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Out of grasp || Nicole & Siobhan
TIMING: A month ago LOCATION: The Pines. PARTIES: @banisheed & @nicsalazar SUMMARY: Nicole and Siobhan meet the dullahand. CONTENT WARNING: Head trauma tw
The picturesque buildings Downtown became nothing but colorful squares flashing through her window, transforming into a blur of brown and green as Nicole took the highway toward The Pines. Nacho rested by her side, chewing on the newest toy she bought for him –fifteen minutes ago– to reward him for his impeccable behavior at the dog park. She let the squeaky sounds be background noise instead of turning on the radio. These days, the old thing picked up nothing but static.
Perhaps she should’ve had the radio on. Perhaps, one of the emergency stations would be running something about the car parked on the road shoulder. The car Nicole had just spotted in the distance. Every light was switched off, igniting her curiosity further. Didn’t look like it was hit either, nor damaged in any way. Did someone make an emergency stop and proceeded to— forget about their car? Or worse, Nicole immediately considered such a scenario, they got swallowed by a creature hiding past the tree line.
It was a present concern in the back of her mind, that it could all be a ploy to get her to step out of her truck. Making herself vulnerable to criminals. She carried nothing of value they could rob, however. Her truck was junk on wheels. And Nacho was trained to jump out should an emergency arise. It was likely her proudest achievement, but as hardcore as the trick was, she never wanted to see it in action.
The stupid need to be helpful won in the end. She parked behind the vehicle, climbing down her truck to inspect. “Give me a second, bud” she whispered to her companion, closing the door behind her. She peered inside the windows and— nothing. Car was empty, as predicted. It came as a relief, though the feeling didn’t last long, never did. For once, it wasn’t her anxiety that soured the moment. It was the woman emerging from— who the fuck knew. She didn’t want to know.
Nicole closed her eyes, wishing for a moment she had continued driving. Let that be a lesson for the future. “You?” She greeted her as politely as she could. They parted ways on decent terms last time, no? Other than the death threat but, details. She nodded her head, “bones again?” She would leave her to it, if that was the case.
—
Siobhan was boning, but her heart wasn’t in it. She struck down with her trowel and pulled out ribs, pelvises, chips of bones that invited her to find the rest and yet, nothing excited her. She should’ve been thrilled; as bones were the only sanctioned fixation for a banshee, it was the only excitement she was allowed. It was the time of year that got to her. As fae trickery reached its peak, Siobhan stumbled into its shadow—It wasn’t for her anymore. No matter how many bones she collected, there was no one to envy them, no one to try and steal them away from her (which was itself an act of affection to her mind). Even if she trapped a human in a fairy ring, ruining their life, who would she brag to? Who would care about all the wondrous things she was doing? She looked up into the foggy moon and felt with pathetic clarity that she would give up a year’s worth of boning just to have someone understand just for one slice of time: a little piece, just one word. If she could know she was good for something…
“Oh, you,” Siobhan said, emerging from…honestly she couldn’t remember where she was. Such was the way of following the bones; she went where they called her. Now she was on a road, and there was the boring tree cult member whose name she would never learn because learning someone’s name was an act of intimacy she was not willing to commit. The woman could be—oh, why not—Joan. “Bones again. Honestly, I didn’t recognize you not dressed in ugly uniform.” Siobhan was, for her part, dressed in all-black again. However, in lieu of the robber attire, she was wearing a tight black-dress with a low, boob-showing cut and long black gloves and—predictably—inappropriate hiking footwear. If their first meeting had given Joan the impression she was a cartoon robber, her current attire might give her the impression she was a cartoon rich widow, the sort that wasn’t anguished over the death of their late husband.
She dragged her bones behind her. Honestly, she wasn’t in the mood to be annoying. She wanted to go home and stare at a wall. Then she wanted to pick up that book she meant to read and then not read it. And then drink a lot and then sleep. Her gaze followed Joan’s and found the car. “That’s not mine.” And then turned and found another car. “Oh, Fates, don’t tell me that one's yours. Do you curse your car to be as ugly as your fashion? Is that…Is that a dog I see in the window there? You have a dog? Is its name ‘Khaki’?” She had a dog. Maybe their dogs could—No. These were exactly the sort of intimate details she was trying to avoid. Siobhan turned back to the car and since she was closer to it—having emerged from who-the-fuck-knew where—she examined it.
It seemed a little…crushed. The metal jabbed upward as though someone had slashed through it but the gouges were larger than any human would have managed with their hands alone. It seemed more to her like someone had driven an axe in five slashes across the car. Which was an odd thing to do because it got tiring after the third cut; Siobhan would know. She opened the driver’s door and a body flopped out, dressed in a modest blue suit. Bloody. Headless. “Without me?” Siobhan clutched her chest, just about the gratuitous boob-window. “If you were going to murder, I’d hope you’d invite the bone woman along. This is just rude, Joan.”
—
“Wish I could say the same,” Nicole replied wryly, watching the woman drawing closer in a very distinct all-black attire. Somehow, she managed to make it even less suited for the woods. An achievement. Nicole only huffed, if nothing else, admiring the nerve of the other woman to not give a shit about anything, let alone uncomfortable terrain. Though complimenting her on how recognizable or bold she was in any setting wasn’t something Nicole aspired to do. Not a fucking chance. Her ego was inflated enough.
She was relieved to move from snarky greetings, to the more pivotal conversation. The empty car left on the side of the road. Nicole frowned, when the woman claimed no ownership of the vehicle, and frowned deeper when she moved on to insult her truck as well. Even though Nicole was grumbling about it too, moments earlier. She was the only person allowed to call the piece of junk for what it was. “Works for me, long as it takes me places,” she shrugged —what else was there to do? — the truck was clearly hers. Nacho peeked from the passenger’s window, drawing attention away from her vehicle. Despite the woman’s attitude, it seemed she wasn’t immune to the sight of a dog either. “His name’s Nacho. He bites,” she lied through clenched teeth, knowing her dog would show no loyalty if the woman were to approach him. Was probably wagging his tail already. Should’ve warned him about the unpleasant woman from the woods when she had the chance. Though she never expected to encounter her again.
There was the matter of the abandoned car, which the woman claimed wasn’t hers. Nicole’s gaze followed the other when she too decided to examine it. Something was wrong, however. The car didn’t look like that before. Or— Did— did it? Fuck, did she “inspect” the car only to do a pisspoor job at it? Where did those impacts on the hood come from? What had looked like a previously untouched car now showed evident signs that it had been smashed at some point. Horror crossed her features when the door opened and a decapitated body dropped to the ground. That wasn’t there either. Was it there? Should never trust her eyes again. She needed a flashlight, or the jaguar’s eyes. The sudden — to her— appearance of a body paired with the woman’s presence, the same woman who threatened to push her off a cliff, wasn’t exactly a beacon of hope. Anxiety sped up her heartbeat, blood rushing to her ears.
Of course, there were no qualms from the woman about the dead body dropping to the side of the road. No. Why would she have a normal reaction upon finding a dead body? Even worse, she assumed— no, she was joking about Nicole doing it. “Who’s—” she bit down the rest of her sentence. Didn’t matter. If she was referring to her as Joan, it worked for her. She could be Joan. “Right. I’m Joan.” She stepped toward the driver’s side, hand reaching inside her jacket’s pocket.“ So this wasn’t you either? You look real fucking calm about it,” Though, in her defense, Cliff pushing was established to be more her style. “What makes you think I’d do that?” Only getting a rise out of her, surely. “Should uh—probably report this, shouldn’t I? If you’re not the murderer.” Was she… implying she would’ve stopped if the other woman was the murderer?
—
“As in…the food?��� Siobhan shifted her weight, eyeing ‘Joan’ with confusion. While Joan was perhaps the sort of person to name an animal after food, she certainly did not seem like the sort of person to name it after something like nachos. If the creature was going to be named after food, she expected the dog to be “gruel” or “oatmeal” or “porridge”. That was a danger of expectations, they told her far more when they were broken; now Joan was complex, complicated, different. Siobhan shivered. “He bites? Nacho and I have that in common. Of course, I only do it to people that are good.” The sexually charged comment was her diversion to turn away and escape the growing complexity of Joan, lest she turn into a full human with needs and wants and ideas.
“Hm.” Siobhan hummed, more than just calm but alight with amusement at the gore. She crouched down beside the body. Death called to her in whispers inside her chest, her slow-beating heart building to a rapid pulse. She couldn’t risk a vision now—not with boring Joan standing over her—but she’d come back for the body and indulge later. Or…perhaps that wouldn’t be necessary at all, if she could deduce the manner of death the old fashioned way. “You’re awfully calm yourself.” She looked up at Joan and smiled. “I bone regularly. It really changes a woman.” She pulled her gloves on and picked up the corpse’s wrist, his lifeless hand dangling.
It was strangely pink still. If not for the missing head, Siobhan thought that to an uneducated person (such as Joan) the body could be mistaken for being alive. “It’s very fresh.” Siobhan dropped the wrist and it flopped down. Siobhan straightened up. “Exactly as if you’d done it. Were you about to drive away when I arrived?” She smiled wide. Her voice slipped into a teasing rasp. “Report a murder you committed? My, aren’t you bold? If I’d known you enjoyed being chased so much I’d have…” Siobhan waved her hand, coming to stand beside Joan as though they were two detectives who had just arrived at the scene of a crime. “...run you over with my car.” The more pressing concern was that what really had done it—obviously not Joan, she was too boring—was probably still around.
—
“N—” Why did everyone assume she named her dog after some food? Worse than that, was the assumption that she’d chosen nachos out of all the vastly superior choices available. For example— Oatmeal. Matching Nacho’s fur color, that was logical. Reasonable. Why would she name him— She cared little to clarify all of this with the other woman, however. She was Joan. Perhaps Joan had a dog named after fucking nachos. “Sure. Nacho as in the food,” she let out a defeated sigh. Of course, the warning that her dog bit people wasn’t taken seriously by the other woman. Of course, there was that… that— insinuation. Her cheeks burned. She was stupid, but not that kind of stupid. Everything was a game in the other’s mind. “Right,” her response was more air than words, pathetic— making it easier to pretend nothing had been said, burying the conversation just like she wished to bury her head in the ground.
Luckily— no, nothing about this situation had anything to do with luck. A person was decapitated in front of them. Because of the sight before them, the other woman —should she give her a name too?— pivoted her interest to the cadaver. Nicole watched her crouch, wondering what she planned on doing with the poor dead body. Or was this some sort of plan? A distraction before she attacked Nicole too? Was it the man’s bones she was after? Instead, the woman pointed out her calm demeanor over their finding. Nicole figured it was an attempt to imply she was the killer. Despite this, she chose to answer with the truth. “Worked at the park for over seven years— some of these… turn up. Seen worse.” The woman wasn’t wrong —a fact that Nicole would keep to herself— horror of decapitation aside, she barely flinched upon discovering the dead person. She wasn’t supposed to become unaffected. Was it… too late to show more care? The victim’s arm flopped back on the ground, stopping her from going too into a spiral. An assessment came from the woman’s mouth a second later. The death was recent. “And you know that…” she pointed out, wary of this expertise. Despite her encounters with dead bodies, she wouldn’t be able to estimate the time of death. All she knew was, if it stank, then it was real fucking late.
The woman stood tall again, speaking with that teasing lilt in her voice. The one that sought to get a reaction out of Nicole. Didn’t she learn in the forest not to get caught up in the game? Perhaps, in her belief that it would be a one-time encounter, she’d made better choices. Here, she bristled. “And do it with what— my bare hands? Don’t see anything sharp to remove a head around here, do you?” she narrowed her eyes, looking back to… wherever the fuck the woman had come out from. “You— you came from… somewhere. Getting rid of the weapon?” A woman who proudly proclaimed her desire to push Nicole off a cliff had more chances of being the murderer than— fuck… she forgot about— Did she transform into a jaguar and didn’t remember? She didn’t do it, but the jaguar… could’ve done it.
No. Nicole shut down the possibility. She looked at the facts. Went over them thoroughly, like she’d done dozens of times before, when panic— Her clothes were intact. No taste of blood in her mouth. Her truck was parked right where she left it. She couldn’t have— she didn’t do it. She was convinced, mostly, by the time the woman stood beside her. She almost felt the brush of her shoulder. Something about the gesture was annoyingly comforting. Whatever… esteem she could’ve mustered in that moment vanished the moment another teasing remark came. Nicole glanced up, rolling her eyes. “Can you stop… fantasizing about killing me one time and focus on,” there was nothing to focus on. A man was dead, and she had to report it. That was it. The marks on top of the hood, however… Was she comfortable letting humans deal with… the monster responsible for this?
Had to be. Nicole would worry about the possibilities later, in the comfort of her cabin. More importantly, with Nacho far away from danger. She dialed 911, lifting an eyebrow at the other woman while she waited for the tone. “Aren’t you cold?” She grumbled, noticing her uncomfortable outfit again. Not fit for escaping anything or anyone chasing them, should it come down to it. Though, that would imply the woman would be interested in running, given the experience in the park—
The dispatcher picked up, but Nicole couldn’t hear her, nor speak to her. Common night sounds were overpowered by… faint galloping. Didn’t stay faint for long, however. Something approached, and fast. Lowering her phone, Nicole attempted to peek into the trees. She couldn’t see shit, yet the sound intensified. It was all she needed. “Right. That shit doesn’t sound normal. Better get back to your—” Seriously, where the fuck did she come from? Didn’t matter, Nicole was already shuffling back to her truck.
—
Siobhan grumbled; she did not want to think of Joan as having a dog named Nacho. She was so fixated on the agony of knowing this contradiction about Joan that the rest of the woman’s words fizzled away. Well, it was unlikely Joan was saying anything of importance, anyway. Siobhan sunk back into reality around Joan accusing her of this particular murder. “Stop flirting with me,” she said with an obvious teasing lilt, “I was told that’s very rude to do over a dead body.” Then something odd washed over Joan’s features. Perhaps late onset disgust at the body? At this point it was comically late. “What…” Siobhan swallowed. How silly of her, she was just about to ask Joan what was wrong, as though she cared.
Her body shifted an inch closer to Joan’s in lieu of asking. “Ah.” Siobhan nodded. “I see. You want me to fantasize about you in other ways?” She made a show of the motions of contemplation: humming and swinging her arm out wide before slowly drawing it in to tap her lip, her brows furrowed. “I’m thinking very hard, Joan.” Her mind was decidedly empty, focused instead on her reenactment of The Thinker. “Could be colder, honestly. Want to help?” Siobhan straightened up, mouth held open. She didn’t get a chance to finish her thought.
There was galloping. Like a horse. Like, perhaps, one particular legend of a headless woman on her pale horse. Siobhan’s heart leapt into her throat. Joan was moving but Siobhan stood completely still, smiling. From the treeline, a pale line winked between the dark. Then another. Then three, all together. Then four. Then…five? Siobhan squinted, frowning. A hand clawed out of the dirt, shaking itself off like a dog. She stared at its bloody stump. She noted the blood oxidizing on its fingers. Siobhan turned and jogged behind Joan; finally, she was regretting her choice of footwear. “My, how kind of you to offer me a ride!” Siobhan was at the passenger door of Joan’s truck, knocking on the glass before she could say anything. “A ride I would like to have soon; unlock the door.” She stared at Nacho through the glass. It would be terrible to be killed by a hand. It would also be terrible to sit with a dog. She frowned.
—
She didn’t get it. Her. Nothing about this random woman made any fucking sense to Nicole. It wasn’t new, being so completely thrown off by human—or non human if that was the case— interactions, but something about not being able to predict what was about to come out of the other’s mouth was especially unnerving. “What are you—” Flirting? How did she flirt? She didn’t flirt. Did she even know how to? She scoffed at the joke, annoyed that the woman was succeeding at getting a rise out of her. It only heightened when she proceeded to mock think. Nicole wasn’t sure how she was supposed to help make anything colder. Murder, surely. Always a possibility with this woman. And though the appearance of a mysterious killer was generally frowned upon, at least this one meant she was able to skip the rest of the conversation.
She wouldn’t have been able to form words, regardless. Nicole gaped at the— thing, coming out of the woods, not believing her eyes.
Having spent almost a decade in the heart of Wicked’s Rest woods, Nicole had a high threshold for the type of bullshit that came out of it. The giant, hairy beasts that drew visitors' attention, or the not-so-bear bears hiding in the shadows and caves. The mutant sized insects, flesh eating worms, prehistoric looking birds. If she was in the woods, she was expected to encounter something that defied the rules of what humans considered normal. Natural. Somehow she never took time to consider a bloody, horse sized hand prowling in the woods, the rest of its body no longer attached. No. That one was a first. Judging by the decapitated man by the side of the road, it might be a last as well.
Nicole was very stubborn about lasts, however. How many of those she’d managed to escape? Survival instinct prevailed, no matter what. More agile than a regular human, she made it to her truck in seconds, climbing inside and pushing the keys into the ignition. “Under the backseat, buddy,” she instructed Nacho, reaching for her seatbelt. Her best friend growled in disagreement —though, he likely growled due to the giant fucking hand galloping their way— but did as told. If the hand got them, she hoped they’d be enough for it to spare her dog. It was all she wanted.
She twisted the key, jolting when she heard the knock on the window. She couldn’t hide her surprise to see the woman standing there. She was almost certain she’d seen her smile at the initial sight. Nicole reached for the passenger's door, pulling up the old lock. “Hurry,” even asking so felt like too late. The hand slowed its galloping, only to stalk the truck like a predator would. It was deciding how to better kill them, wasn’t it? Did— would a disembodied hand think? How would that w—Once the woman slammed the door closed, she shut down the onrush of logical questions any reasonable person would have under the same scenario. “Buckle up,” shifting into gear, she took off, wheels squeaking against the pavement.
It wasn’t fast enough to lose the hand, however. Looking through the mirror, Nicole saw the massive fingers cling to the tailgate, making it impossible for the truck to advance the way it should’ve. Panic flashed across her face, when the fingers crept down the bed panel and jumped at the top of the truck, almost cracking the windshield with the force of the slam. The truck shook, and Nicole shrunk in her seat, tightening her grip on the wheel. She was torn between pumping the brakes or continuing to drive with massive finger pads obscuring the vision. The fingers squeeze the roof of the truck, metal clanking with the strength of the grip. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Adrenaline pounded in her veins. If she stopped… they were done for, right?
—
Siobhan did not “buckle up”: she was philosophically opposed to safety, law and buckling. The suggestion—more of a command—was scoffed at. The dog scampered away, as told to, which tickled inside Siobhan the odd and disgusting impulse to tell Joan that her dog was a “good boy”. Siobhan settled into her seat, trying to squint at dog hairs in the darkness—if any of them got on her clothing—and determined to let Joan know that her comment was unwelcome and would not be heeded. Fate cleaved down on her. She opened her mouth to scold Joan and her body snapped forward and her cheek cracked against the dashboard. She winced and held her face. Silently, she buckled up, telling herself that her face was red due to the injury and not the embarrassment.
Buckled now, she expected the car to move. And it had lurched, else her cheek would not be screaming, but the forest around them was still, the road was anchored, and the wheels screeched and expelled burnt rubber. Siobhan glanced at the side mirror, staring at the flexing of monstrous fingers. The car jerked again—Siobhan was saved this time by the seat belt—and the car burst forward. Above, metal crunched. Ahead, fingers draped over the windshield. “Language, darling.” She grinned. “You have a child in the back.” Siobhan clicked the latch of her seat belt, whipping it over her body. “This is why I don’t buckle.” She pushed down her window and crawled half-out. She pulled out a knife and plunged it into the hand; her hunter’s knife was a splinter in the massive hand. The finger’s on SIobhan’s side lifted; the pinky twitched and tried to swat her. On the other side, the thumb clenched down and burst through the back window, spraying glass across the seats.
She pulled out another knife. Someone had told her—Kiera, with her stupid sniffly voice—once that she had too many knives, that she couldn’t possibly need that many knives. Well, she thought, wasn’t Kiera a proper idiot? The second knife went in around the knuckle and the hand twitched again, more of the fingers peeled back from the windshield. Yet, the hand’s crusade hadn’t stopped. It seemed to Siobhan that it really wanted to crush them, like insects suddenly found crawling on a table.
“Can’t you do some drive-y things?” She leaned down and yelled at Joan. “Like in those action films? James Bone? Have you heard of James Bone?” No, of course she hadn’t: Joan was uncultured (as was obvious in her lack of attractive fashion). “He’s an international spy? Works for the worms? Drives a nice car? Something like that, Joan.” Siobhan pulled more knives out, stabbing them into any place she could reach. The car was digging into her belly and her arm throbbed, having to hold herself steady as she hung out of the car. Despite it, she laughed at every lurch, every twitch and every gush of congealed blood: she was having fun. “I believe in your basic motor functions, Joan!”
—
Nicole knew very little about life, but she knew she didn’t deserve… this. Being chased by a murderous, disembodied hand, with a mad woman in the passenger’s seat. That type of punishment should only be reserved for horrible, irredeemable people. People who littered, for example. She didn’t fucking litter, so why was— The truck jerked after her own poor maneuver, and a thud came from the other side. Didn’t take a genius to figure out the woman hit the dashboard. Because she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt like Nicole had warned her. Actions had consequences, didn’t they? The satisfaction was short-lived, however, as the impending threat of a massive hand crushing them to death took precedence over petty arguments.
