#h6rror

        hands  hover  by  her  navel  as  she  looks  at  him  skeptically,  head  tilted  slightly  to  the  left.   reginald  never  talked  about  his  children  in  the  time  she  and  her  sisters  knew  him,  but  esme  didn’t  think  they  had  to  ask  about  the  boy  in  the  courtyard  statue.   ❛    not  that  it’s  any  of  my  concern,  but  we  always  just  assumed  you  were...  dead.    ❜   a  beat,  and  then  ------   ❛    no  offense.    ❜

five, six, seven, their little trio, the highest numbers out of the seven of them. they were practically inseperable at age 10, though now that it had been a year or so since vanya stopped training with them, they weren't quite as close knit. that didn't mean they stopped hanging out with each other, though.

The ground rules with Ben are that he’s gotta be in the car for the whole ride or not be present at all there is no in between

ghibli got me thrivin’ / @fightknife

“WH — ”

that’s about all she manages to get out before the library’s parking lot lights up with flashing blues and reds, completely blowing this friday evening’s peaceful darkness to all hell. save for joanna (who’s finishing up some book sorting behind the front desk) and the enigmatic knife hoarder (who just barreled through the front door seconds before the cop cars rolled up), the library’s empty. it’s closing time. at least, it’s supposed to be. 

“shit. over here!” jo grabs his arm and all but drags him behind the front counter, pushing him down between the desk and her chair. for extra measure, she stacks a couple books in front of his hiding spot, grabs the rest in her hands, and tries to look nonchalant as she makes her way to the nearest shelf. 

outside, there’s a burst of radio static as the silhouette of two policemen appear. the chime of the library’s front door opening follows a second later. joanna, for her part, acts super casual and drops the stack of books she’s holding. on her toe.

“ow! f — shoot!” 

the senior of the two policemen, a woman with auburn hair sporting a little bit of gray, shoots joanna an apologetic look. “sorry for the intrusion, miss desrosiers.” her voice is familiar: this is officer sharon harding, one of the policemen who took part in the ‘cops and chronicles’ event last month. harding gives joanna a small smile and nods towards the books on the floor. “need a hand?”

“i got it, thanks.” jo’s already crouching down to pick them up. “what can i do for you?” 

“i don’t mean to alarm you, but we’re pursuing a potentially dangerous individual. tall, dark hair, wears a mask. we last saw him heading this way. have you seen anyone matching that description?” 

“a masked man? no — no, not at all.” which isn’t entirely false. the guy behind the front desk technically isn’t wearing a mask.

harding frowns and takes a step forward. “are you all right?” she asks. there’s genuine concern in her voice. harding’s a nice lady. 

“i’m great! sorry, do i seem a little flustered?” breathe, joanna. breathe. “i’m just not used to late night visits from the cops, officer harding. that’s all.” she shrugs and tries a smile. “goody two shoes, and all that.”

harding gives her a small chuckle. “well, thank you for your time. and if you see him — ”

“ — mask, tall, dark hair. i’ll give you a call. i still have your card from the event.” joanna waves at the two of them as they exit. keeps waving for another fifteen seconds, and then goes back to sorting books while the police lights recede into the night. then waits another minute for good measure. only after she finishes sorting through the nonfiction returns does she finally walk back to the front desk and poke her head over it.

“we’ve got to stop meeting like this, man. the coast is clear. you can come out now.” jo settles back against the desk and crosses her arms over her chest.