reynahendrix

[reynahendrix]

‘rex’

[reynahendrix]

location. ⁺the settlement.

sleep had taken her too easily. whether it was something nika had given her, the exhaustion carved into her battered body, or the sheer number of nights spent resisting rest—reyna wasn’t sure. she had fought against it for too long, too afraid that the voice lurking in the depths of her mind would resurface the moment she let go. however long she had been out, daylight had slipped away unnoticed.

the night was colder than she remembered. more unsettling than the ones she spent standing watch at a post or tucked away in the cinema. reyna had never allowed herself to linger within the settlement’s walls for too long—always fearing they might close in and swallow her whole. she pushed herself upright, but the attempt was met with sharp resistance. pain rippled through her ribs, deep and unforgiving. breathing felt like a battle, her lungs stiff, uncooperative. “fuck…” a sharp inhale. she wasn’t sitting up anytime soon.

the injured guards voice cracked as she called out, “nika ?” the injured eye was slick with ointment, the sensation unfamiliar, almost intrusive. her good eye struggled to adjust, to make sense of the dimly lit space around her. a presence lingered, the weight of it pressing against her mind. she was being watched. babysat. a fresh wave of pain wracked her body, pulling a quiet whimper from her throat. reyna's mouth was unbearably dry. swallowing hurt. “did she send you to watch me ?” reyna muttered, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. a few slow blinks cut through the haze of discomfort, and the figure standing in the room sharpened into focus. flynn.

@flynn-beaumont . // closed starter.

[reynahendrix]

the avoidance had stretched on longer than either of them deserved. too long for what they once shared—something built on quiet comfort. reyna never eased into people right away. she lingered in overthought, second-guessing whether she had said too little, too much, or simply the wrong thing. her silence was often mistaken for bitterness, though that was never the case. sometimes, the weight of feeling was too much to process all at once. she needed time. just like she had needed time after the storm… after that night. time had only bred fear. seeing emmett again meant confronting something raw, something steeped in shame. the guard feared that locking eyes with him would awaken the voice—perhaps silent until this very moment, waiting to finish what she could not.

that was why she had cuffed her left hand to the nearby pipe. it was sturdy, unyielding—enough to quell the possibility that the voice, if it came uninvited, would make her do something irreversible. the table was set as it had been countless times before. a familiar ritual. only this time, reyna sat against the wall, distanced, restrained. a bowl of stew sat on the counter beside her, untouched. she hoped the warmth of it might draw him in, that the scent might mask the fear lingering between them. and then, there he was. battered. bruised by her own hands. the sight of him twisted something deep inside her, forming a thick knot in her throat. reyna's teeth found her bottom lip, forcing herself to take him in—take in what she had done. brutal. unforgivable. shame swelled, a crushing weight on her chest. if she spoke now, if she tried to explain, she would fall apart. one pull at the thread, and she would unravel entirely.

“i made you some dinner.” the words came out fragile, hesitant. would he question it ? assume she had poisoned it ? she wanted to lower her head, brace herself for whatever reaction he deemed fit. it was emmett's eyes that broke her. the way they moved over her—fractured, wary, hurt. a pain she had placed there. reyna's own eyes began to sting, the wounded one still hazy in its slow healing. she swallowed against the tremble in her voice. “please, sit.” her bottom lip quivered. the guard looked to the floor, seeking something—anything—to anchor her. a crack in the worn surface, a distraction from the storm raging inside. the metal of the cuffs rattled softly against the pipe as she shifted her wrist, a silent assurance. “it’s okay,” she whispered. a promise. a hope that he might believe her.

Emmett had no explanation of what had gone on the past few days with Reyna, none whatsoever.

His arm was still broken and wrapped as best as possible, and he couldn’t bend it from where the fracture actually was in his elbow, so it was achy and slung over his shoulder. As for the stab wound… that was on the other side of his body, and had cut through valuable muscle to give his other arm any decent movement. Any use of his arms was slow and deliberate, taking his time and putting himself out of commission for awhile. Even his pastime of trying to put back together the old movie projectors would have to be put on hold. Tripod, his beloved tuxedo that followed him home a few weeks into his tenure at Arcadia, even knew something was up, by the way he curled his warm little body against Emmett’s broken arm at night.

All Emmett could do was go on walks - apparently there was some sort of intense scuffle going on inside the church that made him nervous to go in there. He took careful steps, knowing his sense of balance was off without much use of his arms. And then, when it was late enough, he’d go back to the cinema and often shut himself in the projector room. Plenty of time to go over everything that happened in his memory, to figure out what went wrong, or anything he missed that brought the both of them to this. Even though the nightmares that plagued him in the days after - seemingly unrelated to the previous injuries - manifested in ways that made him feel worse, even is feet, he couldn't stand idly by. He'd take limping around with Tripod circling between his feet through the old neighborhoods if it meant he didn't have to stare at the cinema ceiling, petrified of going to sleep once more.

The apprehension of being there at all was eating him up, how little he wanted to feel that way about his… friend? Acquaintance? It was hard to say. But he couldn’t let this go on forever, not when they shared a space like this. So after the sun had set, when he could smell dinner, he followed his nose down to the lobby where they had sat together so many times before.

“Hi,” he greeted, his voice quiet - guarded. Emmett wasn’t good at asking for things, but there was no time like the present. “I wanted to…” He swallowed, and half-turned back, as if to walk away, but he forced his feet to be still and he faced her fully. “I don’t understand why.” *// @reynahendrix

[reynahendrix]

each kiss traced against her skin—bare and clothed alike—sent reyna's lashes fluttering, betraying the weakening resolve she clung to. his touch disarmed her more than she cared to admit, melting her guarded edges until resistance felt futile. just for tonight, she decided. a fleeting surrender to set aside her boundaries and fall under the weight of his devotion. damn, did it feel good. the world outside dissolved into a blur, the lurking threats beyond the covered windows momentarily forgotten. the only thing she invited in was dayn.

her fingers found the sides of the chair as his head dipped lower, anchoring herself to the present. he wasn’t hurried, nor tentative—a lover who moved with a deliberate patience, existing within each lingering second they shared. her grip flexed against the wood as his voice broke through the haze of warmth surrounding her. dayn looked good with something in his mouth, she mused silently, fingertips threading through his tousled, slightly curled hair. reyna's touch drifted along the sharp line of his jaw, mapping each curve as though committing them to memory. a small, mischievous smile curled at the corner of her lips despite her tangled thoughts. “you need help ?” she teased, voice playful, almost mocking. lips clicked in feigned disapproval as her index finger slipped beneath the fabric clenched between his teeth, tugging it free with a deliberate slide.

temptation whispered for her to kiss him again, to explore the familiar shape of his lips and savor their taste - now that she knew what he tasted like. restraint tempered her impulse. instead, she leaned back in the chair, lifting one leg to rest languidly over dayn’s shoulder, keeping it there as though it belonged. her fingers deftly worked the buttons of her shirt, eyes locked on his. one by one, the fabric surrendered until the last button slipped free. reyna's knee drew closer, pressing her heel to his bare shoulder, nudging him back with slow insistence. rising from the chair, reyna moved across the room with languid purpose, shrugging the shirt from her arms and letting it fall carelessly to the floor. blue-steel eyes flicked over her shoulder, catching to see if his gaze had been still fixed intently on her. she backed onto the table, lifting her foot to untie one shoe, then the other, discarding them without thought. her lips curved, daring. “want me to keep going ?”

