anomaliae

[anomaliae]

The accident and subsequent extended hospital stay was enough on it's own to completely shake up a life. Learning of her father's passing, the economic ruin she was left in, her education in limbo, the man she would've married having moved on without her; each blow knocked her further and further down. But what really tipped her over the edge was the dreamwalking. Waking up from someone else's dream of a sinking boat, coughing up water as she broke out of the nightmare. She never bothered telling a doctor. Who would believe her? Instead, she self-medicated with stimulants and adapted to the ruins she woke up in.

Lena had turned her attention to Dario for a millisecond, only to have Sal draw it back. She stared at him again, though this time there was no scrutiny. Instead, her eyes were wide in momentary awe. There was no sickly sweetness or overacting. He seemed--he was--genuine. No one had ever acknowledged what little she had to restart with. Not even the doctors and nurses at the hospital. They had the audacity to tell her it might be time to find her mother. She'd rather end up dead in an alleyway before she went looking for that woman. Lena blinked a few times before a slight smile quirked at the corners of her lips, though she said nothing in return. Instead, she cleared her throat and looked back to Dario, who seemed desperate to adhere to his agenda.

Mechanical Engineering was a far cry from working in a club, but Lena supposed Dario had already taken that into account. It meant she was good with numbers and problem solving. Businesses were nothing more than well-oiled machines, after all. She could fix cracks before they were even seen, if given the opportunity. Which, she was.

A suite of her own, a glorified consulting job; it all seemed too good to be true. She couldn't help but inch forward slightly in her seat, an eagerness she couldn't subdue surfacing at the offer as he laid it out for her. If there was a pen, her hands would be on it, ready to sign her name on whatever dotted line was presented. She decided, instead, to play it cool. She picked up the glass she had placed down and took a thoughtful sip. Once the liquid was past her lips, she hummed softly. "It sounds like the sort of opportunity I would be stupid to turn down," Collected, she looked over at Sal, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "What I would like to know is your part here. I can't imagine you're just a pretty face. Are you in another connected suite I should be aware of?" She could feel it in Dario's stare. He had to know he already won. So what was the harm in asking some questions and showing just how charming she could be?

Lena didn't need to hear the spiel to know she would agree to whatever was offered. She didn't care where the money came from, or how it was made. She couldn't keep on living the way she was. Cash was spent on her nasty little habit, whatever was left bought Ramen and energy drinks. She scraped by the first of the month, making rent by pennies. Her power and water were shut off almost regularly. If this offer was going to give any solution, even if it meant demeaning herself, she would take it.

Sal's sympathy was met with immediate skepticism, her brow knit as she searched his eyes for even an ounce of condescension. The nurses had all tried to comfort her when she woke up, but she found their empathy to be empty. Of course they felt bad for her. Who wouldn't? But they had no idea how it felt. They never would. "So, I didn't. I started over. I had nothing left to salvage, after all." She spoke firmly, more to assure herself that she wouldn't waver as his eyes bore into her.

In some ways, she was grateful for how Dario moved on from her sorrowful tale. He brushed aside the pain so many were all too happy to fixate on. She rolled her shoulders briefly, working out the tension she hadn't noticed was building. "Mechanical engineering. Engineering as a whole has always been an interest of mine. I had a tough time choosing a discipline when I got to MIT." Her initial passion had been in aerospace, inspired early by her dad's workplace. Though he was only a janitor, she was still awestruck every time he brought her in.

Lena stared hard at Dario, trying to decide if she believed his offer was real. Was it some way to exploit her for his own benefit? Or did he actually see potential in her that he didn't see with the other hot blondes at the club? She was silent for a few moments, her blue-green eyes searching for something in her employer. Whether she wanted to see lies or the truth was anybody's guess. There was nothing else to it. Just a word. Partner. She would be stupid to just say yes, though she had every intention of following through. "What, exactly, does that entail? I can't imagine I'll still be serving liquor as a partner." The word tasted strange in her mouth, but not bitter or sour. It was sweet.

[anomaliae]

Lena didn't need to hear the spiel to know she would agree to whatever was offered. She didn't care where the money came from, or how it was made. She couldn't keep on living the way she was. Cash was spent on her nasty little habit, whatever was left bought Ramen and energy drinks. She scraped by the first of the month, making rent by pennies. Her power and water were shut off almost regularly. If this offer was going to give any solution, even if it meant demeaning herself, she would take it.

Sal's sympathy was met with immediate skepticism, her brow knit as she searched his eyes for even an ounce of condescension. The nurses had all tried to comfort her when she woke up, but she found their empathy to be empty. Of course they felt bad for her. Who wouldn't? But they had no idea how it felt. They never would. "So, I didn't. I started over. I had nothing left to salvage, after all." She spoke firmly, more to assure herself that she wouldn't waver as his eyes bore into her.

In some ways, she was grateful for how Dario moved on from her sorrowful tale. He brushed aside the pain so many were all too happy to fixate on. She rolled her shoulders briefly, working out the tension she hadn't noticed was building. "Mechanical engineering. Engineering as a whole has always been an interest of mine. I had a tough time choosing a discipline when I got to MIT." Her initial passion had been in aerospace, inspired early by her dad's workplace. Though he was only a janitor, she was still awestruck every time he brought her in.

Lena stared hard at Dario, trying to decide if she believed his offer was real. Was it some way to exploit her for his own benefit? Or did he actually see potential in her that he didn't see with the other hot blondes at the club? She was silent for a few moments, her blue-green eyes searching for something in her employer. Whether she wanted to see lies or the truth was anybody's guess. There was nothing else to it. Just a word. Partner. She would be stupid to just say yes, though she had every intention of following through. "What, exactly, does that entail? I can't imagine I'll still be serving liquor as a partner." The word tasted strange in her mouth, but not bitter or sour. It was sweet.

