these voices

— ﹠· 。♡  «  penelopexpark:  »

EARLY MOURNING | PENELOPE, QUINN, && BIJOU

there had been a WEIGHT sitting on penelope’s chest since tuesday’s wheel ceremony, growing heavier and heavier with each name that was called. some of her close friends had been among the missing people ( t a k e n, not missing – she knew that, they all knew that, but it was still too much to think about ) and the sense of loss, of being left alone to figure out a mess that was bigger than she could even comprehend was both familiar and all-too consuming.

the heavy silence that seemed to hang over the entire town ( what seemed to be left of it, anyways ) was o v e r w h e l m i n g. the air felt thick enough to choke on and nobody would meet anybody else’s eyes. it left penelope feeling lost and afraid and helpless, and whenever that happened the only way she could manage to deal with her feelings was to attempt to bake them out. it almost never worked, of course, but it hadn’t stopped her from trying. penelope had gone home from the ceremony, locked herself in her apartment, and had been non-stop baking ever since. instead of leaving her feeling satisfied, though, it left her with flour in her hair and a sickly-sweet sense of d r e a d in the pit of her stomach. cookies weren’t going to solve her problems, she knew that rationally, but it was like she couldn’t stop her hands from moving. by late afternoon it seemed as though she had covered every available surface of her apartment in some kind of baked good, and before long she realized it was time for everyone to join their search party.

she wasn’t exactly sure what one needed for a search party, but she filled a small pink backpack with what she hoped were essentials – a flashlight, a few water bottles, and a mini first aid kit ( being who she was, penelope had quite a few of these on-hand at all times anyways ). and then, before she could talk herself out of it, she had also filled a large tupperware container with macarons. she had enough to go around by now, and, well, they were going to need to keep their energy up for their search. that’s what she told herself anyways. 

soon enough penelope was striding towards the northern end of town, backpack over her shoulder and cookies in her hand, towards the two other women ( who also seemed to have come prepared, although neither of them were lugging around a giant tupperware box ), who she had been teamed up with. she approached slowly, her own nerves beginning to show as she held out the box to the other ladies with shaking hands.

❛ does….does anyone want a macaron before we start? ❜

@hackerspvce

it was no surprise she wasn’t taken  ,  too  ;  after all  ,  bijou had only arrived in town a couple of weeks back for the first time in four years ,  she lived  ,  for the most part  ,  underwater  ,   and prided herself on her stealth capabilities and aptitude at remaining under the radar  .   well  ,  that last part wasn’t quite true anymore  ,  not since her activist  ,  altruistic surge to constantly bleed the truth through the written word and expose mass corruption  ,  but  .  .  .   d e t a i l s  .   and   ,   actually  ,  she wasn’t quite beat up about the whole ordeal  .  perhaps she should be  ,  but her line of work requires the cipher to abandon any emotional attachment in favour of delivering to the public the well - deserved  reality  ,  regardless of how harsh the facts in question may be  . 

and so  ,  really  ,  an investigation was  e x a c t l y  what she needs  ,  what the TOWN needs  .  because searching and rescuing implies  ,  somewhere in between  ,  the success in LOCATING  .  and findings  ,  in journalism  ,  in hacking  ,  in espionage  ,  any sort of intel was detrimental in the pursuit for success  .  the only thing that stood in her way  ,  then  ,  were the two people with whom she was travelling  :  a natural - born  ,  innate wallflower  ,  bijou demure has a tendency to stick out as a lone wolf  .  granted  ,  her introversion adapted from how it’d been years prior  ,  but she still functions best by herself  ,  to this day  ,  a solitary brooder  ,  ever confident in her capacity to tackle the arduous challenges of the vast planet and her plane of existence   a l o n e  . 

which seemed not like an option this time  ,  the wheel of fortune had condemned her circumstances and sealed her with  [  her friend ?  acquaintance ?  bijou could never quite tell  ,  she wasn’t good with people and less so with human relationships  ]  quinn davies  ,  and a girl by the name of penelope park  .  she did some research  ,  discovered the truth behind their mutations  ,  all of them had managed  ,  in some form or fashion  ,  to avoid the fate so many others of their kind now suffered  .  but that didn’t mean they were lucky  ,  or at least  ,  not to bijou  ,  who would’ve been more than enthralled to awaken wherever the other half of their town was now  ,  trojan horse style  ,  collect as much intel as she could  ,  directly from the source  . 

but those were fantasies for another time and it was besides the point now  .   especially when macarons were called into question  . 

