*/ californian dreamer

Women like Valentina were, in his eyes, to be admired for their tenacity and beauty, and feared for the way the way they could confidently break his heart if he was so inclined to hand it to them. It was better to come up with silly excuses to stick around than admit that he was interested in getting to know her.

"Ahh like a dark green," he stated, eyes on her. Dark green like the luscious pine forests of Montana. Her eyes were complimentary. Like the bark of fir trees, like mulch under moss. A dark green and her dark brown eyes and Mav would be dreaming of home. "Lak the forest heyur. Not sure I'm suited fo-wah yellows, but I trust ya judgement."

He averted his eyes then and looked around the room, an uncomfortable feeling creeping back in as he remembered where he was. "Ahh bet ya lak this kind of stuff, socialisin' and all that, yeah?"

Once she was finished with the mental notetaking of what to do next, she felt she could finally relax a bit and enjoy the party for what it was worth. She had her own personal vendetta against the settlement - there was a boy once upon a time that fell into their ideology, one she was friendly with, who had gotten himself killed eventually. But that was five years ago, maybe even more than that now. If anything, that just proved how long Valentina was willing to go for a grudge. 

She gave a little shrug at Maverick’s questioning, acknowledging that she heard him but was still doing her general sweep over the party. Valentina wasn’t actively judgmental on nights like this - it’s not as if anyone here had easy access to boutiques or the like, and this was supposedly for camaraderie, nothing more - but she tended to look at those who lived in the settlement like how one would watch animals at a zoo, with a curiosity in relation to their habits and whether or not they understood they were captive here. “I’ll take what I can get, I suppose,” she said, before turning back to Maverick. “How about you? Far cry from the farmlands, I can’t see this being your favorite scene.”

Valentina wondered sometimes what it was about her that prevented her from becoming the sort of grizzled realist like Margot seemed to her. Perhaps it was her own stubbornness that got in the way.

Her nose crinkled at the fate of such a piece, and she shook her head. “I can assure you that was not me,” she said. “I’d recognize something like that actually had value.” She sighed. “Not that value like that seems to matter here… well, it matters to me.” Spoken defiantly, she knew that it wasn’t like she could trade fine apparel for goods and services around here, but there were some things about the past she just refused to let go of. Style was one. It was so much a part of her that it felt like a betrayal to her own self to leave it behind. Besides, it earned her keep here. “I might be able to help,” she said, quietly, as if they were sharing a secret.

There was a rack far behind the others, that some of her favorites were hidden in. One happened to be a silk nightgown that the psychiatrist owned, the one who had the impeccably well-kept clothing that Valentina offered to fix and tailor essentially for free, just to get her hands on it. This one was a gift as a thank you - good timing, too, as the woman was killed about a week after the fact. “You can try it on, but it doesn’t leave this room.”

''Even longer?!'' Her voice visibly softer, dying out as she brought out those words with a choked breath. ''Ten years -'' she wanted to ask so many questions, as her thoughts ran through her mind with a speed even she couldn't keep up on. Her lips parted, her eyes wide as she stared at the other, but the words wouldn't come out. She was taken aback by the harsh reality. Like a punch to the throat, she choked on her own words.

It took everything, every bit of willpower, for Ophelia to tear her gaze off the other. In order to ground herself. In order to gather her thoughts and not freak out over the situation. She felt a headache coming on. Fuck, she desperately needed a glass of wine. It physically hurt her throat when she managed to speak again, after a moment of closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. ''W- what have you been up to all these years? It's no life living here, it's......it's Hell,'' she drew her own conclusion after everything she'd heard about this place.

So instead of going the pessimistic/realist route (the outlook she was comfortable with), she simply sat there in a mourning silence with Ophelia, waiting patiently until she could find the words and Valentina could feel she had something more to offer. “Yeah, that’s where the Hell Town nickname comes in,” she snorted. Even in the midst of the weariness, she still found a way to be her snarky self in some capacity.

“Doing things I always liked to do. It gets boring day after day, but I have my sewing. I stitch up clothes for people, fix or wash them when they can’t. Make some of my own just to practice. Sleeping, too, as this place will tire you the fuck out.” She paused. “A lot of people drink, but I think that’s a little too cliché for me.” Valentina took a breath, then aimed herself a little more in Ophelia's direction - the least she could do was give a frightened semi-newcomer some sense of community. That someone was listening. "What is it that you did before? What did you like to do - or even, what's something you wanted to do that you can try here? Hobbies, things like that?"

She watched Margot take in her space, and she puffed up with pride. There was something aged to it, some dust that had gathered on windowsills, the fact the single trash can close to the middle of the room was nearly filled to the brim with discarded fabrics and thread. She tried to save everything she could, as some people seemed to like the patchwork look, even if it made her want to gag at the sight of it. Maybe someday she’d grow into someone more hardened like Margot, someone who let go of the finer things in life, with a dog and a rabbit and boots thudding on the floor of another girl’s inner sanctum. But she wasn’t sure she’d ever get to that point; she was too stubborn to let go of these things here she loved.