What was this meeting? Was it a game Dario wanted to play? See if he can make his favorite shot girl squirm under a microscope? Was Sal there just to show off his power to someone? Her buzzes were colliding in a way that made her dizzy, her only resolve being to firmly place the glass on the tabletop, her hands falling into her lap as her nails pressed into her palms. His comment gave her spinning mind pause. If his goal was to make her submit further to him, why not indulge her when she uses such formalities? She took a breath but held before another sir was uttered. Instead, she stared ahead, wishing she didn't have to wait until the man was asleep to get into his mind.

Her full holy name felt sacrilegious on his tongue, but what had she done to warrant otherwise? She sinned daily, not that it ever mattered much to her, even before the accident. "My parents were both raised Catholic. My nickname was supposed to be Maggie, but Lena stuck." She didn't mention that her name had been chosen by a mother that didn't stick around long enough to see what name suited her daughter.

A surge of confidence and pride washed over Lena as she watched Dario struggle to reply, though she became increasingly aware of his irritation. She could've bit back again, using that quick wit to close herself off further. But his warning had subdued her, finally taking a moment to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. "If you know about the accident, you know about the coma I was in. And when I woke up, I had nothing and nobody." She paused a moment, composing herself, refusing to break down in front of them. "My dad, my boyfriend, my home, my friends, my spot at MIT. Everything was taken from me. I could've fought to get some of it back, but it wouldn't have been the same." Nothing would've been right without her dad there, so why bother.

"Does that suffice as an answer for you, sir?"

[anomaliae]

What was this meeting? Was it a game Dario wanted to play? See if he can make his favorite shot girl squirm under a microscope? Was Sal there just to show off his power to someone? Her buzzes were colliding in a way that made her dizzy, her only resolve being to firmly place the glass on the tabletop, her hands falling into her lap as her nails pressed into her palms. His comment gave her spinning mind pause. If his goal was to make her submit further to him, why not indulge her when she uses such formalities? She took a breath but held before another sir was uttered. Instead, she stared ahead, wishing she didn't have to wait until the man was asleep to get into his mind.

Her full holy name felt sacrilegious on his tongue, but what had she done to warrant otherwise? She sinned daily, not that it ever mattered much to her, even before the accident. "My parents were both raised Catholic. My nickname was supposed to be Maggie, but Lena stuck." She didn't mention that her name had been chosen by a mother that didn't stick around long enough to see what name suited her daughter.

A surge of confidence and pride washed over Lena as she watched Dario struggle to reply, though she became increasingly aware of his irritation. She could've bit back again, using that quick wit to close herself off further. But his warning had subdued her, finally taking a moment to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. "If you know about the accident, you know about the coma I was in. And when I woke up, I had nothing and nobody." She paused a moment, composing herself, refusing to break down in front of them. "My dad, my boyfriend, my home, my friends, my spot at MIT. Everything was taken from me. I could've fought to get some of it back, but it wouldn't have been the same." Nothing would've been right without her dad there, so why bother.

"Does that suffice as an answer for you, sir?"

cont. from here @amity-and-enmity

Lena felt a lump form in her throat the moment she spotted the file, though she remained unchanged. Her chin tilted slightly as she did her best to read the body language of the gentlemen she sat with. Dario always exuded an air of confidence, warranted or not. But the smirk plastered on his face wasn't typical for him. It was assured, certain. Like he got her on something she didn't even know she did. A brief glance at Sal revealed an eagerness and interest, though he didn't seem as wicked as Dario did. She didn't feel trapped just yet, but she sense the room getting smaller around them.

Her fingers were pressed firmly to the glass as she took a much larger sip, momentarily afraid that the pressure would shatter the glass in her hands. She watched as impassively as she could as Dario flourished, her eyes darting to the pages, trying to make out her history as he flipped through. "I wouldn't expect anything less, sir," She replied clearly, though she had expected much less. The club didn't seem like a place to care too much about where the employees came from, as long as they did their job. That was partially why she took the gig in the first place.

Whether it was the alcohol or a sense of humiliation, Lena felt her face begin to burn. There was a sort of embarrassment she felt about her undergrad, especially when mentioned so off-handedly by someone she respected. Her credits were in purgatory, her place on campus filled in the years she had been out. The admissions board had sent her a letter; she could reapply, but her spot and scholarship were not ensured. She didn't doubt her ability to perform academically, but she wasn't the same girl they had accepted. It didn't feel like that anyway. She paused briefly at his question, prepared to sheepishly explain her past. But the file in his hands stopped her. Instead, she turned her gaze back to meet his. "If you need to ask that question, it isn't a very good background check." Lena spoke evenly, a gleam in her eye she couldn't help. She wasn't going to spill her sob story for someone who had her history in his hands.

[anomaliae]

cont. from here @amity-and-enmity

Lena felt a lump form in her throat the moment she spotted the file, though she remained unchanged. Her chin tilted slightly as she did her best to read the body language of the gentlemen she sat with. Dario always exuded an air of confidence, warranted or not. But the smirk plastered on his face wasn't typical for him. It was assured, certain. Like he got her on something she didn't even know she did. A brief glance at Sal revealed an eagerness and interest, though he didn't seem as wicked as Dario did. She didn't feel trapped just yet, but she sensed the room getting smaller around them.

Her fingers were pressed firmly to the glass as she took a much larger sip, momentarily afraid that the pressure would shatter the glass in her hands. She watched as impassively as she could as Dario flourished, her eyes darting to the pages, trying to make out her history as he flipped through. "I wouldn't expect anything less, sir," She replied clearly, though she had expected much less. The club didn't seem like a place to care too much about where the employees came from, as long as they did their job. That was partially why she took the gig in the first place.

Whether it was the alcohol or a sense of humiliation, Lena felt her face begin to burn. There was a sort of embarrassment she felt about her undergrad, especially when mentioned so off-handedly by someone she respected. Her credits were in purgatory, her place on campus filled in the years she had been out. The admissions board had sent her a letter; she could reapply, but her spot and scholarship were not ensured. She didn't doubt her ability to perform academically, but she wasn't the same girl they had accepted. It didn't feel like that anyway. She paused briefly at his question, prepared to sheepishly explain her past. But the file in his hands stopped her. Instead, she turned her gaze back to meet his. "If you need to ask that question, it isn't a very good background check." Lena spoke evenly, a gleam in her eye she couldn't help. She wasn't going to spill her sob story for someone who had her history in his hands.

