i... stay with you tonight? ”
@shadowedvales. lucas sinclair & janessa ives.
lucas may be one of the more emotionally intelligent members of the party ( that much is apparent by his readiness to take janessa out, provide a distraction from whatever turmoil may currently trouble her ) but he is still a teenage boy after all. his honest intention may well have been to give his friend a welcome reprieve at the palace arcade, but one round of dragon's lair had sucked him in. one became two, two became nearly all of his pocket money, and before he realised it he was engrossed in the lights and sounds of the machine with little to no regard or remembrance for his current company.
it is only when her meek request shines through that he turns once again to look at her, blinking as if out of a stupour as the GAME OVER screen flashes its announcement of defeat. his high score will simply have to wait. hands depart from their bewitched stance upon well - worn buttons, and he smiles sheepishly in an unspoken admission of guilt for his attention having strayed so sharply. his enthusiasm compensates more or less, no trace of hesitation in his acceptance.
❛ course you can ! ❜ it comes out in a rush, all one word. corshucan. a hand comes to gingerly clap her shoulder, not quite pulling her in towards him ( because still he knows how she can flinch, how touch is a treacherous deceiver that is best treated with care ) but all the same giving that comforting feeling of proximity with his palm.
❛ i'll get mom to sort you a bed. you just, uh— miiiiiight have to deal with erica. ❜ his face contorts into a scowl, for sisters are ultimately the worst blight to mar this land and he pities jane for being a girl if it means that ungodly room share is the fate she must face. there is a beat of pause between this humorous brotherly love and his next words, as if reflection is dawning on the inattentive nature of his friendship in the last few hours. ❛ hey, sorry i zoned out on you there for a bit. do . . . you want to try ? ❜ he cocks his head in the direction of the dragon's lair title screen, the words looming and ominous. pinched between his fingers he offers her a gleaming trove : his very last 50 cent coin for her to push into the slot.
@shadowedvales sent ❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜
kat looked down at where elle's fingers worked to clean her wound. they couldn't have an injury like this out here. it was something they had to take care of right now before the scent of blood started attracting walkers. she'd been stupid, climbing a fence they hadn't been sure they could make it over. it was one of those big wrought iron fences with the spikes on top, and when kat had climbed over it, she'd caught her ankle on one of the spikes. the side of the metal was raw and she'd scraped her ankle over it. as soon as she'd jumped off, she'd realized her ankle was pouring, gushing blood. they'd had to stop and deal with that before they continued on. "i'm ready for it," kat assured her with a slight grimace. she knew it was going to hurt when elle poured the alcohol over the wound and when she started to stitch it closed. she wasn't going to enjoy it, and it was definitely going to leave a scar, but kat was ready for it.
okay. so i have been thinking about you in general for a while now, but the fact that it’s nye (well, nyd for me! i’m living in the future!!) prompted me to finally message you. you are one of my favourite people on this silly little site, and i really, really mean that. your writing is spectacular, your posts about wednesday are always so passionate and detailed, and i just really really adore everything you’re doing with her. and that you’ve kept it up even after the wednesday rpc died. i am so glad you didn’t die with it!! i’ll never forget the day you messaged me about being affiliates, because when the message popped up on my phone, i was literally watching jenna ortega in a show on television. in that. exact moment. and seeing her made me think of you, and i remember thinking to myself ‘when this is over, i’m going to pluck up the courage and ask veronica if she’d like to be affiliates.’ but you beat me to it! i know we don’t get to write or chat heaps these days, (and that’s purely on me bc i have been so slack lately), but i hope you know that i treasure every single conversation, every single thread we’ve ever written. you’re such a special person, and i’m so so lucky to know you. you’re so talented, thoughtful and kind, and i!!! i hope that 2024 is everything you hope it will be, and more!
as always, i'm going to put a uno reverse on you and i'm afraid i might have to use the read more function.
frankie my beloved! words can't even begin to describe how grateful i am for you being part of my silly life. believe it or not, it's been almost a year since we've became mutuals on this hellsite (it was 20th january, according to my previous blog) and honestly? i have no idea when the time has passed. but i want you to know that i treasure you and any of our interactions so much, be it ic or ooc.