She heard a click — the buckle snapping into place after the humbling incident— then a second click barely a second later. What was she doing? Nicole had a truck to drive, a deadly hand to lose, she couldn’t gather what the woman was attempting to do from her peripheral vision. She didn’t have a good feeling about all the shuffling, though. Surely the seats weren’t that uncomfortable? “What are you… what are you doing!?” It was too late to react by the time Nicole understood what was happening. She instantly regretted the glance she took, her heart jumping to her throat at the sight. “Fuck. What the fuck? Get back in here! Are you—” How the fuck could she focus on driving when there was a woman with half her torso hanging out the window? Her eyes widened in horror, reaching out and grasping for nothing. Something glinted outside, but before she could decipher what it was, giant fingers curled against the top of the truck, metal crunching underneath. The back window exploded, shards of glass spraying across the backseat as the thumb punched through. Blood splattered across the windshield too, hindering her vision.
“Stay down, buddy,” she instructed Nacho, voice hiking up and giving away her fear. The dog whined from underneath the backseat. She gripped the wheel tighter, casting short glances to her side, if only to check that the woman hadn’t flown out the window either. No, still there. Still… pulling out knives to stab the large fingers with too much delight for Nicole’s liking. How was any of this real? “Action films? I don’t… who’s— James Bone?” She shouted over the engine. Whoever that was, Nicole wasn’t him. She wasn’t cut out for action hero bullshit. Couldn’t do drive-y things like this woman wanted her to. Regardless, she shouldn’t be taking suggestions from a woman who was laughing as she hung out of a speeding vehicle. She was laughing. Some people laughed in uncomfortable situations, no? If that was the case, Nicole couldn’t judge. This one was one giant uncomfortable situation.
She knew she could never live up to the epic depiction of James Bone the woman provided, but watching the fingers peel away with every stab gave Nicole an idea. It was reckless— No, it was stupid. When the other option consisted of them being crushed by a relentless killer, she supposed she was far more open to testing out unconventional solutions. Like knives or— Where was this woman storing all these knives? Another one plunged into flesh and Nicole didn’t think, she simply acted in response, slamming the brakes when the finger lifted. The tires screeched against the pavement to a halt. She jerked forward with the motion, but so did the hand. In fact, the hand flew past them into the treeline, momentum carrying it forward as it was unable to secure its grip again. Thanks to… the woman’s stabbing ways. God, if they survived this, would she have to thank her? The hand hit the trees and flopped on its back, looking lifeless for a split second. Then it twitched.
The truck's engine roared again, and it took her a second to realize she was responsible for it. Nicole supposed she could always count on her survival instincts to prevail. Hitting the gas, she jolted once the truck gained speed once more, racing past the disembodied hand not caring about speed limits. They weren’t going to sit around and wait for the hand’s next move. She was no James Bond, but escaping was the one thing she excelled at. She doubted the other woman had any more knives to spare either. The— Shit. Nicole whipped her head toward the passenger’s seat, concern pounding in her chest. “Sorry! You okay?” She’d forgotten about seatbelts or safety measures when she decided to send the hand soaring through the air.
—
Siobhan had stabbed many hands, though none so large as this one. She started to wonder what bones laid under its monstrous weight; she imagined peeling its skin and hanging it to dry like leather. She started to want it too—there was always that ledge to violence, when she fell off and blood might as well have been jelly. Was it fun because she was good at it? Was it fun because it kept coming back to her, again and again? Even on a day she hadn’t planned for it, her knives still found flesh. Unnatural, disembodied hand flesh, but flesh nonetheless. She supposed that it didn’t matter: even if she didn’t enjoy it, it was the only thing she understood. Siobhan was sure that above all, she enjoyed understanding things.
She was trying to draw an image with the knives jutting out of the hand—a smiley face—but couldn’t manage it with the weaving of the truck, and the occasional splatter of a bug on her cheek. She was going to tell Joan to keep steady—forget the James Bone stuff, it was clear she was no James Bone—when the truck screeched, red light spilling out on the road behind them. The hand flew back and Siobhan crumpled forward, her chest (voluptuous, in case anyone was asking) smashed into the side mirror and her body slinked back into the passenger seat like a retracted tape measure. She groaned but then remembered she was seated next to someone, and shovelled all of her anguished sounds back down her throat. The only thing worse than an injury was being witnessed in it.
Siobhan poked her stomach, which returned her curiosity with throbbing pain; so she hadn’t been sliced through when she crashed into the car, but she’d develop an unflattering, linear bruise. She turned around, winced, and watched the hand writhe on its back before it quickly disappeared. She glanced at the speedometer, and then the speed limit sign that blurred past them, and smiled. She sensed that this was important growth for Joan: first speeding, then being less boring. Siobhan clicked her seat belt on. Then Joan said it: the bad word. Siobhan turned and blinked at her, hoping that she’d just imagined the apology. No, it clung to the air in that heavy, cloying way that it always did. Apologies were something Siobhan did not understand. Worse yet, the asking if she was okay—she understood that even less. If only Joan had just stabbed her, that was a more comprehensible action.
“The greater good isn’t something you apologize for,” she said, hoping it sounded wise and final and like something her mother would say. Her body was thick with a churning awkwardness; being asked how she was set a curse on her. Siobhan felt dirty, suddenly. The sickening display of friendly concern was everything wrong with humanity, other than the littering. She was disgusted, personally offended, and horrifyingly touched. She was starting to think that it was nice that Joan asked and nice that she apologized and maybe she should ask what her name actually was. Siobhan shivered and closed her window. “Worry about Nacho,” she said, “and then pick a better name than Nacho.” Then she started to think she should apologize for being the general, unpleasant thing that she was. She shivered again.
On account of the speeding, which had seemed so wonderful before, Siobhan could not jump out to escape the curse of politeness that Joan cast. It was infecting her, corrupting her, making her desire small talk and basic kindness. She wanted to open the glove compartment up and throw out any papers she found, for the sake of annoyingness, but couldn’t summon the will; the curse was too strong. She felt it was too mean. She wanted to talk about the dog instead. She was going to be sick. “Drop me off at the nearest bar,” she commanded, though it sounded strangely like a request instead. And then she realized she was painting a very distinct, very pathetic picture of herself—a woman who came from nowhere, couldn’t answer a basic question, and needed to be sent off to a bar. “Ber,” she added. “Bar…ber. The nearest Barber. Yes, I’ll even take a salon. In fact, just the closest commercial establishment of any sort.”
She sunk into her seat, stifling the burning desire to ask Joan a simple thing: how are you? Siobhan had never been more disappointed with herself.
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TIMING: During the autumnal Apple Gathering celebration LOCATION: A farm in Gatlin Fields PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw) & Nicole (@nicsalazar) SUMMARY: Wyatt and Nicole run into each other (literally) at the Apple Gathering. Wyatt not-so-discreetly lets her know that he was the giant alligator she met at the lake by thanking her again for saving his bacon. Then, things go bad, because this is Wicked's Rest. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!
—
Nicole avoided The Apple gathering during the first few weeks of the celebration, assuming the excitement and novelty would dwindle as the season progressed. When it did, she’d be able to attend without worrying so much about the crowd or the noise. She could do that, yes. It was a promise to herself.
She’d forgotten, however, that there was no such thing as enthusiasm dwindling when it came to apples and Fall in Wicked’s Rest. All those years exiled from her body must’ve altered her perception of the town. When Nicole arrived at the gathering, it was as if she was stopping by on inauguration day. Standing at the entrance, she fought against the instinct to go back to her peaceful and quiet home, before the sea of people surrounding her all marched in the same direction. She offered no opposition, allowing herself to be pushed inside. Fuck it, she was already here.
She diverged from the crowd that appeared to be headed in mass toward the large basins filled with water, instead, she took a left. The tasting room for the cider piqued her interest, if only due to the possibility it would be a decent respite spot. Truth was, she was never into regular cider, preferring the hard option instead. It was what she knew about her. Though— who was to say, she had to stick with what she knew and what she was four years ago? Perhaps older Nicole could… taste and enjoy cider. She found herself momentarily hopeful over the possibility.
The tasting room, much like the outside, had a decent amount of people, though the atmosphere was far calmer. Nicole immediately preferred it. She approached the display at the front, a mix of different scents reaching her nostrils. Should she get something spicy? Sweet had never been her—
If only because her reflexes were cat-like, she sensed that the man ahead of her had miscalculated how much space he had. He spun toward her, carrying more glasses than he ought to, and Nicole stepped back to avoid a bigger mess. In the process, she bumped into a man behind her. “Shit— sorry,” so much for special awareness. But no one had been soaked in cider, luckily. The other man already vanished to his table. “Don’t think the asshole even realized,” she grumbled at the stranger. “Didn’t step on you, right?”
—
There ought to have been some kind of prize for how many people he’d met by being stepped on or run into (or running into them) this year, at least something beyond the casual friendships most of those encounters had afforded him. Not that there was anything wrong with that, it just felt like he was beating some kind of strange game of odds. Was he winning? Time would tell.
Wyatt’s hands rose to meet the sudden influx of person into his space, palms bracing against her elbows as she backed into him to avoid the hapless idiot in front of her. As she turned to him, an apology already tumbling out of her mouth, he was briefly taken aback.
She looked familiar.
Blinking, Wyatt stalled for a moment by giving her a small shrug. “Probably not! And no, you’re fine. Only a little.” He chuckled, and then it hit him. The slight furrow of her brows, an expression of mild worry or concern darkening her eyes, the timbre of her voice. “Hang on, don’t I know you?” He shook a finger at her, glancing at the person taking orders and money that was now waiting on one or both of them to step forward. “Yeah, at the lake, it was dark out and you—” He stopped, realizing himself a little too late. He’d forgotten until he was saying it out loud that he’d been hunting. That she’d stepped in to help him, that she’d shifted in front of him. She was like Felix. And she wouldn’t… “Ah, you wouldn’t recognize me.” He nodded at the cashier who was staring at them rather impatiently. “But you saved my ass. Owe you for that. Lemme buy your drink, yeah?”
Ushering them both to the counter, he stared at their options for a moment before looking over at her. “... what do you think about trying the flight?”
—
Did she know him? “I don’t—” Nicole’s frown deepened when he spoke. She wasn’t good at remembering faces, her eyes often darted anywhere but the person’s face when she talked to them. The less eye contact, the better. Hard to commit anyone to memory with that behavior. She glanced at him reluctantly, racking her brain in search of the smallest clue as to who this man was. His voice, possibly, Nicole had an inkling she could’ve heard it in the past. Didn’t retain anything distinct quality about it, though— did he have an accent? Regardless, she was certain she didn’t know his face. Her cheeks were warm when she addressed him again. “Sorry, must’ve been somebody…” almost as certain, however, as the man was that they knew each other.
It was entirely in the realm of possibility that she was in the wrong. Her memory was a tricky thing. It often lied, often warped the truth, often changed the past. Thankfully, he wasn’t deterred by her confusion. The more he talked, the more Nicole realized there was a perfectly logical explanation as to why she didn’t remember him. She was slightly relieved to be wrong. Suddenly, the two weren’t standing in the Apple gathering, but somewhere near Darkling Lake, a monster spitting venom at them. Though he wasn’t a man, but a— Fuck, what was he? Recognition flashed across her face. Did he know what she was too, then? “Ah—” eloquently stated. “I remember,” she recovered, moving closer to the cashier. She remembered her conversation with Felix too, and what the man by her side was supposed to be. She had questions, her mind was spinning. How did it work? Being in front of the line wasn’t the ideal time to have such a conversation. “I didn’t…” she corrected. The jaguar did, always the braver of the two. “But uh— sure. Sure, a drink is… a drink’s okay,” she agreed, despite every fiber of her being rejecting the gesture. She wasn’t going to overthink it. Rather, she wasn’t going to overthink it more than she already was.
They reached the counter, and Nicole felt wildly unprepared. She didn’t have time to rehearse her order, she’d barely glanced at the options, how— “What do you recommend?” she blurted out quickly. Whether he read her indecision or not, he suggested trying the flight. She nodded immediately, if only because she didn’t want to hold the line for longer than necessary. The place was stacked, if she were to glance back, she imagined the line would reach the entrance of the room. She supposed the flight was the best way to figure out which cider, if any, was up to her taste, too. She allowed him to pay, ignoring the way her skin crawled at the action, eyes flitting around the place for a good seat in the meantime. She spotted a few empty chairs next to a group of young men. When they were handed the flight tray, Nicole gestured toward the spot.
Mindful not to touch or push anybody —unlike the asshole from before— she found her way to the table. Part of her wished to return to the acknowledgement that they knew each other. Apprehensive as she was of her own nature, however, it would’ve been hypocritical of her to demand answers from someone who didn’t know her. If anything, she figured breaking the ice with some dreaded small talk would be better. “What uh, do we have?” She wondered as the man reached for his seat. The glasses were filled with ciders of all sorts of different colors, a vast array of scents mixing in front of her. Her gaze skimmed over the labels scribbled on the tray, indicating each glass. Tentative, she grabbed the darkest shade of drink, studying it. “You come to the, uh… gathering every year?”
—
Was anxiety when it came to social interactions just a thing that all balam had to deal with? Wyatt watched her struggle through trying to find the best way to apologize for not remembering him, then the trip as he explained further and everything clicked into place, and the final splat as she reluctantly agreed to let him pay for her cider flight. At least she wouldn’t have to suffer through that again, he thought, since he wouldn’t be able to afford to pay for the rest of her drinks tonight.
Following her as she led them to a few open seats, he was surprised when the conversation returned to the mundane, but also… not. It wasn’t like you could really openly speak about these things in public, even if it didn’t seem like anyone was listening. Her attention turned to the cider, and with a shrug, Wyatt followed suit. “Oh, no, actually — this is my first time. I didn’t live here last fall in time to catch it, I don’t think. Or just didn’t know it was goin’ on.” That was the more likely scenario, since he was pretty sure he’d been living here since late last summer. “I’d ask if you do, but… seems like a no.” He smiled, looking at his own flight and picking up one of the small glasses. “Hm. This one says… Dragon’s Breath Cider.” It was a bright golden color with a hint of orangish-red tint, and smelled… spicy. “I uh… appreciate your discretion,” he tried, glancing at Nicole over the rim of his glass as he took a sip. Damn, that burned. “Wasn’t… in my best form, that night. Usually got a better head about me.”
—
“Ah. I see… welcome to— whatever this is,” she let out a huff, keeping her gaze fixed on the glasses. Nicole figured a decent portion of the attendees to the festival every year were tourists, or new residents immersing themselves in the town’s strange obsession with fall. At least, it was the only way she made sense of the… euphoria. “I’ve been to the gathering before, just as… chaotic as I remember it,” she replied at his assumption. A fair one, considering how nervous she felt. “Lived here for a long time, actually. Nine—ten years. But, I haven’t gone for the ciders— don’t know, wasn’t sure I’d enjoy it,” and it was as she voiced that indecision that she realized how ridiculous it was. Stopping herself from discovering something only because of what? It didn’t align with some bullshit perception of herself?
She glanced intrigued at the cider in the man’s hand, eyes dropping to her flight in search of Dragon’s breath. Would be her second choice if the glass currently in her hands turned out to be a bad choice. “Spicy, I’d guess…” she commented idly, looking back at the label on the empty spot in her tray. “This is— Pipsqueak Punch…” She frowned. The color of the cider didn’t match its colorful name, Nicole thought. She would’ve imagined something brighter, perhaps fizzy. What, uh— kind of apple was used for it? She brought the glass closer to her nose, picking up on the cinnamon scent. Couldn’t be too awful if it was cinnamon, no?
Before the glass reached her lips, the subject Nicole figured she would have to avoid was approached. Her shoulders tensed, rising inches higher as she propped her elbows on the table. “Ah. So you don’t mind—” she bowed her head left and right, trying to find the right words to approach the conversation. Wasn’t exactly the kind of discussion she was used to having out in the open, for once it didn’t feel like it was all her fault. “Hard to know the etiquette for this kind of thing…” Maybe there wasn’t one. Secrecy and fear had been so deeply woven into her growing up, it was hard to fathom some species held no apprehensions.
Nicole knew, despite her struggle to find her next sentence, that this was a conversation she wanted—no, needed— to have. “Don’t mention it. Wouldn’t know who to tell… it’s not exactly like telling someone about the weather,” she could imagine the looks if she ever told anyone about a giant talking… alligator. Her heartbeat raced at the mere thought. “Don’t even know your name,” she reasoned. Again, she wasn’t sure she would’ve ever told anyone about him, but without his identity, it was beyond the realm of possibility. “Mine’s Nicole,” she stammered clumsily, only then realizing no introductions had been exchanged. Mirroring his gesture, she took a swig of the drink in hand, face contorting as her taste buds decided whether she liked it or not. She was still undecided by the time she placed the glass on the table. “Someone… I know mentioned… They talked about— others like…Are you— a lamia?”
—
It was interesting watching the woman — Nicole — parse her way through conversation with a stranger. She was awkward about it in a way that was different from Felix, that was for sure. Felix was a people-pleaser, always bending over backwards to make sure other folks felt seen and heard, while shoving their own needs and wants to the wayside. Nicole seemed guarded in a way that Felix wasn’t, protective of what was going on in her mind and cautious about how much she said to others. Wyatt could understand that, to a degree. He knew it was a reasonable approach to life, especially when you weren’t human, he just had the misfortune of never being able to stop himself from saying what was on his mind the moment the thoughts entered his otherwise empty head.
“Wyatt,” he responded to her introduction, offering a nod. “And yeah, I am.” There was, as always, pride in the way that he said it. Unlike some, he’d never regretted what he was a day in his life. Never regretted anything he’d done while taking care of himself—the truest side of himself—even at the expense of others. There was a reason lamias were the superior shifter. They could maintain control of themselves, shift at will, and the only potential negative side effect was having to eat while shifted, which wasn’t a negative at all. Wyatt preferred living as the hulking, scaly creature that dominated in the Pit. As much as he liked human culture and cuisine, he was never a more honest version of himself than when he was shifted and throwing his weight around, both figuratively and literally.
“And you—a balam?” It was said quietly, carefully, and punctuated with another sip of his cider. “How much control d’you have? My friend seems to have a weak grasp, at best. Bless their heart.”
—
Wyatt’s evident pride was jarring to Nicole. Perhaps, it had to do with her limited interactions with fellow shifters, but she’d never seen something like it. Her immediate reaction to his confession was to scan her surroundings with a nervous look in her eyes, worrying about prying ears. As confident as Wyatt felt about his identity, her luck with hunters coming out of the woodwork to ruin the day was too shitty to embrace a friendly chat. It turned out that most folks were too busy sharing laughs and talking to friends. And the ones who appeared to be by themselves were too immersed in their phones to look their way. It should’ve been a lesson. Most people weren’t as focused on her as she thought they were, they all had more important stuff going on. And yet, her mind wouldn’t stop spinning catastrophic scenarios in her head. She supposed self-awareness meant very little when she couldn’t use it in her favor.
Regardless of her perception of imminent danger, Nicole glanced back at Wyatt, focusing on the conversation they were attempting to have. “You talk… though. As a— what were you, actually?” She could put that one mystery to rest, at last. “You talked. With your human voice. How you manage that?” Felix had mentioned control. Nicole doubted that any control in the world would ever get them in a similar position as talking…alligators.
Wyatt, of course, knew what she was as well. Not only did Nicole transform in front of him, but the manner in which he spoke about himself led her to assume he also was knowledgeable about other supernatural shifters. Discussing her balam…ness, however, was never easy. She distracted herself by taking another sip of her cider. Should be tasting better by now, no? Getting used to it. She recalled hating beer the first few times she tried it. This had no alcoholic reward, however. The swig went down her throat, and her face remained neutral as she savored the drink. She tasted the apple more on the second try. Wasn’t so bad. She took another sip, if only to buy herself more time to reorder the words in her head. Wyatt wanted to discuss control. And wasn’t that a fucking landmine of a topic? “Wouldn’t know how to measure it. But uh— used to be shittier, that’s for sure. The jaguar would get out and… that was it. Could be a month, or two until I was ba—ck” for a moment, it felt as though her diaphragm was spasming, and the end of her vowel went up in intonation. Far beyond her register. Did she—did she fucking squeak?
Mortified, she pressed her lips together, face burning as she questioned whether she’d imagined that or not. Nicole was absolutely not looking at Wyatt for confirmation. She wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. Like hiccups. Clearing her throat, she felt no other strange sound coming out, nor anything stuck in her windpipe, so she continued. “Can—uh, can usually… control when it comes out now, though. Or how much of it. Claws, fangs. Is— Are you friends with Fe—” her vocal cords betrayed her again, and she pushed through to squeak out the last syllable of their name, “—lix?” Fuck. What was happening?
—
“Well, ain’t really like much else in the world, can tell you that,” he chuckled. “But my family is closely related to gators, as it were. Good for thrivin’ in swamps, where I oughtta be.” He cocked his head at her, then smiled sadly. “I dunno… just did. Always been able to, once I learned how to talk as a rugrat, anyway. Don’t think it’s the same for my kind as it is most others, like you. That was me. Voice might be deeper when I got all those teeth, but it’s still me.”
Her retelling of how she experienced her shifts sounded a lot like Felix, though it seemed like she’d take a lot longer to come back out of it. At least it was improving for her, right? Wyatt couldn’t imagine being that out of touch with himself, but of course, it was different for a balam… maybe he’d just never really understand it. Their experiences were too far apart on the spectrum. He had more in common with sirens, the fucking bird bastards. Eugh.