[anomaliae]

Whether it was the mid-grade coke in her system or the pure adrenaline she felt walking confidently into the lion's den, Lena felt like she was buzzing, though she remained calm and collected, calculative but receptive if only in appearance. She had no clue what this could all be about, though she did know Dario had taken a liking to her in the few times they interacted. It was a promotion of sorts, as he mentioned, but what exactly did it entail? What would she be asked to do? Why did she already know she'd agree, if only for the payout?

A small grin briefly fluttered over Lena's lips at Sal's introduction, briefly charmed by the almost bashful introduction. But as quickly as it appeared, her smile fell into something more demure. She couldn't buckle. Lena moved to her seat, careful to sit with her back straight. "Magdalene. Lena for short." She offered coyly, playfully returning his introduction without skipping a beat.

She was caught mid-sip at Dario's question, needing a little bit of liquid courage to keep her leg from shaking. "No, I'm certain I'd remember if we did," She replied once the drink had slipped down her throat, a flirtatious glance in Sal's direction as she held the glass on her lap. While most words that came out of Dario's mouth sounded nefarious, there was something particularly suspicious about investor. What was she doing meeting an investor? Was she supposed to flirt more support out of him? "An investor? Suppose I should be thanking you for your support," She teasingly replied, taking another sip of her scotch, this time a little more than before.

There was an ease to the job that Lena hadn’t expected. Sure, she was familiar with the gutter, but that wasn’t how she had started. How was it so easy for her to wear skimpy uniforms and flirt a $50 tip out of a client? She had once been enrolled in MIT with a full ride, companies in Silicone Valley scouting her before she even began her masters. Shouldn’t she be something more than a fancy Hooters waitress? Yet, she had felt a strange swell of pride as Dario commended her, his criticism garnering a single nod of determination. Lose the gleam, easy enough.

Whether it was the drugs or a general alertness she felt around him, she watched every move. Everything he did seemed so fluid, natural. She sensed there was more to the man than what was on his surface, but he certainly played his role well. Other girls at the club would gossip about him, creep and skeeze commonly thrown around. Lena never participated, though. She had a respect for him that the others would likely never understand. Even she had a difficult time understanding it.

The glass in her hand sent a chill down her spine. Not the bad kind. No, this was intrigue and excitement. This wasn’t just a typical offer, she could tell. His scotch wasn’t for just anyone. She had only ever served it to a select few. Entering the room, she observed the aforementioned associate, the way he couldn’t seem to sit still. He behaved like he was the one who did a line during his fifteen minute break, not her. “Hello,” She offered politely, a sweetness in her voice reserved only for strangers and the older gentlemen that frequented the club. They ate that shit up with their silver spoons and paid handsomely in return.

[anomaliae]

There was an ease to the job that Lena hadn't expected. Sure, she was familiar with the gutter, but that wasn't how she had started. How was it so easy for her to wear skimpy uniforms and flirt a $50 tip out of a client? She had once been enrolled in MIT with a full ride, companies in Silicone Valley scouting her before she even began her masters. Shouldn't she be something more than a fancy Hooters waitress? Yet, she had felt a strange swell of pride as Dario commended her, his criticism garnering a single nod of determination. Lose the gleam, easy enough.

Whether it was the drugs or a general alertness she felt around him, she watched every move. Everything he did seemed so fluid, natural. She sensed there was more to the man than what was on his surface, but he certainly played his role well. Other girls at the club would gossip about him, creep and skeeze commonly thrown around. Lena never participated, though. She had a respect for him that the others would likely never understand. Even she had a difficult time understanding it.

The glass in her hand sent a chill down her spine. Not the bad kind. No, this was intrigue and excitement. This wasn't just a typical offer, she could tell. His scotch wasn't for just anyone. She had only ever served it to a select few. Entering the room, she observed the aforementioned associate, the way he couldn't seem to sit still. He behaved like he was the one who did a line during his fifteen minute break, not her. "Hello," She offered politely, a sweetness in her voice reserved only for strangers and the older gentlemen that frequented the club. They ate that shit up with their silver spoons and paid handsomely in return.

While her job at the club wasn’t anything like the career she should’ve had, Lena didn’t mind the gig. It was better than stripping. Tips there were usually ones and maybe fives, here, she was getting handed $20 bills just for bringing a drink over. So, she put on her sexiest smile, served liquor, and did her damn job. And where else was she going to work that made it so easy to get a quick bump in? 

Lena held an empty tray at her side and watched Dario carefully as he domineered her space, a tactic that was unsurprising to say the least. But she didn’t give him a look, or roll her eyes. She held herself high and accepted the glass as it was handed to her. She knew better than to argue with the man that essentially paid her bills. Though there was a slight twitch to her brow at his insinuation, Lena remained otherwise cool and calm. He already coined that she needed the money, there was no need to play coy in that regard. “What exactly is it that you’re offering, sir?” Perhaps the “sir” was a bit overboard, but it certainly couldn’t hurt her opportunity. 

[anomaliae]

Wanting a brother or sister was a sentiment that Piper had once shared, before circumstances led her to Amy's side. When she was little, she collected sticks and twine and dried up grass and crafted herself a sister. She called her Maple and carried her around everywhere. Somewhere in the old cabin, Maple was still waiting for her family to come home. "I don't mind sharing," Piper offered teasingly. Amy was a blessing in Piper's life. Far be it from her to keep the kindhearted woman from anyone else.

Piper did her best to learn social etiquette quickly, but there were so many steps and contingencies. Nice to meet you is returned with- "Nice to meet you too!" Her jaw clenched slightly. Why did she say that so loudly? Did she jump on it too quick? Too slow? A faint "sorry" was murmured as she loosely wrung her hands. The burn of embarrassment was avoided if only for the kindness in Riley's eyes as he smiled at her.