« i would love one  ,  or two   ,  or maybe  .  .  .   a  handful  ?  »  the parisienne giggles  ,  popping a robin blue delicacy into her mouth  ,  grinning now from ear to ear  .  her native paris childhood was certainly on display  ,  but the cipher didn’t quite  c a r e  .  french cuisine was the best  ,  and arguably one of the only  ,  ways to her heart  .  «  i’m bijou demure,  by the way  .  hard - hitting journalist  ,  seeker of truth  ,  yada yada  .  .  .   »  she waves the introduction away  ,  slinging a simple  ,  black knapsack off one shoulder to sift out a tablet  ,  popping up a map of northern aglæca  .  «  let’s get this party started  ,  huh  ?  i say we venture out into and beyond the forest  ,  i doubt there’d be a huge laboratory experimenting on mutants right here in town without anyone knowing  .  doesn’t make sense  .   »  another macaron is shovelled into her mouth  .  «  we have to look into the outskirts  ,  that’s where kidnappers would take their victims  .  somewhere secluded  .   trust me  ,  i’d know  .   »  

@inconscientism

         On any given day, it could be difficult to sift through the voices that fluttered in and out of her head. There was a lot of years to delve into upon this earth, and even MORE memories in the places she stepped. Most times, Quinn let it happen naturally, the more prominent voices cresting to the point she could swear it was spoken right in front of her, without even a silhouette to conform for the speaker. Other times, there were whispers. Little ghostings of conversations, and quite often ... they were creepy. Out of context, out of time, the quirk of a frown would be the only indication that she had “heard” something she should not have been privy to. Despite all that, the voices were distinct, and obvious when one memory ended and another began.

          Recently? It was muddled. Like it wasn’t quite clear to her. More than ever, she found herself with persistent headaches, enough to garner over-the-counter medication in attempts to alleviate it. Once upon a time, delicate fingers probed at certain points of her features, and the blonde found herself retracing those processes, massaging into the bridge of her nose, her temples, her third eye --- hoping it would just   stop.   Perhaps it had something to do with the disappearances. And not the circus acts. Actual missing persons. It confused her ( more than she often was on her own ) and moreover, worried her. There were people she knew, CARED about, and their presence left a very noticeable  v a c a n c y.  Everyone else felt it, too.

        Recruited into the search efforts, and quite happily for she wanted to be useful, Quinn slung her darkened leather messenger bag over her shoulder. Inside fit a few essentials: sustenance ( because she could get lost ), injury kits ( because it was bound to happen ), and other oddities ( the chalk because it could mark stuff ... and it was pretty ). With a hand smoothing out her buttoned flannel, not wanting her prettier articles of clothing to be dirtied, she set off to her group’s rendezvous point.

       “It’s going to get scarier at night ... right?” A hand came to suddenly grip the sleeve of the Demure, having met at approximately the same time where they agreed upon. Sure, she hadn’t known about the curfew in the beginning, but there was a reason why she was content turning in so early. The dark freaked her out. But that was all tossed out the window the moment the adorable Penelope Park greeted them, and the Davies practically squealed, a “Thank you, thank you!!” rushing out of her while she snatched at a couple like a child. Nothing like a macaron to brave the dusk. “And I’m Quinn Davies, pleased to meet you!” A bright eyed gaze upon a pastel pink delicacy, and then she was eating it --- momentarily distracted, eyes narrowing into the distance, and then she was normal again as though nothing had happened ...

clearliquors:

BOLD what applies to your muse.

PLACE IN SOCIETY

financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty.

medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged.

class or caste: upper / middle / working / slave / unsure.

education: qualified / unqualified / studying.

criminal record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no.

