C A T C H E R

“I don’t need your help.” She spits out the reply before she can even think about what she’s saying. It’s just first instinct to deny whatever Annie says, no matter what it might be, or how almost nice it was. The thought of that statement actually being nice sent another wave of sickness running through her, she must have looked just as bad as she felt. There’s a moment where she thought she was just going to sit right in front of the door and wait it out until Annie went to the library or actually removed her- but she didn’t want that much of a fight. All she really wanted was so peace, what part of that was so hard to understand? “I just need a minute.” But she moved over just enough to stop blocking the path of the door, the only gesture she could do to call a truce. And then she says something that she’s definitely going to regret, and obviously going to blame on all the shots: “Is it quiet in your room?”

A flicker of approval furled out at the fiery remark, but it was quickly overwhelmed by frustration. What did Ingrid want? To sit here, until Annie was forced to remove her, or simply to make life tedious for the other? If she wanted to be manhandled that badly, she just had to ask. Lips quirked wryly, then softened at the other’s omission. A minute. So long as it didn’t turn into ten minutes, or an hour, perhaps she could wait. Not that it wouldn’t be annoying to do so. But the sad lump of a person moved leftward seconds later, giving her the space she needed to permit entry. Maybe harshness just wasn’t a tactic that worked with Ingrid. “Yeah, it’s quiet,” Annie replied, fighting a laugh as she pushed the door inwards. She was a quiet person, alone, and not much louder with Ollie. Walls insulated the room from most noise, though the thrumming of bass still broke outward. What else was new? She jammed her reading glasses on, powering the water heater for some tea. “You can, uh, use the bathroom, if you want, or sit on my bed. I don’t care. Puke outside of the trash can and you’re dead, though, Hawkins. You got that?”

“Parties? Uh, no–yeah–not my scene,” Cole shuffled awkwardly in place before slowly taking an earbud out, slinging it around the back of his neck. He figured that, by now, it was fairly obvious he wasn’t one for socializing, so it felt a little dumb that he’d felt the need to state it. He didn’t particularly like stating any true facts about himself–unless it was about something he hated.

He definitely hadn’t wanted to spend time with anyone else up here, but it was becoming exceedingly clear that it was damn near impossible to get alone time at this school. And he supposed there could be worse people to sit with. In fact, something about the offer of Pictionary was refreshing to him, though he’d never admit it. He was already so far removed from his childhood that something nostalgic like this almost sounded like a good idea. Or maybe it just sounded good because it had nothing to do with the party going on below them. 

Cole wasn’t even completely sat down by the time Annie started the round. “Fuck, wait–” He scrambled for a pencil and a piece of paper. He drew haphazardly for a moment, cussing under his breath. “You didn’t even wait for me,” he mumbled as he squinted down at his paper, suddenly deeply involved. He laid his paper flat on the concrete of the roof, carefully moving his pencil. He couldn’t draw for shit, but he was actually trying his best for once. It was funny: he only seemed to care when there was no use in caring. “I didn’t even…wanna play.”

Annie’s lips curled into the ghost of a smile, sprawling back on the ground with hand draped lightly behind her. She wasn’t sure what to make of him-- uncomfortable, yet prickly, trying so hard to make himself seem bigger than he was. But didn’t all of them? Civilians, plucked from disparate corners, made to become all the violence of the world. The rug of youth ripped out from them time and time again.

Maybe some of them weren’t innocent. So what? Annie certainly wasn’t. But that didn’t mean they weren’t worthy of compassion, or redemption, things which were so often denied from her. And while part of her nonviolence was a true shot at growth, the rest… she didn’t know. If she had so much as an inkling, it’d been so deeply internalized that it’d see the light of day as soon as the moon did. Talk about self-awareness. But her perceptions of others were some degree of acute, and Cole’s lapse into… something was not lost on her. “Hey,” Annie replied, softly, setting down a once flurried pencil. Lips chewed, unsure of where his mind had gone in reference to waiting. But that expression, flicker of hurt drowned by activity.... It was familiar. Like she’d almost invented the move.

“I’m sorry for rushing ahead,” Annie replied, looking upward to meet the boy’s gaze. “I should’ve waited, it was unmindful. That must’ve been frustrating for you.” She figured it’d been more, but didn’t say scary, or awful, like she’d wanted to. “You didn’t even wait for me--” Maybe someone else hadn’t. Or maybe part of her was just projecting. Still, better to be safe than to deepen wounds. “You, uh, don’t have to,” she replied, expression akin to that of a crushed puppy’s. But she shoved it down, instead prioritizing whatever he needed. “I’d never want you to feel like you had to do something you didn’t want to, you know?”

It was Annie’s door. Of course. She couldn’t catch a single break. All she needed as a single moment of peace and quiet, and instead the universe gave her this. Annie Cooper looking down at her with enough disdain to make her stomach twist just that extra amount. But she was stronger than that, she had to be; no one was allowed to have this effect on her. But, she wasn’t getting off the floor any time soon, that was certain. “I’m not leaving” Her voice sounded far weaker than it should, so she cleared her throat and looked up from her position. Quiet wasn’t going to come with Annie standing there throwing useless insults at her, maybe a quick brush off would be enough. It was highly unlikely but it was all she could muster. “You can step over me if it’s that important.”

