heartstringss
🔻 vive la résistance 🔻
𝑂𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐼𝐴 . 𝑾 𝑹 𝑨 𝒀
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Once they’re past the chain-link fence, Wray splits off in the opposite direction from Reggie to give them both space to explore the site on their own. Although her own sense of direction is entirely aimless, it is far from disorganized by comparison. (Unlike most, it wasn't needing the space to scream or cry or cause a ruckus why Wray had sought out coming to the construction site — really, she just wanted some goddamn peace and quiet.) Yet, even though she was being exceptionally careful to maintain her distance from Reggie as much as possible (because honestly, she does need a break from them too), Wray still keeps track of where they are about the construction site at all times. Making note of each new location they wound up even if she didn't necessarily bother to analyze what it was that they were doing there, one could have easily assumed that Wray's extreme hypervigilance and highly protective nature might have been the very soul of her personage, truly. She was always keeping such a careful, watchful eye out — and in these circumstances specifically, in case if anything went wrong and they found themselves spontaneously needing to fight, or flee, or hide.
Multicolored eyes linger on Reggie's retreating back for a long moment while she watches them walk over to one of the brick piles. The longer she stares, the more she finds herself wondering what is going through their head right now — however, she shakes that thought away rather than chase it, focusing a little more carefully on picking her way through the detritus of the construction site to one of the unfinished steel structures instead. What the site is technically supposed to resemble she’s not entirely sure as there isn’t much to it, though there is one thing that is clear: whatever the project is or was or had once been intended to become, it has likely been abandoned for years, by now.
There’s graffiti on the beams, graffiti on the brick — graffiti everywhere, most of it being fairly amateur-level (at least by Wray's definition). As she observes the drawings scattered throughout the site, she nearly finds herself wishing for a can of spray paint to tag something herself; in turn, this thought strikes a rare memory that feels incredibly out-of-place, a memory of past experiences and wild whims that were no longer true for the type of person she is now. There was a lot of nonsense she’d gotten up to her in her youth, with the crowd she’d run around with back then. Tagging bridges and underpasses and trains; hitchhiking with strangers just for a chance to experience something new; stealing from convenience stores just for the rush it gave, then running out laughing anytime someone managed to catch them in the act (granted, she still did that well into her twenties too). It brought a smile to her face, now — something she hadn’t thought about in years and had truly forgotten how much the memories meant to her, even rough-and-tumble as they were.
She wrapped her arms around herself, startling when the coarseness of the flannel’s fabric brushed against her fingertips. It was odd because it wasn’t a texture that she was used to wearing — not before captivity, and certainly not during. (Once she settles her timid heart back down, she’s able to find a little more comfort in its heaviness, though — this, too, reminds her of Am and the type of clothes that she’d once worn. Reggie’s style wasn’t really all that different, wasn’t it?) Now that she’d had a moment to breathe clearer to herself, there was a lot that she was struggling to grasp about being back into the ‘real world,’ honestly. Having a companion, for example? Well, even as obnoxious and rude as Reggie had been back in the car, she hadn’t had anything good come from human company in so long that she could almost understand it; after all, she didn’t know how to act herself much anymore, either. (Not that she’d ever been very good at interacting with people in the first place.)
Her boots scuff along the ground as she trails aimlessly through the construction site, thin fingers tracing dusty lines in the smoothness of the steel beams as she passes each one by. She takes a breath and inhales deep when she catches on the scent of earth, something she hadn’t realized just how much she missed until the moment she thought she’d never see the outside world again. It even helps to soothe her weary soul, and she thinks, if she could live outside, perhaps own a little cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere, and camp out underneath the stars every day for the rest of her life, she might one day be happy, then.
The shatter of glass draws her out of her reverie, and a not-so-pleasant feeling floods her chest as she whirls around to find Reggie, truly alarmed by the sound. She finds them standing by a few glass panels nearer one of the building-like structures, a discarded brick laying at their feet, simply staring at the mess they’d made. It doesn’t strike her any sort of odd what they’ve just done; if she’d been in any more a violent mood herself, she might have even done the same. As it was, she can only stare now, watching as they hesitate over the glass, looking away just before their head turns to find her through the site and then back again once she’s deemed they’ve turned away through keeping her attention trained on her peripherals. When they bend down to pick the brick up and toss it once again, something in her heart shatters along with those panes of glass. It’s not Reggie that she aches for, though — rather, it’s another memory from her past that strikes her hard as a hammer coming down upon her skull, aiming to crush everything within.
