#brewalone

He’s been terrified, ever since Lebi told him. Terrified of what the cure means for them all, convinced by his deep-seated distrust of those administering it (whether it is real or not) that the primary thing it will achieve is dividing the Lost - placing those who crave it in opposition with those who don’t feel they stand to gain anything from beginning to age again. It probably doesn’t take a genius to figure out which side of that particular fence Strat is firmly standing on, but that doesn’t mean he can’t understand the other perspective.

That’s really what he’s the most afraid of, though. He’s afraid for his friends, afraid of how much hope this will have ignited in so many of them. He is afraid of losing them, and of how many ways he could lose them thanks to this.

And now he’s here, in the building that stands as a towering monument to everything they’ve fought against and everything that’s happened to them, that now houses so many of their number. One he’d been aching to find a way into, not so long ago; the boy who once snuck through the windows of Falco Towers now stands outside the doors of one of its rooms, hesitating.

His relationship with Zahara has been complicated to say the least, and they’ve been so many things to one another. But he has unwaveringly adored her for so long, and losing her would be more devastating than he’s capable of putting into words.

Finally finding the nerve that once seemed to be such an intrinsic part of him, he lifts a hand to knock on the door - but then changes his mind just as his knuckles are about to come into contact with the wood and pushes it open instead, peeking around it.

She almost can’t believe she’d not figured out why the nurse she’d sometimes seen when visiting Sloane had seemed familiar - but then, she reasons, that would’ve defeated the point, wouldn’t it?

But now that the Lost are populating the Tower, the truth is out there - sort of, at least. It isn’t so much that anything has been said, but well, Rita has eyes. She’d realised pretty quickly once she’d first seen Zahara that she and the nurse were one and the same. There’s a part of her that wants to ask Sloane about it all, but she’s not missed that there’s something between her friend and the other woman, and she knows better than to get involved in... Well, whatever that is. She knows all too well how complicated even the simplest of relationships can become in Obsidian.

She’s not really spoken to many of them yet, even though she’s a more frequent presence in the Tower now than she’s ever been before. And she understands why they’d be reluctant to talk to a journalist, even an off-duty one. But from the little she knows of Zahara - particularly how close she seems to be with Raven? Rita already thinks pretty highly of her.

She keeps getting struck by the thought that they’re all older than her, technically, and that’s perhaps easier to get her head around with Zahara than most. She seems to carry herself in a way that Rita herself tends to, and that makes her want to reach out to her - makes her feel like she’s found another person who is a little too good at building walls, at putting everyone else first. Reaching out is easier said than done, though.

Or at least, it seems that way until she wanders into a room and finds her there. She hesitates in the doorway for half a second too long, and realises she’s been noticed just as she’s considering turning around and finding somewhere else to drink the rapidly cooling coffee she’s holding. So instead, she offers a somewhat embarrassed smile

autumn/halloween sentence starters

@brewalone

“i’m not going to MAKE you.”

usually, he would never pass up a chance to do something ARTISTIC (although, much to everybody’s despair, his preferred canvas was a wall rather than a pumpkin), but he knew she was just taking pity on him, hanging out with him so that he wouldn’t feel LEFT OUT from whatever cool thing everyone else was off out doing (things that he WANTED to be doing, but had been told to stay home- well, not in so many words, but the sentiment was clear enough). he supposed he should be grateful that she was spending tonight here with him. granted, it was still two days before halloween, so she wasn’t missing the MAIN EVENT, but it was still clearly a big enough deal. everyone had been talking about breaking into the old tunnels and he DESPERATELY wanted to go with them.

he was sick of being left out, sick of being treated like a little kid (he was only a couple of months off being sixteen and he KNEW they’d all been out partying at his age), and mostly sick of the pity. maybe he needed to change tactic.

“you know… if i do help, we’ll finish it much faster, right?”

“so you’re saying we’re just stuck down here?” 

he wouldn’t normally be so loud, wouldn’t normally be one to cause any sort of commotion (he just wanted to get on with his life, look after his sister, go to school, normal things that he’ll now never get to do again), but this isn’t a normal sort of day- hasn’t been a normal sort of MONTHS.

“they don’t know what did this to us! they can’t just tell us to ... to fuck off down into the tunnels like we’re just RATS that they can’t be bothered to call pest control for!” he’s pacing now, hands deep in the pockets of his slightly too big jacket (a jacket he supposes he’ll never grow into now) as he tries to process the implications of what the other girl had just said (he’s not sure who anyone IS anymore, a combination of him trying to keep himself to himself, trying to formulate a plan to somehow get out, and everyone suddenly giving themselves new names- not that he didn’t get the appeal of reinventing yourself, but he wasn’t quite ready to lose the only piece of himself that still felt NORMAL).

he’d been trying his best to keep his cool, to stay calm- things had gone wrong in his life before and he’d managed to work his way through it, surely this just had to be the same? he knew, no matter how much he told himself it wasn’t true, that this was different, nothing could fix the mess that their lives had all become. staying calm and collected was difficult, however, when some blonde idiot kid was talking about how he should be in charge (gibson wasn’t sure if he WANTED to be in charge- maybe not just him on his own, but he was sure there were BETTER ways of going about this whole thing).

