Realistic or Modern ˗ˏˋ TRUST FALL. | ( *starboob & ellarose. )

[ellarose]

"Gah!" Valentine gasps, jerking to life as the spray of water hits her in the face, and tosses her head from side to side. Droplets cling to her eyelashes, wisps of unloosed hair from her ponytail cling to her face. Her brow furrows as she places her hands over her face, rubbing at it in confusion. The wet on her face isn't sticky or warm, there's no foul odor, nor is she submerged. She can breathe. That quells some of her panic, but not all of it. Without releasing her face, her eyes flutter open.

Staring at Miro through the gaps between Valentine's fingers are a pair of bright red eyes. She stares unseeingly at them. For now she's as far away as she can get from the town of Bellwick Springs, lost in a dream. The friend-shaped figure in front of her needs to know what's happening. They need to know, don't they? She should explain it to them.

"I was sewing these puppets. They started vomiting blood-- so much blood-- and I was drowning in it and--" Valentine blinks. Violet blooms in the center of her eyes as the blue in them slowly returns. Her gaze flicks right, then left. She exhales shakily and her hands fall into her lap. "...There was a giant spork."

Giant spork. When Valentine sees the spork in question lying a few yards away, it all comes flooding back in excruciating detail. Mabel. Miro's call for help. The club. The ketchup, the daisy abomination, the mind control, all the way up to the last thing she can remember-- her reflection in the spork. The red eyes staring back at her. Then the world went dark.

Valentine's gaze snaps back to Miro in an instant. They didn't leave. They're here. They saw all of it. Red eyes. Are they still...

"Don't look at-- don't look at me!" Valentine quickly whips her head to the side. Her hands are in front of her face again, this time to hide behind. "Don't look at me."

Why are they still here? Why aren't they totally freaked out? Valentine commanded the entire town to leave and they left. She nearly tore reality apart, time and space shuddered and changed all around them. They've been through a lot lately, a lot of weird shit, but still. Though she worries that Miro's remaining braincells may have taken a vacation... another possibility exists. She needs to check before this goes any further.

"What happened?" Valentine asks cautiously, trying not to sound as tired as she feels. "Are you still you? Say something only Miro would say."

 

[starboob]

"Is it weird that I've got a hankering for eggs and weenies, now?" Their stomach gurgles in agreement. "This magic business works up an appetite like no other, dude."

In spite of her request, Miro never once stops looking at Valentine Thorne. Her glowing red eyes don't bother them nor the display of her power earlier. For all the ways she might appear to be a normal girl, Miro Syke has never thought that of her. Aside from the fact that she probably derives genuine pleasure from organizing her sock drawer, the legends to her name outmatch the Greek and Roman myths combined.

This is a good thing in their beady, gold flecked eyes. Normal is boring.

"I think you broke the space-time continuum for a second," they shrug, relaying the series of prior events as cavalierly as one might describe a typical Tuesday night. Nothing can really phase them now that she's admitted to being able to break them like a toothpick. If she wanted, she could take them out at a moment's notice so why would they even care about the means or methods that she uses? "Pretty metal if you ask me."

They take the spot next to her under the tree and look down at their coated red lap and smeared red arms, then over to her, looking up and down at the splotches of ketchup where Miro had held her. Their cheeks brighten, eyes immediately locking forward. 'Maybe she won't notice…'

"Anyway, you also got, um, eaten by Daisy? Or she fell on you… I'm not really sure, but I totally saved you."

Sharona clucks indignantly.

"Don't listen to her. She set me up." Miro shoots the chicken a rare scowl. They pull their beanie off their head, stuffing it in their back pocket now that they know matchy-matchy means nothing to Sharona. (Her lower beak drops.) Their buzz cut is flattened at odd angles, pieces sticking up while others are pressed down. "The red glow is cool. It's like your Super Saiyan form, yeah?"

Miro tilts their chin up, staring at nothing in particular. The clouds roll by in the languid they do when there's no breeze chasing them. It's odd to think that only a few minutes ago, Bellwick had been threatened by a demonic egg. Such is life here, they suppose. They clasp their hands behind their head, more aware than usual of the bandages that keep their skin from touching. Maybe it's from the shine of Valentine's vulnerability that they notice them now, having mostly adapted to the permanent accessory at this point.

