dotarcher

[dotarcher]

theprep​:

✩｡:*•.───── Tad loved shopping. It was one of his favorite activities, right behind preening in the mirror and judging people in passing. With his parents credit cards, he was able to buy anything and everything that suited his fancy. From expensive polos, loafers, and pastel-colored sweaters, the world was his oyster. Tad had just started his shopping spree and already had six bags full of clothes when it dawned on him. He’d look even more impressive if he had somebody carrying his bags for him. His usual menagerie of butlers and other hired help were busy at home preparing for one of his parents infamous dinner parties. Tad paused outside of a store when an idea dawned on him. He could hire a stranger to carry his bags for him. Tad had the money and he loved flaunting his wealth. Plus, who would deny a few bucks for a quick and easy job?  It didn’t take long for a stranger to pass by and for a bright, poisonous smile to grace Tad’s features. “Hey, you.” Tad started after them with his colorful shopping bags in tow. They didn’t hear him at first which wrinkled the grin Tad had been wearing seconds before. “Excuse me,” Again they were just out of ear shot. “Hello, I’m talking to you.” Tad caught himself before his tone could slip into anything that could be perceived as unpleasant. Just as quickly as his smile had faltered it was alive again, lighting up his face as he spoke. “You wanna do me a favor and carry my bags around while I shop? I’ll give ya a twenty.” 

-

Even when she had money, shopping had been an ordeal for Dot. She was never allowed anything in her own style; the Archer family had a uniform, and stepping out of it was not allowed. There'd been a lot of stiff shirts and blazers, skirts and dresses, each seemingly more uncomfortable than the last despite being tailored for her. Now Dot opted for comfort over style, and usually whatever happened to be on sale. Everything was worn until it fell to pieces.

Today it was a new pair of shoes. That was slightly less uncomfortable than shopping for clothes, but still, she wanted it to be over as quickly as possible. Her feet marched through the streams of people, trying her best to block out the snippets of their conversations that, in this mood, irrationally irked her. She hand't even registered someone was addressing her until they were right behind her.

“Are you... joking?” By looking at him, Dot already knew he wasn't. He seemed familiar. Maybe it was just the way he dressed, or the tone of voice, or the smile that she didn't quite trust. “Do people actually agree to that? Following you around like a little dog for twenty dollars?”

An idea sparked in her mind. Worth a try, she thought. “I'd need at least fifty to take that kind of blow to my dignity.”

[dotarcher]

passwithoutafelix​:

–

“Some people would say that you are the rats,” Felix retorted baldly. He’d been a rat long enough to know that the line between humanity and monstrosity was a thin one. Be it that he was far from innocent when it came to using his powers, but at least he was covert about it. The TV that sat heavy in his hands was a growing to be an annoyance when he realized the old guy wasn’t about to come back without scrambled eggs for brains. 

He huffed and rolled his eyes when the other seemed to be leaving, resigning to looking about the shop at the various knickknacks lining the shelves in debate of what he could trade the TV for if not cash. 

The sound of the door locking behind him spiked his nerves, his instincts firing off alarms in his head to search for exits. The glowing red sign behind the counter suggested a fire escape. The light streaming in through the shop window suggested another, though slightly less inconspicuous. Felix blew out a breath at the sound of indignance coming from behind him and dropped his head back in exasperation.

“What can I say? I like to have fun,” he said, sounding bored and dismissive. The rest of his body followed the roll of his head as he spun around to face the lady.

“You are no different from your family. That man is trying to make living and you have decided to play God and throw temper tantrum like child, much like how mutants are trying to live and congress is trying to play God with their lives like little children. Do you think putting name in registry allows you to do such a thing?”

-

Oof. That stung.

Dot didn't spend much time thinking about her family any more. Or, at least, she tried not to. When they'd first kicked her out it had been the only thing on her mind, the conversations and arguments and eventual parting on loop day and night. Should she have said something differently? Would she even have wanted to? She knew her father would recoil. He always had when it came to any deviance from the norm. And her mother would follow suit, because that was all she'd ever done. But her siblings? She'd hoped at least one of them would stand by her side; they never seemed quite so on board with the prejudice.

In the end, she supposed, wealth won out. Being away from them all had allowed her to see the gaps in the family, the divide between herself and them, the difference that came down to more than just a gift. She'd always felt a little out of sync. But the walls around her life had been so rigid, so restricting, there wasn't any way to see it until she was out of it.

So being told she was just like them sparked a nerve. Understandably. There was shame there too; for all the ways she was different they had still raised her, and certainly left their mark.

She swallowed the flash of anger that seared at her throat. “You think that me playing a dumb prank on some guy that lied is the same as what's happening to us? Really? That's a stretch. Better make sure you don't pull something.”

The man still hadn't come back. She wondered if he was still running, even though the illusions had disappeared. “I didn't hurt him, and I didn't steal from him.” Though it wasn’t like the though hadn’t crossed her mind. She spied the door to the back room, and decided it was worth a look.