This is what Dayn was far more comfortable with, way more used to. After this, there was no part of him that was at all concerned with any sort of "what are we?" type of conversations, knowing that this was a one night only type of deal - and he was totally cool with that. They had all night to be stuck in here with the things outside, so this wouldn't be much of a one and done deal anyway - had to make it count throughout the night. He liked the feeling he was getting from her, one that felt confident and the imbalance of her being a guard, and him just a lowly bartender, had him excited, that much eager to do her bidding.

Maybe it was the constant looming threat of death separated only by some walls and windows. Something about it made everything that much more heightened.

Dayn sunk to his knees easily - the view from down here reminding him why it was that people were so keen to fall to religion - her hands cold, yet hot on his shoulders, feeling them through his shirt. Which was quickly pulled at from behind his neck, yanked over his head and tossed unceremoniously over his shoulder to the chair behind, the one he had sat across from her earlier. He kissed her back with equal fervor, her heels in his back pressing him ahead and keeping him grounded, to not think about what was lurking outside those walls - if they could see inside somehow through here, at least they were getting a show.

His hands each found the insides of her thighs, slowly caressing upwards, stopping high, but not quite yet where he was sure she wanted him to be. Instead they swept around, yanking her closer, so his face was nearly pressed up against her abdomen. There, over her clothes, he kissed her stomach. He kissed lower, at her pelvic bone. Before his neck would crane too harshly, he glanced up. "A little help here, if you don't mind?" he requested, voice sweet with innocence, catching whatever piece of clothing was closest with his teeth and pulling, then letting go, to exaggerate the problem.

[reynahendrix]

reluctantly, reyna exhaled a breath that trembled with uncertainty. "okay," she conceded, though her voice barely rose above a whisper. she knew the danger of lingering in solitude for too long—silence, once a balm, now threatened to suffocate her. strength, she reminded herself, wasn’t found in retreat but in facing the chaos head-on. yet the unknown loomed, vast and daunting. her lack of control had already left scars on those she cared about, and she was so goddamn tired of fighting herself.

fingers, trembling with hesitation, extended toward samara's outstretched hand. the warmth of the other woman's touch grounded her, offering a sense of solace reyna wasn’t sure she deserved. she gave a gentle squeeze—a silent, fragile expression of gratitude for sami’s steadfast kindness. chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek, reyna nodded. the sharp protest from her ribs as she shifted upright drew a wince. "my ribs... are just sore," she admitted, her tone edged with discomfort. beneath the worn layers of her shirt and jacket, bruises bloomed across her skin in shades of deep purple and fading yellow, a testament to the toll her body had endured. still, she braced herself, allowing samara to help her stand, leaning into the quiet strength offered without question.

"Yeah, I get that." She assured the other woman when Reyna managed to say that she hadn't scared Samara on purpose. But the brunette didn't like the way the other was struggling to get enough breath to speak. Was she more injured than Sami could see? It was more than possible when it was so damn dark in the apartment and Reyna was curled into such a small ball. Which itself could have something to do with pain.

A shake of her head. "Not go home, just come downstairs." She promised, which Reyna seemed to consider, Sami quietly hoping she'd agree, because Sami didn't want to stay up here in the dark, but she would if Reyna wouldn't come out. She wouldn't leave the other woman alone.

So she let out a small breath when Reyna agreed, thankful. "Okay, okay good." She inched forward, slowly, since the other seemed easily spooked, and Samara didn't want her to change her mind. "Can I help you up?" @reynahendrix

[reynahendrix]

reyna’s eyes tracked dayn’s movements, following his lead with measured curiosity. her frustration still simmered beneath the surface—having to babysit a grown man was hardly her idea of a productive evening. yet there was something satisfying, almost primal, in watching her light demands met without hesitation. control hummed at the tip of her tongue, a weight she wielded with ease. intimacy had always been a comfortable game for reyna, a mutual exchange to fill the void of idle time. vulnerable heartstrings ? those were territories she never dared venture into. physicality ? that was different. simple. tangible. moments without the burden of emotional entanglements or overthought meanings—a reprieve.

she sat still in her chair. a slow arch of her brow, head tilted just slightly to the side, reyna's gaze softened, inviting whatever came next between them. the tension was palpable, simmering like a spark waiting to catch fire. what about me... the words lingering in the charged air between them. her arm extended, index finger deftly hooking through one of dayn’s belt loops. she tugged him closer, the anticipation curling warmth through her chest, rising to flush her cheeks. simplicity reigned—a game of nearness, desire, and silent understanding.

breath caught as his lips grazed her jawline, igniting a tension she struggled to suppress. a groan threatened to escape, but she swallowed it down, determined not to yield. dayn's willingness to submit to her touch sent a surge of heat through reyna, compelling her hands to explore the hard planes of his chest, craving more — craving him closer. with a deliberate push, she guided him lower. "on your knees," she commanded again, her voice low but resolute, every syllable charged with authority. her head tilted slightly, as though savoring the lingering echo of her own words.

reyna’s legs parted, curling around dayn, enclosing the dwindling space between them. the press of their clothing was an unbearable boundary, frustrating her need for contact. so close, his breath warm against her skin, fingers mapping the curve of her waist as though memorizing her. her own hands traced the strong lines of his arms, appreciating the power beneath his skin, yet delicate with her. the thin thread of control she clung to frayed with each ragged breath, each tremor of her chest.

"i want you," she murmured against his cheek, her voice raw with need. nuzzling into dayn, seeking his lips until they met in a kiss steeped in fervor. there was nothing timid about it — no hesitation. reyna's tongue skimmed his bottom lip before slipping past, exploring, claiming against his own. one hand wove through the silky strands of his hair, anchoring him to the intensity of the moment as her body demanded more, dissolving the last remnants of restraint.