After another beat, they shift again, scratching at the bandage on their cheek. They play with the edge of it, until a decent portion has rolled up and peel it off with a deep inhale. Underneath, the gnarled angry scars looking more like fresh wounds, fresh as the night they got them, nearly blending in with the ketchup. It spreads like a fern over their left cheek. The deeper parts of the burn mark seem to pulse red, albeit faint and unnoticeable in the light of day. "It doesn't hurt," they say, turning so Valentine can see. "But I don't like people looking either. They look gross, too, so I'd rather keep 'em covered." Their eyes meet with Valentine's, finally. "I know it might not be the same, but I'm never going to look away from you. I want to see you, Valentine Thorne."

 

[ellarose]

Valentine might have done something stupid, like reach out and touch them, but she's a smart girl.

Their promises are as sweet and as temporary a comfort as a piece of chocolate that melts away in her mouth. She can give Miro the benefit of the doubt, she can let herself believe they'd earnestly try to keep it-- that if they see her, they'll remember and fight the urge to question and ultimately forget her existence as she fades from their photographs. The cold hard facts remain unmoved by such sentiments, they're unchangeable. Unless they stay.

Asking that of anyone is asking for too much. It'll never happen. Their city is too precious, their friends, the pursuit of their career in photography. That's why she won't ask. If she swayed anyone's choice to stay by making them pity her it'd sit in the back of her mind all the damn time, taunting her. That's exactly what happened with Garrett. It's the worst feeling in the world, knowing he stayed because he knows. Now all she can do is push him away.

"You're a beautiful fool, Syke." Valentine sighs, leaning back against the tree. She gives their wounds a long, meaningful look. She doesn't recoil, she wouldn't dare. She sees their gesture for the olive branch it is. It's only when their arms triple and quadruple that she has to tilt her head back and close her eyes. "Are you turned on by danger or something?"

Then again... what is Valentine doing if not pushing Miro away, too? Where is this road going to take her?

"...Or maybe you're smarter than anyone I know. I could break the world in half and you know I wouldn't hurt you."

She's so alone. So tired. Sharona clucks concernedly, curling up in her lap. It doesn't sound like the chicken's give a clucks are on vacation... she'll have to get the full story from her later.

"This is why I hate that silly twenty questions game." Valentine whispers, frustrated. "Being known is a curse." She waves her hand dismissively. The branch above her head creaks, following the motion of her movements. When her fingers curl inward, the branch coils back. Simmer down, missy. "Don't mind me. I'm feeling punchy. I need to go home." Though her intention is to teleport on out of there, she remains right where she is. She cracks her right eye open. "...And I'm still here. Lovely. Looks like I'm walking."

Valentine stands, sways, and ultimately sinks back down onto the ground where she was before. Her plans to run from the conversation have gone up in smoke, like many of her plans these days. "...I'm not walking, am I?" This is humiliating.

 

[starboob]

"You are not, nope. No, ma'am." Miro shakes their head, already standing. Though they would offer to give Valentine a hand — they'd even offer to prop her up or carry her — they are not so clueless that they can't figure out that she isn't in the mood for the usual camaraderie. Her posturing all but says, 'Leave me be.'

They busy their restless hands instead, clasping them behind their head, and peel their eyes from the local good witch, giving her some semblance of privacy, to look at the clouds. They kind of remind them of scrambled eggs.

"Danger's my middle name, you know. It comes right after trouble-maker." Their usual grin bleeds into their tone, but it fades towards the end. The doom and gloom coming off of Valentine like tidal waves tells them that she's not exactly in the mood to joke around. They kick at the ground with the toe of their shoe, feeling rather useless without their ordinary armor. "I think if you were going to hurt me, you have done it a while ago tbh."

Certainly not on the first night they met, but maybe when Hadeon took over and the angels were trying to smite them. (What had they called her? Cambion? What even is that?) That would have been her chance — it would have been the perfect excuse. Miro was out of control. Hadeon was going to kill her (or try to). But she hadn't seen the need to smite them then and she seems to be the only one who believes in them now. Every now and again they think about Garrett's offer and wonder if they're both in over their heads.

Then again, what do dads know?
Then again, what do cops know?

They shake away the thought. Hadeon might have brought them to Bellwick Springs, but something greater brought Miro to Valentine. They have to believe that. They have to believe they can beat this, the both of them.

