brittle you were,

She didn’t sound terribly okay, but Ash didn’t press on, not wanting to do the opposite of making her feel better and he’ll find out when he gets to hers. “Okay, say no more, I’m coming over, one familiar face ready for delivery,” Ash chuckled, the beep from his car unlocking interjecting. He’d worry all the way over but he’ll try not to let that on to Ophelia. 

“Caramel popcorn sounds great, I’ll get some popcorn on the way,” Ash nodded putting her on the speaker before driving off, into the familiar route he knew too well to Ophelia’s. “No rush, I’ll pick the best microwave popcorn bag,” he promised even if his speed was picking up, 70, 80, dangerous for New York streets. “Do you want me to stay on the line with you for a bit?” He offered, not too keen on letting her go back to being alone, “I could tell you about Tammy trying to put me on tinder recently.”

“you don’t have to.” which was always code for yes please, but she could not live with herself if she didn’t offer ash at least a polite means of dipping out and taking a break. if not for the few minutes before he had to see her face to face. she made a note to pull her hair out of the ponytail it was in once she was done cooking, lest the scar on her neck still be visible. 

"i’ll start the caramel.” finally, something familiar for her hands to do, put sticks of butter in a pot and stir gently until they melted. add brown sugar once she had a beautiful bubbling gold. easy, the task immediately took some of the fray from her voice. a focus, how ever slight, towards the good still left in the word. “he put you on tinder?” her own knowledge seemed to be  made up of exactly the same handful of apps and references that tammy shoved on all of them, but she couldn’t recall what exactly it was supposed to do. “it’s for meeting? did you meet anyone nice?”

Vaughn had begun to relax a little, settling into his seat. Ophelia was quiet and kind, not nearly as overwhelming as the rest of New York, rushing by – it was easy to feel at ease around her. He could even muster a shy smile, nibbling at the edge of the brownie. “Yeah, it’s – peaceful in here.” Releasing a shuddering breath, he decided to risk a little boldness; it would be easy enough to pass off as polite conversation. “Do you come here often?” The question was tinged with shaky apprehension.

For once, Tammy was dressed halfway casually, in a patterned button-up and jeans. Without clients to impress, he could afford to relax a little – though he still arrived at Ophelia’s brownstone at precisely 10am, Joan’s lead twisted around his wrist. “Oh – I think I might’ve made it once or twice with my mother.” He trailed off, leaning down to unclip Joan’s lead so Ophelia didn’t have to see how his face fell. “But she wasn’t nearly as good a baker as you are.” Her nerves were obvious; he’d decided almost as soon as they were more than acquaintances that he’d have to be the confidence for the both of them. “I promise I won’t burn the kitchen down.”

Ashton and Ophelia were bonded by something unexplainable to anyone else outside that hadn’t gone through what they had. He understood the bad nights she had, she understood the flashes of pain that haunted him. And that meant the phone wouldn’t have to ring more than twice before Ashton picked up her calls. He promised he’d be there for her and he will keep that promise. 

“Ophelia?” Ashton answered, but the moment she spoke, he knew, and he was already out the door and to his car, “yeah of course I can. I’m on my way. Are you okay? Do you want me to bring anything?”

“i’m okay, really i am, i’m—” there was no way to explain what had happened to her over the phone, more over there was no reason to worry ashton with the trouble she’d found herself in. she would simply keep away from strange art galleries, and strange men, and strange everything. the world never was an oyster, not really. “i just, i’d like a familiar face.” and so often that was enough, to see that there was someone still good. to know that she was not wrong about everything.

there were some nights that were simply bad. there was no polite name for them, no kind way to describe the beating of her heart in her chest. and with a still healing wound on the back of her neck, making every movement just the bit more of a struggle, she was not so inclined to think positively. stabbed in the middle of an art gallery, by a stranger. to think after all this time the world had not changed so much as to leave her uninjured. she should not have bothered him, but the phone was ringing anyways.

she knew how her voice must have sounded over the speaker, so small and weak, crackling from the bad speaker. “if you’re not too busy, i’d—i would like,” but she was never good at being an imposition, she wanted to be mutually helpful at worst. and this was so much worse. “did you want to come over—watch a movie? you can pick.”

10 am on the dot, ingredients already measured out. it was no matter that she’d been up since 6, cleaning what little there was. organizing as though the brownstone wasn’t already spotless. there were never guests, not really. there was only ever ashton. and now tammy. steps to the positive. “i know you’re still learning but—have you ever heard of a hummingbird cake?” a classic as far as she was concerned. one of the few recipes that were ingrained in every little girl, should they want to grow up and marry into a nice house. “it’s not so bad.”  she wrung her hands, tried her best not to stutter. “i’ll show you.”

