yes, cary had started to fall into the habits of someone who should be leaning against a cane instead of ogling broomsticks like a first year admiring the forbidden fruit, but the worst habit he’d assimilated into his daily life was the incessant worrying. as the eighth of nine children, cary was inclined to harbor the secret feeling that maybe, just maybe, his siblings were meant to be the ones worrying about him—about the never-ending shenanigans and self-destructive behavior he would, hypothetically, be taking part in—but he supposed that their family had always been a bit off-kilter from the norm, for better or for worse.
this time around, it seemed to be for worse. cary had spent a stupid amount of time, in the years since they’d graduated, worrying about pat and hue most of all. maybe that was a given, since before that point, the only person cary’d been closer to, or at least as close to, was franky. and what was he supposed to do, laugh it off and wave them away like they were responsible, never-reckless, always-communicative, comparatively normal people? the biggest problem with cary’s relationship with the twins might have been that he knew them too well to cut them any slack, at least in the privacy of his own mind.
still, despite every worry and concern that he’d filed away, cary had never had real reason to believe that they were anything but (relatively) safe. until now.
he’d done what he could from london, and maybe if it were anyone else, he’d have left it at that--- excluding franky, of course. and dorcas. and maybe any of his nieces and nephews, or his siblings—scratch that. cary had never been capable of leaving well enough alone, because… well, “well enough” was rarely ever actually “well,” was it? after having sent handfuls of panicked owls and woefully veiled threats, and after having received only a few replies in a language he didn’t actually understand along with hue’s stupid book, cary was forced to come to the conclusion that, indeed, “well enough” was an inch and a couple hundred miles shy of “well.”
he’d panicked, written more letters to different addresses, convinced franky to come along (and maybe, almost, worry) and now they were in paris where, yeah, most of him was still panicking. (luckily enough, he’d started to learn to veil that panic behind threats and focused anger. it helped, even if he was only halfway successful at hiding the rest).
he trailed behind dorcas, the rest of the group following tight on his heels (if there was one thing the collins were good at, it was finding a common front). he managed a half-smile once they reached the front desk, always admiring of dorcas’ ability to take charge. or something like that. maybe he just appreciated her no-nonsense attitude.
“probably hue,” he added after her, voice caught halfway between a mumble and normal volume, before scrunching his nose, “they might have checked in under something else, hold on.” he let out a sigh, racking his brain for any of the various aliases he knew his brothers had gone by. “jimmy… hill, maybe? or… thelma sawyer. something like that.”
origamiaround
kianamaiart
theartofmadeline
stormborns
