Flesh and bone

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Gaze firmly settled on the ceiling, Belva doesn’t notice the way that her sister watches her, doesn’t see the expression fixed on the other woman’s face. The blonde makes a small noise of consideration, the brunette undoubtedly having a point. Irma wasn’t exactly known for being peaceful, but still…even if the most logical assumption would have been that Irma had been the one to start the fight, everything going on made her a bit on edge when it came to her family’s safety. Blue eyes flicker to her sister’s face, firmly above the blood and minor carnage, perhaps even more shocked by the dazzling smile. It’s an expression she’s altogether unfamiliar with when it comes to the woman in front of her. “So you…fought the garage?” she asks, perplexed, although the injuries certainly make more sense. Perhaps a person would have some trouble taking Irma in a fight, but an inanimate object? A building, no less? Even fiery Irma was no match. 

Irma’s a flurry of movement, and it seems that their interaction is to be made up primarily of Belva blinking in confusion and concern. It isn’t until her sister stills that she thinks she realizes what the other woman has done, her comment confirming the blonde’s thoughts. “Oh. Oh, that’s good,” she nods, the blood on the shirt still slightly unsettling, but not making her feel ill. “You should probably put some, like, medicine and band aids on your cuts.” Whenever she was younger, that was always the first course of action, an unspoken rule that scars were not acceptable and to be prevented at any cost.

Irma can’t help but snicker at the way Belva words it, but is surprised by how relaxed the laugh sounds as it comes out of her mouth. Maybe it’s that she’s finally getting more used to interacting with Belva, all the misplaced anger and competition and drive that Dad always incited in her, that unstoppable need that would intermingle with the Fire always burning inside her, telling her she needed to do, and act and be more... and that always meant feeling envious of her siblings, their triumphs, their positive qualities. Now that Dad is gone and she’s back here without that pressure, maybe she’s finally ready to... well, not open up, but at least get to know her siblings. Or maybe she’s just happy she got to punch the wall and whoever’s car she ran into for an hour straight. “Something like that. And trust me, it wasn’t pretty for the garage either.”

Irma let’s her eyes linger in her long, thin fingers. Pianist’s fingers, that’s how the woman she used to call mother in her other life called them. And yet, their covers in little cuts and bruises, small scars, even some bumps. The physical memories of a life filled with aggression. She’s not too worried about what will happen to them now, they’ve been through worse. But if there’s one thing Irma detests, it’s pus. Or any other symptom of infection. So she agrees with Belva, she should clean them and cover them just in case. “Right. That’s kind of what I tried to do earlier, but I failed miserably.” The brunette explains, gesturing in the general direction of the garbage can, where she threw the messy bandages. She finally find a first aid kit and gets to work on them. “Maybe I can pour some whiskey in them, that’ll clean them up, right?” She half jokes, half asks.

the baby of the family, ever protected by a cloak as thin as a veil that was intended to stop her from seeing the monstrosities on the other side. how they didn’t know she had seen monsters before, she didn’t know. irma’s words made her feel a little queasy but somehow she knew already that no smart person would hide a dead body in their house. she wouldn’t want to salvage it even if it was. “yes,” she said, her hand pressed gently against her stomach as it turned upside down, eyes darting back over to the beautiful woman beside her that she knew. she looked at her and wondered if she understood how dark the days were becoming and how hard it was to see the light at the end of the tunnel. the whole world was changing in front of their eyes and vertmoor itself was falling to pieces the way she saw it. had she ever imagined a life beyond reputation and self importance? it pinched at her heart. “at least he wasn’t inside. i don’t think i could cope with anymore death around here.”

Irma stared at the other, her eyes studying her and her reaction. She ceratainly didn’t seem to be taking it as lightly as her, but then again, something was clearly wrong with Irma, so she couldn’t blame this girl. She looked delicate, like the little flowers that grew from the cracks in the town’s square pavement. She wondered if she was as resilient as those flowers or if she would simply die down in the next big storm. “Oh, honey...” she replied, it was meant to be sarcastic but it came out almost pitying. “Then you better buckle up, because seeing this mess of a town and how it seems to attract more dark matter every day, I think more deaths are still very much on the table.” The girl narrowed her eyes, staring at the oírle around them. To her they all seemed like vultures, moving around town looking for the next scandal to gossip about, as if the things that happened here were as strait as regular town gossip, about weddings and divorces and fights and whatnot.

