Sandcastle Mixup || Hazel and Vic
TIMING: Current, sometime after Footprints in the Sand
PARTIES: @appalachiannightmare @natusvincere
SUMMARY: Vic and Hazel accidentally get paired up in the sandcastle contest... TOGETHER.
WARNINGS: N/A
Since getting out of the hospital well over a month ago, Hazel just hadn’t felt very Hazely. She felt more like a grandma who lived a confined life with her weak little garden of weeds, snails, and aphids; her crop not yielding a damn thing due to the lack of care or interest she had taken in it lately. Instead, she had become like a hermit, and it was starting to show. All the friends she thought she had been making were out living their own lives and even Maggie, her giant gummy worm partner in crime, had just disappeared. It was depressing to say the least, and even though Hazel was used to going through it, everything that was finally starting to look up was starting to look down again, except for her occasional visits from Ms. Betty, who continued to stockpile her with sweets. Sweets she was honestly getting tired of, so as much as she hated to waste food and something that was made with love and care, Hazel gently dumped the container into the garbage can and sat the empty tin on the counter to return to her neighbor when she didn’t feel quite as morally bad.
“Okay, I can’t sit here with my guilt of wastin’ food no more. I gotta get outta here and do somethin’ at least fun.” The words were spoken to no one, but herself, but it seemed to be the pep talk she had needed to get dressed and step out into the sunlight for the first time in a while. And like a creature of the night hissing at the brightness, Hazel squinted and let her eyes focus, before heading off on an adventure for the day to the beach.
—
Guilt. It was pervasive- ever lasting, gnawing and pulling and eating at you from the inside until you felt sure you were going to be ripped in half from the strain. Vic was no stranger to guilt. She felt it about her first kill, all those centuries ago, and about the ones that followed. She felt it now constantly, when she thought about the harm she’d done to vampires over the years on her misguided revenge quest. Motherhood, too, was filled with guilt, especially in her case. Was she giving Rosie enough? Would she be able to provide her with the life she was meant to have? With all this guilt, this awful, buzzing feeling weaving forever throughout her life, simple cases of guilt shouldn’t have bothered her so much, right?
So why did she feel so guilty over a few stupid fucking sandcastles?
She’d never had the displeasure of someone else destroying her art before, but she couldn’t help but think about what those people must have felt when they arrived at the beach the morning after she and Mateo had destroyed it and found everything in ruin. If you could call those crass, amateur sculptures art, that is. She figured the best way to quell this guilt was to join the contest herself. A sort of last minute donation to the town of her skills. It wasn’t like she hadn’t entered their bizarre art contests before. And besides, ‘statement’ seemed like the best, most important category to sculpt sand about, because she could think of about a billion things to make a statement about that this town needed to hear. She had picked the most important one, probably, and the town was going to thank her for her efforts. It was why she found herself, now, staring down at a plot of sand the town said was hers to do what she wished with. She huffed, setting down her bag next to her feet and looking over the small plot, wondering how to get started.
—
The flyer had come out of nowhere as Hazel hopped off her motorcycle and ran in to grab a cup of coffee. Energy was something she constantly longed for these days, and unfortunately, she had picked her unhealthy coffee habit back up. But as she stood, waiting for her name to be called, the young woman uncrumpled the flyer and took in the words, “Sandcastle Contest”. She hadn’t planned on it, but a day at the beach did sound fun, especially one that meant mostly sitting down and sculpting sand into something fun and creative.
Hazel. Hearing her name called, she quickly grabbed her coffee and headed out the door. The day was young, and she wanted to make the most of it. But by the time she arrived, after purchasing a cheap sand pale and shovel from a nearby Gangreens - which was oddly built just like a Walgreens - and found a parking spot, the beach was already filled with other people who had the same idea.
“I’m here to check-in for the sandcastle building contest?” With a smile and a small plot of sand assigned to her, Hazel happily made her way to her little area of the beach, only to find someone else standing and staring at her spot, “Uh, excuse me, but this spot was assigned to me for the sandcastle building contest…”
—
Vic bit her lip, wondering how exactly she could make her theme work. It felt like a big responsibility, to make a sandcastle with a statement, but she was determined to do it right. Before she could make any headway, someone shook her out of her thoughts.
