cara-mrrsn

[cara-mrrsn]

CARA MORRISON at the TRI DELT VALENTINE'S PARTY

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Cara shrugged, hardly giving the bulletin board a spare second as she furrowed her brow at Beck. "Why are you asking that?" she asked, her nose slowly wrinkling up, unable to fathom why someone like Beck would need to know about, like, wages. Cara did have the benefit of acting out and disappointing her parents and all in all being the clear least favorite child without ever having to worry about losing her bankroll, though. The Morrison's cared far too much for appearances for that, which certainly worked in her favor.

where: the commons

who: anybody!

beck had never had a reason to stop and look at the bulletein board in the commons before. but she had never tried to get a job before either. it isn’t that she’d never had a job before, they just came to her - bit parts on tv shows, the occasional runway stint at fashion shows put on by frequent hoffman dinner guests, even a short stint teaching baby ballet to toddlers on the upper east side before her mother shut that down. the concept of searching for a job, of needing one even, was entirely foreign, and she pulled down a flier for a barista as she pondered the words on the ad like they were in a different language. “what’s minimum wage these days?” she asked herself more than anybody else.

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Cara's frown only deepened, slumping back in her seat. Parker's acquiescence didn't make her feel any better. The opposite, in a way, with the way she backed down so quickly from a fight that Cara was desperately hoping for. Granted, she was almost always hoping for a fight, a way to justify her consistent feeling of battling something, but none more so than in the aftermath of being accused of her sister's murder.

Reasonable, if anyone asked her.

"Dropping out, maybe," she replied with a sigh as her eyes flickered up to meet Parker's again, shrugging up her shoulders halfheartedly. She had considered transferring several times last year, but she had dropped that idea after a bit - why leave the pain of being on the campus that knew Greer? It would be like stopping herself from poking at a bruise, a lesson in self-restraint that Cara had never had. "Feels a bit like..." her voice trailed off, another shrug lifting her shoulders. Like admitting she did something wrong. Like admitting defeat. She didn't know, but leaving didn't feel right. Or maybe she was just scared of what would happen if she did. "I don't know. Just feel like that may make things worse," she said to Parker.

parker looked back up at cara through her lashes and instantly knew she'd fucked up. in her attempt to make the blonde feel less alone—less of a focus of speculation—she'd probably instead discounted her worry. fuck, fuck, fuck. the other looked away and parker took the opportunity to try and collect herself, shifting her weight in her seat and taking a near-silent deep breath.

it was for naught, cara's comment, paired with a stare that could laser-cut steel, cutting straight through her. "no, you're right," parker affirmed after a moment. a hand rose to run through her hair, not unused to the younger morrison's edge, but not sure how to run her fingers along it without getting cut, either. even after all these years.

"so, not glad to be back. got it." parker took a sip of her coffee as her eyes glazed over the rest of the building. "would you ever consider transferring? going, like, out of the country or something?"

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A pout crossed Cara's face as Diego said he didn't have the gift on him - hello, shouldn't he be carrying it around just in hopes he saw her as soon as possible? It quickly faded, though, her lips pursing together instead as he explained, considering him through the description. Hm. That was actually nice. At least it would be, should it smell decent. But if it was a legit Parisian parfumeur, they should be fine. "You can," Cara agreed, not wanting to act too eager, though the corners of her lips curled up ever so slightly. "Should I take that as you saying you missed me, then?"

"I don't have it on me," he said, which was obvious since he hadn't been thinking he'd run into Cara, or really anybody, but now he felt like he was left empty handed when he could be giving out things he'd got his friends. So, he felt like he needed to explain that obviously he was not carrying gifts around for everyone like he was Santa. "But me and a few other exchange students went to one of those fragrance shops where you get to create your own. And I thought it'd be a good idea for a gift." When you grew up in a life where everyone had everything already, what did you get someone? Custom gifts you created specifically for them. Cara didn't need to know he'd created one for his mother as well. "It was a while ago but I think it has bergamot in it, and Jasmine, and some patchouli and vanilla." He hadn't really known what he'd been doing, but the people there had been helpful. He said it was for someone who playful, and sophisticated, and needed something that would last after partying all night. That's what they'd created. "I can bring it over to your room later if you want me to."

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Cara threw Eddie a sideways glance, a roll of her eyes shifting it back forward as she continued her bullheaded stomp forward. Towards, yes, home. If it could be called that. Sure didn't feel like it could be, at the moment, so she just bobbed her head once, a vague agreement. "You're so...," Cara muttered, the insult falling short as her voice trailed off, unable to commit to taking out her anger on Edward.

For once.