Vertmoor seemed to be falling into chaos, which really shouldn’t have been that surprising, and yet…Belva still found herself surprised. Her mother’s mystery note was heavy on her mind, and as she combs her fingers absentmindedly through her wet hair, she is distracted enough to not immediately notice her sister’s disheveled state. “Oh no, they’re starting to really get on my nerves,” Belva agrees, forever the queen of understatements. It’s then that she actually looks over at Irma, and her blue eyes widen as her mouth drops open in alarm. “Irma, what happened? Were you attacked? Oh no, there’s blood,” she all but gags, averting her gaze, curious and concerned but not wanting to lose her dinner.

Irma stared at Belva with a kind of clynicak interest, analyzing her response to the statement and her posterior reaction when she noticed the mess she was. “Hmm, is that really the question you should be asking?” She inquires. “I think it usually goes more along the lines of ‘Irma did you attack someone? Again...’” she offered her a dazzling smile. “The answer would be no. Unless you really liked the wall by the garage, then you might be disappointed.” He admission was an afterthought and as her eyes focused on Belva’s horrified face, some weird, human impulse made Irma turn around and quickly run the tap nearby, carefully eliminating the traces of blood. She was surprised by her quick reaction and the fact that it truly had come from her now wanting to submit the blonde to the blood, she’s been through enough. These were the little things Mom used to tell her she saw in her. The good. Irma still wondered if it was real or just a trained reaction, something she knew she should do. “There. The bloods gone. Except from the stains on my shirt, those will be harder to erase.” She said with a resigned sigh, turning back to face her.

December let out a laugh, lowering the beer from his lips. “What do you think this is for?” Was that fair to say, though? Even after he’d left town, thought he’d gotten away for good, a bottle still ended up in his hand. Maybe it wasn’t Dad that had caused it, maybe it wasn’t that house. Maybe it was something deep inside of him that he should stop blaming his childhood for, something that couldn’t be avoided with happy memories and hope.

Irma eyes the beer with a shrug. “I don’t know. Seems to me like you’d need a lot more than some beers to forget about this place. Sadly. I wish this was like that weird It book and we could just forget about the clown that was dear old dad.” She commented with a little smile. She looked out the window at the setting sun. “Still, I think there’s a point where we just need to say ‘fuck it’ and accept whatever’s going to come next. Whatever mess is waiting to be posted on tomorrow’s paper and discussed in hushed voices while we walk around. Kind of let it happen and let it go, you know?” The brunette smirked. “Or we could resort to our current toxic methods.” She leaned back. “It’s kind of fun that we’re all screwed up but we all have our unique little ways of dealing with that.”

TASK viii || Favourite things

“You have a point.” Estelle sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically. “If they’re acting anything like that last one, I would wager that most of them can’t even read. The sign would do nothing.” She had always known that the foundation thrived in secrets, it didn’t change the fact that finding out even a fraction of those secrets was like a high. Nothing felt better. It was like being let into an elite club. No matter what anyone thought, if you were allowed into the inner circle, it felt amazing. Which was why Estelle acted the way she did. She was hardly a part of the inner circle ( though don’t tell her that ) and she held herself as though she was privy to everything. Maybe one day she would be.

“Are you calling me pretty, Irma?” Estelle asked with a flutter of her eyes. “Don’t go falling in love with me, I’ll only break your heart.” She teased with a smile to match. She knew that wasn’t the case but it was fun to give her a little sass every now and then. Taking a small step away, she eyed the cigarette but said nothing. It wasn’t like Estelle hadn’t smoked now and then, if the moment called for it to make here more appealing to whomever she was talking to, she was willing to pretty much do anything. There was no line other than the finish line and she would do anything to cross it. “I’d say my being here makes the foundation’s rejection easier. A pretty face makes a ‘no’ go down easier.”

