#anyway !! i wish i could've done this more justice but alas im rusty and just wanted to. get this out there.

[deathwis-arc]

* STARTER / @farriman » for anthony !

she doesn't think anything of it at first ; ballerina feet carrying her from room to room in a daze. dolled up eyes fluttering around, perfectly curled lashes batting like butterfly wings. mystical green orbs reflecting an array of items in them, mirroring the mess that is her family with a tinge of disgust layered over it. just a casual stroll ( taken to remind her why she wants to escape this hell in the first place, she can't let herself forget ) while she bides time. wasting it as if it was nothing but air drifting between manicured fingers. always feigning the airhead when it came to ignoring her sisterly responsibilities. frankly, tanya is more than a little irritated to be assigned megan duty. skin crawling at the nerve of it all. doesn't she do the heavy lifting enough around here? out of three, the only one you see holding a secure, shitty job is her. working overtime at that shady diner down the way, dusty uniform adorned and skating around on wobbling knees to fake a smile and coo at strangers. hear the old men whistle for her and put up with their incessant pawing … then she's forced to deliver greasy food that totally slips under freshly done black nails. it's so grody! when mom drones on about how a woman's work is never done, tanya has to admit she's right ; if her unfair position had anything to say about it. yet under all the vast attitude is a heart that still wrings whenever she sees her baby brother worried. if anthony's that concerned over their basket case of a sister then fine. she'll do what their parents and dennis won't and take care of everything. a faded routine to fall back into, except now her muscles ache and her patience is already spread thin. anthony better not get used to how she bends for him, though … especially since she's still ditching this town.

vague thoughts that orbit around how he'll fare skirt around her head while she moses around his bedroom. an invasion of privacy on her part, although the waitress is certain anthony won't mind nearly as much as dennis. and what the rockstar doesn't know won't hurt him, she decides. besides, there's no way in hell he's not the one who's been snooping in her diary. it's only fair she invades the shared room for anything that might benefit her later. to bring up and weaponize if dennis gets too bleeding hearted on her about the vince thing again. still, the girl opts not to touch anything despite her peeved nature. deciding she can't be bothered with such brutish methods anyway.

which is how tanya finds herself here, in a room that reeks of sweat and another scent she can't bring herself to place -- in a place wholly unfamiliar to her. gazing at everything with fading interest and a smidge of caution. holding back a scoff at the macabre posters plastered on the walls and briefly toying with the puritan figurine on the guys' shared desk. never understanding anthony's boring fascination with this stuff ; a thought she actually whispers into existence without knowing. for a split second, or maybe a split millionth second, tanya tries to understand her brother. wondering what he gets out of hoarding so many freaky books and knick knacks that get him into nothing but trouble from mom. but the thought process trails into not understanding why anthony cares so much about this cage they've grown up in, which is anything but good for her to think about. anger is quick to lick at her throat, hot coils binding around the juncture and squeezing, and in a slight fit she slams down the figurine with a little more force than necessary. ears deaf to the way the desk rattles with the slam, teetering on olden wood legs. unable to recognize it, or maybe tanya just doesn't like to see it. either way, she turns away from it in a flurry of green cloth and attempts to quell the anger with distractions. sucking in breath the moment her throat loosens and allowing air to pass through again. chest hungry for it more than she knew. trying to pay the emotions no mind ( they won't help her, they'll make her reconsider what she decided forever ago ) she brushes past the blue twin bed to make way for the exit. more than ready to deal with megan and get it over with. although, well, she actually thinks something of it this time ; when her dismissive gaze falls on it once more. at first, the eldest clarke daughter only meant to glance at the guitar propped up against dennis' bed. mental imagery tinting scarlet and flowing towards the boy in the attic. the flashy instrument isn't in its usual spot, tanya embarrassingly notices, so was he practicing earlier? she knows there wasn't a showing for his band tonight ; the posters hung around the town are old, date all wrong, yet she wonders if he went out. if he went and goofed off with that loser pack of his. it makes her more upset than it should, like everything here these days. that very idea pairing up with the fact he didn't spend all night downstairs waiting for her -- and that's when she sees it. actually sees it and registers the object, now being gently folded and tucked away into a compartment in her brain.

it's enough to make a sure stride falter. slender jaw dropping an inch when she recognizes the once foreign object that's draped over the bed in such an uncaring manner. she had seen it briefly upon entering, hard not to notice a blue as vivid as that, but it hadn't crossed her mind as significant. and now here she is! gawking at it, with moon wide eyes that accompany the immediate weight that sinks her heart. dropping into the dread pools forming and splashing along the stomach lining within -- in a way that makes her queasy and leaves her grimacing. bones aching to their very marrow with the striking alert sense that something about this is very wrong. for the life of her, though, she can't grasp why. the implications failing to register with the hippie just yet, not while fear jostles in petrified veins and the confidence arch of a perfect back begins to hunch. shoulders ( broader than they should be, she knows, an insecurity too damning now ) trying to squish together in discomfort, almost as if she's subconsciously trying to shield her eyes a little too late. that uneasy feeling quickly turns into paranoia by her own volition. after all, who likes sitting with an emotion they can't understand? whenever tanya can't get something, it frustrates her and turns her into a woman on a mission. determined to find out what's up, to uncover any secrets being kept behind her back. it's hard being a girl in times like these, having to fend away men and women alike in the name of getting by. she knows, in a violent burst of clarity, that secrets hurt like a bitch when they're not yours ... and sometimes? even then.

