HAVE YOU SEEN HER?

⋆ * ‹‹ ❛ Am I dead ? Or is this one of those dreams ? Those 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 dreams that seem like they last forever ?  If I am alive, 𝙬𝙝𝙮 ?

[tiltedview]

Sawyer.

The forest, despite Sawyer’s initial response to its tenebrosity, has caused for a certain amount of paranoia. Not in the form that comes with ghost stories or even a fear for the wildlife, but a simple hypersensitivity to her surroundings. Snaps of twigs aren’t deserving of equally snapping of her attention, but she remains aware and on guard. It’s a feeling that qualifies for her next move, so she plays it up. With the following noise made by the darkness around them, she hops : a bit, just enough to be noticeable, and with the same motion, an arm hooks with Elliot’s. “ Coyotes? C’mon! They’re just pups, Elliot. More scared of you than you are of them. ” She begins, brushing off previous actions as regular, though her heart is thumping with rapid speeds. “ I’d rather square up against a bear than some lunatic with a hatchet. Any day. ”

They died. 

[tiltedview]

Mickey.

His laughter shifts, from one harbouring mild awkwardness to one more hearty. More genuine and true to the older. Palm meets the back of his neck, eyes shying away momentarily before winding back on that god awful shirt. “ Yeah, you know, I was thinking about that … And you’re right it would definitely have been a better present. See, the thing is, though, I’m just not sure I’m willing to risk being seen with you. ” A huff leaves him, and he leans back. “ A great gag and all but at the expense of my rep … I dunno, Ems, seems kinda counterintuitive. ” He shrugs, attempting to conceal a growing grin. “ With that one – you’ll be an embarrassment all on your own without dragging me down with you. It’ll be a first, I know, but … ”

She rolls her eyes, and is trying her best not to laugh — she fails only halfway, grin displayed across tanned features. “ Counterintuitive? Big word, Mr. Thesaurus. I have another one for you. ” A pause for dramatic effect, and wide-eyed seriousness attempts to keep itself present. “ Hypocrite. ” She scrunches her nose, freckles moving with it & eyebrows piercing in to give him a look that failed miserably at being stern within any sense of the word. “ I’d be the one dragged all the way down. And to add to that ... you’re trying to tell me you don’t want gossipy townsfolk shit-talking you and yours for weeks? You have to keep them entertained, Talbot. Big boots to fill with some of your past antics, but ... ”

[tiltedview]

Tris.

With a paper back in hand, narrowed eyes study delicate writing meticulously. It is a good later, and terrible if it were to go to waste. So she reaches across the desk, grabbing another piece of stationary and positioning it before herself. A letter is copied, almost to the word, with a few important changes. Names being the first and mentioned body parts coming second. Soon enough, the very same note is presented to her friend. “ – and … voila! ” The girl announce, though accomplishment doesn’t remain on precise features long. For Beatrice hops up out of her chair and disappears out of the room in an instant. Her bathroom cabinet, ransacked, and not left until she’s able to return to Kitty with a perfume bottle in hand. “ Here … Give it your best shot. ” 

Note is clutched in delicate fingers, and she’s careful not to crease the paper — it needs to look perfect, so ludicrously well-kept that recipients might just wonder how long it took to write. It’d taken Tris and Kitty ages, but each word had the air of something crafted in a fit of passion. Weird, creepy passion, but loving just the same. She sprays the perfume into the air, waving the paper like a flag of surrender through the mist. Setting it down on the table, she tilts her head back. All is silent for a few minutes, until tears pushed forth on cue are falling from her eyes, and she lets one, two, drop onto the paper. Pawing away any remaining moisture from her face, she casts a glance at Tris, half-smile quirking up one side of her lips. “ Gotta make it the most dramatic that’s possible. ”

[tiltedview]

Kip.