Even though there was plenty she could say - naive, optimistic, stupid - for him thinking there was any universe in which thy weren't blamed by people for Greer disappearing. Of course they would be - of course people would assume the worst of her. It only went to show how different their lives were that he was surprised by that, and she wasn't at all. Without explaining, Cara continued to lead their way down the path, glad for a moment they weren't too far away from the Morrison's house, a wry smirk crossing her face as they emerged onto their property.

"Home sweet home," she said, a bitter and petulant sing-song cadence to the words as she approached the back door of their house, giving her bottle of champagne a few shakes - all the better to pop the cork with some force, aiming it straight at the window next to the door handle.

What, was she supposed to get in by breaking it herself? She'd pass on anything that could result in drawing her blood.

A confused stare greeted Cara. The conviction of her grip and the immediacy of her tone distracted him from a conversation and urged him to stand.

Let’s go.

He didn’t ask where. Unprecedentedly, all he did was follow her without question, bottle of champagne in his hand. Was he supposed to drink this straight from the bottle, though? It was the only thing that bothered him about this situation. But, by the time he realized they had no flutes, they were already halfway through the lawn.

“Can you believe they said you and I had something to do with Greer disappearing?” No one around to hear them anymore, but his expansive words revealed he had been nowhere close to sober the whole night. Still, he could recognize the path she was leading him on. Somewhere that, a year ago, he would’ve loved to go. Somewhere he had always loved to be. But that had recently become the last place on earth he wanted to visit. “Are we going… home?”  

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Cara turned her gaze towards Nat, heavily mascaraed lashes lowered as she narrowed her eyes for a moment. "What?" she asked, a hint of impatience in her tone as her lower lip jutted out, a pout crossing her face. In her experience, anything that was prefaced in such a way was not going to be something she liked (to be fair, Cara rarely liked things as it was), and she certainly didn't trust Nat to be the one to make that any different.

The lure had barely been baited, but still, Nat found herself frustrated that Cara wasn't taking a bite. For once, she felt like she had something to use— even if she didn't know quite what that something was— and she couldn't even lay the groundwork for that right. Inwardly huffing, Nat bit the inside of her cheeks for a moment, eyes quick to scan the party and wonder if she should just cut her losses and leave. But there was someone out there with something about her, she just knew it, and if she wouldn't escape the night without a scratch on her, then neither could Cara.

She hesitated for another moment, though, eyes lingering on the party, searching for... what, she didn't know. A pair of eyes scanning for her, too, maybe? Actually, never mind on that, she didn't care to know just yet who would be ruining her night.

Instead, she turned back to Cara, fingers tightening around her phone. "I need to show you something."

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"No, it's not!" Cara immediately retorted to Link, speaking over him and cutting off his attempt to gaslight her, not wanting to even begin to listen to his defenses and explanations and lies. She let out a quiet laugh, rolling her eyes at Link, her amusement growing more apparent in tandem with his frustration. He moved away, taking a step back, and Cara followed, closing the space between them. “I get decide when I accept your apology, Link. Not you. You do not get to dictate when I stop being upset at how you treated me and when I decide to let you out of this circle," she said, her voice low, clearly not in the mood to be forgiving that evening. "So keep fucking waving it, because I’m not done.” 

link clenched his jaw, his frustration bubbling just under the surface, but he forced himself to take a breath. there was already enough conflict in his life at the moment, and getting into it with cara again wasn't going to help. still, her words stung, and he couldn't help the anger that crept into his tone. "it's fucking complicated, cara." he says, his voice low and deliberate, though his fingers twitched at his sides. "this is not about greer, you've always been —" he paused, his throat tightening as he chose his words carefully. "you are such a fucking idiot sometimes. or maybe you do just choose to stay in your martyr act. you mattered more than you ever seemed to realize."

he met her gaze, the weight of everything they've been through simmering between them. "spare me, cara. did you expect me to wait around on you like a fucking lap dog?" he scoffs, taking a step back. eventually, he forces a tight and bitter smile. "look, i'm waving the white flag. are you going to take it, or are we just going stay in this same goddamn circle forever?"

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Ollie smiled, and gave a laugh at Cara's words. They weren't funny, but they also were funny. Ah, they were all doing great weren't they. He reached over patting her on the back, and taking a deep breath. "I'm going to bounce before you convince me to drink any more and I end up in the bathroom for the actual countdown," he snorted. "I'd like to start my 2024 off better than that. It's going to be a good year. I can feel it." Just as last year he'd been very optimistic (not entirely accurately) about how great 2023 was going to be, he was going to be very optimistic (probably not entirely accurately) about 2024. "Don't knock yourself out too early, okay?" Consider that his sage advice for the night. He gave a peace sign before backing off and disappearing.

end.