“Sorry, was that offensive to your Southern sensibilities?” With anyone else it would’ve been a challenge, but for Ophelia it was more of a joke, Tammy’s tone coated with the fake concern his mother had taught him. “Are you sure that won’t be too early?” He knew most people tended to sleep in on a Sunday – his version of sleeping in was waking up alone, getting to have the early morning to himself for once. Taking Joan for a walk in Central Park, if he managed to wake up early enough. “I’ll drop by around ten, if that suits you – and would you mind if I brought Joan along? She’s not big enough to get in our way.” Which wouldn’t stop her from trying, but she could be easily placated.

“no.” definitely not. a side effect to going to sleep early, simply because she had nothing else to do, was waking up long before most of the city had. there was no such thing as too early, or too late, simply the endless cycle of time that she’d lost nearly all grip on. the broken time of the tortured—how things could fold right in on itself whenever it chose. but plans helped. “ten it is.” she looked at joan, smile finding easy placement on her face. “and she’s always welcome. i don’t mind the company.”

She probably didn’t mean that, not in the way he meant it, at least – but Vaughn still glanced up, hopeful. The fact that there might’ve been others like him had never crossed his mind, but somewhere in him there was an aching need for companionship. “Yeah, I guess it is,” he murmured, not wanting to contradict her. “Thank you –” two cakes, it was more than he could hope to eat in a few days, choking him with tears at the thought of how little he deserved it.

full name: ophelia edith chesterton, alt. ophelia hadley james

birthday: february 20th

age: 112, 27

zodiac sign: pisces

religion: southern baptist

religious level (1-10): 5; it’s been slowly waning

birthplace: chesterton, louisiana

current residence: manhattan, new york

height: 5′5″

hair color: blonde

eye color: blue-green

sexuality: asexual

romantic preference: demiromantic

relationship status: that’s ok

languages known: english

DETAILS—

car: none

phone: iphone 5c, dies quickly

music genres: whatever genre johnny cash is

wardrobe: soft pastels, wrap dresses, floral patterns, a-line skirts, hair clips, light material

estimated net worth: 500k give or take? she had way more but lost it

ransom value: :(

CONNECTIONS—

the following family members perished in a fire of unknown origin:

anse chesterton sr., father

hadley chesterton, mother

anse chesterton jr., brother

lula chesterton, sister

paul chesterton, brother

peter chesteron, brother

charlotte chesterton, sister

jim chesterton, brother

kit chesterson, sister

jasper chesterson, brother

new york acquaintances:

ashton finn ryder

tammy vanderbilt

LEVELS (1-10)—

drinking: 2; can hold her liquor, but doesn’t drink alone

swearing: 1; she’s a lady :/

smoking status: 0

drugs: 0

cooking proficiency: 8; tomas hire her

intelligence: 5; if that

emotional/social intelligence: 6; she’s nice

creativity: 5; too depressed

Vaughn glanced up when she stood, half-thinking she was going to leave. He shouldn’t have asked for it, it wasn’t like he even deserved the tart in the first place – but his breath caught when she placed the brownie in front of him. “Oh – thank you.” Looking at it brought back memories of his past life, before his muse: now he could see how he’d never been worthy of that life. “I don’t – I don’t deserve it, though.” Even those words came warily, watching her to see if he’d said something wrong.

“oh no, me either.” she twisted a corner of her lip as if it was supposed to be the attempt at a smile. two pastries was a little on the decadent side, but she was only trying to be a good host. forever ingrained in that little southern girl. “but that’s alright.” she made no motion to take it back, assuming he was just being polite, and took a bite of her own. “the point of a bakery is to indulge, right?”

It felt good to make her laugh, at last, even if it wasn’t as relaxed as Tammy would’ve liked. He’d take that brief moment of happiness, take the promise that more could be coaxed out. “Hmm –” he pulled out his phone, flipping through a calendar filled with appointments. “I’d be good with Sunday, I guess, not many people want a cheap fuck straight after church.” Well, an expensive fuck, but that was besides the point. “When’s the best time for you?”

“oh—” she glanced around, wondering if anyone had heard the joke. still forever a small town southerner it seemed; but when no one turned around with an offensive stare she smiled. “just come by when you wake up.” she didn’t know what time was too over-bearingly early. she woke with the sun, she was still learning that it didn’t mean that everyone else did. “i’m flexible.” which was the nice way of saying that there was simply no other plans for her day. sunday with tammy seemed busy enough. “you’ll probably want to sleep in.”