Kipling quit paying attention to the waters long ago, eyes kept on the horizon and the woods that engulf it. Anywhere out there. He could be anywhere and odds were they’d never know. He counted himself lucky kids were out of the picture and unlikely to enter, though he had plentiful of reasons that ventured beyond the possibility of a kidnapping. “ If that ain’t the truth … ” Kip chimes in, not much to add in terms of small towns workings. Moore had it down and they were all the same, were they not. Climate change, accents vary, and faces are switched out, but the same they remain. “ Hard ‘ta have one without a body I guess … But – if I were ‘em, I’d get it over with already. Let themselves move on. Hell, let everybody else. ”

He can’t imagine it, losing a child. He can’t imagine having a child. Something so fragile, so small and vulnerable. Something that, evidently, could be gone in the blink of an eye. And so perhaps he can’t be a critic, can’t harp on the fact that parents haven’t yet pulled themselves out of the pit of grief and marched forward. But he is all the same: anyone, even those childless, can see profound effects on the worry of other children in the town. Of the siblings of the missing boy, of parents watching out more closely for their own. It’s a tragedy that’s gone on for far too long, and one that should be avoided in the future — not one lamented for when it’s in the past. “ I know it must be hard, but ... ” He trails off, unsure what else to say. It had to be the most difficult thing, but all adversity must be overcome. That, or there was no point in living. “ How long’s it been now? Feels like years, has to only be about one. — Did you know the state police offered to pay funeral expenses? Just to get the town PD off their asses. Under the table. ”

[tiltedview]

Peggy.

She near huffs in offence to her son’s newfound courage. He’s a bundle of anxiety and insecurities. Reluctant to return home past curfew. Refusing to kill the occasional spider. Theodore Larsen, her son, suddenly displaying a capability to protect both himself and his mother. She doesn’t see it as adrenaline rather an implication that she’s too frail to do the very same. There’s no protest, she walks back into the room which they came from with brisk steps, and beelines towards the landline. A long, perpetual beep greats her and she slams the telephone back onto its hook. Teddy’s not allowed more than a couple borrowed seconds out on his own, and the doors are pushed open once more. “ The phone’s dead. ” His mother announces, placing herself beside her son rather than behind him. “ Give me that. ” A flat palm is extended towards Teddy, demanding his weapon of choice.

He passes her the umbrella quickly and without protest, obedience and his own fears he’d tried his best to conceal overpowering any sense telling him to protect. Adrenaline drains out of him like a punctured balloon, and anxiety fills him again, looking to Peggy for protection instead. As long as she’d been the one to command it — he felt like less of a jerk leading his mother into the arms of whatever was out there. Whatever was out there felt far too ominous for mysterious noises, but late at night in a morgue in a town like Sheffield: it’s difficult to avoid the ominous. “ Did someone ... cut the line? ” He whispers, shifting closer to his mother and grasping onto her arm gently, glancing for only a second at the doors closing behind them. He did not want to get murdered tonight. He’d never get to graduate college, never start a family ... never get that damned trip to Niagra Falls. 

[tiltedview]

Jack.

      ‘ missouri. ’ he repeats, as if the word is foreign on his tongue. ‘ borin’ missouri. ’ he says again, because any intellectual commentary is gone with the wind. there’s just fragments of thoughts old & new, colliding together & leaving his lips without a second thought. there’s a moment of complete synchronization, her head on his shoulder, their steps parallel the way dorothy & her pals walked down the yellow brick road, but it’s fleeting as emma pulls away to spin through the air. laughter cascades from his lips, & he throws his own head back, basking in their revelry. he loosens his tie to let his soul breathe, the scent of liquor still on his breath & it leaves him yearning for more. he unscrews his own bottle of jack, another short spurt of laughter quick to ensue at the very fact. eyes still squeeze shut at the warm bitterness, but he sees it through, the liquid sloshing in the bottle as he catches up to her. ‘ if i’m your captain. ’ he begins, serious-ish, a detective putting pieces of evidence of a case together. ‘ that makes you my steward. ’is that the right word? ‘ which means that we must be sailors ! & sailors go to sea. ’  he points to the distant horizon. he’s lived here long enough, but through bleary eyes, the town looks new - he can’t quite place himself within it. he hopes they’re heading the right way.  ‘ onwards & upwards ! ’

“ Onwards and upwards, ” She muses, head tilted back to look at the sky above them, half covered by trees lining suburban streets and slightly dimmed by the streetlights that ran in tandem to trunks and branches. But at such a late hour, they were only half on, casting shadows across the street in faint light. She stands in silence for a moment after that, only the sound of sloshing bottles and crickets hiding in the grass. It’s peaceful, almost, and between the drunkenness of her body and the quiet of the night surrounding them, she feels happy. At ease. — And then she snaps out of hushed moments and a trance of eyes glued to the stars, grabbing his hand in hers ( of course, the one without an open container of liquor on both their parts. ) She then moves faster down the road, running as best she can given circumstance, hoping the street they’ve found their way down leads them to the edge of the woods that would open up to a path that would open up to a lake. That was the closest thing to the sea they would get, and Emma trusted in their friendship enough to know drunken minds were in synch of plans to go for a well-past midnight swim. Their run along is punctuated with giggles and the sloshing of alcohol, and directions hammered into brains manage to prevail: they reach the tree line, where she finally stops dragging him behind her, and looks into the forest. A long gulping sip from the bottle in her hand, and she looks at the ground and then back up at him sadly. “ I don’t have shoes. ”

[tiltedview]

Sawyer.