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"Is that even a question?" Cara asked, her head angling towards one shoulder. "Surely everyone you'd ask - especially tonight, of all nights - would have the same answer." She turned, signaling she'd like another drink to the bartender, not providing an answer. It should go without saying, she figured, that it would be her parents. Especially after tonight, especially after they chose to tell Cara and Eddie not to rely on them for Thanksgiving plans only to come to campus regardless. To meet with the dean, not their two children that they still had.

"If it makes you feel any better," Anya begins, a note of something conspiratorial in her tone. As though they are letting Cara in on something secret. "The only thing my mum and dad agree on are how disappointed they are in my 'lack of drive'. So, you're in good company." Which, of course, was funny for the simple reason that Anya was single-mindedly driven, though not in any way that lended itself to steady employment. "And by some of the eye rolls I've seen tonight, I'm guessing most people's parents feel the same way about their kids. Kind of fucked, isn't it? If you think about it?"

Anya's eyes follow the phone as it meets the wood of the bar counter, before trailing up to meet Cara's. "Whose phone would you want to look at the most? If you could?"

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Cara stared at Monty, eyes flat as she blinked at him, before she lifted her hand up again to run the tip of a finger underneath her sooty lashes, coming away with a smear of mascara. With a sniff, she dropped her sunglasses back onto the bridge of her nose, turning her face with him a moment later, chin tucked into her shoulder. "For now," she said, a bitter, cynical response, but the only one she had. She was fine for now. But how long would that last, with the stares and the gossip and the whispers, with the knowledge that there were plenty of people who would've preferred she was not, and Greer was? She couldn't imagine it would be long. She let out a sigh, eyes flickering closed, for a moment, building her composure back up. "But thank you," she murmured after a few seconds, stepping back and breaking the physical contact between them, the intimacy ending as she slid out from under his hand - moment over.

He'd expected her to fight him. That Cara would've wiggled around until she escaped the embrace, refusing him, but when he felt her slim arms wrap around his middle, something eased inside of him. It didn't get better, nothing was fixed by simply standing there and hugging each other, but one worried knot of tension was let loose. Monty pulled her a touch closer, dared to squeeze her a little tighter while sagging forward into her, his head turned to the side. His gaze remained unfocused, staring off at nothing in particular until it was Cara who eventually pulled away, wet-sounding apologies whispered in the intimate space they'd unintentionally created.

"S'okay," he murmured, his smile soft and maybe sad enough that it resembled more of a frown as he stared into her large brown eyes. One of Monty's hands was still resting on Cara's shoulder, as if he was afraid that she might just evaporate if he let go of her entirely, and his thumb rubbed in a gentle circle there. "Your makeup's sort of fucked now" -- because he couldn't not try to lighten the mood with a wisecrack -- "but it's okay… You're okay… you know?" Did she know what he meant? Monty's gaze was imploring, steady and searching Cara's eyes for a mutual understanding he hoped was there. You're amongst the living.

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The glance she gave Parker was full of disbelief, Cara's eyebrows raising high on her forehead as she blinked a few times, wondering if that was a genuine statement, one that Parker meant or if it was something she should take offense at. "But you weren't on that list," she pointed out, gaze turning down as she looked away from Parker. It's not like she could understand, not really. And why would Cara's shoes be ones she wanted to put herself in now of all times? She let her tongue run over her bottom lip, Cara shaking her head before she glanced away, her next words coming out with an undeniable bitterness to them. "And you may have been closer to Greer, Parker, but I was still her only sister. So in a way, I am alone, aren't I?" she muttered, giving Parker a sharp glare as she pointed that fact out.

it would've taken an immense lack of common sense and social skills to not pick up on the contempt in cara's answer. still, parker maintained her stance. a false sense of security had found its way to her as winter break concluded. at least, now, she could get back to all of the things that distracted her from the constant horrors. the things a normal university student was supposed to be focusing on. idle hands and all that.

"fair," parker nodded before taking a sip of her coffee. despite it being too soon and too hot to sip leisurely, she held it on her tongue for a couple seconds. "at least you're not alone. we're all judged little suspects, whether we were on that list or not." the last few words came out in a grumble. was that helpful? perhaps not. parker knew cara had it worse than most, even when the focus was shifted from greer onto everyone she'd known. still, the fact remained that no one looked good. they'd all voted and, in many cases, been voted for.