Her squeak made his brows raise, but he didn’t mention it. The first time. The second time, though… “I am—are you okay?” He couldn’t help but look a little amused, but that was only because he had no idea that his hair was starting to turn red. And not a natural red hair color, but a deep, bright, skin-of-an-apple red.
—
Alligator. That night in the lake, Wyatt was an alligator. Almost as if someone flipped a switch in her memory, Nicole could recall that night more vividly. Including the shape of the massive beast fighting against the dead —though not dead— woman. Her thumb scratched against the glass, nodding silently. Wyatt continued explaining how he was able to speak, but she couldn’t. At some point, his face slipped from his otherwise friendly demeanor. Having kept her eyes trained down as he spoke, Nicole wasn’t sure when or what caused the shift. Despite all the confidence he carried himself with, there must’ve been parts of his shifter journey that weren’t quite as nice as he painted them. She had no intention of prying, not when this encounter was already so spontaneous. The lack of preparation made her anxiety soar. She wasn’t sure she was comfortable going deeper than surface level. Wasn’t going to push Wyatt to go for it either.
She was expecting him to say his voice came naturally to him, yet Nicole couldn’t help the way her stomach sank at the confirmation. Nor the bitter taste in her mouth. She supposed there were things inherent to every species, and the ability to remain conscious wasn’t one for balam. One corner of her mouth pulled downward, “no talking for us. Not much say in anything, really,” though if Wyatt knew Felix, it wasn’t a necessary addition to her explanation. “Uh— we can see ghosts, sometimes—” she ran her fingers over the labels on the tray. “Helpful sometimes,” more than anything, Nicole felt inadequate in front of Wyatt, who had such pride and control over his shift. Whatever the fuck was happening to her voice didn’t help grow her confidence in the conversation either. She cleared her throat again, after Felix’s name had slipped in a squeal. She looked up at Wyatt’s question, heat creeping in her cheeks when she noticed he looked amused. She wasn’t going to make a storm in a glass of— cider. What was happening was ridiculous, but she wasn’t letting shame or embarrassment win.
Something was wrong with Wyatt too, it seemed. “Alright, just—” she coughed again, blinking at him while a crimson shade slowly spread along his hair, up to the tips. What was— Was it part of— He wasn’t red when she first met him. Couldn’t be. “Are you?” there it was again, the squeak. No, neither of them appeared to be fine. Eyes widening, she glanced over his shoulder, only to confirm a smoke machine hadn’t suddenly been installed behind him. No. This was fucking coming from him. Why was heat emanating from the top of his head? She craned her neck to the surrounding patrons, wondering if anybody else could see it happening. But as it was often the case when weird shit happened, everybody seemed immersed in their own thing. Her brow furrowed in concern leaning forward to maintain the illusion of normalcy, before warning him. “You’re… hot”.
—
Well, the ghost thing had never been mentioned to him. Or… had it? He couldn’t remember. He had a hard time remembering things that didn’t impact him directly even on his good days, so it was possible Felix had told him at some point and he’s just forgotten. Though the idea of ghosts still seemed a little preposterous to him, so maybe not. He was a bit selective, in that way.
The question was turned on him and Wyatt just looked bemused, shrugging his shoulders. Of course he was fine, why wouldn’t he be? He was puzzling over how best to answer, trying to piece apart some deeper meaning in the deflected question, when Nicole spoke again.
“Oh.” He seemed taken aback, but still laughed in spite of his confusion. “Thanks.” Was she trying to imply there was something wrong with that? Couldn’t be, because she was just as attractive, but — The train of thought was interrupted as he felt his neck burning, as if he’d somehow embarrassed himself. Impossible. Tugging at the collar of his shirt, he cleared his throat. Her squeaks still threatened to make him laugh, which he was trying to avoid for her sake. But now his thoughts were feeling a bit more muddled than usual, and he realized he’d broken out in a sweat. “Damn… there a heater around here somewhere?” His head bobbed as he looked around them for the source of the heat that seemed focused painfully on the top of his head.
Just then, someone a few tables over let out a loud shriek, drawing most of the attention their way. They had a hand clutched to their stomach, but they appeared fine. “There’s a worm!” they yelped, tugging frantically at their jacket. “Inside! A worm! Eating!” Wyatt looked back at Nicole, then at the cider in front of them. “Um..” He pulled out his phone, holding it up with the screen off to better see his own reflection, and the half-gasp, half-wail he let out at the sight of his own bright, crimson hair was barely drowned out by the person insisting there was a worm eating their insides. He looked back at Nicole, eyes wide. “Water,” he stammered, feeling the heat in his head increasing. “Need water.” Not for drinking, though — he was more inclined to dunk his whole head in the first — ah! Spotting a pond not that far from where the pop-up cider stand was located, full of geese that hadn’t yet left for the season, Wyatt pointed at it. He ought to take off toward it, but the thought wouldn’t fully realize itself in his cooking brain, so all he could do was stand there and stare and wish it were closer.
—
“What?” Her frown deepened, if that was physically possible, when his response to her warning was to thank her. She tilted her head, staring at him blankly. Only then did Nicole realize her words could’ve been misinterpreted. Fuck. Her confusion turned into a scowl. Did he not notice it wasn’t the time for that? Not that— She wasn’t going to explain that she hadn’t meant it like that, let alone come out to a complete stranger. A stranger she was curious to learn more about, sure, but a stranger nonetheless. Nicole felt almost as hot as Wyatt was starting to look, but there was no time for her to feel any more indignant over the unintentional confusion. He was taking a turn for the worse, breaking in a sweat, looking for ways to get rid of his sensation. “No heater, I think—” She swallowed the squeal, forcing her voice down. “This is… happening inside you,” she could’ve sworn a bright orange shade was starting to spread along some strays of hair.
Another emergency broke out a few tables over, someone claiming they had a worm inside them. Nicole got up from her chair, realizing they meant inside their body, not inside their jacket. If the hand on their stomach was any indication. Well, fuck. She didn’t mind the squealing so much anymore. Wyatt appeared to have gotten the same idea as her, both turning their attention to the flight. They started acting weird right after drinking from them. And perhaps there was a reason for the small sign at the front that advised folks to drink at their discretion. Should’ve fucking stayed away from the cider. Was this what trying new things got her? Wyatt looked at his reflection on the phone, and Nicole nodded at him, relieved that he could finally realize she wasn’t trying to compliment him before. She doubted that was on his mind, however, the heat emanating from the top of his head started to show on his face as well. “Water, right,” she stood there, blinking. Her reaction time was usually quicker than that. Used to tending emergencies at the park. Injured visitors, wild animals getting too close to the trails, and of course— the other kinds of fauna lurking as well. Despite having basic fire training under her belt, he wasn’t fuel, dry foliage or— he was a real human being. Of sorts. Least as human as she was. Was this similar to immolation? Spontaneous-combustion? She looked down at the cider. What the fuck was in those apples?
A man becoming his own bonfire made her brain shortcircuit. It was perhaps that state of shock and stupidity that prompted Nicole to do what followed. She grabbed the glass she’d been drinking, as well as his, and threw them in his face. “Sorry!” She squeaked, watching the liquid drip down from his hair onto the table. Though, hopefully, the cider managed to soothe the sting slightly, or at least shock him enough to ignore his fear. She seized him by the elbow, pulling him along to the pond outside the tasting room. “C’mon. You’ll be fine” She squealed out the whole sentence this time, it was taking over. Like an old VHS being sped up. Could be fucking worse. At least it wasn’t a worm eating her insides. Or his. Proud to have looked at the silver lining, she helped Wyatt over to the pond, stumbling around. There were too many fucking people in the gathering. She intentionally bumped against anyone who stood in her way until they reached the edge of the pond. Nicole let Wyatt go, expecting him to take care of his problem.
—
“Ah!” he bleated as cider splashed across his face, screwing his eyes shut and staggering backward. “What the hell, woman?” She squeaked out an apology as he was trying to wipe the drink from his eyes, feeling slightly better, but only for a moment. She took him by the arm and started dragging him over to the pond (thank god, because he’d immediately forgotten that it existed), pushing some other folks out of the way in the process. Water. Water. There was no intention to drink it, because one… ew. Pond water. Duck butts. But also two, his higher cognitive abilities, or whatever remained of them after twenty years of head injuries, had fully left him. Cooked away by whatever was happening in his head, and now his chest. It was like having a dangerously high fever and the delirium that could accompany that, so as they finally approached the water’s edge, he could only think of one thing: to throw himself in.
And that’s what he did. Hovering there for a moment on the shoreline, staring at the geese (or were they big ducks?) that floated happily around, squawking or whatever it was that duckgeese did. Maybe they were playing a game of duck duck goose. Is that where the name came from? Huh—oh. He was falling forward. Don’t breathe it in he managed to remind himself as the cold water enveloped him and he floated just beneath the surface. The relief was almost instant, and he almost opened his mouth to sigh (yes, underwater), but then he remembered the deese butts. Guck butts? Anyway. Gross.
The power of humanish intelligence returned to him as his core temperature cooled, and when he finally broke the surface again, his wide, blue eyes found Nicole. “Kitty cat!” he called. Okay, maybe it was only like canine level intelligence. “You still sound like a squeak toy?” Definitely a dog. Goddamnit. “I dunno how to fix that.”
—
Nicole grew impatient, as Wyatt hovered near the edge of the pond in contemplation. She gritted her teeth. Contemplating fucking what? She wasn’t sure. She almost offered an extra push, a literal one, but her hand hung mid-air without touching him seconds before he dove on his own with surprising grace for a man who was burning from the inside. She imagined it came naturally for him. She jumped back too late, and as a result the bottom of her pants ended up soaked by the water he splashed. She couldn’t find it in herself to care about that, remaining wary that a dip in the pond wouldn’t be enough to help the man. Then what would she do? Surely cider wouldn’t kill a man.
Wyatt splashed back to the surface, and Nicole was — for a brief moment— transported back to that night by the lake. However, instead of an alligator struggling for movement, he remained his human self. And whatever cider cursed had overtaken him briefly appeared broken too. Relief squeezed past her lungs, she let out a short huff when it dawned on her that there was no imminent danger anymore. “It worked,” she squeaked, despite how evident her point was. He called for— what…did he call her? Nicole gaped at him for a second, then turned around wondering if he was referring to any other cat around. No. Had to be talking to her. She stared at him, water dripping down his hair, now back to drenched dark hair. No smoke in sight. “I— Nicole,” she corrected, humorless. The squeaky quality to her voice didn’t exactly make her sound all too serious, however.
They could go over what was and wasn’t allowed in terms of nicknames once he was back on dry land. Though, he certainly looked in his element. Uncertainty panged in her chest. Was she— supposed to leave him there? He was curious about her voice predicament, and Nicole felt like an asshole for even caring at this point. Her stupid voice wasn’t hurting anyone, not even herself. If anything, it was only testing her ability to step out of her comfort zone. “It’s fine!” It was jarring, though, to hear herself sound so artificially cheery. She figured her latest squeal answered his question. “Will pass, didn’t— barely drank a few sips.” She was likely never seeing anybody from this gathering in her normal life either— a thought that brought immense comfort to her nervous system. Wasn’t it better, to push through? Pretend nothing was wrong? She extended a hand to him, unsure whether he was ready to get out of the water or not.
“You alright, then? You, uh—” His clothes would be an issue. Though she was reluctant to point that out, god forbid, he assumed she was flirting with him again. “Think there was a merch stand near the entrance. For your…” she trailed off, pointing at his soaked shirt. The high pitch in her voice got easier to ignore. Finding her way to her normal register every few or so words. “Whatever you get, it’s on me… Threw two glasses at you after all, ” the irony wasn’t lost on her, that she’d been deeply uncomfortable to accept the cider, yet had no issues suggesting they went on some shopping spree.
—
He frowned. “Sorry.” Why’d he call her that? The gears were only just starting to turn again and she was assuring him she’d be fine, then holding a hand out to him. Sighing inwardly, he put on a smile instead and swam closer, taking her hand and hauling himself out of the water — who made ponds with drop offs like this? For the better, he supposed, or he could have just bellyflopped into two inches of water and broken his damn nose.
Looking down at himself when Nicole pointed out his clothing, he clicked his tongue and nodded his head. “Yeah… you’re probably right about that. Can’t go ‘round lookin’ all indecent, n’ such.” He chuckled to himself, scanning the place for the entrance and said merch stand, spotting it in the distance. He also spotted all the people staring at him, but he didn’t really mind. Anyway, most of them quickly became more concerned with the person yelling about worms in their gut. Jerking a thumb toward the stand, Wyatt ran a hand through his hair to push it away from his face. “Think just a sweater’ll do… no need to rack up your bill.” He knew it would probably feel best for Nicole if he just let her help, but he could still manage to find the cheapest thing available to spare her that burden.
And what an ugly thing the cheapest option was, but it was a hoodie that was certainly warmer than his current attire, so he made quick work of changing into it around the back of the stand (much to the protest of the person running it).
Holding out a hand to Nicole, the shifter gave her a warm smile. “Sorry, again, for… that was… mm. Wasn’t myself, I don’t think. Anyway, ah, you ever wanna talk, I’m a pretty open book. I’d stick around but… think I stink like duck ass. Need to go shower.”
—
He was joking about looking indecent. Nicole inferred that everything was back to normal within him. The ease with which he didn’t give a fuck about what happened to him was worth noting. Enviable, almost. She understood why Felix liked him. Had the evening not turned into a giant trainwreck, she would’ve enjoyed pondering about the root of his attitude. She attempted to reply to his lightness in kind, yet all she managed was a huff of air that could’ve been interpreted as a laugh in some limited contexts. She made no comment on his joke, however, a lingering discomfort over the assumption that she was flirting with him. Could’ve learned a thing or two about taking things in stride from him. “A sweater, sure,” she mustered a polite smile, head nodding toward the merch stand.
She walked in silence, partly to avoid any more squeaking noises and partly because— what else could she say? During the small distance they covered, they were accompanied by the sound of his squelching footsteps. It was easier to tune everything out that way. When they reached the stand, Nicole realized Wyatt had done her a real favor by only deciding to grab a sweater. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. How the fuck was ugly festival clothing so expensive? While Wyatt quickly selected a hoodie and walked to the back of the stand to try it on, Nicole’s gaze darted around to the overpriced T-shirts, hats, keychains, fridge magnets, and other memorabilia.
As Wyatt turned around the corner donning his hoodie, Nicole handed over the cash to the clerk. Her lips curved with a slight hint of amusement, looking at Wyatt make his way over to the front. Had the evening turned out better, she could’ve teased him about his ugly hoodie. The moment of levity was gone once Nicole noticed his extended hand. What— Was he apologizing for? Her brows furrowed, hesitant to reach out. She was the one who threw two glasses of cider at him. Was he sorry for the attention his problem garnered? She could hardly resent him for that. And the person with worms inside them had a far bigger crowd around them. As was often the case, she nodded awkwardly regardless, on the off chance she had missed a cue. “Don’t mention it,” she squeaked with a headshake, shoulder lifting in a lazy shrug.
“Yeah— eh, yeah…probably good idea. You go… do that,” she hiccupped. A few seconds too late, Nicole shook his hand. She stood awkwardly in the same place, lingering near the merch stands while he disappeared toward the exit in his bright hoodie. He was too far away when she realized she should’ve said something more final, like ‘goodbye’. Fuck. She could never get a single interaction right, could she? Better not dwell on it, they were both distracted by recent events. Better take a page out of Wyatt’s book and laugh about it. And though it was tempting to follow suit and find where she parked her truck, she decided against it. The best chance to let her own side effects subside would be to stroll around in silence, testing where her pitch was now and again was the safest bet for her. Just had to make sure not to go anywhere near that damn cider room ever again.
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TIMING: recent. LOCATION: ??? we're just not sure. PARTIES: @nicsalazar & @fromnewashes SUMMARY: when nicole and kit both happen to touch the same weird altar, they have to work together to deal with the consequences. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!
Memories of her first life had always been hazy and uncertain. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure which of them were real and which she’d invented for herself. She thought she remembered her mother, at one point in her childhood, issuing a warning about curiosity and cats and the unkind fate it often wrought. Even as a child, Kit had been swift to disregard the warning. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but Kit was a bird and birds could fly away.
(It didn’t matter if flying away had done little to spare her brother his fate, didn’t matter that she herself had burned to death in a blaze set by her own inability to leave well enough alone, didn’t matter that she spent lifetimes satiating her curiosity in a way that now had her on everyone’s shit list. Kit was nothing if not stubborn; she’d never been good at listening.)
So, yeah, when she saw a weird altar near her apartment on her way home from work, she approached it. This town was fucking wild with all the cults and shit, and Kit wanted to know everything there was to know about all of it. She studied the altar carefully, looking at the strange symbols carved into it. And, okay, sure, maybe she should have known better than to touch it, but it was there and it was an altar and she wasn’t, like, queen of self control or whatever.
Still, the regret was pretty instantaneous when she touched the altar and was transported into a dark room that looked something like a movie theater with no screen. Groaning, Kit allowed herself to collapse into one of the plush chairs behind her. “Oh, this spooky altar is so getting a one star Yelp rating!” Her voice echoed through the space. As it stopped, there was a small pop, and… someone else was here. Great! Kit rose back to her feet.
—
Shouldn’t have touched the damn thing. Shouldn’t have— Too fucking late, of course. Nicole only reached for the structure with the intention to move it from where it was blocking her path. Knowing it could’ve been a hindrance for others as well. Little kids, old folks who could trip on it. Why not move it a few inches to the left? The altar would be harmless to those walking down the street if that small change was made. She took it upon herself.
A minute later she was— where the fuck was she?
A dark room. Nicole was immersed in darkness. Her vision didn’t adjust to it. Was it a dream? Was it— what was it? She didn’t comprehend how it was possible to be in one place then transported somewhere else in a matter of seconds. A dream was the most rational explanation, though she’d never had the kind of vivid dream she could smell, or overthink before. A distant scent of smoke slowly wafted to her nostrils, and Nicole ambled around in the dark, searching for the culprit. She was uncertain if she was advancing forward or moving in circles, but staying still was not something she would consider. Dreams ended eventually, no? The more things occurred, the quicker it would be over. She hoped whatever the fuck this situation was, it followed a similar logic.
“Fuck!” She swallowed a scream when her lower leg connected with a hard surface, but the sound of her voice ricocheted against the walls of the room, vaguely revealing the depth of the space she was in. Still couldn’t see for shit, though. Blinking the tears of pain away, the room looked different once she looked up. Part of the jaguar wanted to explore. Feline gaze set sight on a woman to her far right. “What’s— who are you?” She asked through clenched teeth, rubbing her shin. Was she also stuck in this… was she part of the dream? “Is this— real?” Fuck, she almost wished she was in a dream. She wouldn’t want to see the light of day if she ever uttered those words to a person.
—
The new person was disoriented, and Kit found herself glad that she had been the first to arrive. She’d been free of prying eyes for the uncertain, undignified process of being transported, which meant she could offer a far kinder first impression of herself. This new challenger got no such grace. Perhaps it was selfish to be happy about this, but… Well, Kit had never been good at the ‘selfless’ act, anyway. She’d learned a long time ago that sometimes, the only person looking out for you was you. Sucked for this lady, but she wasn’t about to waste time feeling bad for a stranger when there were other things to do.
“Welcome to my crib,” she said flatly, holding her hands out. She held the pose for a second before dropping them with a snort. “I’m just kidding. God, actually, who even remembers that show?” She took a step towards the other woman, inspecting her carefully. Her confusion didn’t seem to be an act, which meant that any hope Kit might have had about wrangling some answers from this stranger went up in smoke pretty quickly. Whatever this was, they were in the same boat — the boat where neither of them had any fucking idea what was going on. Yay!
She glanced around the room again with a shrug. “I mean, it’s real as far as I know. And I’m positive I’m real, so if anyone around here isn’t real, it’d be you. And if you’re a figment of my imagination, you’re not one I’ve seen before, so…” She trailed off with another shrug. “Hi. I’m Kit. I touched a weird altar on the street, and now I’m in what looks like a defunct movie theater with a stranger. Isn’t life funny like that?”
—
“This isn’t a—” Nicole frowned, her words cut off by the other adding a punchline to her initial statement. Right. Didn’t she realize they were trapped in an unknown space with no apparent exit door? Wasn’t that a concern? “Don’t remember… whatever that was,” she grumbled with a headshake. She never watched too much TV. Used to being the kid who spent all her energy running around the farm, climbing trees, swimming in the lake. Didn’t exactly get too much time or opportunities to watch TV when she grew older either, with the jaguar fighting to take over. Regardless, she wouldn’t have enjoyed it either, it was the wrong type of distraction.
The woman in front of her certainly looked like she engaged in all of those distractions, however. Too cheery for someone in their predicament. A predicament they found themselves in after getting their hands on a suspicious —she gathered— figure. Nicole clenched her jaw, letting the small pang of annoyance subside. Whether she liked the other woman’s attitude or not, she hoped she would take escaping their situation far more seriously. “Right. And— I’m… not from your imagination, far as I know.” If she was the figment of someone’s imagination wouldn’t they have come up with something… better? More entertaining? Nicole would’ve hoped so. However if the woman believed she was in a sort of dream scenario, she felt much safer maintaining the shift in her human gaze.
