seraphic

jonah: i told you! i don't remember

jonah: i just know i'm awful when i'm that drunk

jonah: can't tell who i remind myself more of when i drink too much: my real dad or my fake one.

jonah: and i hate it lol

jonah: h, i gotta learn because i'm going to be that chauffeur!! 💂‍♂️💂‍♂️💂‍♂️

helen: you could never be awful. harry would have told you if you'd fucked up, so the logical conclusion is that you're in the clear

Mads nodded, and maybe it was telling how neither of them wanted to press it further. All she could feel was relief, and there was no need to push further. They’d need… help, Chandler and whoever else was his victim. But the problem was gone, and Mads still had her shot to graduate on time. Mads smiled as she took the bottle, glancing at it for maybe a moment too long. “Thanks. Very convincing.” She chuckled before reaching over to her bag and slipping it in. If only she knew what she had just done to herself, if only she knew the truth. But, what was there to do than cherish her ignorance? “Hey, whatever happens. I bet you’ll get something totally different.” Sitting up, she rolled her neck before gesturing towards their door. “C’mon, let’s get dinner. I’m starved.”

when: after police statement / group chat messiness where: coffee place on campus? it’s a uni they’ve got to have one who: @ofhelens​

Harry brought their now-ready drinks over to the table Helen was saving, wishing she’d grabbed holders for the cups as her hands grew a bit too warm and she was forced to set the drinks down quickly. She’d insisted on the coffee being her treat, feeling bad about the burden her friend now carried of what she’d told the police. Helen had only told the truth, and if Harry thought about it, she had to come to the conclusion that Helen might be the only one who really had. Then, there was still the nagging possibility that there was more to Helen’s experience of all this: that strange instinct Harry had felt since November that told her something wasn’t quite right. But she wanted it to be right. She wanted, more than anything, for Helen to be exactly the girl Harry thought she knew. But she couldn’t leave it alone yet.

“How are you doing?” She asked with concern in her voice, waiting for her coffee to cool. “It was absolute fucking bullshit the way people went after you in the group chat, by the way. They’re not continuing to say it to your face, are they?”

Helen couldn’t put her finger on what was amiss. Perhaps it was Jonah’s texts - the way he had implied that something had happened the night of Orson’s death. Something shared between him and Harry. Something neither had thought to share with her in the months since. Or maybe this was her slow descent into madness, paranoia spiralling out of control. Either way, Helen gripped her coffee a little tighter than she might have had otherwise, offering Harry a manufactured smile. “There’s no need to worry, really.” God, she was a terrible person. Harry was just checking in...and here she was, concocting conspiracy theories. ”Josie doesn’t really speak to me in real life. Besides,” blowing on her coffee, Helen took a sip. “It’s not unjustified. I did mess things up for everyone.”

“Are you sure about that? You never wanted to try something something else?” he asked, curious. He supposed there were two camps among the cohort, those who liked Orson’s methodology and those who wanted change. “I mean you never know, Helen. Maybe you’ll unlock your inner Xena this semester,” he joked. Being Macduff was a good fit for him, the role was all Julian ever wanted at Alderidge yet his joy didn’t erase the unease he felt in the back of his mind. “Thanks, it’s definitely a step up from Ajax. It’s different…than what Orson would had done. I’m hoping Heidi continues shaking things up though. I’m excited to see what the fashion department comes up with for costumes this semester.”

“Nope.” It was easy to fall in love with the person Orson had made her into. Easier to pretend than confront the idea that it might be nothing more than an ideal. “I guess that makes me a small person.” Certainly among her peers, whose personalities towered over her. Snapping out of her melancholy, Helen pushed down on the hilt of the sword. “Or maybe I’ll accidentally behead someone. Either way - our final play will definitely close with a bang.” It was strange to think this was all ending. “Hey - I’m glad we finally got a chance to do this. Better late than never, right?” Smiling at his mention of costumes, Helen adopted a teasing tone. “I’m personally gunning for kilts. There are a lot of bare legs I’ve never seen.”

nate laughs and makes a mental note about asking heidi her particular thoughts concerning the witches. suddenly, the idea of dancing barefoot onstage along with saffi and grace is hilarious, and he definitely wants it to happen. “oh please, i’m sure willy would’ve loved the crucible. fear, lies, hysteria, and witchcraft are the exact words i’d use to describe the scottish play, y’know? a match made in…purgatory? hell?” nate shakes his head at her response, “helen, it’s literally going to be fine. try not to worry so much about it. i’ll keep you entertained from the wings when you’re onstage, or whatever, until you’re comfortable. it’s our last show. we’ve gotta give it our best shot.” nate smiles at her, but hearing jonah’s name makes him a little anxious, so he backs up for as second. 