As she started towards the door, she spoke. “And I’m not going to steal from him, before you start. I just want to see if what I came for is still here or not. Maybe he’s a double liar.”

[dotarcher]

Donnybrook | Delia’s fitting | Margaret Qualley

[dotarcher]

MARGARET QUALLEY in Donnybrook 2018, dir. Tim Sutton

[dotarcher]

seerjude​:

@dotarcher​

Jude hadn’t seen or heard about the rather controversial Dorothy Archer in years. He remembered hearing the rumors, that she was gifted, that her family disowned her. It surprised no one that they would do so, considering her father, but even then Jude felt a sort of pity for her. He couldn’t imagine losing all that he had, his family, the money. He wouldn’t know how to survive. 

His pity did not extend far, they were never close and so when it happened, he considered the situation a distant, half-real thing. Had he seen her in public he might have offered her a smile, perhaps made small talk, but he certainly wouldn’t get close to her. He had no reason to step on her father’s toes, it would only bring him trouble.

But that was then and now, Jude was the same as her. He was not disowned but he was gifted and so where before his pity was an apathetic, distant and cruel thing now it was more genuine. She rarely crossed his mind but even so, when seeing her sitting in a car (a far cry from the cars she must have been used to once), he recognized her instantly.

“Dot!” He called, grinning and waving at her as he made his way down the steps of the pottery studio he’d paid a visit to and over to the street. He bent down and leaned into the window on the passenger’s side. “I thought I recognized you. What are you doing… .” Here, in that car, in those clothes, but he stopped himself. He knew the answer. “Do you have time to grab lunch? It’s on me.”

-

The shout of her name made her jump, almost spilling the cup of coffee in the holder to her right. It wasn't a familiar voice, which put her on edge, and when her eyes finally found its owner she struggled to place the face too. It took a couple of seconds to realise he was a relic from her old life. She didn't see many of those now, where she lived and worked. People of that caliber spent as little time as possible amongst those they thought lesser.

And yet there was Jude Lawrence at her window, inviting her to lunch.

She didn't remember much about him other than his family's wealth. Her father had wanted to impress them in the hopes of campaign donations, though she couldn't have said if it worked or not. Not that it mattered to Dot. No one from her old life had offered a helping hand or even a kind word when she needed it most, and that was just the same as agreeing with that happened.

“You want to grab lunch? With me?” She hadn't meant to sound so unenthused by the idea, but that was how it came out. There was suspicion too, until the pieces connected in her mind. She remembered hearing a while ago something about Jude. About a gift. Ah, she thought. It's not pity. It's guilt.

Against her better judgement, she decided to agree.

“I don't have long,” she lied. “Where'd you have in mind? I'll drive.” The door locks clicked open. It would be better if she could leave at her own leisure.

[dotarcher]

passwithoutafelix​:

–

Felix and the pawn shop owner were well acquainted. Something about seedy men always found each other in the nooks and crannies of bustling cities and the two of them had a symbiotic relationship. Felix brought in the goods and the man asked no questions. Cash exchanges seemed to make the world go round and while Felix liked to live for free, he found that money was necessary once in a while when he was too exhausted to morph.

That morning, he had procured the TV of one unsuspecting family who’d naively allowed their son to bring a mangy mutt home without double checking for mutated genes. It was a new set with its very own VCR, recently bought in hopes of viewing their copy of Blue Thunder with minimal static. It was unfortunate for them, but a payload for Felix that he wasn’t about to squander.

Until the shop owner blew out of the store screaming bloody murder. 

“Well, that is one way to get discount,” he muttered, staring at the man from the storefront window as he flailed frantically along the sidewalk. Felix didn’t need to be a genius to understand that there was another mutant in the room.

He turned his attention to the only other person there. He’d read up on the news about the Archer family, the patron a hard man to miss when he was so outspoken about his opinions on the gifted. Felix looked the woman up and down, his distaste evident in the arch of his brow.

“Has anyone ever told you that one gets more bees with honey than vinegar? Or does that not apply to government sellouts?”

-

A government sellout?

The comment shocked her so much that she did a double take, head snapping round and eyes flashing somewhere between confusion and anger. Her fist tightened around the strap of her backpack, nostrils flaring as she shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. She hadn't yet decided whether to address it or not. “He's not a bee, he's a rat. Rats get put in their place.” The man still hadn't returned to his shop.

She turned on her heel and crossed the short distance to the door. Her hand was on the glass but she hesitated to push, her mind being dragged in two different directions. The sensible voice in her head told her to keep going, to leave the shop and not get entangled in something that might end badly. But the other voice was louder, so her hand drifted to the lock and flipped it before she turned around again.

“What the hell is 'government sellout' supposed to mean?” She asked the question but already almost knew the answer. Not for the first time, Dorothy considered that she should have done more to distance herself from her family. How silly of her to think that being disowned would have said it all. Perhaps there were more people out there like this, who thought her still a secret supporter, full of self-loathing.