Not. Moving. From. Her. Door? Annie stood, slack-jawed for a second, before running a hand through her hair. “It’s a pull door,” she replied, exasperated, “and I live here. So yeah, it’s kind of important.” Maybe where Ingrid was from, barring entry to other people’s homes was commonplace. It certainly wouldn’t surprise her. But from where Annie was standing, the fact seemed... off, in a sense, a strange pull gnawing up at her chest. Worry. But it wasn’t that. It was something a hair softer, just a little less gritty. Something she couldn’t put a finger on. Because maybe Ingrid’s appearance had been made purely of coincidence, but it was possible that she’d come here because she wanted... something. What did Annie know, anyway? Drunk people were governed by the inexplicable logic of need. “I’d rather not have to forcibly remove you from the premises,” she mumbled, a little softer, this time. “You look…” Bad. Worse than usual.  Like you’ve been hit by a dump truck. “Nevermind. I can… um… help you get up, If you need that. You can clean yourself off, sit on my floor, just please, please move.”

>> :// LOCATION: DORM HALLWAY

>> :// RECIPIENT: @phoenixannestuff

She probably drank too much too quickly, a likely outcome of raw nerves and the endless supply of alcohol that seemed to come from no where. She never thought Hudson would be so lackadaisical as to let students drink, but there must have been some convoluted reason for it- one that she didn’t want to think too much into. Either way, she had to step away from the common room and find cooler air., or else risk feeling more sick than she was right now. Which, stumbling into the hallway didn’t do too much to help, but at least it was less crowded. Maybe all she really needed was the space, a few minutes to wait for the nausea to pass and then she could go back; after all, the first person out at a party was not the title she wanted to have. She slid onto the floor, hands pressed on the cool surface while she tried to regain a sense of balance, of calm, of something- whatever was making her this unsettled. All she needed was a few minutes of quiet, which didn’t seem likely once she heard someone else’s footsteps approaching her.

Tonight had been… weird, for lack of a better word. Annie didn’t know what to make of it. Combat boots toed strewn glass over stairs, hopping down from the rooftop with a haze in her eyes. The sanctuary of the common room had turned into a war zone. Spots of God knew what soaked yellow stains on the carpet, a logical product of kids, hormones, and hard liquor. Christ. Whatever it was, Annie didn’t want to know. Gloved hands stuffed their way into her pockets, head shaken at an offer for beer pong. She was too... old, for this, had an anthology waiting to be read on her desk, and fuck it if she was going to waste the alone time. Feet tipped out to her hallway, hands eager to tear off the sweat made by fingerless gloves, stopping as she caught sight of a figure coiled in front of her doorstep. Ingrid. Jesus. Would Annie ever catch a break? “Earth to Hawkins,” Annie called, snapping her fingers in front of her. “It’s the eviction team. Up and at ‘em. Leave. Right now. And don’t even think about puking on my carpet.”

Cole knew he shouldn’t have come. He’d been there for twenty minutes, and already his heartbeat felt louder than the music. He didn’t know how to talk to these people–and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, either. He would’ve clung to Carson’s side all night if he wasn’t paranoid about how that might look. Really, he shouldn’t care so much, but coming off as aloof took a fair amount of effort sometimes. Finally, an escape route came to mind. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier? He weaved through the crowd–practiced breathing techniques in full effect–before racing up the steps to the roof. 

Almost instinctively, Cole broke out his earbuds, haphazardly untangling them before plugging them in. He was rarely seen without earbuds in. Sometimes he wasn’t even listening to music, and just wore them to look unavailable. This time, however, he carefully scrolled through his vast music library as his feet shuffled across the roof. He’d found isolation up here a few times in the past: he liked feeling closer to the sky, liked the feeling of smallness when the stars were all he could see–and he liked that he rarely found others invading his privacy up here. Rarely.

Annie’s voice cut through before he could play any David Bowie (The Smiths, if anyone asked) and Cole tried his hardest not to show his surprise. He peered up at her slowly, his shuffling feet now planted firmly in place. “Did you come to the roof looking for company?” He raised his eyebrows. He didn’t even mind her company; really, he didn’t mind much of anything. Acting so bothered all the time was more of a self-preservation technique than anything else. 

Cole’s remark cocked an eyebrow to the air, gentle shrug wafting over her shoulders. He was a pissed off kid, pushed around somewhere back, conditioned to think everyone was out to get him. They stood on common ground there. People didn’t just pop out of the womb like that, after all. “No,” Annie replied. Then, “could’ve. Guess I misjudged the feel of the party. But something’s telling me it wasn’t exactly your scene either, huh, Fish?”

Stormy eyes met his, wondering if he’d take the statement the wrong way, before looking back at her box. Cole didn’t seem like a “sit around and share your feelings” kind of guy, but she wanted to hang out with someone. Anyone. Not a drunk person, though. It make her feel kind of pathetic. 

“I’ll fuck off if you can beat me at pictionary,” Annie offered, laying a notepad in front of the boy. “Come on. I suck at this game-- you can go back to your wallowing after you win.” Ratty gloves tore a paper from the fold, pushing two cards in front them. Something childlike played at the edge of her smile, hopeful, as if a lot of her was riding on the idea. Stupid. “You, uh, draw everything listed on your card until the time runs out. Then, you swap papers, and whoever guesses the most wins, starting…now.”

and, flower, you’re the chosen one.

location: common room. availability: @phoenixannestuff

When there is liquor in your veins and music in your eardrums, there comes a time where you can’t hear it anymore; where the sound dissipates into mere vibrations and you feel half-ghost.

