condemned

“A place is only as nice as the people in it, that’s what I always say,” Rose laughed, truthfully never having said that in her life, but wanting to seem nonchalant about the whole scenario. The fifth house in this time was clearly just accommodation for those that hadn’t otherwise been housed. She smiled fondly as she reminisced the time that her and Justin had attempted to break Tyson out of Whittemore’s personal dungeon. She had never been able to look at silly string the same way since. 

As the girls words brought Rose out of her trance, she shook her head quickly. “Yep, that’s me, a transfer.” She once prided herself on her ability to lie on the spot. It was only little white lies. Lying to her parents, to the teachers, but mostly to herself. “I always seem to find myself in new places at just the right time, but rarely stay long enough to make friends.”

“Well then I’m not really sure what that says for some of the places around here,” Carrie replied, only slightly joking. It was safe to say that some of the people here could be questionable. Or perhaps she had just adopted rather severe trust issues after what she’d gone through at public school. She wasn’t really sure how to tell what was real and what wasn’t sometimes, who she could trust and who she shouldn’t. She fell too easily.

Carrie nodded at the unfamiliar brunette. “Transfer from where?” She questioned, wondering if maybe she’d know. A smile graced her soft pink lips. “So you move around a lot, then? Well, I find it hard to believe you won’t stay at Whittemore for a considerable amount of time. It’s not exactly an easy place to get into.”

     Readable. They were all so readable. Orson’s own children were unpredictable, wild, insane. He had made them so in just another one of his numerous academic mistakes. In a way the others that he had taken under his wing, the children of his school, were much more satisfying beings to surround yourself with, much less chaotic. Nine children was a handful for most but when eight of them were extremely talented and very strange, it was almost impossible to keep track. His academic talents had been wasted upon them for the things he had done before they had been conceived, before they had matured, had meant that they would never be the blank slate he needed to experiment on. That was why he needed the specially selected few that he knew he could bring around, “Carrie, you are extremely academically talented, but I believe that your potential is unfulfilled,” he told her, his expression troubled but sure. He did not doubt his truth. It was the only thing contingent to the universe he had created. “What if I were to tell you that there is a way that you could be the smartest person to have ever walked the Earth? That with only a little trouble you could build a reputation in this world that would never be tainted or destroyed.”

Carrie did not know very much about Orson French, but it seemed that no one truly did know much about him, including his own children. The Frenches all had a different vibe about them and she could never quite figure it out. That much had always left the girl on the outs with herself as someone who had always prided herself in being able to read other people. She did not react to Orson’s words at first. She had been called many things along the line of academically talented, brilliant, quite bright. But none of it had been enough to keep her out of trouble, had it? She watched the way the man’s face changed its expression, trying to find truth in his words. “With only a little trouble?” She questioned, not ready to jump on something so quickly before she knew anything about it. “I find it hard to believe that one can be superior without harsher repercussions.”

       Books thrown in every direction, a table almost upturned in papers that ranged from scrawls to vicious scribbles. A family photo upturned on the edge of a desk, as if the haunting eyes of his children by being absent would make the unquenchable feeling inside of him go away. Only Cassandra could of told the school that the bags under Orson’s eyes were from a descent into hell like no other, the students, his own children besides Charles, oblivious to his unravelling mentality and the lengths he would go to in order to get what he wanted. What he needed. He was blinded by his path and those who stumbled into the war he waged now against the world were blinded by his stature and certainty from seeing that he truly had no idea what he was doing, “You came,” he turned towards the opening door to find one of whom he had summoned earlier that day, the light spilling in with a ghastly shade that satisfied nobody, “Please sit.”

@bethanylaws @lorettaklein @legendarysarah @s-fawkes @karenxbell @thefrenchflower @carriesinclair

Carrie’s eyes darted around the room as soon as it became visible in the doorway. Being summoned by Orson French did not sound good, and in her almost two years at Whittemore she still was not sure what to expect. Anxiety made her heart feel like it had grown wings inside her chest, a light and airy feeling that made his offer to sit sound rather good in the moment. “Of course,” she nodded, taking a seat in an empty chair. Her facial expressions likely told all of her curiosities and anxieties about this meeting, but she couldn’t quite find the words to ask what it was all about.