“Not sure I find the humor, no,” she shook her head again, the inflection in her voice flat as she hid her growing grievance with the woman. No point in taking it out on her. She could separate her irritation over being in an unknown situation from the person she was stuck with. There was value in facing adversity with a positive outlook, no? She supposed. If that same outlook got them out of the room, then— she wouldn’t complain. “Nicole,” she supplied with a curt nod, once she learned the other’s name. Not that she felt comfortable using it under any circumstances.
“Should get out of here,” she walked forward, examining what looked like a common living room. Chairs, tables, a chimney. Bookshelves. One of those square black and white boards where people put tiny figurin— chess board. A chess board. To her left— a basketball hoop? “Sure you never saw a door?” How the fuck did the furniture get in here?
—
Her new companion didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, which was a total drag. If Kit was going to be trapped in a liminal space for a while, she’d like to at least be trapped with someone who could take a joke. Humor was the best distraction from the faint sense of dread she was currently ignoring, the quiet question of whether or not they’d find some way out of here. The fact that it wasn’t just her came as some relief, at least; misery loved company, and so did Kit. If she was going to suffer, she’d prefer not to do it all on her lonesome. The presence of another person also meant that this likely wasn’t a targeted attack, since her companion was a stranger. Little victories!
“Maybe you should look harder,” she replied, shit-eating grin firmly in place on her face. At least she had a name to go with the grumpy face now — Nicole. She’d known plenty of Nicoles throughout her lifetimes. This one ranked above the one who’d tried to take a bite out of her in 1960, but definitely below the one who’d lent her some crayons in this life’s kindergarten. There was still time to rise, though. Maybe Grumpy Nicole had crayons to share, too.
She snorted at Nicole’s suggestion. “Oh, wow. You think we should get out of here? I hadn’t considered that, Nicole, that’s really smart.” She moved forward, inspecting the decorations as the room stretched on some more. A chess board? A basketball hoop? Were those bowling pins? Kit’s brow furrowed, her mind working to put the pieces together. “Maybe we need to play a game,” she suggested. “What are you in the mood for? I’m a firm no on contact sports. I have a doctor’s note.” Or, at least, she could get one. She was a doctor, she’d write a note. Anything to prevent her annoyingly brittle bones from breaking, thank you very much.
—
Curiosity didn’t kill the cat, but it sure as fuck was pissing her off. Cranky as she was beginning to feel, however, Nicole saw the situation for what it was. A mix of fear of the unknown, being trapped who knew where, and the helplessness building in her chest at the lack of help being offered. The extra person, slightly irritating as she was, didn’t change the outcome. “Look harder… where?” She grumbled at the advice, a few seconds passing before she could decode the grin on the other woman’s face. She was— ah, it was a joke. Clever. Nicole’s face was unflinching, deciding whether she wanted to waste time being fun back. “Maybe you have to point me in the direction,” she replied dryly, uncertain where she landed on the being fun choice.
“At least you’re considering it, I see,” she nodded her approval, opting to ignore the sarcasm dripping in the woman’s tone. How was Nicole supposed to believe Kit was taking their predicament seriously whe all she’d heard so far had been witty quips? But, as both their intentions to get out of the room were stated plainly, she let go of her confusion over Kit’s reaction. They would get out of the room. Didn’t matter many more jokes were thrown her way. Kit took in her surroundings in a similar manner, and Nicole watched as the woman seemed to be piecing what she knew so far. Wasn’t much, unfortunately.
The proposal to play a game stirred an uncomfortable feeling in Nicole’s stomach. Yet again confronted with the idea of fun. If she had to play a game in order to be free, the odds were looking piss fucking poor. She wasn’t in the mood for shit like that. She was in the mood to get back to the— fuck. She let out a huff, understanding she was running into a wall. Fine, if a game was required —as Kit conjectured— she could do it. She wanted to get the fuck out of the room soon. Did it look suddenly smaller? Were the walls closing in? The sensation of being caged sped up her heart.
“There’s no ball to play basketball,” she nudged her head to the hoop, then the ground around it. What was the best alternative? Another item to dunk, possibly. Before the thought finished in her head, she spotted a ball of yarn on the couch. Was that— always there? Nicole picked it up, intent on throwing it. There was no throw, however. She couldn’t— her fingers tangled in the yarn, experiencing a kind of relief she hadn’t felt in a long time. She bounced between in her palms, realizing how unlikely it was for the yarn to replace a basketball. No hoop, then. What— “I’m too— not smart enough for chess,” she explained, defensively, before it was brought up. Her cheeks burned as she glanced at the pins. No bowling balls either. Why were there no balls? Was this room supposed to tempt them with what they couldn’t do? “Fuck it. Chess would do— you know it?” She was still kneading the yarn.
—
She got the distinct feeling that Nicole needed to lighten up. If their presence in this room was somehow connected — something Kit suspected to be true given the fact that they were the only two in here despite the fact that odds pointed to more people touching the altar that had landed them here — she wouldn’t have her ‘performance’ graded based on Nicole’s unwillingness to play ball. (Or play… chess, or whatever they were meant to do here. That part, Kit was still figuring out.) The phoenix had little desire to find herself trapped in a strange liminal space for all eternity, and she certainly refused to be trapped with a killjoy. So… step one was going to be getting Nicole to loosen up. Step two was… TBD. Whatever it took to get out of here or whatever. She was focused on step one.
“You’ve really opened my eyes,” she agreed, shit-eating grin firmly in place. If Nicole wanted to play things that way, Kit would play. Maybe if she pushed hard enough, she could get the other woman to look a little less… panicked. After all, Kit wanted out of this and that would be something far easier to achieve if her apparent partner wasn’t too busy freaking out to pull her weight. There were two of them here. That must have been intentional. Either they were meant to work together, or they were supposed to be on opposing sides. It was more beneficial to assume they were meant to work together at first. If the first assumption was wrong, it would be far easier to betray Nicole than it would be to get her to trust her if things went in the opposite direction.
So far, all evidence pointed towards the pair of them needing to play one (or more) of the games laid out for them in order to be granted their freedom. Kit was good at games. Sure, her foster sister had once accused her of being so competitive that made games less fun for everyone around her, but being good at games meant being competitive. Having no drive to win usually meant losing. And Kit didn’t lose.
“I don’t like basketball, anyway,” she replied, waving dismissively towards the hoop. Nicole preoccupied herself with a ball of yarn, and Kit turned to watch with a curious expression. She understood the chess board. She understood the basketball hoop, even without a ball to toss in it. She didn’t understand the yarn. It didn’t seem to be meant for the hoop, so… “You don’t think we’re supposed to knit something, do you? I’ve never had the patience for knitting.” The only time she’d ever tried it, the hat she’d been trying to make had come out infuriatingly lumpy. That had been two lifetimes ago, but she’d sworn off it anyway. “I know chess,” she confirmed. “I’m good at chess. It’s not really about smarts, more… strategy. It helps to be able to read people, too. If you can trick the other person into making certain moves, you can beat them without even trying.” She paused, realizing this wasn’t really helpful. “But I’m not sure who we’re meant to be playing chess against. Each other? It doesn’t seem right.”
—
“It’s… fine— as far as sports go,” Nicole shrugged, glancing at Kit, “better ones exist,” she clarified, suddenly in the mood for talking. There was never a sport she didn’t wish to try growing up. Though her speed led her to track and field, where she found plenty of joy and accolades, there were other physical activities she filled her time with. Volleyball, when a team was created in high school. She swam too, another instance of her supernatural gifts giving her an advantage. Even from a spectator's point of view, there was soccer. Her family gathered around the TV to watch the leagues on the weekend. The memory tugged the corners of her mouth. She wasn’t gonna talk about it, however. Didn’t think Kit was a person who enjoyed sports. She seemed adamant from the beginning to skip any attempt at basketball. It was a shame, out of all the options presented to them, basketball was by far, the least annoying.
Prompted by Kit’s question, Nicole studied the yarn in her hands. Wondering if there was more to its sudden appearance than a simple quirk in the room’s ongoing mystery. “If that’s— we’d be here for a while, yeah. Never done it either. Would probably be worthless,” shit like that took hours, didn’t it? She had an aunt who used to knit, would come over for the holidays with sweaters, hats and scarves to gift the kids. Nicole paid less attention to the knitting and more to the annoying tarot reading she liked doing so much, though.
Pushing the memories of her aunt away, she searched around for knitting sticks, stupidly hopeful that at least one alternative offered to them would have the entire set of tools needed for them to complete it. No such luck. No balls for the hoop or the pins. No sticks for the yarn. She continued kneading the ball, relieving some of the stress and approached the coffee table where the chess board was. Kit knew chess, should that be the key to freedom. It filled Nicole with faint optimism. “Can’t exactly read each other in a dark room,” she pointed out. Not that she was letting a stranger read her in any sort of way. She barely allowed her friends to do so. Chess made her as apprehensive as poker did, and she never played poker either. “How do you force a person to make a move…” she trailed off, slight disbelief not so hidden in her tone.
Regardless, Kit didn’t believe a match of— a game of chess was the answer to their problem. “If we’re not meant to play each other, then who? Is this— no one else is out there,” that didn’t require any astute deduction to figure out. Only the two of them, alone in a dark space. She set the ball of yarn on one of the seats, moving toward the bookshelf. Why hadn’t they searched for a key? That was likely the easier way to get out. People often hid things in books, didn’t they? And— on a more intellectual level, sometimes books had answers to hard questions.
—
“You seem like the sporty type,” she commented, trying to… she wasn’t sure. Break the ice? They were stuck here together, for the time being; they were probably going to have to work together to get out. They might as well be friendly, right? And Kit could do that, Kit was good at that. As long as it was all surface level, she was great with people. She’d learned how to make most people like her well enough to not want to kill her, learned how to get people on her side enough to feel the need to protect her when someone else did want to see her dead. If she needed Nicole to like her, Nicole would like her. At least for however long it took them both to get out of here; at least until the effort of making Nicole like her was outweighed by the inconvenience of keeping it up. “I was never really into sports. I’m more of a ‘I only run if something’s chasing me’ girlie.” She flashed a grin.
Was the yarn another potential point of connection? Kit hadn’t been lying when she’d said it was never a hobby she’d taken to, and Nicole didn’t seem like someone who’d be familiar with it, either. She was holding the yarn more like a cat, kneading at it in a way that didn’t exactly imply a great familiarity. She confirmed her inability to knit, and Kit nodded. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, then. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. And I’m not sure we can get any YouTube tutorials working down here. Up here? In here? Wherever here is.” She shrugged, waving a hand dismissively. It didn’t matter much, did it? Wherever here was, she had no intention of being here for long.
Smiling faintly, she shrugged again. “It’s not just about seeing somebody. You can feel people, if you try hard enough, right? The shift in the air around them.” And the heat radiating from their skin. People tended to flush a little when they were overwhelmed; it wasn’t typically noticeable, but when you knew heat as well as Kit did, you could pick up on it with enough effort. Chess games weren’t typically worth the effort, but this one could be. “It’s easy to get someone to make a move. You set them up in a way that makes them think it’s their idea. Let them think they’re winning, doing something you don’t want them to do. Lure them into a trap by using their own confidence against them. Then you hit them with the checkmate.” That was what she’d always liked about games of strategy — not the game itself, but the path to victory. The way of manipulating someone into doing exactly what you needed them to do. She was doing it to Nicole right now, kind of; in this case, though, she was only trying to get the other woman to loosen up a little. Hardly the kind of manipulation Nicole could rightly be angry about, right?
“Maybe whoever put us here to begin with,” she suggested thoughtfully, walking over to the looming chessboard. “Maybe we make a move, then they do. I don’t know. I’ve never been trapped in a liminal space by a street altar and forced to play chess before, so I’m kind of winging it here. You got any other ideas?” She followed Nicole’s gaze to the bookshelf. “You think there’s something there?”
—
Nicole stared at Kit with a blank expression on her partially shifted face. What did she mean? Oftentimes, people used that as a compliment. She was active, she was athletic. She cared about maintaining healthy habits. Exercising, shit like that. It wasn’t what unnerved her, however. She was sporty, from where she looked at it, but it wasn’t obvious. What did it mean, when the observation came from someone who met her five seconds ago? Was she so easily read? So quickly perceived? Nicole didn’t like that. If anything, her stomach filled with dread at the concept. She didn’t want to ask why Kit thought so. She only wanted to not be stuck in the room anymore. Didn’t have much of a choice, though. “Not gonna do a good job running from someone if your body’s not used to it, y’know?” On a chase, especially. A cramp in the first minute from lack of acclimatization and Kit was done for. She understood, however, despite her initial inclination to take her words literally, that Kit was joking. Not in a way Nicole found entertaining, no. But a joke all the same. “Hope we don’t have to run out of here…” she trailed off with a dry drawl.
She disregarded her comments about YouTube tutorials as well, though part of her message stayed with her. YouTube. Phones. Signal. She reached for her phone, screen lighting up to reveal no service. GPS didn’t work either. Well, shit. Wherever the fuck they were, she began questioning whether it even existed. “No. Afraid it’s just us here,” she confirmed, shoving the device back into her jacket. It was the most solid confirmation that no one would come help them out.
From her position by the bookshelf, Nicole listened as Kit explained her views on chess. Rather, what made it a strategy game. She was thankful for the distance she’d put between them, because none of the words being said sounded reassuring. She wasn’t interested in feeling anyone’s air around them change, her preference for keeping as much personal space as possible made her skin crawl at the thought. She pulled up the book with the largest spine out of the bookshelf, figuring the more words, the better, no? Why would a book be long if it didn’t have important things to say? She pondered on Kit’s words, still. “That might work on confident people. You got the rest of us to manipulate…” Though manipulating stupid people was likely easy to achieve as well. What about those who were crippled with second-guessing?
An altar put them in the room, Nicole wanted to interject. She doubted it had any ulterior motives. Or it knew how to play chess. But— who put the altar there in the first place? It was a decent point. Bullshit trickery of magic origin? Nicole felt like she could almost grasp the answer to that question, but she was missing something. “Then make a move,” she suggested. “We even have pieces at all?” If they didn’t have balls for sports, or sticks for the yarn— she wasn’t sure the chessboard would offer them a chance. She wanted to be wrong, however. She turned to the bookshelf, hoping she would be pulled away from it by the sound of something exploding or a door opening, something. The book in her hand consisted of mostly blank pages. But there were symbols scribbled on some pages. One on each page. No way of discerning whether they were the result of the previous prisoner being bored out of their fucking mind or real information they needed to decipher. “Sometimes bookshelves lead to secret openings— I think.” She proceeded to drop the book in her hand. Then another one. And another. Waiting for a click. Or even better, a key stuffed somewhere.
—
“Depends on what’s chasing you. Desperation can make people a lot quicker than they might be on their own!” Her tone remained jovial, light in a way that didn’t entirely match the words themselves. Kit had always been good at that, at contradicting herself in a way that allowed her to pretend she was utterly and entirely in control. When she tried hard enough, she could sometimes manage to convince herself of as much, too. It was comforting, in moments like this one. There were few things Kit hated more than feeling as though control was something outside of her grasp, some impossible thing to hold onto. It was the kind of sensation that always took her back to the worst moments; to Ezra’s death, to the spiral that followed it, to countless deaths of her own where she’d been made a victim instead of a perpetrator. It wasn’t the kind of thing she liked to remember; it wasn’t the kind of thing she liked to feel. So she kept her tone light and she pretended it changed her situation. She kept her town light, and she told herself it meant something more than it did. It helped more than she’d admit to. “I’m sure we can make it out of this mess without having to run,” she replied with a wave of her hand. Already, she was trying to figure out how she’d gain the upper hand if a situation arose where she had to outrun Nicole for some reason or another. Perhaps she could throw phoenix fire at the other woman’s feet to slow her down.
Unsurprisingly, Nicole confirmed that cell phone service was spotty, to say the least. Kit glanced down at her own phone and its terrible lack of bars with a sigh. “Could have guessed as much,” she said mournfully. “This thing would be blowing up otherwise. Lots of calls, lots of texts.” All from acquaintances and coworkers, of course; Kit had taken great care not to make any actual friends in Wicked’s Rest. It would serve her better, she knew.
Smiling faintly, Kit walked around the chessboard looking for more clues. “Unconfident people are even easier to manipulate,” she replied. “Make them second guess themselves, and even if they know the right move, they won’t make it.” She’d always been good at getting people to do precisely what she wanted them to do. She’d honed the skill for lifetimes, nurtured it and let it grow into some monstrous thing that served only her. It was like armor, the manipulation tactics she stroked like a dog; it kept anything from touching her. Even telling Nicole the tricks of the trade wouldn’t keep her from manipulating the other woman the moment the benefit of doing so outweighed any risk. Kit was good at doing what was best for her; collateral damage didn’t often factor into the equation.
Still standing in front of the chessboard — which was absent of any pieces — Kit hummed. “Technically, you don’t need pieces to play chess,” she replied. “You just need to be able to picture it. Pawn to e4?” She called the move out to the empty room. It echoed, but there was no response. Nothing changed with the chessboard, either, and Kit sighed in quiet defeat. “All right, chess might not be the game,” she relented. She crossed the room to the bookshelf, curiosity pulling her towards the other woman as she flipped through the pages. Peering over her shoulder at the book in her hands, she clicked her tongue. “Think the symbols mean anything?” They weren’t any language Kit recognized, and her ego insisted that meant they weren’t any human language at all. “A hidden bookshelf passage is a little Scooby Doo, isn’t it?” But she pulled at a few books of her own, just in case.
—
Nicole dragged her eyes back to Kit, looking at her in silent contemplation. What did she know about desperation? Her flippant tone would’ve angered Nicole if not for the fact that it was the most revealing thing she’d said thus far. She lingered, debating whether to comment on Kit’s words or let it pass like every other futile attempt by the woman to lighten the mood. Though, what was there to say about desperation? The words were stuck in her throat, pounding heavily, until they dissolved into emotion. Words got nothing on the faint memory of the blade sinking in her shoulder blade, of her sister’s cries, of the terror in her brother’s eyes. Yeah, words to describe that gutting sensation were yet to be invented. She looked away, swallowing against the knot in her throat before she could speak. “Sure. You got a lot of faith in us.” It didn’t matter if escaping came down to running. It was the least scary option, all she knew how to do. She’d find a way to bring Kit along as well.
Nicole didn’t often get a good read on people, but she believed Kit when she boasted about her popularity. It appeared quite obvious that the other woman had an outspoken personality. The kind that, perhaps in different circumstances, Nicole would’ve found interesting. “Right,” Kit’s friendliness could work in their favor, however. Maybe one of her friends was out there missing her, worrying about her absence on social media, already sending a search party after her. Nicole would have to wait slightly longer for that kind of concern over her to arise. Going missing for four years had a way of removing that sense of urgency in those who knew her.
Kit’s confidence was unnerving, as was her insistence that she knew how people worked. Nicole took a second to recognize what could’ve been jealousy beating in her chest. She fucking wished. Life would be much simpler if she had an inkling of what people thought and felt most of the time. If she understood cues, or read people the way Kit claimed to do. She would’ve lost a chess game to Kit, she reckoned. Not only because of her inability to play the game, but because of her reluctance to follow her gut instincts. Hard to trust those when most of the time they were hijacked by anxiety. She conceded Kit’s argument with a curt nod, following the girl as she moved to the chessboard. As expected, nothing came out of it. Only the echo of Kit’s command, followed by the silent defeat. Nicole glanced down at the book in her hands, and its indecipherable writing.
She jolted when Kit’s voice came from behind her, stiffening at the closeness. Whatever happened to fucking personal space? Though, something about the warmth was comforting, akin to a fireplace. The impulse to lie down with her ball of yarn was foreign and unexplainable. Why the fuck would she feel like doing that when she was trapped in a dark room with no exit was beyond her. She shook her head, hoping it would spark common sense within her. The next book she threw on the ground whistled all the way down. Her brows furrowed. Was that— did the book make the sound, or was it Kit? She turned around frowning at the woman. But no— she looked innocent. Behind her, another book… jumped. Nicole was nowhere near to touch it, yet it launched out of the bookshelf, making a noise that could only be described as ‘wee!’ ’How the fu— “Uh…” looking down at the floor, there were enough books scattered around to trip on them. No secret passage unlocked, though. “Maybe not the bookshelf, no— something’s wrong with the books, no?” she stared at one of the covers, hoping an answer could magically come to her. Was Kit right and the symbols were the clue? Crouching down, she opened one of the books on the page with the scribbles. But before she could set it down and work on it, the fucking thing slipped out of her hands, flying toward the basketball hoop. When it dunked, the thing lay motionless underneath. “Fuck’s sake”.
—
Something shifted on Nicole’s face, and it was interesting. If there was one thing Kit had learned across her many lifetimes, it was that every person was a labyrinth. They were full of twists and turns that you could get lost in if you weren’t careful enough. Nicole was displaying part of her maze now, but it was such a small one. If Kit stepped inside, how many dead ends would she find before she made it to the center? How many times would she get lost before solving the maze? She didn’t have time to find out, even if part of her was curious. You lived longer if you avoided the labyrinth. She’d learned that, too. “Well, I’ve never let me down yet,” she joked, and it wasn’t true but Nicole didn’t know it. “And you seem… responsible. Smart. I think with the two of us together, we can figure this shit out. Girl power or whatever, right?” She waved a hand flippantly. Kit didn’t trust Nicole nearly as much as she was claiming to, but she knew how to use the resources available to her and right now, Nicole was one of those resources. Two heads were better than one, even if one head was plenty smart and capable on its own.