There are flashes of another fight that she and Am had gotten into, this one started by her instead. There was broken glass there too, shards of a discarded mirror clenched inside of fists, sharp edges cutting nearly all the way into the bone with dark blood flowing out from in-between trembling fingers. So many harsh, angry words, hot tears and heavy, gasping cries. It’s not a memory she wishes to recall, and therefore she pushes back against its strain, clenching her own hands into fists, now, as her eyes squeeze shut mentally willing those painful images away. When she opens her eyes again the first thing she sees is Reggie sitting in the dirt. The second thing she sees is the discarded brick.
She flicks her eyes away and wanders off to collect herself a few minutes before she ultimately decides to join them. Standing tall over the blonde, she thinks how small and sad they look, catches herself wondering once again what might be going through their head. When Wray lowers herself into the dirt to sit down beside them, she doesn’t look them in the eye. Instead, she keeps her attention trained on the brick and the broken glass, then, pulling a bit of shadow out from under one of the nearby beams she draws a spiral through the center of the shattered glass, creating a whirlwind that sweeps it up into the air, into a dangerous tornado that glitters and clashes faintly with the turning of the wind and the early morning sun.
An elbow sits on one knee, chin propped inside the palm of one hand while the other stretches out across her opposite knee. Fingers dancing as she plays with the glass tornado, she does all of this still without taking a single look at Reggie. Her voice is soft, gentle, almost hesitant to ask when she finally speaks, “Do you want to talk about it?” Even while she finds herself whole-heartedly willing to listen, at the same time she is begging, pleading, hoping from within that they will say ‘no’.
Multicolored eyes linger on Reggie's retreating back for a long moment while she watches them walk over to one of the brick piles. The longer she stares, the more she finds herself wondering what is going through their head right now — however, she shakes that thought away rather than chase it, focusing a little more carefully on picking her way through the detritus of the construction site to one of the unfinished steel structures instead. What the site is technically supposed to resemble she’s not entirely sure as there isn’t much to it, though there is one thing that is clear: whatever the project is or was or had once been intended to become, it has likely been abandoned for years, by now.
There’s graffiti on the beams, graffiti on the brick — graffiti everywhere, most of it being fairly amateur-level (at least by Wray's definition). As she observes the drawings scattered throughout the site, she nearly finds herself wishing for a can of spray paint to tag something herself; in turn, this thought strikes a rare memory that feels incredibly out-of-place, a memory of past experiences and wild whims that were no longer true for the type of person she is now. There was a lot of nonsense she’d gotten up to her in her youth, with the crowd she’d run around with back then. Tagging bridges and underpasses and trains; hitchhiking with strangers just for a chance to experience something new; stealing from convenience stores just for the rush it gave, then running out laughing anytime someone managed to catch them in the act (granted, she still did that well into her twenties too). It brought a smile to her face, now — something she hadn’t thought about in years and had truly forgotten how much the memories meant to her, even rough-and-tumble as they were.
She wrapped her arms around herself, startling when the coarseness of the flannel’s fabric brushed against her fingertips. It was odd because it wasn’t a texture that she was used to wearing — not before captivity, and certainly not during. (Once she settles her timid heart back down, she’s able to find a little more comfort in its heaviness, though — this, too, reminds her of Am and the type of clothes that she’d once worn. Reggie’s style wasn’t really all that different, wasn’t it?) Now that she’d had a moment to breathe clearer to herself, there was a lot that she was struggling to grasp about being back into the ‘real world,’ honestly. Having a companion, for example? Well, even as obnoxious and rude as Reggie had been back in the car, she hadn’t had anything good come from human company in so long that she could almost understand it; after all, she didn’t know how to act herself much anymore, either. (Not that she’d ever been very good at interacting with people in the first place.)
Her boots scuff along the ground as she trails aimlessly through the construction site, thin fingers tracing dusty lines in the smoothness of the steel beams as she passes each one by. She takes a breath and inhales deep when she catches on the scent of earth, something she hadn’t realized just how much she missed until the moment she thought she’d never see the outside world again. It even helps to soothe her weary soul, and she thinks, if she could live outside, perhaps own a little cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere, and camp out underneath the stars every day for the rest of her life, she might one day be happy, then.
