damien-of-disdain

[damien-of-disdain]

This can't be normal...

Even I'm beginning to sing songs to try and force the rain to go away.

[damien-of-disdain]

The Umbra Festival had been weeks ago, or so it seemed. Perhaps that idea had come from the sole fact that Damien’s days passed even more slowly yet. Maybe it had only been one week… No, two. One and a half? That seemed like a fair settlement. 

 A decided week and a half ago (alright, so maybe a few days), Damien had learned – and the hard way too – of his favorite town’s strange tradition. The cutting off of power for a whole weekend for…  whatever the hell it was for, did not mix very well with an irrational and secret fear of the dark. And on top of that, add into the mix camping, and it was a recipe for disaster.

But Damien had found something of his saving grace in the midst of the hellish ordeal. Gail, so true to all that was Gail, had shared her love and expertise of all things camping. It certainly wouldn’t have been Damien’s first choice of how to spend his weekend, but it was well above a weekend left to face the darkness alone. What an idiotic town…

Was there something to take away from said weekend? Possibly. However, every experience and faint – yet still incredibly reluctant – laugh had been overshadowed by an abrupt end. Gail had seemingly vanished, nearly without a trace. It was as though finding himself alone as the sun rose, signifying the end of the festival, was a sign that he were to return to life as he knew it. And Gail? He didn’t dwell on the thought any more than he wanted to – nearly none at all.

DEREK!

The all-too familiar voice pulled him free from his thoughts, in the midst of going about the dwelling he had been trying so hard to avoid the past few days.

Derek? What was Derek? Or who, even. Certainly not him. However, he unthinkingly rose his eyes just enough as to briefly glimpse towards the source of the familiar voice in order to confirm. To anyone who’d at least seen her before, they wouldn’t mistake the girl for anyone but Gail, with her glass bottles of Coke in hand as she called for some sporadic name, nearly skipping over to… him?

Damien instantly averted her gaze and ducked his head a small amount, vastly unprepared for such a spontaneous reunion. Questions immediately popped into his mind, but he shoved them away as the girl bounded over to him, within seconds of throwing a bottle of Coke at him.

After several, prolonged moments of silence that lingered after she gave her odd greeting and asked if he’d missed her, Damien finally returned his attentions towards her. All he offered in return was a slow, unsure “hi…?” His eyes searched her face, as if he’d find answers to the questions that wouldn’t leave his mind. However, his rather contemplative expression changed as his eyes abruptly narrowed.

“Why are you here?” The question unthinkingly spilled from his lips, his voice quite monotone yet suggesting something of bitterness that he did not intend for.

No Such Luck || Damien & Gail

Good-bye, everyone. And … Here’s to the next time.

As Henry Hall’s goodbye faded into cheerful orchestral music, Gail’s consciousness was suddenly restored. She jerked upward, starting as the last syllable rang through her head.

No.

No.

No.

It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but it was the one she had been given. Though she tried to convince herself that she had only been dreaming, the quaking of her hands and the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead foretold of the fact that she couldn’t shake how real the apparition felt. She knew for a fact that Death wasn’t so amicable – and he certainly didn’t smoke cigars on park benches – but Gail couldn’t shake the image of the man out of her mind. He was familiar, too familiar, and it perplexed her.

This was why she didn’t sleep. Dreams like these haunted her and, though all of them weren’t terrible, made every other dream seem as little more than a foggy nuisance. The momentary joy from reliving a happy memory was robbed of her by a night of troubling visions of Death or memories that she would rather forget. Sleep was now the enemy, and Gail could do little more than ignore the more human portion of herself that beckoned her back into the realm of dreams.

It took six hours before she was free to roam around Bentley, but when that time came to pass she managed to jog out of the graveyard with an all-too-bright smile on her face. It seemed as if she had entirely forgotten the dream that bothered her and arrested her senses, though that was the furthest thing from the truth. That dream was all she could think about as she made her way to the diner to have a chat with one of the waitresses before she walked out of the area with two chilled, glass bottle of coke in her hand.

As she bopped down the street, Gail didn’t pause to talk to the occasional passerby or to bother various store-goers, but instead she looked around as if on the hunt for something important. Behind the dark plastic of her oversized sunglasses, Gail’s eyes darted from the right to the left, up down and around Bentley in search of the person she had abandoned two days prior.

He probably thought he would never see her again or that she had grown bored with him, but that was hardly the case at all! Though Gail felt absolutely horrible for accidentally letting time slip away from her so quickly for the second time, she didn’t realize that the man from the diner — and then from the campsite — might have enjoyed his time spent away from who he considered to be little more than a nuisance. She thought he might have felt offended by her quick departure and subsequent failure to meet him later.

It took twenty minutes, but she passed the Abbott Hotel for the fourth time and decided to try her luck with the building. If nothing else, she could try to ask one of the desk workers if… if…

Oh lord what was his name?

D-something? Dexter… Douglas? Dmitri? Daryl? D… D… D-somethingoranother. DEREK!

Yes! She could ask one of the desk workers if a Derek was staying at the hotel! That would be one more lead than she had now.

Luckily, Gail wouldn’t have to do that at all as she waltzed into the hotel and pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. It took exactly six seconds for her to single him out, to catch him off guard and beam a huge grin as she threw her arms up in the air, one coke in each clasped hand.

“Derek!” Seemingly oblivious to the attention she attracted, Gail dropped her hands and waltzed straight to the man she meant to visit two days prior. “Have a coke!”