trembling fingers inch towards the article of clothing. running along frayed strings of wool with an impulsive urge to grip a strand and start pulling ; to unravel the damn thing! a passion that unsettles her and forces tanya to take a breath. trying to get a grip on herself at least, all while soft hands gently pick the item up. thumbs running over the distinct pattern, eyes diverting to the bed. plump lips pursed into a thoughtful frown even when gorgeous eyes remain squinted with suspicion. looking to the red duvets ( which are clean, another thing that strikes her as off ) like they'll take on dennis' voice and, loyal as ever, give her the answers she seeks. a stupid wish that wouldn't come true even if she tried to use some sort of magick. that's a waste of good materials for starters, and completely absurd in conclusion. this isn't worth the effort. who cares about her little brother's silly laundry? and even more pressing, more obvious, who gives a rat's ass about dennis' lame stuff? she's just in a funny mood tonight … didn't she act cold with vince tonight too? twisting kind words for no reason other than to be a pain in the ass? right, that's – yeah, she's having a day. that's all.

with everything wrapped into a perfect ( shabby ) little bow, tanya should've just dropped it. kicked it to the side with everything else that bothered her and go on her merry way. yet when the waitress finally exits the room, the blue sweater remains tucked under her arm. stolen away in the night like the princesses in those fairytales. though in her proper opinion, anthony couldn't be a maiden so beloved, couldn't have items so reverently desired or of high importance. he's too oddly shaped and awkward, never knowing when to speak or when to remain quiet. freckles have never been in, either. he'd have to cover those up with concealer to score any man, and probably get a change in wardrobe too. play fixer upper with the angled brows and finally lose the extra weight in his stomach. thoughts like these continue to infect her head even when she bothers with megan, words slipping out without thought. pointed in a way tanya can't control. she thinks about anthony, back when he was messed up, and how he could be in an asylum right now if it wasn't for her honeyed words and sharp eye. accidentally blurts that out but warping it to make it relate to megan. unable to stand looking at her little sister who's so like anthony it's sometimes unbearable. she can't stop, can't press the breaks and force her thoughts elsewhere, because the sweater beneath her arm seems to burn. forever reminding the eldest daughter of the idiotic feelings buzzing like raw energy in her chest. reminding the girl of anthony, and stupid fucking dennis. curses flow easily now, tanya too concerned with other things to reinforce the femininity she lost tooth and nail for to embody. by the time she hastily exits her little sister's room, more than unimpressed by how the conversation went, she's heading downstairs before she knows it. body moving on its own accord and mind already made up the moment she kept the sweater close. rationalizing an answer to every probing question the heart throws her way. like the good big sister she is, she took the sweater so anthony wouldn't get beaten to a pulp later if dennis found it. protective of anthony even when her foot's halfway out the door. doesn't that boy know how touchy the rockstar is about his things? especially when it comes to said things being touched by anyone but him? and, yeah, maybe the two boys have become chummy lately … hard not to notice the melting of two presences when it's happening before your eyes. spotting the two in the living room, holed up together, had struck a cord in her, sure ... but it's only because tanya's been real firm with keeping her distance from the both of them. they're lonely! that's all! if anything, the sudden buddy buddy is pathetic, isn't it? it should be something to snide at! but ...

( “what crawled up his ass?” / a smile, lovesick in nature, the same expression anthony takes whenever she hassles him about this mysterious crush he has ; then the tender way he answered, “just dennis doing what he's good at. being really dennis” )

when tanya finds who she's looking for, her expression is anything but kind. a warning sign from a mile away with the pinched smile she takes up, the searching look scorching. it's odd how her body feels suspended in air while the rest of her feels like it's sinking further into the depths, drenched in inky blotches that make the insiders wither. how she can still function despite the turmoil within. the way she can appear so unfazed with the way tanya throws wavy, mauve bangs back over her pierced ears. hair having been mused with the way she flew down here. the importance of appearance is strengthened more than ever, for reasons she can't understand, so she takes time to brush through it with a free hand. taking calculated steps into the bar room and trying not to feel ill when she spots anthony curled up on one of those creaky, decrepit chairs. cup of tea on the table beside him and a green book of all things in hand. salvia in her mouth churns sour until it's a bitter aftertaste, bottom lip trembling, and hands uncertain as she tries to unfold the bundle of cloth that had been smothered beneath a motherly arm. exposing it to it's full extent for those matching blue eyes to see. with a clipped tone, she jumps straight into the water. patience and kindness all worn out by the day's events.

“care to explain to me why i found this on dennis' bed?” god, she sounds too upset. doesn't mean to sound like she's condemning him for something she feels in her gut, but tanya can't help it. tiny clues that were once ignored now built up into a knot that's slowly loosening in her chest. heart crumbling and aching to the point it spreads to the pulse in her wrists. it's neverending ; the mean thoughts, the images, the orchestra of feelings. the sudden stench that burns at her nostrils, emitting from the sweater. knowing what it is and having to keep stewing in the denial to stay sane. cheeks flaring unflattering red. what's next, she thinks tiredly, steam coming outta her ears? she can only muster out another bite of, “like, seriously, what's up? you know he hates this crap, so explain!” and then, in an instant, words come out of her in such a rush that they hiss together, “and don't lie to me, because if dennis doesn't kick your ass, i will. that's a promise.”