Eyes narrow as Sienna starts back up, belief hard to capture in the scene playing out between them. She knows Sienna, and it’s not the possible lie that makes Sawyer repeat this fact, but the possible secret kept. She’d know, wouldn’t she. There’s a pause between the end of Sienna’s statement and the start of Sawyer’s response. A moment’s silence where the younger attempts to find an indication of a well-constructed lie within the crevices of her sister’s face. She’s not sure she can. But Sienna was an adequate liar so it wasn’t her performance that was needed of a few poked holes, rather the concept of a hidden beau. “ Okay, that… that is a BLUFF I’m willing to call. Ten bucks. ” She places forearms on the counter, copying the movements of her sister moments prior. “ Where is he, then? ” Sawyer challenges, eyebrows raised and smug growing. 

@fatedhands / It’s not worth it to lie, it really isn’t. But Sienna is as petty as she is stubborn, and the smugness plastered across her sister’s expression is enough for her to flick the CLOSED sign across the register ( a rather obnoxious sign with ‘ GONE FISHING, BACK SOON ‘ plastered across the piece of fish shaped wood ) and march out from behind the counter, earning her a spot closer to her sister. “ Ten o’clock, tall blonde-ish guy. I’ll prove it. ” With a flounce off her precarious balance against the counter, she finds herself facing the man she’d pointed out prior, offering him sweet eyes and a knowing grin — before standing up on the edges of her toes, whispering in his ear for only a moment, the tickle of warm breath against skin. “ Just go along with this, okay? ” Then her lips were pressed to his, caught in a world between passion and natural behavior. One hand rested on his shoulder, the other on his chest, fully committing herself to the lip lock. She pulled away then, tossing brown locks over her shoulder and quirking her eyebrows at her sister in a motion that said told you so. 

[tiltedview]

Jack Detler.

       his own pinky knocks against hers, but on the second try it locks - and he gives the promise a firm shake as if somehow cementing it for eternity. brows pull together, a dopey smile oozing a drunken admiration in the face of his best friend. he thinks that maybe, this is a type of love that can’t be compromised, and in spite of everything, they remain. an inkling of guilt pulls at his heart strings, fond memories of his trip to maine had been at the cost of an absence he can’t take back now. a selfish endeavour through and through, and he wants to apologize but feels as though it’d be misplaced in the scheme of jubilation and a promising happiness ( the type he hopes lasts forever and ever ). so he’s thankful when his assigned objective takes priority, filling their free arms with glass bottles, the majority of their energy preoccupied with ensuring they don’t meet the floor. it’s not as though they’re the type to find amusement from shattered glass, and oh the poor cleaners would be thoroughly unimpressed. ‘ eighty-seven percent ? hey, that’s not bad ! ’ with her adieu to the banquet hall, he waves goodbye with a fistful of booze, and his head falls back to greet the cool breeze. ‘ i’d say we got the quite the stash. ’ he’s thoroughly impressed by how much they’re able to carry, an assertion that anything & everything is possible when minds are put to the task. ‘ man, i haven’t been out this late - since, well i can’t even remember the last time i was out this late. ’ he looks around like it’s a whole new town, and it fills him with wonderment. ‘ god, i love this place. ’

She’s still grinning from ear to ear, stumbling slightly as they walked past the nearly empty parking lot — it’s late, she doesn’t know how late, but it feels as if the night had just begun. Or really, had begun again. She squints, fixated on the sky above her rather than anything else happening in conversation. Lightly hip checking a car due to her lack of attention paid to where she was going, she turns back to her companion in both drunkenness and loneliness ( but most importantly, she would clarify, FRIENDSHIP ) and nods sagely at his appreciation for the town surrounding them. “ I’m — I’m from Missouri. And Missouri is boring. But here ... there’s good stories and good places and good people, ” She bumps him with her shoulder, causing the bottles clutched tightly to her to clink together. Resting a head with a mess of curls on his shoulder, she veers them out closer to the road. “ And ... we have to go to one of those good places. The entire town is ours! ” The bright grin is back, and she detaches herself from him, spinning forward in a dance move that would put ballerinas to shame — or, more likely, make them feel ashamed. She struggles with the top attached to the whiskey, finally yanking it off and tossing it to the ground, unneeded with their plans to finish their supply. “ Tell me where we’re going, Captain. ”

[tiltedview]

Jack Detler.