Piper's smile softened into something more understanding. She had a treasure trove of stories about Amy. All the ways she helped her adjust to society. The experiences she helped Piper through, always patient and empathetic. She could spew a thousand tales right then and there, but they were stuck in her throat. Stories about a girl who was fifteen when she attended school for the first time were far from first meeting appropriate. So, she swallowed her tragic backstory and nodded. "I'd be lost without her."

Laughing softly, she shrugged her shoulders. "I love Amy with all my heart, I really do. But I like quiet. You can't always get that with her." It wasn't any fault of Amy's. Piper couldn't shake her affinity for silence after all these years. It was part of her. "But, who knows? Rooming with her might be my best option. I'm pretty sure one place is next to a fire department." She would take Amy over sirens any day.

The sign of surrender offered through his hands raising had softened her gaze. A symbol of amity she had become familiar with over the years. She could never shake the defensiveness she felt with strangers. Her first year in civilization had been met with slow-speaking adults that treated her like some feral creature in need of domestication. The entire experience had left a bitter taste when it came to unfamiliar faces, though she worked hard to overcome her initial reaction.

Taking a half-step closer, Piper tilted her head to the side a bit as the smile that hid at the corners of her mouth began to spread. "She's really good at that. Taking care of people. She looked out for me all the time when we were growing up together." Though Piper's time in foster care had been only a few years, Christopher and, of course, Amy, had remained in her life after.

After a short, uncertain pause, she took his hand, hoping desperately that her grip was neither too firm nor too loose. The rules behind handshakes were still difficult to understand. "Piper," She replied, making sure to give his hand three firm shakes before letting it go, unaware of the way one, two, three ghosted on her lips. "I'm supposed to meet Amy so she can help me apartment hunt, though I'm pretty sure she'll try to find a way to get me to room with her." The explanation was unprompted, and truly, Riley didn't need to know. But the nervousness in her stomach made her dread any dead air between them.

[anomaliae]

The sign of surrender offered through his hands raising had softened her gaze. A symbol of amity she had become familiar with over the years. She could never shake the defensiveness she felt with strangers. Her first year in civilization had been met with slow-speaking adults that treated her like some feral creature in need of domestication. The entire experience had left a bitter taste when it came to unfamiliar faces, though she worked hard to overcome her initial reaction.

Taking a half-step closer, Piper tilted her head to the side a bit as the smile that hid at the corners of her mouth began to spread. "She's really good at that. Taking care of people. She looked out for me all the time when we were growing up together." Though Piper's time in foster care had been only a few years, Christopher and, of course, Amy, had remained in her life after.

After a short, uncertain pause, she took his hand, hoping desperately that her grip was neither too firm nor too loose. The rules behind handshakes were still difficult to understand. "Piper," She replied, making sure to give his hand three firm shakes before letting it go, unaware of the way one, two, three ghosted on her lips. "I'm supposed to meet Amy so she can help me apartment hunt, though I'm pretty sure she'll try to find a way to get me to room with her." The explanation was unprompted, and truly, Riley didn't need to know. But the nervousness in her stomach made her dread any dead air between them.

Amy had made it seem so easy. Just go to the office and she'd be there. Piper liked to believe she had a keen sense of direction; years of living with the sun and moss as a means of telling east from west had prepared her for as much. But these box-like buildings were far more disorienting than a forgotten path in the woods had ever been. When she had found the safety and sanctuary of the break room, she had stayed put. The man who had walked in offered a temporary source of reassurance, until it was discovered the door behind him was stuck.

Her eyes narrowed at his response to her question, though the corners of her lips twitched upward. It was a fair retort, after all. He at least had a piece of plastic bumping against his pant leg, a poorly-shot photograph that offered a source of identification for him. She had nothing. "I'm supposed to meet my sister. Well, my foster sister. She works here." A flimsy reason, she knew that much. "Amy Reve. Do you know her?" She tried not to focus too much of her attention on the door that refused to budge, the itch of being cooped up already scratching at her neck.

[anomaliae]

Amy had made it seem so easy. Just go to the office and she'd be there. Piper liked to believe she had a keen sense of direction; years of living with the sun and moss as a means of telling east from west had prepared her for as much. But these box-like buildings were far more disorienting than a forgotten path in the woods had ever been. When she had found the safety and sanctuary of the break room, she had stayed put. The man who had walked in offered a temporary source of reassurance, until it was discovered the door behind him was stuck.

Her eyes narrowed at his response to her question, though the corners of her lips twitched upward. It was a fair retort, after all. He at least had a piece of plastic bumping against his pant leg, a poorly-shot photograph that offered a source of identification for him. She had nothing. "I'm supposed to meet my sister. Well, my foster sister. She works here." A flimsy reason, she knew that much. "Amy Reve. Do you know her?" She tried not to focus too much of her attention on the door that refused to budge, the itch of being cooped up already scratching at her neck.

@anomaliae asked: "Who exactly are you, anyway?" - piper to riley for a cute lil' meeting

Riley chuckled under his breath. He hadn't expected anyone other than Amy to be in the office over the weekend. He especially didn't expect to get locked into the break room with an unknown agent in civilian clothes. "Someone who belongs here--What about you?" He demanded, his eyes glittering with curiosity.

The plight of a broken door lock left them stranded. He wrenched at the handle and struggled to swallow a grunt of effort. No reason to let her know he wasn't really much of an agent. Though his hoodie likely betrayed his lack of charisma. "I know this seems bad now, but my co-worker's supposed to be here soon." Whether he said as much for his benefit or hers, he couldn't tell.

[anomaliae]

@amity-and-enmity

There was nothing that could've prepared Piper Cooper for the sheer number of bodies that buzzed into her home. So suddenly had the quiet, secluded log cabin she shared with her papa turned into something she could only liken to a wasps nest. Angry, buzzing figures dressed in hard exoskeletons kicked the door down.