“Sinclair,” Rose nodded slowly, putting the pieces together and giving a shy smile. She looked so much like her daughter. “That’s a pretty name.” Rose kept her composure as she reciprocated her words, marveling at how similar she was to Ella. Was Rose this much like her own mother? She didn’t believe so.

Her eyebrows suddenly shot up at the mention of fifth house. “Wow,” she said, her mouth agape at the thought of being a permanent resident in the fifth house. What the hell did this girl do to get put there of all places. “Fifth house, yeah? I haven’t heard of that house, is it nice?” she said, wondering if it was still used as punishment in this timeline. 

“Thank you,” Carrie replied, pressing her lips into a firmer, less comfortable smile. Sinclair, the name that her parents gave her and inevitably the name her son would carry in disguise as her own brother instead. How odd it was to still think about that way, that she would always be his mother but never be able to consider herself so. Maybe one day her other children would carry the same name and it would feel less significant if he was not the only one.

The girl’s reaction to the fifth house was an odd one. Carrie had always assumed she’d been put there because of a lack of space for transfers in late years, but perhaps there was more to it than that. “Sure, I guess. I’m not really sure I’d call it nice, but it’s another place to be.” She felt odd on the subject, something had always been off about it but she wasn’t yet sure just what, so she tried to beat around the bush. “So you’re a transfer, I take it?”

With a gasp, Daisy’s eyes opened as she sat up in bed. Her vision was blurry at first before coming into focus. She was frozen. The last thing she remembered was a shot, a pain, and looking into TJ’s eyes before everything went dark. The girl moved slowly, pushing the blankets off of her and stepping out of bed. The floor was cold under her feet and it made her pull her foot back, the feeling was so foreign to her, the feeling of cold, of warmth…she stepped back down and got out of bed fully, walking towards the mirror on her wall, staring at herself to try and convince herself it was real. “Holy shit…” she whispered. Something was off. It looked like she was reflected in the mirror, but it wasn’t her.

Trying not to freak out, Daisy left her mother’s face in the mirror and ran out of the room. “Hello?” she called out, running down the hallway towards the stairs. Everything looked familiar…but nothing was right. She made it to the front door and into the cold and brisk air. “Hello?” she repeated, hoping someone was nearby who could help. She had no idea what was going on and there was bound to be someone with some answers. “Is anyone here?”

Black hair covered with a contrasting white knit cap and a scarf to match, Carrie braved the cold to take the stroll to Kenilworth to return some notes she had borrowed from a classmate. Her cheeks were a soft pink against her porcelain skin, making her appear more fragile than ever against the gloomy winter sky cast above. However, it seemed to have no affect on her, her cool stature not even shaking.

Charlotte, however, seemed much more distraught in the cold, not dressed for the weather at all and perhaps in distress. Tucking the notebooks against her chest, Carrie approached the familiar girl, cocking her head to the side. “Charlotte? Is everything alright?” She moved closer towards the door, hoping to push the other girl closer in towards the heat of the inside.

The answer Rose received did not satisfy her curiosity, only leaving her with more questions. She supposed though that in the girls circumstances, her question would seem rather stupid given time travel was simply a form of fictional nonsense to most. The woman was beautiful, her striking black hair and sharp features felt strangely familiar and yet Rose couldn’t put a finger on why. She placed the card on the table and read the date over once more. 

“Carrie…?” she repeated, letting the word linger in the air for a second, being mindful of the fact she didn’t give a last name. “Lovely to meet you, I’m Rose,” she said, a warm smile gracing her features as she offered her hand in greeting. “Are you a resident at Kenilworth or just visiting?”

