rose--weaver

[rose--weaver]

“It’s not an obsession!” She practically shouts through the room. She was frustrated, but that wasn’t anything new, not with him. It was the same each time they spoke, Rosette could practically map it out now: Initially, they would both attempt to get along with small talk like civilians do, but approximately twenty minutes in, the conversation would take a turn for the worse and their tempers would flare and harsh words would fly and then, several days later, the cycle would start again.

“R-Ryland--” she frowned at his words, though they had both said worse to each other. “I’m...” Suddenly her eyes began to sting with the threat of tears and she wasn’t quite sure why.

“You know what’s ridiculous? This odd obsession you have with me. With trying to get me to like you. Trying make sure you’re perfect little world stays that way. That’s not happening with me.”

[rose--weaver]

For the duration of the ride Rosette was only half there. She watched people she’d never met whizz by along the names of stores that slid past her vision without recognition. It was like one of those zoetropes except without a consistent image to hold on to. Somewhere in her concious, Rose heard Cillian’s question but couldn’t bring herself to answer aloud. I was never really a part of it to begin with.

Eventually the car slowed to a stop and Rose couldn’t get out fast enough. She had miraculously survived the car ride without incident or complaint but she wouldn’t last much longer without fresh air. Standing outside the car, Rosette took tentative breaths, as if breathing in the wrong direction could be deadly.

Rose stood outside of the car with her hands on her knees as she inhaled deep gasps of air. “Does the... does the air seem different to you out here?” She shot up straight when Cillian passed her headed towards the shop and she picked up her own pace to match his.

The made it to the door without casualty as Rosette had managed to keep a safe distance from anyone else who happened to occupy the sidewalk. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah sounds good.” 

Cillian drove in silence, occasionally looking over at his mute partner and the way her eyes stayed glued to the outside. “Missed the land of the living?” he queried humorously, wondering what was running through her mind. Maybe she wasn’t looking outside at all, maybe she was concentrated on the layer of grime that had accumulated on the outside layer of glass, the unwashed car probably horrifying the germophobe. Thoughts like these had never troubled Cillian, really he’d only had a passing thought or two during the occasional spurts when he came down with flu, but never much more. He found himself thinking about germs a lot more though, lately, almost as if she was infecting him somehow. He thought of a few choice remarks to say, jokes to make, but none of the appealed and he continued the rest of the drive in silence, pulling up to the street lined with shops without further ado. 

She was out of the car before he could come round and open the door for her, not that she needed that done for her, Cillian pondered. She was entirely capable. “Alright,” he said as they took the few steps up to the promenade, “try not to judge me for whatever ludicrous combination of ingredients I decide upon. I’m feeling a little crazy today,” he joked, the joke itself holding many meanings both in regards to himself and the place they’d just left. 

[rose--weaver]

{The Eighth of April} -- Selfpara

The only sound in the St. James waiting room was of the ticking clock on the wall, a constant reminder of how slow time could pass when one was waiting. It was 9:14am and her family was late as per usual. The Weaver’s inability to manage time wisely was just another reason why Rosette stood out from her family. She was the polar opposite, a black sheep because of her abnormalities rather than the stereotypical rebellious streak.

She should have known they wouldn’t come, Gale had told her as much: “No one visits St. James. It’s the dumping ground for the unwanted. Who would willingly return to a landfill?”

Despite his pessimism, Rosette continued to wait for the sight of her family walking through the double doors. It would be a large crowd, five girls, each beautiful in their own right and without a doubt of confidence in their steps, and her parents proud in their stance and demanding the attention of each room they entered. No, there was no way Rose had simply missed their entrance.

With each passing minute, Rose’s hope wavered and she grew more anxious as she felt terribly unsafe in a new area. Sure, she was alone but perhaps that made it worse. The waiting room seemed more desolate than the rooms used for solitary confinement. At least those were occupied regularly. The dusty chairs and peeling walls only further confirmed Gale’s statement.

By now it was 9:27 and Rose was just about to give up when a nurse she did not recognize came in the room with a clipboard. The greasy-haired man glanced around the empty room, checked his paper and called out, “Rosette Weaver?”. The brunette nearly shot out of her chair and was quite sure she felt her heart press up against her ribcage. They didn’t forget. They promised they wouldn’t forget me.

Following the man who smelt faintly of burnt popcorn, Rose was led to a new, much cleaner room and was disappointed with what she found. There was no crowd of siblings or even an elaborate cake waiting for her. Instead it was her mother sat rigidly at a table with a small box in her hands. “Rosie!” Her mother breathed excitedly as she held out her arms for a hug that would never come.

“Hello, mum.” Rosette smiled and tried not to be affected by the expression of hurt upon her mother’s face. She hated that look. She hated keeping her family at an arms length and those that aren't family at yards length. But she hated the contagions upon their skin more. “Where is everyone else?” She hoped her voice did not disclose the disappointment she felt.