     A firm salute is given back to her, and he’s too preoccupied with HYPING himself up to notice that he’s totally missed the first line altogether. It’s only then that a less than stellar comeback is made, the lyrics to the verses sounding completely foreign to him and his love of Dirty Dancing hasn’t reached as far to him memorizing every word. In fact, his mind’s just projecting the iconic montage scene with Patrick Swayze looking like that, and Jennifer Grey looking like that and really the lyrics might as well have been the LEAST important part of that whole scene. Fortunately, the chorus is where he shines, singing out Hungry Eyes with more passion that he knew even existed inside of him. It’s pathetic but unreserved, past the point of self-consciousness and giving himself to the line entirely with makeshift dance moves that aren’t really dance moves, more so arbitrary feet shuffling and hip swaying. He tries his hand at the second verse, but to no avail, his choice of song clearly wasn’t thought out. But the chorus comes again, and again and he feels like he ends on a BANG - if only because he drops the mic accidentally, but plays it off as purposeful. Quickly taking a bow, he hurries himself offstage, feeling a mixture between not being able to cast a care in the world, and also wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. Linking their arms together once more, he grabs another bottle of unopened champagne and starts to pull. “ Not one of my best, I’ll give you that. So, we’re getting out of here. And grab as much BOOZE as you can carry, Phillips, I’ll need at least another bottle if I’m going to forget that tragedy of a performance. ”

❛ You were great! Pinky swear. ❜ She promises, little finger extended and waiting for him to hook his in tandem to their arms. It’s a lie, but one fueled by liquor and friendship — so it’s at least half true. Abandoning her shoes and the discarded bottle of wine she’d left on the stage to follow the tug of his arm in hers — and leaving the soundtrack of Dirty Dancing playing in the distance. There’s a certain skip in her step, a childish enjoyment of all the possibilities of a night that’s only half over. ❛ Where are we going? — I ... we can’t drive. ❜ More wine — another French label, this time the warm pink of rosé — and a half finished bottle of tequila are swept into her free arm, and she looks at him expectantly, as if his answer of where they can stumble off to holds the secret to the universe. She purses her lips, though there’s a smile poking in the corner of it. ❛ First rule of Karaoke Club, respect your performance. No one is good at it. ❜ Solemn statement and messed up reference is punctuated with a giggle, and a shake of her head. ❛ Though I’m at least eighty-seven percent sure we’re worse than everyone else. ❜ One last bottle, some indeterminate brown-toned booze is scooped up into arms too full to be carrying what she is, and now she’s the one pulling on his arm, speeding towards the double doors. ❛ We’ll be here all week! ❜ She calls to an invisible ( or perhaps, just uncaring ) audience and bumps the door open with her shoulder, releasing them into the night air. 

[tiltedview]

Lucia Burke.

Her voice is soft and Lucia frowns. Hearing her words, Lucia smiles, feeling her cheeks flush. Ava is pretty though. Truly, if Lucia is being honest with herself, Ava is so much more than pretty. Beautiful, maybe gorgeous would be a better word. “I uh, thank you.” She’s caught off guard and not many have that effect on her but Ava sure does. There’s a small part of the other that hates the fact that Ava has that effect on her. She smiles again, “Yeah, cool. Okay.” Lucia doesn’t smile much, perhaps she should. However, she finds that she does it much more when she’s around Ava. That realization, although she’s unsure what it means, causes an uneasiness in the pit of her stomach.

Scissors are balanced again in her hands, and a lock of dark hair flutters to the floor as she snips another piece of hair from the other’s head, and then another. She’s quiet for a moment, attentive to her task. But then scissors are placed down on the floor next to her, and she speaks slowly, brown eyes normally bright filled with a tinge of worry.  ❛ Sorry if that was ... weird. ❜ Her voice is tentative and hoarse, as if she’s forcing it out.  ❛ You’re just, you know, a good friend. And ... I wanted to say something nice. And true. ❜ The clarification, which felt necessary as it left her lips, almost makes Ava want a hole to open up in the bathroom floor and swallow her whole. She’s always liked space — maybe she could be sucked into a different dimension, where she isn’t here making an absolute idiot of herself. Her heart skips one beat, and then another — she hopes Lucia can’t notice the erratic rhythm in spite of close proximity.  ❛ Can I ... ask you something? ❜ 

[tiltedview]

Levi Kerrick.