Instead of shoving the glass bottle at Damien, Gail held it up and gave a shrug of her shoulders as she tilted her head just slightly to the left. The too-large, open mouthed grin that captured her face seemed plastered there, frozen in time as she waited for him to take the offered gift.

“Didja miss me?”

[damien-of-disdain]

There will be an attempted murder in say... eight minutes, unless of course the Abbott's population becomes significantly less annoying.

I'm not holding my breath.

Sometimes I almost believe I'd prefer a cardboard box to... this.

… There was an attempted murder?

[damien-of-disdain]

Sometimes I almost believe I'd prefer a cardboard box to... this.

Might be more of a benefit to the others in the hotel if I were to move, that way there wouldn't be any attempted murders for having no regard for anyone's privacy.

Bentley at its finest.

[damien-of-disdain]

It was almost funny how easily accessible ones life was via document. Perhaps it was undeniable fact that the people in question within these documents were deceased – supposedly – and buried a few feet down that suddenly negated the privacy laws. If one wished to, they could learn every detail of a person who had been hospitalized or had received the least bit of medical attention three, four, five (even more) decades in the past. How ironic it was that Damien’s lowly hotel room now housed the biography – the life and death – of the girl seated near him.

However, it wasn’t Damien’s end goal to learn of a person’s life from these particular medical records. Instead, it was research; to learn and to formulate his own ideas and studies, all the while keeping his mind from losing its last bit of sanity. But in the case of Gail Rogers, there was bound to more than an indifferent opinion and a few medical revelations from Damien as a result. In fact, that last bit of sanity might just be lost.

The uncovering of such odd phenomena and existences, while inevitable, was not destined to happen on this particular night – let alone weekend. A very dark, powerless weekend… Spent camping… The preoccupation now was with the pair of tykes who’d thoughtlessly and joyously relocated to the campsite of Damien and Gail. Things were off to a decent beginning; both children instantly flocking to the source of well-roasted marshmallows – Gail. However, it wasn’t long before only the young girl had taken a liking to Gail and the boy somehow had it in his right mind to gravitate towards Damien.

“Because I don’t,” Damien simply replied to the boy, his voice ever-so monotone as he kept his attentions directly ahead at the fire. If he didn’t pay the boy any attention, perhaps it would keep from instigating and quickly lose his interest. It was a comforting thought for only a few moments, for the boy had made an abrupt dive for the flashlight. 

Scooping up the child as if he would simply lob him across the field at any given moment, the boy only saw the actions as a game. Damien’s flat - though that did seem to be his natural tone – and unenthusiastic voice along with his obviously vexed expression didn’t mean a thing to the child. Unfortunately for Damien, he didn’t quite understand how the thought process of a child operated, now simply staring down at the giggling and fidgeting child with a look of perplexity. Oh, to be young and so easily amused… 

As Damien most likely predicted, Gail instantly put an end to the ‘stoking’ idea for the fire. “Why not?” he frowned as though there were any chance of her encouraging it. Meanwhile, tossing around and dangling beneath his arm, the young boy began to chant, “Stoke the fire! Stoke the fire!” Damien merely gestured to the boy, raising his eyebrows in Gail’s direction. “I have a willing participant and-“ 

Damien was cut off by his own bafflement as the young girl fled from Gail’s attention to his as well. Oh no, children were most certainly not good at reading the expression on others’ faces.

“I swear, ankle-biters…” Damien grumbled, eyes narrowed. Somehow though – maybe thanks due to Gail’s rapturous and almost contagious laughter – he spoke with a lingering hint of a grin tugging at only one side of his mouth. “Don’t think I wont pick you up and toss you at- err…”

He had been abruptly cut off by the presence of the man nearby. What an opportune time for the father – a previous source of amusement for Damien – to decide to pay attention to his own children once more. The man merely raised a questioning brow at Damien’s lingering threat, but appeared to sense no real threat. Besides, the man had quite a lot on his plate as nearly everyone had previously observed. Still, he gave a small amount of effort to meekly call his children’s names and urge them off of their newest play toy. Only when the father gave something of a longing gaze – and a comical one at that – towards Damien’s constructed fire did Damien hand over his lighter out of pity. 

“Well, this has certainly proved to be a far more eventful of a Friday night than I hoped I would be having,” Damien huffed as he took up his seat across the fire from Gail once more. Only a split second of silence had loomed over before the young girl came bounding up to Damien once more, obviously having escaped her father’s watch. She leaned in close to Damien, giving her best attempt at what she thought was a whisper but came out as more of a raspy, yelling voice. 

“Your girlfriend is pretty,” she ‘whispered’ before leaning away to give a beaming smile to the entire campsite. “She’s not my girlfriend,” Damien quickly retorted, as if the opinions of a little child mattered so much to him before the girl continued on. “When you’re camping, you’re daaaating and you make,” Damien’s eyes widened before the girl could finish her sentence with, “Marshmallows!”

“Oh, don’t ever grow up…”

Fear of the Dark // Damien & Gail

Though she didn’t know it yet, Gail was inadvertently working to her own favor as she tried to force Damien to enjoy camping and all of the benefits that came along with it. There was no way that she could know about the studies scattered about his hotel room, studies that — unfortunately — held information that he needn’t see if he wanted to continue holding any sort of disbelief in the reality that was effectively right in from of him. Within those files there was information that could easily be used against Gail or, at the very least, to expose what she really was; moreover, that information would force Damien himself to rethink reality and even Gail knew that the consequences of that kind of thinking were great. 

