#in which lauryl is three outta five ppl

[pretty-perdita]

A Very Merry Unbirthday |*| [The Dalmatian Quartet feat. Chester]

In which Chester crashes a birthday party...

@paul-patts, @truly-aninspiration, @dalmatianplantationsensation, @chester-glass

[tw for mentions of suicide, contemplation of suicide, knife brandishing, baby kidnapping, violence, stabbing, some minor gore, it’s a while ride folks]

Chester’s plan had backfired. And to think, he’d been certain to plot it so well! You see, his grand plan on making Anita Dearly’s life miserable was supposed to culminate in a frozen-heart-punishment fit to make her stoic and barely-human-at-all. Or at least, that was Chester’s intent and so imagine his surprise when he saw his Sister Dearly strolling around Swynlake with a smile on her face. Further inspection revealed that not only was Anita Dearly unbothered by her condition—she /loved/ it. She liked being a heinous bitch. Now how was that for a plot twist?

Which just left Chester with one option and one option only: Kill Anita Dearly.

Now, murder was an awfully messy business. It was never Chester’s first choice, never really his intention, but sometimes the path grew narrow, the options limited. Chester’s options were dwindling the longer he stayed in Swynlake and the more terror he caused. He could smell the climax as it approached…feel it quiver in his skin.

And so when he heard about the Patts-Faye babies’ birthday, his plot senses began to tingle. He needed something to get the heartless Anita onto a ledge. In a room full of her friends, his options sprang wide open. And so it was on June 28th that Chester slunk into Anita and Perdita’s flat for the last time, while they hung their streamers and blew up balloons. Oh, it was going to be a party, alright.

Anita It had been several weeks now since the awfully annoying ‘intervention’ that her friends had staged and thankfully, things had more or less returned to normal. Perdita was still prone to give her strange glances and the cold shoulder, and she rarely went out with her anymore, but Anita had found other people to occupy her time.

In fact, she was planning to duck out of this baby shower thing as soon as she could so she might take advantage of her free time for a few cocktails at Pixie’s. For now though, she played the part of dutiful friend. /She’d/ even offered to pick up the cake and she put it on the table now, setting down the knife, the plates, and the napkins in the minutes before the party was to officially start.

“We’ll be eating this all /week,/” she teased as she looked back at Perdita, and for a moment it was like Anita could be herself again—all sugar and rosy cheeks. And then the doorbell rang and Anita looked toward it. "Oh, that'll be the boys, wouldn't it?" she said.

Perdita was in the middle of blowing up balloons and as her head dizzied from the massive intakes and outtakes of oxygen, she thought about how she got here as she watched Anita flit about the table. Anita with her frozen heart. Perdita, who just took her depression medication a few hours ago. Paul and Roger--the same as always, if not sadder and scorned by the women they loved. It could've all worked out peachy, couldn't've? Two best friends in love with two best friends? It was the fairy tale everyone wanted. Somewhere along the way it had gotten so fucked, but they were all still here in the end, and that made Perdita's heart light. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen.

When the doorbell rang she set aside the gold balloon she was blowing up (gold and white with a little bit of sky blue were the party colors). "I'll get it," she said with a smile and flounced towards the door, opening it wide. She smiled wide too.

"Hey!" she greeted, reaching out for one of the babies. "Gimme. You two have got to hang the streamers and balloons," she told them.

Paul was bloody well-excited for the first time-- alright, since he got cast as Romeo, maybe it wasn't so far back after all. He'd been waiting for this day for a while is all. He couldn't believe that his kids were one years old today, that it'd been a year and his life had changed this much. Course he didn't linger on the specifics because he'd get sad. He just focused on the babies himself, little Penn and little Patch, lively and smart and friendly, who were gonna be speakin' any day now, who still had their mother's eyes.

So he was all smiles when Perdita opened the door, Patch in his arms (Roger had Penn). Patch immediately let out a gurgly happy giggle at the sight of Perdy.

"Yeah, that's Mum! Mum's gonna say happy birthday," cooed Paul with that big grin before he passed Patch over. He glanced over her shoulder into the room. "Blimey, you plannin' to float this flat away with all those?" he quipped, but walked in toward them. He smiled a bit stiffly at Anita.