“but uh, speaking of jonah….have you talked to him lately?”

.

Matching his smile with one of her own, Helen laughs gently. “Hell, for sure. I have a feeling that Abigail Williams would have fit snugly in one of Shakespeare’s plays.” Probably played by Zahra. If Orson had his way. If Heidi was casting - who knew? The uncertainty of Alderidge, which had always been such a constant, made her anxious. Nudging gently into him, she nodded in thanks. “I don’t deserve you.”  She wasn’t sure any of them deserved Nate. Had she followed that thought through to its completion, she might have felt guilt that they were the one forced to witness her witchcraft...but as it was, she dropped it; distracted by the mention of Jonah. “No?” Puzzled, she knotted her eyebrows. “Did he...did he do something?”

Mads’ eyes narrow in quiet distaste, yet she doesn’t press it further. She’s not too sure of the full extent Orson had on Helen. Maybe she was yet another starry eyed idealist, who wanted to believe he had the best intentions. But, good professors don’t target their students into bed. “Sometimes, I think about… Chandler and I get a little scared that maybe it could’ve been-…” She sighs and shakes her head, deciding to drop it. “Never mind, it’s done now. Hopefully.” She glances back down at her book, but the thought still lingers. Did he cast her out because she wouldn’t worship him, wouldn’t be as enthralled like Josie and Chandler? She looks over at the “prop,” and her naivety gets the best of her. “Oh, cool. Mind if I borrow it? It’s for the local playhouse.” She scrunches her nose slightly but offers Helen her usual smarmy half-smile. “Thank you for preserving my reputation. I went for the same as you, but don’t worry. I won’t come for your head when you get it.” It’s about time Helen showed her real skills after all.

Chandler. At the mention of her name, Helen’s eyes widened slightly. On the one hand, it was reassuring to know - that no matter how hard Mads chewed on her tongue - someone viewed Orson’s pursuit of Chandler the same way she did. But just as Mads had her reasons for dropping it, as did she. “He isn’t here anymore. He can’t do anything.” Helen was glad her roommate couldn’t glimpse the emptiness inside of her as she uttered those words. Without hesitating, Helen nodded. “Sure. Anything for the arts.” Scooping the bottle into her hand, she offered it to Mads. Out of sight out of mind, right? Perhaps this was what she needed, to be rid of her sins once and for all. “I doubt I’ll get it. Heidi can sniff out...well, just about anything I suppose. Reluctance included.”

jonah: honestly we try not to talk about that night

jonah: it wasn't our best moment

jonah: however, harry DID bring up a good point in the gc - anyone named as a person of interest isn't necessarily a suspect, just someone they think has more info

jonah: so maybe that's something to remind mads of when it seems like she's spiraling?

jonah: but enough about this... do you think it's going to be hard learning how to drive on the other side of the road???

jonah: y'know. for when we move to london xx

helen: what do you mean?

helen: did you and harry get up to no good after i left?👀👀👀

helen: there's no way anyone on that list killed orson

jonah: i mean, i've told you before, i barely remember anything from that night

jonah: and that's what i told them. that i was with harry the whole time, which is true

jonah: it's always going to be complicated with me and orson, i think...

jonah: but that's not important

jonah: you are. we are. that's all i want to focus on now.

helen: harry definitely isn't the type to ever sell you out

helen: does she remember what happened?

helen: i literally have no idea what to say to mads. it's so unfair. she didn't do anything wrong and yet everyone is on her case about orson.

jonah: could never be mad at you, period, let alone about this

jonah: you were being questioned by detectives

jonah: what were you supposed to do, lie to their face and put yourself in a position to get in more trouble later?