The second head in this equation wasn’t much of a talker. Kit found herself wishing Nicole was chattier, if only because she didn’t do well with long silences. She liked to fill the empty spaces with voices, liked to have sounds echoing to remind her that everything was fine, that she wasn’t in danger. When home alone, she kept the television running to avoid the quiet. If Nicole wouldn’t say much, she’d fill it here by talking twice as much herself. “What about you? Anybody trying to call you that we should know about?” She pressed, trying to initiate more conversation.
Maybe she’d have more success with that than she had with the chess game. It wasn’t entirely surprising that her attempt to start a game had gone unanswered; nothing about the room they were in made her suspect that they were being actively watched, be it by camera or by some supernatural force. Still, part of her had hoped it would be as easy as winning a chess match. If the answer was something she already knew, there’d be less need to throw herself into finding it, less chance of slipping into the same brand of obsession that had ended her last life. The answer wasn’t written on the wall here, though; they were going to have to find it.
But it looked like Nicole had pointed them in… a direction. Kit wasn’t sure yet if it was the right one, but it seemed promising. After all, the book launching itself across the room was different, and different probably meant good in a place where everything else seemed intent on staying the same. “Something’s definitely up with the books,” she agreed with a grin. “Not just that one, I’m betting. We need to find more of those symbols! Maybe it’s a cipher or a code. Are you any good at decryption?” Kit was. She’d gone through a phase back when she was Kate, had written everything in secret languages and invented ciphers for other people to break. It had been a more productive hobby than the whole ‘torturing the undead’ thing, as it turned out! Nobody had ever murdered her for making ciphers. She watched the book dunk itself. “You should catch that,” she commented, busying herself with the shelf. “You’re fast, right?”
—
Nicole had let herself down several times. Hadn’t stopped since she was seventeen. Wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on in the presence of a stranger, though. That sort of negative spiral was reserved for when she was in the confinement of her home. A home she planned on getting back to as soon as possible. It was the only thing that mattered. “Right,” she repeated, out of habit. She doubted ‘girl power’ had much to do with whether the two of them managed to find the way out, though. Weren’t intelligence and collaboration neutral traits? Though she was aware she lacked one of those, at least she could be a good collaborator. Ignore the jokes and the modern day references that went over her head and focus on the situation at hand.
The personal question caught Nicole off guard. She frowned, wondering if she’d given any indication that she was interested in anything but getting out of the room. Was it so hard to focus on that? “Maybe,” she shrugged, “don’t know” she amended. She knew people cared about her, the days of wondering if she had anyone in her corner were a thing of the past. But her instinct to isolate was persistent, a part of her continued to worry she wasn’t enough to be deemed a friend. Self-doubt could be a crippling thing, whether she’d found ways to move forward or not. “People know I’m usually in the woods, where the reception sucks. Wouldn’t think much of my, uh—silence.” In truth, she understood if they didn’t worry just yet. Bothersome as it was to be stuck in a room with a talkative stranger, no lives were at risk. She wouldn’t want anyone putting their day on hold for her.
With the chessboard giving no indication that it wanted to start a game — and fucking hell if that wasn’t a strange thought in itself— logic dictated they had to join efforts in deciphering what the bookshelf had to offer. Kit, though dejected after the chessboard denied her a game, appeared to fully pivot her attention to the mystery behind the books. Unfortunately, the conversation became much harder to follow for Nicole as result. “What’s a cipher?” Though, it was positive for both of them that Kit knew. She allowed herself to feel a small pang of hope. “What’s— and what’s decryption?” weren’t crypts cemetery shit? More importantly, what could that have to do with… books?
Should’ve known hope could only be a fleeting thing. She didn’t fucking learn, did she? Nicole let out a huff in annoyance, eyes fixed on the book that swung itself down the basketball hoop. Further peeved by Kit’s suggestion. “Got it, yeah” she grumbled, taking a few steps toward the book “what’s me being fast got to do with anything?” she wasn’t planning on running to pick a book. She’d never done that in her life. Returning to Kit’s side with the offending book, she noticed it felt lifeless in her hands. A one off situation? She opened it again, skimming through the pages. She feared if she placed it down, however, it would fly out again. When Nicole landed on the page, she had a reckless thought. What if—
She tore the page of the book, wincing as the more strange sounds came in response. Was it— was the book crying out in pain? Was all that shit in her head? She chucked the useless book away, looking at the symbol in her hand. Now fucking what?
—
There had to have been better people to get stuck in a puzzle room with. People who’d talk more, or tell Kit she was right at every turn, or shower her in compliments as she seamlessly uncovered information and found an escape route using only her substantial wits. Any of those things would have been preferable to Nicole’s obvious uncertainty and awkward vibes. Conversation was hard to keep going under these conditions, and Kit did not want to be left alone with her thoughts. That was never a good vibe, but especially not in a situation like this one, where she felt trapped. (Being trapped always made her think a little about her first death — about flames closing in on her, and doors that wouldn’t open. And it was fine, she was fine, it had been a good thing because it made her immortal, but it wasn’t the most fun memory to live inside, and Kit wanted fun. She preferred that.)
There was some disappointment as Nicole admitted that no one was going to come searching for her, because it might have been nice to know that they had assistance from the ‘outside’ or whatever as well as the two of them working in the room. Kit was under no illusions that anyone would search for her if she disappeared off the face of the planet. She’d designed it that way, had made sure everyone was kept at a respectable distance. Dozens of acquaintances, but no friends. No one who could get close enough to make their inevitable departure ache. It was great until there were moments like this one, when she probably could have used a hand. “What do you hang out in the woods all day for, anyway? That is so not a fun place to hang out. There are bugs in the woods, you know.” And monsters that ate people, but that wasn’t the kind of thing Kit could sprout at random without risking a loss in credibility.
“A cipher is a code,” Kit replied, though she didn’t look up from the shelf as she said it. When she focused, she focused. And right now, thanks to Nicole’s discovery, she was focused on the bookshelf with everything she had. “A decryption is a method of breaking that code. It’s… There are different kinds, but the most common are replacing one letter with another. Like, A becomes Z, B becomes Y, C becomes X. Once you break the code, you just swap the letters and read it. Get it?” She flipped through a book, finding another symbol. “Ha! But… I don’t think these are that. Look at the symbol. It’s short. Not exactly—”
She was cut off as the book launched itself from her hands, flying over to the chessboard to play hopscotch across the squares. Cursing, Kit went after it. “Tearing the pages is a good move!” She agreed, grabbing the book quickly. “These fuckers like to move, don’t they? Yikes.”
—
Nicole huffed, in a manner someone who found something amusing would do. Though she wasn’t planning on admitting that. Kit thought the worst thing about the forest was bugs? All while speaking with a woman with jaguar eyes? Had to be playing it safe, surely. “I work there. Park ranger,” she intoned, slightly more animated than before. “Happen to think it’s better than the town. Less— crowded,” rather, not crowded with the kind of living creature Nicole was terrified of. Humans. “But, uh… Good thing we won’t have to deal with bugs to get out of here, if you’re so worried about them. Got some spray, either way,” she concluded, wondering for a split second if she should’ve asked what the other did for a living. No, she didn’t think either of them were having a good time in this exchange.
It was a pleasant surprise to learn Kit had more than one gear. Some jokes lingered, yes, but Nicole would almost consider the hyperfocused version of Kit going over the symbols an entirely different person. She wished she could’ve talked to this version earlier. Would’ve spared her some crankiness. Kit was intelligent in ways Nicole couldn’t keep up. Her brows furrowed as the other woman answered her question, complicating things in her head. Some of the words, she understood separately, but the meaning behind Kit’s full sentences escaped her. She didn’t have time to break things down slowly. “Uh—not sure I do” she mumbled embarrassed, shaking her head. Why would people need to speak in code? For Nicole, it almost felt like they always had, anyway. “Glad you do, though. Means… you’ll get us out of here.”
If only the books would allow them the time to think. “If not a cipher then—” The tome Kit had in her hands went flying as well, instead of dunking down the basket, it bounced across the chessboard. Nicole’s mouth curved unintentionally, watching Kit curse her way to retrieve the book. Now they both knew what it felt like. “They do. Don’t want us using them for— whatever they’re needed for,” torn page in her hand, Nicole followed Kit toward the table, swiping the chessboard to the ground —not like it served any purpose— and slammed the piece of paper on the surface. The thing writhed underneath her palm, trying to escape once more. “If not a cipher—” she picked up where she was before the book interrupted them. “Then, what? A language? A marker? A… picture?” Were they, possibly, meant to be in a particular order? She looked over at the page on Kit’s book, there wasn’t much similarity in the traces, but it looked as though the same type of ink and pen had been used. Thinking of picking up the rest of the books she’d scattered on the floor, she made the mistake of letting the page under her hand go. The paper crumpled into a ball, and— sure enough, another three points in the hoop. Annoyance bubbled in her chest, but instead of going over for the paper ball, she shuffled back to the pile of books.
She returned carrying most of them, and dropped them with a loud thud on the table. “Start ripping pages”.
—
A park ranger. It was a very small snippet of information to learn about someone, but Kit filed it away all the same. If she’d gotten another kind of doctorate, maybe she could have dissected the implications of such a career, could determine more about Nicole based on the type of person who might wish to work as a park ranger in a town like Wicked’s Rest. But Kit wasn’t that kind of doctor, and her dissections were never the psychological sort. (She’d probably be a lot better off now if they had been.) So she only shrugged, only thought of how Nicole might actually be happy in this liminal space away from crowds. “Hell of a job.” And then, because it seemed awkward not to offer Nicole something in exchange for the information, “I work in the hospital. Lots of crowds there, most days.” More, lately. People were trampling each other to get out of town in a pretty literal sense. “Ugh, don’t say that. Now there’s going to be bugs. I know it.” A small smile played at the corners of her lips. She was almost having fun.
She hummed absently. Nicole wasn’t quite following her explanation, but that wasn’t as big a surprise as it might have seemed. Kit had never been a very good teacher; she’d stopped trying to be one a long time ago. “It’s like… secret languages when you’re a kid. The kind you make up with your friends, or your siblings, or whatever. All someone needs to crack it is to figure out one word in the note. But… this looks more like a puzzle, maybe. Are you any good at jigsaw puzzles?” Nicole seemed like she might be the type to sit alone in her living room working a jigsaw puzzle on the kitchen table… but maybe that was just because she was giving off the vibes of an old lady, who Kit assumed partook in such hobbies.
Of course, to solve a puzzle, the pieces needed to sit still. Kit ripped the page from the book the moment she had it in her hands, a little more viciously than might have been necessary. She did not appreciate being made to run around the room. “Do you think they’re sentient?” The question was one of genuine curiosity. Kit had been working under the assumption that the books were merely enchanted to avoid being opened and read, but Nicole seemed to think the books themselves had thoughts and feelings about the hands on them. Both options seemed just as likely, given their situation. Tearing the pages from the books didn’t stop them moving, which was something to consider, too; the one in Kit’s hand writhed, and the one Nicole held launched itself to the basketball hoop again. “Maybe we need a paperweight,” she said, smoothing her page on the table and sitting on it to keep it in place. “Hand me another book. We’ll get started.”
She flipped through the book Nicole provided her with, finding another page with a symbol and tearing it out, adding that paper to the one she was sitting on. Grabbing another book, she did the same thing. The collection of pages grew beneath her, and the number of books she and Nicole were flipping through shrunk until they’d scoured every last one. “Okay,” Kit sighed, shifting to gather the pages without letting any fly away. “We’ve got our pieces. You ready to solve a puzzle?”
—
Kit certainly didn’t match Nicole’s notion of how a healthcare worker was supposed to behave. She was unsure how or why she had a preconceived notion to begin with. There was no time to ponder on it. Wasn’t Kit’s fault that she thought doctors, nurses and— who else worked there? All looked like serious, professional people in her head. Would’ve been nice to be trapped with someone who did meet Nicole’s expectations, though. Similarly to how Kit likely would’ve preferred someone quick witted, who went along with her humor. Neither of them was getting what they wanted out of this— might as well get over it and move toward a solution. “Ah, sounds like a real nightmare” she grumbled, pressing her lips tightly to get back to a more urgent issue.
Using a secret language as an example was a lot simpler to understand. Why didn’t Kit start with that? Nicole rubbed her jaw, frown deepening when Kit moved from her initial line of thinking to consider the possibility of a puzzle. Fuck, she hated those. Who wanted to spend time sitting doing the same thing for hours? “Not—really my thing” she offered, picking up another book, scanning the pages for drawings. “Not sure I’ve ever finished— Would probably lose pieces,” she shrugged. Not too different from pages flying, Nicole realized. She hated how it validated Kit’s assumption. Though, the brief moment of annoyance aside, a puzzle was not too bad of a task to get through in exchange for her freedom. A lot fucking better than a cipher, at least.
If only they could find the starting point. Nicole stared down at her page, certain that if it was part of a puzzle, it belonged somewhere in the middle. Couldn’t exactly set it down and go from there. Kit’s question broke her out of her thoughts. “Sentient?” she repeated, falling into quiet contemplation. The books had screamed as they toppled down the bookcase, no? They moved on their own too. What exactly did sentient— This was a headache inducing question. Her mind too limited to entertain it. She shook her head, cracking a spine open to show Kit the page she needed to tear. “Don’t know. Would they need a brain to feel? Not sure they got one.” It was a book, after all. Didn’t stop the shriek like noise coming from the pages as Kit ripped the important page.
As they began tearing pages together, Nicole blinked skeptically at the pile of pages gathering under Kit. Hoping they weren’t wasting precious time for nothing. If the books like playing games with them, who was to say this wasn’t exactly where they wanted Nicole and Kit to be? Doing pointless shit when the answer could be elsewhere. They may not be sentient, but Nicole still believed the books were evil. Grumbling back to Kit after getting back from the bowling lane— where one of the pages had rolled toward— Nicole grabbed half of the stash of paper from Kit’s hand. “Right. Solving,” she blew a tense breath, sorting through every symbol in front of her. She had not a fucking clue where to start. She brushed the scribble on the page with her finger, trying to imagine in her head what trace could follow. She set that particular page down on the ground, grabbing the chessboard and using it to press down the edge of the page. Keeping it in place with the weight. Piece of paper still tried to escape, though.
Staring at the rest of the markings for a long moment, Nicole grew frustrated. She wasn’t any closer to finding the piece to connect the page on the ground. “Sure about that puzzle idea?” She wondered through clenched teeth, not lifting her head to see how Kit was doing. Finally, something clicked, as she lingered on a page with a similar flourish at the top. Nicole crouched, fighting against the paper trying to escape her grasp while she tried lining it up to the other one. The resistance alone meant— they were doing the right thing, no? When the pages lined up, right to the torn edges from their own doing, the incomplete ink lit up in a golden flash. “Shit, you may be right.”
—
It was getting clearer and clearer that they likely weren’t going to walk away from this encounter as friends, and that was fine. Kit didn’t particularly need — or want — friends, anyway. She’d learned a long time ago that she was a lot better off on her own. If you cared less, it meant things hurt less. If you never let yourself grow attached to someone’s presence, their absence couldn’t gut you. You wouldn’t ache with it, wouldn’t feel it digging into you like a tangible thing. Caring had doomed her before, might doom her still. Loving Ezra had left ripples that still hadn’t entirely faded, after all. So… not giving a shit about Nicole was a good thing. Not giving a shit about anyone was a good thing. Kit would take care of Kit. She didn’t need friends. She wouldn’t mind allies, but it didn’t need to go any deeper than that.
“Yeah, well, you can be in charge of holding the pages down, then.” Kit had full confidence in her own ability to solve a puzzle… mostly because Kit tended to have full confidence in her ability to do anything and everything she set out to do. She could handle a puzzle set out by someone who liked trapping people in liminal spaces for undetermined reasons, and she could do it a lot easier if the pieces of that puzzle weren’t flying across the room. Maybe two heads made little difference when one of them was a self-proclaimed ‘bad at puzzles’ individual, but two sets of hands wasn’t a bad thing here.
She was a little curious about the sentience of the books, though it didn’t do anything to stop her from tearing the pages. After all, Kit had done far worse to far more sentient things with little regard and little guilt; the books meant very little to her beyond being a means to an end. “That’s the great philosophical question, isn’t it? Can things feel if they don’t experience that feeling in a way we understand? I don’t know the answer, by the way. Nobody does. That’s what fucking sucks about philosophy — it’s all questions, and none of them are the kind you can find an answer to. That’s why I prefer the hard sciences.”
She’d always liked answers that were concrete. It was why she’d spent lifetimes on her experimentations, why she’d continued long after she probably could have called it and just brought Ezra back as planned. Kit liked to know everything. In a way, the idea of a puzzle like this one was fun for her. She just would have preferred solving it without being locked in a room with a stranger, was all.
“What else would it be?” She grumbled, looking at the pages. Surprisingly, it was Nicole who figured out the pattern; Kit was only a little jealous. “Of course I’m right,” she murmured, grabbing another page excitedly. She lined it up with the pattern on the pages Nicole had put together, earning another golden flash. “Shit. Come on, we’ll have this done in no time, okay? Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
—
Weren’t all sciences hard? Nicole grew up with the certainty that all sciences were studied by a very unique type of person. At least to her, who found more joy outdoors, breeze against her skin, than hunched over books. She was missing something, surely — it was often the case with her— between the discussion of book sentience and ciphers, her brain appeared to have gone into overdrive. “Uh— yeah,” she mumbled non-committal, purely out of politeness. Perhaps she shouldn’t have forced Kit into taking a serious stance. While slightly irritating, at least she was able to understand her initial jokes. It became increasingly obvious that Kit had intellect far beyond what Nicole could keep up with, now that they were on equal ground.
They had both put all their energy into completing the puzzle, and the conversation slowed down to scarce, the only way Nicole would ever be of any help. Yes, she could be in charge of holding the pages down, as Kit referred it to. And she did, once it became evident that there was a puzzle to build, she stepped aside to let Kit handle it. Only intervening when the next piece was an obvious one. The sheet grew larger and more resistant to their actions, though in in turn, it became easier to manipulate for two hands. She made sure always to keep something heavy around the edges, to prevent the paper from floating away.
Kit went on solving the puzzle, working faster to recognize patterns than Nicole ever could have, and the drawing spread along the pages like ivy. She couldn’t decipher what the big picture was yet, but the traces consisted of spirals and straight lines. The closer they got to finding every page, the angrier the room got, protesting their progress. There was again, in the back of her mind: The question of sentience. How did the room know? Regardless, it did, a discarded book shooting up and flying across the air with the intention of hitting either of them. She ducked, grabbing Kit’s wrist to lower her to the ground with her. “Can you finish this here?” The sheet of paper jerked beneath them, trying to fly away again, but it was stuck under the weight of the table, the chessboard, and Nicole and Kit’s knees. She wasn’t sure for how long.
More pages fit on the ground, and Nicole racked her brain for any ideas as to what they were solving or how it was meant to aid their escape. The drawing took on a circular, spiral outline, and the hard lines in the middle made it look— was it? Steps? “A staircase?” A two dimensional staircase, on the ground. Ground that shook like an elevator dropping once they were a piece away from completion. “Fuck,” the bookcases toppled to the ground, missing her back by a few inches. “The fuck are we supposed to do with this?” she pointed at the almost finished puzzle, watching Kit line up another piece. It was a staircase, there was no mistaking it anymore. If she chose to suspend disbelief— what the fuck could she do at this point? Should this staircase… lead to an exit? Fuck if she was going to be the first to try, though. It was ridiculous. She struggled to believe it would work. Kit secured the final drawing, right in the middle, and the stair lit up in a soft gold glow. “Should we— should… Go!”
—
Confusion flickered across Nicole’s face, and Kit racked her mind for a moment trying to determine what it was she’d said that could be misinterpreted. She was good with people, most of the time. It was a necessary trait of being a doctor, the kind of thing you had to learn if you didn’t want a thousand complaints about your bedside manner racking up and giving you the reputation of problem child. Dr. House could only get away with the whole ‘asshole to everyone’ thing because he was a fictional white man; things definitely didn’t work like that for people in Kit’s position. But… it was difficult to use her practiced bedside manner on Nicole. It was difficult to understand Nicole, to interpret what it was she was thinking. Kit wanted to chalk it up to the oddness of their situation, but she wasn’t sure she’d find Nicole any easier to deal with in the hospital or on the street on a normal day.
So she focused on the task at hand instead. She kept her hands busy, because that was all she could do. They’d solve this puzzle — Kit through putting the pieces together, Nicole through holding those pieces in place — and they’d get out of here. And they’d probably never see each other again, and Kit liked that. She preferred it that way. People who were impossible to understand the way Nicole was weren’t particularly fun to be around, and Kit rarely wasted her time with things she didn’t find fun unless it was absolutely necessary to do so.
Luckily, the puzzle was a little fun once she got into it. Kit loved puzzles, yearned for the thrill of satisfaction that came with fitting two pieces together and seeing the final picture take place. She didn’t recognize the symbol being formed by this particular puzzle, but she knew she’d spend hours researching it after the fact. Already, she was working to memorize the lines and curves so she could recreate it for her research. It’d be a lot easier to do in her apartment, where no papers were moving around and shooting off in different directions. “Yeah,” she muttered in response to Nicole’s question. “I got it. Don’t worry. I just need one… more…” There.