now i gotta admit it's lowkey hilarious how that specific conversation went down. and i'm here to say : GREAT MINDS THINK ALIKE. otherwise, i can't phantom how we both thought of the same thing at the same time. i can assure you i am not some kind of mind reader, the only tricks i can pull (and poorly, at best, may i add) are ones with cards. therefore, the only valid explanation is that we have great minds that maybe share one brain cell.
joke's aside, this is now my time to tell you something i've been meaning to for a while now. i've admired you and everything you do for that matter ever since i found your janessa blog. and btw, in my mind your janessa is an oc. like, i know i follow many other wonderful people writing eleven / jane, but i swear my brain can't comprehend that it's the same character. and particularly your version of janessa is something else. you got me to the point i actually think stranger things' el birth name is janessa. still baffled that it isn't. but i only know of janessa, written by the one and only frankie. i am so glad i gathered the courage to ask you to be affiliates because, first and foremost, you helped me a lot when it came to understanding how my own version of wednesday works. but wait, there's more!!! i hope you won't take this the wrong way, and hopefully i'll phrase it accordingly, but i was and still kind of am intimidated by you and what you do writing - wise. not in a im afraid of interacting with you, but moreso i am in awe at everything you do. i can see you put a lot of thought in janessa and what comes out is just too beautiful to be true (and it is true??). you're a bloody brilliant writer and tbh you inspire me to delve deeper into my own characters. i adore everything you do, but even if you weren't, who you are seals the deal. you're an amazing friend and icb this hellsite made it possible that i got to meet you.
it doesn't matter when you respond to me. it doesn't matter what you do with your blogs. because no matter what, as long as you'll have me, your local cryptid, i will follow you into the infernal pit and back. while it's true that i love wednesday and janessa interacting, i treasure the vero and frankie ones more. no matter how frequent it is. i'm glad i've met you. and you won't be getting rid of me easily (this is a direct and immediate threat btw). whether we'll pull a mind reading again or just chill, i'm looking forward to it all. i love you and your brand and i'm glad you too survived the stranger things purge that keeps on coming and going lmao
the girl seems to come from another world altogether. the nurses gossip to each other between various "treatments" about her, which tugs at johanna's heartstrings ( no one should be talked about as if they're an object ), yet she cannot help but listen in. apparently, she was brought to them wearing trousers. a girl no older than thirteen in black trousers of a strange fabric. the length of her hair makes johanna wonder if she was forced to sell it before this. in whatever world she came from. there was the occasional joke that the girl must be irish. on the only occasion she ever heard the girl speak, she didn't sound irish. foreign, but even johanna, after years of being locked away in the bedroom, knew she wasn't a brutish walking stereotype of a neighboring country.
she was nothing more than a young girl with cropped hair and wide, brown eyes that remind johanna much of a starved rabbit with a fate as doomed as the rest of them: a lifetime rotting away in a madhouse. ( but johanna still sings. she sings despite the complaining from the nurses and the ways they discipline her before of it. she sings despite her hankering exhaustion and the moment where she squeezed her eyes tight and wished she could end it all. if she doesn't sing how will anthony find her? )
today, they've somehow ended up near each other. the little girl and her. johanna doesn't move from the window until she's dragged away, even then her fingers grip at the bars until she's bloody and bruised. why the girl joined her today is none of her business, really. no one talks to each other in here. no one has any reason to make a new friend. besides, there's no telling who she could trust. any one of the women around them could have blood on their minds. perhaps, the girl just needed some fresh air, too.
❝ are you sick? ❞ despite herself, johanna hears the question in her own voice. she doesn't talk to people here. not even the ones that seem perfectly sane but ended up locked away for various reasons. yet, her gaze turns down to the younger girl beside her. ❝ i've heard you coughing. it sounds like you are. because if you are -- ❞ tone lowers ❝ -- don't tell anyone. they'll bleed you out. ❞ a faint memory exists in the depths of her mind of being pinned down by the strong arms of several nurses and watching in frozen horror as her own skin was cut open and she watched blood drain. ❝ that's what they do when you're ill. ❞