Thankfully, Gail had no way of knowing that Damien had her life-story in his hotel room. She was blissfully unaware of the information he held and what he may or may not have planned to do with it, but she was also dumb to the fact that her records were so easily accessible. If anyone in Bentley was interested in finding out about the dead, it would just take a trip to the archives and a little bit of hunting to find the right documents; that thought in itself was a terrifying one. Had Gail been more prepared — or perhaps a little smarter — she would have destroyed the Library’s records, but at the moment that was impossible.  Besides, she had more important things to worry about.

“I’m not tossing you under anything! You’re just being paranoid!” This coming from the woman who had only recently insinuated a fear of robots rising up to take over Bentley. Gail’s nose scrunched in defiance as she waved off the idea of angering the father of the children. From her perspective, it seemed as if the man would have been grateful for someone to step in and entertain his children… but she hadn’t exactly thought of the fact that she may have needed the father’s permission to pay attention to the children. 

It was too late to rectify that problem as the children made their way to Gail’s campsite in search of marshmallows or some way to deflect the ridiculous levels of boredom that had been thrust upon them. While Gail worked to teach marshmallow roasting to the eldest of the children, she simply forgot about the little boy that waddled his way to Damien — though, really, she though Damien was entirely capable of handling a small child. He was physically older than she was, and Gail was sure that he had at least been exposed to children once or twice; apparently this was also the thought of the small boy.

“Why don’choo like campin’?” Curious to a fault, the boy couldn’t help but to think that Damien was playing some kind of game with him. Wiggling and giggling, even letting out the occasional peal of delight, the boy made it quite evident that he certainly didn’t want Damien to stop trying to be rid of his small presence. What had initially started from curiosity quickly turned into a game in the eyes of a toddler.  It didn’t even matter to the boy that his hands ended up covered in dirt and a few strands of hair that had attached to the sticky mess on his fingers — he was having fun and he simply saw or felt nothing else. 

Gail, who had been in the middle of a rather intense story about lions and tigers and a safari to Canada, only turned to look at Damien when he picked up the boy and made enough movement to be visible enough for her peripheral vision. At first she thought he was having fun, but the suggestion that fell from his lips made it quite obvious that “fun” wasn’t to be had as long as Damien was dealing with children. 

“S-stoking…? No, uh — no, no, bad idea.” She hadn’t the time to offer a new suggestion, however, as the girl that she had been focusing her attention on soon ran up to Damien with arms outstretched.

“Me, too! Me! Me, too! Up, up!” It didn’t take long before the girl was tugging at Damien’s pant leg, her own clannish fingers leaving little stains of dampness that could have easily been saliva or the water that Gail had handed her moments prior. Evidently she was prepared to climb atop Damien if it took it. 

Gail — who was somewhere between laughter and tears at the sight — clutched her stomach and gave a too-large grin, “I think they like you!” Oh, that much was obvious. But wasn’t it a shame that the children didn’t understand the fact that Damien certainly didn’t like them? Gail sucked in a few breaths and motioned to the marshmallows and sticks that she had acquired specifically for the children, “J — Just pick ‘em up and sit ‘em over here. You’re — you’re already halfway there!” 

Of course, she didn’t think for a moment that the gleeful screams from brother and sister would alert their father. How strange it must have looked for the extremely tall Damien to be holding one child like an object while dealing with the second child who wanted the same treatment. 

[damien-of-disdain]

Possibly for the highly imaginative...

Night is hardly significant beyond the fact that the sun goes down and the moon comes up instead.

And how is everyone this lovely night?

And it holds so many more mysteries. 

[damien-of-disdain]

[damien-of-disdain]

I'd be lying if I said I entirely agreed. After all, night is essentially the same as day, just without the inherent absence of light.

And how is everyone this lovely night?

I prefer the moon to the sun. The nights hold so much more potential, don’t you think?

[damien-of-disdain]

I didn't realize 'lovely' was in the forecast.

Still must not have caught the memo...

And how is everyone this lovely night?

[damien-of-disdain]

Well, it's certainly a way of relieving stress for the complainer but tosses it upon the recipient in the meantime. How productive.

Hm. Migraine, most likely. Try caffeine. If not, go the other route and sleep. I can guarantee any doctor wouldn't be able to conjure up a better relief aside from some arbitrary, high dosage drug. Triptans aren't as effective as they'd like to believe.

Worst headache ever

This headache isn’t the type that can be taken away with a standard dose of acetaminophen. It’s been taking control for a while and medication is no help. [frowns slightly] sometimes complaining is a way of relieving stress. 

[damien-of-disdain]

Debatable... Anything that a standard dose of acetaminophen can cure is hardly worth dramatization.

Does Bentley do anything aside from complain?

Worst headache ever

Dramatic perhaps but completely appropriate. 

[damien-of-disdain]

And I'm almost positive that's highly unlikely and awfully dramatic.

Worst headache ever

I’m almost positive I’m dying. 

[damien-of-disdain]

Dwellers // Open

The end of the dreaded Umbra weekend felt to be more of a relief than the end of a zombie apocalypse as the power gradually washed back over the town. Even in the presence of the afternoon sun, the town already appeared to be more tolerable than it had been in complete darkness. And, above all else, it meant that Damien was no longer wedged between a rock and a hard place, forced to camp in order to avoid his irrational fears. 

Returning to the Abbott Hotel’s rooms he considered something of a home, he’d refrained from embracing his furniture in joy. No more solid, cold grounds, campfires, and uninvited children clambering all over him. The medical journals he had been reviewing prior to his moments of panic as the power flicked off days before were long since lost and forgotten beneath the sofa. Without them – naturally – it was hardly an hour before Damien was losing his mind in boredom.