Dayn was surely playing with fire, he knew that much. He didn't know much about the guards, the hunters, the scouts, other than they had a type of responsibility he both didn't want and was ill-equipped to handle. To him, they felt in a different league. Four years was a long time to keep people safe day in and day out, at the potential expense of one's own. He sure couldn't do it. She could have easily told him to shove off and cuff him against something for the night like they did the first night he arrived here, when he was too unruly for logical thinking. In a way, he probably wasn't thinking logically here, and was definitely not doing a great job at keeping himself together.

His eyes followed her face as she stood from her chair, easily letting himself get pushed backwards. A hand found her arm, light and inviting, while his other found the underside of her thigh. Hips over his, he grinned, unabashedly, the little smirk almost inviting her fingers over his throat to squeeze - he would gladly cave under that sort of pressure. Dayn laughed then, low and agreeable, waiting until she had stood off of him before he got up himself. "You don't have to tell me twice." That closet was right past the bar, and it took him very little time at all to stride across the floor of the room, to the rapidly falling asleep patron and sling an arm over his shoulders, leading him into the closet. Though he had to treat this with some care, given that this was a whole other person, the temptation to just toss him in there and lock the door was strong. But Dayn let him down gently onto the old tile, rushing to the back of the bar where he left spare blankets and pillows and tossing one of each to the closet. The chair was pushed against the door, under the doorknob, just like she commanded requested.

When it was finally just the two of them, standing further apart now, his brows quirked up a bit, stepping forward with the corners of his mouth slowly turning upward. "So then what about me?" he asked, inching closer, until he was close enough to gently slide his hands over hips, leaning his head down. "What do you want from me?" Control could be all hers, here, so long as he didn't end up in a closet somewhere himself. All bets were off then. His head dipped down a bit to kiss at her jaw, right under her ear, fingers grazing up her ribs. "Something like this?"

[reynahendrix]

what was it like to have a sibling ? to share a bond forged by blood, an unspoken connection stretching through time and memory ? reyna had never known that particular luxury, growing up an only child. perhaps if she had, the awkwardness that clung to her in social situations would have long since tarnished, rubbed away by playful teasing and shared confidences. instead, it lingered, like a stubborn shadow she couldn’t shake. “the sheriff died. did you hear ?” she asked, her voice low, catching only scraps of hushed conversations that buzzed in the aftermath of the storm. the chaos had stirred personal terrors within her, and she'd struggled to keep up with the wider tragedies. “wonder how...” her words trailed off as her hand found the courage to push open the cinema door.

a tight, unwelcome anxiety lifted her chest, but she tried her best to mask it in front of joel. “i made a bedroom of sorts in here,” she murmured, keeping her gaze low, flicking briefly toward joel but too afraid to catch even a peripheral glimpse of emmett. her feet quickened their pace, leading them through the double doors. god, she couldn't bear to look into the dark theater—the blank screen hanging silently above rows of velvet chairs, ignorant of the horror that had once unfolded there. “up here.” reyna ascended the steps to the projection room, her voice steadying despite the weight pressing on her ribs. the old theater's purpose had long since expired. “the screens don’t work, but there are rolls of film in tins around. help yourself.”

taking a breath, she pushed the door open. her sanctuary lay just as she’d left it—a fragile imprint of her existence carved into the room. tally marks scarred the wall, chronicling four relentless years in arcadia. a chessboard hung on the wall, its pieces repurposed as hooks for her jackets. books were stacked haphazardly, many of them journals filled with restless scribbles. her fingers found their way to a bowl brimming with discarded matchbooks. she plucked a thumbtack from the pile and carried it to the adjacent wall, pinning the drawing joel had made. her eyes lingered on it, tracing each line. “what’s your room like ?” she asked, her voice softer now, carrying a hesitant curiosity. reyna wanted to apologize—for feeling so disconnected, for standing here like a stranger in her own space. she feared that connecting herself too deeply would only lead to unraveling, a slow, merciless spiral where her seams would pop and come undone, fraying her fragile resolve. even here, surrounded by the remnants of her own survival, she stood stiff, discomfort etched into every inch of her being.

In the little time they’ve spoken, Joel could pick up a sadness in Reyna that seemed too grand for anyone to bear. The picture had no color but was packed with detailed rough spots and edges. Smudges of noir charcoal centering her focus. If there was any. Her cadence added on to the ghostliness she possessed in ways that made the hairs on his arm rise. “Not much of a people person, I take it?” he asked, turning to flash her a smile. 

“That’s alright.” he went on with a lazy shrug, “I can see how having a bit less people around you can perhaps help you feel like there’s some normalcy.” It’s how it’s been for him, at least. He had Dayn with him and the two stayed alone in the gas station so the bizarre reality around them didn’t feel entirely present at all times. He and his brother had other demons to tackle which seemed ever present despite the years. Spending so much time in the night only thickened the air around them, as if leading them towards the very reason they’d ended up here in the first place. 

Joel nodded his head and gave her a, “Mhmm,”. He hadn’t asked how Dayn got there in the first place or if someone offered him to stay there, but it was definitely lucky for them to have a space for just them two. It’s as they’ve always been. It’s what was safe. “It’s a bit cramped, but nothing really to complain about." He slowed his pace to match hers with ease, and placed his hands inside his pockets. "I bet there’s loads of space in the cinema though? In the viewing rooms specially. Did you guys take out all of the seats? Do the screens even work? I bet there’s a bunch of movies over here somewhere too.”

[reynahendrix]

what was the reward for revealing yourself in arcadia ? nothing but bait for the creatures that prowled the shadows. even among the other victims of the grounds, vulnerability was often seen as weakness—a crack in the armor that invited betrayal. reyna had never been one to reveal much of herself, even before this life. there was no grand reasoning behind it, just a quiet-lipped nature born of routine and shelter. a child empty of siblings left to her own mind of imagination. a bleak existence punctuated by the mundane.

jazz and blues—the thought flitted through her mind as she studied the man briefly to his question. it seemed fitting somehow, the smooth cadence of those genres aligning effortlessly with his appearance and demeanor before her. the revelation wasn’t rooted in fact, but it made sense. “mm.” reyna exhaled softly, the sound feathering past her lips as her finger traced absentminded shapes in the thin layer of dust on the box lid she had opened. her other hand cradled the vinyl she’d pulled from within, already claiming it as a treasure to romanticize later—when she'd retreat to the projector room of the theater she called home.

