#oathmade

there  is  a  humorous  crack  as  sam’s  teeth  sink  into  paint-smelling  saltines,  then  a  brewing,  froggy  groan;  he  turns  his  head  away  from  bill  and  spits  the  contents  from  his  mouth  onto  the  broken  wooden  floor.   sam  tucks  the  roll  of  crackers  back  on  the  dusty  shelf,  the  distinct  scent  of  old  food  burning  the  back  of  his  sinuses. 

‘  ugh.  those  tasted  like  ass.  ‘   sam  casts  a  glance  at  bill,  wiping  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  sleeve.   ‘  come  here,  kid,  i  wanna  boost  you  on  my  shoulders  so  you  can  see  whats  at  the  top  of  this  pantry.  ‘    whoever  stocked  it  certainly  was  prepared  for  something,  but  not  the  harsh  conditions  of  their  life,  now,  he  supposed.  sam  espies  a  blackened  slop  of  plastic,  notes  the  ‘wheat  bread’  indicator  printed  on  the  sleeve.  untouched,  then,  for  years.

@oathmade​ plotted starter

Charlie had been nervous, moving to a new place, a small town where everyone already seemed to know everyone else and she stuck out as if she had a sign reading New Girl hanging around her neck. She attributed the odd prickle at the back of her neck to those nerves. Paranoia, nothing more. The times when she heard soft laughter coming from nowhere, when she thought there was a shadow at the edge of her vision that disappeared when she turned to look, was just her imagination. She shrugged it off. Until now.

She’d been walking at the edge of town when she heard it, a voice, not a whisper this time but clear and sure, calling her name. Why she’d followed it, she couldn’t really say. But she had. She’d allowed it to lead her into the tall grass, and then. Then it had showed itself to her. Showed... well, herself. A mirror image of her, standing in the field, wearing a grin full of malice. There was fire dancing in the other her’s eyes, and she felt rooted to the ground.

“Charlieeee, why do you run from me?” it cooed, her own voice but with something else behind it, darkness surrounding the words. “This is who you truly are! One big zippo, remember?” It lifted its hands- her hands, and she felt the heat rising around her, that oppressive, choking aura that built and built until everything around her caught like kindling.

“No,” she choked out, throat thick with fear and pain. This is not who I am, this is not who I want to be.

“Oh, yes,” the doppelganger countered, grin widening impossibly, until it nearly stretched ear to ear. “Don’t you remember? How good it felt, to get revenge?” The world wavered, and when Charlie turned her head she saw the field around them had turned to the blackened, skeleton-strewn grounds of The Shop compound.

“NO!” she screamed, hands shaking as she tried to block out the memory.

       “---big bill?” he’s been uncharacteristically quiet and, when he does speak, he sounds just as uncharacteristically mature. there’s no voice to be found here except for his own ( the voice which, as he gets older, tends to fade into something continuously confident and charming whether it’s because he’s famous or because he’s hiding something ) and he shifts closer to bill as if he thinks someone is going to overhear even though they’re alone.

      she’s been waiting in line, her book held against her chest as if it’s something precious--- as if she’d be so very disappointed in herself were she to drop it on the floor. her gloved hands are curled around the sides of it protectively, and just from looking at her it’s clear that the book is dear to her somehow, that she’s excited to be here even though the smile on her face is rather contained. she’s patient, but she still stands out among the crowd. her blue eyes are taking in everything; she feels like she’s going to remember this meeting for the rest of her life.