Piper didn't know how she ended up cowering in the corner, shrinking in on herself as she helplessly watched the person she loved the most get shoved around and handled by this invasive species. She could barely understand their shouting, the words they spewed unfamiliar to her. She could sign and speak, but there were only so many words that were able to be taught by a father who left school young.

Lewis Cooper only met his daughter's eyes once before they took him away. Piper had gasped, words stuck in her throat. Instead, he offered her a weathered smile, exhausted from the guilt he had been carrying for years. He couldn't trust himself not to choke if he spoke, so, he signed. Be brave, bird. The bug pushing him towards the door finally saw her, the first one to see her. He spoke a word she did recognize. "Shit."

No one spoke much to her as they began to invade every nook and cranny in her home. She was sequestered at a table, stuck on an island as this tide came in and washed away all she knew. Someone told her to sit tight. She couldn't imagine sitting any other way as unfamiliar faces stomped around her, making her feel even smaller in her slight form. Eventually, there was a man. He wasn't a wasp, dressed in something much softer than the others. He reminded her more of a buck. Tall and intimidating, but not someone who wanted to hurt her. Her mouth remained pressed in a firm line, some tears welling in the corners of her eyes as she stared at him, much like a deer herself.

[anomaliae]

Despite her own solo attendance at the museum, she found it odd that a boy her age was also wandering through the bright halls with no supervision in sight. There was a charter school group she had passed earlier, but he didn't seem to fit in with their crowd. Even she stuck out, in her sensible knee length skirt and buttoned up blouse, her matching cardigan hanging unbuttoned on her thin frame. She was on a mission from God, however. Her presence in the gallery was of a heavenly purpose. She wondered suddenly if the boy before her came from fire and brimstone, as Father Thomas had warned. Hellish intervention, sent to sway her from her task.

Her lips pursed at his bemused interest, her teeth chewing anxiously on them as she took a half step back. The more he observed her, the hotter she felt her face grow. "I-I'm not an artist," she responded firmly, hoping the finality of her tone would scare him off. Protected by everyone in her life, she never had to deter the attention of boys with bad intentions. Certainly, she liked art. She liked drawing and painting and sketching, loved it even. But she was hardly a DaVinci. She could never be like the greats she had seen in textbooks. Besides, she had a far more important future ahead of her. Raising God's child.

His quick and correct jump to her runaway status sent a chill down her spine. A creeping suspicion that he was, in fact, sent by Lucifer began to set in. Her thoughts were flying as she mustered all the courage she had in her, her brow furrowing in agitation. "I borrowed the money from my daddy. I've got enough of it, too. I don't need sticky fingers like yours. God’ll take care of me." She insisted, not quite thinking through the dangers of announcing she had money. Perhaps he was Greed itself, personified in efforts to sway her. She tried not to think about how he was right. The cash wasn’t endless. She’d likely run out in a matter of days after paying for food and accommodations. His offer to help was met with a hard stare. 

“I don’t need help stealing.” But boy oh boy, she needed help. 

anomaliae​:

Lydia wondered what was going on back home regarding her leaving. It had been about a day and a half of near non-stop driving to get to the infamous New York City, though she truly had no clue where her journey was to lead her. Did her family assume she was still local? Maybe she hopped on the highway and drove to Disneyworld, a destination she was at least familiar with. Were signs being put up around town, asking for any sightings of the girl with a squeaky clean history? Or was it kept quiet? The circumstances around her reasoning to run weren’t likely to be shared, and she began to wonder if the police were even brought in at all. Would milk cartons ever have her sophomore year portrait plastered on it? Or would they just hope she’d give up and return home in due time? All she was certain of was her own intentions, and she had none about going back. Not until she could prove her heavenly child free of sin. 

Besides a few gas station clerks and teenagers tending to fast food windows, Lydia hadn’t spoken to many once leaving Georgia. Each interaction was short and to the point, money exchanged for food or fuel just as dozens had done before her. But no one had approached her during her short stops. No one seemed to notice the conservatively dressed girl with dark circles starting to show beneath her eyes. If they did, they wrote her off. But this scrappy young man before her had appeared so suddenly. Instinctively, she turned herself away from his outstretched hand, now alert and frightened as he referred to her as a thief. Her hands gripped the strap of her bag nervously, her eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. “I-I didn’t steal it. It’s mine. I-I’m not a thief,” She insisted, unsure if perhaps he was a poorly uniformed employee with a baby face, believing she had rolled up a piece of the exhibits. 

Lydia’s eyes stayed glued to him as he began to move around her, circling her like a shark smelling blood in the water. The more he spoke, the less she believed of his potential employment. No security guard would brag about stealing as openly as he did. She felt the heat rise on her face, pressing her lips together firmly with a furrowed brow. “Stealing’s a sin, y’know,” She finally uttered, a slight, sweet Georgian accent flavoring her words, though it wasn’t nearly as thick as some. It always came through when she spoke biblically. Growing up listening to the low southern drawl of Father Thomas during his sermons had helped shape how her tongue spoke of God. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life,” She added, hoping that would scare him off enough from talking to her anymore. 

Tim liked people with stories, if only so he could plagiarize bits and pieces for his own sordid, ever-evolving history. This girl had something. Maybe not anything particularly interesting–he especially doubted her life held much joie de vivre when he heard her spouting off about the Bible. At the same time, her presence here, seemingly alone rather than lined up with some chintzy public school group, intrigued him. He saw a lot of those groups and even managed to weasel a few free meals out of them, as well as some easy pick-pocketing targets. Wide-eyed high school girls with wallets hanging from their wrists as they stared with stars in their eyes at some terrible Monet exhibit offered a lot of money and that was all he needed to keep going. So how did this little loner in a cute skirt make it here?