“See? Some people need a more obvious deterrent. Like, say, a broken kneecap.” Irma replied casually. “Or actually knowing Vidal, but that one seems kind of impossible now.” It felt weird to call Dad that, but she felt it was right given the topic of the conversation. His so-called fans, who did not even know what he’d done or what he’d actually stood for, trying to force entry into the building, a place where he would never have invited them. She was now starting to believe Estelle was, in her own way, on of these fans. Or either Vidal or the place or both. Why else would you worry about protecting the Foundations integrity and secrets? Except this girl, unlike those vultures out there, actually had an in and a way to get involved.

Irma stood, dumbfounded, for about five seconds before replying, as per usual, on impulse and without giving her words a second thought. “Oh, that’s sweet, but I doubt you could.” Irma replied, smirking. “Call me if you ever want a fun night, though.” She added with a wink. Even so, she took a step back, taking the moment to try and think of a way to either end or change the conversation. She noticed her look and took another long drag of her cigarette. “You want one?” What Estelle said made sense and she knew it, after all, she had just seen that person leave with a smile on their face. “Makes sense, but sounds like a tiresome affair. Are you supposed to stand here and ward them off every day?”

Hearing about it for days after it happened seem to be a better alternative than living it in River’s opinion. Fair enough, it hadn’t exactly been clear. “I went through what I think was your room, though I didn’t have much to go off of, and climbed out onto the roof. It seemed like a good hiding spot at the time.” And considering she was never found and managed to get out of the house without losing a limb or her mind, she had been right. “When I was out there, I found it.” Pulling out her phone, River scrolled through some pictures until she landed on the couple she had taken of the necklace. Turning the screen toward Irma, she showed it off. “Like one of those princess dress up sets?” River had never had one herself, toys and dolls weren’t really on the docket for a foster kid with her kind of luck. “If it isn’t yours…whose is it? And why the fuck was it on the roof?”

“So you hid from the ghost.” Irma stated, more than asked, since the answer was pretty obvious. How could you even hide from a ghost, if those things actually excited? They supposedly went through walls and could obviously contact the Great Beyond or whatever the hell they went back to when they were stored away. “Well that’s fucking weird.” She simply said, bitting her nails as she considered it, a habit she’d long since broken and that had come back once she’d found herself back in the house on the hill. She noticed it after a moment and grumbled angrily, pulling her hand away from her mouth. “I don’t think I ever dressed as a princess. Not that I ever actively asked for it but even if I did I think it didn’t fit the... profile that I was supposed to be raised for.” She finally said with a shrug. “Maybe one of those ghost children left it there.” 

One of the biggest signs that Cassia was starting to get bad was that they would forget to eat. It wasn’t necessarily on purpose, they’d just get distracted, or anxious, or they’d just stare at the wall for hours and then realize they were supposed to have a meal. Or they’d just get so engulfed in their art that they forgot to check the time. Sometimes like now it seemed like it was a combination of all of that at once, that when Irma cleared their throat they jumped, realizing that they had been staring at their canvas for the past 6 hours.  “Oh…thanks,” Cassia smiled, “I actually still really love them, they make for good snacks.”

“Sorry!” Irma quickly said, grimacing. “I didn’t mean to startle you... How long have you been working?” She asked, a little worriedly as she moved to sit beside them. The woman could not help but smile back at the sight of Cassia’s grin, the expression feeling foreign on her face, but unavoidable. “Nice. They do, they’re pretty easy to carry around too.” She leaned back as she sat down. “What have you been up to?” The question might have sounded a little blunt, she supposed. She wasn’t great at interacting with people. or making conversation. She just didn’t really know how to do it, it wasn’t how she was wired, but still, she knew Cassia was one of the few with which she needn’t worry.

