#✧･ﾟ: she forgets the truth sometimes ☾ interactions

[philcmena]

( @radopens​ )

philly hung from the mouth of the dinosaur model like she’d been crushed beneath its’ teeth, limbs sticking out from between tooth gaps like the bars of a cage - that’s what the mouth had felt like; a cage. it hadn’t been a particularly large exhibit - only eight feet tall - but she still had managed to find herself stuck between jaw. hardly minded it, though - felt natural, almost, like every time she’d gotten stuck on a tree’s branches. “hello,” she greeted a passerby, bent upside down - secure in the dinosaur’s mouth and narrowly avoiding tooth against spine, “it seems i’ve gotten very stuck. do you have a drink on you? i’m quite parched.”

[altphilcmena]

( @domfm​ )

“Hello Dominic,” Philly greeted, coming up besides him - hands clasped behind her, and eyes inquisitive, “You seem very authoritative. Do you like treehouses? I believe them to be very good for the environment.” There’d been about a dozen band-aids wrapped around her hands, hidden from view - splinters from woodwork.

[philcmena-alt]

She’d developed an aversion to laying on the grass. There was nothing wrong with it - she’d done it a thousand times, maybe even a million - but lately she couldn’t help but imagine it - the parting of roots and the gradual give of dirt as the ground formed a perfectly Philomena-sized hole. Ready to swallow her whole. Ready for burial. So she resorted to the extra effort of carrying a blanket with her - ratty, holes chewed by wild animals she welcomed with open arms. She laid in the middle of the baseball field - corner of the campus, where the ground was firm and the grass was short if-not-fake and crunched appropriately beneath her back, beneath the barrier of blanket and clothes - and laid still, even as a small, striped snake had managed to find its way to her, entangling in her hair, splattered around her like she’d taken a bad fall - even when a human-sized shadow had cast itself down on her, the silhouette blocking her view of a changing sky. “Hello,” Philly greeted ( “Ssss,” greeted the snake, as well ), “you’re very tall and very obstructing. Have you two met?”

[philcmena-archive]

@parklevi

“oh, levi -” a play-doh covered hand was waved in the other’s direction, “ - i saw someone eating a whole tub of play-doh. is it edible?” philly’s other hand was knuckles-deep into kneading some sort of abominable creation - clay-mation meeting jabba the hut. “i’m making a tribute to my sleep paralysis demon.”

[philcmena]

( @lcofowler​ )

It’d taken tooth and nail for Philly to return to Lovell; teeth to gnaw at the zip-tie that she had secured around her arm and the pole of a gas station sign in the middle of Oklahoma, and nails to grip onto the soft underarm afterwards, as Philly flopped over and pretended she had no longer function of her limbs - carried forth by Elektra, toes of her shoes dragging against hot pavement. She made it policy, once - never return to the same place twice ( it’d been part of the reason why Philly never made it back home - she’d been close to it, once, but felt nothing but frozen veins at the highway sign signaling Stanford; gripped onto Florence’s steering wheel and swerved hard, just to miss the exit - Elektra’d been silent the rest of the ride to a Super 8, jaw locked in unspoken anger ) - Lovell was not supposed to be the exception. She was not made for reunion, found others’ rejoice something quite awkward - found it something unknown; but the closer they’d gotten to the town, to campus - there’d been something shaking and stomping around in her guts, rattling her ribs - nails gripped into Florence’s leather seats, peeling it back to expose the cushioning. Nail and tooth, nail and tooth - there was anticipation between the grinding of her teeth as they pulled into the parking lot; forgot her manners, forgot to say a goodbye ( temporary, as they always were ) to Elektra as she clamored out of the van, thighs ripped from the leather they stuck to and leaving them bright. The pain went ignored - hadn’t even flinched, making way towards the door. She ducked beneath the arm of an exiting stranger who’d thrown it wide open ( it almost hit her, in all her focus - she hadn’t noticed ) - quickly tossed herself behind an array of flowers, sharp inhale at the distinct smell of Fowler’s Flowers. Something familiar - good, in that way - in the way most familiar things should be. Comforting to her nerves, almost - there’d been pangs and flashes, still, like her entire body had been a game of Operation. Felt undercover, almost - the way Philly carefully selected bouquets, no real purpose for them in mind - finding holes between petals in which to peek glances across the store from, to where the cashier’s counter was. Felt odd, almost - hiding as a means of preparation without purpose of attack. She swept the floral arrangement into her arms - too many than she should’ve been able to fit within her grasp, leaves obscuring her vision; flower heads popped off, littered the floor - left a mess of petals as she puffed out an exhale and made her way forth ( she left a trail, a floral massacre, in her wake ) - it was clear to her now why she’d gone back to Lovell with such little resistance ( there’d been several, much more severe instances of Philly defying authority - tooth and nail had been a bare minimum effort ), throwing the bouquets on top the counter with an exhale, “Hello Leo,” she greeted - face flush and sheen, from sunburn and summer heat ( the AC had broken halfway through their roadtrip back to Lovell; the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail stuck to her neck - they were muddy colors, the faded remnants of however many colors she’d chosen to dye her hair the past few months ); there’d been a dozen new freckles. “It feels like it’s been a lifetime,” Philly plucked a leaf from where it’d stuck in her hair, put it down with the rest of the flowers - she had tried to keep a rather neutral expression, but it was quickly failing ( a rare, rare feat ) - lips turned into a widespread grin instead; heart like the clashing of cymbals, “I will be taking these flowers with me, by the way - thought you’d ought to know. Has Marjorie been well?”