"You're too much like Spider-Man. You know that with great power comes great responsibility, unlike some freaks living rent free in my mind." Decidedly, it turns out that they cannot drop their armor. It might be the last thread that holds them together. (That and the promise of ice cream on every horizon.) Miro sighs, then blows out a raspberry. "I don't know much about you, so no additional curses here."

It's difficult for them to suppress the wounded note in their tone. They've gone to every effort to get to know Valentine Thorne, their partner in not-crimes. While it's not lost on them that they are the one who has been forcing that dynamic, they are hurt that she feigns honesty behind half-hearted answers that satisfy them in the moment, and then leave them wondering later. It would be easier if she stuck to being the ice queen they saw through that first night, but she seems stuck between that and playing the role of the girl next door. Though they know they aren't entitled to knowing her, let alone her friendship, Miro Syke might be having a hard time reconciling that not everyone will fall for their undeniable and irresistible rizz.

They brush one palm over their fuzz, then stick both fists in their pockets as they look back down at Valentine. "C'mon. Let me walk you home." It's not so much an offer or a suggestion as it is a declaration. "I won't even play twenty questions — that, by the way, you reduced to five (5) — but I can tell you about me. The mortifying ordeal of being known is hardly a curse to me." Especially if it means they have a greater chance of knowing love and being loved; and that, at some point in their life, has become their ethos. "Like, there was this one time I almost set the police precinct on fire. It was an accident, by the way. Like, how was I supposed to know that cherry bombs could do that!"

 

[ellarose]

Miro Syke's been sent here to destroy her. Valentine knew that the day they arrived in town, as much as she tries to avoid it now.

With that in mind, Valentine tries not to shy from the wounded look in their eyes. In fact, she tries to glare at them-- to silently tell them to back off-- but they're right. She manages a pitiful squint and falters, unable to manage it, and looks at the ground. Defeated. It's not her intention to hurt them. Not even like this. It's not their fault she's been so cagey, swinging like a pendulum between listening to her heart and to her head. There's nothing to prove, no fire fueling her actions. She halfheartedly pushes them away, but that's obviously not what she wants.

They're making it so damned difficult. Why can't she find it in her to hate them or at least hold them at arms length like the townspeople? Valentine wasn't built for this life-- she's not as infallible as the town would like her to be-- and the cracks in her mask are beginning to show. Once her heart's involved, her control of the situation veers right off the rails.

"...So what you mean to say is that you've always been something of a pyromaniac?" Valentine asks flatly, thankful for the change of conversation. She peels herself off the ground, pressing her hand to the tree behind her to keep her balance. The world flips sideways, her vision blurs, and she has to take another beat. She squeezes her eyes shut firmly, grappling with a behemoth of a headache. Her red nails sharpen, digging deep claw-like marks into the tree as she endures the town's stirring-- as the power inside takes up too much space. Her next words rattle out of her, light and breathy. "I should be taking notes."

Hadeon must be taking notes, too.

Valentine takes a sharp breath, her nails slicing right through the tree. Quick to react to her blunder, she raises her arms to catch the trunk before it can crush them both. Gingerly, she rights it and holds it in place until the lightning-shaped gashes she left in the bark mend on their own. Whew. She wrings her hands together, bringing them to her chest, as if that might keep the town safe from her meltdown... and she finds them covered in blood.

She starts, her eyes widening with horror, and then realizes-- ketchup. It's ketchup, remember?

"Golly." Valentine deflates, relieved and a bit embarrassed. They can't go back to her house together-- especially not when she's in this sorry state. "Sorry. I-- I'm not feeling like myself right now." 'I'm losing my gosh darn marbles.' But she doesn't want to be alone like this, either. "It's just a lot."

Suddenly the world grows larger, or they grow smaller-- it's as if they ate the cookies in Wonderland. Because suddenly, every flower and blade of grass in the vicinity towers over their heads like buildings in a city. The distance between them and her house has grown exponentially. Looks like they're not walking anywhere now. A giant Sharona dips her head down to peek at them. Her head twitches from side to side... then, one by one, she plucks them up in her beak by their shirts, placing them onto her feathery back.

"Sharona... take us to the garden, please." Valentine surrenders, slumping against the chicken's neck. At this rate, she can't keep dragging the rest of the town into her mess. "Miro, hold onto me. Things are about to get weird." She pauses, "Weirder. Though weird doesn't really seem to faze you, does it?"