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halfwarms · 1 year

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in the blink of an eye, the cruel truth has leached out and stained the fragile peace of park place. she understands the furore of the others – but there’s no room left to step back from the line that’s been crossed. the committee won’t let anyone. circling like wild dogs, one can only take the bait laid out, bound to the inescapable spiral of accusations. her words peter out against the cacophony. in a pause for air beverly takes stock of the room, maple’s exit caught at the edge of her vision.

“ wait– ” the first time she calls, other's frantic voices drown out her own. past the door she repeats herself louder now, but not without a tinge of exasperation pitching her voice. she winces at herself but keeps on, hurried steps punctuating the approach to the stairwell. “ i’m not here to pick a fight, promise. ” she perches on the icy bottom step, elbows on her knees. glancing upward to maple, she tips her head to the side at the empty space. “ couldn't have said anything else, really. people don’t understand it, not until they see what it’s like out there. ”

open to : EVERYONE ! location : the LOBBY into STAIRWELL ! timeline : end of CHAPTER ONE !

“ no , please you just --- have to understand. ” hands that tremble push back strands of greasy hair , maple's voice that has always been quiet easily becoming lost in the swarm of shocked and ( rightfully ? ) angry exclamations of the other residents. teary eyed hues fret back and forth for a friendly face , but none meet maple's gaze , just that of the FINGER of a self appointed committee member pointing between their eyes , shouting of lies and treachery and murder.

with a labored breath , maple turns , pushing the finger away and searching for the nearest exit. like a tired swimmer fighting against an ocean wave , maple is left exhausted trying to get through the frenzying crowd. when she makes it to the stairwell , the accusations and shouting ricochet off of the empty steps. “ stop , please. i don't know what to say to make it any less bad. ” she calls back , desperately , at whoever's footsteps were following theirs.

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halfwarms · 1 year

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the revelation’s brought out the worst of everyone. stood from the other end of the hallway where the words echo into faint nothingness, a tiny part of her wants to let the altercation go on. it's better to look the other way, right? though, that’s the survival instincts talking. beverly draws in a breath, feigns concern at hobbs’ fingers entwined in patton’s jacket sleeve as she approaches. taller guy, wears a pinched expression, not a big talker. not too brave either.

“ what’s the matter? ” she’d be taken aback at the reality check, too, if not for keeping the very same secret beneath her own tongue. “ hey, patton, you should go and catch your breath. i’ll find you soon to talk. ” a reassuring hand lingers on his upper arm as he steps away. out of earshot, she lets out an exasperated sigh. “ my god, hobbs, ” the heels of her hands press against her eyes briefly. “ there’d never be a right time to say it. still, how’d it turn into this much of a mess? ”

OPEN TO everyone. LOCATION a hallway , who's surprised.

“ you’re NOT . . . ” lips press together , frustration manifesting in the form of furrowed brows and a tongue that he has to bite down on to prevent from slipping. eyes move towards everyone else , the chaos that had BROKE THROUGH momentary peace as hobbs lowers his voice. “ you’re not listening , okay ? ”

hand lifts , finger swiping just beneath his nose and across his upper lip before his arm extends to tug them closer to a small nook off the hallway - A MOMENT OF SOLITUDE WHILE HELL ROSE TO THE SURFACE. hobbs doesn’t know what to say. the truth ? no , fuck that. “ in case you haven’t heard , we’re at the end of the fucking world. people are gonna die , that's inevitable. now can you get a fucking grip , please ? ” totally normal , hobbs. great job at comforting someone else.

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halfwarms · 1 year

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resident file #0001 … BEVERLY GLASS has been living at park place for seven years until the apocalypse. their neighbors at the time said they were buoyant and weak-willed, and always spent their free time flipping through magazines in the lobby convenience store while working as a museum curator. now they spend their time as a supplier and carrying around their claw hammer. rumor has it they tend to side with fedra throughout all of this. if they ever had a chance to leave, the first thing they would do is spend a day at the beach.

𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 .

the childhood of vermont’s a frigid, sometimes desolate one, but not once does the cold of the outside ever seep into the house. there is warmth to the place, to the family living in it.

her parents are not wealthy – there is more to be appreciated in creating, they say. money nags at every idea, every need, but they are ingenious enough to make ends meet. her father the town's most in-demand carpenter, she remembers what the keen sting of a wood splinter in the pad of her thumb feels like as much as she does the lingering smell of oil paints and new canvas that creeps out from below the door of her mother’s studio. beverly grows up as the youngest of three: two sons and a daughter, each as bright as the next. despite that, she is her brothers’ keepers. the level-headed one, the one whose smile won’t falter, never mind the gaps of three and five years between her and them.

life is punctuated by the passing of the seasons, all within the bounds of the town she calls home. what breaks the monotony are the rare holidays spent east along the coastline of maine, with little else to disrupt each and every year beverly goes through like clockwork. she is sixteen when a new kid in her chemistry class, the lab partner always with a sharp bite to their words ( but for her, is always kinder ) asks, don’t you wanna know what’s past all of this? aren’t you bored, bev? the idea, the wake up call, it doesn’t much stay with her. at least, not for another year or so, when they are gone ( nyc, this place was just a blip in the radar of growing pains ) off and away to something bigger. she doesn’t recognise the jealousy – can’t find the name for the tense feeling which unfurls in her chest.

to leave is the most frightened beverly has felt. she arrives to a boston that is loud and overwhelming and non-stop and she is in slow motion ; backwards. there are others in the campus dorms who are lonely, she knows, but eventually they will return home. beverly will not. no matter how much she dreads the solitude, she promises herself when she gets honour roll that she will not go back. it will be the one selfish thing she does, though her voice on the phone to her parents is as airy as they know it to be. what good is there, worrying those she promised to make proud?

it’s the meagre savings and the keen eye of a grad student that lead her to park place. from experience, they know life after college is disjointed at best and it's clear in the fatigue written into beverly's face. she takes on the lease, settles into the bare, creaky apartment that eventually becomes her home.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 .

beverly finally had the life she wanted appear within her grasp. rather than choose to tolerate being a laboratory technician that left her with nowhere to go beside where she stood, she worked several jobs to make ends meet and began studying once more to land herself at the museum of science as an assistant curator. days before the outbreak, a friend from college, one who’d seen through the sleepless nights revising with her in the library, the first person she’d met on campus, had flown north to visit and celebrate her new job. nothing, not even the peculiar whispers from her old workmates that something was causing trouble for them down in the labs, could dull the elation of being with an old friend. the obliviousness would be their downfall. one in the morning on a saturday, voices high into the balmy summer night sky. arm in arm, they’re laughing. [ trigger warning : death , infected . ] before the two of them know it, they are cornered in a frenzied crowd. she blinks, and it becomes a cacophony of screams. beverly chalks it down to the alcohol over her inability to stop and reach for her friend before it’s too late to reverse the impulse decision, the opening she thinks they can go for. except she knew, there was no way out – not without a casualty. [ trigger warning end . ]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

currently, beverly is torn between allowing herself to mourn the person she used to be, and who she seems to be turning into. she put herself forward to become a supplier and took on that risk as penance. yet, it's only proven to herself how willing she is to let others take the fall as a means of self-preservation.

used to living in an apartment that seems to crumble away in some form every six months, she’s put the skills of being a carpenter’s daughter to good use. when it came down to it, she figured being the most dextrous with the hammer would give her an edge. wouldn't it be nice to go back to a time when she only ever put up craigslist ads offering to put ikea furniture together for a little extra cash.

in recent months, with park place growing colder, she’s begun to skim an item here or there in fear there’ll eventually be nothing left to bring back. even so, she’ll keep small bits and pieces to give to people that she can see needs them more than she does.

innately feels the world owes her something, and the bad taste in her mouth is becoming stronger – but doesn’t it owe everyone, at least a little?

#parkapts.intro

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