The man often took to tinkering (or rather tearing apart objects for their hardware and electronics inside), but his near destroying of the hotel’s supplied television seemed to have put him on the radar of that young Abbott boy. His next resort would be taking to smoking, something of a slight and developing habit. However, that too was frowned upon by his favorite Abbott family within the building’s walls. It seemed as though there were no choice but for the anti-socialite to thrust himself into the public’s eye.

Damien despised the town of Bentley wholeheartedly. Every little detail about it seemed to irk him: its size, the people, the festival, the attitudes… Most dwellers of Bentley seemed to be the cheery, typical townsfolk that he’d rather avoid while the rest were far too much on their high horses. How ironic it was that the latter vexed him the most, yet he wasn’t very much different from them.

‘Afternoon! Anything we can help you with?’ a woman’s voice startled him, as though he were foolishly imagining the small shop of oddities and antiques wouldn’t have any workers present. It was obvious from her enthusiasm that customers in the shop were more rare than not with the way she continued on with ‘You’re not from around here, are you? I recognize everyone, and I don’t recognize you’. 

A shake of head, not even bothering to turn his attentions towards the woman, was all Damien offered in response. He continued about his way in the shop, searching for nothing in particular but something to keep himself occupied. He managed to quickly lose the gaze of the woman guarding the shop – obviously giving up any friendly attempts with the impossible man – but another set of eyes seemed to fall upon him in replacement.

[damien-of-disdain]

Robots, robots, robots… When did they suddenly transport back several centuries to when machinery had been first invented? Evidently, Gail saw nothing strange about the use of the word with the way she gazed at him as though he were the one with the weird terminology. Damien didn’t falter to return a stare of his own, one that consisted of his mouth slightly open in bewilderment.

“They’re machines,” he sternly corrected as though she were a young child who couldn’t understand. Much to his approval, she ultimately agreed to the correction, though it didn’t entirely erase the word robots from the association. “Well, until the day my answerphone suddenly jumps up and chokes me out,” he began, leaning back onto his elbows casually, “I wont be too worried”. 

It was a rational fear to have concern that technology would advance to the point it would develop its own intelligence. ‘The Frankenstein Complex’, a fear of artificial human beings… or them developing their own minds enough that they take over the world. However, most studies - ones that Damien easily recalled having reviewed - proved that fear to be quite dated.

Studies, he repeated the word mentally. Yes, of course. He couldn’t forget of the near-local doctor’s medical journals he had been reviewing prior to disaster ensuing. At this very moment, those papers were probably scattered about in disorganization upon the couch and among the floor. It was inevitable that Damien would forget of their importance between now and the end of the weekend, but he still tried to make a mental note between the marshmallows, camping advice, and name-calling.

Damien’s eyebrows rose slowly, tilting his head slightly as though to assess if Gail were truly insulted by his words. Of course, he knew very well it was all part of their spontaneous, playful game. “No,” he halfheartedly rejected, twirling the wire Gail had constructed between his fingers before it abruptly (and unintentionally) flung several feet away. While he tried to seem completely absorbed by his fiddling with the wire, no expression upon his face, he managed to break into an awfully crooked smile when he caught glimpse of Gail’s own grin. “Well, she might have tried. It really didn’t make an impression”. 

The joking was set aside at the mention of children, putting Damien back at that state of indifference over the matter which soon turned to something of panic (another familiar trait of the night) as Gail insisted on simply picking up a few children from the nearby family. Yes, that seemed like a perfectly legal, good samaritan idea. 

“Oh sure, just toss me right under the bus, that will make the weekend even more memorable!” Damien sarcastically replied with an equally sardonic expression of fake joy to match, “Try explaining to the man yourself that they’re ‘just kids’ and ‘we’re just helping’. I will take no part”. And with that, he leaned forward to cross his arms over his chest, resting them upon his knees.

“Oh, heaven help me,” was all Damien muttered as the children bantered among themselves and tried their short attention spans to roasting marshmallows with Gail’s assistance. At the very least, they were preoccupied and none of it involved Damien.

The boy requested – or more so demanded – another marshmallow, and that was enough to bring a false sense of security to Damien. How silly of him to think such a child would be pleased with something so simple for very long. No, he was off to the next best thing before Gail had the second marshmallow in the fire. Much to his dismay, that next thing was Damien himself. As the boy began his slow and grueling approach, Damien pulled his limbs in closer to his body as if to distance himself as much as possible.

Frantic eyes looked to Gail for assistance, but she was much too preoccupied with the inquiring little girl with complex questions that would make a person wonder how she thought them up. Damn was left to fend for himself with his small attacker.

  “No, I don’t,” Damien huffed in response, his voice remaining monotone and deep – much unlike the animated, high-pitched tones people often used with children. The man turned his attentions away from the boy who seemed to gawk over such an unfamiliar accent. Hunching over his knees and intently keeping his eyes straight ahead at the fire, maybe if Damien pretended the boy didn’t exist, he’d disappear.

Not a chance.

Damien was unaware of the close proximity the boy tested him with until small arms latched onto him and before long, the boy was clambering all over him. Still, he tried his best to pay no attention to the child. Even as sticky hands made contact with his hair, surely pulling strands from his scalp, he merely closed his eyes with a heavy sigh to refrain from lobbing the child across the field.

Want! the boy suddenly exclaimed, nearly making Damien jump. The child contorted himself over Damien slumped back to reach for the flashlight, making for the last straw. 