jonah: besides, sure, them knowing about the party makes it that much more complicated, but at the end of the day, they're just trying to find out what happened to orson, and we should... honestly be helping them to try and figure it out rather than getting in their way

jonah: regardless of how people feel about him, orson still deserves closure

jonah: we all do

jonah: i love you PLEASE tell me if people give you a hard time about it

jonah: not because i think you can't handle them yourself, i just have no desire to associate with anyone who would be cruel to you over something like this

helen: did you lie? not that you have anything to lie about...except the party, i guess?

helen: do you miss him?

there was a very fine line between pushing yourself to be the best you could be, and pushing yourself too far. hudson toed that line every semester without fail. he was a perfectionist at heart, and he couldn’t rest until he was confident he had all of his roles down. the only problem was, he was never confident. he always worked harder and harder, often going overboard closer to their performances. 

unfortunately, because he knew he would be going on as the lead this time, his nerves had already forced him to dig deep into the role. he was working on being off book, and he had scheduled extra time with heidi to work on his characterization. but what he was really nervous about were the fight scenes. julian was a pro; he would make the scenes look incredible no matter how bad hudson was. but…he didn’t want to be bad. he wanted to look like the broadsword belonged in his hand. hudson wanted to be every inch the fighter that macbeth was supposed to be. so, he had begun coming to the fab late at night to practice. he could be alone, and focus without anyone getting in his head. brandishing the weapon, he froze when he heard someone say his name. “helen?” he asked, turning to look at her. “uh, hey. just wanted to get in some extra practice. you too?” hudson asked, nodding towards the sword in her own hand. 

In every life she had ever lived, Helen had never found it hard to find common ground. Alderidge was no exception. Perhaps a few of her peers were, distant individuals who didn’t run in the same social circles as she, with whom she had exchanged few words. Hudson had always been one of those. And yet now, under the dim spotlight, in the witching hour, she had finally found common ground.

(They were tied in other ways too, by one fateful night, but neither of them knew that yet).

“Yeah. I can barely hold the sword, let alone slay the forces of Norway and Ireland in Act I.” Opening night wasn’t that far away - and she was falling behind. “Or,” Helen added on an afterthought, lips ticking upwards into a smile, “betray you at Dunsinane in Act 5.” Standing awkwardly, unsure of whether Hudson wanted to be alone, Helen indicated at the door. “I can - come back later, if you need to be alone. Or we could...practice together? I hear sword fighting is more effective when you have a partner.”

“Chin up,“ he grinned, placing his sword down on the empty table. “It’s the start of the semester and you’re still getting back into routine,” he reminded her. Hopefully, things would start to return back to normal for them soon. For now, the best thing they all could do was to have compassion for themselves. “You got this, Helen.”

“Four years of not paying attention in stunting class is really coming back to bite me on the ass.” Angling her own sword downwards, she let the point of it rest on the floor. “But Orson was such...a reliable caster.” For better and for worse, Helen supposed. “Congrats again on MacDuff by the way. The avenging hero is a really good look on you. I can’t wait to see what Heidi does with Birnam woods.” The fictional ones, not the real cloak that surrounded their school, the one that contained actual dead bodies.

Chandler cocked her head to the side as she listened to Helen divulge her boy troubles, nodding along as Helen explained behavior that wasn’t too familiar from what Chandler had experienced herself - except, in that instance, Chandler was the one acting distant. “My advice?” She began in a matter-of-fact tone, sitting up straight with her hands poised and ready to accentuate her words, “break up with him. You’re too young and smart and pretty to be with some boy who can’t tell his ass from his elbow.” Chandler didn’t hate Jonah, she didn’t even really dislike him. It was true they never got along as she had hoped, but she knew that Jonah cared deeply for Helen, and that was always good enough for Chandler. Regardless, Chandler would always be Team Helen, and if that meant giving a rousing pep-talk encouraging her to dump her boyfriend, if only to make Helen laugh, she would do it. 

“Also, that’s weird as hell. Do you want Lady Macbeth?” Chandler would be lying if the thought of playing the guilt-ridden wife of Macbeth, the true brains behind his operation, hadn’t crossed her mind. Of course, she preferred the titular character himself, as she auditioned for him, but there was something so intriguing about a woman who desires to be anything but. However, if Helen wanted the role, that would certainly complicate things. “Well,” she began in a playful voice with a mischevious look in her eyes, “we could go to The Anchor? Last time I went there was this cute bartender. He was kind of basic, but, fun to flirt with! You could always wingwoman me?” She wiggled her eyebrows as she extended her hand for Helen to take, ready to lead her off on a grand adventure filled with cheap alcohol and snacks covered in cheese dust, “whaddya say? Down?” 

