oh my stars

The one thing she had expected was for most of it to be dreadful, and she hadn’t been wrong. While she figured it could’ve been worse, this was the type of talk and small and event that felt far too forced to her. She told herself it was the nature of the Holiday – everyone was expected to flirt, walk in alone and leave in pairs – a nature that made her more jittery about anyone approaching her than the message being a decoy. With her drink in hand she stood in a quiet corner by herself. And to herself she muttered.    “Before coming to something like this you always tell yourself it won’t be as awful as you imagine, you’ll make it great fun! Or at least bearable fun and then ... it’s much worse”

He laughed at the woman’s comment, even though he didn’t find it all that funny. He was embarrassed, more than anything, to have been caught almost getting run over by a car. James had been so stuck in his own head that he didn’t even know where he was walking. It wasn’t a good look, that was for sure. “Nobody’s ever called me wise, though, so I guess it’s to be expected,” James chuckled. Before he turned back to face the woman and return to the sidewalk, he grimaced, knowing that he likely was going to get a lecture about taking better care of himself and looking both ways before he crossed the street. Once back on the pavement, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Physically, sure. But I might be psychologically scarred for years. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to cross a street by myself again, to be honest with you.” His tone was sarcastic – perhaps more so than he meant for it to be. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap at you… Miss? Ma’am?” He never really was sure how to address strangers.

  “Miss will do just fine” She replied with a polite nod and a small smile, her eyes lingering on the road for just a second. She knew there wasn’t much of a point in lingering –that turn had been a onetime escape route, and following any further would lead her nowhere. The plate, the plate. That would have to do for today. That and being of any assistance to the collateral damage, who seemed polite and unharmed enough. In possession of a sarcastically witty sense of humour, too. There were much worse people to talk to than the witty, and scarcely any better.  The sarcastic seemed collateral too.

Ava’s hand rose to nervously fidget with the strap of her bag, eyes darting away from the other woman’s. She could feel it, the judgement, the morbid curiosity, the assumptions. Ever since the Daily Punctilio, or rather Ms. Valentine, had begun their campaign against her, strangers’ eyes followed her, people spit at her, the whispered curse murderer followed her. And to think she’d just been thinking of Uptown so nostalgically after the city had betrayed so thoroughly.

This woman, at least, with the gentle smile on her face, seemed willing to make her own decision about Ava. Either that or Ava really was paranoid now and she hadn’t recognized her at all.

Tentative, Ava met her eyes and replied with a small quirk of her mouth, “Well you’re still doing better than me then. I can’t seem to get my mind off where I’ve been.” A euphemism for being stuck in the past if she’d ever heard one.

   “Ah” She paused briefly, not entirely sure how to convey she hadn’t a clue of what Mrs. (Coltman? Coleman!) was on about when not only did she have a clue, but interest. Not the vicious, morbid reporter-y kind of interest and not vicious, morbid questions. A genuine interest. Especially because despite the mistrust within the organization, Holloway was a name associated with nobility. Though she hadn’t known her associate as closely as all associates should know each other, her loss was a loss nonetheless. And things being as they were, the loss of any noble volunteer was of extreme interest and concern to her.  

She had a thousand questions to ask – questions she felt sure neither the police nor the press knew to ask, because there was so much they didn’t know. What she didn’t know was how. As well educated as she’d been in the art of finding out what one wants to know, she’d been educated in a practical method.  Sharp and direct. However, it’s well known practicality and sentimentality don’t get along. By the looks of it, sentimentality reigned at the moment, and practicality would do nothing but push the poor woman further away from everyone else (and any information she had with her).  In fact, she had the feeling answers would come on their own, if she just gave Coleman someone to talk to. Trustworthy. Unknowing. And well, what did she know other than a headline? A headline she couldn’t have had read if she wasn’t a newspaper person. So she kept her smile still, and added a little lightness to her head. 

HONESTY 1: What is your favorite scent?

HONESTY 2: Where do you feel the most comfortable and happy?

HONESTY 3: Whom do you admire, and why?

HONESTY 4: What is your biggest fear?

HONESTY 5: If you could have one wish, what would it be?

HONESTY 7: Which event in your life shaped you the most?

HONESTY 8: What would your ideal lover be like?