“So how long did it take you to let all of that go?” she asked, pulling herself up to sit on her bed, her long blanket draped over the sides of it. Even on her worst days, at least she had her room, and all its comforting glory. One leg bent and the other dangled off the side, arms crossing in curiosity. "Or did you ever? At least, completely."

closed starter for @mcckies

How she had ended up here again was beyond her. Juliette was trying to make her way back to the boat and had been for how ever many hours now. She was still so uncertain as to what time of the day it was meant to be. The need to sleep pulled permanently at her but the fear of missing even just a sliver of sunlight kept her awake in spite of her exhaustion. Her resource gathering in the town had been somewhat affective, backpack full of enough food to last a few more days at least in the solitude of her boat.

The problem was that the layout of the town was nearly impossible to navigate without any light. Sometime she ventured out just past the last building only for the steady thudding of creature footstep to turn her around. There was just no feasible way for her to navigate the suffocating darkness that laid between the town and the dock without the certainty of getting lost and getting killed. She needed to regroup and rest, so maybe that's why she had entered the church. Once she was sure the door was shut, she felt around the dark room until she located the candle holder. From the back pocket of her pants she pulled a lighter and lit one of the candles before shrugging off her backpack and collapsing on one of the benches. She felt her eyes close and kept them shut, even as she heard footsteps enter the room.

"Sorry for the intrusion, hot pastor dude —I forget your name, I just really need somewhere to rest."

Not a single part of her had wanted to leave the safety of the church, of her candlelit refuge where she could sew or read or cry herself to sleep in the cushion of her bed. But there was only so much food left in the church’s stock and she felt that it was for the best to save it for the children. She debated just starving for the evening, having sleep for dinner, but she wasn’t even sure if it was dinner - the timing was horrible and impossible without a functioning clock. And what was the deal with Them - did perpetual night make them always out, or did they have their own circadian rhythm they stuck to?

Regardless, she knew the diner had to have something spare, and she had her stomach set on some fruit, jams, breads, things that would be easy to eat in the dark and could keep her full for longer periods of time. Ten years spent in Hell Town didn’t mean she hadn’t picked up on survival skills over time. She had walked fast and navigated as much as she could, successful in her plight. Leandro had been with the kids downstairs, so when she heard a racket in amongst the pews, she assumed the worst. Valentina had her sheers, positioned by her hip as she inched closer to the heart of the church. She knew they were a primitive weapon against Them, but it still made her feel safe.

How relieved she was when it was a woman, who just needed a place of refuge in the dark. Normally, she’d be pissed that someone would waltz themselves in here in the middle of the night, but this was a perpetual night and these were not normal circumstances. She had no choice but to be civil. “Not the pastor, but I’ll still take a compliment,” she said, leaving the sheers behind on a pew as she moved closer, trying to see if she recognized her. “There’s spare blankets and stuff, somewhere. Or are you planning on waking up with a stiff back and neck?”

There had been no interest or curiosity for Mav to ever set foot in the settlement. Like oil to water he just knew that the lifestyle of the people that lived here and his didn't mix. No, he was much better suited for the quiet ranch left, and, when that couldn't be met, a shoebox in the clinic basement where the creaking of the waterpipes was a surefire lullaby. But Shaw had all but been summoned here which meant that Mav had to attend. While the doctor appeared to have improve massively since a tree had fallen on them, Mav still had reservations about their safety. He would never admit it but there was always a bit of fear that if he left them out of his sight long enough another tree would somehow spawn and crush them to death. And that wouldn't be very good for Mav. One, because he cared very much about Shaw's wellbeing. But two, because Jude was such a hard ass already, God forbid she wrung him out even more. Hell, a wet towel was shown more mercy from her temperament in that regards.

Although the list of benefits to attending was dastardly short, there was a certain name on there that also somehow outweighed the bad. See, Mav had ran out of excuses to run into the seamstress and although he was of the opinion that he stuck out like a sore thumb, she was well suited to events like this in his mind. He would have loved to be more prepared and composed when running into her, but the maze that was the settlement had a different idea. And so seeing her for the first time was a bolt from the blue.

Despite his best manners he found himself eyeing her up in appreciation. And her hand on his shoulder did nothing to alleviate the hammering of his heart. He cleared his throat. "Ya look... good too," he started, "as pretty as a pitc-shur." Though no photo would do her justice. "Though aah've to ask if ya made the inner seam of mah shirt tighter o-wn purpose? Aah can barely move mah arms." A pause. "Err ya enjoying yerself?"