[altphilcmena]

( @maggotlaw​ )

“I brought something for your garden,” Philly stepped over the rows of flowers, careful  - item hugged close to her chest, swaddled in a jacket and held as if it’d been a newborn. “I had to barter for several days to get this, so I do hope you appreciate it. I think it’s very impressive.” 

[altphilcmena]

( @chasemery​ )

“Hello Chase,” Philly said - quite seriously, as she slid into the seat across from him, manila folder smoothed out on the table before them and hands folded atop, “I have very serious news I must share with you, quite urgently. It may come as a shock, so I’m glad you’re already sitting down. Would you like me to begin?”

[altphilcmena]

( @freyatm​ )

“There’s not much left in here,” her voice was half obstructed - head cut off from view as Philly leaned into the cabinet, almost, knees against the counter top as she rummaged through the belongings of strangers. A pile of their dishes - fancy, and expensive - dishes and bowls and mugs, had already been formed besides her ( half of it had fallen, already, shattered across the ground haphazardly though Philly hadn’t seemed concerned in the slightest ) as part of her endeavor, “Oh - this is very nice,” she said, finally - poking her head out to look at Freya, a single teacup in her hands. “I will keep this one,” Philly closed the cabinet door and shuffled across the counter - sending the rest of the dinnerware off the edge in the process. “That was fun. What now?” She still held the single teacup.

[altphilcmena]

( @teddylawrence​ )

“Teddy!” The sun’d been harsh that day - harsh, but Philly could withstand it ( she hadn’t lived in California so long for nothing, after all ) - face and shoulders still white from the sunscreen that’d been slathered on quickly, sloppily, new freckles already sprouting at every weak point; collarbones and wrists, and ankles, and at the back of her knees, above her elbows, “I’m feeling very competitive today,” This was how it always began - competition, light reflecting off of the sunglasses that’d been tossed up, tangled in her hair, matching the glint in her eyes that only spoke of mischief, “So I’ve signed us up for volleyball. I would’ve asked, but I’m feeling very selfish as of late, I hope you can forgive me.”

[altphilcmena]

( @lcofowler​ )

“Hello Leo!” it was an awfully nonchalant greeting, face tinted pink and smile instantaneous, given the fact that Philly hadn’t supposed to have been in his kitchen, much less the Fowler home in general, criss-cross-apple-sauced at their tiny table, circular and old wood - she had left her mud-encrusted boots by the door. Her clothes had been splattered with rain - drenched, almost, tendrils of hair sticking to her neck and jaw, but smile delighted all the same. She sat there with Marjorie - who’d only given a weak protest when Philly came knocking on the door - fresh bread slices smeared with the other’s homemade jam in their hands, now, like they hadn’t been breaking the law, “I brought bread - it’s very good, I must admit. Homemade, too, would you like a slice?”

[altphilcmena]

( @radopens​ )

“Do you want to sign my cast?” Philly held her arm up, wrist consumed by baby blue plaster - there’d been several names already, in various colors - Leo’d been the first to sign, then Elektra; Blue, Freya, a few more scribbles here and there. There’d been a shaky drawing of a rat, too - her own doing, her own signature of sorts. “There’s a lot of space left, and I have an awfully wide assortment of colored markers.” They’d been stolen from Target - but it hadn’t been relevant. “Glitter pens, too.” Also stolen.