     “ I suppose I should take that as a compliment ? ” He asks, his tone filled with delighted amusement. The idea that he could possibly carry some traits of worldliness, even if he’s hardly even scratched the surface of the Earth. “ I was too EAGER as a kid. To get out. Of what I don’t know. Possibly just the type of desire for freedom everyone has as an adolescent. ” He begins, before parted lips meet the cigarette once more and another drag is taken. “ Silly me, thinking the war would SATIATE that desire. ” A breathy laugh can be heard under the whispers of the wind, flickers of bitterness permeating the sound. There’s a point to the sentiments of the past, even if it takes a while to get there, breathing out smoke and watching the last of the churchgoers get back into their cars. “ Since then it seems like I’ve been working INWARDS instead of outwards. Start small. ” He finishes, and there’s an awe-inducing clarity to his words, proof that years of reflection have amounted to something tangible, an outlook that is worthwhile. 

     He puts out his cigarette, stubbing it against the dirt road but keeping it in his possessions as he wanders off to find a TRASH can. He doesn’t like how it looks, right outside the church, but he figures it’d look worse if litter plagued the grounds instead. He returns to her, last words stewing in his mind, the way she’s say stuck as if she’s trapped. The concept is rendered an oddity to him, Sheffield never being anything less than liberating, but it occurs to him that not everyone is able to share that privilege. “ What’s keeping you here ? ” He asks, neutrality in the statement because being kept wasn’t the same as being caught. 

❛ It’s not an insult, ❜ She muses — even the clarification is vague. Even in spite of comfort found in religion, and even in those who attended the sermons as often as she did, it did feel partially ... disingenuous. She had a second life, an ALTER EGO. Both were her, she decided. She just kept them separate, a split personality — representative of fight & flight. An airier version of herself sang hymns and smiled brightly, a more aggressive ended up with bloodied knuckles and spent late nights in a trailer rather than a home. But both of them stood here, cigarette between her lips, staring at the ground, and wondering exactly why she was here.

She couldn’t give an answer.

She let out another puff of smoke after lungs were filled, and at this point, she was so close to the filter her fingers could feel the singing burn of the ignited end. As soon as the red hot warmth of flesh meeting fire increased, she dropped it to the ground unceremoniously. Instead of grinding it under her heel, she watched little bits of ash meet dirt and mix together. She wanted another — chain smoking was a habit she’d picked up over a decade ago — but she didn’t dare put him out for another. Instead, she fidgeted, bruised hands ducking into jacket pockets.  ❛ Wish I knew, ❜ it’s an honest answer, the best she can give.  ❛ Something about this town keeps you. Chokehold or embrace depends on the person. ❜ She smiles warmly at him, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. Quickly, lips part to change the topic. ❛ I enjoyed the sermon today — less hellfire and brimstone than ... other times. ❜ 

[tiltedview]

Sawyer Kinney.

Whatever caused the older’s reaction, Sawyer didn’t notice. She’d like to consider herself attentive, but the presence of Elliot usually wrecked the trait in its whole. On the edge of questioning him, maybe even poke some more fun at her coach, and the nickname causes for another derailing of her train of thought. PRINCESS. Sawyer knows he’s just following the theme of their conversation, but still … it causes for cheeks to gain further vibrance, and for a smile to widen. “ After me, ” The brunette follows, taking the first step off path and into the scarce woodland of Connecticut. She takes the opportunity to appreciate the lack of density for now, surely to be engulfed by the pines in a few more minutes. “ You scared of the dark, Moore? ” Sawyer waits him in, keeping close despite her own neutrality towards it. Playing damsel in distress never hurt anybody.

He smiles at her, tight lipped and absently, but it doesn’t entirely meet his eyes. Something feels off, but — the thought had already run through his mind that spent too much time at attention to be able to relax entirely in moments like this. And so, he told her. ❛ Not quite, Kinney. I’m just always on enough edge to be the hero of the townsfolk. ❜ The trees thicken at a quick pace, and the sparcity they’d enjoyed while still at the edge of darkening woods becoming a faint memory as any noise they made quieted under the canopy of trees. ❛ Not scared of the dark, not scared of clowns or kidnappers out here — coyotes, though. Scared of those. ❜ 

[tiltedview]

Kipling Bellfleur.