“no,” she murmured, her voice measured, “a lot of people listen to the same genres but are vastly different. knowing that about you tells me very little.” her tone was thoughtful but closed. reyna considered her own answer, though it lingered unspoken. she hadn’t played music in the car on the way to work. there was no melody to color the silence, only the hum of the engine vibrating through the cabin. the gentle rustle of a pen gliding across paper. the cold scrape of metal as a morgue bed was pulled from its station. those were the organic sounds that filled her days—no radio symphony, just the raw notes of a stark existence.

Her fingers delve where they shouldn’t:   the unwritten past,   and the bug bites buried therein.     How they yearn for your nail’s itch.     On hot nights,   those pale memories redden,   sampling sounds in the mouths of those that are beyond earth.     That are neither above nor below,   though they walk,   and leave prints underfoot,   like they belong among the living.     Man’s snore as their auguring bleat.     Where your hands clench,   only,   amidst starless silence:   the crisp clack of a doll against its wood-floored house.     She rustles.     He appears.     Instead of lingering,   he rounds the cardboard boxes,   lowering to his haunches opposite her.     ‘   Jazz and Blues   ( … )   the Classics.     I’m sure you’ve heard of my favourites before this little   ( … )   venture.   ’     His steady lilt tapers off into a sigh.     Curt and dry.     There is a harsher you,   beyond fumbled records and cold hands,   but for now,   there is Nicolas Barra,   the man;   not Nicolas Barra,   the shape.     And there is her:   tow-headed and close-lipped smile.     Scattered without her gun.     MARKED,   BEFORE MARKING.     He blinks at the box,   and then up at her.     The shape of her almost jitters and he knows,   then,   that this is woman before shape.     Breath before shot.     A flitting gaze,   around her face.     ‘   Do you know me now   ––   as much as you know those travellers?   ’

[reynahendrix]

tell her...a whisper through reyna's hair.. or the wind.. the enjoyment of reyna’s suffering seemed to feed upon itself, rattling within her like some insufferable parasite, thriving on her torment. the searing burn of guilt and anguish simmered beneath her skin, threatening to break free. her eyes gleamed with unshed tears, swollen with the weight of emotion teetering at the brink. reyna didn’t sob—she unraveled quietly, fragment by fragment. the tears charted thin paths down her face, one stream interrupted by nika’s touch, more tender than the steady hand anchored firmly on her shoulder, keeping her tethered to the present. it wasn’t about trust; it was survival.

reyna couldn't cage these emotions forever. the brutal truth clawed at her insides—the facts of what had happened. they would devour her whole if she let them fester. she understood now why some surrendered willingly to the night, seeking the balm of silence, the promise of rest. to slip gently into darkness seemed kinder than bleeding out one's sanity until it cut and scarred everyone around them. “i…” she faltered, her chin quaking as her lips struggled to form words too monstrous to bear. “e-emmett…” the name fractured on her tongue, splintered by sobs that churned within her like an undertow pulling her beneath cold, dark waters. she fought endlessly, always fighting—god, she was so tired of fighting. nika felt like a fleeting moment of reprieve, a rare breath of calm. “everything was so loud…” she confessed, her voice brittle. the voice. the boy in white. the disorienting chaos where up became down, and sanity unraveled into madness. reyna had lost every sense of direction. all she knew was this: if she disobeyed, if she didn’t yield, everyone would be gone.

the punishment for defiance was far worse. “i… tied him up.” her lip quivered, betraying the anguish she struggled to restrain. blue eyes met nika’s steady gaze ..daring her not to recoil. “i stabbed him,” reyna exhaled sharply, the confession lancing through her chest, stealing her breath. her heart slammed against her ribs, wild and panicked. “a-and i tried… i tried not to.” her voice cracked beneath the weight of the memory. emmett. god, emmett. he had filled the hollow corners of her loneliness, offered her companionship when it was a rarity. she had cared for him deeply. still did.

“…i just kept walking,” she whispered, trembling in their shared touch. “and it was so c-cold.” the chill of that night clung to her still, a phantom ache she couldn’t shake. reyna's body shuddered against it. “charlie tried… so hard… to get away…” her voice splintered further, a raw edge cutting into the memory of charlie. her breaths grew ragged, chest heaving as sobs wracked her frame. reyna jolted, a tremor seizing her body. her hand lifted between them, fingers trembling as though they still remembered gripping charlie with such ferocious strength, destructive and desperate. the weight of it crushed her now, leaving her hollow, drowning in her own sorrow.

It was impossible to stop a thread once it began to unravel, and in this moment Reyna came apart quicker than Nika had anticipated. She came apart like thick snow in an avalanche, like eroded trees in a typhoon, like sinew tearing: violent and in a way that could not be put back. The guard's undoing sent shivers up the back of Nika's spine and she found herself staying in the woman's space, her own hand grabbing Reyna's shoulder, fingers digging into flesh to keep her in place.

Charlie. A problem for more than one person than it seemed. Even now, years later, she found Zoa was still affected by the younger blonde. It would be a happy day for Nika whenever Charlie met her end. Yet coming from Reyna, it was said with an underlaying hint of regret, despite the very real and very painful injury sustained at the hand of the younger girl.

Her gaze landed on Reyna's features as she lowered her head. Guilt was heavy in the shadows of her eyes, the tenseness of her shoulder. How did you handle a bomb when the slightest movement threatened to detonate it? With care, sedulousness, gentle fingers to defuse. She extends the fingers of her free hand underneath Reyna's chin and lifted her face so that their eyes meet. Her eyes searched for the hidden meaning behind Reyna's words, a way to understand why she felt so much guilt. In all her years here, Nika had hurt too many people to count on one hand, though she hardly allowed herself to capacity to feel remorse over it. Violence was a necessary part of Arcadia, that was a lesson learned time and time again over the span of twenty years.

Her hand slipped up Reyna's face and she stroke the ridge of the woman's cheekbone with her thumb, a reassurance she afforded to few people. "How did you hurt them? Tell me," she instructed, gentle but firm.

[reynahendrix]

reyna stilled, caught adrift on dayn’s words, her thoughts swirling with the same lingering wonder. the night stretched—an unyielding expanse for eyes unwilling to surrender to sleep. restless nights often found reyna tracing cracks and shadows on the ceiling, insomnia binding her to wakefulness. when not prisoner to sleeplessness, she kept watch, safeguarding the town from unseen dangers. tonight had been mercifully uneventful. a drunken fool, two sober caretakers, and an unexpected spark of intimacy. dayn’s voice, low and languid, brushed against her ear, coaxing her mind into forbidden territory.

what sort of lover was dayn ? the thought slipped in unbidden, unspooling vivid questions. the raw force of his earlier fight made her wonder—did he favor roughness ? would his grip tighten possessively around her throat, one hand steadying her hips with unrestrained fervor ? her gaze flickered to the polished bar counter. would he press her against it, lay her upon the very surface that bore the weight of weary patrons’ drinks and woes of the town ? perhaps there was restraint hidden beneath his bravado, a gentleness tempered. would he take his time, explore her slowly, filling the endless minutes of night with deliberate touch ? had he thought of sliding his hand higher up her thigh earlier as she dressed his wound ? flirtatious, but how much of his charm was empty air—and how much brimming with intent ?