"Hey Anita-- you mind taking Penn?" Anita nodded and went to go get Penn from Roger near the door. Paul swiped a bunch of streamers and dragged a chair toward the window, no idea where he was gonna be puttin' 'em.

Roger Penn wriggled a bit in his arms. She was excited. Even Roger was a bit excited, well, more than he'd been in a while. He'd sorta accepted a few weeks ago that he was going to be doomed to cash registers and dog walking for the foreseable future, so when literally anything out of the normal happened it was a welcome change. Not that he wasn't happy that Paul's kids were turning one--because that was wonderful. These two little critters that Paul (and Perdy) had brought into the world were turning into little people.

Roger bounced Penny a bit. "You excited? They've got a cake and everything. Well, I dunno if you can process the taste of cake--oh hello, Anita." He managed a warm smile, shifiting Penny a bit so that Anita could take her.

Anita did not want to hold the baby, mind you, but here she was: playing nice. She smiled at Roger-- a closed-lip smile-- as she took the drooling bundle into her arms.

"Hullo Rog-- oof, this one's getting rather heavy, isn't she?" Anita said and looked at Penn, who had her fingers in her mouth. "Fancy that it's been a year, hm? This time last year-- why, we were just getting used to Swynlake weren't we?" she said to him. "Now we're practically regulars."

Perdita "Yes, Mommy is gonna say happy birthday, isn't she? Happy birthday!" Perdita said, bouncing Pat on her hip gently touching her finger to his nose to make him giggle, which made her giggle. She couldn't even begin to wrap her head around the fact they were a year old.

Did all mothers feel like that? Or just the ones that had lost the first nine months of their babies lives to depression?

Wandering towards Paul, she hovered around the bottom of the chair. "We've got to tell Daddy to be careful," Perdita narrated to Patrick, but she was looking up at Paul. Patrick made a cooing, baby-talk sound. "Yeah, I know, he can be a bit of a klutz, can't he?"

Paul scoffed, tossing her a glance. "That's definitely not what he said. He's on my side. We Patts men--" he mounted the chair then "--stick together! Now where the bloody hell do you want me to put these things?" He lifted the streamers up, squinting at the doors.

Roger gave a little laugh. "Time passes, that's for sure," he said, shrugging and walking into the flat. "So where's this all set up?"

Anita walked in after Roger, pushing the door closed with her heel. "Er, well Paul's got the streamers so I suppose if you'd like to hang some balloons off the chairs perhaps? The table's already set up so really we're practically good to go, I'm sure everyone will be here soon," she narrated as her eyes flicked around the room. She frowned at her own open door-- she swore she had closed it, so she moved toward it to shut the bedroom door again. No need to go in there.

Perdita "Y'know," Perdita said, letting go of Patrick with one hand to wave her hand about. "Loop it across the doorway, separate the colors out, though, so they don't get all bunched and are more--layered. And don't wrinkle them."

Paul "Course, because /wrinkle the streamers/ was first on the to-do list," Paul quipped back but was facing the window, measuring out the streamer to see how big the "loops" had to be. He wasn't the best at this sort of thing, Perdy knew that. He was pretty sure he was gonna fuck it up and she'd tell him to redo it, but he leaned forward and taped the one end and did the first loop across the window. "Yeah, like this?" he said and looked over his shoulder at Perdy.

Roger scanned the room and found where the gold, white, and blue balloons were and grabbed a handful. "Er--ribbon...?" Anita had walked off to her room, Penny still in her arms. Roger found a spool of ribbon, then set the balloons on the table, tyin' 'em up behind the chairs, and arranging them all nice and stuff. He flicked the top of one of the balloons and continued around the table.

Anita "Oh that already looks lovely, Rog," said Anita when she glanced back at the table with the balloons and the ribbons. The colour scheme was of course all Perdita's doing, neither boy could be responsible for such important measures. But he had a good eye and Anita's still appreciated this kind of aesthetic thing. Everything needed to be perfect, like a magazine. "Maybe bring some of that ribbon to the door? What do you think, that might be nice for people coming in," she said, adjusting Penn in her arms. She was being awfully wiggly.