       She had grown familiar with this sensation - become friends with a questionable consciousness - and opts to evade this moment by seeking fresh air. The nearby window would do, open several inches or so once her hands pushed against the glass. Her surroundings are consumed by a buzzing excitement; a familial nature as those alike conversed in slurred speech. Monroe almost admires them - until she recalls alcohol possessing a ghastly way of enhancing emotions she preferred to bury six-feet under.

      At this point, her cup is empty - of which she brands broken - and thus the blonde retreats to a wooden table veiled by a cloth and surplus bottles. At least they’re spending their money wisely - she mutters beneath her breath, plucking a sealed cap from the neck of favourable whiskey and disregarding a nearby presence.

The trench deep thrumming of bass isn’t something Annie’s unaccustomed to. Neighbors, the flow of blood in a fight… all breaking through the interstices of half sleep. It’s never full, nowadays, if it ever was. She supposes wholeness is something she’ll search for until death.

The hallway lights flicker on in her childhood home. Mia’s frame emerges, half illuminated, obscured by the shroud of a pink blanket. Such a soft thing. Even with her father’s eyes. Annie watches herself appear from the bedroom, locking eyes with her dad as he shushes the child. Anger, such anger, overwhelming. A gun materializes. As she takes it, her hand turns to steel, body encased by the exoskeleton of an automaton. A weapon. Like they want her to be. She’s had this dream a thousand times, dissected it thoroughly with her therapist. And she knows how it’s going to end. So she pulls the trigger, willing wakefulness. Except this time, it’s a child’s scream she hears instead of her father’s. Mia’s. Metal jaws yearn to cry out, to step forward, but nothing moves. Her father’s lips curl in approval.

And then she’s torn from it, writhing, wide awake as the pulse of music rips her body like bullets. Throat hoarse. Drenched in sweat. She must’ve screamed something awful. So she thumbs outward, making her way to the common room, searching for something strong enough to either kill her or knock her out. Whiskey’s good. Monroe’s a close second. Both together are an inevitability. She sits across from the blonde, swiping a hand towards the same bottle, iron grip a challenge to the agent across from her. She doesn’t know what she wants. A fight, something, anything. To make amends. To break even. To lose everything.

A pair of wiry legs furled their way over the rooftop, half full glass of straight whiskey long discarded. “Happy Birthday, kiddo,” Annie muttered, thumbing the store ordered box strewn in front of her. Pictionary. Louis’ game. Why the kid liked it, she’d never know-- the art skills of most Coopers maxed at stick figures and phallic imagery. But that didn’t matter. She’d give her life for them. Had given. And tonight, goddamn, was she lonely for them.

A peal of intoxicated laughter trailed upward to warm ears, reminding her of why she’d clamored away. Had Annie not come to Hudson, she’d have passed a crudely drawn letter this morning, pressed her hand to the glass when the peanuts came to visit. Given all of her love. But that was selfish, and she knew it, so here she was, fighting for them. Always fighting. Always just above the current. But she wasn’t the only one. Doe eyes rose to meet a shadow, lips quirked up at the familiar sight. “Fish-- we meet again,” she greeted. Boots dropped down from the ledge with box in hand. “You, uh, need space? Or are you cool for company tonight?”

“Why do you twist everything I say? It’s like I’m speaking another language.” The brief change in her voice, just a little softer, a little more introspective, even caught Kat by surprise. It was a pause, enough for her to reecollect her thoughts and feelings. In all honesty, she didn’t have a clue what was going on, or why Annie felt the inexplicable need to needle Kat, again and again. “Don’t you care about finishing the assignment?” Kat certainly didn’t, had even entertained the though of sitting back and watching it fail, just to see how far she could push the higher-ups boundaries on her.

“I’m just trying to understand.” Kat replies, slightly defeated. “I’m not trying to fix you! I don’t even know you! I didn’t even go to fucking grade school.” Her voice had settled now, down into a lower pitch, lower amount of emotion. To say Kat wasn’t exactly familiar with the volatility of normal people would be correct, but understanding their motivations, desires, or what was wrong with them was an even further reach. She wanted nothing to do with Annie, and so far that had just ended explosively. “You want to talk about fucked up superiority? Well why don’t we talk about your fucked up inferiority complex, or better yet, projecting your feelings onto someone that simply doesn’t care.” Well, that was somewhat of a lie, Kat cared about what Annie had been through but at that point she didn’t know, and didn’t want to know. “Now, I cannot understand why you don’t want my help on this partner project, but if you would rather sit here squabbling all night, again, so be it, I doubt it’d matter if I failed one project anyway.”

The sliver of dead air gripped something in Annie, head shaken before her gaze dropped downwards. “Yeah, well, maybe you are.” Might as well have been. They came from such different worlds, Kat, up in some sprawling penthouse, Annie, on the streets below it. With different tongues, different conceptions of what twisted was. Drawing the worst possible conclusion was the only way Annie’d known how to survive. “The assignment? Eh, not really,” she replied, lip gnawed at the other. Coding wasn’t her thing. It’d never be her thing. And because her trainer was so set on her finishing the set, she’d preemptively decided to sabotage it.