She looked over at the woman and waited a beat. When no one said anything, she looked around, down at her plot, and then back across to her. “I’m sorry, are you speaking to me?” She shook her head, stepping closer to the woman. “You’re wrong, actually. This spot was assigned to me for the sandcastle building contest.” She felt it necessary to pull her plot assignment out of her pocket, haphazardly handing it to the girl to verify that she was, in fact, the correct one. “See? Plot number 15- Vic Larsson.”
She looked the woman up and down, squinting her eyes in suspicion. “This isn’t some kind of scam, isn’t it? What, your phishing emails weren’t enough, now you’re trying to phish me in person? I’m not clicking on your link ‘Princess of Nigeria’, so you can just turn around and go home!”
—
Hazel was a bit taken aback by the woman’s reaction. It was as if she had committed some heinous crime of daring to speak. Like she was a peasant to the Queen of England. But giving a quick glance down to the paper in her hand to double check and make sure she wasn’t wrong, it read Plot number 15 - Hazel Williams, “Uh, no…I’m not wrong. Mine says Plot number 15 - Hazel Williams. See?” Sticking the paper out, she realized she was showing it to the woman upside down, “Oh, sorry about that.” As soon as it was upright, she stuck it back out, “See? Plot 15.”
All she had wanted was to come and have a good time, and so far, what had started off to be a good day, was starting to turn into something not so good, especially when Hazel finally realized why the name Vic Larsson had sounded so familiar, “Wait…first off, I’m not trying to scam you, and where would I have you click a link?” She creased her eyebrows in confusion, “Second off, my name is not Princess of Nigeria. It’s Hazel. Hazel Williams. And, I’m gonna ask this as politely as I can, but are you that person who's been pesterin’ the crap outta me online about Sour Patch Kids and not givin’ my lawn customers enough free stuff?” She could feel the frustration welling up in her, but it had felt different without her devil trying to force its way out.
—
Vic squinted her eyes to look at the paper, realizing that the girl was right. Hazel Williams. What a ridiculous name. “It seems whoever put themselves in charge of this event is a disorganized, unprofessional goon.” She looked over at the plot, calculating. “It’s too small to split into two and make any effective statement.” The statement, of course, was the most important part of this activity. Perhaps they could come up with some sort of compromise.
“Your name is an eye color”, she said plainly, picking up her bag from the sand. As Hazel Williams spoke more, Vic’s eyebrows rose with realization, and she smirked at the irony of the small town life. “If you think that’s pestering, you’ve got a lot to learn about life. You can’t put your problems on the internet and expect well meaning, society-driven individuals to chime in. I’m sure you’ve been surviving just fine without the gelatin and red dye 40”. She looked Hazel up and down, remembering an injury being mentioned. “I assume you’re healed, then?”
She looked back at the plot, blinking with the knowledge of something she already realized. “Because of the town’s laziness in their hiring practices, it seems we are going to have to share. Are you fond of teamwork, Hazel? I have the perfect statement already in mind.”
—
Hazel stifled a laugh when she heard Vic call the person a goon, “Um, I don’t think that’s very nice, but you are right about the plot bein’ too small.” Which sucked, because she was sure whatever Vic wanted to build was going to be a Karen’s wet dream and an eyesore to everyone else. Of all the people she had gotten paired up with, why in the world did it have to be Vic Larsson. She would’ve much rather been paired up with a grandma or a five year old, because at least they probably had more to offer than putting down other people.
“Um, yeah. It’s also many other things, but great observation…I guess.” This was going to be a long day, but when she looked around, it seemed as though all the other plots were taken. And instead of acknowledging the internet comment, she skipped it, “Well, I guess as healed as I’m gonna be. I’m alive, so I suppose that’s what matters the most.”
Hazel tossed her pail and shovel down in the sand, before kneeling beside it and settling into a spot, “I played soccer for most of my high school days, so I’m pretty good with workin’ on a team. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?” She looked back up to Vic with a cheesy grin hoping to at least annoy the woman, “And what’s your idea, because I’m already assumin’ I’m not gonna get a say in any of this, am I?”
—
“It’s actually incredibly kind of me. I could have said a large number of worse things about the goon. They should be thanking me for calling them a goon. And not fining them, of course.” She adjusted the bag on her shoulder, shaking her head. No one ever got anywhere by lying to people with false niceness. It was a preposterous idea.