“Alright,” he gritted his teeth before springing into action and to his feet in order to collect the child beneath his arm as one might a handful books, “Off you go, you bugger”. Despite Damien’s obvious vexation, the boy stretched his arms out before him with giggles as though he were playing a game with Damien and pretending to be an airplane. “Uhm… What do you ‘spose I do with this?” he consulted Gail as he pointed with his free hand towards the giggling child, “I for one am all for stoking the fire”.

Fear of the Dark // Damien & Gail

The setup or the teaching? Oh, Gail could hardly decide! It took a moment of long, contemplative silence before she finally retorted with a shrug an and a noncommittal, “Both.” In truth, she had rather hoped to rope in a person who wasn’t experienced with camping but she had never expected that it would be Damien Bradburn. She was grateful — perhaps even more-so since her company was a man who had seemed tired of her antics — but she was also somewhat nervous; Gail hadn’t once thought to throw her disappearance into the equation. At midnight, she would simply… disappear. That would be impossible to explain.

Or would it? 

Already, Gail was coming up with ridiculous explanations that could somehow write off her complete, twelve-hour disappearance that was approaching quickly. Perhaps she could convince Damien that she had been with him the entire time, or maybe he would believe that she had been briefly abducted by aliens or — OR — perhaps she could simply act shocked and terrified the following day? Ah, but what would happen in the event of a second or third disappearance; those sorts of accidents didn’t happen so frequently.

Eager to think of something more pleasant, Gail forced another smile and turned her attention straight to Damien just in time to catch a question. “The lot of them? Of course! How do you think people made clothes before robots?” Again with that word, robots. Gail didn’t even pause to think that she sounded strange until Damien addressed the word itself, and even then she peered at him as if he had sprouted an extra appendage from his forehead. 

“Well no, of course they’re not in houses… They’re in factories.” Her poor choice of words dawned on her at that moment and, quick to correct herself, she waved a dismissive hand through the air, “Robots, machines — same thing! And besides, you never know when machines are just gonna take a mind of their own.” It was a conspiracy theory that she knew logically to be untrue, but there was still part of Gail that could remember older scifi movies that featured automatons and terrifying machines that could rip a person to bits or breathe fire … or both! Sometimes — more often than not — fear could override logic and Gail was excellent proof of that fact. A change of subject to something as harmless as marshmallows was entirely welcome and served to make the southern woman perk up with a bit more energy than she had previously exhibited. 

“Marshmallow wench?!” Mock offense played across her face as her hand rose to her heart, “You’ve insulted me! Didn’t your momma ever teach you how to treat a lady?” That line was too much, even for Gail, and she found her facade slipping, breaking into the grin that she seemed to perpetually wear around strangers. While Damien’s mask of intimidating was slipping away, Gail held fast to her bubbly personality and the illusion that she was an entirely normal woman. She’d had a little over seventy years to craft that facade and she certainly wasn’t about to let go of it in a moment of uncertainty.

Children didn’t bother Gail in the slightest, though that was probably obvious due to the evident excitement that she exhibited at the prospect of robbing a parent of a few cherished moments with their own children. Though Damien had reservations, Gail welcomed the idea with open arms.

“Oh, please! Nobody’s gonna arrest us. I mean, we’re just helping out — and besides, if push comes to shove, they’d be more likely to arrest you instead of me.” The thought wasn’t comforting in the slightest, though the grin that Gail gave to Damien said that she hadn’t meant it to be. “They’re just kids — we’re helping their Dad by taking them off his hands so he can make a fire.” 

No more explanation could be offered as the two rugrats completed their trek to Gail’s campsite. The marshmallow that she held on her own stick was given quickly to the boy who announced that he could roast marshmallows all by himself. After a bit of banter with both children, Gail took to watching the boy’s marshmallow as he soon became distracted and preoccupied with something entirely unimportant.

It didn’t take long before the boy had scarfed down his marshmallow and, with sticky fingers and a mouth coated with goo, begged for another one. Unable to say no, Gail reached for the bag of marshmallows just as the boy ambled off to the only other interesting party at the campsite — Damien Bradburn.

Gail was by no means a genius, but she would have attempted to intervene if she hadn’t been too preoccupied with the little girl that now had a thousand questions about roasting marshmallows and whether or not it was really safe to eat from a stick. Gail’s attention was focused on setting the girl up with her own marshmallow, a task that was so engrossing that she entirely overlooked the fact that a little boy was approaching Damien with his sticky fingers splayed wide. 

“Don’choo like campin’ mister?” It was with that innocent question that the boy lunged forward to attach himself to Damien, aiming to climb atop the man who seemed too content to stay on his side of the camp fire. The little boy, a puddle of drool, smacking gums and gooey marshmallow residue, had no idea what he was getting into and had no intention of leaving unless he was pried from Damien’s cold, dead corpse. Or so it seemed.

Just when it appeared as if things couldn’t get any worse for Damien, the boy thrust his messy hands straight for the one object that was serving to be the former researchers lifeline: The flashlight. Evidently the boy had watched Damien play with Gail and now he wanted to imitate the grown man, which required him to dirty the flashlight and — more importantly — take it from Damien’s grasp with little more than an exclamation of “Want!” attached.

[damien-of-disdain]

Any and all things Gail had further to say on the matter of learning with the help of others versus being left to face challenges alone Damien put an end to with something of a sarcastic sneer. His eyes widened quite comically, it would be hard for anyone to take him very seriously. Still, the childish, mocking expression lasted for nothing more than a split second before falling back to his usual indifference.