Carrie was, unsurprisingly, rather unfocused on the conversation at hand when there were so many other topics swirling in her head. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t pay attention to everything that happened around her at Whittemore, in fact she probably paid too much attention, she just always found herself consumed by thoughts that lingered elsewhere. Her own past haunting her in a place where it could nearly not reach her anymore.

“Sinclair. Carrie Sinclair.” A small smile graced her lips, one that showed her own awkwardness in the situation of meeting someone new but reminding herself to be kind to people who are where she once was. “Yes, lovely to meet you too, Rose,” she mimicked without realizing. “Just visiting. I’m a fifth house resident.”

“1992….” he echoed her words breathlessly. His jaw– or rather, his father’s jaw, hung open in shock. He could feel the panic rising up in his chest as his reality started to set in. Somehow he was here. Does that mean his father was there? If that bastard got anywhere near Olivia, he’d kill him. Or did that mean he’d have to kill himself? He didn’t plan his next words. They fell from his mouth naturally, like a reflex he didn’t mean to engage. But they were truly the words of his father. “I need a drink.”

Carrie gave him a look that could only be described as baffled. She was well aware that the students here could have a tendency to act rather strangely, but no one had ever appeared to forget what year they were in before. Pursing her lips slightly, she nodded. “Right. Well, the partying was supposed to occur last night, but I’m sure we can manage to find you some left over alcohol somewhere.”

“New Year’s– what?! What new year? What year is it?” he demanded frantically. It felt like he’d lived a thousand lifetimes, but never before this one. Definitely not this one. 

Carrie tilted her head to the side, confusion apparent on her face. She wasn’t sure what game he was playing, but she wasn’t very entertained. “It’s 1992, Ray. You know, January 1st starts a new year. Like always.”

It wasn’t her words that flared his temper– okay, it was partially her words, but it was mostly her tone. “You can choke on your scarves for all I care.” His voice was relatively calm, but his annoyance soaked through towards the end. “Is that better?”

“Hardly,” Carrie deadpanned, raising her brows at him now. She really hadn’t meant it to get a rise out of him. In fact, she’d merely meant it in a teasing manner, but Howard did have a temper that she tended to forget about. “But better the truth than nothing.”

Helen could make anything she was doing into her own game of enjoyment if she was bored enough, which had now currently led her to seeing how many times she could spin in the swivel chair she was seated in while Carrie went on about two equally beautiful scarves. Well at least she thought they were beautiful, it wasn’t as if she was actually giving them much of a glance at the moment. “I think-” She paused for a moment as she spun around again and again. “- That you’re a beautiful independent woman that would look amazing in whatever you wear. You could wear a sack of potatoes and you’d still look astounding.” 

Carrie couldn’t help but crack a small smile. She did not usually enjoy compliments, nor did she know how to respond to them anymore, but something about the way Helen presented herself and her response gave Carrie a little more hope for people in the world. “Well thank you, Helen, I will take that into consideration while choosing.” She breathed out a soft, airy laugh. “However, I do think it’d be wise to stop spinning yourself like that before you either pass out or get sick.”

bethany wasn’t a grand fashionista, her outfits were average when they didn’t end up with dirt and ripped stockings, something which had happened less as years added onto her and new priorities arouse rather than just defying her parents. “gray is more dynamic, goes with more than blue.”

Carrie nodded absentmindedly, swinging the scarf around her neck though it was the last thing that was actually on her mind. Just conversation to fill silence. A distraction. “You’re right, I really do prefer it anyways I think.”

He just felt– different. It was like when the books on a shelf don’t perfectly line up, or when you try and draw two identical lines and one is clearly different than the other. Something just felt– off. He caught his reflection in a mirror. Had his face always been so sharply defined? He could’ve sworn his eyes were brown, but the eyes blinking back at him had specks of green hidden inside. They were hazel. 

“Hey,” he called out to the first person he could find in passing. “Question. Who do you think I am?”

Carrie paused mid-sip of the tea she held in her hand, lips grazing the rim and steam running over her rosey cheeks. She lowered the cup. “Is this some kind of New Year’s resolution thing, Ray? Am I supposed to already think you’ve changed?”