Perdita "Mmm," Perdita said, tilting her head and taking a step back, almost bumping into the end table of the couch which made Pat giggle in her arms. "A little to the left I think, don't make them too big or we'll only be able to fit one or two."

Paul snorted some air outta his nostrils but obeyed and shifted it to the left so the loop drooped more dramatically. "Yeah?" he said. A second or two passed as Perdy eyed it. "Oh /c'mon,/ Perdy, they're just bloody streamers."

Perdita "They're not /just/ streamers, Paul. If they're uneven they'll throw off the whole ro--you know what? Here." Perdita bent down and placed Penny on the floor. She immediately began crawling across the floor, towards the couch, probably so she could try to pull herself up with it. "Anita, Roger, can you keep an eye on Penn while I help this /klots/," she scoffed, but playfully as she went and grabbed another chair, plopping it down next to Paul's so that they were spread out across the double doors. She climbed up carefully. "Okay, hand me that end," she said, gesturing for it.

Roger continued to adjust the balloons, then glanced over at Anita. "Yeah--that's a good idea. I can hang a few of 'em around the door frame." He grabbed a few balloons, knotting their ends with string, and reached for the top corner of the doorframe.

Anita had already wandered Roger's way to inspect the ribbon-doorway-mission, which was truly of the utmost importance as the guests would see it first and so it needed to give off the best impression. She glanced toward Perdy now, long enough to see her bend down to put the second of the Patts children on the floor. Anita rolled her eyes a little. Wasn't one baby enough (Penny was already a handful as is) for a woman to have to keep an eye on?

She gave another cursory glance, figuring the request was similar to a stranger asking another stranger to watch their things in a coffee shop-- symbolic and nothing more.

Then back to Roger. "Yes, that looks quite nice, I think. For what it is," she said with a shrug. She glanced back toward Paul-and-Perdy who were bickering. Rolled her eyes. "I do wish they'd just sleep with each other and get it over with," she said half to herself, half to Roger.

And then she noticed her /door/ was open again. Anita scoffed. "I swear I just closed that--" Anita said as she swept back toward her bedroom to shut the door.

Paul "Oi, name callin-- we got kids in the room, Perdy," teased Paul with a mock-stern expression. He leaned over enough to hand her the other end of the streamer. "Right, so. Tell me how this is gonna work /oh streamer queen./" More mocking. Ah, felt like old times.

Roger heard what Anita had said and then just shrugged, not really wanting to get into the whole should-Paul-and-Perdy-sleep-together bit, especially coming from the girl who went off and froze her heart. He adjusted the balloons, glancing over his shoulder as Anita walked towards her bedroom.

Perdita "And don't you forget it," Perdita said playfully, taking the streamer from Paul, their fingers brushing over the streamer, making Perdita's heart squeeze a little. She hung it up, a mite distracted, and then looked over her shoulder to find the babies.

It was habit now, ever since Patch had fallen off the bed. If they were in the room, she could't take her eyes off them for maybe a few seconds. Anita still had Penny on her hip. Patch was--he should be right by the couch. She craned her head a little further, to try and see around the back of it, if he crawled off in that direction. It almost made her lose balance as her stilettos slipped against the finished wood and she ripped the fragile streamer still in her hands.

"Paul--do you--do you see Patch? Anita! Where is he?" she asked, her voice a little shriller than probably necessary as she began scrambling off the chair.

Anita had just closed her door again and looked up sharply at Perdita's voice. "What? Oh calm down, Perdy, he was right there," she said with an eye roll and she craned her neck too but didn't see the baby. "Or-- " she blinked. "Oh uh--"

Paul "What?" said Paul, his own head turning sharp at Perdy's voice. "Wait, what?" He dropped the ruined streamer anyway and hopped down from the chair, rounding along the couch in search of his son. But he-- wasn't there. "What the hell, where the hell?" He turned around, eyes scouring the room.

Roger turned around immediately, walking towards the center of the room, eyes scanning, on alert. "Er--did he crawl away maybe? Uh, under the sofa?" He dropped to his knees, looking around the floor.