Once all together, the symbols twisted to form a more familiar shape. Stairs. For a moment, Kit was confused. But then, the stairs were glowing, and the metaphorical pieces clicked into place with the same certainty as the physical ones had. Grabbing Nicole by the arm, she rushed the flat staircase on the ground. “Oh, if this doesn’t work, we’re going to look so stupid,” she muttered. But, thankfully, the staircase didn’t remain two dimensional. She stepped onto it and descended, little by little, with Nicole in tow. The room around them faded, turning first to a pitch black, dark and empty space, and then slowly lighting up into… an alleyway. The last few steps were skipped as Kit jumped to the concrete, her shoes pounding against solid concrete.
—
Nicole had no fucking clue how a two dimensional drawing was supposed to become a legitimate escape route. She let out a low, irritated grumble, agreeing with Kit’s statement. Yeah, they already looked pretty damn stupid standing over a paper sheet waiting to be transported to another dimension. Kit was brave enough to risk another hit to the ego, motioning her descent down the flight of stairs. Nicole watched, disoriented as her perception of depth was tested. It worked, Kit was going down the stairs. How the fuck— A warm hand grabbed her wrist and stopped her from elucubrating any further. Right. Time to get the fuck out of the magical room.
She followed carefully, each step disappearing behind her as they walked down, engulfed by darkness. So much so, that Nicole wasn’t sure if there were any more steps, or if she was simply marching in the same spot. Inky black surroundings gave way to a dim corridor, and eventually what appeared to be an alleyway. One that looked decidedly mundane, like it could be found in the real world. Dumpsters were lined against a greasy wall, so full with trash it scattered onto the concrete. The scent of reheated oil wafted to her nose. In the distance, cars hummed along the streets, drowned by the sound of human chattering close by. They were home, there was no question about it.
Nicole craned her neck back to where they came from, but any trace of ink or book pages had faded. As if it had all been in their heads the whole time. But it wasn’t, she was certain. She wasn’t the type of person who could create fantastical scenarios in her head. No. Despite her reticence to fully process what transpired, it was real. She glanced at Kit, slowly letting everything sink in. Slowly settling back into her awkward self. No more conversation was needed. They had joined efforts for a goal and that was it. That was it. There was an unspoken sentiment of relief, despite the lingering adrenaline pulsing in her veins. “Guess this is it,” she breathed out, dusting the side of her jacket, despite it being perfectly clean.
She shuffled nervously, expecting Kit to go her way. Nicole wasn’t the type of person someone like Kit would’ve become friendly with, and there was no judgment on her part. Nothing but understanding, truly. Far too different personalities to ever mesh. However, “thanks for solving the puzzle,” she shrugged, her tone laced with some finality. “So I’ll— I’m, uh— going this way,” her thumb jutted toward the only exit in the alley. Where else could she go? Fuck. Ignoring the heat in her cheeks, she nodded at Kit to gesture her goodbye and shifted past her. The sound of her footsteps echoed, her figure disappearing as she took a turn left, toward a busy street.
She didn’t glance back to check whether Kit was following a similar direction or not, she had more pressing issues. Where the fuck did she leave her truck?
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Splash of serendipity || Nicole & Oliver
TIMING: Recent LOCATION: The Apple Gathering. PARTIES: @oliver--fox & @nicsalazar SUMMARY: Nicole encounters an old friend, Oliver, at the apple gathering. They haven't seen each other in a long time. WARNINGS: None
In the decade Nicole had lived in Wicked's Rest she had attended The Apple Gathering once or twice before. Verdict was still out on whether she’d enjoyed any of those instances. Regardless of how overwhelming it was being surrounded by so many people, she took pride in subjecting herself to the experience. When she was younger, she did it intending to test the jaguar’s response to her anxiety. Years older now, and with a recent stint stuck in an animal's body, the intention was to acquaint herself with her human side once more. It was why she kept taking opportunities like the bonfire to push against the pervasive instinct to isolate.
Needless to say, she wasn’t having a great time. Nor a bad one, particularly. Nicole was simply used to looking at the glass half empty, reminding her that being back home would’ve been a more suitable way of spending the evening. Why didn’t she bring Nacho? Next time was a must. She kept on strolling down the farm, distantly observing the activities townspeople were engaging in. Loud laughs and shrieks reached her ears, guiding her attention toward the large basins set up for the classic apple bobbing activities.
Amidst the crowd, she spotted a face she recognized, looking equally as curious about the contest taking place. Nicole approached with caution, waiting for better visual confirmation that she had the right person before speaking. She wanted to spare herself some embarrassment, ears heating up at the mere idea of mistakenly greeting a stranger. “Oliver?” she called out, her voice rising so it wouldn’t be drowned by the cheers and claps next to them. She hadn’t seen him in quite some time, though it wasn’t a surprise. She had vanished off the face of the earth for a good four years, trapped in the body of the jaguar. Only recently she began encountering those who were part of her life before that.
She pressed her lips into a thin line, offering her best attempt at a smile and a curt nod. So much time had passed, she wondered if Oliver would even remember her at all. But the glint of recognition in his gaze eased some of her nerves. “Been a while. It’s— nice to see you.”
—
Oliver always liked coming to the fairs, he had always enjoyed going to random festivals in places that he went to. There was a certain amount of joy that permeated the air around them; and even though Oliver couldn’t feast on emotions like other fae, it was still a nice environment to be in. It was one of those events that he could go alone to, or come with others. He didn’t feel as if he was forced to be at it for a certain amount of hours before he could flee, rather it was something that he could come and go as he pleased. It helped that it happened during the fall. Summer festivals always made him get sweaty and being surrounded by a bunch of other people tended to just make him feel warmer and definitely impacted the amount of patience that he had for lines. In the winter, he often found himself not wanting to spend too much time at outside festivals; maybe checking some of them out quickly as he speed-walked through the cold. Which was unfortunate due to the beauty that winter held.
Part of the fun at festivals was watching the random games that the organizers had concocted. Apple bobbing was a traditional game, one that Oliver had to have seen at least a thousand times, one that he had participated in at least a hundred times. There was something about having the pressure to perform a weird game with lots of people watching you. It was interesting though, that it seemed like the people participating today were having a harder time grabbing the apples then he was used to seeing. Maybe they just had really bad coordination, or the pressure of everyone watching was causing people to mess up. Regardless, it was a fun activity and Oliver cheered and clapped along with everyone else.
He glanced up at the sound of his name, eyes widening when he saw the person in front of him. “Nicole?” It had to have been what, 4 years? Oliver had met her when he first came to town. Making friends with the park rangers was always a good move since it made him more likely to get any insider scoop of anything weird happening with the plants. However, after about a year, Nicole had seemingly fallen away from the typical rotation of rangers. He had thought that she had moved away, or maybe just changed jobs to something where they never ran into each other. “It has been! It’s great to see you too, how are you doing?” Oliver asked, running a hand through his hair. “I thought you had like left town or something, what have you been up to?”
—
Her smile was shy —a barely there curve on her lips undetectable to the naked eye— but warmth spread in her chest upon finding Oliver. Nicole was never the type of person who surrounded herself with many friends. There weren’t many people she felt comfortable enough giving that title to, not even before the jaguar found its home in the zoo and refused to give Nicole her body back. Standing now, in front of a familiar face from her past, she felt her own concerns confirmed: It was likely that she wasn’t a good friend. Why didn’t she look for Oliver? After those months spent settling back into society— she could’ve— should’ve done it. Oliver didn’t look like he harbored any resentment, however. His eyes were gentle despite his surprise, in turn, Nicole’s guilt turned into shame. “Yeah,” her cheeks burned, confirming her name. Given the time that had passed, it came as a relief that she was somehow memorable enough for Oliver to recall.
“Hey,” she said with a slow nod, unsure whether to stand or sit. Having exchanged greetings meant the easiest part of any conversation was over. The part she could’ve rehearsed dozens of times in her head before approaching. Now it was up to her to keep the exchange going. She wrung her fingers, shrugging at his question. “I’m doing— Uh. It’s… it’s alright.” At some point, she would have to come out and explain exactly how she was doing, but doing so in the middle of an apple festival would be far too complicated. She glanced at the competition taking place in front of them, as a form of distraction. Her brows furrowed when she noticed the competitors struggling to pick up the apples. Didn’t look like the typical difficulties of the game, however. Odd. Her attention returned to Oliver briefly, and his comment warmed up her cheeks once more. “No—that’s, I didn’t leave…” she assured him quickly, rubbing her jaw while she scrambled to find a suitable explanation. Leaving would be, of course, the most logical answer for her sudden disappearance. But she wasn’t fast enough to come up with a place, or a reason, or anything that would sell the lie. More importantly, Nicole didn’t want to lie. Not to a friend. The truth was impossible to get out, though. Somehow the compromise was something worse. “It was uh— went on a retreat, sort of. Nature. Couldn’t reach out, cause— Technology wasn’t… recommended, y’know? It was so sudden. Should’ve— reached out sooner, though,” she pressed her lips into an apologetic smile.
She wasn’t sure what possessed her to say what she said, but Nicole had offered similar answers in the past. She was out, in nature. Wasn’t complete bullshit, when she considered what the jaguar got up to in four years. Certainly didn’t have a bed or walls to call a house. Reeling after speaking more words than she was used to in a day, Nicole somehow had more to say. She could only attribute it to the nerves. “I’m uh, back at the park now, though. Should—You should stop by any time, we can go on a hike,” she would be looking forward to it, should he agree. He always had a special kind of sensibility for the vegetation. One she didn’t come across often. It made sense he’d dedicated his life to it. “And you? Doesn’t look like you changed a day,” her memory was nothing extraordinary, but it was impossible not to notice how similar he looked. If Nicole wasn’t aware of the time the jaguar spent in the zoo, she would’ve thought she was transported four years into the past.
Slowly trudging through the bout of nerves, Nicole looked back at the strange bobbing contest, studying the competition with more intent. Why did the apples glide like that? Were they coated in something special? “They’re doing it wrong, aren’t they?”
—-
Oliver's lips curved down ever so slightly, not quite a frown; but he could tell that Nicole seemed nervous about talking about how she was. She seemed different than the person he had met previously, less sure of herself for whatever reason. “Oh! That’s super cool. I love a good nature retreat.” It was unfortunate that they tended to either be semi-cult related or religiously focused; things that Oliver wasn’t interested in getting involved in. Plus, the people who went to them tended to be more concerned with getting high or having long, weepy conversations. It was why Oliver started joining more nature-focused groups rather than retreats. “Was it around here? Or did you get to go somewhere fun?” Oliver asked, grinning as he did. Oliver waved off her concerns about reaching out. “No worries, I’m awful with technology to begin with. Plus, life just busy sometimes. Did you switch jobs when you came back from the retreat?” A retreat surely wouldn’t last 4 years, right?
His eyes lit up when she said that she was back at the park. “Oh! Amazing. We absolutely need to go on a hike at some point” Oliver nodded before cringing. “I don’t know if he even works there anymore, but there was a ranger named Adam? The redhead. He..uh…didn’t have the most favorable feelings towards me after we got into a bit of a…break-up…” It had been more of a fling than a relationship, only lasting a few months, but it had become clear that the two of them were not a good match. “I think I was actually banned from the guard's shack at one point.” Oliver couldn’t help but laugh. He wasn’t sure how legitimate Adam’s threats had been, but he also hadn’t gone back since to see. He had his ways of sneaking onto the grounds that didn’t require him to go bother a ranger. “So! Just a heads up that you may get some angry glares from him if he spots you hiking with me.
Oliver shrugged at her question “What can I say, I’ve got good genes.” He joked. Oliver had found that deflection was one of the better pathways when it came to questions about his age. “Plus, it helps that I haven’t quite hit the old age of 30 yet, I’m sure once that happens, I’ll shrivel up as god intended” Oliver winked before laughing. “I’m good though! I don’t remember where I had been in the process the last time I saw you, but I was able to open a plant shop downtown. It’s called Everlasting Garden, and it’s been doing pretty well!” He followed her gaze to the apples, eyebrows crinkling as he noted the continued difficulty that people seemed to be having. Usually, after the first couple minutes of getting used to the spotlight, people’s nerves would dissipate and they would be able to get the apples. But the apples looked almost like…they were moving away from the people on their own rather than because the waves were forcing them away. “Hm…I’m not sure. It definitely looks like something is off though.”
—
Nicole’s smile grew slightly, tension easing from her shoulders when Oliver accepted the explanation for her absence. She didn’t expect him to follow it up with another question, however. One that demanded she bullshitted some more. Fuck. Fuck. She rubbed along her jaw, “it was— uh, couple of hours north, yeah. Beautiful— beautiful landscape. The kind you don’t think exists in America anymore,” adding details was supposed to make it a better lie, no? At least that’s what she’d heard before. Leave little to no detail to be questioned. Oliver seemed to harbor no negative feelings about the lack of communication her disappearance caused. She appreciated that more than she could say it. “I get that. Awful with technology too,” and on the topic of being busy, she was certain nothing beat being a full-time attraction at the Zoo. She let out a tense breath as they circled back to the retreat discussion. “Ah… N—Not exactly, no, didn’t switch—” fuck. What other lies could she come up with? “Spent the 4 years there. Considered moving there too. Just uh— being off the grid is nice, y’know? Life’s too overwhelming these days.” It wasn’t a lie. Everything was too fast, too loud, too crowded. Nature retreat bullshit aside, she always dreamed of finding that sort of peace in the world.
Her eyebrows knitted when Oliver brought up a fellow park ranger. “Adam?” Nicole racked her brain to put a face to that name. If she had a last name it would have been easier. A redhead named Adam? Ah— “Think he relocated— Everglades, last I heard. Shouldn’t be a problem,” though she was curious about Oliver knowing other rangers, and what the story there was. “That ban won’t hold up, you should be fine. What, uh—did you do in the shack?” she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but the question was out of her mouth regardless.
Something about Oliver’s joke about aging gave her confidence a small boost. “The old age of 30?” she replied wryly, a lopsided grin etched on her face. “You’re right, it’s downhill from there. I shriveled up,” she played along, for once it was much easier to take things with humor rather than ponder on what growing old meant for her. Of those years she’d lost to the jaguar. Of every experience the beast took from her. Oliver was speaking about his current life, his plant shop and Nicole refused to be dragged by the threads of her past. She forced a bigger smile, less genuine for a moment, before she felt herself return to the conversation. “Sounds familiar. You must’ve mentioned wanting to do that, yeah. Happy you made it happen,” she nodded, knowing the amount of time she spent downtown was fairly limited, but making a mental note to search for Everlasting Garden the next time she found herself around the neighborhood. “Haven’t kept up my garden since— the retreat, maybe… I’ll uh— give that another try, could use any advice.” She would like that, something to keep her hands and mind busy.
Her nerves had certainly subsided compared to when she entered the gathering. Nicole had underestimated what having a familiar face with her could do. She kept her gaze on the contest, shaking her head. The apples glided away before they even came into contact with people. Making Nicole question whether they were being pulled by something invisible. “Gonna give it a try?” After all, he was the more adventurous of the two.
—
Oliver nodded as she explained what she had been up to. “Neat! Sounds like an amazing experience.” He always loved seeing sights like that, ones that seemed almost fake; like they didn’t fit into what nature was supposed to look like. Seeing a breath taking view was easy to pass off as not important until you actually saw one and then it was something you held onto with a fierce grip; determined to not let it go. He understood why nature needed to be torn down to create space for human activities; people needed places to survive after all. It didn’t mean that it wasn’t a tough pill to swallow when he watched perfectly healthy trees get torn down for concrete pillars. “Totally makes sense, doesn’t sound like it would be easy to tear yourself away from. What ended up bringing you back here?” Was he just being nosy? Maybe; but he was also just curious in general.
“Yes! Getting off the grid can be wonderful sometimes.” Just existing in nature? Not being concerned about missing a phone call or ignoring friends? It was always a nice break. In between new lives; Oliver tended to do at least a month-long camping trip. He told himself that it was to spend time with trees, do research, those types of things; but it was also just a nice excuse to ditch humanity for a bit. It reminded him, that he hadn’t done so in awhile. Maybe, when things seemed…less chaotic around here, he would do just that. Leave one of his assistant managers in charge for a month. If the store burns down, well, he can aways open a new one or something.
When she mentioned that Adam had moved to the Everglades, he hummed quietly. “Makes sense, I think he had family down there.” He had always talked about how glad he was to have left though, it made him wonder why he had gone back. Oliver decided not to spend too much time on that thought; it wasn’t any of his business, not anymore. At her insinuation, he felt his face heat up. “Whatever you are thinking, it wasn’t that.” Oliver laughed, waving a hand away. “In our last fight, he had just said that you guys all had a thing where you could ban exactly one person from the shack with no questions asked. I have no idea if that’s true, but I didn’t want to test it to find out.” He shrugged. That hadn’t stopped him from wondering if he had a mug shot on the wall somewhere, or if his name was just on a list; or if it had just been an empty threat from Adam.
“Well duh, haven’t you heard, at any moment after you turn 30, you become an ‘old person’” Oliver giggled as he did the air quotes. “I’m just joking, you actually look great” He said, before his grin widening at her request for assistance with plants. “Absolutely! I’d love to help anyway I can. We have a pretty wide range of things available, so like even if you just want a bouquet of flowers or something; we have that too.” He explained. “But if you give me an idea of what you are interested in doing, I’m sure I can come up with a list of possibilities.” Oliver tilted his head to the side a bit as he looked over at the crowd. “Mm, maybe? I don’t know if I would be any better than any of the other people trying though. You?”
—
Too late to go back now. Nicole couldn’t bring up how she had been stuck as a jaguar for all those years. Or what landed her in the zoo in the first place. Too many people walked around them to even want to dive into that complicated part of her past. The lie would have to keep snowballing until she felt comfortable to clarify. Some day. The idea of maintaining the charade for longer than a day made her stomach sink. She hated being the architect of her own misery, but that remained consistently true. Letting the bursts of laughter and cries coming from the contestants distract her for a second, she focused on the young man who resurfaced with his mouth empty, water splashing around him. Oliver wanted to know what brought her back, and Nicole wondered the same thing. What or who broke the jaguar from its confinement? She shrugged, “It was time, I suppose. Wanted to be around people again,” and though her uncomfortable demeanor often contradicted the claim, she wasn’t lying. She needed human connection, even if her body rejected it at any given time.
“Yes. That’s— yeah.” At least Oliver agreed that being off the grid had some positive effects, and she wasn’t pressed to reaffirm her stance or add more to the lie. Would’ve ended up backfiring at some point, surely. And though every question Oliver asked sent a wave of discomfort through her, she couldn’t help but feel touched that someone cared enough to ask. After all those years she’d been gone.
She appreciated the more shallow turn the conversation took, thinking back to her ranger times with fondness. “Think he did, yeah. He never liked the weather here either,” she commented. She supposed, with the continuous instances of life-threatening danger that presented in town, Nicole wouldn’t mind relocating at some point. Somewhere warmer. Where she could enjoy the landscapes in peace, not worrying about supernatural beasts coming for her head at every turn. When Oliver blushed at her own insinuation, her ears burned too. How else was she supposed to take his words then? “Ah. Y— I don’t… wasn’t thinking anything,” she shook her head, breathing out a laugh when he waved his hand. “He was bullshitting you, don’t worry, you can go whenever” Sure, sometimes visitors had to be restricted from particular areas, but those bans were always earned. She doubted Oliver would ever do anything that went against the park’s best interest.
“Do feel like an old person, I guess,” her body might not outwardly reflect it, but—she wasn’t sure she related to many of the things young people did. For example, all that time they spent on their phones doing who knows what. “Back pain, y’know?” she deadpanned instead, a wry smile on her face. The source of her pain had never been discovered, but she needed no fucking doctor to know it was less of a physical wound and more… of a spiritual one. The jaguar’s tails had been torn, and they both had to endure the pain. She nodded politely as Oliver offered his help with anything she could need to restart her garden, “I’ll uh, have to check what I still have to give you an idea. You got the same number? Could text you tonight…” Nicole preferred keeping most of her contacts in a notebook, the old way, after losing her phone too many times to unexpected jaguar shifts. She didn’t care to hear about how shit like that could be kept in an email or other places. Better that information stayed safe at home.
Her eyes drifted to the apple bobbing once more, in time to watch a furious old guy walk away shouting about how rigged the competition was. Nicole wasn’t sure that was the problem. New faces surrounded the basins, all with similar eager faces to prove themselves. Every time, the apple spun away from them. “Don’t know,” she shrugged, lifting an eyebrow at the crowd gathered. “Not much of a— embarrassing myself in public kind of person,” though she wasn’t sure that ever stopped her from feeling embarrassed in public. “But uh— guess if you try, I’ll try it too.” Her gaze narrowed, a sudden shift in her eyes revealing the strange mist surrounding the floating apples. What the fuck was that about? “Huh,” a second later, she didn’t see anything more than a regular human would. Had she imagined that? “Or maybe it’s a waste of time?”