“Is it the set-up you’re fond of,” he began, cocking his head to the side a very small amount, “or the apparent fact that you’re training an amateur in camping?” Maybe amateur wasn’t even the correct word. Helpless or hopeless, more like. In the end, Gail was probably very fond of both the set-up and the training she would be giving Damien all throughout this weekend. She was a lucky one; not many people could teach Damien something he didn’t already know, or at least he’d never allow them to. 

Damien was not only an amateur in camping, but socializing as well. While he had no desire whatsoever to befriend the residents of Bentley – or his coworkers before them, and the classmates prior – he wouldn’t even know how to if he tried. His idea of friendliness consisted of a deal of sarcastic remarks and demeaning interjections. His humor was what he always took security in during conversation, and that humor could always be classified as the type that joked at others’ expense. But with Gail, that was beginning to not be entirely so. Was he in fact becoming comfortable? 

Speaking of Gail, the image of her knitting furiously to produce scarves, sweaters, mittens, and the whole nine yards could him to chuckle deeply only once. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the girl with a hobby of knitting, but when he pictured the scenario, he did so by placing elderly folks around her in something of a knitting circle. Were there knitting circles? Damien’s mind began to wander, but he didn’t dare ask in fear of a whole explanation he wasn’t prepared for.

“Are the lot of those even possible?” a question slipped out without filter. Damien didn’t necessarily have that stereotypical grandmother that would knit articles of clothing on a whim. She was much more of a reader, interested in things with the least amount of physical effort – because knitting was so exhausting. So, he wasn’t all too familiar with the knitted sweaters most people joked about. 

“Sewing is often done to fix things, and in most cases people simply-“ he abruptly cut himself off. “Robots?” The repetition of the word came out as something of disbelief; disbelief that one would think of machinery as robots in this time period. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but robots aren’t growing minds of their own and going off to knit in every household”.

Now what people truly needed ‘robots’ for was roasting marshmallows, or maybe at least the option to buy marshmallows post toasting in the supermarket. “Touché,” he reluctantly noted, realizing he’d have to submit to Gail and her expertise unless he’d want to be crunching on burnt goo all night, “Marshmallow wench”.

Joking, playfulness… Hardly anyone would be able to find the often-cold Damien remotely intimidating at this very moment. Perhaps that was what drew the children from down yonder to the campsite almost instantaneously, but not before Damien could laugh – genuinely laugh, no matter how short – at the spectacle the man was creating as pointed out by Gail. His laughed had vanished as soon as the girl’s question sprung up.

Children were a whole new demon. Whether or not he ‘minded’ them was unknown. Therefore, once again, indifferent. He didn’t even have the chance to give any sort of reply before Gail was waving them in. She might as well have been in a windowless, questionable van on the street with the way she called to them. Any parent might have seen a red flag in this situation, but lucky for them all, the parents were far too occupied with the now-toppling tent. The two children – one boy and one girl, couldn’t be no older than six years – came running. 

“Are you sure…?” Damien wearily spoke up, “I for one am not to thrilled at the thought of that man having us arrested on the spot”. If being arrested was what were to come of having the two children at their campsite, then arrested it should be as the pair bounded up to Gail with excited anticipation for marshmallows. Damien pulled his knees up nearly to his chest and crossed his arms atop them, passively observing the children interacting with Gail.

It was somewhat amusing (and he was quite thankful they seemed to take note of the more child-friendly of the both of them), but the young girl’s attentions drifted over towards him as he looked on. The grin across her face widened, and somehow it registered to Damien as a look of mischief. That child was definitely up to something.

Fear of the Dark // Damien & Gail

“But we wouldn’t learn to walk at all if someone wasn’t there to help us along the way.” It didn’t occur to Gail that Damien could have been forced to fend for himself, though she rather expected that his parents would have helped him with such basic tasks. How was she supposed to know that his childhood was spent in loneliness and that he had likely been left to his own devices when it came to basic life lessons. Perhaps a person with more tact might have considered such ideas, but Gail didn’t even pause to realize that his views were likely formed from experience rather than simple malice. In time, she would learn.

A quiet kind of smugness overcame her as Damien piped down and remained silent after the tables were turned. Though she wasn’t one to hold a victory over a person’s head — or not immediately thereafter, anyway — Gail did have a childish mentality that made her gloat internally over the fact that she had smarted the too-smart, too-cynical researcher. Even when he admitted that Bentley would be fine without her help, Gail continued to smile smugly with her head held high. “Oh, I’m sure it will. Besides, I like the set-up I have right here.” And she was beginning to think that he liked it, too.

Actually, the more she thought on it, the more Gail realized that Damien was behaving radically different than the first time she met him. His distaste for her company had almost been palpable, though she had completely ignored it in favor of having a bit of company before midnight, though now… now he seemed to enjoy talking to her. Then again, maybe it was only because he needed a place to bunk down for the night and Gail had made an offer that was somewhat tempting — who else would he have stayed with? She couldn’t shake the feeling that he had no friends in Bentley, but she also had the feeling that he had no friends because he didn’t want them. What a sad way to live.

After her final trip to the tent and her subsequent relocation somewhat closer to Damien, Gail made herself comfortable as if to make it plain that she wasn’t intending to move. Her smile didn’t fade or waver, barely even changed as he tossed aside the idea of knitting and announced that scarves were meant to be purchased instead of made.