“Aw, how sweet!” she smiled, giving a little twirl so that the ends of her dress could flutter a bit. Black seemed to be the right choice of the evening, seeing as how many people she saw that looked a bit too burlap-y for Valentina’s sake. But she loved compliments and would never turn one down. Though at his critique, she was alert - given her entire personality and temperament, one would assume someone like Valentina was horrible at taking criticism - and to an extent, she was - but this had to do with the craft in a different way. She must have taken in a seam when she shouldn’t have, or assumed his arms were smaller than they were. It was more than likely the latter, as she did take the careful time to measure. 

“I can fix it,” she mused, staring at the fabric. “Add a stripe along the underside or something, to give it an extra little flair. What’s your favorite color, Maverick? You strike me as like, a green or yellow kind of guy. You’re a gold, not a silver, I think, so something along that color palette would be so helpful.”

Parties were easy to get lost in. If there was one thing that Joel enjoyed more than unraveling in his paintings, it was getting the chance to fuck around with a pretty girl or two. He didn’t tend to linger for longer than a few hours with them, but just enough to enjoy himself, make them happy in some way, and effortlessly depart. No promises of another time, or even seeing each other again. Just live by the moment and enjoy it while it lasted. That was his defining romance, though he had often yearned for more. Granted their… death? upon entering Arcadia, all yearning of finding more became moot. “  How much of the rumors do you think are true?  ” he asked, taking a sip of his - whatever the fuck they put in the container - drink and turning towards his current partner in crime. He couldn’t be caught dead hanging around alone in that house of horrors.

A small compact mirror was really all that could fit in the tiny handbag she had, and she dabbed a bit of gloss on her lips as she heard a voice from a man behind her. She had positioned herself against the wall somewhat, a quiet observer to all else going on. “About what?” Valentina asked, shutting the compact with a click and giving her full attention to the stranger - where else would she put it? “Spill, handsome, if there’s some sort of gossip in this place, I’d like to be one of the first ones to know.”

The longer Dilara listened to the girl speak, the more irritated she became. It was the same as talking to a child. A bratty, entitled, snob of a child, but she was far too grown to entertain and stoop down to her level. So while the girl went on and on complaining about something that could have easily happened to any one of them, and likely had to her too, Dilara couldn’t help but think back to the sound of her child’s voice. How sweet and innocent it had sounded, so close in tone to the evading sound of Emre’s, despite it coming from one of those things. It still left her curious to find out the source. Dee had a plethora of questions festering inside her mind. What did they look like? Was the smile as odd and sinister as others made it appear? And lastly, how powerful were they really? If they could so easily take over a person’s mind. 

She shivered, shaking herself back to the present interaction, and gave an exasperated sigh. “  Just because you feel entitled to a response does not mean that you’ll get one from me. I am not some little girl you can bully into compliance because you’ve been here ten years. Congratulations. Or would it be, my condolences, instead?  ” The entirety of this interaction was more draining than the town itself. Dilara had dealt with girls like this plenty of times in her lifetime. Growing up in the high society of New York meant she’d met plenty of versions of this girl. By Dilara’s age, it was more annoying than irritating. “  You deserve nothing as far as I’m concerned.  ”

But who was she kidding; it was only dormant, never truly gone.

“Condolences are just fine, thank you,” Valentina said, generosity dripping from her tone, the only thing to focus on instead of the woman’s words. Regardless of what she said, Valentina didn’t believe that if she didn’t walk in on her tugging at the curtains, she wouldn’t have let whatever was out there in. It was a very specific, very unique approach They had, one that had that delightful personal touch of hell with it. Still, after all these years, she saw Robbie, and had long since stopped seeing her family members after she began to wonder how they looked as they aged - their faces were faded with memory, and it’s not as if she had pictures with her to remind herself. Those remained on a phone that no longer worked, that was cracked from the accident anyway. “Are you done?” she asked, picking at the split ends in her hair while the woman complained. “Onto things that matter - someone hopefully gave you a rundown of how this place was? Or did you just not pay attention? Otherwise, I'll fill in the blanks.”

It was easy to see the girl was upset, but the harsh tone used forced Dee to snap her face towards her. “I don’t owe you a response, nor do you decide where I choose to find shelter. Last I checked this was a church. My business stays between me and the good Lord above.” While she could easily understand being scared of a stranger opening the door when monsters waited beyond, Dilara was not about to let some little girl speak to her in such a manner. Nobody deserved to be spoken down to for a lapse in consciousness. Especially when the world outside was as screwed as this. What was she going to do? Open the door and kick her out? 

“It wasn’t my intention to put anyone in harm's way, nor was I opening the door. There’s no reason for you to be disrespectful.” 

