#shadowedvales

they  had  gotten  on  the  wrong  foot  when  they  first  met.  when  lilah  had  caught  wind  of  someone  like  jane,  someone  that  could  be  a  potentially  powerful  weapon  if  allied  with  wolfram  and  hart,  she  had  no  hesitation  in  trying  to  swoop  her  up.  of  course  angel  and  his  band  of  do-gooders  got  to  her  first  and  corrupted  her  with  a  sense  of  goodness.  ugh,  how  annoying.  but,  now  @shadowedvales  had  come  to  her  in  desperate  help  to  get  any  information  she  could  on  portal  jumping  and  dimensions   —   to  help  cordelia  get  back.  why  the  hell  would  she  ever  help  get  her  back?  but,  when  lilah  had  pondered  a  little  further,  she  realized  she  could  use  this  little  favor  to  her  advantage.

so,  lilah  had  given  her  a  few  rare  texts  that  only  wolfram  and  hart  had  their  hands  on.  ❛  well,  here  it  is,  all  the  latest  on  the  fancy  portals  your  people  need  to  get  your  precious  cordelia  back,  ❜  she  stated,  sliding  the  texts  to  her  across  her  desk.

don't  think  this  changes  anything  between  us.

a  soft  laugh  escapes  lilah's  lips,  ❛  i  didn't  think  they  would,  ❜  she  first  responded,  arms  folded  over  her  chest  delicately.  ❛  but,  since  i  scratched  your  back,  you  can  scratch  my  back  ...  everything  comes  with  a  price,  jane,  ❜  and  then  she  places  a  protective  hand  on  top  of  the  texts,  a  single  brow  raised  inquisitively  with  an  accompanying  smirk.

MORBID CURIOSITY from here.

A GUILTY EXPRESSION passes across Steve's face as he lifts up his baseball cap, running a hand through his hair before he settles the hat back down on top of his head. He struggles to tell her, but she looks at him with a fierce determination and Steve doesn't have it in him to lie.

" --- A while, yeah, I'm sorry, Jane." and Steve truly does look apologetic, frowning as he looks over at her. "It's just... Chief said you weren't allowed any visitors, and..." He shrugs his shoulder a half inch, "--- You know how he gets." Adding rapidly, he continues, " --- but it's not for lack of trying. Henderson convinced me to go over with him to make sure you were good." He pauses, looking at her steadily, " --- You didn't look too good."

    Elle. That's how she's begun to sign her name now. Turning an unfortunate designation into a mark of her individuality.

    (Larissa is unwillingly conscious, whenever thinking of young Elle, that she is particularly sensitive to this student. That the part of her which professional distance requires to be inactive--that is to say, her heart--is nonetheless active in Elle's presence, when thinking of Elle, when talking about Elle. That the throb of pride she feels when she sees that name, carefully written in the child's own cautious hand, is not appropriate to her position; that she cannot stop it; that she ought not to care.)

    There is a sheaf of new papers in the file today. They've been provided to Larissa not from Elle's tutor, but from a private detective in her employ. She's invited Elle to her office to discuss them.

    Her curling, dark hair has begun to grow out (thump from her irrational heart) and though she's filled out some, with a touch of color in her once-hollow cheeks, she still looks (thump again) terribly small, incredibly innocent. Larissa, with the file in her hands, hates to feel that she is placing a fresh burden on those small shoulders (and as she's been told by the infirmary head, those shoulders might never reach the full height they were meant for; early malnutrition, thump-thump-thump). With a gesture she invites Elle to sit with her in the leather armchairs before the fireplace.

@shadowedvales. lucas sinclair & janessa ives.

lucas may be one of the more emotionally intelligent members of the party ( that much is apparent by his readiness to take janessa out, provide a distraction from whatever turmoil may currently trouble her ) but he is still a teenage boy after all. his honest intention may well have been to give his friend a welcome reprieve at the palace arcade, but one round of dragon's lair had sucked him in. one became two, two became nearly all of his pocket money, and before he realised it he was engrossed in the lights and sounds of the machine with little to no regard or remembrance for his current company.

it is only when her meek request shines through that he turns once again to look at her, blinking as if out of a stupour as the GAME OVER screen flashes its announcement of defeat. his high score will simply have to wait. hands depart from their bewitched stance upon well - worn buttons, and he smiles sheepishly in an unspoken admission of guilt for his attention having strayed so sharply. his enthusiasm compensates more or less, no trace of hesitation in his acceptance.

❛ course you can ! ❜ it comes out in a rush, all one word. corshucan. a hand comes to gingerly clap her shoulder, not quite pulling her in towards him ( because still he knows how she can flinch, how touch is a treacherous deceiver that is best treated with care ) but all the same giving that comforting feeling of proximity with his palm.

@shadowedvales sent ❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜

as always, i'm going to put a uno reverse on you and i'm afraid i might have to use the read more function.

the girl seems to come from another world altogether. the nurses gossip to each other between various "treatments" about her, which tugs at johanna's heartstrings ( no one should be talked about as if they're an object ), yet she cannot help but listen in. apparently, she was brought to them wearing trousers. a girl no older than thirteen in black trousers of a strange fabric. the length of her hair makes johanna wonder if she was forced to sell it before this. in whatever world she came from. there was the occasional joke that the girl must be irish. on the only occasion she ever heard the girl speak, she didn't sound irish. foreign, but even johanna, after years of being locked away in the bedroom, knew she wasn't a brutish walking stereotype of a neighboring country.

she was nothing more than a young girl with cropped hair and wide, brown eyes that remind johanna much of a starved rabbit with a fate as doomed as the rest of them: a lifetime rotting away in a madhouse. ( but johanna still sings. she sings despite the complaining from the nurses and the ways they discipline her before of it. she sings despite her hankering exhaustion and the moment where she squeezed her eyes tight and wished she could end it all. if she doesn't sing how will anthony find her? )

today, they've somehow ended up near each other. the little girl and her. johanna doesn't move from the window until she's dragged away, even then her fingers grip at the bars until she's bloody and bruised. why the girl joined her today is none of her business, really. no one talks to each other in here. no one has any reason to make a new friend. besides, there's no telling who she could trust. any one of the women around them could have blood on their minds. perhaps, the girl just needed some fresh air, too.