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"Maybe I just haven't gone to bed yet," Cara said lightly, shrugging up her shoulders. It wasn't true, but she could certainly claim it was - certainly was more glamorous than admitting that she had hardly been able to sleep lately, a combination of stress and drugs. She wasn't supposed to be worrying enough to develop insomnia. Ew.

Diego's claim didn't do much to alleviate her annoyance, the expression on her face solemn as she eyed him, debating if she should give him the upset at his leaving, or if she should play along. Of course, though, she was always going to choose the path that could potentially end in gifts.

Cara's head angled towards one shoulder, her lips pouting outwards as she considered. After a few blinks, she shrugged, eyes on Diego with a few taps of a nail on the table as a coy smile appeared on her face. "Depends on the gift, I suppose," she said - though in all honesty, Cara wasn't exactly good at letting things go. She'd never admit it, not even to herself, instead just shoving it down to let it fester and burn, but the resentment over the perceived abandonment wasn't likely to be put aside. But a gift was a great attempt if someone who wanted her to...well, not do that.

Diego's mouth turned up in a sheepish smile, as he joined Cara at the table. "I'm just surprised to see you up so early," he lightly teased. Maybe she'd just gotten in from where ever she'd spent her New Years. The Hamptons as, he'd heard it. Everyone had spent their New Years there. "But, I'm happy you are the first person I'm seeing." Well, that wasn't really true. He had run into Ollie in Waverly, but he wasn't counting people in his dorm building, because he hadn't purposely gone to see any of them -- not even Ollie.

"How was the break? I heard there was a party," he said. Skating around the question of 'how were the holidays' because they were probably not great for any of the Morrisons, particularly Cara who was never a 'family gathering' person anyway. If they'd even gathered for the holidays at all this year. "I brought you a gift from Paris, if that'll make things better."

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If Cara was a more self-aware person, she'd realize how many favors she had been granted by the universe, just how much privilege she walked through life with. But she had never been able to see herself very clearly, and so Cara just sighed, lips turning downwards into a petulant frown as she swirled the liquid in the glass she was holding, eyes on it before they flickered back towards Nat, taking a sip as she watched her for a moment. "Hardly ever," she agreed, utterly sincere in her sentiment. Because, in Cara's mind, that was the truth - growing up with someone like Greer, and that being the standard by which she judged things by...she certainly had had things harder. But it was so much less than anyone else's hardships.

She was never one to look on the bright side of things, though.

Nat chewed on her bottom lip, wondering why she thought for a moment she might have had any sort of upper hand in any situation with Cara ever. Talking to her now, Nat felt just as mousey as she had her entire life, reduced to a background character. Cara wasn't even being mean and even still, Nat felt uneasy. "Yeah..." she agreed slowly, quietly. "The universe never does us any favors, does it?" There was an emphasis on the word, one G had used specifically in her message. But it was so vague, so subtle, that she was sure Cara wouldn't pick up on it. Even still, she watched closely, for even a twitch.

She'd pounce then, she promised herself. And then almost immediately readied herself to break it.

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Cara palmed the bag Ollie handed over to her with a smug smile - she didn't need it, but it was always so much more fun to do someone else's drugs than her own. She gave it a shake, considering how much was left (not much, but it would do), and then slipped it into her pocket, glancing up at Ollie. "That sure is the point of it all," she agreed, a sigh following the words, tapping her fingers against the counter. "Getting fucked up enough that we black out and never have to think about tonight again because we can't remember it!" With that optimistic sentiment, she lifted one of the shots, disturbing the line, should anyone else want to race, with little care, toasting it in Ollie's direction before throwing it back.

"Probably…" Ollie said slowly, though he didn't go get any sugar for them to use. It'd be fine. It would be disgusting regardless so he didn't see the difference. He smiled brightly as Cara readied the shots, and bounced on the balls of his feet like an excited child getting ready to do something fun. He knew she was going to win. She knew she was going to win. Anyone around who saw them knew she was going to win. But it didn't matter to him. He could be competitive, but if he'd wanted to win some sort of competition against Cara he'd would have asked her to play Mario Kart with him, or something. Maybe see who could smoke a blunt faster. He could probably do that. Either way he went down the line drinking each shot about two slower than Cara, and making disgusted sounds each time he finished. "Ew."

Eventually he reached the end sucking on his own lemon and laughing a little. "Yeah," he said, "I've been told that before." He pulled a little baggie out of his pocket and handed it over to Cara. It wasn't much Coke, honestly. But … He had promised. "Who cares who wins if we both end up drunk by the end!" Ollie helped her reset things up, though he was absolutely not doing this again. "I've never been an alcohol person. I'm not a fun drunk, I just get sad and sleepy."