Vic looked over at Hazel, shaking her head. “Nonsense. There are plenty of things that matter more.” She paused to unzip the bag before she continued. “You being ‘as healed as you’re going to be’ sounds wildly mediocre. Were your doctors goons as well? I think your mental and physical wellbeing, as well as your happiness, a roof over your head, a consistent and clean water source, access to fresh food, and the ever-growing threat of global warming all matter more than just ‘being alive’. Don’t you?”
She stared at Hazel blankly at her quip, considering. Teamwork often didn’t make the dreamwork. Especially when the team had no real leader. People needed structure, and delegation, because there were too many known instances of whole societies crumbling just because one lone fool wanted to try ‘team work’. Didn’t Hazel realize that you couldn’t trust that a tyrannical fool would always try to overtake that idea anyway? Instead of answering, she turned her bag upside down, where dozens and dozens of cigarettes toppled toward the sand beneath them. “My daughter and I sometimes go on nightly walks on this very beach. Every time, we end up picking up more trash than seemingly humanly possible. I propose our statement be about littering. And the damaging, long lasting effects it’ll bring us.”
—
Hazel wanted to laugh. She really wanted to. To just let out a loud and hardy snort that caught everyone’s attention at the ridiculous amount of words and Karenisms coming out of Vic’s mouth. She had been taught not to judge other people. She had been trying her best not to judge other people. It was in the Bible, right? The text she was currently and had been struggling with since before she had run away from home many years ago, but Vic was making it so hard. This woman had been one of the judgiest people she had ever laid her eyes on. Constantly coming in on her high horse like Lady Godiva living her life to make a statement.
All Hazel wanted to do at this point was run the other direction, so she didn’t have to hear this woman judge her for her own life choices, or how she chose to present herself or talk. But the young woman had never been a quitter, even when things got really hard, and this was like water under the bridge compared to the last month or so of her life, “Yep, they’re all goons, even the doctors.” Agreeing would get her farther than arguing.
However, as soon as she saw the cigarettes dumped out right in front of her, her eyes widened. Hazel couldn’t deal with people littering. It had been a huge pet peeve of hers, because nature had been her home for quite some time now, when she didn’t have anywhere else to go. So while giving up and spending her day doing something else had been more enticing, making a statement about litter did seem like something she could see herself doing, “You know what? I’m not even gonna argue against that. I spend most of my time outdoors when I can, and I don’t want to see people continually destroyin’ the only place we got to live in. So where do we start?”
—
This eye-color girl clearly wasn’t too pleased with her, but Vic very rarely spent her time caring about what other people thought about. She had stopped caring long ago, when she’d decided there was no question whether or not people cared about what she had to say or think about. It was certainly easier than the alternative.
She thought on Hazel’s words, her dismissal of it all, and felt a pang of sadness for the girl. She truly believed it- that just being slightly healed wasn’t the answer to all of life’s problems. Whatever the girl had gone through had left her injured enough for a hospital stay-... that had to have some lasting mental effects, right? But here she was, dismissing it as if none of it mattered. After a beat, she replied- “And do you have any medical debt?”, simply because she didn’t know what else to say.
She pressed her lips together in a smile, pleased with herself that her statement had reached the right ears. Of course, anyone in their right mind would be thrilled with this statement, and it was a relief that Hazel had a good head on her shoulders. “That’s where I’m a bit stumped. Perhaps my artistic abilities fare better on a canvas. I know I want the litter incorporated somehow, but I’m unsure what sort of structure would really drive the message home, you know?”
—
The question had caught Hazel off guard. She wasn’t sure if there would be medical debt, mostly because she had never been in this situation before. Anytime she had been in the hospital in the past, it was with her family and parents around, like the one time she broke her arm, “I don’t really know.” She shrugged, feeling dumb about it all, but the day she chose to run was the day she started to truly face life on her own, so there were still a lot of technical things she didn’t understand like taxes, insurance, and the list went on and on.
But they were here for fun. Not life worries, so Hazel gladly pushed off any further talk about adulting to focus on the sandcastle they needed to build. One that she had thought was going to be a cute seal or crab or something. Not something that was making a statement about littering, “Um, I mean…why don’t we just keep it simple, you know? Like a sandcastle and make a statement with the cigarette butts and maybe some catchy wording?”