“You always make assumptions like this with half a story? Pretty stupid way to live. One of these days someone’ll set you straight and you won’t like how they do it.” It was more advice than a threat, but still, there was a bite.

[dotarcher]

The coin at the pawn shop was a stroke of luck. The owner knew it was special, but not the true value, and as soon as she’d seen it Dot asked for it to be put on hold until her next payday. He’d agreed, though not enthusiastically. She should’ve got it in writing.

A bell rang above her head when she pushed the door open. The man behind the counter was the same as last Thursday, though today he looked marginally less happy to see her. Before she'd even made it halfway across the floor he was throwing out an apology. Got a better offer. Couldn't wait this long, y'know? Sorry. It's just business.

Dot's first defeat of the day, and the morning was barely half over. She stood outside the store, kicking her feet with a sullen expression on her face. Direct confrontation wasn't her style, so all she'd done was frown at the man and mutter something vaguely derogatory before leaving. She thought the situation warranted a little more.

An idea crossed her mind that she began to act on without really thinking it through. Her feet turned and she re-entered, eyes fixed on the man who looked uncomfortable at her sudden reappearance. In her mind she was conjuring up the image of rats, great bloated ones the size of small dogs, covered in grime and muck, beady eyes unnaturally red as they swarmed from every nook and cranny in the room.

He backed himself into a corner and tried to swat with a newspaper, which the imaginary rats dodged easily. They were almost threatening. Seconds later the pawn shop owner went hurtling out of the door hollering and dancing from foot to foot, trying to avoid the creatures that nipped at his ankles that only he could see.

She would have had the illusion chase him up the street if not for the sharp pain in her temple. An unfortunate consequence of more complex illusions; Dot couldn’t keep them up for long, and then she had to pay the price.  Usually a headache, though sometimes the pain bounced around as though it couldn’t find a way out. The rats disappeared just as quickly as they’d come.

There was another person in the shop, she realised then. When she’d come in the first time she was focused on the coin, and then revenge. Her eye caught theirs as she rubbed at her forehead, unsure of whether they’d caught a glimpse of her illusion; sometimes parts leaked through to others beside the target. Even if they hadn’t, it was obvious Dot had done something.

“Asshole deserved it. It’s not good to run a business on false promises.”

[dotarcher]

[DOROTHY 'DOT' ARCHER] has been in Boston [27 YEARS]. They are gifted and have the ability to [CREATE ILLUSIONS]. They are registered as class [B] which is [ACCURATE]. They were born on [JANUARY 18TH]. They’re [27] and use [SHE/HER] pronouns. Some people say they look like [MARGARET QUALLEY]. They’re known to be [CONFIDENT & ORGANISED] as well as [SARCASTIC & OBSERVANT] but look out, they can also be [JUDGEMENTAL & STUBBORN]. They are a [DELIVERY DRIVER] by day and by night they like to [COLLECT COINS, STAMPS & RECORDS].

The Archer family have been in Boston for generations, and their wealth certainly shows it. Dot is the youngest child and was just as spoiled as her siblings growing up, though the material possessions didn't come without a price. Her parents were distant, emotionally cold, and viewed their children as little more than pieces on a chess board that could further their own social and political standing. They were allowed whatever they wanted behind closed doors in exchange for obedience and overachievement in public. The rules were always spelled out clear and precise, but no matter how closely they were followed, there was always something just a little off. Never quite right.

Her father, an aspiring congressman, made his stance on gifted individuals quickly. They were to be treated with hostility and suspicion, never to be trusted, a blight that must be contained. The rest of the family were expected to fall in line. It made him popular with some, less so with others, but it certainly cemented his name. So when Dot started making people see things that weren't there at age 21, there were barely more than a few words exchanged before she was turned over for classification and subsequently disowned. She could have kept her gift concealed easily enough, but naivety told her the revelation might change something. The reaction proved her wrong.

It was difficult to know where to start on her own. Most major life decisions had been made for her, up until then. She didn't have to pay for anything. Didn't have to work through the college course she now had to drop out of. Almost everyone she'd known wanted nothing to do with her, and offered no help. For a while Dot felt somewhere in limbo - she had more freedom now, in some ways, and much, much less in others. On more than one occasion she found herself regretting the decision to make her gift known. Even found herself missing her family.

At first she was forced to make use of soup kitchens and day centres, sleeping in her car at night, which was the only possession of value she'd been allowed to keep. Eventually she started to figure things out, got herself a job and an apartment, and started to carve out her own life properly. Along the way she met people who showed her for the first time what a real family feels like; one that loves and protects with no strings attached.

In general Dot is content now. She likes being a delivery driver well enough, and loves her friends despite being unsure of a few of their less than savoury exploits. Recently she's been experimenting more with her gift, and is curious to see how far she can push herself.