The accent tinged her words so lightly that he knew it wasn’t fake, yet fake accents were a dime a dozen here. He practiced a few himself; Scottish, British, Midwestern. The best option he found so far was the vaguely French European accent actors used in movies. The familiarity and ambiguity protected him from too many questions. He didn’t bother with an accent now though, not at all. She posed no threat; a lost little lamb who would no sooner know how to get him in trouble than she knew how to react to his boasting. “Oooh… so you’re an artist then, huh?” He asked, standing on his tippy toes to get a better look at her art. He knew almost nothing despite hanging around the tour groups for so long. Someone less obsessed with survival might absorb a little of the knowledge they were exposed to everyday, but his presence here was merely business.

Tim stopped in front of her quite suddenly. He frowned at her insistence that she’d never stolen. Placing his hands on his hips, he tilted his head to the side and stared her down. “No way–how’s a little niblet like you get to the big apple by yourself without swiping anything?” He asked with a scoff. He even flourished the niblet with a southern drawl so she’d know that he knew what she was; a runaway. He shook his head. “How long do you think you can go on without doing it? I mean, the world runs on one thing, money. And I’ll bet you don’t even have enough to tempt me into your pocket.” With a long, lingering gaze, he pinned her there. Despite the appraising look, he didn’t plan to undermine her or criticize. No, he felt bad for her, someone so clearly a rube in over her head.

“I can help.”

[anomaliae]

Rhett had been to a handful of weddings in the past. Most were family members she only saw during high holidays and funerals, but familiar faces nonetheless. Here, in this quiet suburban setting, the only face she knew was Andrew’s. She didn’t mind being surrounded by strangers most of the time. She always seemed to shine the brightest in social settings. But she had manners, and this small ceremony wasn’t about her. Resigned to being nothing more than a guest, she was grateful Andrew wanted to play along. She hadn’t necessarily counted on his arm wrapping itself around her as though it had done it a thousand times before. The only sign of her utter joy being a small smile on her lips, she tried terribly hard not to think about that same arm sweaty and rippling on stage. 

Once in her seat on the plastic folding chair that was textured like wood, she took a few moments to ground herself in the moment. She pushed aside her thoughts of shimmering, sweaty bodies and calloused fingers, focusing on the ever growing smile on Andrew’s face. She scooched herself closer to him, the space between them closed as her thumb absentmindedly began to brush against his hand. What she wouldn’t give to stay like that forever. With a small snort, she shot him a grin. “Technically, my Uncle Levi’s bank account was taking me most places. But I firmly believe I would’ve made it one way or another into the industry.” She had the drive, ambition, and talent. It was exactly what she saw in him. 

anomaliae​:

Rhett didn’t often throw her line where the fish weren’t biting. She was comfortable traipsing around, slinking in and out of beds of strangers and acquaintances. Some weren’t as receptive to her aggressive flirtations, and she never had the capacity to stick around. She wasn’t one for love, certain she’d have a number of ex-spouses listed on her Wikipedia page when she was dead and gone. But Andrew made things different. She wanted to take the time with him. Rhett was far from the patient sort, but she found herself waiting for him, hoping one day he’d catch up to her. 

There was a buzzing beneath her skin as his hand found hers. It was warm and a little sweaty, but she could feel the callouses left from hours of dedication. Perhaps he would feel her own from the years spent on the strings of guitars and on piano keys. So focus on their intertwined fingers, she nearly missed his realization. With a smirk of her own, Rhett gave an apathetic shrug. “It was before the show even had a name figured out. Really early talks. I was off the pop scene before it was even greenlit.” His slip hadn’t even registered. It felt so natural to her, like so much had been with Andrew. His embarrassment was quickly noticed if only from the growing sweatiness of his palms. Stopping them in their tracks, she tried to find his gaze, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “Hey, don’t stress about it. We gotta sell it, right?” She flashed him a sincere smile, her eyes soft as she hoped to reassure him. Frankly, she didn’t mind hearing it. 

The eyes of his family members found them as they wandered towards the rows of white chairs assembled across the New Jersey lawn. His gaze fell to the ground, but unlike his typical embarrassment, a small, satisfied smirk rested on his lips anyway. Rhett contained multitudes. In subtle turns she sparkled with confidence and shrugged with modesty. He couldn’t help but admire that ease, an ease he’d never even had with his own family members as today already proved. His cousin spotted them from across the aisle and Andrew noted the raised brow of surprise. Without acknowledging the boy, he wrapped an arm around Rhett’s waist to guide her into the row of seats.

 He gently squeezed her hand as he settled into the seat beside her, his grin slowly growing more smug as he felt his cousin’s eyes linger. “Sure, we’re selling it,” he agreed with a slight nod, yet he couldn’t meet her eyes. Did she realize how much he needed her in his life? That he couldn’t risk more with her despite the attraction? It took him a while to acknowledge that spark, but once he did, it colored every interaction–the current situation setting the crackles to a fever pitch. He wiped his free palm against his black pants. He hadn’t worn the concert dress since his last regrettable performance for Schaffer. “Still, what a talking point. We can milk it, you know, show them all that music can actually take you places.” Even if those places weren’t artistically fulfilling and borderline exploitative. He still felt like her success rubbed something in his doubting family’s face. He couldn’t wait to brag about all the gigs they’d played lately. 

[anomaliae]

While her job at the club wasn’t anything like the career she should’ve had, Lena didn’t mind the gig. It was better than stripping. Tips there were usually ones and maybe fives, here, she was getting handed $20 bills just for bringing a drink over. So, she put on her sexiest smile, served liquor, and did her damn job. And where else was she going to work that made it so easy to get a quick bump in? 

Lena held an empty tray at her side and watched Dario carefully as he domineered her space, a tactic that was unsurprising to say the least. But she didn’t give him a look, or roll her eyes. She held herself high and accepted the glass as it was handed to her. She knew better than to argue with the man that essentially paid her bills. Though there was a slight twitch to her brow at his insinuation, Lena remained otherwise cool and calm. He already coined that she needed the money, there was no need to play coy in that regard. “What exactly is it that you’re offering, sir?” Perhaps the “sir” was a bit overboard, but it certainly couldn’t hurt her opportunity. 