“how about—” the thoughts teetered on the edge of indulgence, but reyna reeled herself back. she should keep the line firm—duty demanded vigilance, not temptation. yet...temptation thrived on familiarity, and after four long years of identical nights, vigilance wore thin. her hand moved without thought, firm yet deliberate, sliding up dayn’s chest to his shoulder as she pushed him back into his seat. proximity clouded judgment, and for a moment, rationality was cast to the wind. “you do that,” she murmured, rising from her stool only to straddle dayn’s lap with ease. her tone remained low, commanding. “but put him in the storage pantry. no windows.” even the drunken fool demanded a measure of trust. reyna’s hands glided around dayn’s neck, her breath warm as her chin dipped, bringing her lips perilously close to his. “and wedge a chair under the handle,” she continued, her voice silk-threaded steel. “so he stays put until I let him out.” her lips grazed his as she spoke, teasing yet resolute. a moment passed, taut and heavy, before the brunette exhaled and slid off dayn's lap, returning to her stool as though nothing had transpired. he could do with it what he wanted. the echo of temptation lingered, but reyna sat poised, the flicker of command still burning in her gaze.

The real answer was none. Or, maybe more accurate, the attention that Dayn liked was the kind that he initiated first. He still could remember in the days where his case was getting resurfaced attention, feeling the need to pull his hood up way over his head. Wait, are you-- interruptions whenever he just tried to do his job. He had taken a couple of weeks off of work bartending and just stuck to hustler jobs in the meantime, where his face was less likely to be seen. He would have just put himself up in those street fights, but if he walked into court looking like he got jumped, it could've hurt any chances, or so had been explained to him. "I'm more of a one-one-one kinda guy," he decided on, after a brief thought. "One-on-two even, if that's where the night takes me."

His smile grew when he thought he saw a glimmer of hers, and a light laugh bubbled out of him. "Oh, I'll be just fine, I'm used to being stuck in the same spot." That might've been a little too much of a reveal for him, inviting too many questions if she was the curious sort, but he could recover and believed she wasn't so much that way. "I'd choose your company over his any way. I, for one, am fine with stowing him away in that back room where they actually make the liquor, leave him there with a blanket, a pillow, and a bucket and call it a night. For him, at least." Then the night can actually get started. He leaned in a bit, lips aimed to her ears. "I won't tell anyone if you don't."

[reynahendrix]

"I love how all our characters [in Silo] have dimensions and emotions and feelings and fears and we have to go through all the feelings to get to the end result. it's a mystery and every time you think you've solved something weather it's an emotional mystery or a connection or a bond there is another hinder and another hinder. That's what's so great about these stories - it just doesn't end!"

Rebecca Ferguson - Variety studio interview at San Diego Comic Con 2024

[reynahendrix]

roux's indulgence in memories of a past life stirred something heavy within reyna, causing her heart to sink beneath its weight. a painful realization—how little she had allowed herself to truly live. the spoils of life had slipped through her fingers like grains of sand, unnoticed and disregarded, lost to the clouded vision of a mind singularly focused on duty. work had consumed her, leaving behind an isolation so thick that joy struggled to find even a crack through which to seep. how much had she missed ? how much would she never get to experience now ?

the pad of reyna’s thumb absently brushed against the blade of her pocket knife, the cool edge grounding her thoughts. tilting the knife slightly, she caught a fractured reflection of herself in the polished metal. the sight unsettled her—a face she almost resented, belonging to someone who never learned how to savor what the world had to offer. she knew sterile halls. ones that stretched endlessly in her memory, buzzing with the hum of fluorescent lights. puzzles lay scattered across her professional existence—yellow tape cordoning off scenes, chilled air biting her skin as she hunted for clues to why someone had expired. kneeling through her lunch hours, takeout containers untouched, reyna had always chosen dedication over indulgence.

outside work was no less bleak. lonely corners of her home loomed, filled with nothing but echoes and the occasional fleeting warmth of a partner who never lingered long enough to cross into seriousness. even if reyna had wanted more, articulating how she felt had always been an insurmountable challenge. that was her reality—unchanging and barren. in many ways, it hadn't varied much in arcadia. both were landscapes shaped by bottled emotions and relentless duty. the only real difference was that in arcadia, monsters lurked beyond the edges of her carefully constructed box. what frightened reyna most was the gnawing truth—she had always been the one who built the walls unable to allow herself her own freedom.

“there’s not much for me to go back to.” reyna’s voice carried a solemn weight, truth flickering on the edge of her words like a wavering flame. her tongue grazed her bottom lip, tasting the faint, lingering sweetness of apple—a fleeting reminder of something simple and good. “sounds a bit...” she hesitated, the apple core shifting in her hand. the seeds nestled within their small caverns seemed almost symbolic, waiting patiently for the chance to scatter and sprout new life. perhaps she still held the same potential, though it was a thought she rarely entertained. “...fucked,” she admitted, “but I think I’m better off here.”

reyna's father was gone. her mother, —resentment had always been her mother’s most familiar language toward her. there was nothing left to tether reyna to the life she’d once inhabited, no fertile soil in which to thrive. at least in arcadia, loneliness didn’t gnaw at her bones with quite the same ferocity. the grounds were occupied by minds familiar with torment, loss, and the occasional glimmer of joy they clung to like precious fragments of light. there was an unspoken understanding here—a language she didn’t need to translate. “but a decent beer would be nice,” she added with a wry smile, the weight lifting just slightly from her words. “or a bourbon.”

In the light of day, there were fewer occasions to sense the deception so deeply imbedded in the town’s atmosphere. Instead of monsters and apparitions, the illusion of normalcy haunted the stretch of active hours between dawn and dusk. Mundane routines in familiar places, if one did not look too closely. Laundry, cooking, cleaning, hobbies — on the surface, with activity still possessed that hum drum sheen to it that swaddled humanity since the big boom. Stories, conversations, and laughter, like Reyna’s, spilling with such an unguarded freeness that the tension cast by the shadows of reality’s abysmal truth — if only for an indulgent instant — felt cut off from, released and unspooled. 