 That was the way Annie worked. Push too hard, and she’d refuse to cooperate. Care too much, and she’d let you down. Kat’s words mulled over her, reassuring, in a sense, that none of her false encouragement was specifically directed at her ass. The timbre of her voice implied she’d finally broke her. “I don’t have a complex,” Annie mumbled. Did she? Was Kat right, that she was projecting again? Eyebrows knitted together, hand furrowing her temples, trying to determine the magnitude of the fault line. Maybe Annie’d just imagined it all. That wouldn’t be so impossible. But after years of deceit, pathologization, of being told that her side of things didn’t matter… it was hard to know what to believe. Kat didn’t care. For Annie, that was a good thing. Meant they could see each other as codenames and numbers and be done with it. “I don’t need help,” she bit back, forcing venom into the low trickle of her voice. Because honestly? She was tired. Wanted to retreat to her own bed and curl inwards. Ollie had been giving her the silent treatment for God knew why, but they reminded her of Louis in some ways. Kids. All the same. Instead, she glared forward-- body an obstacle to the computer, dead set on continuing the war she’d managed to put up for days. “So you’ll fail, then. Good,” she replied, draping her arm over the mainframe as she leaned back for some semblance of rest.

“Wishful thinking, and you know it.” She stared at Annie, eyes going cold from the comment. She knew every inch of her own inadequacies. They kept her away at night; thoughts racing from the possibility that she’d get cut, that she made a devastating mistake by choosing to come here. But hearing it said out loud, by someone who couldn’t be much better than she was, caused a far different response than she expected. There was no way that she was going to let Annie think that she was superior. It wasn’t supposed to be anything personal, just the competition. “After all, you can’t do much if you’re dehydrated.”

It’s more a shot in the dark than concrete fact that makes her presume that Annie wants her water bottle, and not something else. Mostly because there’s nothing else she can give right now. “Misplaced something?” She takes another sip of water, letting her breath return to her so that the sentence sounds more carefree than it would have. Maybe at first it hadn’t been much of a thought, but now it’s a little bit more conscious. She wouldn’t go so far as to say cruel, Annie could always just leave for the closest water fountain, but something says she won’t. Not without another quip. 

“I’m just saying what’s on everyone’s mind,” Annie replied, leaning back. “Or do you really think you take up that much of my headspace?” She cocked an eyebrow, coldness proving she’d gotten a rise out of the other, something that meant she was still in control. For someone who was so usually out of it, feeling less, pushing everyone’s buttons… it relieved her to know she had power over something. Pathetically resorting to these struggles proved how desperately she clung to it, she knew, but God knew what it was like to live life as if it weren’t just a series of small wars. God knew what it was like to be an actual victor. Dark eyes flickered, windpipe hooked by the barbs of Ingrid’s thinly-veiled challenge, trying to school her thirst into something less telling. “Well, I guess that’s the difference between you and me, huh?” Annie replied, basking in the few inches she had over her. “That I can keep going when your mediocracy forces you to stop.”

It was a low-blow, really. Ingrid tried really hard. It wasn’t like her to knock people outside her semi-conscious defense mechanism, but the recruit had treated her like garbage since day one. She hadn’t expected it, though she hadn’t not expected it either. It just brought back too many shit memories she’d came here wanting to escape from. Annie’s eye twitched, throat reflexively swallowing as the other took a long sip. Now that she’d subjected herself to this insipid show of pride, she couldn’t just walk out to the water fountain, anymore. Why she’d done this, all to one-up some insecure, emotionally constipated, high school beta-esque jerk was beyond her. If Ingrid actually had a sense of self-worth and had stopped chasing the Sabinas and Monroes of the world, maybe they could’ve been civil. Not that Annie cared. Or would ever tell her that, now. “I lent it out,” she replied. “Because I, you know, actually have friends? Not sure if you know what one of those is, though, huh, mouse?”

A single eyebrow raised at the impassioned lashing the girl gave her eyes following her every step right down to the book slipping from her grasp. “A single word isn’t as offensive as you seem set on making it.” She replied reaching forwards faster to pluck the book off the floor her lip twitching slightly as she read the title of the biography in hand. “Hooking Up with Tila Tequila: A Guide to Love, Fame, Happiness, Success, and Being the Life of the Party.” Flipping the book over completely ignoring the girl before her Emma scanned the back image and comments. None of any recognition surprisingly, she thought dryly. At first glance she’d thought it to be some sort of cocktail guide but upon further inspection and simply the placement of it, it appeared to be the autobiography of a pornstar or some sort. Raising up to her feet Emma held out the book to the girl once more her mind turning over a few options for response. “If you want to read about the sex industry you should look at Linda Lovelace, she’s one of the most infamous porn stars around. It offers a dark look into her success and the industry, but to balance it out you might want to also read ‘The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl’ it was originally a blog and shows the present day agency that Linda had lacked in her own like. They’re good comparison points.”   

