To sleep, perchance to dream

When they finish talking Armin nods and swallows, wringing his hands as he approached the man-made entryway. “Right, right, right. What both of you are saying makes sense, and if it’s true that they will come back, then I think we need to move our supplies. We move them and set up a trap here. We’ll clean this place up, make it look like we have it all together. And then maybe they’ll strike again to weaken us. But if we booby trap this place then we can catch them. Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He’s talking so quickly that he has to take a deep breath at the end. Not wanting his train of thought to be lost, to the point where he forgets to introduce himself to the others.

He had never been one to assess a situation in great detail, always jumping to conclusion and blurting out the first thing that came to mind. But he truly believed it could work, maybe? “We want to catch these fuckers as quickly as we can right? We can pretend that we’re unfased by it. It’ll piss them off and more likely to attack us again.” Of course, as he says this, he frantically looks around. “Shit shit! What if they’re watching? What if they’re watching us right now. What if they can hear us. What if they rigged this building and they find out everything we’re planning? We gotta do a clean sweep, we gotta do a clean sweep!” He doesn’t wait for a response from the others as he begins to look through, under, and over every shelf in the room.

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of philosophical bullshit you’re spouting right now, but if I find out that it’s anything bad then I swear to God I’ll-” The threat goes unfinished, mostly because Hallie was unsure of how to finish it, and she used the excuse of finally serving a customer for once to hopefully get away with it.

She did, however, continue to listen to the girl running her mouth as she pulled her first pint of the night. “Sounds like a pussy to me.”

She only shrugs, not knowing what she’d meant either. Not that she’d admit it. Or the fact that she never knows what she’s talking about most of the time. But at the other girl’s observation and conclusion, she nods and looks at her drawing. “It is a pussy. A pussycat.”

Her gaze shifts back to the other girl and there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “One who hides, one who fears, one who avoids.” She repeats. “Does it sound familiar to you?”

shardedsouls‌:

His eyes flicker down to the bottle the other was drinking from for a long moment – a strong whiff of a smell hitting the jaguar’s senses – before returning his gaze back up to the merchant. Marco almost felt like he could still be more useful back at the clinic; but there were limited hands coming out to volunteer – and he wanted a hand in helping the town that he lived in. “A tour would be nice – yes.”

Alex would normally spend the holidays in her room, coming out only when Madame Thibodeaux forced her to be social and enjoy Hannukah festivities. However, she took personal offense at the fact that someone broke into the warehouse to steal precious resources – especially since it meant she couldn’t make the usual plethora of goodies for the town. “Taking a look at the scene? Hope you don’t mind if I follow along,” the elf spoke as she walked up, a bit louder about her presence than usual since she kept getting jostled around by taller policemen around them.

Usually, Armin would stay out of situations that didn’t concern him. And it had taken him quite a long time to come to a decision of helping, weighing in the pros and cons of exposure. For one, it would take any suspicions off him-- not that he had anything to do with the break-in-- and for another, someone had to put a stop to it before their resources ran out. He enters, or more like runs in, the scene, looking disheveled and agitated, “Hey yeah, you can count me in too. The more eyes we have the better.”

“Of course they know best.” Even after everything that he’d been through with Frances, Russell would still take her side no matter what. There was no question about it. After all the infidelities, all the fighting, everything they’d been through, he trusted her over any of the children at this point. “They do little things just to piss her off, stupid things,” He shook his head. “I mean, they’ll talk back to her and aggravate her, knowing that it gets under her skin. They don’t listen.”

Mikaella nods, suppressing the urge to smirk at a memory. She, too, has had her fair share of stupid things done to her mother. But when he clarifies, the need to smirk drops. It seems his children were very different from her. Mikaella would never talk back to her mother, and the stupid things she did was to make her smile or laugh. “Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them. And why don’t you or her. Or you and her, do something about it?” 

“Nobody is listening.” Russell pointed out, shaking his head. He thought that he’d disciplined the children well, thought he’d raised them to be respectful and listen and do as they were told, but somewhere along the way things had gone wrong. They were respectful to him, sure, but when it came to Frances they were less than decent. He, of course, always took the side of his wife but that didn’t stop the kids from complaining either way. “The family matters are always an issue, it seems. The children get angry with their mother, she gets upset with them, it turns into a big thing.”

She can understand family matters, that’s for sure. But she can’t quite grasp the concept of the mother causing the issue. Perhaps it’s because she tends to place herself and her own family in the picture, and always sees her father for the villain he is. “Mothers have reasons for what they do. They know best.” And how she wished her mother had known better than to confront her demon. “The children, what do they do to anger her?”

“I didn’t ask for a fucking explanation, I asked for some god-damn peace and quiet.” Hallie’s glare was less a result of what the girl had actually said and more that she had replied at all. Usually when she was a bitch to customers they’d get the hint and leave her the fuck alone.

