lvcid
Elder Member
drama teacher.
iris warner.
Bloodline
By the time Iris reentered the building, the attendees had settled, returning to their prior conversations, no longer particularly interested in the fight they’d just witnessed—it was none of their business, after all.
If any of them were especially desperate for closure on the girl with the bloody face and the wayward Clairmont who’d inflicted it upon her, they’d probably be able to hunt down the answers in a Twitter article by morning.
Casey was where Iris had left him, playing mediator with Celie and Viva. Whether or not he’d made any progress in subduing the two remained to be seen, though the blonde doubted it—her husband glanced nervously over his shoulder at her approach, eyes locking with hers in a silent plea, though if he wanted help in placating the women or a means of escape, Iris couldn’t tell.
Heaving a sigh, Iris planted herself at Casey’s side. “Hard to say,” she answered, keeping her voice low so as to attempt to avoid inciting any more of Viva’s wrath. “She won’t tell me anything.”
Iris would’ve said more on the matter had they not had company standing close enough to hear.
Ember’s being a stubborn, little asshole, and I’ve failed as a mother, apparently, because I can’t even tell when my own kid is having issues.
The twins had been so easy to raise when they were younger, but Iris had evidently taken the simplicity of the toddler-to-tween years for granted. Really, she shouldn’t have been as shocked as she was—her freshman year of high school had been a gateway for rebellion, but the roles were reversed now, and in that moment, Iris realized that karma had finally snuck up on her to exact revenge on her parents’ behalf for all of the shit she’d put them through. Now, Ember was angry with the world for reasons beyond Iris’ comprehension, and Brinley was inclined to act above it all, as if she existed on a different—and far better—plane of reality than the rest of her family.
If not for the baby currently taking up residence in Iris’ stomach, she would’ve still been outside, cigarette clenched tightly between her lips and smoke pouring out her nose.
“You can if you want,” Iris said, placing an encouraging hand on Casey’s arm. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with her than I did.”
As her husband retreated, the blonde turned to Celie and Viva, smiling weakly as a staff member materialized at their side to deposit a first aid kit into the concerned mother’s waiting hands. They moved to leave, but Iris stopped them. “Let me help,” she offered, taking the box from Celie and leading the way to the nearest bathroom.
She may not have always trusted the two women and their intentions with her husband, but she could still be civil, even if it was only driven by guilt.
Iris set the bandaging kit on the edge of a sink, briefly checking for feet under the line of stall doors to ensure that they were alone, then she started, “I’m really sorry about that. Ember’s been in a mood all night—I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but you know how it is. Teen hormones make everyone crazy. Honestly, a visit or two to the family therapist would do her some good, but what fifteen-year-old girl wants to hear that?” Iris scoffed. “I sure wouldn’t have—it would’ve done more harm than good. Nothing like being told you need to stop what you’re doing to make you want to do it more.”
Dampening the clump of paper towels in her hand beneath a thin stream of water, Iris surveyed the damage for the first time that night—Viva’s pretty face was marred by a bitter expression and the thick, crimson liquid that flowed freely across her lips and chin. “Here,” the blonde said, passing the wet paper towel. “Tilt your head back and put pressure on it.” Iris glanced to Celie before continuing, “It’s probably not as bad as it looks.”
She hoped.
Otherwise, they might have a hospital bill to pay.
If any of them were especially desperate for closure on the girl with the bloody face and the wayward Clairmont who’d inflicted it upon her, they’d probably be able to hunt down the answers in a Twitter article by morning.
Casey was where Iris had left him, playing mediator with Celie and Viva. Whether or not he’d made any progress in subduing the two remained to be seen, though the blonde doubted it—her husband glanced nervously over his shoulder at her approach, eyes locking with hers in a silent plea, though if he wanted help in placating the women or a means of escape, Iris couldn’t tell.
Heaving a sigh, Iris planted herself at Casey’s side. “Hard to say,” she answered, keeping her voice low so as to attempt to avoid inciting any more of Viva’s wrath. “She won’t tell me anything.”
Iris would’ve said more on the matter had they not had company standing close enough to hear.
Ember’s being a stubborn, little asshole, and I’ve failed as a mother, apparently, because I can’t even tell when my own kid is having issues.
The twins had been so easy to raise when they were younger, but Iris had evidently taken the simplicity of the toddler-to-tween years for granted. Really, she shouldn’t have been as shocked as she was—her freshman year of high school had been a gateway for rebellion, but the roles were reversed now, and in that moment, Iris realized that karma had finally snuck up on her to exact revenge on her parents’ behalf for all of the shit she’d put them through. Now, Ember was angry with the world for reasons beyond Iris’ comprehension, and Brinley was inclined to act above it all, as if she existed on a different—and far better—plane of reality than the rest of her family.
If not for the baby currently taking up residence in Iris’ stomach, she would’ve still been outside, cigarette clenched tightly between her lips and smoke pouring out her nose.
“You can if you want,” Iris said, placing an encouraging hand on Casey’s arm. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with her than I did.”
As her husband retreated, the blonde turned to Celie and Viva, smiling weakly as a staff member materialized at their side to deposit a first aid kit into the concerned mother’s waiting hands. They moved to leave, but Iris stopped them. “Let me help,” she offered, taking the box from Celie and leading the way to the nearest bathroom.
She may not have always trusted the two women and their intentions with her husband, but she could still be civil, even if it was only driven by guilt.
Iris set the bandaging kit on the edge of a sink, briefly checking for feet under the line of stall doors to ensure that they were alone, then she started, “I’m really sorry about that. Ember’s been in a mood all night—I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but you know how it is. Teen hormones make everyone crazy. Honestly, a visit or two to the family therapist would do her some good, but what fifteen-year-old girl wants to hear that?” Iris scoffed. “I sure wouldn’t have—it would’ve done more harm than good. Nothing like being told you need to stop what you’re doing to make you want to do it more.”
Dampening the clump of paper towels in her hand beneath a thin stream of water, Iris surveyed the damage for the first time that night—Viva’s pretty face was marred by a bitter expression and the thick, crimson liquid that flowed freely across her lips and chin. “Here,” the blonde said, passing the wet paper towel. “Tilt your head back and put pressure on it.” Iris glanced to Celie before continuing, “It’s probably not as bad as it looks.”
She hoped.
Otherwise, they might have a hospital bill to pay.