“That’s not true! I make scarves all the time. Sometimes sweaters and mittens as well!” Her nose crinkled and her brows turned downward just enough to connote that she was somewhat surprised but still joking. What really shocked her was how spoiled people seemed to be; as a child, Gail had worn hand-me-downs from her older cousins with the occasional dress that was made by her mother. Knitted scarves and sweaters were a real treat, and she was still amazed at the things that kids expected to be given — even adults were disappointed regularly by material things. What a concept! Gail herself couldn’t ever imagine spurning a gift or offering simply because it was the wrong item or — worse yet! — the wrong color. Times really had changed. 

“I’ll give you that it’s not more economical to knit to anymore, but it’s a shame that little girls can’t sew or knit since we’ve got robots to do it now.” Wait, what — robots? Perhaps she had been looking for the word machine, but Gail seemed pretty confident in her choice of words despite the fact that she sounded like some kind of sci-fi fanatic (granted, an elderly one). 

She let the subject flow to marshmallows without much thought, seeming more interested in waving a sweet in Damien’s face rather than talking about knitting. When he finally did take the offering, she gave something of a victorious ‘Ah-a!’ before she moved to skewer another marshmallow while intensely watching his reaction. 

“I’m not rubbin’ anything in your face yet,” the denial was sheepish, made with a slow shrug and something of a lean while she bit down on the tip of her tongue, “I mean, I could always leave you to your own devices and make fun of you while you’re working.” 

His approval to the marshmallow caused Gail to grin further, turning her attention to the children that he pointed out only after he had cleared his mouth of food. The kids did look rather amazed at the fact that Damien and Gail had a working campsite, but Gail wasn’t interested at all in gloating to a small group of children. 

“D’you think I should offer them one? Or at least give their dad matches? I mean, look at him… he’s — is he — he is! He’s rubbing sticks together!” The grin on her face widened as if to somehow prove that this was the funniest sight she had seen for the duration of the night. The grin on her face only faded as she looked at Damien, and even then she only narrowed her eyes into something of suspicion while a tinge of a smile remained on her lips.

“Wait — do you even mind kids? You don’t seem like th —” The type. She had used that phrase too many times; so many, in fact, that it suddenly dawned on Gail that she assumed most of what she knew about Damien. “Hold that thought!” 

Without warning, Gail turned to look at the children before she lifted her stick with a stabbed, unroasted marshmallow on the end. “Hey, baby-dolls! Do you want some marshmallows? I can make you one if you want!” Her large grin, meant to be disarming, only wavered when she realized how unsettling her offer might have sounded to a child. “Your Pops can come too, if he isn’t too busy with the fire!” Yeah, that’d clear things up! And if not… Well, Gail imagined that she would be without neighbors for the duration of the camping experience.

[damien-of-disdain]

[damien-of-disdain]

“But no one learns properly without practice,” Damien slyly remarked, pulling the lighter just out of her reach in time, “We don’t learn to walk by having others do it for us”. And with that, he rested his case. Perhaps both Damien and Gail’s conflicting outlooks on the dilemma spoke quite a bit more about their backgrounds and personalities than either of them would consider. Besides, it was just a silly, little conversation… even if the family in question would think otherwise.

When Gail had sneakily turned the tables on him once more, Damien quieted down, almost visibly losing his air of cockiness and confidence. Leaving him alone… That was a weighted thing she chose to hold over his head, but it was effective. He would have to be careful about just how much he toyed with her; she may just take an idea and run with it, literally. Then what? Damien would be alone in the dark with a campsite he hardly knew how to utilize. At the very least, he had a flashlight.

So, he responded to her the best he could without alluding to the fact he couldn’t bare to be alone. “I’m sure there’s plenty of people handing out water bottles,” he casually suggested, “Bentley may just carry on fine without your helping”. 

In the light – literally and figuratively – of not being left alone to face this dark weekend, Damien had been given a lot of reassurance. Furthermore, Gail was becoming something of a necessity to him this weekend. And, he’d reasoned to himself, it was bound to be as miserable as he’d make it. Therefore, he subconsciously decided that the same attitude as he’d had at the diner would not cut it. Maybe it wasn’t an entirely conscious act of his to be so good-natured (in the terms of Damien at least) in this very moment, but human nature. Besides, something about Gail’s personality was almost – just almost – growing on him. 

But as Gail vanished into the tent to retrieve the items for marshmallow roasting – or marshmallow searing rather – Damien reconsidered his natural reaction of an almost playful nature. If anything, he was beginning to startle himself. What was going on…? 

Damien’s first, mistaken assumption of what exactly the assortment of wire and pliers would be used for was no doubt idiotic. More so, he chose to share that assumption out loud, in turn sparking a new idea within the girl. He could nearly see a light bulb ignite over her head. It would only be a matter of time before he’d be knitting for the sake of keeping his company around for the weekend.

He brought his palm to his forehead, almost overdramatically but very fitting for his exasperation. “No, I don’t need to learn to knit. I don’t believe I’d find it relaxing as much as infuriating… Besides, scarves and sweaters are meant to be purchased in stores”. 

Damien didn’t give a further reply on the subject of the food. The more he spoke about anything really, the more he seemed to dig himself into a deeper and deeper hole. The thought did cross his mind, however even for a second, how strange it was that Gail made the decision to stow away so much food for the weekend. It was as though she had been anticipating someone else to be accompanying her all along. What if this were all part of a master plan? Well, that’d be a damn brilliant one.

So roasting marshmallows hadn’t been as ‘simple’ as he pictured in his mind prior to stabbing a wire through the thing and throwing it onto the fire to burn to a crisp. That fact was very obvious as he held the smoldering, black mush inches from the tip of his nose. 

