knife trick

@knifetriick·

His expression shifted, if only for a moment, to a despairing one. All he’d tried to do until this point was to be careful and toe the line between skepticism and blatancy. Ryan still couldn’t quite pinpoint what had landed him here; what trick had he done? Was it something he’d said? Whatever it was, the wrong person had found him and now he was here. “What are ya gonna do, sister?”

Jude hated to see people look so UPSET and DISCOURAGED to be in Briarcliff. It wasn’t that bad, not really, for those who followed the RULES. But there was corruption, so even those who behaved were often PUNISHED for things they didn’t do. She didn’t want to scare Ryan, though, didn’t want to make him feel AFRAID of his new surroundings. “You’ll begin treatment first thing in the morning - you’ll meet with our resident doctor, DOCTOR ARDEN. But for now, I suppose I’ll be giving you the GRAND TOUR of our establishment.”

“Darling, your brother isn’t home from school yet.” Constance called from the kitchen as she heard her daughter walking around in the living room. It was nearing three, so she knew Tate would be home SOON, but the school bus wouldn’t come by until three-thirty or so. “Maybe you could come and HELP me with dinner while we wait for him?” She didn’t count on it much - she was TOO MUCH like Tate, not willing to help unless there was a BRIBE involved. “It’ll make the time pass QUICKER, y’know?”

Tate had been in his bedroom for most of the afternoon. He’d been AVOIDING everyone - Beauregard had passed nearly a month ago, and it was so OBVIOUS that Constance had done it, but no one had confronted her about it. It was brewing within Tate, and he was about to have a goddamn MELTDOWN. When he heard his bedroom door start to creak open, the blond sat up in his bed and let out a low growl. “Don’t fuckin’ come in here, I’m not in the MOOD right now.” He sniffled, wiping away some tears from his face. “I don’t want to TALK.”

Tate’s addiction to cocaine had just recently seemed to peak, and it was what finally made him decide that it was time to take REVENGE on their classmates. As he snorted a line off the desk in his bedroom, he heard the door open. Looking up, the boy wiped under his nose and grinned at Callie. “You got the STUFF we need?” The plan hadn’t been talked about yet, not really, but a few nights ago in Tate’s fucked up state he’d made the DIVINE statement that they should just KILL EVERYONE. “I was able to get a couple things,” He murmured, moving over to his bed and crouching down, pulling out two semi-automatic rifles, a shotgun, and a pistol. “Ma didn’t even QUESTION what I needed the money for.”

Constance had spent most of the day waiting for Tate to get home from school, but when he came it wasn’t long before the SWAT team was barging through the door. She’d heard the GUNSHOTS, had seen her son’s LIFELESS body laying on his bedroom floor. Now she sat at the kitchen table with a glass of wine in hand, the nearly empty bottle sitting next to her. “Listen, you need to CLEAN up upstairs,” She said slowly, shaking her head. “I can’t - I can’t do it, there’s too much BLOOD... My PRECIOUS, baby boy’s blood... It’s got to go.”

Constance had been watching the moving trucks outside. She wasn’t too HAPPY about it, honestly - she didn’t like when new people moved into the house, it was something that always BOTHERED her. With Addie and a plate of cupcakes in tow, the woman made her way out of the house next door and started across the lawn, crossing on to the MURDER HOUSE property. “Hello!” She called, waving to the woman as she approached her. “Welcome to the neighborhood - I’m CONSTANCE, this is my daughter, Addie - we live next door.”

After watching the woman move into the house, Tate decided it was time to make his INTRODUCTION. He waited until she’d sat down on the couch to come strolling through the living room, going to plop onto the couch next to her. “Hiya,” He looked over, a wide GRIN on his lips. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” He loved fucking with the people who moved in - they could never figure out WHERE he came from, or how he got INTO the house - he found it funny. “I’m Tate.”

Elsa had told the girls that someone SPECIAL was coming to see the show tonight. They didn’t know much about Mr. March, only that he had a lot of MONEY. Dot saw him as someone who could get them AWAY from here, but Bette just saw him as an average joe coming to see the freakshow. “Look, there he comes, he’s early,” Dot saw the man driving up, and she had full intentions of getting to talk to him. “We’ve got to go and speak to him.”

Bette frowned, not too happy with the idea of talking to a complete STRANGER - strangers always made her nervous, she was too meek and shy. “We should just leave him ALONE, Dot, he’s probably just here to find himself a good seat.”

“Yes, I’ve been taking my medication!”  Tate jerked his shoulder hard to shake her off, taking a few steps back away from her.  “It’s a bunch of bunk.  It doesn’t do anything but give me dry mouth.”  But he’ll take them anyway in hopes that maybe one day, by the grace of a God he didn’t believe in, something inside his brain will change.  So far, no luck.  A misplaced twinge of guilt reared it’s ugly head in his gut when Constance brought up the distance that he placed between them in his older years.  When he was little, he’d jump at the opportunity to spend time with her when she was sober.  “Yeah, well, I don’t like the smell of wine,”  he shot.  “I’ll cook with you if you don’t drink.”

“Tate, it’ll help you eventually, you know that. The doctors always tell you that it just takes time.” But it had been a while, much longer than the doctors said it wold take, and Constance hadn’t noticed much of a change. Everything just seemed the same and she didn’t know how to help. “I haven’t been drinking today,” Okay, maybe one glass of wine, but that was a lot less than what she usually drank. “I won’t drink while we cook, I’ll make you that deal.” She nodded, flashing her boy a gentle smile. “Sound good?”

Elizabeth smiled meekly at Lana’s words but kept her eyes focused on the paper. It wasn’t every day she got corrected on her grammar. It wasn’t like her foster family were scholars in the least. “Sorry…younger…” The girl corrected herself aloud, as she rearnched and grabbed another colored pencil.

How odd something so normal to so many other children felt. To be in the same room and speaking to the woman who pretty much held the answers to things she only dreamed of learning was difficult to process.

“Eh…speaking Danish? Probably not…who knows though…it might come in handy if I don’t get my wish to be a stand up comedian. Think the FBI would need translators?” She looked up and asked suddenly aware of how odd it sounded. “That’s my second choice…if I can do comedy…I want to work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit…” Glancing around, she set the pencil down after a moment and focused her attention on the lady in front of her. “My third choice is to be a civil rights attorney…did you always want to be a journalist when you were little?”

Lana smiled once she corrected herself. It was obvious to her, just by looking at the house, that these people were not the most civil or smart - people who fell into those two categories did not live this way, nor did they allow their young children to answer the door, or let their house stay in such a mess. It bothered Lana, all of that, and a part of her pinged with guilt - a part of her that considered taking her daughter away from here, from this goddamn awful life.

“Oh, wow,” She nodded slowly, thinking about those options - they were all pretty good. “A civil rights attorney, that’d bring in a lotta money.” Lana looked up at the girl, head tilted to the side a bit. “I’ve wanted to be a journalist for my entire life, yes. My mother always used to say that I’d take notes at the kitchen table of what everyone was doing - that I wanted to report on what went on in kindergarten at the end of the day, things of that sort.”