Apparently not this girl, though.

“Who the fuck’s this Delora chick, anyway? Someone in that shitty book of yours?” She asked, attempted to get a glimpse of the pages from behind the bar.

“’Let no one who has the slightest desire to live in peace and quietness be tempted, under any circumstances, to enter upon the chivalrous task of trying to correct a popular error.’“ Mikaella either does not take hints very well or she’s just very persistent in wanting to talk to the girl for longer. 

The comment about her book issues a little chuckle out of her. She takes no offence to it, aware that her books weren’t for everyone. She has a target audience for that reason. “Delora, one who hides. One who fears. One who avoids.”

“Nonsense is that which does not fit into the prearranged patterns which we have superimposed on reality...Nonsense is nonsense only when we have not yet found that point of view from which it makes sense.” She retorts proudly, though whether she knew what she meant was an entirely different story. But it was relevant still, right? To her, that’s all that really matters.

“Delora may look tough, but deep inside she is hurting.” She bobs her head once, tapping at her sketch book, “Like you. Like me. Like all of us. There will always be hurt.”  

Mikaella had been staring at the girl with the large, curly brown hair for quite some time now. Looking down every so often to add detail to her sketch. She’s given the girl very cat-like features-- well, she has just drawn an anthropomorphic cat and given it a head of curly hair, really-- yet despite how the other might appear outwardly, the drawing contrasted that. The cat, which she decides should be named ‘Delora’, appeared scared- cautious almost. While the girl seemed confident in herself, looking always prepared to fight. Mikaella tilts her head slightly, examining the girl once more before she pipes up, “If we’re wrapping ourselves up to conceal any vulnerability, whatever happens to us has to go through all those extra layers.” It may sound nonsensical, but the time spent in observing the other girl meant she had noticed something about her no one seem to have yet.

Russell had learned to control himself fairly well when he drank. It wasn’t fully under control, but he wasn’t an alcoholic by any means and wouldn’t allow himself to slip down that path. He tried to keep his family separated from his drinking, most of the time. “Miserable,” He replied simply, knowing good and well that he wasn’t totally miserable - just a little bit. “Drinking out here gets me away from family life for a while, that’s all that matters.” Was it healthy? Absolutely not. Did he care? Not particularly. He knew that it wasn’t healthy and knew that he should find better ways to deal with the stresses of family life, but he didn’t plan on finding a new method any time soon.

She nods in understanding. With the current situation, no one was expected to perpetually be content. In fact, it would be more concerning if they weren’t miserable. “’I have learned now that while those who speak about one's miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more.’” And she was no psychologist, that’s for sure, it was just a relevant quote that popped in her head. “Would you mind if I sit, and you tell me all about it? They say talking with someone helps.” Was that too forward? They’d only just met and she knew nothing about his life, but perhaps she could give an unbiased point of view.

Russell seemed to be in his own head most days, at this point. His family, every single one of them, seemed to get on his nerves day in and day out and he just had to escape all of that for a little while. It wasn’t healthy to be so wrapped up in ones own mind, dealing with things internally rather than allowing them to become external issues. He shifted, taking a swig from his drink before turning his attention to the woman. “It is, it is,” He nodded, setting his empty glass down on the bar and motioning for the bartender for another. “Alcohol is a blessing, I can tell you that for certain.”

Eyes look to the floor at his statement for she does not agree. Well, not fully at least. Despite never having a drink her entire life, she knew the consequences that came with alcohol consumption. Her father was often under the influence, and she frequently got the short end of the stick. “Drink because you are happy, but never because you are miserable. Which one are you?”  She doesn’t mean to probe or be rude with the question, understanding the reason most people drink was to escape from their problems. And she wouldn’t be one to judge. That would be hypocritical of her. She, too, always escapes from problems but through a different method.

Russell found himself needing a drink quite often as time went on in the Torrance household. Whether it was his wife or his children, some how or other they seemed to nag and annoy him day in and day out. Having a couple of shots at home wasn’t cutting it anymore so, for the first time in quite a while, the man ventured into the bar and sat down at the counter to order a drink. He was distracted for a while as he nursed his drink, and barely noticed when someone tapped on his shoulder until they spoke to him. “I’m sorry - I missed what you were saying.”

Now Mikaella had only gone to the bar to observe- people watch as they say. She was trying a different approach to her storybooks. Something a little more realistic, despite her dislike with reality. And while she’s out she figures she might as well mingle, knowing she probably wouldn’t leave the house again for another few months after this. While most looked to be enjoying their time here, she couldn’t help but notice a man seemingly wrapped up in his own head and she moves to approach him. Mikaella taps his shoulder once, smiles and starts, “Alcohol is the anesthesia by which we endure the operation of life, is it not?”