He’s still not quite used to calling her Zahara - but then, in the grand scheme of ‘things they’ve all got to get used to now’, he figures adapting to his friends’ new names is pretty much at the bottom of the list. Everyone is still brittle, still stumbling through what their lives have become and trying to find... Anything to cling to that makes even the tiniest bit of sense.

That goes for the ones of them who’re trying to hold it together for everyone else, too. Maybe it’s because he was the first one to make that choice, but in the quiet moments it’s easy for him to notice when the strong ones are having trouble hiding what they’re feeling.

He’ll claim that he can’t imagine what it must’ve been like, to try going home afterwards - but then, he’d severed ties with his family days before the party, so he knows his situation was different to hers. If he dwells on this for too long (if he’s honest), he starts thinking about his mother - never his father, never David; just her. He wonders what she’d say, if he went back to her now, and then... Then he’ll throw himself at any other thought, because he can’t think about that. Not on top of everything else.

But he can focus on the others. He can focus on Zahara when he finds her sitting alone, when he can tell what expression she’s wearing even in the near-darkness of their surroundings.

five times smiled / no longer accepting / @brewalone

ONE. he’s a year above her in all of his classes, and he knows that might cause at least half a problem, but that doesn’t really stop jarrod from pining occasionally sneaking a glance at the absolutely GORGEOUS girl with the same lunch period as him. he tries to be LOWKEY - because, goddamn it, he’s not a creep, he’s just got eyes, and they function well enough for him to know that this girl is beautiful. the first time she catches him staring, she gives him a small wave, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly before turning back to whatever work she’s doing in that “thick fuckin’ textbook” ( according to kenny, the linguist ). he swoons, dopey GRIN frozen on his face - right up until kenny smacks him in the back of the head for being “too damn soft for his own good”. ( he doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. )

TWO. jarrod invites everyone to his football games, but this specific invite feels different. it’s definitely not a DATE, because he basically asked her to come watch him “kick some staten island tech ASS”, which earned him a slightly painful pat on the back from kenny, but it was definitely worth it. he’s got the football under his arm, running for the goalpost, trailed by three - no, four members of staten island’s defensive line. the student section of the bleachers is almost indistinguishable amidst all of the lights, but that hair is absolutely unmistakable. he shoots zeph a toothy smile - very charming with the bright orange mouth guard - about to wave at her when he’s driven directly into the ground by the defensive tackle. he’ll have to go back to the clinic tomorrow for the way his shoulder twists at the hit, but right now, it’s absolutely worth it.

THREE. jag knows that zahara cares about him. she’s proven it more than enough - she tended to his awful wounds after all of that torture, and she let him RAMBLE about loving her while he was woozy and disoriented without much protest. ( which would be really nice to think about if jag actually REMEMBERED that. ) the bandages she initially applied to his chest have since been removed, which may have been against zahara’s wishes just a little, but jag was getting really itchy, and it was DAMN NEAR unbearable. despite the chill in the air, he’s kept his shirt off, mostly under the pretense that “he’s just that handsome” - it’s definitely nothing to do with how badly his chest aches every time something so much as brushes against the fresh wounds. he catches zahara glancing at the burns and cracks a halfhearted smile, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “i know, z, i’m pretty damn good-looking.” she heaves a sigh, shaking her head, and his smile grows a bit into something more genuine. there’s the zahara he knows.

FOUR. it’s absolutely clear to see that zahara hasn’t been sleeping. she looks and sounds exhausted - which, of course, jag wouldn’t point out, because he’s not a dick, and she’s still BEAUTIFUL, but he’s worried. he tries not to let that concern shine through when she takes his offer for him to help her sleep - he has about two hours worth of knowledge about golf that he thinks will put her right to sleep. he plops down next to her, throwing his arm around her shoulders, deciding against making any sort of comment when she puts her head on his shoulder. instead, he smiles softly, rubbing her back lightly with his palm. “so,” he begins, “golf originated from a primitive stick and ball game in scotland in the 15th century…” ( he fades off at the sixteenth century, resting his head against the wall behind the both of them so he can get some rest as well. )

this story needs an ending | accepting!

to say jag's been PERSISTENT these past twenty-five years would be an understatement, and to say he'd do anything less than move heaven and earth for zahara would be a LIE. despite her less than desirable reactions to him every time he mentions... the L word ( which, despite what vilmos insists, is NOT lesbian ), he's set his sights on having something more than some fun, which is all SHE really seems to want to get out of, well, whatever this is. and despite being worn down and occasionally having his declarations of love laughed at, he's never strayed. while she was with strat, he never strayed - even though he probably could have. he didn't even want to TRY to love anyone else.

( which sounds PITIFUL, when he really thinks about it. so he's just stopped thinking about it. )

he still tries to make sure she's protected, though, even though, yeah, he knows she can take care of herself - he's heard that a THOUSAND times. if he can't be a good boyfriend, he can at least be a good PERSON, which is more than he can say about the last guy she was with. ( who DEFINITELY might have ruined his chances with zahara, so, uh, fuck him. ) so when he sees her walking toward FALCO TOWERS, again, and he's already on his bike, he speeds up a bit, revving the engine a bit too loud for no reason but to maybe grab her attention. of course, when her attention isn't grabbed almost instantly, he resorts to... more unconventional methods.

"ZAHARA! ZAHARA!"

( this is stupid, jagwire. )

"HEY, OVER HERE!"