Dark eyes narrowed, body stepping forth to use the eight inches she had over the other. “Push it, Tolbert. I dare you. See what happens.” Annie flexed her jaw, knuckles arced in a sudden show of intimidation. A tremor over raised scars. The smallest flicker of hesitation. She yanked the book from the girl, shaking a shock of mussed hair out of her face. And there it was-- her in. “I should know about the goddamn sex industry,” she shot back, bitterly, the first in a series of unscripted lies. “My mom…” Annie paused, dropping her fists, becoming small as she coiled into herself. “Forget it. Like you’d know the first thing about hardship, anyway.” Callous hands tore a flask from her pocket, lips pulled into a scoff. Emma Tolbert. Crimson. What did she have on her? From what Annie had heard, she seemed privileged enough-- bookish-- not the most socially aware, given their current interaction-- but smart. Maintaining continuity would be imperative if she were to expand on a lie. “Besides,” she continued, countering with information, “too deep a knowledge and people begin to get suspicious. A cover, this kind, anyway, is more believable if it stems from a singular narrative. You want to ground yourself in a life-- base things on want, not figures. But what do I know? I’ve got nothing on your textbooks, right, Ivy League?”

Annie was struggling, that was obvious- only, Sasha didn’t know with what. A frantic possibility sprung into Sasha’s mind: Annie coking her arm back, fist meeting Sasha’s slightly pudgy nose. She’d bleed, maybe, and slight panic would fall quietly over Sasha. She’d shot things, people, before, but Sasha’d never actually fought anyone before, not hand-to-hand, anyway. And then a wave of guilt, anger (at herself), because here Sasha was, making assumptions. The same stupidity that’d allowed her own father to break her heart at such a young age, the same faulty logic that Sasha’s mother had been cultivating her entire life. 

Annie got up, hesitating with her words, and Sasha nodded absently in agreement- their fellow classmates had seemed to realize this wasn’t a meeting about an updated lunch schedule, and some of their faces had twisted, cruel and ugly things that Sasha, distantly, hoped were just masks. 

“Hey, whoa,” Sasha began, “It’s okay- you just kind of surprised me? We can share, no problem.” Sasha shifted in the seat, then, half of her ass on nothing, and tightened her grip on the armrest. She’d lost herself in focusing on not falling (busting her ass in front of a bunch of would-be spies wasn’t Sasha’s idea of good time) that she almost didn’t have time to be surprised at herself. There wasn’t anything wrong with being kind, Sasha thought, but Sasha didn’t have the luxury of being kind, placating. And yet, her tone had gone soft, soothing, kind- many things Sasha’d never been able to be before.

“I’d get a different seat, but, uh, I don’t really want to sit next to her, either,” Sasha added, a last ditch effort in- what? In not seeming like a decent human? Sasha was going to give herself a headache, over such a silly thing, but- being sweet and pleasant hadn’t been such of a hardship, not to Annie, anyway. 

“Just don’t knock me off with your butt, okay?” And, yeah, that could’ve been seen as some bitchy throw away line, but Sasha’s small grin was a good combination of genuine and teasing, and, well- stupidly enough, Sasha was just hoping.  

Edges dulled as she noticed the fear in the other, the way her eyes flinched, chest recoiled as if assaulted by a blunt weapon. Annie swallowed, wanting to reach out, to assure her, prove she wasn’t just danger and damage. All the wreckage of youth… had she caused the rubble or emerged from it? Neither. Both, maybe. All she knew was that a good part had been crushed somewhere in the fallout.

“I can--” she began, but her offer was cut short by the other. It’s okay. Two words, three syllables. A phrase she hadn’t heard in perhaps ever. Gloved hands gripped the pockets of her jeans, jaw hinged and unhinged before swallowing. No problem. And things were fine, just like that. “Okay. Thanks,” Annie replied, looking away, all hard angles as she scooted beside her. The barest hint of a flush dappled over gnawed cheeks, leg jittering over the floor. As the other tensed, her arm wrapped out to steady her, awkwardness growing palpably in her mind. Should she drop it? She didn’t know, but in the seconds that’d trailed by, she’d quickly grown as red as a pomegranate. 

Annie’s lips quirked upward, amusement meeting her eyes, fingers drumming the back of the chair. “I could probably take her if it came to that,” she replied, “but I’d rather not relive the trauma of high school. Wasn’t really an alpha kid, you know?” Wiry limbs leaned to face the other, sideways smirk not unkind. It was almost... inviting, if anything, if Annie was even capable of that. 

“What’d they snag you up for, huh, Scope?” She asked, popping the “p” with an arched brow. All these people… or the bodies that had once been people, seemed to have been recruited for a reason. Some even wanted to be here. Annie... she didn’t know what she wanted. A second chance, maybe. As if she’d ever been given a first. She nudged the agent with her shoulder, playfully, pretending to try to shove her off. “Well, feel free to concuss me if this gets too boring,” she bit out through dimming lights, feeling, for the first time since she’d came here, okay.

This was her worst nightmare. Okay, so maybe not her worst, but it was damn near the top, and Kat didn’t know what she’d done to deserve to be in the ninth circle of hell right now. It had been a simple project, just a bit of coding homework to make sure they were up to par. Why it had to be a partnered assignment, Kat didn’t know, but it had led to hours of squabbling with absolutely nothing done. Annie, it seemed, was the devil in disguise, and had been sent for the sole purpose of messing Kat up.

“Oh my god.” Throwing her hands up in the air, Kat walked back a few steps, unable to handle another night of this. “Can we just do it the simple way, please. I know how to do this, I think I could do it blindfolded. What is your problem?” The burst of words was very unlike Kat, but she had just about reached her breaking point. “Is it really that I threaten you so much that you have to be a roadblock every step of the way? I’d think you were less insecure than that.” The words were harsh, and came off decidedly harsher than she’d meant, but she’d already tried everything else to get the obstinate agent to budge.