The question gave her a moment of pause. Reyna was too pragmatic to deserve a lie, nor Roux's instinct to dodge the conversation's direction altogether. Averting her eyes, she studied the apple core’s uneven surface; pale green mottled by segments blooming with brown. Already closer to decay than an edible morsel, rapidly oxidising between them. Signs of unstoppable change. Weak flesh and a hostile environment. Not all that different from how their own bodies changed, adapting or decomposing with only a single decision separating the two forms of torture — a poorly timed door or window, open and invitational.

“Before barely feels real anymore,” she began, a statement weighed with an uncomfortable honesty she attempted to detract from with a dismissive shrug. There were many aspects of her old life she was relieved to be liberated from, mostly entangled with unpleasant people. The world itself, however, did provide far better infrastructure than Arcadia’s droll offerings. She had taken for granted even the few slivers of goodness, wasted everyday pinned by demobilising concerns and anxieties. Only after nearly a decade of being less figuratively trapped, every stone upturned end every bark pattern traced, had she become a slave to comparisons and the longing which followed, so vivid and heartfelt she doubted that the alternative experiences would measure up to the idealised visions in her head. She denied herself the undoable damage of baseless sentimentality — rotten core memories could not be saved by rose-coloured glasses — but was less immune to heartstrings tugged under the influence of objective nostalgia.

It was challenging to miss a past that had not existed to the extent Roux now envisioned, the desirable life which had always fallen outside of her past self’s fingertips, but in the earnest illumination of Reyna’s presence she softened slightly in her allowance to consider the broader common details that were now rare relics in their impossibility, nothing other than defunct and dysfunctional reminders that had no purpose and informed no future basis. Intangible memories to silently prod, late at night when the mind emptied, revisted over again and again until the sharp edges smoothed. 

“I miss fast food drive thrus,” her lips quivered with an unsuppressed smirk through the statement, how ridiculous is sounded devoid of much context, yet it was one of those painfully ordinary things that felt so strangely valuable now. “I miss late nights in the city, catching buses and not getting off until the service terminated somewhere too far away return to. I miss beaches with sand. I miss live music, new music. Strangers — people staying strangers… mall food courts, pizza deliveries, fireworks, ferris wheels, stargazing, happy hour…” It’s all she could muster before her lips pursed and her heart rate pounded too loudly in her ears. A muscle strained at the corner of her jawline, molars clenching and unclenching. “I think about things, sure,” her forearm hitched behind he head as she moved to throw the apple core, making an emphatic thwack against the radio station’s brick; an end to any fondest threatening to leak through the cracks of the reverie of distant landscapes, “but I have nothing to go back to. I’d have to restart fresh somewhere new, again, back to square one and reinvent… everything about what life looks like, what it even means.” Looking back up at Reyna, she challenged the purpose behind the line of thinking which had spurred the inquiry in the first place, “I don’t know if I could do that more than once. Could you?”

[reynahendrix]

test the theory. reyna succumbed to the moment, casting aside the memory of her earlier outburst—the fit that had fractured her composure and drained every last ember of energy from her body. she'd run until her breath fractured into ragged gasps, desperate to empty herself of emotions too wild to contain. screams had scattered birds from their hidden perches, her knuckles bruised and throbbing from striking unforgiving bark. - and yet here was juno, standing before her, holding out a peculiar fungi. a fragile thing that could just as easily solve all her problems—whether by feeding her or robbing her of life with a poisonous touch. how absurdly simple that seemed compared to her exhausting rituals of survival.

if she just ate it— “can I see it ?” reyna's voice was steady, the tremor of bravery thinly veiled beneath a curiosity that could be mistaken for recklessness. she stepped forward, yielding to whatever strange game juno had conjured. her fingers twitched as they reached for the extended fungi, its delicate form trembling between her grasp. fragile. so easy to crush in the strength of her grip. reyna imagined the crumbling ruin of it in her palm—what would juno draw then ? dissect ? study ? the temptation lingered.

"soft," she noted, her fingertips brushing the velvet skin of its surface. she lifted it closer, breathing in its earthy aroma, damp and ancient like the breath of the forest floor. eyes of steel blue flicked to juno, sharp and searching. a wild glimmer sparked in reyna’s gaze as her lips parted, her tongue slipping out to graze the fungi. she dragged her tongue along the length of the fungi's stem in deliberate defiance, daring fate itself. playing back. fearless—even among those who drifted into the settlement like shadows carrying secrets of ruin, none had ever truly frightened her.

They didn't known much about the delicate vine they held - other than their initial observation. Color and scent as well as texture and size. Juno had picked it from the decaying underbelly of a rock some distance away, and the fruiting body indicating the type of organism. “It’s a fungi.” they spoke with certainty, “But there’s not much else I can tell you right now. I’ll have to bring it back with me to study it further… it doesn’t appear harmful.”

The interest lied with whether it’d be a new addition to their edible plants and herbs, and if they’d be able to find some healing properties within the fungi itself. All things that would take Juno an incredibly long time to figure out but it wasn’t as if they had anywhere to be - stuck in Arcadia the way they all were. 

“Would you help test the theory?” they asked in jest, extending their hand and the delicate white mushroom towards the other. Their movement was as slow and flowy as the air around them while they stared up expectantly. Juno didn’t actually expect her to eat it, but even the smallest of chances was thrilling enough to wait for. 

Juno wondered, if they moved even a little bit faster, if their movement would prompt Reyna to run. The way she approached was guarded, treating them like a rabbit dog that could strike at any given moment. Juno liked the feeling it gave them. The illusion of danger that they so effortlessly possessed like the red stem of a poisonous mushroom.

[reynahendrix]

this was never their burden. it never had been. the self-inflicted pain reyna caused time and time again, leaving shaw to patch her up when she couldn’t manage it herself—none of it was supposed to fall on anyone else. there had never been any intention of piling her frustrations onto the clinic’s already limited resources, draining shaw’s energy. intentions rarely mattered when the damage had already been done. reyna broke herself like glass, and there were only so many times those shards could be glued back together before they turned brittle. eventually, those pieces would grind down into something fine and irretrievable. each reckless, unhealthy decision brought her an inch closer to a punishment far more permanent. still, here she was, teetering on that dangerous edge, leaving the remnants of her shattered self for shaw to gather.

