when the 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲'𝐬 over.

   Jillian was ready to sit outside Joja again, flimsy cardboard sign encouraging people to shop local clasped in her hand, when an unfamiliar person spoke out to her. Jillian stopped, and stared at her for a beat, before raising her eyebrows, sounding more concerned than annoyed — a phenomenon that was sure to end soon.   “   Is ... someone looking for you ?   ”

   “   Alex !   ”   Jillian balked as he dashed past her and back into the house, voice rising in octave and level in concern as the command to not run into a soon to be burning building died in her throat once he disappeared past the doorway. She watched as the water did very little to contain the flames, spreading on — they got bigger, but she was frozen on the steps of the porch, her mad dash to stop it halted in its tracks by the ineffectiveness of his measures and the paralyzing worry she felt. What had she done?

Jillian stared proudly down at her collection, and she smiled slightly to herself, but she snapped out of it rather quickly when a question broke through her mining memory induced trance.   “   Uh, the mines ?  ”   She answered a little awkwardly. There was a moment of dead silence before she elaborated.   “   There were a few deposits way down. Some of them were tiny and I got all of them here, but there’s still a little bit down there.   ”

   She’s about to take up more ammo and continue hurling things at his house when she sees a flash of light move down, and then hears a crash. Oil spilled on his porch from the lantern, the toilet paper soaked in it .... a flame grows bigger and bigger, spreading across the trail left on the wood.   “   Oh my god, Alex, your lantern !   ”   Meanness and anger were gone from her voice, replaced with concern and panic as she drops the egg carton to the ground with a splat, rushing towards the porch ... unsure how she will, but still determined to put it out. The fire however, has other ideas, as it continues to grow bigger. 

   Jillian stared at Koa’s fist for a long beat, and she’s heavily considering leaving him hanging ... before letting out a deep, exasperated sigh — one punctuated with an eye roll — and gingerly tapping his fist with hers.   “   Noon. On the dot.   ”   She emphasizes, before turning back to the geode.   “   You don’t need to waste your half on making me a bracelet.   ”   She mumbles, picking up one of the halves of the geode. It’s heavy, and she runs her fingers over the inside before setting it back down on the table and picking up the other half, giving it an equal investigation.   “   You know the myth surrounding these ?  ”

   Jillian doesn’t believe her. She believes that Malia believes it — that she deserves the way she’ll find to enjoy life. If she finds one. And to Jillian ... that IF feels ginormous, and much more like a taunting promise of its own uncertainty than a genuine maybe. Jillian looks at her, and she sees the past, stretching for all the miles the valley reaches behind them. What do they know about the future? Jillian scoffs, in gentle disbelief, shaking her head wryly at Malia.   “   What I deserve,   ”   She falls back into silence, almost lost in thought. Nothing. She thinks, and that’s what she believes. The silence breaks, voice louder than the soft tone it had taken on. Making her way to the stairs of the saloon again, still stumbling slightly,   “   What I deserve is another drink.   ”   There’s a mock cheeriness to her voice, though it remains mirthless. With another glance back at Malia, the door to the saloon is opened, light spilling out into the darkness that they stood in ... and it’s closed, Jillian inside, taking the light and chatter of the patrons with her. 

   Jillian scoffed, though it was more gentle than mean, seeming as proud of herself as she had painted them to be a moment earlier.   “   I think you think you’re clever,   ”   Jillian says, swatting their hand away — albeit playfully — after a nudge on the shoulder. Maybe this is momentary, how comfortable she feels ... it’s momentary certainly, that she’s allowing abrasive outer shell to crack. But the thing about momentary feelings, however fleeting they may be ... is that they feel good in the moment. Right now: Jillian feels good.   “   Banjos are guitars for people who have a favorite granola. You know what   ?   ”   There’s a pause to reconsider.   “   Banjos are guitars for people who know what granola is.   ”   She’s trying to come up with a way to defend the likes of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun against Landslide or the Chain.    “   It’s about a universal song. Like ... you listen to the Peas when you want banjos. Or Fleetwood Mac when ... depending on the song. Depending on the song doesn’t count with Time After Time. You can listen to it when you’re happy, sad, tired. Morning, noon, night.   ”   She shrugs her shoulders, giving Finley a pointed look with the newfound emphasis in her tone.   “   After fighting someone on a beach right before their concert.   ”

   Some people would describe hometowns as ghost towns — a place filled with fragments of souls they once knew, empty of purpose or meaning in a newfound life. Jillian felt the opposite: the Valley was so alive, that she was a ghost wandering through it. She kept seeing the life around her, bearing witness to grass growing and wind blowing and animals and people all around with hearts beating. It was like the earth was breathing, sometimes, and yet, she wasn’t.  Now at least, the world isn’t spinning because of the passage of time or for waxing poetics comparing the living to the dead. She’s drunk and she’s tired and she’s sad.   “   Well, at least some people have figured out how to have fun on the ride,   ”   Jillian muses, unsure if she’s making sense.   “   I hope you can.   ”   It’s the nicest thing she’s said all night, maybe since all those years ago. She pushes up off the wall, giving a shaky nod to her, as if she’s considering a departure.   “   I mean it.   ”   

   Jillian was feeling unusually philanthropic — which, to any normal person, would probably just be described as kindness   — which meant the minerals she had found in the mines were being donated to the spa. She didn’t want to make the trek over there: thus, Athena functioned as a link.   (   What ? Philanthropists didn’t need to travel.   )   “   It’s important,   ”   Jillian emphasized, with the utmost seriousness, despite the lighthearted nature of the surprise. She finally rounded the corner to the side of the general store, where she usually cracked open geodes and ore when she didn’t need to go to the blacksmith .... a neat collection of chunks of mineral deposit laid out on a picnic blanket.   “   Ta-da,   ”   She said dryly, though secretly she was excited to share. 