Chester And it was then that Chester-- who had been there all along mind you, enjoying the silly drivel of the Mundus-- appeared sitting on the countertop, Patch in his lap and a knife in his hand. The very same knife that had just been on the kitchen table for that scrum-diddly-umptious cake of theirs!

"Oh, are you looking for this little tot?" He preened. Patch was giggling, reaching out his hand for that big, big knife. "Ooooh, no, no, little Patrick, that's not for /you./ Babies." Chester grinned and brought the knife a little closer.

Perdita No one could find him. Perdita stumbled a little as she got down off the chair, putting her hand against the wall as Paul and Roger frantically searched around. All she could think about was all the things he could be getting into. They'd babyproofed before the children had come over, of course, but Perdita's panicked brain wasn't thinking about that.

And then--out of nowhere materialized--"Ches--" she didn't get his name out before she saw the glint of the knife. Her throat closed up and she couldn't do anything but stand there, her heart pounding as if it was trying to warm her up enough to let her /do something/.

"Paul--" she managed to squeak out, though it was probably hardly loud enough to catch his attention

Anita started at the voice coming from behind, whirling around to see-- Chester Glass of all people on the counter. Her eyes stayed open, her mouth gaping in confusion. She held Penny a little tighter, making the girl whine. She was already upset by the rising voices and the stranger now in their midst. "Wh-- what--?" she breathed out the word, frozen otherwise, exactly where she was.

Paul was not frozen. Paul was the opposite of frozen. His blood turned to fire at once, moving several steps closer like he was going to lunge. He only stopped when the knife in Chester's hand slipped closer, and even then, his body trembled, unable to simply /stay/ still.

"What the hell are you doing? Who the hell is this?" he said hoarsely, glancing fast at Perdy and Anita who seemed to /know/ the man with /Paul's son./ "Give my son to me right now!" he yelled before any of his shellshocked mates could give him an answer. Penny, in Anita's arm, began to cry.

Roger nearly knocked his head on the coffee table, but stood up, instantly on defense, Paul's shout riling him right up. Penny was crying, the girls silent and frozen. Roger glanced from Chester Glass to Patch to the knife gleaming in Chester's hand and his own heart pounded, ready to jump into the fray at a moment's notice, but for now--he was on guard, didn't know what someone like /Chester/ would do with Patch.

Chester glowed after every single reaction, his heart pounding bright and hot in his chest. Nothing like a good surprise, was there? No, nothing. It was worth it-- all this hiding these past few months, being invisible more than not. All the terrorizing he'd caused without anyone to give him due credit. All of it had led up to this moment right here. And all eyes were on him. He was the star, the center of attention. He was the puppetmaster, and the show was going to go according to plan. He adjusted the tot in his lap, the little buddy still trying to grab at the knife.

"Oh /hush,/ handsome male lead, you're making the other one /cry,/" he said with a fake pout. Then smiled again. "We haven't met, have we? You're Paul-- I'm Chester. Well, that's not entirely true. I'm Alfred Dearly. Ooooo, spooky!" He giggled. "Not the dead one, the alive one. I'm his son. Anita, darling, so glad to finally make your acquaintance."

Perdita Paul's shouting only made Perdita's blood chill faster. She hated that. She hated the yelling, the knife getting closer to Patrick's neck. Penelope crying. She'd only put him down for a moment--just a moment. She wanted her baby in her arms more than she ever had. Either of them, both of them. The urge was so strong she wasn't listening to a word that Chester was saying, she didn't /care/ what he was saying. She just wanted her baby back.

Anita 's head spun, her face twisting with every word he said. None of that made /any/ sense. She had known Chester Glass. He was a prankster, yes, but not malicious. And he'd not been in town. Hadn't he moved away or something? She had no idea because he had just been a tiny blip on her radar, and certainly not-- not what he claimed to be.

"That's not /true,/ I -- I don't have a brother," she said with her voice high but sharp. "You're lying, you're-- you're /insane./"

Paul inched a tiny bit forward, eyes darting from Chester to Anita. "What's it matter anyway? Got /nothing/ to do with Pat," he said. "Leave him out of this, he's just a kid."

Roger nodded along with Paul. "Yeah--it's not him--he's got nothing to do with this."

