#marshthing

She really has to pee. It's been the only thing she can think about for the last hour or two, probably because there wasn't much else for her to think of right now. The skin of her wrists is red and tender under the unyielding rope, which has them bound in place before her, sitting in the farmost corner from the door. It's a drafty room; the floor is cement, the walls unfinished, drywall stopping halfway to leave beams exposed. The fact that there was a bed within it didn't do much to make it feel warm or cozy, if that had been the intention. It's a prison, and within it, she's lost, with no one to question her absence.

Maybe she's the one to blame. Sure, they hadn't picked her up at the gas station, but she's pretty sure they followed her out when she filled up there last night. The acrid taste of bile rises as she revisits the moment they'd grabbed her, with barely one foot on the ground, parked outside Louise's diner. She didn't even have time to scream: they had ber bound and gagged right away, and just before the blindfold came on, she managed to catch a glimpse of one face.

That one was all she needed, though, and then everything after made sense. The way he acted like this would keep her safe; like it wasn't kidnapping; the sudden, violent shift from sickening tenderness to rage, asking her why she'd forced him to this. Why she hurt him and his friends. Why she chose that man over him.

But she won't think about Wrench again. She'd only just managed not to cry for at least a whole thirty minutes, and lingering too long on him was a surefire way to start up again. But despite her best efforts, her eyes are burning. A string of tears rolls down one cheek, so she tucks her knees up against her chest. Presses her face to her jeans, trying to block out everything. And then she does the only thing that seems to be left for her.

the first day of kindergarten.

it was an important moment, and one she had vaguely had a twinge about jody seeing - helping lucas pick out his favorite outfit to impress the other kids with, stealing grapes as she packed them into his lunch, giving their son a pep talk.

things were....better, now, she supposed. he knew, and he had stayed in touch. luke still didn't know who jody was, but she'd even let them meet for the first time after jody's last season was over and he came home to visit - it had taken months for her to trust them to meet, but she wasn't prepared for the this is your father conversation. not yet.

still, as she made sure his bag was double packed for the next morning, she was surprised to hear a knock at the door - the hour was late, lucas fast asleep in his room with the soft sounds of his radio playing quietly to help lull him into dreamland, and she was nervous enough about the next day without the added responsibility of inviting anyone over. she presumed it was her mother - three streets away but not far enough some days, probably coming to check in on her and make sure that she was handling her sons first real day of school as best she could.

instead, jody was there - her brow furrowed in confusion, because she was 99% sure he was supposed to have a game the next night in denver, but she didn't slam the door shut as quickly as she might have even a few months ago. "what are you doing here?' she asked instead, curious instead of accusatory, her head tilted to the side. "isn't your coach going to kill you for skipping like, what, the third game of the season?"

cricket finishes smearing her baby blue eyeshadow across her lids with the tip of her pointer finger. she's noticed since working at this new place that more of that glittery shit in her eyes equals more tips most nights, and she's willing to do anything for a couple bucks. (that's probably how she ended up here-- grinding in the laps of strange men to eighties pop songs and wiping cum off her lower back at the end of the night.)

but tonight is different. tonight the trap is set and she and the other girls will end their shifts covered in a different bodily fluid. that sweet nectar of life: blood. her throat aches at the thought, remembering the last time she fed. god, it's been too long since she's ripped out one of these sorry fucker's throats.

✥  “ where’s your sense of adventure ? ”  »  from soleil !

“ you have a point, ” klaus admitted with an airy sigh as he anxiously rubbed along his bicep. briefly he stared off towards the midnight sky until succumbing to her persuasion. “ fuck it. carpe noctem, let’s have fun ! lead the way then. i’m at your mercy. ”

- - it’s a trick!

She’s wearing her SUNDAY BEST. Hair dark and glossy and freshly braided by Ms. Emma just this morning, dressed in white. Immaculate. The hem of it brushes her thighs, tender as a lover's caress. Not that she could know these things: untouched as the Mother Mary, she's yet to be spoiled by men's crude hands ( unworthy, the Reverend would say, a gentle hand beneath her chin — you are God's alone ). There's a swing in her step as she pushes open the door to the general store downtown. A soft chime signals her entrance, and several eyes turn towards her form. Some gasp in soft reverence. Some smile in wordless pride. Mrs. Hayfield lays a hand against her cheek as she walks by, and Bambi leans into the touch, accepts the kiss bestowed on her brow like homage to a foreign god. What a good girl! They say. What a brave heart. And when she goes to pay for the chocolate milk in hand, it's been taken care of by someone else.

You deserve it, dear.

“Damnit, I love this song.”

From the nearby ballroom, a string quartet has started playing. Humming along under her breath, Eira drags the unconscious man by the wrists, tugging him into an empty side room.

“Missing all the fun,” she tells him ruefully, taking a moment to bind his wrists with deft fingers more accustomed to freeing knots than tying them. “And did you see the food? There was an entire table just for pies.”

Predictably, her companion doesn’t answer. Sighing, she plucks the dart from his neck, tucking the evidence into a pouch hidden beneath her gown and patting the man fondly on the cheek. “You’ll be up before it’s over. Don’t worry.” A shake of her head. “Have some pie for me.”

Eira exits the little room, the door clicking softly into place behind her. With soundless steps, she continues down the hall, though not without additional struggle: it is, admittedly, her first time attempting to move with stealth in a formal gown, and she likes to think it’s some testament to her skill that she manages it at all. The dress is a many layered confection, with a gauzy, shimmering fabric over top of varying shades of oceanic dark blue. From within the fitted bodice across her ribs, she palms a small but serviceable knife; with any luck, no one would die today, but she hadn’t survived this long without a dash of pragmatism. Two more quick turns. Three doors on the left. She can see the map in her mind’s eye, and it’s almost too easy to follow the path she’d traced out and memorized. As if the fates divined her thought, a rustle of motion alerts her up ahead, and she slips into the shadows of a nearby door, still as a hare, scarcely breathing.