He’s not a detective, but in a town like Sheffield with a precinct as small as their own, everyone pulled their weight and then some. He’d be lying if he said some of these mysteries didn’t attribute to more than a few sleepless nights, though it was unlikely to be to the extent of the parents and the main detectives on the case. “ Drifter … Somebody from outta town. No connections, no nothing. ” He speaks, matter of fact, another swig. “ The original kids, ah – now, that’s unfortunate as hell. A serial killer, no doubt. Long gone and for good reason. But that Weathers kid … it was Easter and the witness was jacked on all kind’a sweets. Traumatised, too Not ‘ta mention the parents ‘round here– forcing stories of ghosts & fuck all into the heads of these kids. I’unno what they’re expecting. ” 

❛ Fucked up, if you ask me. ❜ He quips, even though no one did ask him. Hands move quickly to reel in fishing rod at the first semblance of a tug. A minnow, which he tosses back. ❛ People still teach it all ‘cause they hate change. Small town thinking, s’much as I love the community. Those stories terrified their parents and their parents before that, and they’re gonna use them to terrify their kids. That’s how you get racists and sexists and people who hate the queers. ❜ Beer is balanced on the bench where he sits, and he moves silently to attach more bait to the hook. ❛ I’d say it was the parents. Shut ins after it all happened, shoehorning themselves into the investigation. Didn’t even have a funeral. ❜ 

[tiltedview]

Sawyer Kinney.

Normally, Sawyer Kinney was an OPEN BOOK. Especially around those she considered family. Though the details of her romantic endeavours, leaning more towards sexual, was definitely not a dinner table conversational topic. Frankly, she was surprised her cousins had suspected anything. Sawyer was in and out of that house at every hour of the day, her late night escapades shouldn’t have raised any eyebrows. Though, they unfortunately had. Features scrunch up as her new clothing item does the same, less than thrilled her older sister is taking the call-out out on her new purchase. “ You’re a worse liar than I am. Not that I am … ” Sawyer chimes in, full lips curling at the concept of Sienna Kinney’s secret boyfriend. “ C’mon, there’s no shame in being single! You’ll find someone … Eventually. ” A cheeky grin takes ahold of bronze features, and now she’s just teasing. Too easy. 

If there was only one person in the world who could fit under the qualifier of being able to dish it out and not take it — that person would be Sienna Kinney. Lip juts out and eyebrows knit together in a masterpiece of frustration and indignation, but then ... a ghost of a smile lights up pale features.  ❛ See, Sawyer, it hurts that you’d even say that to me, because I ... ❜ Eyes dart around the shop, and she leans in closer to her sister, voice low. ❛ Do have a boyfriend. He’s great, but ... I’m kind of a stickler for keeping it on the down-low for reasons such as, ❜ she motions back and forth between sisters, pausing for dramatic effect. ❛ And ... he’s in here. So I can’t really have him thinking we’re talking about him, you know? He’ll bust my balls about it later. ❜ Her face is straight, she’s always been a good liar — but Sawyer’s always been the best at detecting her fibs. She just hopes this time, any semblance of dishonesty will slip past the younger’s radar. 

[tiltedview]

Peggy Larsen.

She’s his MOTHER : there comes a certain responsibility with that. To protect him from harm is number one. Second is force-feed him vegetables so he doesn’t wind up with diabetes by the time he hits his early teens. And third, and most important in her book, is to ease his paranoia. Ghosts aren’t real, there’s not a monster under your bed nor in the closet, and the morgue is most definitely NOT haunted. There’s not much she can do to stop him, though, so she settles for cooperating the mission at hand. Still, she keeps her frame before his and steps light. Slow and steady wins the race. It takes some time for her eyes to adjust to the darkness ahead, though when they do … she sees nothing. Absolutely jack. “ I don’t know. ” She states, matter of fact, dark brows studying each corner to the best of her abilities. And when a coast is cleared, a posture is straightened. “ It was probably just the wind … C’mon, ” Peggy turns on her heel, a hand placed on her son’s shoulder. Not that they get far. One step taken in the direction which they came from, and another clang is heard down the hall. A door slamming shut follows and the hairs at the back of her neck raise. 