James Armstrong had found himself in a haze. The world moved along around him, people passing, their own business in the forefront of their minds. James didn’t allow himself to get distracted. He couldn’t. Not when there were far more pressing matters at hand. He refused to let someone else’s business, someone else’s concerns, interrupt his train of thought. He was determined to keep his train of thought on it’s set course, even if that was something typically impossible for the young man. As he walked down the sidewalk, James kept his gaze lowered; making eye contact with other people would surely lead him to finding someone he knew and veering out of his way to have a conversation with them.  Seeing as today was one of the few days that he had off work, James wanted to dedicate today to making progress in his personal investigation. He wanted to get to the police station, to have a conversation with the detective, and maybe – just maybe – to feel like he was doing something that would make a difference. How it would make a difference, he didn’t know. But surely the investigation would not be in vain. Something had to come out of it. Too distracted by his thoughts and stuck inside his own head, James didn’t notice that he’d stepped off the sidewalk until he heard a car honking at him. He jumped back, returning to the safety of the pavement.  “Well, that wouldn’t have been good,” he chuckled, more to himself than to any passerby that might hear him. “I really should watch where I’m going, shouldn’t I?”

         “Might be wise” She responded in the tone she imagined a parent used when trying to get their child to do homework. Might be wise. To no one’s surprise, the fleeing car was out of everyone’s sight. Hers least of all, since she’d been making an attempt to follow it and its driver had been making an attempt to lose her – no need to say who succeeded. It would be unfair to blame the boy, she told herself. And you’ve memorized the plate. After all, it hadn’t been short enough a chase for her not to be able to recognize the car when she saw it again –and she was absolutely certain she would. The driver might have eluded her for now, but she wasn’t one that could be eluded forever.

 With a resigned sigh, she turned her attention back to the young man. Who, she noticed, wasn’t paying any particular attention to her. Or to anything at all. My, how people could such lives, so completely in the dark, always astounded her. Astounded her and somehow frightened her –had she not been so lucky, she might’ve ended up one of them.  And if nothing was done, and all the quiet places in the world turned into chaos, she’d simply have no choice. It would be that or … Yes the boy.

It wasn’t uncommon for Nora to find herself at a table at Black Cat Coffee, jotting down notes on a notepad as she watched people.  Sometimes it was the other customers in the shop, other times it was through the window where she would make up conversations that matched what Nora was observing.  It was a good way to keep up with creative writing, and every so often the right amount of inspiration hit her that she’d find a new character to add into her books. 

But today, Nora had mostly been staring into space, not even realizing that she had been even looking in the general area of someone until they’d started walking, towards what Nora assumed was the exit.  “Can I help you?” Nora asked when she realized that they instead were coming towards her, before scribbling a couple of things down in her notebook. 

Tricky thing, observing. Even trickier if you haven’t taken any classes for it. Classes in which you learn one of the greatest tricks and dangers of observing is that it allows you to be observed. Naturally, the more you observe the more likely you are to notice someone observing you – if you are observing in the right way. And Pamela had observed a girl observing. Clearly she wasn’t as sharp an observer, otherwise she would’ve noticed her noticing her. And yes, all this use of the words observe and observing is meant to get repetitive and confusing. Because that is the way the world is, and it is better to get used to the repetitive and confusing. For weeks now Pamela had seen this young woman taking notes of the people at Black Cat Coffee, something repetitive and confusing.

Though coffee drinking was something she instinctively tended to frown upon –not just for the flavour, but what she’d been taught about the people who have a taste for coffee – she had taken it upon herself to figure out why. Someone from her organization wouldn’t be so careless as to be noticed observing (or at least not anyone noble and capable), which made her even more intrigued. She walked towards the woman, two cups in hand –something a slightly better observer would’ve noticed, which was somewhat relieving –and offered her a friendly smile. One branded ‘I’m new in town and desperately lonely!’, and admittedly she was lonely and quiet enough for it to be believable despite the observing.     “Actually, I was wondering if I could help you. I don’t mean to pry, but you’ve been here since I got my first cup, this would be my third, and you seem to be very hard at work. I figured you might enjoy a second cup yourself”

In spite of the constant change in his life, his interest in the stars had remained a constant in his life. He had read plenty about them as a child. He had learned, early on, that the sun was a star, and that the second star closest to Earth was not an individual star, but a trio of stars that orbited each other. The Alpha Centauri system, or so he recalled. From that point on, he learned about the life cycles of stars, individual stars’ solar systems, and the patterns that stars made up in the sky. That latter tool, he learned, was useful for navigation. He hoped that he would have learned enough by now to navigate his way anywhere.

Keeping all of this in his head was much harder than he thought, and when he found his knowledge dimming, he would make a trip to the Orion Observatory.

A recent fight with Freddie Hammond at school had led him to find solace here, and he had pretty much forgotten all about it. It was easy to forget, staring at images of gas giants, the surface of Mars, and the colorful nebulae that lined the walls of the gallery. So easy, that he had forgotten to mind his space. Or, someone else had forgotten to mind theirs. Either way, he awkwardly shuffled away from the person.

