#homeruin

        she’s not sure about being here...but august said that it’s somewhere she can go if there’s nowhere else, if she needs a grown up that can be trusted, and bea might not trust trish, but she trusts him. it looks like she might flee at any moment; bea’s just waiting for the faintest hint that this was a terrible idea and she’ll be off down the street before anyone’s realised it’s happened. she’s used to scared, after all. she should have just stayed scared. ( but she’s tired, and hungry, and so very alone. even she, and her dislike of people, feels alone. she feels it constantly. ) 

“ sometimes saying anything just makes it worse. ”  

for lana!

  Nott grimaces, concentrating on staying seated on the horse. She would knot her arms tight around Lana’s waist, if she could, but --- it’s not Caleb, so maybe she can’t get away with that. Maybe she should have ridden behind him after all. He was surprised as anyone else when she called Lana instead.

     “Hey --- can I ask you a question?”   she pipes up, when she thinks she’s found her balance. Hopefully. ( Niiice horsey. Don’t go too fast, horsey. )   “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you hanging around with these losers?”

  The Mighty Nein has a place for everyone. Even a goblin. Lana seems like a pretty classy lady, though, the opposite end of that spectrum, and Nott just... wonders. Where does she see herself?

“ no problem. ” simon’s hands are fidgeting in his pockets. he’s a good escort, if not much else; folk’re inclined to leave the six foot zombie well enough alone, to let him wander down the winding footpaths between houses with jem at four o’clock in the bloody morning. he’s softened up around the edges a lot, but at the end of all of it, he’s thirty-something, collecting his boyfriend’s sister from the city and taking her back to her parents’ house. he feels old. he feels responsible, or like he should be. “ did you wanna talk about what you were doin ? ”

jem gives him a look, arms crossed, that says don’t be a moron in not so many words. simon exhales pointlessly and tips his head in concession, looks down at his feet to make sure they - in their unending numbness - don’t catch and stumble on the bumps in the road. 

then: “ you know, i. uh. i have to tell kieren where i’ve been. ”

gia

“ reckon you're wrong, ” simon says, tugging his sweater sleeves down, over his palms. she's not bad, she's angry, she's - a ball of tensions and horrors. but she also loves her brother, which they have in common. she wants to be honest, which - they also have in common. simon always listed towards numb rather than angry, but there's so many little hallmarks in jem that he sees and he thinks: me too. right down to thinking i'm not good. 

the hour starters. accepting. 

     “hey, hey, no one’s sending anyone anywhere. i’m just the dude with the arrows.” that’s true enough. he’s the dude with the arrows. half the time he’s got to explain he’s an avenger. “i don’t send people places. we don’t ... send people places.” unless it was loki. back to asgard. or evil people. back to whence they came. 

     he runs a hand over the back of his head. those words elicit fear, and an immediate knowing, and even if he’s wrong -- even if this is just a kid who broke a window with a baseball and doesn’t want to face the music - he owes it to the kid he was to find out. 

KILL BILL SIRENS