FAMILY

married - happily / married - unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / single / divorced / separated.

has a child or children / has no children / wants children.  

close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased.

orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s).

TRAITS + TENDENCIES

extroverted / introverted / in between.

disorganized / organized / in between.

close minded / open-minded  / in between.

calm / anxious / in between.

disagreeable / agreeable / in between.

cautious / reckless / in between.

patient / impatient / in between.

outspoken / reserved / in between.

leader / follower / in between.

empathetic / unemphatic / in between.

optimistic / pessimistic / in between.

traditional / modern / in between.

hard-working / lazy / in between.

cultured / un-cultured / in between.

loyal / disloyal / in between.

faithful / unfaithful / unknown.

BELIEFS:

monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic.

belief in ghosts or spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in an afterlife: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in reincarnation: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in aliens: yes  / no / don’t know / don’t care.

religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious.

philosophical: yes / no.

OPINIONS

pro-choice / anti-abortion /  doesn’t know or on the fence.

pro-marriage / anti-marriage / doesn’t know or on the fence.

pro-death penalty / anti-death penalty  / doesn’t know or on the fence.

pro-drug legislation / anti-drug legislation / doesn’t know or on the fence.

left wing / right wing / middle / doesn’t know or on the fence.

SEXUALITY + ROMANTIC INCLINATION

heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual ( ??? ) / asexual / pansexual.

sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable.

romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favourable.

sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious.

potential sexual partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all.

potential romantic partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all.

ABILITIES

combat skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

literacy skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

artistic skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

technical skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

HABITS

drinking alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

smoking: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. 

other narcotics: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

medicinal drugs: never / sometimes  / frequently / to excess. 

indulgent food: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. 

splurge spending: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

           She could have reacted in many ways. One, spitting words back at him, and two, walking away or even ignoring his tantrum. But instead, he gave him another wave of shock by trying to help. Of course, the little lady couldn’t have known that the main problem was HER and his aching head that couldn’t stop taking in the information that she reeked off. Bless her, and her good spirit, but another napkin was NOT what he needed. He needed a dose, something to calm his nerve system and numb out the voices that came his way. Felix knew that his wife wanted what was best for him, but at this very second it didn’t even matter. He couldn’t help but try and think about the secret stashes that he had, and how she must have found them all and taken every bottle away. Because he tried searching, and he had failed every single time. It was all up to his will whether he would go through with this plan or not, and his current condition screamed the latter. 

          “You don’t UNDERSTAND,” hissed out he, even though Quinn was probably the ONLY person who really could have. She had better control of it, as it so seemed, even being way younger than he was, and any other time it would have hurt his pride, but now it was all the same. “I can HEAR them—from you. It’s all coming from YOU.” It couldn’t have sounded completely sane, as he wasn’t sure he understood what he was saying either. He couldn’t even understand WHAT he was receiving, it was just a wave of gibberish, of words and thoughts interlaced with each other so much that he couldn’t even separate them. 

             Felix pressed the new napkin to his nose, hands shaking like ones of a drug addict—which, if to be completely honest, he was. He didn’t belong in outside world anymore, he needed to get clean by FORCE, and it was all the fault of his mutation that tortured him without a drop of mercy. “You have that—” he didn’t even finish, just pointed at his head and clenched his jaw with another hit of pain, making him close his eyes for a second as if he was staring into the sun. “It’s driving me INSANE, it’s too much; YOU are too much.”

        One day, her willingness to help anyone would be her demise. One day. Today, it didn’t seem like it ( though it never did, and probably never would until it was too late ) and so she took the chance to help this stranger. This angry, volatile, bleeding stranger. To the normal person, at any point during the interaction would have been an opportunity to leave, to ignore the responsibility of kindness, or perhaps even return fire with more anger. Nope. Quinn took an inaudible deep breath through the nose, filling her lungs, and once released, let any tension or personal affects drain out with it. But there was the new possibility that she would have to do it again, because as she motioned to get up and retrieve more napkins for the man, he said something that struck a nerve. A tiny one, but a prominent one.