Chester "Oh /I/ know that, he's just a hostage. Of course I don't want to hurt the little bugger, but I will if I have to," Chester said quite amicably. His legs swung a bit. He was getting a real kick out of all this, the boys as alert as puppy dogs, Perdita coming apart, and Anita-- well, she was the problem.

"Now, if Anita will just be so kind as to jump off the balcony and kill herself, then I will be on my way." He smiled sweetly. "Your daddy's waiting, Sister Dearly."

Perdita Paul's voice--softer now, but still strong, helped. He wasn't scared (okay, maybe he was, but he wasn't showing it, he wasn't coming apart--Roger too) and that helped. She still didn't move but she managed to hiccup a breath in--the first one she'd taken since Chester had appeared--and clear away some of the panic. Now, it all clicked together. Chester Glass--who'd she'd been working alongside for the better part of year--was her best friend's /brother/, or so he claimed.

And he wanted--for whatever reason--for Anita to die. Perdita's heart clenched, but still--she didn't say anything, couldn't. Too afraid that anything would set Chester off.

Anita "Wh-- /what/? Because you /think/ I'm your sister?" exclaimed Anita. And even as she did, though, the pieces were clicking for her too-- Chester the invisible boy slinking into her flat, Chester the invisible boy writing scary messages on the door, Chester the invisible boy somehow getting her photographs. She hadn't been haunted. It'd been a trap.

Chester "I know you're my sister. Oh, it's a long, long story-- but the summary is this. Your parents gave me away because I said Magick. While /you/ lived your life of horse races and champagne flutes, /I/ was an orphan. This--" he made a grand sweeping gesture with his knife, which made Paul flinch and make a strangling noise, "-- is my revenge plan. Now, at first I just wanted you to be miserable with a frozen heart but APPARENTLY you're having the time of your life, so that won't do. The only choice is for you. To jump." He brought the knife back toward Patch. "Or I'll saw the tyke's head off."

Anita There was a beat, a single beat. A second of silence, in which Paul Patts did not object, Perdita said nothing, and Roger, too, remained silent. It was a second where Anita looked around, her eyes catching that balcony door that, for now, remained shut. And truthfully-- she was waiting for /someone/ to object. For her friends, who she had known for the best years of her life, to say something. They didn't. It was just her and Chester, the knife glinting under the light, Patch squirming, getting restless, starting to panic too. She was supposed to give up her life for that wiggling, pink thing. Tiny. Helpless. Ugly (if they were all very honest with themselves). Part of her wanted to object and just say no, but the more Patch squirmed, the more empty her heart felt.

The silence turned into two, three seconds, and Anita's shoulders slumped, her face getting softer.

"Alright," she said. She looked at Perdita. "Perdy, you should come hold Penny while I do this."

Roger "Anita, you can't do this." Roger was still firmly planted where he stood, worried that the slightest motion towards Anita would cause Chester to slit Patch's throat. His heart was hammering away—he did not want Anita to jump, did not want anything to happen to Paul’s babies, there had to be /something/ they could do. "Please--" He looked at Chester now. "There must be /something/ else we can do for you."

Perdita's face changed as soon as Anita agreed. Her brows knitted and she turned her head sharply towards her friend, golden hair flying wildly about her shoulders.

"What? No." She didn't even think about her baby, not in that second. She was thinking about her friend. Her dearest friend in the whole world. Of course, the next second Roger spoke up and Perdita was looking at her baby. Perdita Faye had a very strong heart, it was iron wrapped in steel, but in that moment, it felt soft as cotton, and it ripped in half just as easily.

Paul did not take his eyes off his son. He inched, careful, slow, miniscule. Every time Chester's eyes bounced wildly around the room, he took a chance and took a centimeter. He had no real plan but he knew that he wasn't gonna let Patch die. Roger, Anita, and Perdy could just buy him enough time, he'd figure it out, he'd find a way-- he'd save him.

Chester grinned, ear to ear. Predictable, the friends chiming in, bargains hoping to be struck. But Chester would not be satisfied until Anita splat against the concrete. He looked at Roger, who had been in love with Anita-- was he still? He'd toyed with the idea of holding him hostage, but really, the baby was much easier to bully.