“I’m honored to learn your peach cobbler, thank you,” of course it was a double meaning gesture, wanting a chance to check in on her from time to time, but also a genuine admiration for her treats she made. Would be nice to actually make different food. “Had your fill for the year?” Ashton lightly teased, somehow feeling his own capacity reaching its fill but there’s a feeling that he won’t be able to stay away from such events for too long. “That’ll be a nice wind down,” Ashton envied the simplicity of it, glad it’ll be something calming for Ophelia, “do you want me to stay with you for a bit?” Between them it was as simple as a code for you gonna be alright alone?

she bit her lower lip, smile trying its best to spread across the her face. it was nice, to know that through it all, there was still someone to lean against in the middle of it all. “i uh—” she took a deep breath. there was some tie, to want to be with him. he who understood what she had gone through, how the pain could ring in the back of her head no matter the time. “you’re still working.” she said finally. the party, some blocks away, continuing on without the girl who caused the scene by being unable to breathe. to handle the public. “i’m okay. i could—i could use some time alone.” a few moments of just her and her humming white walls. it would be neither good nor bad. she was content to simply let it be. “come back, when you’re not on the clock.”

“Excellent!” Tammy was used to being the happy, bright one, not quite knowing what kind of darkness Ophelia carried but determined to be the light that chased it out, at least during the time they spent together. “I haven’t done any proper baking in ages.” There was a breath of nostalgia there, muted longing for a life he couldn’t get back – but he knew, time was just tainting those memories, making them less painful. “I’ll do my best to behave, but i can’t make any promises.”

“that’s okay.” she laughed finally, it was breathy and strained, an all together foreign sound. she knew that everyone tended to walk on eggshells around her, she had enough breakdowns to warrant it. but there were the few moments she felt near human again. “i’ll work around you.” as if there was any other option, between her non-existent schedule and tammy’s still vibrant life. “just name a day.”

“Yeah.” The word came out impossibly soft, a shy admission of a life that didn’t feel like his own anymore. Vaughn wasn’t even sure if he had a right to identify with that life anymore; the dessert shop felt painfully foreign, a place belonging to his former self. The person he’d always been trying to be – when everything was stripped away, here was his true self, huddled pathetically in a chair. “Uh… the brownies are really nice, but you don’t have to..” There was a flicker of hope there, quickly extinguished.

“a brownie. sure.” she gave a weak smile before standing up, returning to the counter once more. it was not that she wanted to give him anything he asked for, or that she was looking for something in return. it was because he remembered the brownies, thought that they were nice, that they were pulled from a better past. because the past was always better. “here you go.” she set the plate down, cluttering the table with her offerings of comfort. when in doubt there were always baked goods. “can’t go wrong with something to eat.”

“I don’t think its ‘just’ painting with words, but yeah thats the idea. All artists are telling a story we wish the onlooker to see. The medium doesn’t matter much to me though. Its all great and a testament to the human spirit.” She looked even more overwhelmed from when they started talking and he wasn’t sure he was helping matters much. He wasn’t sure how he could help in this situation. He had been told plenty of times that you can’t help everyone and that some people don’t want your help and all that. He didn’t necessarily believe that in its entirety but it had proven to be at least partially true a few times. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m just me.” He shrugged. He never really set out to be nice, just to be a good person in hopes that it would help others become the same. “So what brings you here?”

“my friend says i should get out more.” it didn’t matter which friend she landed on, there tended to be a similar theme running through out. that they need not dwell in her sadness, but simply pull her into a present thought. that there was something new to look forward to. and as they all tended to gravitate towards one particular passion, she thought it was worth a return in equal measure. she was never one for the visual medium, perhaps the change was in appreciating it. perhaps it was in simply looking at something and trying her best. “i’ve lost the spirit. as it were.”

The muse that’s locked away in cement, hanging by a thread in a state of limbo, leaves its impression on her. It marks her hand, the blood and the remnants of a defiled eye slicking over her palm from the way Sebastian only cares to use her as a napkin. At the moment, he sees very little more to her existence. From the way her voice croaks to her uncoordinated step, she’s as clear as a pane of glass and just as fragile. The knife moves with a flick of the wrist while he takes a step, recovering the distance she lengthened with ease, the stream of a regular conversation flowing. “Do you know the difference between the wrong place and the right one is?” he asks before the tip of the pocket knife lands squarely at her chest, dipping the fabric of her blouse, the opening of the ribs known without even feeling for it. One side can hit her lung; the other can pierce her heart. “Your actions.–What will you do to make this the right place, muse?”

she didn’t understand how she ended up in this situation, how she could have made such a fundamental misjudgement in walking into what she hoped would be a peaceful gallery. she’d been trying to expand, and look what it proved. that the world was dark, and hopeless, and had moved on without her leaving her stumbling behind. she could feel the knife cool against her skin, waiting for her to move, and all it inspired was the tears. she could feel them tumbling down her cheeks, silent after so many years of being provoked at the will of strangers. she knew that no matter what she chose, how she moved, the knife would be plunged in and she would be spitting up blood in a matter of seconds. she could go another hundred years without the copper taste in the mouth, but it never in the plans. “it’s the wrong place. that’s—that’s all there is.”