“Yes, but you don’t live here,” Valentina said. Though the woman’s tone was no longer upset, matching her own, Valentina was not one to back down. “So I don’t know who you are, and I deserve to know the person that almost killed me, now do I?” The eye roll that escaped her was palpable, even in the dim light. “I don’t think God’s in any hurry for a meet and greet.” Least of all with anyone in Arcadia. She looked the woman up and down, gaze steely and judgemental - it was too late, and she was too tired to even attempt to cover up her distaste. Though, she didn’t have much of an excuse when she wasn’t any of those things. 

“I don’t think either of us will care much how I spoke to you if we end up dead,” she stated, plainly, then sat on the pew closest to where she was standing, resigning herself to essentially be on guard duty tonight. “I’ve been here for ten years and I was woken up by a stranger, so if anyone’s being disrespected here–” She gestured over to the woman with a passive aggressive smile.

Raising a brow, Rosa couldn’t tell if she was threatened or impressed by Valentina’s skills of observation. It was usually her forte, and she enjoyed taking pieces of people and filing them away for later. For when she could use it - though she wouldn’t describe herself as manipulative, Rosa had always been selfish in putting herself first if she needed to. “I’ve never enjoyed fashion.” It was a broad statement, when in actuality, she’d just never gotten the hang of it. She’d never been comfortable in anything objectively feminine, but had never quite nailed a more androgynous style. Apparently, it was obvious. “Do you make a lot of stuff for the people here? If you can find me something I’d be comfortable in, I’d be thoroughly floored. And… grateful. I need something that’s - mine, here.”

The church wasn’t too far away, and Valentina was a fast walker. She moved as if she still had purpose to her day, not in the ambling, directionless way others seemed to. In a way, she did anyway - she always had clothes to wash and fix, fabric to go and find, things to do while daylight was still around before the night fell, and it became impossible to do anything but plug her ears and try to sleep. After the nightmarish week or so where she kept seeing Robbie, she had gone back to her usual ministrations with a vengeance. “It’s not for everyone,” she said, but it was spoken with an air of betterment. It’s usually how she spoke about fashion, but she barely noticed anymore. The church was just ahead, she could see that back door that led to her “studio”. 

“I do now,” she said. “I didn’t for a long time, there was a seamstress before, but she passed away about five years ago and I took all of her stuff after. Now I just like to fix things up, make stuff extra from any fabrics or whatever I can find.” Some materials were a bit exotic, and difficult to sew with, but she was learning. It was the most annoying schooling she could think of, but it was effective. “I’m sure I have something in there somewhere that’ll catch your eye. I have a few racks of spare stuff.”

"My knife slipped," she offered. My mind slipped. The nine years of this town had finally started to make craters from the fissures in her sanity. She wouldn't get into that with Valentina now. Maybe another day, maybe when she felt better (if better was even a real). The thought of a hot shower was the most enticing thing in the world and Charlie was quick to nod in thanks. "Thank you, and none taken, I know it will definitely make me feel better. Is it just through here?" She gestured towards a door.

But in no way would she allow herself to think that way. She knew herself, she knew she had a strong resolve when necessary, and it was always necessary. This frantic routine she had been keeping up for years was her saving grace. “Yeah, through the door. There’s some homemade soap in there - it’s not top of the line, but it works enough.” As she watched Charlie leave, she sat there for a moment, sighing and thinking. Her fingers could make easy work of the fixing that needed to be done, so that when Charlie was finished she had a nice new glove waiting for her. But she couldn’t shake that feeling, that there was more to the injury, and wondered where else the town would infest itself in the future.

At least Valentina had remained relatively unscathed. Among the few, still, who kept their heads at bay but Shaw knew that even the most resilient could be broken. It was starting now. Nightmares in a town already weaned by poison, was there simply no recourse but to simply live through them? To endure again? 

From their seat on the desk, they leaned further forward, elbows resting on the grain of the rough-hewn wood. Splinters of it bit against their skin, but it was a sensation that at least came familiar to the doctor. “N-No. No boy. But I see a ghost of my own.” How Shaw had thought, however incorrectly, that his would also be a memory that could be nailed and hammered shut. This town would not be nearly so merciful. “They all speak in riddles, then?” 

Their lips pressed together, gaze tracking the grain of the wood, how it had moved beneath the light. How it would not settle against eyes that had only gotten a fitful of rest. Moving. Always moving. “What keeps growing in this place?” They asked. The gears of their mind worked. Body at the cost of one’s life, the riddle had said. What else could be sacrificed beyond themselves? “In a place where hardly anything grows?”

The two of them were more advanced in their understanding of the new world than others. The idea of forceful amnesia seemed to be one of them, an idea most inviting.

"Alright," Valentina eyed them suspiciously, her tone suggesting she was expecting Shaw to follow up. What kind of ghost? Was it as personal as Valentina's own? Was this all some cruel trick of the past worming its way into the present? She snorted at their question. "I don't know, the only thing that seems to grow here is the population," she said, crossing her arms in front of her and wincing when the injured parts of her fingers brushed against skin. "But people don't bark."