         This man could hear her. Not just “Quinn” her, but the voices inside her. The ones that followed her every waking moment, whether she chose to acknowledge them or not. And up until then, they had all but disappeared as her entire focus was placed s o l e l y on him. Mentioning them only broke the dam. They flooded her momentarily, and she too wanted to wince at the influx, but with the awareness that this would only worsen the man’s condition, only cause him to grow ever more aggravated with her --- A muscle jumped in her jaw, eyes steeling in their rare occurrence, and she SHUT them out. The voices drowned,w a v e r i n g on the precipice, and then it was   quiet.

When the door f i n a l l y opened, Marisol almost cried in relief — & when it closed, the woman inside spouting off something about being robbed, Marisol’s heart almost fell to her feet. For a second, she didn’t know whether to panic even more or be angry ( seriously, would a robber ASK to be let in ?! ) until the door opened again.

— ❝ YES, I’m in trouble ! ❞ she all but shouted, looking at the other woman like she was mad, ❝ Please, I just — I really don’t wan to figure out what happens if I stay out here any longer. ❞

With what was probably the most impolite shove Marisol had ever given, she ducked into the woman’s house. She could faintly hear a TV in another room over the sound of her heart beating in her ears, & she looked almost feral the way she looked at the other with wide eyes & ragged breaths.

— ❝ Look, I’m sorry for, for just doing that, but I’d really rather not die tonight. ❞ Okay. Maybe that was a bit too dramatic.

        The words that came to her in a tone of PANIC and maybe even desperation sounded genuine, and so Quinn motioned to step out of the way and allow the stranger inside. Only, she had barely opened her mouth when the woman was shouldering her way past the door like some horror movie and there was a murderer on her tail. It made the blonde wanna jump in her own skin at the thought, though it was ridiculous. 

❛ i am the one thing in life i can control. ❜

@bitchcassidys

       Quinn thought on that phrase for a moment, eyes growing listless as she stared off in thought. As if to prove a point, there was a gust of voices, all swept up together, that moved like a passing breeze through her head. Then as quickly as it came, it was gone and the blonde returned to the conversation at hand.

         Since she was a little girl, Quinn had heard WARS in her head. There were deaths and torture and pain. Tears as the disembodied voices cried, screams as they pleaded, and anger as they fought. Without having ever stepped a single foot inside a battle, without ever having committed a monstrous crime of her own, Quinn had witnessed more than her share of HATE. 

       But there was, of course, the good that came with the bad. Strolling past a church, she heard the wedding bells and the applause and the jovial attendees as a betrothed couple became   one.   There were the people that sacrificed themselves for the better of humanity, a peal of laughter as a particular child rolled in the perfume of flowers within a park, and so many smiles that though she could not see them, knew they were there in the way some of the voices spoke to her.

         The Academy middle school teacher perched herself on a curb, hands cradling her chin, eyes turned to a spot next to her. There was no one there, but she felt their presence. She could hear them. But with no visage to peer upon, all she saw was the blackened concrete, charred from the proximity of an inferno. They had tried to scrub away the blood left behind by those who fell, who perished completely. And they did a good job, but Quinn extended a lone finger to touch upon the shadow of what had been a pool. A frown etched into her features, the will to cry rising ---

             When she heard it.

            Beatrix had forced him off any kind of drugs, and even his beloved liquor—next best thing to numbing it out—so he was left raw, the fickle fingers of his power touching everything they could, everyone they could. It made him DIZZY and angry, and if rationally he KNEW he had to go through hell to get better, another part of him just wanted it all to be over as soon as possible — never like ever before. And he had gotten through some rough times, but this by far was the worst of all of them. The mentalist was left to be a mess, a blabbering, yelling, unstable mess. His fingers trembled violently, skin had gotten paler than usual, everything was too bright, too much for him to take. 

            OF COURSE it would have been nice to have someone who genuinely understood what he had to go through each day, but the second he noticed something familiar—in the ACADEMY of all places—he started avoiding the blonde like the plague, and for good reason. The screams and whispers that were meant for her weren’t private anymore, not with Felix around. He needed his pink and white and all other pills, or he was going to go INSANE. The migraine had already started to kick in, from his temples going through his jaw and then occupying ALL of his brain, head pulsing like an open wound. 