Able to easily tell the difference between Chandler’s playful bantering and her serious side, Helen’s expression relaxed into a smile; knowing her japes were only in jest. “Well,” she responded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, “You deserve to be with someone who would throw the world at your feet and brings a smile to your face.” And isn’t your professor, she added silently. Another secret to take to the grave.

“God no. I have no desire to dip my toes into someone as chaotic and dark. No way I can pull that off. Not everyone is as talented as you. Actually, no one is as talented as you.” There was something mesmerising about watching Chandler up on stage - the way she shed her own skin to play someone so unlike herself so easily. It was beautiful. She was too beautiful to ever be deserved by someone like Orson.

“Alright - first round of shots is on me. Or whatever cute Sophomore we find fumbling with his fake ID and wads of cash.” Taking Chandler’s hand, the pair walked off arm-in-arm into the night, bundles of excitement and joy. “You should know that I am excellent wingwoman. I’m thinking about taking it up professionally.”

Five minutes later, and they reached the Anchor.

when: i want to change the beginning format but it looks good so you’ll all have to put up with my incompetence where: the lake who: @ofhelens​

He is well aware that he should be in class right now, but there’s little else he wants to do than look at Heidi in the face for an entire hour as she teaches them something. He’d seen her once since the audition and she’d given him a pitying look, the same one that she had when he stood in front of her on a stage and she had told him it wasn’t enough. The same one that made him feel like she was really looking at him, something deeper than the surface level of being a Knight, of being Mathias. 

Yeah, no. He wasn’t facing her again right now, not when smoking by the Lake seemed way more enticing. He’s chainsmoked his way through three cigarettes before he notices someone else sitting further down, and his feet get up and move towards her on its own accord. Being rejected for a role he was certain he was going to get: unable to deal. But pretty girls by the Lake? That’s more his alley.

“It’s way too cold for you to be chilling out here,” Mathias says, and then sits down next to her without asking because he’s entitled. And you know what? It’s nice not to be talking to his classmates about the fucking cast list, for God’s sake. “Want a smoke?”

Her head is chaos. She’s unable to separate one thought from another. They run into each other, her anxieties and her fears. But there’s relief too - gratitude that her peers didn’t point their fingers at her, or Jonah, or even Harry. This comfort is quickly smothered by Chandler, the fact her secrets were splashed across campus, the fact that she’s a person of interest in a murder Helen knows she isn’t guilty of. 

So she runs away. She’s always been a master of that craft.

Glancing up at Mathias, Helen’s heart can’t bring itself to summon its ordinary fluttering. It’s replaced instead by a cool rage, angry on her best friend’s behalf. “Temperature is subjective.” She doesn’t care whether that’s factually accurate or not. At his offer, she briefly shakes her head before reconsidering. “Sure.” Desperate times, right? A beat later, and she summons the courage to look him straight in the eye. “Why do you hate Chandler so much?”

jonah: don't worry about me ❤️❤️

jonah: i'm just... i don't know, i keep thinking

jonah: we all can be anyone we want to be, we don't have to be these people

jonah: and perhaps the person i'd like to be has bleached blonde hair !!!

jonah: kidding

jonah: anyways, how are you? if anyone is being rude to you about the party thing, i'll fight them

jonah: "you must allow me to tell you how ardently i admire and love you" xx

helen: they do say blondes have more fun 💇🏼‍♂️💇🏼‍♂️💇🏼‍♂️

helen: are you sure you're not mad at me? it's ok if you are, i really messed up

helen: they just got inside my head

Nothing about Ross felt right. His words were meaningless sentences strung together, an endless torrent that refused to stick in her head. His mannerisms were thick with ingenuity. His sword fighting skills were lackluster. This was a part Helen couldn’t lose herself in. Terrified, both of it being taken away and of exposing a side of herself she kept hidden - something uglier, something brutal - she did the only thing she knew how to. She tried. 

Slipping in through the side door, script in one hand, sword in the other, she darted through the wings, stopping only when she saw she wasn’t alone. Peering at the figure centre stage, she squinted. “Hudson?”