After a moment, the older women spoke up, “Your father wanted to make it, love, he did. It’s just... this is all.. well...” She gestured around the room but Rose assumed she meant much more than that. “And your sisters send their love. Remmy picked this out, actually.” At this, the woman stood and took a tentative step closer. She held out the terribly wrapped present with a hopeful expression. Rose took hold of it but didn’t dare open it, not yet. Not with the greasy haired nurse watching from the corner of the room.

“Thank you.”

~~lol so this is not done obvs, and probably never will be done but here~~

[rose--weaver]

Finally stopping at Cillian’s car, Rosette frowned. This was it, the one thing that would finally get her out of this place,if only for a little while. Rose had thought about leaving St. James many times since her arrival but she was never serious. They were just random ideas throughout the day or thoughts that kept her awake at night, along with the snores of her fellow patients. Rose leaned down, sticking her head through the passenger side and taking a good look before finally getting in. “Well, I’m sorry.” Rose huffed, her tone making it clear she wasn’t sorry in the slightest. “This is all just...” too much? Terrifying? A terrible idea? Rose allowed her sentence to fall short as they finally took off. She didn’t say much of anything now. No random facts about the history of street lights or how long it takes pavement concrete to dry. For the entirety of the ride, Rose sat with her face nearly close enough to the window for the glass to touch her forehead.

“Well you can always count on that, eh,” he said with a plum grin. “Incompetence.” He laughed at the store of knowledge she unleashed. “I’d be fucking surprised if an Egyptian vulture dropped in on St. James. But it wouldn’t be long until security shot it for Marna to cook it, or something.” He walked, gravel crunching underneath his shoes until they reached his car. He opened the passenger door for her, an unnecessary but decorous gesture still, getting into the driver’s seat himself. “Rose, honestly,” he said as he started up the car. “Sometimes you talk too much.” But it wasn’t as if he minded. Not with her at least. Not that she’d find out in a hundred years. He started up the car and pulled out of the driveway, glad that no nurses interloped on their escape. Now it would be a straight drive to the ShakeAway.

[rose--weaver]

Rose’s cheeks were flushed red but she attributed the color to the heat she obtained from the excess amount of clothes she wore. She donned a scarf, a hooded jacket zipped up high enough to barely reveal the cardigan underneath it along with jeans and rain boots that came just above mid calf, and of course her gloves. She was equipped for the weather in Reykjavík on it’s nicest day, not Menston. “Had the staff not been so incompetent, perhaps I would have been able to report you.” Her tone made it quite clear that she was including Cillian in this incompetence. Her expression was tense but she still followed him when he gestured for her to do so. “But there are no rare birds in Menston. The closest one could be the Egyptian Vulture, which, for the record, does not actually live solely in Egypt. That lie couldn’t possibly work. How would anyone believe that such a heavy bird could migrate so far?” Rosette kept close to Cillian as they walked, and continued on with her knowledge, “Though they have been found across nearly all of Africa and as far as East Asia, so perhaps that wouldn’t be so far fetched... But then what about their diet..”

“Or what?” he asked, the grin on his face only growing. “You’ll report me like you went off to do, oh…three hours ago? How did that little excursion go for you?” But there was no malice in his voice. It was then his attention was brought to all the layers she was wearing. “You do know it’s…relatively warm outside, right?” He himself was out of his nurse’s coat, now just in his regular jeans and jacket combination he wore most days when off duty. “Come on,” he said with a tilt of his head after throwing one last glance down the hall. “Can’t have anyone seeing us, you know? I mean, even if they do I can say you have an extreme obsession with birds and saw a rare one and I was merely escorting you out the front so you wouldn’t have a fit. Easy. Rest assured, you’re in the hands of an expert bullshitter.”

[rose--weaver]

The hours leading up to their “excursion” were dreadful. Rosette had spent most of her time consuming a family of Jell-O cups with contemplative precision as she tried to talk herself out of going. By the time half past five rolled around, Rosette was nearly on the verge of a heart attack. On a normal day, Rosette never stayed out longer than her mandatory “thirty minutes of outdoor activity”. There was no way she could possibly survive in the outside world any longer than that. And Rose would have told him that, too, if it weren’t for the mention of the “other patients” he had taken out of St. James’ walls several times before. Though she wouldn’t admit it to Cillian-- or to herself-- she felt slightly offended that these unnamed patients had been given a special privilege over her. It was this streak of jealousy that propelled Rosette’s steps toward to their meeting place. She was dressed in several layers that didn’t quite fit the weather outside but covered nearly every part of her body, except for her face. “I suggest you remove that expression from your features, Cillian.”