Problem. Of course, Kat would be trying to pathologize her right now. “I don’t know-- why don’t you give me a fucking psych eval? Because you could probably do that blindfolded, right?” Chipped nails picked at the wear on her gloves, threadbare enough for a sliver of palm to peek through the left one. It actually bothered Annie, that Kat thought something had to be wrong with her, eyes averted with legs pulled to her chest. High school administrators... newspapers… it didn’t matter what they thought. She was fine, she was, fine, she was fine.

Harsh lips pulled out into a smirk, having actually worked with Juniper on this particular coding set. She could get through it, slowly, but ruining Kat’s evenings was one the few joys she clung to in this hellhole. Every wasted night, every failed attempt…the more irrational the girl got, the larger Annie’s simper grew. She knew the girl’d been full of shit with the whole “good job-- we’re all on the same level” crap. Now, she’d obtained verbal proof. “Wow, you caught me,” she replied, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m threatened, and jealous, because your perfect scores bring out my myriad of childhood insecurities. Because, God, all I ever wanted was good grades and pats on the back and gold star stickers in grade school.” She curled her lips into a sneer, tilting her head back, not admitting that she’d actually really wanted those at some point in youth. The hell if it mattered now, anyway. “You know what I think?” Annie continued, leaning forward. “I think you’ve got a fucked up kind of superiority complex that you mask with ‘helping’ other people, but fuck me if I’m gonna be another goddamn project. So yeah, keep talking to me about insecurities, Wunderbar.”

>> :// DATE: JUNE 6TH, LATE

>> :// LOCATION: INDOOR GYM

          Ingrid knew she was far from the best at endurance running, but at lest she was willing to train for it. She pushed herself to go another lap on the track, trying so hard to ignore all the other students who would have breezed by. Practice was what mattered, improvement, showing dedication. And if she ran enough then she would fall asleep as soon her head hit the pillow. It was a half-notion that she’d need to be able to run long distances in the immediate future. Maybe there one too many spy movies stuck in her head, thoughts of people turning through twisted alleys, only able to keep one step ahead. But she was probably over-exaggerating, mind racing to the worst possible scenario. As long as it improved her time, there wasn’t much else to say.

          The run left her out of breath and sweating, hair falling out of the ponytail that she’d hoped would last. And of course, some one was standing near her. Maybe they weren’t staring, but she’d definitely seen them glance over once or twice, and she wasn’t going to ignore them- that only spelled trouble later on. Had more people been around she might have been inclined to try and think of something rude, something witty, something memorable, but with the gym emptied out she figured she could just try and start a conversation. It couldn’t last very long, could it. “I’m waiting for the day they announce we’re doing the pacer test. Which is so middle school, but…” She took a sip from her water bottle, smile trying to force its way onto her face. “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Running was, perhaps unsurprisingly, something Annie found she didn’t hate. It was as much a mental game as a physical one-- where you decided to draw your limits, how much pain you could endure. And her body, this rough, sinewy thing, had taken more than a couple miles of lung fire. Air whistled through mussed hair as she lapped another recruit-- in the upper mid half of this practice run. People like Cole, who’d actually had experience with all this, had yards on her, but she was part of the group that could be considered “not shitty.” Running was fine, just… boring. How people actually did this for enjoyment was beyond her comprehension.

After a last lap, the agent came to a stop, reaching for a towel to wipe the sweat off. Water would’ve been nice, given the way her throat was chafing from the inside, but she’d lent someone her nalgene and had yet to get it back. Regret. That’s all anyone ever got for being nice. Stormy eyes focused in on the couple of still running agents, somewhat heartened in knowing they were all in some degree of pain. The girls who looked down on her, especially, who she could look down on now. Part of her almost felt bad for it. That’s probably what separated her from them, anyway. Basic human decency. Cracked lips pulled into a grimace as a pang of thirst coursed over her, head ringing in a way she could only describe as torturous. Her eyes flitted towards a water bottle, then back, after she realized who it belonged to. Ingrid. Someone who she didn’t get along with, who’d probably try to just rub it in her face. She felt her jaw harden as the girl looked towards her, taking what Annie presumed to be an exaggerated sip. Her eyes cast down to the floor with a barely masked yearning, all her years of hiding want insignificant, now. “Yeah, well, they can bring on whatever. Not that your ass is gonna survive long enough to see much of it.”

date and location: june 6th, 9:00pm, second floor of the library

Emma sat staring at the computer screen before her eyes unfocused as all the words seemed to flow together. It should be simple enough, throw together a name and backstory a few lies here and there, bam new identity. All it should require is a little creativity, which seemed to be just the problem. Emma wasn’t creative, she was analytical, a problem solver. Creative solutions? Absolutely. Creative ideas? Very few. The brunette could feel the very beginning of a stress headache forming behind her eyes, the dimly lit corner doing very little to assist in the situation. Following the assignment she breezed right past everyone mingling and went straight to where she felt most comfortable, where she always found answers. The Library. The past couple hours however all she’d done was compile a stack of biographies on various scientists and taken to googling everything from reality stars to chefs for ideas. Somewhere there was a correct answer to this, a correct method of dealing with fabricating a new life, wasn’t that what Hudson was already however? Everything about who she was here was new, she didn’t think she’d ever even spoken as much in three months of her life as she did here in one. She’d even managed to make a few friends in an odd sense. Even with her attempt to be more forward however she still was herself. How did someone focus their entire being on acting every way apart from who they are? Why wasn’t there just an answer or equation that could be written out for it. Eyes narrowing Emma reached up with a huff slamming the laptop screen shut. Leaning back in her chair she pressed a hand to her temple attempting to will the migraine to dissipate and leave her be before her eyes caught site of someone in front of her table. “What.”