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Cara let out a scoff, rolling her eyes as Rhia, watching the other girl take a step back with an air of allowing it - letting her get some distance before she pounced. "Well," she said, an eyebrow arching up high, "what happened when it was you and Greer?" There was no pretense of innocence in her tone, just a sharp, biting retort, a spark of...was that amusement? - in her eyes.

Would she always cower at her name being thrown back out her in such a manner? Rhiannon, like it was a curse. Like the word physically hurt to leave her mother's —or rather, Cara's— mouth. Unfortunately, she was determined to stand her ground on the issue, knowing exactly how the night might end if she followed behind her. She let her hands fall to her side, lifeless and stiff. "I don't know, Cara. I can't read the future," she said with an air of impatience. She stepped away from Cara, as if already prepared to make a run for it at the first opportunity. "If you're that desperate to get fucked up, plenty of people here who would happily assist you with that," she huffed with a wild motion toward the crowd.

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"You have no idea," Cara replied, utterly serious, unable to even conceive that she may not perpetually be the utmost victim. In her mind, nearly everyone had it out for her. She wouldn't go into details (and yes, often found herself grasping for the horrors that had been enacted to her to convince whoever she was talking to that they were as serious as she took them, if she did) and elaborate - but her parents had made it clear often enough that they were not the biggest fans of Cara. When she did something they disapproved of - it was an insult. When she behaved to their expectations - it was no big deal. They already had Greer and Eddie doing that. No matter what she did, Cara was doomed to fail, and that was the tragedy.

And yes - she was conveniently ignoring their apparent dismissal of Edward for tonight as well. With a sigh, she tapped her own phone against the bar as Anya spoke, lips pursing out. Self-restraint. A concept she certainly wasn't familiar with. Maybe she should try it out though. Or not. "You should've," Cara said after a moment. "Our parents have more secrets than us."

"They really have it out for you, huh?" They prompt, the lack of rising intonation at the tail-end of the sentence rendering it more statement than question. That was one thing about Ogden Anya never ceased to make peace with. The sheer amount of people who lived their lives falling short of some arbitrary measuring stick put up by their own parents. Sure, her own parents were invested in her prospective success, but for the most part, they largely let them just be Anya. No snide comments, no sighs from across the dinner table, no pressure to fundamentally change who they were as a person. But they sense Cara may not want to talk about the particulars of upper-class socialisation.

"Thank you. I am full of great ideas. Like earlier, I saw someone's mum's phone lying on the table, and I was very tempted to look through it. But I didn't. Because I'm like, a beacon of self-restraint or something." Another sip of her drink.

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A laugh slid from Cara’s lips, the sound almost more of a sob as she nodded, a bitter smile appearing with the motion. “I suppose you’re right about that,” she said, her lips twisting sideways as she tried to keep the smirk on her face, though it wavered with the tears that continued to slip from her cheeks. She let Monty pull her in, standing still for a moment before her arms wrapped around his waist, hands pressed flat against the muscles on either side of his spine. She couldn’t say when the last time someone just…hugged her was. For comfort, for consolation, out of caring for her, platonically, no ulterior motives to it. 

And maybe he did have an ulterior motive. Maybe there was something Monty wanted from her, and maybe it was even something Cara wouldn't mind giving him. But for the moment at least - just for the moment - she relaxed into the grasp he had her in, indulging in feeling like she was being properly treated rather than mocked or simply placated. Pulling back slightly, Cara let another tear drip down her cheek as her eyes met Monty's, blinking wet lashes as her lips turned downwards ever so slightly further. "Sorry," she said in a whisper. "I didn't mean to bring you up here to cry all over you."

As Cara turned, Monty's hand dropped away from her back, although he had the immediate urge to reach out again. He could see the tears welling in her eyes, shiny and wet, streaking down her cheeks almost as if on cue, right as her hushed words wavered out. He'd seen Cara cry plenty before, turning on the waterworks in the face of hard-ass professors and cranky bartenders, but never like this. He'd never seen her so self-conscious, laid bare.

Monty shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible, and his voice just as quiet when he answered, "I don't know." A lump was forming in his throat, practically cutting off his ability to speak. He tried to swallow around it, frown turning into a grimace, too aware that nothing he could say or do would really be enough. Greer was dead. Cara's sister was dead. "I don't… I don't think it's something we're meant to understand." I don't think any reason will ever be enough. He wanted to offer her something concrete. He wanted to turn out his pockets and give Cara whatever she wanted, but what was there to give? Reaching out again, Monty's knuckles skimmed across her damp cheek before both his arms were winding around her shoulders, reeling her into a tight, unavoidable embrace.