@anomaliae​ asked:  “Of all the people here, why me?” (lena to dario)

Dario spotted the blonde for promotion based on gumption and work ethic. The dark rims around her eyes reeked of desperation and he was never above poking that little button. He slid an arm in front of her along the bar to subtly block her in and smirked. “You’ve been pulling a lot of shifts. Seems like you really need the money.” He downed his remaining scotch and handed her the glass.

“I’m very charitable when I’m in the right mood and, can I be honest with you? I feel like I can be honest with you,” he rambled. “I might just be willing to make you an offer you can’t refuse. I mean, we can have a safe word, that’s only professional, but sometimes, someone is willing to do just about anything.” He had been there himself, in another lifetime.

[anomaliae]

Lydia’s parents were nothing if not preventative with their decision to send her away. While their daughter practiced good habits and attended church without much lip, they saw her relationship with Ben as a bad omen. He was a bit odd, despite having come from a well liked family, and he hung around Lydia far too often. They learned their lesson with Eden, so off their “second born” went to an all-girls school, far away from the boy they had seen as a threat to Lydia’s purity. 

Funny how things have a way of playing out.

While she appeared a bit brighter than usual, she felt anything but. Things could’ve turned out much worse, certainly. But it was all humiliating. What served as a further cruelty was that Ben had been alone. And she knew better than most what he had to endure. Swallowing the suffocation she felt, she glanced out the window, staring out at a mere glimpse of the land he tended to by himself. “Funny, I’d figure most farmers would just get a dog. Not a “Whore of Babylon”.” Her attempt at a joke fell a bit flat, finding it difficult to have any mirth in her position. 

@anomaliae​ asked:  ❝  you don’t have to do this for me.  ❞ (lydia to ben because we gotta start right off the bat with some angst)

When she left for school, Ben never thought she chose to abandon him. He never held her absence against her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hurt. All the shield of his abuse from public eye when someone around here cared, fell away when she’d gone. He gained a reputation for the scrapes and bruises that were anything but self-inflicted. With his daddy gone now too, he figured it didn’t matter. Even if it did, none of it fell on Lydia. 

He frowned at the girl, practically glowing in her current state. “Well, who says I’m doin’ it for you?” He asked with a shrug. She didn’t know what it’d been like and he didn’t much care to tell her. “I got this big ‘ol house to myself, the farm. A boy can get lonely here.” 

[anomaliae]

Rhett didn’t often throw her line where the fish weren’t biting. She was comfortable traipsing around, slinking in and out of beds of strangers and acquaintances. Some weren’t as receptive to her aggressive flirtations, and she never had the capacity to stick around. She wasn’t one for love, certain she’d have a number of ex-spouses listed on her Wikipedia page when she was dead and gone. But Andrew made things different. She wanted to take the time with him. Rhett was far from the patient sort, but she found herself waiting for him, hoping one day he’d catch up to her. 

There was a buzzing beneath her skin as his hand found hers. It was warm and a little sweaty, but she could feel the callouses left from hours of dedication. Perhaps he would feel her own from the years spent on the strings of guitars and on piano keys. So focus on their intertwined fingers, she nearly missed his realization. With a smirk of her own, Rhett gave an apathetic shrug. “It was before the show even had a name figured out. Really early talks. I was off the pop scene before it was even greenlit.” His slip hadn’t even registered. It felt so natural to her, like so much had been with Andrew. His embarrassment was quickly noticed if only from the growing sweatiness of his palms. Stopping them in their tracks, she tried to find his gaze, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “Hey, don’t stress about it. We gotta sell it, right?” She flashed him a sincere smile, her eyes soft as she hoped to reassure him. Frankly, she didn’t mind hearing it. 

anomaliae​:

Rhett didn’t need any explanation when Andrew had extended the invitation to a wedding. She let him huff about marriage and settling, but she was already sold. She like Andrew. More than she ever liked anyone. Sure, she had her typical sexual desire to ride him like a roller coaster, but what she felt was something deeper than fucking. While they were far from a destined pair, their mutual passion for their respective crafts was something she found an unusual source of comfort in. Everyone else in the band picked up on the attachment…except for him. 

A mischievous gleam flashed in her eyes, her arm fluidly linking onto his. “Why not? Sure as hell would make this boring ass wedding a lot more fun,” Rhett replied with a coy grin, her voice low among the chatter of the guests. Perhaps there was an ulterior motive in the offer, but she knew better than to jump into anything with Andrew. He needed the seeds of what could be planted. “I’m a pretty good actress, too. Back in the Dark Times, some network exec offered me my own show. Plus, I’ve put on a very convincing show for the last three people I slept with.” 

Andrew would always be grateful to Rhett. He owed her his livelihood and maybe his life. He fell down a dark hole before she found him working out his considerable aggression on the drums. Any risk to their work seemed crazy to him as a result. Yet she pushed, and he had no clue why. He blinked a few times and shook his head. His eyes sparkled with intrigued confusion. “It’s definitely going to be boring,” he agreed. Maybe the act could shake things up. Usually, he preferred to fade into the background but ruining this suburban bullshit cage draped in lace appealed to him somehow.

He chuckled a bit, a smirk settling on his lips. He picked up her hand in silent agreement and threw her a sideways glance. “Wait–were you almost…. am I dating the first choice for Hannah Montana?” He intended the question as a joke, that is, until he realized he’d said they were dating. All the confidence wiped clear off his face in an instant and he stammered, “I mean, like–pretending to date.” A flush rose to his cheeks and he couldn’t look at her. The pressure fell so heavy on his chest. The last time he couldn’t breathe like this was right before he asked out his ex at the movie theater–the only girl he’d ever gone out with.