Salt stung the corners of Annie’s eyes, body coiled as if fearing someone would strike. Usually, she wore her eyeliner like armor, stark, juxtaposed to the smudges running under her eyes now. Wounded. She liked to think she wore the look pretty well. Tremor-wracked hands pulled old gloves off her fingers, revealing the reddened scar tissue that’d made itself home on her knuckles. Tactic one: expose a vulnerability. For some reason, it made people want to trust you. The best lies were barely caped truths, with the majority of the guilt coming from false details and omission. So long as the feelings were true, the story would build itself after. Annie skulked out of the bathroom, arms crossed, body closed in on itself. Tactic two: let your body lead. Everything else will follow. She let her breaths become shallow, eyes darting frantically around her, anger, a defense mechanism, bubbling thick beneath the surface. To the left of her, an agent sat-- frustrated by an assignment, probably tense enough not to second guess her too much. Now was as good a time as any. Annie steadied her jaw, swooping in to snag a book from the packed shelf. What. She let a spoonful of anger siphon outward. “Save it, I’m just here for a book,” she bit, eyes blazing as she wrapped her arms tight around her. “So you can just fuck off with the shit, okay?” Annie turned to storm out, then “lost” hold over the book, letting loose an expletive as she bent to snatch it back up. “Jesus Christ, I-- fucking--”

ABOUT: 12:00 pm; june 5th; the library.  STATUS: closed for @phoenixannestuff

Never in her life had Juniper been lacking. Not in academics, and certainly not in benevolence. She thrived in situations where others expected her to falter. At Hudson, she more hoped than expected that this would remain the same. For the most part, it did. She found herself eager to wake up early, gathering her textbooks within her hands and later spread them across a table in the library. It had basically become a ritual, something she was content with..and yet, she was lacking. In an academy where she naively anticipated she could get by based on her brain alone, she’d all but failed any sort of physical test she received. For the first time in her life, Juniper hadn’t received an A. Well, at least I got to try something new, right?

Juniper never had a reason to fight. In fact, she couldn’t imagine herself ever physically hurting someone. It may have been due to her petite frame, her sole interest in academics, or her discomfort with causing others pain. Either way, the thought made her uncomfortable, but apparently her delicate hands swiftly making their way to someone’s face was necessary. Necessary, the word they repeated when they noticed the way her eyes widened when it was her turn. Like with anything else, Juniper was determined to prove them wrong. She’d never be Onyx, or Inferno, or anyone else who almost made the act of violence appear beautiful, but she’d endure as Juniper — just a version of herself that didn’t wince whenever she threw a punch.

She knew just who to go to. The woman she’d often speak to from across the table whilst simultaneously studying.  Annie, or rather Phoenix. Though a part of her curiosity had been piqued as to how she received that particular code-name, even Juniper knew not to ask about someone’s history. Their conversations were awkward at worst; she found herself ashamed to admit she was slightly suspicious of Annie. Now, she yearned for her aid. If it helped her figure out just what Annie’s objective was with her, that’d just be an added bonus. 

As per usual, with her math textbooks   — this time, it was Combinatorics — in hand, she strolled towards what she could classify as her table. Well, their table, seeing as Annie was across from her more often than not. As expected, she spotted the familiar head of dark hair almost immediately, which evoked a grin of enthusiasm and not an arched eyebrow as she’d reluctantly become accustomed to. 

 “Annie.” She spoke gently, as she always did. Though usually their conversations would begin with a hello, Juniper needed to get right to the point so as to avoid stringing her along. She didn’t want to use Annie ( the woman deserved better ), but if a certain arrangement could be made, it’d be ideal.  “You’re an exquisite fighter.” She said this more so as a fact than a compliment. “Ah…would you —  would you mind teaching me?”

In another life, Annie could’ve been Eileen Fisher. Twenty-two, with a degree in economics, peering above oaken desks through a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. Her favorite color? Forest green, like her father’s. The man was an English professor at Portland State University. Eileen was an investment banker to be, paying her way through grad school with weekend shifts at the library. She liked cats, even though they gave her hives, and listened to French music while eating takeout with her fiancé. Her mom couldn’t cook to save a newborn baby from burning, and Eileen was just as hopeless. It was endearing-- in a tragic way. But she laughed easily, smiled freely, and was really, genuinely happy. And for a person like Eileen, that was more than enough.