“Please, it’s not a school and I’m not handing out grades,” Cillian said with a grin. “Of course I have people I prefer over other people, it just happens. What do you think working day in and day out with someone who can hold coherent conversation with me, and one who flings poo at the walls and tries to bite me every time I get near — who do you think I’m gonna prefer?” It was almost a rant, and Cillian wasn’t sure where it had burst from. But he pulled himself back. Her threat, and even the fact that she stood up did nothing for him. Even if she did report him, for a crime he had yet to commit, it would go absolutely nowhere. Well, if she didn’t report directly to Mauve, anyways. “Pshh, as if.”  He stood with crossed arms, watching her leave and sounding the least bit unbothered. “Bet you’re still gonna turn up!” he called after her at last, and was promptly shushed by Siouxsie.

~*~* le timeskip *~*~

It was a quarter to six, and he was there, debating whether to wait or go for a cigarette as he was craving the nicotine fix. There was no one else in the foyer but him, not even the door security who had fucked off somewhere. He’d gotten lucky. And hell, if she didn’t turn up, he might go for that milkshake on his fucking own. He felt peckish, anyway. But soon as not he heard footsteps, and the person who rounded the corner was the very one his heart had told him to expect. “Ah, and who do we have here,” he said, feeling somewhat smug. 

[rose--weaver]

“I don’t believe you. I know from experience that you have a limited understanding of time and I also know that it's inappropriate for members of staff to have favorite patients as it could influence one’s treatment and cause bias.” Around Cillian, it seemed, that Rosette was much too trusting and much more inclined to bending the rules in her favor. She even came to grow tolerant of his foolish nicknames for her. This dangerous behavior would have to be stopped as soon as possible to avoid the consequences Rose knew would be coming her way. And yet she still hadn’t refused him. At his final words, however, her demeanor suddenly changed.  “I could report you, you know. I should report you. Actually, I will." ” Rosette rose dynamically from behind the library desk and sought the exit doors.

“Of course I won’t be late. Skipping out on my shift to see the town with my favourite patient, how in the world could I be late?” He said, letting a few details slip, most importantly the fact he called her his favourite patient. It was a joke, of course, and she’d take it that way, right? He wasn’t sure. He noticed the slight hesitation in her voice and spoke to reassure her. “Don’t worry, Rosetta Stone, I’ve done this with quite a handful of patients.  Never been caught once.”

[rose--weaver]

Rosette smiled in exchange for his laughter, though she still didn’t quite get the joke. Rose rarely said anything humorous intentionally. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine purchasing a shirt like that for herself, perhaps out in the small town she had never visited. There was much possibility in the unknown. At his words, she chuckled, too, but bit her lip hard enough to stifle the noise. “Oh, okay. Just uh... just don’t be late, okay? I.. If you’re late then everything will go wrong and I won’t go anymore.” The paranoia was working it’s way through her tone but she seemed calm enough.

Cillian snorted, and the snort turned into a loud laugh. “That reminds me of a t-shirt my friend had. It said Ain’t no party like a Gatsby party and because a Gatsby party don’t stop until two people are dead and everyone is disillusioned with the jazz age as a whole.” He said it in one long breath, exhaling with a grin. “Good book though. Won’t give away the ending but the twist is pretty good. Get back to me when you’ve finished.” After getting her nod and agreement, he nodded his own head. “Excellent. I’ll uh, rendez-vous you there, yes? I think I have to go change some bedsheets or summat.”

[rose--weaver]

“Jane Eyre. Though there isn’t so much of a ‘devil’ per se as there are conflicting social barriers between classes in terms of one’s personal goals and pursuit of happiness.” She held up said book for proof of her words and shrugged. Rosette nodded in agreement, though managed to suppress the eagerness in her expression. She had not yet verbally agreed to such a trip; Rose had simply stated her desire for a milkshake, which did not at all suggest any misconduct. She could still deny his offer. “Mm... alright.” And with that statement she placed the final nail in her coffin -- whatever that meant.

“Like the devil? What have you been reading, Rose?” he asked gamely. But it was a joke, he caught onto as much when she smirked, his own facial expression reflecting it. “I want one too,” he replied, “the ones with whipped cream piled up so high you can’t see which direction you’re going.” The more he talked it up, in fact, the more he convinced himself it was what he wanted, too. “So, what say ye? Meet me by the front foyer at round…quarter to six? If you’re game, of course.”

[rose--weaver]

“I think you sound a bit too much like the Devil for my liking.” She said the words with a flat tone and blank expression that eventually broke out into a small smile, “But I do want a milkshake.” Rose could already feel her heart rate picking up at just the thought of what they were planning to do. She had a few hours to talk herself out of it, though.