The blonde had gotten caught up in watching some soap opera, curled up on the couch and pleasantly surprised that the house seemed less busy than usual. Normally, she didn’t mind the company (depending on who it was, of course), but after a particularly intense work out and an hour long conversation with her agent about her availability and upcoming commitments, it had felt nice to just lay there and relax. So caught up in the drama unfolding on the television screen, she hadn’t realized that the afternoon had faded into evening, and she still needed to eat dinner. Pushing off the soft blanket she’d been wrapped up in, the blonde enters the kitchen with plans to grab the pre-made salad she had purchased after class and return to the show, but Irma’s presence interrupts those plans.

Her sister looks as if she’s just finished some sort of strenuous activity, the hair by her temples messy in the way that hair often was after someone had sweat quite a bit. “Irma,” she greets the other woman, a polite smile rising to her lips as she reaches into the high tech fridge and pulls out her dinner. Easily finding a fork in one of the many well organized drawers, she clutches them in her hands as she turns to face her sister, back leaning against the counter top. “Have you been out?” Belva asks curiously, trying to make sense of her sister’s appearance and why she hadn’t noticed her earlier in the day.

Irma stared at her for a moment longer, still analysing her movements. She noticed how Belva had decided to simply ignore her little... greeting? Jab? She herself was not sure what that had been, but of course her sister had found a way to graciously move past it and greet her like a normal person. As if anyone raised in this house could ever be normal. “Belva.” She replied in mock seriousness, then eyes her plate. “That’s what you’re having for dinner, really?” She asked, dragging out the last word as if expecting the other to interrupt her. “Wow.” She pushed her sweaty, messy hair back and her finger got stuck in a know of it. She pulled it out violently, not caring that a curl of hair came off with it. “You should be a detective, with those Sherlockian observation skills.” She teased, walking past the blonde to throw the lock of hair in the trash. “Yes, I was training. Felt like I needed to get some nervous energy out, this house seems to make it grow at twice the normal speed.” She finally said, an honest answer. “What about you?” It was anyone’s bet, in Irma’s eyes Belva looked put together even when she had no plans of going anywhere. 

She stands, fingertips flexed as she feels the strange sensation of what should be heat against her fingertips. Her siblings might believe that she simply doesn’t react to pain but she doesn’t feel it at all, how hard it is to care when you have no experience of the human condition. So fragile, so weak. She looks at Irma. Irma is an interesting person, someone amongst her siblings that she finds more challenging and full of life more than just a desperate reflection but she is still nothing more than a creation directly from the blueprint of their Father’s mind. “Perhpas they’re already dead,” she says, the last word ringing in the air as she moves to take a stride forwards, arms crossed over her middle as she stares up into the sun with a few sporadic blinks as her head tilts to the side, “You could kill somebody of course, if you wanted to. I’m sure the police wouldn’t catch you. They can’t do anything right,” she spins, now talking to her directly, their eyes meeting. The hint of a smile turns in the corner of her lips, “Which of our siblings would you start with, Irma?”

Irma can guess there’s something in Emilio’s mind, she definitely seems more introspective than usual. But she’s not about to ask about it, she hates it when people ask her, and she’s not sure she’s up to taking a dive into whatever’s going through her sister’s mind anyway. Still, there’s something about being near her right now that feels right, Emilio is someone who will act on whatever she thinks is better for her or simply on whatever she thinks of at the moment. “Do you think they are?” She asks doubtfully. She worries about Mom, not only for her life, but for her own guilt and how she’ll never get to talk to her again. Will she never be able to look into those kind, distant eyes and admit her mistakes? “I feel like that would be the obvious guess, which is why I’m guessing at least one of them is alive.” She steps back, she’s not surprised at the idea of her being capable of killing someone or even at the fact that her siblings seem to know this as a fact, but she was not expecting someone to actually say it out loud. She’s... angry is the first guess, of course, she’s always angry somehow. But this is not the case, she’s almost disappointed. After all the running away, she’s still the same thing she was raised to be. “Maybe one of the new bio kids, they kind of annoy me.”  She jokes half-heartedly, then looks at her, her eyes shining with adrenaline. “Why? Who were you hoping I’d chose?” She’s been dancing around the issue for a while, but suddenly Irma feels like she can’t keep it to herself a minute longer. “I want to tell you something. I found something in July’s room....” She waits, wanting to gauge Emilio’s reaction before continuing.