Annie sighed, tucking away the memo she’d made around her potential identity. Stealing bits and pieces of people came as easy as a summer breeze, something she’d started as a kid, appropriating the mindsets of book characters into her everyday life. How to smirk, carve a punch… she’d camped out near the bar on Lombard Street long enough to get the gist down from street teens. And Uncle Dougie’d taught her how to twist a man’s arm until he screamed. But the easiness of Eileen, her romantic, tender heart, wasn’t something Annie knew well. How she yearned to see the world, to visit Paris... Annie’s dreams had been much simpler. To have a mattress without wires that poked holes in her back. Clean water from the tap. A father that didn’t choke her throat up with terror. But those were dreams, not reality, and urban Jesus had given her a gun. To lie and cheat and steal from her friends… The assignment was something akin to that. Another mask to cover the bruises.

Bludgeoned nails drummed their way over the desk, far off spot in the library safe from any distractions. It wasn’t her spot, really, it was Juniper’s, but the other hadn’t found it in her to evict Annie yet. The mere thought sent a hole to the pit of her chest, despite knowing her days here were numbered. She’d have to pack up her things, avert her eyes from the girl, duck away when they ran into each other at some point. But she was here now, and if there was anything Annie was good at, it was pretending-- holding on. For as long as a pipe dream could last.

“Oh, uh-- hey,” Annie replied, surprised by the girl who’d just been walking her mind. Pop punk wafted unobtrusively through tilted headphones, finger thumbing the killswitch on her computer. Juniper. The softest person she’d ever known. Why her stomach kicked a storm around her, she’d never know. “I, uh-- fighting-- yeah-- sure, anything fi-- ” Annie stumbled, cheekbones dappling a faint shade of pink. She turned away, knocking over a textbook before recovering and haphazardly stowing her things. “I, uh, exqui-- fighting, yeah, sure, that’s what-- fighting, uh-huh.”

Doe eyes froze, settling themselves on the other, mouth raising to form a puppyish grin. She’d been almost coherent this time, which was somewhat of an improvement, given that Juniper’s gaze set her into a stroke-like state. So what if the girl unbalanced her a little? It didn’t mean anything. Nothing. Nothing at all. “What, uh, brought this on, Junebug?” Annie asked, eyebrow quirking as she held the door open for the other. Ratty gloves offered to carry Juniper’s textbooks, eyes fixed downward with a chewed inner lip. An awkward silence passed before she found the courage in her to look up. “I, uh, did okay on that tech practical today. And by that, I mean not abysmally. So... thanks for taking the time to help me out. I know I can be kind of... difficult, sometimes.”

send ⁇ for a worried text

[IM @ kickflip]: hey, kid. you haven’t come home in like, three days.

[IM @ kickflip]: are you camping out in a classroom or some shit?

[IM @ kickflip]: you can’t really be that pissed at me.

[IM @ kickflip]: because if you are, you should confront me about it. person the hell up and all that.

[IM @ kickflip]: Whatever it is, I can take it, okay? I promise.

send ✺for a sassy text

[IM @ kickflip]: I can feel your passive aggression emanating from the other side of the room

[IM @ kickflip]: it’s uncomfortable.

[IM @ kickflip]: that’s kind of your thing, though, isn’t it? being uncomfortable™. making everyone uncomfortable™.

send ♔ for an angry text

[IM @ ragrets]: you know what, i don’t even care anymore. Lie, hurt, burn every fucking bridge you’ve ever built. 

[IM @ ragrets]: but when you’re alone somewhere and it’s goddamn cold and you’re empty and there’s no fucking way out, don’t blame me. that’s on you. that’ll always be on you.

[IM @ ragrets]: i don’t even know why i bothered caring.

send  ♠ for a drunk text

[IM @ ragrets]: i do thouh.

[IM @ ragrets]: care.

[IM @ ragrets]: i still do.

send ⁇ for a worried text

[IM @ ragrets]: are you a vampire? bc i’ve never seen you around garlic or sunlight

[IM @ ragrets]: you seem like the typeg that woud sprkle

[IM @ ragrets]: i’m not drunjk lol this is a serios inquiry

send √ for a long-winded confession text 

[IM @ ragrets]: oh, so you think you’re unique? something goddamn special? newsflash, bitch: i’ve seen thousands of you fall off the fucking cliff. 

[IM @ ragrets]: you want to lose it, tell everyone who ever tried to control you to fuck off. and you’re so fucking alive, and drunk on rage every day, and off the notion that nothing can ever harm you. like you’re something immortal. trust me, i get it. and the highs are so high that the lows don’t seem to matter, as if you’re driving 105 on the 40 and everyone else is just a speck in the distance. and you’re moving so fast that no one can understand you, because you’re so far ahead of them, so why look back if everyone else just brings you down? because no one gets it. because they’re falling back while you’re thriving.

[IM @ ragrets]: but what you don’t know is it gets more aimless the longer you go and soon you’re so far out that everyone else is unreachable. and the drive was amazing, yeah, but there’s no destination, and goddamn, it’s fucking lonely where you are

[IM @ ragrets]: because what you perceived as control was, in fact, the absence of it, and when you try to turn back, they villainize everything you’re ever done. 

[IM @ ragrets]: and maybe the people you loved won’t be able to look you in the eye anymore.

[IM @ ragrets]: and maybe you’re completely fucking alone

[IM @ ragrets]: and maybe it hurts and maybe it hurts and goddamn, I know it fucking hurts

[IM @ ragrets]: but it doesn’t have to be this way

send ✘ for a text that should never have been sent

[IM @ ragrets]: you don’t think i’m not a bad person, right?

[IM @ ragrets]: that’s my biggest fear.