"..what were your favorites ?" reyna’s eyes flickered up to shaw, watching them tend to her injury. the distraction was something she could try to cling to, a poor substitute for the thumping ache her mind couldn’t fully process. when the saline touched her split knuckles, an intense sting caused her to wince. the pulse in her hand throbbed harder, protesting the interruption. american goshawk. reyna wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about bird species, but the way shaw spoke about them pulled her interest. their description resonated with her in a way she couldn’t quite articulate. powerful, elusive—did they really see her like that ? the thought made her uneasy. uncomfortably good. the corners of her mouth twitched, caught between wanting to smile and not knowing how. there was something about being seen through those eyes that left her without words, unsure how to respond without feeling foolish.

metacarpal fractures. closed reduction to realign her bones. reyna was no stranger to the terminology, and it frustrated her. would anyone believe she hadn’t thrown her fist across the drunken man’s cheek she'd been stuck babysitting all night ? no, instead she’d run until her knees threatened to give out, then swung repeatedly at a tree trunk until her knuckles were raw. a quiet sigh escaped her lips as she nodded curtly. "thank you," was all she could manage. "..five weeks," she repeated under her breath—a challenge of time. could arcadia’s chaos not creep into her mind for five weeks ? could she process emotions without her cup filling and spilling over ? trying to stumble past the seriousness of the situation, she grasped for humor. the trees... what did they ever do to you - "...they barked at me." the smile cracked before reyna could stop it, small but genuine.

Just tired. It had been the mantra of everyone here but it was the scouts, guards, and hunters who had made use of the adjective most frequently—they who carried the safety and security of Arcadia’s townspeople in the bends of their spines and tautness of muscles. The scouts and hunters for sustenance; the guards, for the simple pains of living. The town could be so relentless in having pain be felt. The doctor did as much as they could to satiate that relief but they had no recourse when pain was actively sought. They did what they could. A practiced hand stitching skin back together into something that resembled function. Not so much healing as it was reorganizing the parts of the body back into place. 

“I used to try identifying birds. I got to about a couple of hundred until my knowledge failed me.”  They don’t know why they offer the anecdote now. An attempt at distraction, perhaps, as Shaw began to work, probing the knuckles slightly, pressing gently to test the extent of the injury, and reaching for the saline solution on the tray set aside. Or, perhaps, even an attempt at sympathy, breaching the distance between the familiar song-and-dance of the doctor and the reluctant patient. They began cleaning the abrasion, letting the solution run through the knuckles, thin rivulets tracing down the creases of Reyna’s hand. “Eventually I started just giving them with people’s names.” Orioles that had carried an old patient’s name, crows whose behaviors reminded them of the hunters. “If I find an American goshawk, I’ll make sure to name it after you. Powerful. Reclusive. Though I would suspect they are not so antagonistic toward trees.” The doctor rarely sought out violence as an answer. It sounded ever counterproductive. They could see the appeal of it, perhaps, the intentional act of losing oneself. But never had they thought of indulging.

Once the wound had been adequately cleaned, Shaw set the solution aside. “You’ve sustained some metacarpal fractures.” Second, fourth, fifth, they counted in their head. Closed but nondisplaced, at least, so—“I’m going to have to do a closed reduction to realign your bones. You’re lucky it isn’t an open fracture, but I’ll have to place it in a splint anyway.” Their delivery could be better, Shaw conceded. Once they had been good with words. Psychiatry was their former trade before circumstances forced them to draw back years upon years of medical school practice; now the instinct for healing was buried deep and into muscle memory. Tragedy here could both be so certain and yet liminal. Shaw had to bear witness to fifteen years of the same misguided solutions and tensions wrung taught, and people pulling tighter. How strange that this would be what they would consider a normal existence. They looked at her then, with a rare severe expression. “Could you make it at least five weeks before you can punch trees again? I don’t know what they ever did to you.”

[reynahendrix]

“i didn’t…” reyna’s voice faltered, her lungs fighting to breathe through the weight of guilt pressing against her ribs. she wanted to inhale the fear she had caused, exhale it out, and let it dissolve into the air between them. “...mean to.” samara’s honesty was appreciated, even if reyna hated that all she seemed capable of inflicting was fear. that was the truth of it, wasn’t it ? she was no different than the monsters lurking in the shadows of this town. a puppet to chaos, strings pulled by a voice she couldn’t control. she looked at the narrow space between them, aware of the concern etched on samara’s face. reyna knew the other woman was probably too close—dangerously so. one wrong moment, one spark, and whatever darkness remained coiled within reyna could unravel. she didn’t want to hurt samara, but if the voice returned, she doubted she would have the strength to stop it.

there was a vulnerability in reyna's tired body, haunted but still yearning for something human. a part of her wanted to reach out and hold samara’s hand, to cling to that warmth as if it could protect her from the terror nesting in her mind. she shook her head instead. “i can’t go home… not yet.” home. it had taken time for her to give the cinema that name, and now it felt distant and unattainable. pushing herself upright, reyna leaned back against the wall, the cool surface jolting her tired body awake. her injured eye throbbed faintly, but she ignored it, sitting still for a long moment. “i think it’s just going to take some time,” she said, clinging to the fragile thread of hope—or at least the hollow version of it she could muster. “but…” reyna hesitated. she should say no. find some dark, isolated corner to crawl into and wait for the storm inside her to pass. “ i can come downstairs,” she offered, tentative. “maybe… just for a moment.”

When Samara saw that it was a real person in the corner, and not some haunting figment of her imagination, she was relieved. Though when she realized the state of the other woman, her nose wrinkled in sympathy. Reyna was really messed up, that was clear even in the darkness of the apartment, heavy draped pulled across the windows. Not that it made much difference with the grey and overcast sky outside providing little in the way of sunshine.

"You did." She breathed, nodding. Because what was the point in denying it? "I thought---" Well, she hadn't known what to think, really. Which was how she'd found the stupid courage to come up here - that overwhelming desire to know. "I didn't know anyone was up here." Sami moved a little closer, crouching down. "What are you doing here?" She knew the other woman usually stayed at the cinema, though Sami couldn't understand why. It didn't exactly seem like a place to live to the brunette, who wanted something as close to normal as possible. Sometimes when she sat in the middle of her apartment, reading a book she'd procured, Samara could almost convince herself that everything was fine. Until something inevitably went horribly wrong.