               He threw away the butt of his cigarette mindlessly and it wasn’t until a voice popped up that he paid attention who was nearby—way too close for his liking. “My — what?” There was a pause as his hazel greens locked onto her out of desperation, eyes filled with sheer HORROR of what was about to kick in. “It’s going to be MY resting place—” he began and stopped, dry mouth unable to form a normal sentence. He spun his neck, the sense of discomfort reaching his muscles, even though it was all psychological. He GAVE IN, hands ripping his jacket’s pockets apart searching for any leftover pill that his wife could have forgotten to take, and with the result being a bitter nada, he almost screamed.

                 That’s when it really hit him—blood flushed out his nose like a fountain and he pressed a hand to it, seemingly still lost in some sort of a DELUSION. “GODdamnit you, and your stupid fucking head,” he cried out as crimson stained his fingers and shirt. At this point all he wanted was to be DEAD, he wished the explosion would have CLAIMED his life and saved him from this—whatever it was—drowning him in eternal darkness and nothing. Alas, he was still breathing and now shoving a napkin to his nose.

        If there was anything that Quinn WASN’T, it was stupid. And she took great pride of the fact that despite her ability, she still had a sharp, keen mind. Sure it was wonky at times and could freak people out, but she was aware. She knew. Ignorance wasn’t bliss to her, and so she refused to be ignorant about anything if she could help it. The man before her wasn’t quick to ring a bell for a name, but she knew he was, caught glimpses of him around the Academy, and dare she say ... had surmised that he avoided her. Now, she watched with careful eyes as he progressed through a short series of responses until, quite suddenly, he was bleeding profusely from the nose.

        What he said to the blonde as he bled didn’t go unnoticed. The words begged to cut deep into her heart, and while the little girl inside surely felt them, Quinn did not. There were plenty of years of practice under her belt from her peers in school talking about how strange she was, the people on the streets who would openly stare if she was having an avid conversation “with herself,” and the few that tried to PREVENT her ability. Many didn’t think she heard them. She did. It paved the long road to acceptance of herself, lined with cruel words and even crueler actions. But she was grateful for it, because though there seemed to be no end to this road, Quinn felt better about herself and therefore about the ones around her.

        Anything grotesque, Quinn was not about it. Yet, the blood didn’t seem to disturb her, but rather, she grabbed the napkins pinned beneath her coffee and jumped to her feet. Be it the emotional aspect that was taking over --- as that was her forté as far as the triad of mental, physical, emotional went --- or the fact that she was able to FOCUS, Quinn saw no qualms about swatting away his hands and replacing the soaked napkin to staunch the flow. In taking action and targeting all her attention on the man from the Academy, the voices that had been wisping about her head were g o n e. But she didn’t notice that, not when she wanted this man to be okay again.

      There aren’t as many perks to retrocognition as one might think. Often, it came with migraines from the intensity of the voices, the ones that clutched at her mind, making it difficult to escape from, and the amount of willpower exerted often e x h a u s t e d her. There were places she tended to avoid, at least for now, until the memories died a little. Of course, for the level that Quinn was comfortable with, the traces needed to be softened by more years than she had in her life, but she did the best she could. And some of those places she tried to avoid were the sites of ATTACK Aglæca had recently suffered.

        Sometimes, it wasn’t that easy.

        Quinn FLINCHED at the scream that abruptly split the middle of her skull, tremors wracking her spine. Reflex even told her to duck, like there was an immediate danger she had to protect herself from. Pressing fingers to her left-side temple, she managed to open her eyes to see that there was positively nothing wrong ... besides the remnants of the explosion at the Square. On her way to do ... something, she forgot to not travel so close, and now she was facing the consequences. Already, the touches of her tell-tale migraine was seeping into her brain, and disoriented, she took several steps all in different directions, uncertain where to turn to. The scream in her head continued, brimming with pain and agony, and she wasn’t even certain if it was a man or a woman, who they were, what they were doing before the tragedy --- just that they were dying. That was their legacy imprinted in history. Their scream for Quinn to witness against her will every time she neared their final moment on Earth. THIS was why she avoided the explosion sites, the fresh memories too much for her little head to bear.