I'm a ghost  Walking on an empty street No name anymore No need to call for me I'm a long-lost hometown hero Late to legendary past lives within me If I had the offer to do it again Make me invincible, invisible, or brain dead If the body and the life were two things that we could divide I'd deliver up my shell to be filled with somebody else

   She’s about to throw another egg at the door, when she sees it swing open and an egg land squarely on Alex’s face. She gasps, almost letting out a reflexive apology, before biting her tongue. She’s not sorry, and she won’t say so. Jillian, in rejection of Alex’s objection to being egged in the face, hurls another egg at the house, though pointedly away from him, this time hitting the timber siding of his home. Then, she takes the toilet paper and hurls it back at the house, sening another toilet paper trail over his house. 

   She wants to object to the fact that she has any semblance of a sour toned nature, any idea that a glare could possibly be connected to her face ... but she knows they’re right, and she has to internally debate whether or not she’s going to push it. Of course, because she’s Jillian and because they’re Finley ... well, she has to.   “   Yeah, maybe. Like how you always have that stupid smile like you’re the most clever person in the world on your face,   ”   Jillian suggested, ignoring their defenses. However, something more intriguing than facial expressions is the discussion of favorite songs, which she uses as another opportunity to discuss assumptions. However unfair they may be.   “   What, did you think my conceptual-y glaring-y   ”   Not a word.   “   ... face means I have to listen to death metal   ? At least I’m not the Peas number one fan. Strum any banjos recently ?   ”   Now it’s her turn to smile, eyebrows raised in wait for a response.   “   Cyndi Lauper is way better.   ”

   Jillian stiffened, stapling yet another poster on to the bulletin board, now looking quite covered with ads for the Mercer’s store.    “    Yeah, you probably should.   ”   She spat, and she’s about to drop it, when she decides that she’s far too annoyed.   “   You know, you have some nerve coming out here in the sweltering heat, when I am trying to put up ads, probably doing to fucking ... die of thirst or something, and acting like you care about me.   ”

   Jillian never woke up early — she just thought it made her sound more serious.   “   I don’t know,   ”   She mumbled.   “   Like noon ?   ”   She was still busy inspecting the thunder egg, listening as he added another thing, and another thing and another thing — until she cuts him off, exasperated.   “   Yes ... — I’ll call you ! Fine.   ”   She falters.   “   I don’t ... have sleepovers.   ”   She said. She liked being in her bed, at her house, with Brioche in his cage across the room. Where she could sleep until two the next day.   “   Maybe I’ll cut a piece off of it and make a necklace or something. Sell the rest.   ”   She looks at him, eyebrows raised.   “   What ? Do you want some ?   ”

   She was angry — their conversation earlier in town hadn’t gone well. At all. Her fury was not necessarily reignited ... but redirected, from Sasha and Joja to Alex and Joja. With her: a carton of eggs she was supposed to throw out because they’d spoiled, and a few rolls of toilet paper purchased with her own money. From the General Store, thank you very much.They were tucked under her arm in the cloak of evening as she journeyed into the Cindersap forest, with a one track mission on her mind. The only solution: to make Alex pay. Standing in front of his house, she hurls part of the toilet paper towards it, watching as it rolls off his roof, and she picks it up off the grass. Again and again and again, until his house is partially draped in toilet paper, she focuses on the eggs for a moment — chucked towards his house, one at a window, two at a door. 

    What was she like? She doesn’t like to think about things that happened last month, let alone years ago — more and more years, if she goes as young as they’re talking. It’s funny to imagine: a small her, glaring into the distance ... not that she glares that much now, no matter what Finley says.   “   I don’t glare,   ”   objected Jillian.   “   And I was ... I don’t know, a kid. Kids are weird.   ”   She glosses over it quickly, not the immediate shrivel up or shut down, but an awkward movement forward in the conversation. She hates to admit it — but it’s nice to talk to them like this. Without worry of her infinite annoyance and complaints, or their willingness to aggravate that annoyance and elicit those complaints. She exhales, rapport somewhat back with a conversational shift.   “   Take on Me is iconic,   ”   She relents, remembering the drunken distraction honesty she’d utilized for ... dip. Memory is hazy, and she’s sure it was humiliating enough with a dance punctuating the end of it.   “   But the best song in ... ever is Time After Time. Cyndi Lauper — say a word making fun of it, and you’ll know what I did to Sasha first hand.   ”   That uncharacteristic brightness is back in her eyes, one that almost faded completely in discussion of who she was way back when. Jillian now, at least, still loved the same music.