"I'm afraid there /isn't/, Mr. Radcliffe. Anita dies or the kid does. Now.." he hopped off the counter, holding a squirming, crying Patch slung in his arm, the tip of the knife pressing against the child's tummy. The father let out a shout, Anita flinching, the mother looking like she might crumple into hysterics at any moment. "Time's a-wasting! Don't make me skewer the lad!"

Anita did let out a tiny shout herself-- all her cool now gone forever, her heart, suddenly, heavy in her chest, squeezing. It felt like there was a knife against it. "No-- don't, I'm doing it, I am, look--" said Anita and she crossed quickly to Perdita, practically shoving Penny in her arms. "It's alright, Perdita, it's fine," said Anita to her, and she squeezed her friend's arm once before she pulled away.

Perdita really did want to crumble to the ground. She didn't know what to do. Of course she didn't, when things really mattered--that's when she crumbled. She'd started crying at some point, tears streaming down her face as Anita shoved Penny into her arms.

"A-Anita," she said, reaching out to grasp at her hand even as she pulled away. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She wanted to tell her to not do it--she didn't want her to do it. She needed Paul and Roger to think of something, to keep this from happening. She couldn't lose Anita, she couldn't lose Patrick. She couldn't lose anyone standing in this room. They were all she had.

Chester "That's right, scurry along!" hummed Chester. Patch wiggled in his arm, flailing his arms dangerously close to the point of his knife.

Anita tore her hand away from Perdy. She did not look at her friend again. She simply faced the task ahead, and at this point, it was good that her heart--though quickly thawing-- was not yet truly unfrozen. Because it was just a list of steps wasn't it? Move the chairs, open the balcony doors, climb onto the railing, and jump.

She was not scared to die. Or if she was, she could not yet feel it. It was just that list of tasks, and then the crying would stop. So she scurried quickly to the chairs and moved them, glancing at Chester for half-a-second before she opened the doors too. Behind her, the crying grew worse-- Perdy was crying now, and it /hurt/ in her chest too, oh, she'd forgotten how that felt. But it did not slow her steps. She moved onto the balcony, right up to the railing and she wrapped her hands around it and looked down.

It was not so far, Anita thought. The fall would be over before she opened her eyes.

Anita glanced again then to her friends over her shoulder. Paul, Perdy-- Roger. Another small spasm of pain in her chest, but she blinked and kept it away. It was probably better this way, Anita thought In a logical sense. Still, she hesitated.

Chester had a very short attention span and this was /really/ moving along slower than he liked. For one, there was about to be a /party/ in here and Chester wanted to time it perfectly so they could walk up to the building and find Anita's dead body in their way. Second of all, the X-factor was going to be on soon and he hadn't set it to record, he figured he'd be /done/ with this by now. So when Anita stopped by the railing and did not swing her legs over, he huffed, the grin lost.

"Get on with it!" Chester called and took several steps toward the balcony, brandishing his knife.

Roger This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. None of them had asked for this—this town, this magic. Hell hadn’t they had enough, just on their own? Just four fucked up twenty-something year-olds, two poor as dirt, two fallen from riches—just trying to get by, with each other. There shouldn’t be a knife at a one-year old’s throat, Anita should not be walking towards the balcony, face drawn and serious. He was not going to let that happen—Roger was not an impulsive man. He followed Paul, usually, when Paul was impulsive, but Roger thought, Roger thought about what he was going to do before he did it.

Only Roger didn’t think now.

Chester Glass passed him—Chester, who used to tease him, who’d been Puck in the play last year (how ironic, two pairs of lovers), who’d been a pest but a loveable one, who sent everyone lewd texts on holidays—Chester passed him and Roger felt a surge of anger like he’d never felt before and without really thinking, he lunged forward, tackling Chester to the ground.

Chester did not see Roger lunge. He felt it-- felt the man's body slam into his, and then flew through the air, his arm and shoulder smashing nto the ground. Screams erupted from every corner of the room, the baby catapulted from his arms (where it landed, he had no idea!)and Chester slashed wildly with the knife while he got his feet under Roger and kicked at his thighs and groin. "Get--off--OF--ME--!"