—
Oliver hummed in understanding. He understood that all too well. He knew there were other Leshy’s who were content to simply live in the forests, not to involve themselves with humanity if they didn’t have to; but that had never been Oliver. While time away could be nice, there was something that Oliver enjoyed about being around mortals and interacting with other species who were living in the same situation as him. “I gotcha, sometimes it can be nice to speak to an actual person every once in a while.” He smiled softly. “But! I’m glad you’re back; excited to see you around.” That was something that he was still getting used to. It used to be that Oliver was always the one leaving, but now he had been the one who had stayed and was the one still here when people returned.
Oliver couldn’t help but laugh at her equally flustered appearance. “Sorry! I guess I could have described that better.” He shook his head, giggles still coming out before he took a deep breath “That’s good to know though.” Now he felt a little bad for sneaking around the trail entrances the last year or so; but it had also been kinda of exciting, thinking that he was breaking a stupid rule like that. It wasn’t as if he had been hurting anyone, so it was all in good fun. He made a mental note to actually sign into the book the next time he went out there.
“Ah, yes, those darn aches and pains that come with aging.” He sighed. While he didn’t experience the ones that a normal person would; the aches and pains that he dealt with concerning his trees were almost worse he thought. “Of course! Obviously, there’s no rush.” Oliver stated before nodding. “Yep! I have the same number.” Cellphones were definitely an invention that Oliver was glad had come around. It was so much simpler then when he had to rely on a house phone, or letters before that. While he sometimes missed the more dated technology; and rarely did anything more with his phone than call and text; it was nice to have it on him when he needed it.
Oliver's lips formed a line as he got a better look at what was going on. Something certainly seemed off about the whole situation. This was a carnival game, one that should, theoretically, be something that had more winners than losers with how simple of a concept is was. However, Oliver wasn’t even sure he had seen anyone win it the entire time he had been standing here. Whatever forces were at play, Oliver wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with it today. “Ah, you know, I think I’ll pass on this one. I don’t know how hygienic dunking my face in water that other people have been biting into is something I want to do today” He joked
—
Nicole nodded in quiet contemplation, uncertain if nice would’ve been the word she chose to describe any sort of conversation with a human being. More often than not, socialization felt like torture. Or a puzzle that she couldn’t work out, no matter how simple the edges were. She had believed, after her first stint as a jaguar, that she was getting a hang of it. Letting people in, finding ways to reach out even if they were imperfect. No one had demanded perfection from her, it was her own mind creating obstacles. Her friends only wanted her to be present. But the zoo happened. And it set back her progress, dashed the small amount of confidence she had built at the time. No, talking to people wasn’t nice. What she reaped if she kept trying, however, was always something much sweeter. “I look forward to seeing you again, too” that sentiment she agreed with. She was thankful for how understanding Oliver had been about her sudden disappearance. She promised not to let him down again. Perceived disappointment or otherwise.
At least they were both equally flustered over the fumbling of words. Nicole rubbed her jaw, eyes cast to the ground as she breathed out one final laugh. Hopefully, it would help them move past it. “It’s fine. You’re— Honest misunderstanding,” she had a tendency to misinterpret things, processing them at a slower pace than most. Sometimes it caused moments of embarrassment but— at least her friend was laughing. It counted for something. Perhaps it was an instance that would result in those… inside jokes. She looked forward to having one someday.
Her lips curled into a coy smile, feeling slightly more confident after the shared laugh. She wasn’t used to witty conversations, not ones she’d participated willfully in, but she felt the words come more freely in Oliver’s presence. “Yeah. You’ll— see. You’ll understand better when you get older,” she feigned offense, but her smile grew after. Luckily for both of them, Oliver kept his phone number, meaning Nicole must’ve had his contact back home, in the phonebook she kept on her nightstand. She tried to keep her enthusiasm moderate. “Alright. I’ll, uh— keep in touch, then. For the garden help. Thinking… less flowers more… shit I can grow to eat. Trips downtown sometimes can get annoying,” She didn’t always trust the shit they had at the farmer’s market, either. She remembered those pumpkins who bullied her and Vic too well.
Oliver wasn’t in the mood for the apple competition, and Nicole was more than fine to sit this one out too. She grimaced at his joke, glancing back at the water. That would’ve been far more entertaining as a child. Now… not so much. His words managed to kill her curiosity as well, no longer interested in staying around until the humans figured out the apples were tampered with. “Not going to disagree there. Besides—” she caught herself from bringing up the mist she’d seen through the eyes of the jaguar. “Might be better stuff to do,” she mumbled, at the same time a woman face-planted into the water, turning the basins and spilling water everywhere. That was it. The small crowd and the contestants shrieked and cried out in joy. “Why don’t we check what else they have around? First time I’ve come to the festival in years— Wanna see if anything’s changed.” Not much, she assumed. When it came to their love for fall Wicked Rest’s folks seemed to stick to their traditions.
—
He rolled his eyes at her comment about knowing about things once he was older. It reminded him of his mother telling him those same words when he was a child. Even as old as he was now, Oliver knew that some things would just stay out of reach for him. Possibly forever. Oliver hummed quietly, going through a mental Rolodex of what he currently had in the shop that she may like. “Gotcha! I can definitely give you some seeds for different fruits and veggies.” With winter quickly approaching, there wouldn’t be as many ‘fun’ things that could be grown but there was still plenty that she could plant. Plus, Oliver had a feeling that Nicole wouldn’t mind getting a quick lesson on gardening tips and tricks the next time she came in. Now wasn’t the time though.
At her question about what else they had at the festival, Oliver’s eyes lit up. If there was one thing that he enjoyed, it was info-dumping about things that didn’t hold that much importance. Especially when he had an actual reason to know the information. “There are a few things that have changed! Not much, you know, the normal stuff is still here and all. There’s a tarot thing, a corn maze-” Oliver pauses, turning the idea of talking about his weird experience in that maze over in his mind a few times before pushing it away. No reason to bring up something like that right now. “I don’t know if this was before or after you left, but you know Mr &Mrs’ Jack’o Lanterns? Well, now it’s just Mr’s. It was a whole thing…” Oliver’s voice quieted as they entered the crowd. Those that stayed around the watering hole continued to go after apples that seemed intent on skirting any danger that may approach it.
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Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice || Nicole and Vic
TIMING: Sometime in mid October LOCATION: downtown PARTIES: @nicsalazar and @natusvincere SUMMARY: After their tense first encounter, Nicole and Vic happen upon each other at the pumpkin patch, both confused by their eagerness to see each other again. That is, until, the pumpkins start jabbering... CONTENT WARNINGS: none!
Shouldn’t be so hard getting pumpkins. A fucking pumpkin. For carving. Shit should’ve been simple, considering the way the town was covered in all shades of brown, orange and red the minute the calendar signaled the changing of the season. She thought Summer was excessively festive, but Nicole forgot what Fall in Wicked’s Rest entailed.
Not many things were simple tasks for her. As was often the case, Nicole dreaded being around the crowd gathered to celebrate fall. The noises, the smells, the shoulders bumping into her. No, all of it made the desire to purchase one pumpkin a herculean task. She forced herself to be outside, however. It would never stop being true, she had to try. She was trying. Visiting the farmer’s market to fulfill her search as opposed to all the gatherings in Gatlin Fields was a decent compromise, no?
Nacho was excited to be outside, ambling around the booths and stands of the market, tugging at the leash whenever an especially enticing scent wafted toward them. Inevitably, Nicole found herself relaxing as she strolled around the place, mentally congratulating herself for doing the hard part of going out. It was oftentimes eighty percent of the job.
Nacho’s attention diverted from the stand they were checking, no longer interested in the fresh vegetables and fruits stacked in front of them. He fussed on his leash, letting out a small whine toward their right. A few stands away, Nicole noticed a big Rottweiler, anxiety returning at the thought of them interacting. “Not sure about that, bud. It’s— They could be—” she trailed off, not anticipating the Rottweiler to charge toward them instead.
With that, an apologetic owner followed. Nicole knew this woman. She looked drastically better than she did last time they crossed paths. “Vic,” she greeted with a curt nod of acknowledgment, far more serious than she intended. She always struggled with the right amount of friendliness to inject into her interactions. But if Vic was offended, it didn’t show. “Uh— This is Winnie, then. You didn’t lie,” she was a beautiful dog, and judging by her happy drooling, didn’t look particularly bright.
Nerves set in the pit of her stomach, wondering if she was supposed to extend the interaction or part ways. Vic was kind in the aftermath of their meeting —if slightly too generous— though that didn’t constitute friendship. A fleeting hello should have been fine. Nacho, however, was interested in his new buddy, and though Nicole kept a firm hold of the leash should things grow tense, it seemed to be going smoothly. Her eyes flickered to Vic, briefly. Should she engage in small talk in the meantime? “Uh— here for the pumpkins too?” She was fairly certain that was the stand the other woman had been observing.
—
Winnie wasn’t used to crowds. And that wasn’t by accident, either. Vic had made it a point to not let her near them, most of the time, because her annoying energy and inability to chill the fuck out made most people uncomfortable. Plus, bringing her places added the dread of having to speak to people. Dogs made people feel so social.
But with Halloween quickly approaching, Vic had been running out of time to get pumpkins to carve with Rosie, and when she and Winnie happened upon a seemingly harmless farmer’s market on their walk, she knew she’d have to bite the bullet and take her through. It was probably going to be fine, there weren’t that many people around, it seemed, besides a group of old ladies that smelled like mothballs and someone who, even from their great distance, looked vaguely familiar.
Vic didn’t have time to think about it, though, because Winnie started running toward the dog before her owner was able to realize what was happening, pulling Vic along with her. As they approached, she realized with familiarity she recognized the dog first (ugly). Winnie, for her part, approached Nacho playfully, bringing her upper body low to the ground before bouncing around, signaling she wanted to play. Vic rolled her eyes, looking back at Nicole.
“This is her first time around civilization”, she joked, embarrassed that their second meeting was starting out like this. She looked over at the pumpkins in question, suddenly remembering the whole point in being here. “Oh! Yes…”, she said, gazing back at Nicole. “My daughter wants to paint some, and we’ll carve some, too. Maybe cook up the seeds for a healthy snack.”
The dogs, at this point, were sniffing each other’s bottoms, creating an endless circle of dog to dog social niceties that Vic wasn’t sure she could ever approve of. “And you? Are you planning on carving some as well?”
—
“Ah, I’m familiar with… that feeling,” without knowing the full story, Nicole expected Vic to take her comment as a joke. Rare as those were, it was the main sentiment behind it. The other woman looked slightly embarrassed by her dog's action, and Nicole saw no point in it. Winnie was hardly bothering Nacho, far from it. She leaned down to unhook his leash, giving him freedom to play around with his new friend. “You get used to it— civilization,” she shrugged, eyes darting toward the two dogs sniffing each other. It was easier focusing on the animals than glancing at the woman in front of her. The awkward reminder that Vic paid money after Nicole helped her was a difficult one to ignore.
“Don’t think I’ve ever painted pumpkins…” she mumbled after learning about Vic’s plans. “But uh— we were never too involved with Halloween growing up,” she explained, anticipating what Vic might ask. Nicole was certain she didn’t want to talk about her family traditions for the end of October, and risk all those blood stained memories resurfacing. “I’m looking for some to carve, yeah,” she confirmed, looking back at Vic, “would look nice outside our ranger station.” That wasn’t information she shared with Vic before, there had been no point in it, given their encounter was a one-off. Another quick glance at their dogs, however, told her that they would end up seeing each other again. Sharing about herself would be what friends, or friends by association would do, no? She was slightly rusty in the mechanics of… socialization.
Amidst her internal gripes, Nicole almost didn’t pick up on one vital piece of information. It came back to her when her gaze drifted to the pumpkin stand ahead of them. “You have a daughter,” she blurted out, heat rising on her face at the words suddenly spoken. Vic knew that, clearly. Was even buying pumpkins for her. “That’s— it’s sweet,” she recovered faster than she normally would. A tentative smile reached her lips, more as reassurance that she had nothing against kids than any real joy. Her initial reaction could’ve given Vic the wrong impression. “How old is she?”
She gathered any questions about her daughter were entirely personal, and Nicole —who valued privacy more than anyone— didn’t mind if Vic chose not to engage with it. She motioned ahead, toward the stands, giving the woman a diversion from their conversation. “Maybe you can, uh— help me pick. Not sure if there’s a… technique for it,” she knew people liked to slap watermelon to test ripeness, didn’t they? Would it work on pumpkins? What sound should she look for? Regardless, their dogs were already trotting forward, giving Nicole and Vic only one acceptable option: to walk along together.
—
Vic nodded, pressing her lips together in a warm smile. Nicole was probably talking about that feeling after a long nap, or something. Those who still slept loved the sort of silly commentary about waking up and being reintroduced to the world… or something like that. Vic couldn’t remember. Had she ever napped after infanthood?
Taking after Nicole’s lead, Vic unhooked Winnie as well, watching her cautiously to make sure she continued to behave (which really wasn’t an issue, honestly, because her silly nature didn’t ever conflate to disobedience). “I hadn’t either, until the kid”, she admitted. It was something she probably would have thought preposterous before Rosie, but that was generally how she felt about Halloween in general. “Well, I mean… I’ve painted pumpkins. Pictures of them, I mean. But I had never… painted pumpkins.” She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, looking down at her shoes as if they might save her from her own embarrassing words. Why was she feeling all jumbled and unsure around this woman?
Nicole saved her, thankfully, because Vic could talk about Rosie forever, and she was sure it would never feel awkward or wrong. “She’s three”, she said, and it made her feel proud for some reason. “She’ll be four in January. We’re already trying to decide what the theme should be for the party. Can you believe preschoolers have friends? I’m talking about real, genuine connections. The human mind is fascinating.”
Looking toward the stands of pumpkins, she sighed, taking this sort of thing very seriously. She spoke as they walked along together. “If there’s a technique, I’ve yet to learn it”, she explained, examining some of the smaller ones up close before continuing on. “We only just started this tradition last year, and people didn’t obsess over pumpkins or gourds or All Hallows Eve where I grew up quite as much as they do in the United States.”
—
Nicole underestimated how much a familiar face —even if barely familiar— helped ease some of the nerves walking among a crowd incited. Despite their hectic initial encounter, it seemed Vic wasn’t opposed to spending time with her. Should’ve realized that wouldn’t be a problem, when Vic offered to pay her for giving her a ride, no? The confirmation was pleasant, however, as was the small talk they fell into. Or so she thought, Vic looked slightly nervous. Nicole wouldn’t be the person to judge anyone over it. She continued focusing her gaze on the dogs, making it much easier to work out what to say next, hopefully offering Vic a similar leeway. A gentle smile reached her lips. “You uh— paint often? I haven’t since I was young— a kid, I mean,” it was alright to share that small tidbit. Children clearly loved painting, it was unlikely to lead into any dangerous territory in her memories.
Vic didn’t appear uncomfortable with her question, if anything, Nicole noticed a positive change in her expression. It must’ve been a big one, if she of all people could spot it. The smile on the woman’s face looked more natural than before, and she was struck by the stark difference between this woman talking about her daughter and the one she’d found disoriented wandering in the streets. It felt like an entirely different person. Inadvertently, Nicole’s smile grew in response to Vic’s. “Will trust you on that— don’t remember shit about those years,” did anybody? Her eyebrows knit together, thinking about how complicated it was to organize parties for her siblings growing up. Nayeli, especially, made friends with all the kids in school. She was certain that the amount of children flocking around her backyard consisted of several classrooms. “So you’re not considering— what is it…minions for the theme?” Nicole didn’t get it, but according to Vic, they were supposed to be fun.
She was relieved to learn she didn’t need any sort of knowledge or technique to choose the ideal pumpkin. Nicole had worried, of course —nothing new— about picking one that would rot soon, or one that would be too hard to carve. Watching Vic examine the options laid for them in the stands, she found herself relating to her Halloween experience. She cast a curious glance at the other woman. “Where uh— where did you grow up?” She never was too good with accents, her brain could barely handle the mess that was having two languages mixing at all times. But she picked up on a slight British twang in the way Vic spoke at times. Or, she thought it was British. That was about the only foreign English accent she’d been exposed to. “My family used to think this shit was satanic. Halloween.” It was strange to ponder on it, realizing they grew up with jaguar spirits within. Wasn’t that a scary tale in itself? Did they ever acknowledge the hypocrisy?
There was something more, words clinging to her tongue. By offering them, Nicole risked opening the can of worms that was her past. Should she mention Día de los Muertos? Her mouth and brain couldn’t connect, her heart got in the way. She swallowed, looking over at the pumpkins, thankful for the distraction. Or so she thought. “Yowza! With hair that dry, a scarecrow could say you stole its look!'” What the— What was— did she hear a pumpkin say words? No. Couldn’t be. The speakers must’ve malfunctioned, or something. She glanced at Vic, a confused expression etched across her face.
—
Normally, Vic might have shut down after so many consecutive questions about her likes and dislikes. Because what was she, giving an interview? People didn’t get to know about her personal life (were her hobbies personal?), but for some reason, she wasn’t shying away from sharing in this situation. “All the time”, she responded, checking her hands briefly to see if any paint was splattered across them. “For business and pleasure, actually. I do those little cartoons you see in store windows around town.” Calling them cartoons should have been insulting, but they were a way to easily diminish her work, in case Nicole didn’t like it.
She observed the pumpkins as they walked past each of them, wondering if any might be suitable for Rosie’s unmatchable art and talent. “Oh, no, she doesn’t like the minions nearly as much as I do”, Vic admitted, sadly. “She’s floated the idea of a Winnie-themed party a few times, but I’m worried the pooch will get a big head if we follow through with that.” Truthfully, Vic had been looking into how long it would take to get her dog’s face printed on a cake, gift bags, and party decorations, because she had to admit that it was a fantastic idea, really. “I never had birthday parties, much less themed ones. I suppose it’s just a sort of frivolous trend, these big parties, but I think it creates lasting memories. Did you have a lot of parties growing up?”
She turned the stem of one of the pumpkins near her, noticing the warts in the back. Rosie would quite enjoy painting those into bugs, she thought with a smile. “Sweden”, she said without looking up, but then turned her attention to Nicole quickly. “I’ve lived all over Europe, actually. But Sweden is where I grew up. I learned English when I lived in England.” She hadn’t bothered to look up to see if they were celebrating Halloween in Stockholm when she was supposed to be a child, she’d just assumed they had harvest festivals, like she was used to. “I’ve heard of a few cultures who feel that way about the holiday. Do you… is that still something you believe?” Was she absolutely insulting Nicole’ goodwill with her Halloween shenanigans?
Quickly, her head snapped to the pumpkin that uttered the insult, equal parts bewildered and angered. “Excuse me?”, she shot back, staring daggers into the thing. Perhaps that was the one she’d carve. “I could say the same thing about you, stem-head!”
—
Vic painted professionally, Nicole learned. “I see,” she offered a polite smile, feeling a sense of inadequacy when she struggled to find ways to expand on the subject. She was never one for arts, let alone painting. Didn’t mean that learning something new about Vic wasn’t interesting. She feared she wasn’t the person Vic could have long, enriching conversations about art. “I like those…” she nodded, realizing she’d never questioned who was responsible for them. She would have assumed it was the employees taking care of it. “Any, uh— any store in particular you’re proud of?” Nicole would consider driving by it tomorrow.
She let out a quick chuckle, slightly amused that it was Vic who enjoyed those minions more than her kid. She supposed whatever tough exterior she’d try to show the first time they met wasn’t so tough in reality. She glanced at Winnie, tail wagging so violently it might hurt someone. Nicole hadn’t been so immediately charmed by a dog since Nacho. She figured there were worse things than throwing a birthday party with her as a theme. Had to side with Vic’s kid. “Hard feat. It’s already pretty big,” one corner of her mouth curved tentatively. She was joking, a lot more plainly than she was used to. Purposefully. She wasn’t sure she was ever like that before the jaguar trapped her in the zoo. Though, perhaps, Nicole at 31 years old didn’t have to be in that eternal state of mourning her younger self had been. Perhaps, space for more had been created. Vic spoke about her own birthday parties casually, though Nicole couldn’t help but wonder if that had affected her in some way. Surely. “More of a recent thing, I’d say. All the buzz. It’s… sweet, yeah— kids getting to have all of it. Nice of you to organize i, too.” She shoved her hands inside her pockets, still gripping Nacho’s leash. “I had parties. Nothing too… intricate, but yeah. Family time and shit,” she felt the increasing need to look down at her feet as she spoke. Maybe Vic wouldn’t push on more information. Hoped so, at least.
To her surprise, it was confirmed that she heard that British accent correctly, though there was more to the story. Nicole had never met anyone from Sweden. Or that had quite as extensive experience traveling as Vic seemed to imply. All over Europe? It felt hypocritical to be curious, interested in what Vic had experienced living abroad. Was she allowed to ask, if she still felt reluctant to share her own story? There was no harm, she mused. If Vic decided to change topics she wouldn’t judge. “You moved around a lot. That by choice?” Her brows furrowed, addressing Vic’s very own query. “Do I think it’s satanic? No, that’s stupid,” she breathed out a laugh. There was a sting of guilt over the fact that she was calling her own family stupid for holding such beliefs, but— fuck it. It was a fun time for kids, even young adults came to enjoy it these days, how was she supposed to think joy was horrible?