[altphilcmena]

( @freyatm​ )

“Hello Freya,” Sat in the furthest booth in the diner, tucked away into a corner where she could see all of the occupants - Philly felt like a spy, this way, gathering intel about unknowing targets. Her eyes flickered up to Freya, hands folded before her and fingers intertwined the best they could be under her circumstances, “The food here has healing qualities, I find. I had a nick on my knee from climbing, once, the last time I had a grilled cheese. The next day it was gone - just, poof.” She nodded along to her own story, head tilting, “Could I have a grilled cheese, please? Your company also would be very welcomed.”

[altphilcmena]

( @lcofowler​ )

Her room had felt both big and small at the same time - cozy, in that way, old wood shelves lining walls and lined with knick knacks, desk a mess of metal scraps and yarn, multi-colored curtains covering windows and pinned to ceilings and hugging the headboard of her bed. Some would’ve considered it a mess - overwhelming, like they’d just stepped into a witch’s cottage, sweet-smelling herbs always lingering in the air - but it’d been the most that Philly had ever owned in four years. She thought of it as a sacred place - somewhere just for her, and her rats, and the baby raccoon she had decided to adopt into her ragtag family of animals; but they were gone now, boarding with Elektra inside of her van while Philly recovered. Two hands were needed for that sort of responsibility - it’d been in their best interest. But now it’d been Philly, and Leo - whose presence she hadn’t minded in the slightest, almost greedy in that way - and her wrist cast, which felt larger than it was to her, to the point where she had begun to consider it an entity on it’s own. “Leo - “ she stepped out of her closet, hand smoothing out the nightgown she’d pulled on - yellow ribbon clutched between fingers, “ - can you tie this, please? It’s very annoying having only one functioning hand,” Philly lifted the ribbon, “but I don’t like to sleep without it.”

[altphilcmena]

( @calebmontgcmery​ )

Elektra and Philly liked to play a game when they were on the road - when days were spent riding the highway across plains and mountains and woods, when their only bed had often been the one squeezed in the back of their van - and it’d to see who could crack open the most windows of the most motels and crawl into the rooms, either to unlock doors for the night or to steal a quick shower. There’d been no need anymore to play this game - a dangerous one, one that’d led to them hightailing it out of parking lots on most nights - but Philly found herself doing it still, imagining herself walking through memories. Sometimes the memories were her own, and sometimes she imagined the memories of past-goers, of businessmen and their mistresses, of runaways just like her - of terrible things, and of funny things, and of everything. This window’d been fairly easy to open, window frame cheap and the wood half rotten anyways - no camera in sight, a don’t ask don’t tell policy most likely in place - and easier to tumble through, Philly hitting the floor with a soft thud, in time with a door slam on the TV, “Oh. This is an enjoyable show,” she stated, staying put, hands now in lap. “Do you like it?”

[altphilcmena]

( @benjigates​ )

Prying open a window into the familiar Moris dorm, Philly climbed through, head first and nose sniffing about as if the immense sadness that radiated from the space had a scent all on it’s own. “It smells very sad,” she said as much - shutting the window behind her, twigs falling from the tangles of her hair - and wandered towards the culprit, a human-sized lump taking on the appearance of a blanket. “Which one of the boys are you?” Philly wondered, aloud, poking at the blanketed form, bending over the couch’s armrest to do so.

[altphilcmena]

( @ezramercvr​ )

It was surprisingly easy to get into Perkins without being seen, Philly found, trailing an invisible lead up two floors worth of dorm rooms only to reach her destination on the third, nose giving a firm sniff before she bent over to examine the doorknob, sliding a bobby pin out from the depths of her hair. She’d learn to pick locks at a young age out of a fascination for keyholes - every door in her house had the kind of keyhole you could put your eye to and see into; when she was younger, she’d imagine each one led into a different world. Lysander’s world was orderly and neat, Elektra’s was bright and boisterous, and she’d always been, admittedly, fearful of what lied in Juno’s realm. The keyhole of the Perkins dorm she’d currently been breaking into hadn’t been old, no fantasy to inject herself into, just the occasional click of when she’d hit a mark - which made it much more impersonal, and far easier to do. Or - it should’ve been going easier, Philly far too focused on the difficult lock to notice the shadow that loomed before her, that grew on the door as the figure drew near.