Anita Anita saw the whole thing and she could not stop it. Roger lunged, and a scream ripped from her lungs, the sound shattering the leftover ice in her chest. It felt like shards too, scattering through her insides as sharp as the knife that was brandished Roger's way. She pressed her hand on her chest, gasping like she'd lost air. The world spun around her, noises coming from all different directions.

Her knees hit the pavement. When she looked up, she saw Roger and Chester, silver glinting between them, and-- Patch. Her eyes widened. The little boy was on the floor, surrounded by a shimmery, transparent, blue-tinged... shield.

Perdita screamed too, the sound ripping from her lungs like her soul leaving her body. She felt her heart stop in that moment, her eyes not on Roger at all, but on Patch, falling, once again--this time in slow motion, this time with Perdita's eyes right on him. Unknowingly, she had taken several steps forwards, Penny screaming too in her arms, the sound like white noise.

Suddenly a shield materialized around Patrick, so that he bounced against the ground, but didn't actually touch it. She stopped in her tracks, eyes widen. Patrick's eyes were also wide, big and glassy--and then, after a moment, with tear tracks on his face, he looked up at the glimmering shield and giggled.

Paul had been ready, primed to strike. He had not been ready for Roger to leap before him. When it happened, Paul's eyes widened and he shouted "NO!" lunging forward, eyes pinned on his son like he might dive to the floor for him. But he just stumbled toward the mess, the shield comin' outta no where and bouncing against the ground, then rollin' like a marble toward him and Perdy. He didn't even realize that he was grabbing Perdy's arm till the moment when the shield stopped and Patch smiled up at him like nothin' had gone wrong. Then he fell to his knees and reached out for his son despite the shield (because Paul acted, didn't think, just like /Roger/ was supposed to think and not act) and his hand hit the shield like a wall.

"Patrick," he blubbered, but the shield did not move. Paul snapped his eyes back to Rog and Chester and scrambled to his feet to help--

Roger had not thought he would get this far honestly. He didn’t have a plan, he had just lunged forward and Patch had gone flying and he hadn’t thought about that and maybe that wasn’t a good idea—and knife. There was a knife. Chester had a knife and Roger had pinned Chester to the ground by his shoulders, but he still had the knife and before Roger could react, before Roger could pin down Chester’s hands, wrestle the knife from him—there was a sharp pain, a glint of silver, a glint of Chester’s wicked smile.

He didn’t even feel it all at first, just like sometimes in the fist fights he got in with Paul you didn’t notice someone had punched you till after, and he grabbed Chester’s hand, only then noticing that the knife was red. It was between them now, drops falling on Chester, and Roger wrenched it from him, tossing it on the balcony.

“You’re not going to hurt /anyone/,” he growled and that’s when he felt it. The blood first, wet, soaking through his shirt, then the pain—sharp, stabbing, raw, nothing like a broken fist or a blood nose. He winced, but did not loosen his grip.

Chester Now this could have gone better, but despite all that, the adrenaline was kicking through him high speed, his muscles burning in that good, good way that Chester loved. And he was not opposed to having Roger Radcliffe on top of him. He laughed then, laughed harder as Roger wrenched the knife from him, didn't mind as it scattered toward the balcony, toward his sister.

He just looked at Roger, smiled, then disappeared underneath him. Only the drops of blood from Roger marked where he was as he wiggled and kicked Roger again, trying to dislodge him.

Anita was panting when the knife got tossed, skidding her way. It stopped nearly right in front of her, like it was meant for her. She did what anyone would do in that situation: she grabbed it and rose from the ground, nearly tripping on her own clumsy feet. She felt everything now. Her heart was so loud in her ears it felt like a siren, a warning.

"Roger! Roger!" She said as she moved toward him and Chester-- though Chester was invisible now.

Paul "Perdy, call the cops!" Paul said, getting to Roger before Anita did. He made a blind grab for any part of Chester's flailing body, hand colliding with a -- a knee? He grabbed and slammed it down, helping Roger pin him. 'Knock him out, Rog!"

Roger was still in pain, but he raised a hand and punched--something? anything? His hand definitely made contact with something and he punched and then punched and then he gasped. "Paul--" He clutched at his side, fingers now covered with blood, but then with all he had left in him, he curled that bloody hand into a fist and gave another solid punch.