Vic wasn’t nearly as confused by the talking pumpkin as Nicole would’ve expected her. She made note of that, should they ever discuss what qualified as supernatural. And if she wasn’t confused by it, she surely was aggravated. Was that— were they insulting their hair? She was certain she was the target of said insults if that was the case. Her eyes widened when the other woman argued back with the— it was a talking pumpkin, why should they be entertaining any of it? Ridiculous. “It’s fine, probably a trick with the—” Nicole stared at the pumpkins, nothing out of the ordinary in their shape. No mouth where words could be coming out from, and yet— “Hey! Did someone carve out your face with a spoon too?” Her jaw dropped slightly, afraid to glance back at Vic and see her reaction. That jab had come out from the pumpkin next to the first offender, she was fairly certain. What was the point of this… performance? “Very funny,” she spat, humorless.
—
Vic thought for a moment, finding herself equal parts surprised that Nicole cared enough to ask and strangely shy about the question. There was a beat, but she finally said, “I did the fall display over at The Creamatorum. I think they wanted something much more gorey and morbid, but a few trees wilting is scary enough. Global warming, and all.” Truthfully, the window display she painted was one of bustling leaves, the wind made apparent in the otherwise stagnant window thanks to a few swirls in various areas. She didn’t know why she was proud of it, just that she was.
“You got that right”, she remarked, her gaze finding the dog. Nacho and Winnie seemed to be making fast friends, and Vic briefly wondered if doggy play dates existed. What a ridiculous notion. She wondered if Winnie would like that. She didn’t hate whatever banter was growing between she and Nicole, particularly because of how natural it felt. Back when she was throwing vampires under the bus, there was a small worry that none of her charm- none of the things that people seemed to like about her- was real. That it was something she could turn off and on at a moment’s notice, simply to get what she wanted. Her father would have agreed. “Ah, a big family then. That’s always nice. Lots of siblings to play with?” Vic, for a few months, had been fixated on mourning the fact that Rosie (much like herself, she supposed), would never get the pleasure of having a built-in playmate in the form of a sibling.
She thought on the question, wondering what the answer was. There were plenty of times she had moved because she was sick of a place, but more often than not, it was to escape some sort of danger she’d inevitably put herself in. She thought of the lovely apartment she had in Paris, or even of the small cottage in Berlin, both she’d had to leave behind in a flash, not even getting to get a sketch to memorize them. “No”, she decided to answer, because at the time, nothing after being turned felt like a choice to her. “I don’t think folks get much choice when they’re young.” Nicole might assume Vic was speaking of her childhood, and maybe, in some strange way, she was. Again, Nicole managed to coax a smirk from her, and she found herself laughing, too. “I admire your forthright wit”, she said unexpectedly.
When another pumpkin started insulting Nicole, too, Vic could feel the rage inside her boil. Instinctively, she stepped in front of the other woman, ready to shield her from any more indescribable rudeness. “You’re not going to let this gourd-zilla talk to you like that, are you Nicole?”, she asked, her face set in anger. Whether the pumpkins were sentient or there was some annoying teenager playing a prank didn’t matter, what mattered was respectability. And revenge. Apparently, all that mattered to the pumpkin was maintaining a bad reputation, because then it said, "Hey, at least I know how to look good on a porch. You’re just out here looking like the 'before' photo."
—
“That was you?” The question felt stupid as soon as Nicole voiced it. As if Vic hadn’t been clear enough in her words. She cursed herself for opening her mouth, but decided to ignore the blush spreading along her neck in favor of clarifying why she’d said that. “He stops to stare at it,” she motioned her head toward Nacho, trotting happily next to Winnie. “Needs at least ten minutes before he lets me continue,” she shook her head, lips twitching into a warm smile. “But uh— I like it too. The trees. Something about it is…peaceful. You— you capture that,” though, sometimes it was annoying to stop and admire the store for so long. She wasn’t going to put her foot in her mouth again and mention it. “Maybe he’ll want your autograph,” she drawled instead, thinking the idea of a dog wanting a human’s signature to be quite ridiculous but in an amusing manner.
Vic appeared to notice the dog’s closeness too, and Nicole felt more hopeful about the prospect of Nacho gaining another friend. She knew she wasn’t the best at encouraging his friendly behavior, but she was being mindful to take advantage when opportunities presented like this. Nicole gave a stiff expression when Vic made the assumption about her family. Her stomach churned, but she was adamant to ignore it. “No— not too big. Just… alright, not small either. All those cousins, y’know?” she blew a tense breath, knowing there was no way to make what she was about to say any less uncomfortable for either of them. “I had… two siblings,” Nicole cast a quick glance at Vic, making sure she was okay with her sharing something personal. She understood the need to keep conversation shallow too well. Though, to Nicole’s surprise, it hadn’t been as tough as she’d expected it to be. “But uh— don’t worry. It’s fine. Been a while, you get used to it,” she amended, offering Vic a chance to move past the subject altogether.
They seemed to naturally drift toward personal matters, however, and the question about Vic’s numerous travels was an example of that. Nicole nodded at the answer in solemn silence, wondering what that meant for Vic’s family. Trying to piece together what occupation would have a family moving so many times. Whether they were diplomats, business people, or in the military. She supposed it was one of those things she’d ask about later. Some other time. Was she getting ahead of herself, thinking she was bound to meet Vic another time? The dogs seemed bonded, it would be unfortunate if— Yes, for the good of the dogs it sounded like the best scenario. She glanced at Vic with a look of disbelief, almost missing the joke. Or— was it a joke? Vic thought Nicole was witty? She didn’t know how to react to that, awkwardness setting her cheeks ablaze. “Right, uh— Thanks. Not sure… Don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” She smiled shyly, with a small nod of appreciation. Vic was generally so upfront about things, had to be high praise coming from her. It felt… nice.
And almost as if Nicole had been thinking out loud, the Vic from the first night they met reappeared right in front of the pumpkin stand. She stepped forward with a resolute expression on her face and shot daggers at the pumpkins. Nicole looked around, in case anybody else had noticed the talking pumpkins, but to her surprise, no one seemed to give a shit about them. Vic looked as if she was ready to carve one of the offenders right there and then. Potentially both of them, in fact. Apparently, Nicole was supposed to be equally as furious, if Vic’s question was to go by. She shrugged, lifting both hands in an appeasing gesture. “Ah, it’s— That’s alright, y’know… They’re— talking pumpkins, not much to be angry about,” she was uncertain how it worked too. Whether the was a spell or something mechanical making those sounds. It didn’t matter, looked like familiar Wicked’s Rest whimsy. “I didn’t know the color beige could look like a person, it’s giving me the ick, dude,” Nicole looked at the pumpkin on the left, its tone of disgust not matching the complete lack of face. She wasn’t going to argue. She was boring, she was plain, she was self aware too, thankfully. Nothing untrue had been said. Tentatively, she moved her hand toward Vic’s elbow, hovering for a few seconds, before her fingertips faintly touched the woman’s coat. “Better ignore it, has to be some trick to get people interested. They’re wasting our time,” she pointed out, in time to hear the other pumpkin blow raspberries. She tilted her head to the left, despite Vic’s fighting energy radiating off her. “Look at that stand, maybe those pumpkins don’t— run their mouths.” It wasn’t something she ever thought she’d say.
—
Vic looked over at Nacho affectionately, a warm emotion playing on her face. “I knew he had taste from the moment I first saw him”, she joked, not quite knowing if dogs could truly appreciate art. It didn’t help that the only dog she’d owned for decades was Winnifred, and the only thing she appreciated was peanut butter. When Nicole complimented her work, though, she looked down, not quite knowing what to say. There was a time that the canvases that hung around her art room depicted the opposite of peace, but instead of loneliness, darkness, and inescapable despair. She wondered when that changed. “Some people think of autumn as the beginning of death, but I think it feels more like a rebirth, don’t you?” She smirked at the idea of a dog wanting an autograph, wondering how Nacho would actually react to that. “Perhaps if I try baking my own dog treats again, he’ll get a special signature one with peanut butter icing”.
The new information hit Vic like a truck, though she tried not to let her face morph to show much emotion. Death was a complicated, hard fact of life to accept. Even for someone like her, who’d walked the Earth for nearly three centuries, felt the pang of each loss as deeply as the first. “I think it’s okay if you don’t get used to it”, she said, her eyes finding Nicole’s in the process. It was only for a moment, though, and she looked down quickly after. She didn’t remember her mother, except for the look of her hands and the way it felt to be embraced by her, but there wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t feel a deep hole in her chest for where she used to be. Some losses were worse than others of course, for where her mother’s felt like an ocean, the loss of her father or her husband felt closer to a pinhole. But people didn’t like to acknowledge the holes, after a while, because moving on felt much easier than risking falling in. “I always longed for siblings”, she said, in case Nicole wanted to talk about them.
For the first time in a while, Vic wished to explain herself. To elaborate. Not because her experiences felt important or profound, but because she simply wanted Nicole to hear them. It was a strange feeling, and one she decided to push away for another day. She was good at that. Instead, she smiled at Nicole’s reaction to her words, raising her eyebrows. “I can’t believe that’s true… no one’s complimented your wit before? You’re incredibly quick-witted. I can tell by just our few conversations.”
Nicole was far too calm about this situation. “If you let peop-... pumpkins walk over you once, they’ll think they can do it forever. We are worth more than their fragile egos and the niceties of society!”, she said, feeling completely emboldened. She felt Nicole trying to pull her away, and maybe she might have convinced herself to be pulled. That is, however, if one of the pumpkins hadn’t started again. "Humans really think they’re the harvest heroes, but you couldn’t even survive without takeout and central heating." Vic felt her fists balling together, rage permeating through her soul. Usually, she didn’t resort to violence so quickly (she was very peaceful, you know), but before she knew what came over her, she reared back, punching the offending pumpkin and sending it flying off of its stand. She swore she heard a grunt when it hit the ground. The other pumpkin, apparently, wasn’t phased by her rage or clear physical prowess. “I may be full of seeds, but you two are full of shi-”
Before it could finish its insult, the pumpkin was met with the heel of Vic’s shoe, falling toppling to the ground as well. Its seeds squished out as it landed. Vic smirked proudly, turning back to Nicole. “There. I think we’re done hearing from them.”
—
“Sure you did,” Nicole smirked, knowing damn well that Vic remembered referring to Nacho as ugly the first night they met too. Nicole felt a small pang of annoyance at the reminder, though it was pointless to continue holding that grudge. Vic blurted it out under a great deal of stress. Surely she didn’t mean it. Her thumb kept poking the leash inside her jacket, in an attempt to release what remained of her nervous energy. She didn’t expect Vic to look shy when she complimented her work. The woman carried herself with nothing but intense confidence, or rather, it seemed to be the front she put up to the world. Perhaps it wasn’t such a solid front. Nicole’s brows furrowed, Vic’s comment on Fall stirring slight confusion. It was deep in a way Nicole didn’t always comprehend. “I— yeah, I guess… that’s— looking at it from a different perspective,” the conviction with which Vic said it, however, made her want to believe it, made her want to look at things similarly. Nacho likely enjoyed the painting for the colors, though. “Yeah, would ease the pain of being called ugly,” she fired back at Vic’s response, the subtle rise in her intonation indicating she was joking. She couldn’t stop finding things humorous in Vic’s presence, apparently.
Her pulse quickened, pounding uncomfortably in her throat when the conversation shifted toward her presumed dead siblings. She felt ready to share more about them, should Vic get curious, though it wasn’t easy to appease the adrenaline rush prompted by the mere thought of oversharing. Thankfully Vic took the revelation calmly, the quick glance she shared telling Nicole that she was speaking from experience. Nothing they would delve into while shopping for pumpkins, she gathered. But eventually, if their dogs continued to get along, she wouldn’t mind discussing both their losses. She swallowed, giving a barely there nod of her head. The only physical gesture she could manage to show her appreciation for Vic’s words. She looked away from her just as quickly, terrified of holding eye contact for too long and turning this into a weird moment. She let out a shaky breath, throat tightening as the air escaped. No, she wasn’t as ready to share about her siblings as she believed she was. “Not so surprised you’re an only child,” came out like a deadpan, an apologetic smile spreading across her face. Nacho and Winnie now had their noses stuck on the ground, sniffing who knew what, and Nicole reminded herself that this wasn’t over. There would be a next time, she would get to tell Vic about Nayeli and Yadiel.
She was put on the spot once more, as Vic doubled down on her comment about Nicole’s alleged wit. What was happening? She thought Vic respected her enough by now not to lie so blatantly. But the more she looked at Vic, the harder it was to find any signs of mocking on her face. Fuck— did— did she really think she was funny? How the fuck did that happen? Vic must’ve been blinded by Nicole’s previous help to notice how truly dry anything she said was. She reached for the side of her neck, exactly where a blush spread. “You sure your ears work fine?” she mumbled, feeling a strain in her cheeks. When was the last time she’d smiled this genuinely? She stifled it, however, shaking her head in amusement. “You should be looking into more comedies, I think.” Deflecting was the only thing she could do. “But uh— thank you, I… think.” Even thanking Vic felt wrong, as she clearly had no clue what she was talking about.
Strange as it was, she wasn’t going to complain about the pumpkins distracting them from what they were discussing moments before. Her heartbeat was barely coming down to normal when it skyrocketed again. Anxiety spiked trying to stop Vic from fighting the inanimate vegetables. No. Were… were pumpkins veget— “Ah… Not sure they can walk anywhere, y’know?” She replied to the woman’s rant, two fingers grasping her coat in a useless attempt at dissuading the argument. The pumpkins, in turn, did nothing but fuel Vic’s rage. Nicole wasn’t sure she followed the meaning behind the insults but— she was slow, that was established. She flinched when Vic reared back, knowing there was nothing that would stop her. She heard the fist connect with the offending pumpkin a second later. It fell with a splatter a few feet away. Shit. Heads turned in their direction after that. And not satisfied with destroying one, Vic kicked the other pumpkin mid insult, its content spilling inches away from their shoes. The dogs gathered around the mess. Nicole’s face burned, knowing the attention Vic brought on them. She gaped at the woman, a mix of pride and confusion in her eyes. Nicole didn’t need defending from two ridiculous pumpkins spewing bullshit, but she was flattered by the action. Embarrassed, sure, but flattered nonetheless.
“Ri—right,” she stammered dumbly, ignoring the cries from the owner of the stand. It was his fault the pumpkins were insulting people, no? Had to be the mastermind behind the stupid trick. She crouched down to hook the leash on Nacho, pulling him away from the mess. Trying to tune out all the prying eyes, Nicole focused only on Vic. “Why don’t we— let’s find different pumpkins, yeah?” She began walking before Vic could even agree, pulling Nacho along with her and continuing to disregard the complaints from the man behind the stand, shouting that they ought to pay for the beat up pumpkins. She feared that would ignite Vic’s fury once more. Could almost envision her tirade about what an injustice paying for anything would be. She wasn’t sure Vic would be as diplomatic, however. Nicole glanced at her, taken aback by the sudden urge to burst into laughter when their eyes met. What was so funny? A lot of things seemed to be, whenever Vic was around. She nudged forward, where Winnie was leading the way. “C’mon. I’ll pay for your pumpkins. Didn’t need to defend my honor and shit,” she offered a tentative smile, quickly looked away and ahead, spotting another pumpkin stand in the distance. For the pumpkin’s sake, she fucking hoped those were silent.
—-
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Sorry, even more confused now. What kind of What do you Ah. You're one of those... cómo se dice technicians. Not so surprising, I suppose. Must be a requirement for moving [...] not knowing how to do this... Internet thing. Plenty folks looking to be off the grid. Frustrating's one way to No, they really don't. Me wearing a uniform doesn't make them trust you more either. Something in the air must give them fucked up delusions of
I see. Not much of a fruit person, you'd have to let me know how that goes.
Every kind of customer! Anyone who needs tech help here in town, which is a surprising number of people. Oh, those must be so frustrating! People don't realise how easy it is to become lost once you leave the forest trails as is, nevermind when chasing a fairytale!
Do you know, I've never tried every kind of fruit. Who knows, maybe kiwis are the way to go lol!
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Most of those sound interesting. Or not You said you weren't Dancing not as much, that's a nightmare but uh, looks like that's worth looking into for you. Does it count as a hobby if you're trained for it? [user is slightly amused] So you're looking to succeed at your hobby. Thought it was about taking it easy. Been told sucking at things is part of life. You know that store... Everlasting Green? The owner knows a lot about gardening. Sure he wouldn't mind guiding you in that.
Running, skating, woodworking, sports (absolutely not), painting... Dance was suggested and I do have several years of ballet training under my belt so I might just get back into a studio. I've thought about gardening, it seems pretty relaxing and like something I might be able to succeed in. I would need to start with plants that are okay with possibly being a little neglected though.
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Bragging [...] how? I don't unders
Always a good start. Depends... I suppose. It's the woods, you're bound to. Sometimes you have to handle wildlife and sh problems like that. Some rangers help with exhibitions, they get more time with animals. Wouldn't make seasonal personnel do it, though. There's the gift shop, and tickets. Tasks that free older rangers to take care of important sh things.
Yeah... need folks like that around. Too many think they're action heroes.
Alright. You mind if I give your info?
I think so, yes. I do not mean to brag though! I realize this might sound like that. Oh geez
I'm okay! I like nature! Parts of it just hate me!! Hahaha!! Are you often like, really close by the animals? Is there administrative work I could
No, that wouldn't be good
I can also organize maps if you need. I am okay with work that sometimes some people think is boring.
But I will keep that in mind!! Thank you!!!
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Ah. I see. [user barely knows geography] Sounds far from here, though. Why the change?
[pm] Guess that's not too bad of a mindset. Maybe I should Need to be Gotta be careful anyway. Some folks take offense on anything too different. Won't... the pillow get in the way of... what they're supposed to do? Not sure I'm following how that works. But Uh [...] Don't hate the idea of switching from booze to having something warm to drink. Not too big on coffee, you?
I am from Baton Rouge, LA.
[PM] Yeah I have a good eye for noticing things like that. If they think I'm crazy then they aren't my type of people. Which means they'll stay out of my business. I can make sachets for tea, bath, and simmer pots, or just put them under your pillow. Yes, herbs are locally sourced if I don't grow them in my own garden.]
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[pm] Guess that's one instance where avoiding almost everybody pays off. That's not Not advising you to Not sure I've met that many Spanish speakers around. Don't know if I'd want to Would feel too close to I'll agree with that. Not everybody's made for school the way it's set up.
Vacation d What? Never used those, people use those? Think they forced me to one ye Understaffed park, y'know? All the dying. Someone needs to keep those people away, yeah. I'll be fine. [...] Got decent... training. And sharp tee No sneaking past marked trails for you, then? Ah, I don't give a shit about the leg. Should be good. Nacho's not a fan either.
[pm] Eh, I do sometimes. Only problem is that some people speak Spanish, too. Then you have to talk to them and listen to them be shit at Spanish. Shouldn't need one, no. Yeah, better to teach kids shit they'll actually need. Doesn't do them any good to know how to do math and all that shit.
Right. Guess you still have to go to work. Unless you've got vacation days you can use. Probably best to try to keep other people out of the woods as much as you can. Definitely stay away from the fucking legs and shit.
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[pm] Someday. That's That's good Is good for now
Not always easy to keep in mind, but uh trying to believe that, yeah. So you believe Isn't that It's supposed to work that way. For all of us, y'know? Including you. The jaguar too. I see. [...] Don't know if my family ever knew much outside werewolves, balam and...fox shifters. Would've kept it a secret, either way. Only thing that mattered was us and hunters. Shouldn't be like that. It's dangerous to We should've learned more about the world.
Yeah? I want to like Should like Working on liking parts of it, too. It's a powerful It can travel to pla It keeps me safe when Don't know. Doesn't sound like you get to be yourself much at all. It's not just about having your body with you. [user isn't sure this is a route they should go down] Probably not one of those things that's easy to talk, though. Not sure how to explain We can uh talk about something else instead.
[pm] Yeah. Maybe someday if I ever get freed from the- .
Exactly. People are just people, right? It doesn't matter what species they are. Everybody's got good and bad in them, I think. Everybody chooses which one they go with. [...] Yeah. My mom told us about a few of them. Mostly shifters, though. She didn't know a lot about others. It probably would have been good for me if she'd known more about fae.
I guess we both get some benefits from sharing, too. I like parts of it, you know? And I think [...] I'd be lonely without him. I'm glad you got out of the zoo, though. It can't have been a fun place for either of you. It's good that it's over, at least. My situation is different. At least I can still be me sometimes, right?
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Why wouldn't I know what you mean? Seems straightforward. You're straightforward, aren't you? I suppose sarcasm isn't exactly Pizza can't slap. It's a piz See, not sure I trust your juge judgement after that comment. Lost your credibility.
Congrats! Oh, I'm the opposite of a masochist. I want to cause myself only pleasure, if you know what I mean. Brownies are trash. They belong in the garbage can. And pineapple on pizza actually kinda slaps.
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[pm] Sure is [...] Hardest thing to I'll I'll try You'll do the same, no? Happen to think there's more to you than... the cold blooded killer you think you are.
Can use that against them, yeah. They think they're so untouchable they get cocky. You can outsmart them.
Right, heard that one before. Isn't therapy the place you go talk about shit? I'm not... against it. But But I Don't know I'd be any good, though. Can barely talk to my fr
[pm] Would appreciate it if you would see yourself as I do. Or try to. Know it's hard.
Unlucky indeed. For them more so. Hopefully. Hunters are stronger by nature, but I'm quite resourceful.
Think that's called anxiety. Should we go to therapy?
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