[anomaliae]

Before the car accident, Lena had a bright future ahead of her. She was top of her class at MIT, on track to be Valedictorian at graduation. She had been dating Rodney Kirkland, a young man she planned on moving to California with after they finished their respective programs. Her dad had started a new job as project manager and she finally felt like she didn't need to worry about him. And with what felt like a blink of an eye had changed it all. Her coma had left her out for a little over a year. When she woke up, she had nothing left besides an ability she didn't even want. Her academic performance was wiped, her boyfriend had moved on, living out in Montana of all places, and her dad was gone. And she didn't even get to say goodbye. Now she was alone and trying to piece together a future with the broken fragments of her past.

It took a moment for her to process what he said, staring at him with wide, blown up eyes, a violently sick feeling settling in her stomach as he hinted so casually to her nose. Scrunching up the sleeve of her jacket in her hand, she wiped feverishly at her nose, wracking her mind for any excuse. Would he buy it was powdered sugar or talcum powder? Would he believe her if she claimed to be snorting anything but illicit drugs? The last thing she needed was to get fired from fucking Doordash. There was a sense of commradarie amongst drug users, but she felt threatened by the stoner that stood before her.

Her lips had parted, a rushed explanation getting jumbled up in her throat, only to stop herself at the flash of green by his side. His promise of more enticed her. She usually didn't complain too much when a tip went unselected, usually a five was left on the door for her. But forty was something else. With an unfortunate drug habit and rent due later that week, she couldn't stand to be too picky.

"I want half now," She insisted suddenly, stretching her hand out. She knew the Lena that she left behind after the accident would never jump on such an offer. If she walked into his apartment, she'd end up a statistic, murdered and thrown into a river by some white guy who'd likely never get caught. He had money, after all. But the Lena that stood sleepless and hungry before him didn't care. At least if he killed her, the dreams would stop. "Make it sixty," she added suddenly, her eyes settling on his with unwavering confidence. "I'm missing out on other deliveries, you know." Lena pointed out, though she would accept the forty if that was all he offered.

anomaliae​:

@newromanticsmuses​ // asher & lena

The night had burned on the same as countless nights had before. Lena, in her constant attempt to escape sleep, was driving around the city in her shitty Honda Accord, picking up orders on different delivery apps as a means of making some quick money. It was hard to work a typical job when you were nearly always running off of fumes. Who cared if her car smelled like garlicky pizza, cinnamon twists, and greasy burgers. At least she was awake. 

As she had parked out in front of the building of an Asher she was delivering a small mountain of food to, she took a quick look up and down the street and sidewalk. It was nearly 2 am, and the streets were mostly quiet. Surely no one would be around to notice the quick bump of white powder she took from a compact she carried around. 

Not even bothering to so much as wipe at her nose, she made quick work of carrying the order into the building, buzzed in within seconds of pressing the bell for his unit. The building was nicer than her own, and certainly smelled less like piss. Wide, dilated eyes wandered the gaudy hallway décor as her feet carried her to the door she expected to stay shut. When it hadn’t, instead swinging open to reveal a young man about her age and an apartment that reeked of weed, she nearly dropped the goods. Catching herself quickly, she put on perhaps a bit too wide of a smile before offering out the order. “I’m guessing you’re Asher,” She spoke almost breathlessly, unsure if she came off nearly as naturally as she meant to. “Seems like you’re eating good tonight.” She added quickly with a short sniff that he hoped he’d write off as reacting to the odor permeating from his place. 

Asher stared down the blank screen of his computer that sat expectantly waiting for 6 pages of bullshit to spew across the bright white. He had smoked up some inspiration and turned on his best motivational playlist full of 80s power ballads and 2010s club bops. But as he sat down with a satisfied stoner sigh that said he didn’t plan to move for hours, he realized what was missing; brain food.

No way that he could perform his best when he was suffering from the munchies. So he pulled up DoorDash and ordered just enough food to satisfy his hunger and waited while watching Big Brother on his big screen. At the sound of the buzzer, he looked up, willing himself to move. Once up, he figured fuck it! He didn’t give any tip on the online order and the text showed a woman’s name. Maybe he could get a number or some insight into his paper. He rummaged in his pants for a twenty and sidled over to the door and swung it open with a smile. “Heyyyy–that’s me!” He hummed in a strangely muddled response.

He barely registered the food as his gaze settled onto the white that lingered along the edge of her nose. “I’m eating good, you’re sniffing the nose candy–we’re both riding high my friend,” he greeted her and subtly rubbed at his own nose in warning. He grinned like he’d just caught her red handed. Oh… he could use this. He flashed the twenty down by his side and glanced over his shoulder.

“Tell you what–if you come in and give me some help with this paper; just let me bounce some ideas off of you, I’ll add another 20 to this,” he offered with his brows raised. The more help he could get, the better his shit would smell.

[anomaliae]

@newromanticsmuses​ // asher & lena

The night had burned on the same as countless nights had before. Lena, in her constant attempt to escape sleep, was driving around the city in her shitty Honda Accord, picking up orders on different delivery apps as a means of making some quick money. It was hard to work a typical job when you were nearly always running off of fumes. Who cared if her car smelled like garlicky pizza, cinnamon twists, and greasy burgers. At least she was awake. 

As she had parked out in front of the building of an Asher she was delivering a small mountain of food to, she took a quick look up and down the street and sidewalk. It was nearly 2 am, and the streets were mostly quiet. Surely no one would be around to notice the quick bump of white powder she took from a compact she carried around. 

Not even bothering to so much as wipe at her nose, she made quick work of carrying the order into the building, buzzed in within seconds of pressing the bell for his unit. The building was nicer than her own, and certainly smelled less like piss. Wide, dilated eyes wandered the gaudy hallway décor as her feet carried her to the door she expected to stay shut. When it hadn’t, instead swinging open to reveal a young man about her age and an apartment that reeked of weed, she nearly dropped the goods. Catching herself quickly, she put on perhaps a bit too wide of a smile before offering out the order. “I’m guessing you’re Asher,” She spoke almost breathlessly, unsure if she came off nearly as naturally as she meant to. “Seems like you’re eating good tonight.” She added quickly with a short sniff that he hoped he’d write off as reacting to the odor permeating from his place.