He’s already nodding and attempting to walk off with the security of his mother next to him, when the SLAM startles him, and he inhales sharply. ❛ Jesus Christ, ❜ He mumbles under his breath, with a final exhale, though previous statement was accompanied with an involuntary flinch of alarm. Teddy takes a step forward, a bravery he definitely didn’t know he had. It wasn’t that he doubted his mother’s ability to take care of herself — take care of them, but he felt obligated to be the one to move forward, or at least be the first one to. ❛ I ... ❜ His voice is lost in another slamming, though this one is abrupt and ends quickly — not sounding like anything in particular. Not like the door. Duller. ❛ I’ll ... go. ❜ Umbrella still brandished, he moves forward down the corridor, half hoping Peggy would follow and half praying she wouldn’t. He’s no giant, and he fully believes a woman can do anything a man can — time spent with Pauline and his mother assured him of that — but in the case of an intruder, even a boy with a statue of five foot ten would be better off than his mother’s petite figure. And, one without the expert defense of an umbrella. 

[tiltedview]

Mickey Talbot.

Usually, he’s quicker on his feet. But her retrieval of the sweater is an unexpected act and she takes him by surprise. “ Hey, who threw it back to me in the first place. Typical Emma Phillips … RETRACTING. You’re too much of a suck-up, Ems. ” He says it in the nicest way possible, though even fake arguments suggest that he’s right. Not so much now as she was then, but he’s right nonetheless. “ Talbot family values taught me never to bother with gifts. Guess I should’ve listened to grams, huh. You’re bullies, the bunch of you. ” He lumps her with his family, cos, well, she might as well be. But one look at the piece of clothing actually being worn and her previous statements start to make sense. “ Hey, uh, Emma … the Charlie Brown auditions are down the street. ”

Eyes roll and then squint together, pink shooting between pearly whites to stick her tongue out at him. She flops back onto the couch, looking down at herself to study the sweater, as if the awful print hadn’t already been permanently imprinted into her mind. ❛ Typical Mickey Talbot, shifting the blame. You buy me the world’s fugliest sweater ‘cause I didn’t put out again? ❜ It’s a rough memory, but she’s smiling, ear to ear. Maybe he’s right that she’s a bit of a pushover or a suck up. Okay, he’s definitely right. But it doesn’t mean she can’t send it all back out. ❛ And hey — I didn’t ask you for your five cent psychiatry advice, Lucy. ❜  Sweater is pulled off again in one fell swoop, and placed in a glorified lump of yarn next to her. Feet curl up under her, and she looks at him long and hard, as if she’s thinking of something important. She isn’t. ❛ Kind of disappointed you didn’t go with the matching ‘ I’m with stupid ’ shirts instead. Now that’d be a present I’d say thank you for. ❜ 

[tiltedview]

Beatrice Cheung.

Giggles ensues the further into the letter Kitty gets, though a nose is quick to crinkle upon the suggestion. “ Okay, way overboard … even for me. Plus, that’ll send her running to the po-po, not into his arms! Next thing he’ll be handed a restraining order and branded the CANDY MAN. ” Beatrice Cheung, for once, the voice of reason. “ No, ” She shakes her head, a finger placed against full lips. “ We gotta play this right. We don’t wanna douse it in cologne, we want the faint … ‘ I spent a long time writing this letter and now my scent is etched into every word ’ type thing. ’ ” A long pause, and its as if a lightbulb had flickered alight over raven locks. “ You know, on second thought, as BRILLIANTLY conducted as this letter might be … women talk too much. She’s bound to ask! And when she does, our whole cover is blown. Men … Men on the other hand—- He wouldn’t even question it! Plus, it’s a whole less creepy. Think about it. ”

The corner of Kitty’s mouth pops up in a quick, lazy smile — one accompanied with the rolling of dark eyes. Her eyes glance towards the paper, and smirk turns into a sigh. Tris is right, of course, but she still lets her lips form a frustrated pout. ❛ You know, I’d totally call you out for the super-cool self-hating sexism thing if you weren’t right. This has too poetic of a lady’s touch. He should just ask her out for hot wings. ❜ With a crinkle of white paper, the letter is back in Beatrice’s hands, and Kitty motions towards the older. Brows are still furrowed and lip juts out again in faux despair. ❛ Okay, your turn then. Make it less fantastically romantic. Or just switch the names and talk less about tits. ❜