“ShakeAway it is,” he said with a grin, looking first to his right then left, if any nurses were milling around just in case. They weren’t; the library was practically deserted. He leaned in across the desk anyway and dropped his voice an octave lower. “There’s about an hour, between five and six, when all the nurses switch shifts. It’s a dead zone, hardly anyone’s around. We could go then.” His eyes darted to the clock. It had gone just past two. “How does that sound, mm?”

[rose--weaver]

Rosette kept waiting for the punch line to this joke. He couldn’t possibly be serious about leaving, and she couldn’t possibly be serious about going along with it. “No, no, I like ShakeAway.” Her mouth ran ahead of her common sense as Rose began to buy into this fantasy of freedom, if only temporary. There was no way she’d make it past the gates but it almost felt wrong to turn him down.

It only took a moment for Cillian to think of the place. “Well there’s the Village Bakery, don’t know if you’ve heard of it. Then there’s Delicasolo, but they’re more sandwiches and wraps and that sort of thing. Then there’s…I think there’s a Gregg’s, but that’s…” a really pathetic place to take someone to, he thought but didn’t finish. “Oh, I think a ShakeAway opened somewhere nearby. But you said confections, not shakes, right?” 

[rose--weaver]

Rosette frowned, she wasn’t one for recreation. Rose’s daily activities had adapted to St James and most days all she did was play board games and read. She wondered how one of her sisters would have answered the question. They were spontaneous and fun, unlike her. “Well, hypothetically speaking... If I were to actually consider your offer.. is there a bakery or a uh, confectionery in this ‘P.E. court’?”

“Darling, this entire village is the size of the P.E. court we had back in London,” he said with a flamboyant shrug. “We wouldn’t be gone long…or far…just name a, uh, recreational…thing you’d want to do, and I’ll try to figure out if there’s a Menston equivalent for it.”

[rose--weaver]

“Well, no, I meant, uh, outside the.. the gates...” Rose visibly tensed, conflicted with even considering the possibility. “You said yourself that patients don’t leave St. James.” She stated the facts simply but her voice faltered. St. James was safe-- relatively-- but it was nothing more than a prison with medication Rose didn’t believe that she needed. Besides, Siouxsie would not be back for hours and so there would be no one to notice her absence. “We won’t go far?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “outside outside.  Not inside outside, whatever the hell that might mean,” he added, thoroughly confusing himself now.

[rose--weaver]

“...Outside? You mean, outside outside?” She lowered her voice, glancing around the nearly empty library for anyone who could possibly have been listening.

“Well, uh…I was actually thinking about… y’know,” he spoke, finger absentmindedly scratching his lips, wondering whether to go on or not. Would she report him? Could she? “Have a little excursion. You know, day trip. Wouldn’t go as far afield as Bristol,” he added, remembering her hometown from what it said on her file, “but there’s a few good things to check out in town here. Which, obviously, you wouldn’t have seen, since your, erm, incarceration,” he spoke, tugging at his ear.

[rose--weaver]

Rosette gave a small smile in return, though she didn’t actually understand the humor of her words. There were a few moments of silence afterward, mostly awkward on Rose’s part as she simply stared, not sure what would come next. He had apologized, she had forgiven; was that not the end of conversation?

“What rules were you planning on breaking?” she asked suddenly, remembering what he’d said about making it up to her.

“Because I overstepped a line, not only as a member of staff but just…in general,” he said, suddenly feeling sheepish. His look was sour, serious, until she said the last words.

“That is probably the most original way I’ve heard someone say ‘let’s just forget about it’,” the amusement was evident in his voice, eyes alight and twinkling. “I will if you will. But really. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” 

[rose--weaver]

"Why do you.. I mean, what does it matter, Cillian?” She hardened her gaze and gripped the book in her hand. Her own personal embarrassment over that night kept her from being so easily swayed. “It’d be best to just forget the night even happened. I.. I was out past curfew and you were, well... So it’s uh.. it’s best we attempt to forget. Though it’s nearly impossible to purposefully repress a memory, attempt to control your hippocampus.”

“Yeah, she would,” he agreed with a laugh, only talking to say words, not actually make sense.  “Jeez! I’m sorry. I’d offer something to make up for what I did, but most of my ideas involve breaking rules, and I know how much you hate that…”

[rose--weaver]

“No, actually, I don’t.” She turned her gaze back to her work, which was nothing but numbers and notes. “Siouxsie is not boring. She’s actually quite eccentric and she’d probably kick in a few of your teeth had she heard you say that.” Rose stands from her chair and goes off in search of something to do or organize. “Are you asking for an evaluation of your apology? Because I’ll let you know it’s quite low.”

“Um, actually, it kinda does. You know that whole, acting out of your inhibitions thing?” he said stupidly, feeling like he was burying himself before he’d even made his argument. “Siouxsie’s boring. I — I forgot, okay? So here’s an apology or something. A formal one. Yeah. How’s that?”