“Really? I was under the impression this was appetizing,” he retorted without hesitation, looking beyond the black mess and towards Gail who prepared her whittled stick with a marshmallow. For a moment he considered actually eating the disaster in hopes of proving her wrong, but even the sheer smell of it caused him to toss it as far away from him as possible. His attentions were quickly caught by Gail, gazing back and forth between her and the marshmallow above the fire. His expression held a great deal of curiosity, almost as if she were performing an extraordinary, groundbreaking experiment. 

“I think you’ve rubbed this in my face enough, you aren’t required to do it literally now, too,” he cringed as the perfectly roasted marshmallow was waved before his face. After giving the marshmallow a brief inspection, he plucked it from the stick – searching to be sure no wood was stuck to it. “Thanks,” he offered unsure appreciation before taking a small, hesitant bite. It wasn’t among the greatest things he’d ever eaten, but it was pretty alright. He showed this with a small nod before finishing it off.

Not only did their favorite, nearby family have a fire to be jealous of, but also now certain, young members seemed to be eyeing up the perfection Gail had made out of the marshmallow. Damien caught glimpse of the children’s open-mouthed expressions as he turned away to pick the sticky remains from his teeth.

“I think you’ve found yourself a following now,” he nodded towards the children.

Fear of the Dark // Damien & Gail

“Well you’re pretty opposed to the idea of being opposed to camping.” Gail simply grinned as Damien mentioned that he would rather have forgotten about his panic upon first finding the Umbra Festival. She could feel sorry for him due to the fact that he had no idea about the scheduled power outage, but that didn’t mean Gail wasn’t going to make fun of the fact that he had “briskly walked” all the way to the clearing in order to find some sort of answers. Though she thought it to be kind of sad — after all, what was there to enjoy about a grown man who had been shaken up — she also found a kind of joy in the fact that Damien was now forced to socialize with people in a town that he didn’t enjoy. Perhaps she thought Bentley might grow on him.

“Nobody would ever learn anything if someone wasn’t willing to teach.” As she listened to the argument between father and child about whether or not fire could be created from gravel, Gail thought she might actually help the family out. Damien’s question only made her realize that she probably needed to step in, and that realization caused her to grin and reach out for the lighter that he pocketed almost as soon as it was offered. Cheeky.

“I do want to help out,” she insisted, “but I think I’m helping right now! Would you rather that I left you, ‘cause I could do that. I mean, there are more water bottles to hand out, y’know.” 

She hadn’t imagined that Damien would become so amicable so quickly. While Gail had intended to befriend him to the best of her abilities, her first meeting with him had been rather tense — even she could feel it, despite the fact that she didn’t acknowledge it — and she fully believed that he would take a while to warm up. However, the prospect of camping and having a secure place to bunk down for the weekend seemed to do wonders for his mood (albeit she could still see traces of that cynical, reluctant researcher) and she found herself wondering if he was enjoying himself. He wouldn’t admit it — she was sure of that — but perhaps he wasn’t having a terrible time. The thought warmed Gail’s heart.

Though she seemed rather disappointed with the fact that he had elected to prematurely end his story, Gail was actually delighted that he was even trying to have a good time. His extra playfulness when she gave him a shove only served to widen her grin and lift her spirits even further, so much so that she nearly forgot the importance of checking the time when she went back into the tent. 

Midnight. 

It hadn’t been much of a problem in the diner — she simply assumed the role of a strange girl with a bedtime — but things were more difficult when it was understood that Damien would be using her tent for the night. She couldn’t simply wander off for twelve hours without some kind of excuse, and so she attempted to be mindful of the time while continuing to entertain Damien and herself in the process. 

Arts and crafts hadn’t even crossed her mind, but when Damien admitted that he wasn’t an artist she suddenly realized that there was an entire realm of unexplored possibilities to subject the man to. “Oh,” she murmured, “I figured that you aren’t. This isn’t for crafts, though I could teach you how to knit if you’d like. It’s very relaxing.” It also caused hand cramps, could be infuriating and was the source of temporary and extreme paranoia — dropped stitches were terrifying! — but Gail didn’t think it necessary to tell her companion that much.

Her nervousness gave way to amusement as Damien questioned whether he would be allowed to starve or not. “Oh, I guess you could. But, like I said, I’ve got way too much food here — somebody has to eat it!” And that really begged a more important question — if Gail didn’t have to eat, then why did she even bother bringing food? Furthermore, why did she bring enough food for more than one person? Had she been intending to grab a bystander the entire time just so she could have some kind of companionship during the festival? It was very likely that she was lonely, despite the facade she put up. 

She fought the urge to laugh as he rolled his sleeves up in preparation of making something as simple as a roasted marshmallow, though she spend a few minutes carving bark off of a stick with her wire cutters. When she had gotten engrossed in the task, she was forced to look toward Damien as he exclaimed that marshmallow roasting was “simple”.

“Oh my goodness,” she scoffed, “that looks… that look really gross. You’ve never done this before, have you?” Her wire-cutters were tossed to the ground as she fished for her own marshmallow and skewered it. “You don’t burn it! Just let it get warm!” With that, Gail thrust her own marshmallow near the flames and pulled her knees up to wait comfortably. In the silence that followed, she watched the flames and contemplated just what she might say to keep conversation flowing at a nice pace. Finding that she was at a loss for topics, Gail merely waited to pull her marshmallow out of the fire before thrusting it toward Damien.

“Here!” The grin on her face said enough, though she waggled her wrist as a way of confirming her offer. “Try this. Since you can’t make your own, I’ll let you have mine.”