“You here for the new exhibit too?” he asked. He spared them a slight smile before he gazed at the images again, the Helix nebula in Aquarius catching his eye.

There wasn’t a thing about her job Pamela found dull – talk about vocation!  Tireless hours looking at photographs, studying antique items, inspecting artworks, and not a single of them felt wasted. Though it certainly wasn’t her priority, it surely was her passion. And she would undoubtedly say selecting them, finding a line between seemingly distant points until something worthy of being called an exhibit came together was her favourite part of it.  No matter how many exhibits she’d come up with and dismissed and finally gotten approved during the years, it seemed to her there was always something new and different to say.  She enjoyed the idea of how to present ideas in order to make people truly learn almost as much as she enjoyed learning something during all of it herself.

 It was no wonder she often wandered across the exhibits during their first couple of days, observing everyone observe (and maybe eavesdropping on a few opinions).  Rarely did she ever talk to anyone, and even more rarely did anyone talk to her. Nor did she expect them to. In fact, she was so entranced in her own spectacle that it took her a moment to realize she was being spoken to, and could initially only nod as a response.

“Are you here to pick up a piece?” Zeta walked around the counter to straighten a crooked painting on the wall. She smiled at the person who had wandered in. It was minutes until closing time, but she wasn’t going to turn away a paying customer. She didn’t recognize them as any of her less than legal customers who asked for less than legal documents. “May I have your name?” Many people in town seemed to know her name…or well, her “name.” First it was Jane Doe, then it was Zeta St. Crow, but they were only words on a piece of paper in her pocket. She supposed it would do at the time until she found some real answers.

    “I come on behalf of Orion Observatory” Is all she says about herself, as she’s been taught. Her name was far too precious to give away first thing, and especially to someone who asks for it with such apprehension. Now, it’s important to clarify Pam isn’t usually so terrible at first meetings – it’s routine altering firsts that cause her to be guarded. She’s not sure if small talk would’ve eased her into giving her name or made it easier for her to avoid giving it, all she knows is that she would’ve very much appreciated it. There is certainly something about being treated so unfamiliarly in such a familiar place that makes her uneasy, setting her spine straight and her gaze sharp. Probably not the best stance for a first impression, but it’s almost instinctive.

Ava shouldered her way through the heavy door, sucking in a breath of cold air when she stepped out to the sidewalk. Work today had been…consuming. To the degree that she was very nearly startled to see the city now bustling with life, cars zipping down the street, a young couple arm in arm heading for the theater, a group of laughing students huddled on the corner.

If she concentrated hard enough Ava could see the ghostly mirage of Ava and Sybil, out there too, coming back from dinner. Sybil always wanted to walk back to 667, one hand tangled with Ava’s as she excitedly told a story from her last adventure. They’d pause at a crosswalk and all the lights would shining, putting an unearthly glow onto Sybil’s face and Ava would always think-how is this real, how are you real?

Maybe she should just get a little bit more work done before leaving for the night. It had been such a busy day, she didn’t even have a chance to review that toxicology report on the woman from last week. Turning back towards the police department, she plowed straight into someone.

“Oh god,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry. I was so distracted.”

Lenses work in fascinating ways. Some of them can capture the widest ad lengthiest of scenes with such focus and detail it would take anyone hours to look into the image completely. Others make the one thing pop up dazzlingly, and leave the rest in a fuzzy blur. Others can look into the smallest of things and make them immense, letting us watch what our naked eye could never. Our eyes, on the other hand, allow a scope that can capture several things clearly and leaves the rest in an unnoticed blur. The trick with both lies in what and where you decide to look, and how much detail you can take in despite the blur. Pamela has wished many times that she could have the scope of the first aforementioned lens, so nothing could ever escape her.  

The recent events had made the thought pop more and more often. Especially when she moved to place to place, and especially at night. As much as she was used to it, given her late hours, lately she simply couldn’t push away the thought that she ought to be twice as attentive, thrice as cautious. The need to switch her route every other day had become an everyday precaution. Her glances behind her, and to every corner around her had become instinctive. Her attention to the frequency, strength and even route of the footsteps around her even more precise. Silly, she told herself every time she got home same. Better silly than foolish, she told herself every time she left.

And did bumping into someone feel particularly foolish! She’d been one of those narrow lenses focusing on the wrong thing. So busy she’d been looking at the next turn that she missed someone walking right in front of her.  She shook her head and gave the poor girl a polite smile. The short and warm kind. The kind that said no worries, while she mentally growled and scowled at herself. This could never happen again.    “That would make two of us. I’m terribly sorry too”