The shatter of glass draws her out of her reverie, and a not-so-pleasant feeling floods her chest as she whirls around to find Reggie, truly alarmed by the sound. She finds them standing by a few glass panels nearer one of the building-like structures, a discarded brick laying at their feet, simply staring at the mess they’d made. It doesn’t strike her any sort of odd what they’ve just done; if she’d been in any more a violent mood herself, she might have even done the same. As it was, she can only stare now, watching as they hesitate over the glass, looking away just before their head turns to find her through the site and then back again once she’s deemed they’ve turned away through keeping her attention trained on her peripherals. When they bend down to pick the brick up and toss it once again, something in her heart shatters along with those panes of glass. It’s not Reggie that she aches for, though — rather, it’s another memory from her past that strikes her hard as a hammer coming down upon her skull, aiming to crush everything within.
There are flashes of another fight that she and Am had gotten into, this one started by her instead. There was broken glass there too, shards of a discarded mirror clenched inside of fists, sharp edges cutting nearly all the way into the bone with dark blood flowing out from in-between trembling fingers. So many harsh, angry words, hot tears and heavy, gasping cries. It’s not a memory she wishes to recall, and therefore she pushes back against its strain, clenching her own hands into fists, now, as her eyes squeeze shut mentally willing those painful images away. When she opens her eyes again the first thing she sees is Reggie sitting in the dirt. The second thing she sees is the discarded brick.
She flicks her eyes away and wanders off to collect herself a few minutes before she ultimately decides to join them. Standing tall over the blonde, she thinks how small and sad they look, catches herself wondering once again what might be going through their head. When Wray lowers herself into the dirt to sit down beside them, she doesn’t look them in the eye. Instead, she keeps her attention trained on the brick and the broken glass, then, pulling a bit of shadow out from under one of the nearby beams she draws a spiral through the center of the shattered glass, creating a whirlwind that sweeps it up into the air, into a dangerous tornado that glitters and clashes faintly with the turning of the wind and the early morning sun.
An elbow sits on one knee, chin propped inside the palm of one hand while the other stretches out across her opposite knee. Fingers dancing as she plays with the glass tornado, she does all of this still without taking a single look at Reggie. Her voice is soft, gentle, almost hesitant to ask when she finally speaks, “Do you want to talk about it?” Even while she finds herself whole-heartedly willing to listen, at the same time she is begging, pleading, hoping from within that they will say ‘no’.
𝑺 𝑬 𝑨 𝑵 . 𝑁𝐸𝐼𝐿𝑆𝐸𝑁
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Watching Mars come to terms with the tracker inserted in their arm, Sean is practically worrying a hole inside his cheek. He can remember how it’d felt himself, how truly striking that realization had been. The microchip might have been more a nagging itch, but the bracelet that had come after? That had changed everything for him, really. Even bonded with his own DNA, it was still a foreign body that did not belong — the most alien of all substances, something of a parasite in its own right. Those first few days, weeks, months, he’d thought he could even feel it moving from within. Feel it shifting, slowly becoming stronger, more and more a part of him the longer it remained. Digging deeper, wrapping itself around his skeleton. He didn’t remember what it’d truly looked like before it had gone in, only what it’d felt like. Slimy. Rubbery. Organic. Even now, it made his skin crawl to imagine.
His eyes lock on their hand as it folds around their bicep, covering the area where they seem to have identified the microchip is placed. When they speak, he shoots his gaze up to their face, almost surprised to hear the hoarseness of their voice, emotion cracking in their tone. Mars had held themselves so… so strong, he’d almost forgotten they had both come from the same place. Now, moisture floods his eyes and he has to force himself to look away, but it does no good — already, it’s too late. He unravels in the alleyway, his hands shaking as he talks, and even though he feels incredibly vulnerable and can tell Mars that isn’t really listening, he doesn’t necessarily mind. It feels better to let it out then hold it in, so that’s exactly what he does, and just as soon as he finishes, somehow, he just feels… better.