"You--- you want to come downstairs? I could take a look at that eye. At least give you something to eat..." @reynahendrix

[reynahendrix]

under nika's steady guidance, reyna drew in a slow, ragged breath, sharp and jagged against the relentless pain radiating from her swollen eye. the throbbing felt like a pulse of its own, each beat spreading hot agony through her face. her vision, once only spotted with cloudy distortion, had thickened into an ominous haze. shadows churned where clarity should have been. reyna clung to nika's assurances—this was temporary, a reaction to the injury being touched. it had to be temporary. it had to heal. the alternative gnawed at her—a festering infection, blinding her completely. the thought curled inside her ribs, dark and feral.

the guards jaw was locked tight, muscles taut from bearing down against the searing pain. fingers gripped nika’s arm, knuckles pale with tension, even as the woman stepped back. reyna couldn't release her hold; it was an anchor keeping her from slipping into chaos. pain rippled through her body, raw and punishing, vibrating through every nerve. she grunted trying to stabilize herself. seconds dragged by, each one clawing against her will. reyna caught herself holding her breath, lungs burning as though complicit in the suffering. through gritted teeth, a single word escaped: "charlie." the name landed heavy between them, laden with truth too unbearable to keep inside but too dangerous to speak aloud. the storm had left scars deeper than the injury to her eye, her bruised body. holding that knowledge alone was torment enough—saying it aloud made it...real.

reyna's teeth parted, biting down on the inside of her cheek in a desperate attempt to stifle the quiver threatening her lip. blood blossomed where flesh tore, bitter on her tongue. "-i'm so..." the words fractured, loosening the fragile grip she had on herself. her wounded eye stung fiercely as tears welled, mingling with the raw sting of the opiate ointment. she was ashamed—so desperately ashamed. the sting wasn't just physical; it was a punishment she couldn't shake. her breath came unsteady as her fingers finally loosened their grip on nika's arm. she wanted to collapse, to fold inward, curling into the surrender her body begged for. - she fought it, staying upright through sheer force of will. the voice hummed beneath her skin, like static building toward a violent crescendo. it circled her, ravenous and waiting.

reyna’s lashes fluttered as she fixated on the ground beneath her, trying to root herself in something solid. her voice broke, raw and brittle. "...i feel like a fucking time bomb." the admission hung between them, heavy with impending detonation. her knees trembled, threatening to give way beneath her as the truth clawed its way out of her throat. "...i hurt them," she confessed, each word dragging her closer to collapse. her chin quivered, lips twitching as she fought to hold herself together in front of nika. she wouldn’t spill, wouldn’t shatter—not here, not now. the truth had already escaped, seeping into the cracks she couldn't mend. reyna teetered on the edge, desperate to surface, to keep from slipping beneath the voice's grasp again. the weight of guilt was crushing...and it was waiting to drown her.

Reyna's reaction was hardly unexpected but the sudden movement did cause a stutter in Nika's heart, one she masked well by stepping with her, matching her movement. She didn't doubt how unpleasant of a sensation this must have been for Reyna, but part of her was oddly turned on by the display of pain, and subsequently the attempt to work through it. With bated breath she watched the heavy rise and fall of Reyna's chest, the hissing as air escaped angrily through her teeth, the lines of pain on the woman's face as her face reacted to prodding of the injury. Nika revelled in it, adored the way the human body felt things like physical pain: outwardly, uncontrolled, raw.

Reyna promising her loyalty was nearly her undoing and Nika's own lips parted, her breathing getting more shallow. She touched Reyna's injury with the pad of her index again, doing her best to be gentle and knowing it would hurt either way. She was rewarded for her touch by a desperate hand wrapping around her forearm with a vice grip. "Tsk," she let out, gazed fixed on the injury, "breathe through it. You're fine." It wasn't chastising but she knew that Reyna didn't need to be coddled or held, she needed a strong hand to guide her towards saving herself.

"Ignore the pain, it will leave," she stated softly as her finger worked on saturating the injury site. The opium would kick in soon for the eye, but that wasn't the only pain Nika was referencing too. "If you pay attention to it then it will do nothing but make your body its home; your mind its home." She pulled her finger back but stayed in Reyna's space, anchored there by the hold on her forearm. "Now," she started, "do you want to tell me how you got that injury?"

[reynahendrix]

reyna’s eyes tracked jude’s assured movements, a picture of calm confidence as she demonstrated the safest way to approach the cow. there was a strange appeal to the scene—something that tugged at reyna the same way the cinema always did. a familiarity that resonated with a deep, unspoken part of her, offering brief glimmers of happiness in a town haunted by shadows. unlike most people, who found joy in conversation and the warmth of company, reyna sought solace in solitude. her fingers preferred the quiet dust-coated surface of film tins, tracing absentminded shapes and wondering about the times those reels might have flickered across a now-forever-dark screen.

okay. she nodded, bypassing the gate entirely and climbing over the fence with a practiced ease. replay of jude’s careful movements ran through her mind like a rehearsed dissection—the cautious approach, bent knee, and steady calm. margaret. reyna's gaze softened as she fixed on the selected cow, admiring the dark eyes and splotched coat that marked her sturdy frame. the brunette's boots pressed carefully into the muddied ground, blades of grass poking defiantly through the dirt. fearless, she moved alongside margaret, seeking not judgment but simple warmth.

extending her hand, reyna let her fingers glide up the bridge of the cow’s fuzzy, rough nose, her touch gentle and reverent. "nice to meet you, margaret," she murmured, voice steady but softened by the strange peace settling over her. as her fingertips traced further up the cow’s thick neck, reyna found herself wrapping her arms gently around margaret in an instinctive embrace. the cow's warmth seeped through her, loosening knots of tension reyna hadn’t even realized were there. a wave of youthful nostalgia washed over her, overwhelming in its innocence. it reminded her of a time before the world’s worries had crept in. her heart beat faster—comfort was an unfamiliar sensation, one she rarely allowed herself to feel from others. it felt good....and that was utterly terrifying.

“Guess so.” Jude shrugged. She made no judgements of the practice. The relief was palpable enough, just from the slightest change in the eyes of those who came looking for the animals. Hearts, larger and more resilient than humans, served as a reminder of the before under scarred hands. Life. A fragile thing. Still it would persist, still it would endure. Maybe Reyna needed to feel it too. The rancher would not question such things. She spoke to her herd like they spoke the same language. “Some of ‘em are more flatulent than others. Like people that way.” 

Jude squinted and studied the markings of the animal. Her dear creatures—the most constant of all company. “Margaret?” Sister Margaret. A woman who was solid only in her faith. She was young when Jude first met her. They both were. A short stretch of time when Jude carried another saint’s name. Frances, God knows you even in your silence, there is no need to keep kicking. Her tone was perpetually measured, the voice of someone who thought too much. Jude had watched her smoking once. A nun exhaling ash into the stagnant summer air behind a dumpster, body tense with something relentless and devout. She had wondered what it felt like to be called to do something. Be something. God loved the exhausted. “Good choice. Could be mutually beneficial.” 

It was sudden, the way Jude pushed off the fence, shoved her arms and legs wide, hands nearly together. “People approach the cows like this,” She explained, capable of amusing herself if no one else, “but it’s best to go for the neck first.” Some lacked the instinct for nature but it could often be learnt. It came to everyone differently. She straightened up and gestured to Reyna. “Go ahead.”