She looked at the empty plot and knew they were losing daylight. So in true Hazel fashion, she decided to have at it and started building something. If Vic didn’t like it, she could speak up. Hazel knew the woman didn’t have a problem with that, but wielding her tools – a sand pail and shovel, the young woman started to create something of a masterpiece as the time ticked by.
—
That was really something one should know. Vic would have said that out loud, but something about hammering someone who was already down seemed wrong, just this one. It was probably better for them to get to work. “Debt is an unnecessary wrong in the richest country in the world. There are resources if you’re in trouble.” Perhaps she could find this girl’s address, and sneak some money and a pamphlet about responsibility and medical insurance in her mailbox.
Vic nodded, determined. She was great at catchy wording. For example, as president of the home owner’s association, she had recently put up signs around town that read, ‘Landscaping- The choice between dignity or social shame’. Genius. She was sure it was going to affect the owners of the homes with the most sightly lawns in no time. Taking her cue from Hazel, Vic got to work, sculpting her parts of the castle with the precision only an artist could handle. As they worked, she scattered the dirty cigarettes here and there on the castle (wearing gloves, of course), making sure their message was sound and clear: the people of the town were disgusting and needed to be stopped. To really hone in on the statement, she wrote a quick message on one side: No buts, pick it up. It was the perfect play on words, despite her hatred for the gluteous like name people liked to use for cigarettes. But, no if ands or buts about it, this message was sure to read loud and clear.
After they were done, she stood up, clapping her hands together to remove the sand for good. Looking at the whole castle, she nodded again, pleased with their work. The statement, to her, was clear, and probably the most important in this silly little competition. She looked over at Hazel, holding a hand out for her to shake. “Despite the clear mistake on the town’s part, I think we’ve actually put something together here. A statement worth listening to. Do you think we could win?”
—
Hazel was focused on her work. Every now and then, she’d take a glance over to see how Vic was doing and was surprisingly impressed by her current sandcastle building partner. She would need something cold to drink and a tasty meal after this, but first thing was first. Sandcastle art. And when all was said and done, and their statement had been constructed and made, the twenty-three year old couldn’t help, but stand back with a look of awe on her face. For two people that didn’t seem to get along, they had made something great.
“I think you’re right. I think it’s a masterpiece, and what really sets it off are the old cigarettes. If this doesn’t stop and make people think about pickin’ up after themselves, I don’t know what will.” Hazel glanced over to see Vic’s hand offered out, and, after wiping the sand off, with a soft smile and no hesitation, she shook it in a peace offering. Yesterday they might’ve been enemies and tomorrow they might go back to being enemies, but today they were working as friends, “I think we got as good a shot as any. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see. What now?”
Hazel had actually ended up having more fun than she thought she would, especially because she didn’t think Vic could actually be fun. Would she hang out with her after the whole sandcastle thing was over with? More than likely not, but this day was still young, “Random question, but would you want to go get somethin’ to eat, like for lunch or somethin’?” She pulled her hand back and let it fall to her side as she waited for a response. If Vic had said no, she wasn’t worried about it, but, if she had said yes, Hazel would definitely take it as an opportunity to at least try and get to know the woman better. It was the least she could do, even if they didn’t always see eye-to-eye.
—
Perhaps this mix-up wasn’t a mix-up after all, but rather a deviously gentle twist of fate, where two do-gooders could team up to send a statement to the town that was truly needed. Vic and Hazel were never meant to meet, but here they were, changing the world together. Once their creation was complete, it was clear that this was meant to be. She stared at it proudly, chancing a glance at her companion every now and then.
“Now, the judges will go around, pretending to look at the other entries. But if they have any sense, the second they see ours, they’ll know we have it in the bag”. Vic had done these competitions before. She knew.
She looked back over to Hazel, considering her offer. “No.”, she answered. After a beat, she clarified. “I mean, no, I can’t. I have to go pick up my daughter. Perhaps we can take a rain check? My treat, of course. And I don’t take no for an answer.” In a strange way, Vic hoped they did meet up for lunch. That way, she could pay off Hazel’s medical debt and buy her food. In the end, she barely remembered her guilt at all, just the promise of a new mentee to guide through the town’s tribulations.