He sniffles while he listens to Mars talk, at the same time scrubbing his hands over his face and taking deep breaths to calm himself back down. He gives them his full attention, though when they begin pacing it gets a little harder, and he does inevitably have to look away when the back-and-forth begins to make him nauseous. Without his eye on them, listening is hardly enough to prepare him for the moment when Mars skirts to a stop in front of him and claps her hands onto his shoulders. He makes a small sound of surprise, but doesn’t flinch away (this time). Instead, when she pulls him so close they’re practically nose-to-nose, he loses himself a second in the thought that he could probably count every single one of her eyelashes from this distance if she would just stay still long enough for him to try.
…Besides, what she has to say is far more important, because what he realizes the more she talks and begins to lay out her game plan—? Even if she doesn’t specifically voice it, Sean can tell that Mars is definitely not intending to leave him… And that realization strikes him like a truck, it does, the tears starting in again right after.
What little distance there is left between their bodies, Sean closes within seconds. Knocking Mars’ hands off his shoulders as he rushes to wrap his arms around the thinness of their body, he buries his face into her shoulder and squeezes hard (but hopefully not hard enough to hurt). “I like you,” he decides he wants to tell them, “You’re a good person.” A firm nod of his head and he’s back to giving them their space, the weight that had been sitting on his chest now much lighter than it’d been before.
“So we’re gonna make a road-trip of this, huh?” He bounces happily, excited. “You know I’ve never been out of Washington ’til now?” As they move naturally back out onto the sidewalk, Sean allows his eyes to sweep across their surroundings. Find out where they were, get a map — those were the two tasks of theirs that needed handled most immediately. Then, and only then, could they handle that most imperative task right after.
“Gas stations have maps,” he chews his lip, pointing off to a 7-11 on the right side of the road off in the distance. “Or convenience stores, if you want one of those bigger book-type ones for all the states. Expensive, but probably worth it. So… how much cash is left?”
His eyes lock on their hand as it folds around their bicep, covering the area where they seem to have identified the microchip is placed. When they speak, he shoots his gaze up to their face, almost surprised to hear the hoarseness of their voice, emotion cracking in their tone. Mars had held themselves so… so strong, he’d almost forgotten they had both come from the same place. Now, moisture floods his eyes and he has to force himself to look away, but it does no good — already, it’s too late. He unravels in the alleyway, his hands shaking as he talks, and even though he feels incredibly vulnerable and can tell Mars that isn’t really listening, he doesn’t necessarily mind. It feels better to let it out then hold it in, so that’s exactly what he does, and just as soon as he finishes, somehow, he just feels… better.
He sniffles while he listens to Mars talk, at the same time scrubbing his hands over his face and taking deep breaths to calm himself back down. He gives them his full attention, though when they begin pacing it gets a little harder, and he does inevitably have to look away when the back-and-forth begins to make him nauseous. Without his eye on them, listening is hardly enough to prepare him for the moment when Mars skirts to a stop in front of him and claps her hands onto his shoulders. He makes a small sound of surprise, but doesn’t flinch away (this time). Instead, when she pulls him so close they’re practically nose-to-nose, he loses himself a second in the thought that he could probably count every single one of her eyelashes from this distance if she would just stay still long enough for him to try.
…Besides, what she has to say is far more important, because what he realizes the more she talks and begins to lay out her game plan—? Even if she doesn’t specifically voice it, Sean can tell that Mars is definitely not intending to leave him… And that realization strikes him like a truck, it does, the tears starting in again right after.
What little distance there is left between their bodies, Sean closes within seconds. Knocking Mars’ hands off his shoulders as he rushes to wrap his arms around the thinness of their body, he buries his face into her shoulder and squeezes hard (but hopefully not hard enough to hurt). “I like you,” he decides he wants to tell them, “You’re a good person.” A firm nod of his head and he’s back to giving them their space, the weight that had been sitting on his chest now much lighter than it’d been before.
“So we’re gonna make a road-trip of this, huh?” He bounces happily, excited. “You know I’ve never been out of Washington ’til now?” As they move naturally back out onto the sidewalk, Sean allows his eyes to sweep across their surroundings. Find out where they were, get a map — those were the two tasks of theirs that needed handled most immediately. Then, and only then, could they handle that most imperative task right after.
“Gas stations have maps,” he chews his lip, pointing off to a 7-11 on the right side of the road off in the distance. “Or convenience stores, if you want one of those bigger book-type ones for all the states. Expensive, but probably worth it. So… how much cash is left?”
!!!)
