#equiiibrium

                                                 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔡𝔬𝔴 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔱𝔰 .

   𝖙𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 she tries very hard to keep confusion out of soft features, the pinching together of pale brows is the revelation that she doesn’t quite understand the doctor’s words.        while it doesn’t entirely not make sense ( for mary had unleashed something of an interrogation on the 𝓰𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝓭𝖔𝖈𝖙𝖔𝖗, concealed in a smile & saccharine tones ),  she can’t help but question the cryptic statement, it having turned that little seed of a question into full bloom.  

  she’d dealt with enough of doctor arden to know when suspicion is warranted —— but her worry had teetered along the line of patient safety, whether or not inducing vomiting to stimuli was heathy for mind, or body . . . now she wonders if there is something she is missing entirely.  she feels stupid.                ❛  right, ❜    she nods, as though following an order. a smile is offered to doctor thredson,  though embarrassment burns hot in her cheeks.    

have  you  ever  considered  that  you’re  the  reason  for  the  problem  sitting  in  front  of  you?   or  maybe  you’re  just  a  symptom  of  a  greater  disease,   alice  muses  as  she  levels  the  corpse  of  a  man  with  as  much  venom  as  she  can  muster  in  one  look.   hate  is  a  strong  term:   but  she  has  never  been  more  certain  of  the  fact  of  entirely  loathing  someone  than  the  feeling  peacock  inspires  in  her.   maybe  she  would  have  been  more  concerned  over  her  rational  lack  of  empathy  for  the  whistleblower  if  she  was  more  in  touch  with  her  missing  digit.   the  stub  no  longer  aches,   but  she  misses  the  familiar  presence  of  her  little  finger  all  the  same.

❝   may  as  well  be  my  job  if  it’s  causing  you  any  trouble.   ❞     those  dreamy  blue  eyes  narrow  and  roll  away  from  the  morbid  fixation  upon  his  withering  face,   mottled  purples  and  blues  that  remind  her  of  night  of  the  living  dead.   the  girl  is  petulant  and  smug  all  in  the  same  expression,   though  she  does  not  smile  nor  frown.   simon  still  commands  her  terror  at  inopportune  times,   this  is  true:   but  alice  is  tired  of  flinching  whenever  he  grabs  ahold  of  her  arms  and  shakes  her  like  a  ragdoll,   much  like  the  present  moment.  

he’ll  have  to  step  up  his  game  to  get  her  good  and  afraid  like  the  earlier  days.

it  doesn’t  help  his  case  in  point  that  his  words  seem  like  more  of  a  complaint  than  an  interrogation.   he  may  as  well  have  clapped  his  hands  over  her  ears  for  how  much  she  cared  to  understand  whatever  he  was  getting  at.   so  now  he  wanted  her  cooperation?   please.   refusing  to  listen  to  him  any  further,   she  twists  and  turns  violently,   yanking  her  arms  free  and  pushing  him  away.

alice  parts  with  a  bitter  scoff.     ❝   don’t  pretend  you  care  who  i  am.   ❞

he’s   looking         ‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒       annoyed.     a  gruff  sound  and  then  copia  kicks  the  wood  under  the  bunk,   rattling  it  with  a  second  and  third  kick.   when  it  doesn’t  wake,   he  makes  matters  worse  and  kicks  the  leg  that’s  hanging  out  from  behind  the  bunk’s  curtain.

Had she known they'd be standing this still for an...indeterminate but likely extended amount of time, she wouldn't have grabbed such a hefty handful.

Slowly lifting her empty hand to join the other, Cirice shuffles the overflowing mound of birdseed into a more manageable cup. She's reminded of a childhood trip to Notre Dame de Paris and the way the doves flocked to her when she held her arms out at her sides. The doves there were rather social and pecked sunflower seeds directly from her palm.

Somehow, she doesn't think these crows will be as amiable. But Primo stands stalwart and solemn, and she dare not question his ancient wisdoms.

One of the birds squawks and cocks its head toward her. She smiles politely; it chatters thoughtfully.

nose  in  a  book,   lips  curved  in  a  smile  as  bright  as  daybreak,   alice  marion  is  oblivious  to  the  world  until  her  father  calls  her  home  to  the  little  blue  planet  they  keep  their  feet  firmly  on.   a  small  pair  of  blue  eyes  are  upturned  to  find  their  match  in  his  azure  hue.   though  his  waking  mind  may  drift  in  the  clouds,   paul  marion  has  always  had  an  absurd  talent  for  discernment;   cutting  through  like  mirrorglass.

❝   well...   i  guess  i  am  happy.   ❞    her  library  copy  of  the  master  and  margarita  snaps  shut  with  the  decisive,   yet  soft  sound  of  worn  and  torn  pages  before  the  teenager  levels  her  attention  on  her  puzzled  father.   the  girl’s  eyes  are  brighter  than  the  illuminated  surface  of  the  full  moon,   with  just  as  many  secrets  and  wishes  hiding  on  the  opposite  side.

she  tucks  a  stray  blonde  hair  behind  her  ear,   under  the  plain  headband  which  gracefully  keeps  the  mess  in  place.     ❝   you  know  the  halloween  dance?   ❞     delicate  hand,   white  and  blue  as  snow,   falls  back  into  her  lap  while  she  sits  closer  to  the  edge  of  the  kitchen  chair.   eyes  rounder,   gleaming  like  stars,   she  announces  excitedly,   the  conspiratorial  tone  vanished:

❝   someone  asked  me  to  go.   you  know.   with  them.   ❞