&& OPEN.

         it wouldn’t ever be until the early hours of the morning that ruby woke from her trance —- the one that kept her searching on && on each night for something. what that something was ?? well, that was a question that seemingly would never be answered. ruby wasn’t even aware that she was l o o k i n g. what she was aware of was the fact that night after night she’d wake up some place new on the brink of sunrise.

                  whoever’s she was in today was yet another mystery. stirring slowly, the redhead pulled herself from the place she’d collapsed, fallen out of the trance, onto the floor. her body felt sore, every inch of her felt the drain of exhaustion. no rest to be had when one wasn’t technically sleeping. the moments she wasn’t wandering were spent trying to keep awake to avoid the “SPELL.” thankfully, thus far, she’d been able to slip out of places unnoticed, but the early hours of this particular morning would end that trend.

         in the darkened room she stood, hearing a set of footsteps stopping close. to hide ?? no, she was already past that option && in no place to kid herself. worst came to worst, she had her ways of influence. “this is significantly awkward.” she muttered softly in the dark to whomever had joined.

        The r a t t l e of surprised dishes was the only response to the statement in the dark. Then a flicker of lights as Quinn flipped the switch, a rather blanched expression on her face before it lit up with a smile, the hand on the wall returning to the tray of fresh coffee she brewed and little bits of food that she could find: some toast, bowl of fruit, cup of yogurt. She wasn’t a chef, obviously. But after last night, she figured that the redhead might need SOME sustenance.

Dr. Reed looked half dead as she leaned on her hand trying to keep awake. Even the scent  of the warm coffee did little to keep her eyes from drooping. After the horrors that had happened, Sky had spent a good week mostly unconscious.

Still she seemed to still be tired.

“‘M sorry. Can you repeat that?” 

       Quinn was never one to keep her nose where it belonged ... or whatever the saying was about minding her own business. It had to be difficult for someone who literally overheard every conversation ever. So, when she walked into the café and particularly noticed the woman slumped over, she decided after a beat to skip the line for now and slowly approach the table.

⚕┇OPEN

— ❝ Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit ! ❞ Marisol whispered to herself as she ran down the street, the curses coming out in sharp hisses from between her teeth. Frantically looking down at her phone, the time read 11:49 PM, & another curse slipped out of her mouth.

She hadn’t meant to stay out so late, & usually she was at home in bed hours before this, but she had slacked off a little at the zoo, spending a long while after it had closed taking care of loose ends. With some absolutely BRILLIANT thinking on her part, Marisol thought she could make it home before curfew, but with the minutes until midnight closing in & how far she had to yet to run, her odds weren’t looking so hot. In times like these, she still wished she had her car, but when you move half way across the world & can’t afford to bring said car with you, you’re between a rock & a hard place.

Her boots slapped down on the concrete as she ran, the minutes continuing to count down. She’d heard stories about what happened after midnight, of people disappearing, of bad things happening ( people had began reappearing lately, however, but bad things had followed them back, it seemed ). Marisol didn’t want to be one of those who went missing — who would take care of her beloved pets ?

Another look down at her phone showed her seven more minutes until the bells in the town clock would begin its ringing, & she was still nowhere near to getting home. Panic setting in, Marisol stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looking around frantically. A home with lights casting shadows in the windows stood on the other side of the darkened street, & God willing, they wouldn’t turn Marisol away at this time.

Looking both ways out of habit before crossing, Marisol came up to the door & began pounding on it, shouting, ❝ Hello ? Hello ! Please, just let me in ! Hello ! ❞

        There was just something about today’s TV shows that Quinn just couldn’t get on board with. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact they were just recycled gags and bloopers of the same scenarios that had happened in previous shows, which was why she refused to watching anything besides The Classics™ --- as she labelled them. Basically ( and presently ) she would only watch programs like Three’s Company, or The Golden Girls. Oh, and you can’t forget a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.