Perdita. blinked at Paul, his voice ringing out loud and strong through the din. With shaking fingers, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and hit dial.

"Hi yes, please come quick there is a manic in my apartment he tried to steal my baby and s-stabbed my friend, p-please help!" She gave the address, the phone still presssd to her ear. She dropped down on on knee and gestured for Patrick. "Come to mama, baby, come here Pat," she said, trying to smile at him but he just smiled back, waving at her through the shimmery shield.

Chester laughed. He laughed until his laughs became manic shrieks, Roger punching the sound from his lungs. A blow to the shoulder, a blow to the ear, a blow straight to the eye. His nose crunched. Blood pooled in his vision. And then one more punch and that sound-- laughter like a hyena-- shut off. But Chester did not materialize back into view. No, his precious, shiny marbles had far flung themselves to every which corner, his brain could not keep them together when unconscious. It was like there was nothing there at all.

Paul "I got you, I got you, mate," panted Paul, pulling Roger gently off the invisible body (nothing but a blood stain in its place). He eased Roger's head into his lap and his eyes went wide at the side of the blood spilling rapidly from Roger's ribcage, soaking one half of his short, even parts of his trouser. Roger's entire hand was covered in blood. "Shit, Rog, you bastard," said Paul in a hoarse voice that did not sound like Paul. It quivered too much. "What've y'done to yourself, eh, mate?" His hand covered Roger's bloody one, pressing hard against the slash to try to stop the bleeding.

Anita fell to her knees at Roger's side at once, letting the knife go. Tears streamed down her face, each one hotter than the last. She felt hot all over now. She didn't realize how cold she'd been. How little had really gotten through. "Roger, oh no, no," she choked on each sob and touched his scratchy cheek so softly, scared she might make everything worse. She'd been the cause for all this, after all. It was her fault, her stupid fault.

Roger "I'm sorry..." Roger said, weakly. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was--longer than he thought, longer than the span of his hand and blood still flowed around it. way Paul was looking down at him, he felt like a child, like when he’d broken his ankle when trying to do a trick on Paul’s bike and—and Anita was there, right at his side, her hand on his cheek. Was she Anita though? Was she Anita, was this Anita or some cold, distant figure in her place? And Patch—he couldn’t see Patch. Chester had been holding Patch, where was the baby?

“Is Patch okay? Did you get him—I’m sorry I didn’t think. I…it’s my fault.”

Perdita It all happened so fast and Perdita's hand was sweaty around the phone and she was too scared to move closer to Roger. She could see the blood from here, a few feet away. It made her hands tremble and she didn't--she didn't want Roger to die. He'd saved her babies, he'd kept her secret for her, he was her /friend/. At his question, Perdita finally remembered she had legs and she took a few shaky steps forwards, so that she was in Roger's line of sight if he lifted his head. Could he lift his head?

"H-he's fine--he's--well, he's--" she didn't really have the words "--more than fine, really." Her lips trembled and she pressed them together. "T-thank you." Had she ever said that? For before? She should've.

Anita sobbed again as Roger apologized. All she wanted to do was put her head on his chest and hold him. She couldn't do that. He was covered in blood, the slash big and /everywhere/ or so it felt to Anita, though everything looked blurry through her tears.

"Oh Rog, you /are/ an idiot," she blubbered, but she leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Thank you, oh, thank you--" his cheek, then his other cheek. She hiccuped and sat up straight at the sound of sirens coming through the open balcony door. Oh thank goodness. She grasped at Roger's hand not currently pressed to Roger's side. "I-it's ok, you'll-- you'll be alright, I promise, everything-- everything's going to be /fine./" And she managed to smile at him through her tears and squeeze his hand.

Roger breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Patch was alright. He felt pain. It was everywhere, not just the gaping would, but through his chest, every time he breathed. His breath was shaking. /No, calm down Rog, you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine./ Anita had kissed his forehead, she said those words to him. He was going to be fine. He heard sirens. Anita was here, Anita was here and she was alive and she was—crying. She was crying. Patch was alright. Perdy was alright. Paul was alright. They were all alright, even if he wasn’t, and that was okay. He squeezed Anita’s hand back and nodded.