Pool

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

"Well, I suppose when you say that, I would say that I deserved it. Though for being six, you seemed to have very violent-- and thoughtful to carry out your violence to others." Juana chuckled quite loudly at the thought of Carlos being so violent now as he claimed to have been in his younger years. It seemed impossible, knowing him now with his sunny and sweet disposition. In Juana's eyes, when Carlos was himself, he couldn't hurt a mosquito even if it had bitten him and taken his blood. "I think I would have to agree with your mother, though. It's something along the lines of the golden rule, I suppose. Though, I would still want to hit you. A lot." Her golden eyes shimmered slightly with the light of teasing in their banter. That and her seemingly endless smile showed that she was in fact, only teasing the younger Hispanic.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

Carlos laughed too, though it was a shorter, less amused sound than before. He might have enjoyed little fistfights when he was young, but now...just occasionally, the mere mention of them was enough to make him nervous. "Yeah," he said with a shrug, rather anxious to divert the path of the conversation (though he liked the fact that Juana was teasing him.) "That's understandable, mi amiga. A lot of people wanted to and a lot of people did--but I'd rather not think about that right now, even if you're teasing-- it's kind of depressing, y'know." And dangerous, he added silently. "Besides, I couldn't see you hitting this even if you tried." The younger Hispanic grinned once more--a smaller grin, but still a smile nonetheless--and gestured pointedly down at himself. "I think I might just be too quick for you."

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

Depressing? Juana's curiosity immediately kicked in, unseen by most eyes, but possibly by Carlos's. The thought of fights depressed him, so had he been beaten by his piers at his school? The older Hispanic couldn't imagine why anyone would want to hurt Carlos, especially as a younger child. He may have ben a trouble maker, but she figured that he had to have been the way he was now with her all of his life. No one could just become as nice as Carlos, especially not after being harmed by other people. Still, he had asked to veer from the topic, and she could comply. "I don't know, I'm not nearly as slow as I look," she warned him with a small smile. Carlos looked like he was pretty fit (although Juana hadn't really been paying that close attention now) and maybe he was quick, but Juana was fairly confident that she could be faster. Her body was more lithe than his, and she was lighter, which would ultimately make her faster than him. At least, that's what logic told her.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

Carlos smiled. "Well, while I can certainly believe that, mi amiga, I have to assure you of the fact that I am not nearly as slow as I look." His was a body built for strength, yes, and he had the considerable muscle to prove it, but that didn't mean he couldn't dart around with the fastest of them if he wanted to. It had been a good idea to develop both strength and speed at the plantation, something that the younger Hispanic had had the good fortune not to learn the hard way (the others apart of the ring had been very quick to train him in the ways of the workers.) Thoughts of the plantation brought him back to Juana, and he could see the stirrings of curiosity in her eyes--he could only hope that what he'd just said hadn't been too thought-provoking. Because he had a feeling that if she asked the dreaded questions, his sub-conscience would force him to answer. As an act of trust.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

But Juana didn't ask any questions. If she were to see the scars, or he had said something less vague on the subject of his dark past, she would ask, out of concern as well as curiosity, but she didn't then. Instead, a small smirk came over her face and an eyebrows was raised. "Well, mi amigo, it seems that we both think we are faster than the other, but we both know that's not possible." She tucked her legs out of the water and up into her chest. She was starting to dry off now, and didn't want to become chilled by being in the water anymore. "Therefore, we must see who's the fastest, no?" Another competition. It seemed that today it was how they were going to spend most of their time.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

"¿Una carrera?" Carlos guessed with a grin. He set both hands on the side of the pool and pushed himself up, so that he could climb out and sit, dripping, next to Juana. His eyes shone when he looked at her. "You want to race me, Juana? I'm sorry, but I might just have to decline on the grounds that I don't want to humiliate you too much." The grin widened to show that yes, this was only a tease. He would, of course, accept the challenge if she pressed--though he couldn't help but wonder if fear of wounding her pride or the power of suggestion would make her reconsider. It would be amusing to find out.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

Juana shook her head at the boy as if she felt bad for him for what he had said. His relative closeness was enough to send little drops if water onto her dried skin, but it was not enough to make her nervous and want to pull up her guards, and that was something. Before, she would have only been comfortable with her friend far, far away from her, but now it seemed she truly was beginning to trust the younger Hispanic boy. Only a little--and if he moved any closer she would feel the need to move away--but it was still something for her. "Ugh, so confident of yourself, mi amigo. Unfortunately for you, it only makes me want to prove you wrong." A smile broke through her half-hearted attempted at an act of being fed up with Carlos's antics, making the act shatter instantly. "Do you want to?" She asked him with the slightest tilt of her head.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

"Of course I do!" Carlos told her, with a laugh. "How would I live with myself if I said no now? That would be so...un-macho. And I'm not exactly the manliest boy in this asylum, so I pretty much need all the help I can get." He grinned at her, then stood and turned around in a full circle as he looked for a decent place to run to. The walkway around the pool wasn't that wide--if they were to run a lap around the water, one or both of them could end up falling in. He pursed his lips in thought, his back to Juana, and didn't turn to face her as he said, "Where should we race to? The pool already insulted me once today, I don't want to fall in again. Laps are out."

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

[Okay. XD Here goes.]

Juana looked up at the sound of her friends voice, at first not paying attention to his bare back, but when she did, she was utterly shocked. "Carlos!" She gasped, rushing to her feet and approaching her friend's back for a closer look. Her first assumptions had been confirmed then, and she placed a hand to one of the puckering scars. There were so many, and they looked so deep, like they had been reopened many times before they managed to scar over. "Ay de mi! Que sucedío a su espalda?" Her eyes were wide with horror, but she sounded concerned for the younger Hispanic as if the scars were fresh wounds.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

Carlos knew there had been a reason as to why he'd stayed in the water before now. He sighed, a long, low sound that made his back rise and fall beneath the gentle touch of Juana's fingers. "Las cosas malas, Juana," he said in a low voice. There was no point in pretending that it was anything else--Juana wasn't a stupid girl. She knew what she saw, and by the horror in her voice, she would have caught him instantly in a lie if he'd even been able to think of something to say. But he couldn't--there was no way to write off the scars on his back as anything other than deliberate injuries. They weren't falling scars, obviously; there were to many, and they were so deep. He could have said that he'd been attacked by an animal--a big cat or something, maybe (after all, it wasn't as if Juana knew that he'd lived in the city)--but he had a feeling that she would be able to tell the difference between a mauling and a deliberate scarring. Besides, he hated to lie. So he repeated, rather quietly: "Sucedieron cosas malas."

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

Juana could see that from the scars, she had been able to piece that bit of information by herself. "Pero, quien se dueles? Y comó?" She looked down his back to see more scars, gently touching each of them with a small wince every time. She could only imagine the kind of pain those scars could have caused him when they were not scars but cuts or whatever they had been. She didn't know much about wounds, but by the looks of it from her perspective, they were too deep for them to have been anything but gouges. Had someone taken a knife to Carlos's back at some point? Multiple times? Juana bit her lip, and not knowing what else to do, she wrapped her arms around her friend's middle, pressed her cheek against his bumpy scars, and squeezed him into a hug.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

"No importa," Carlos said in a low voice. But he sounded pained, as if it did matter and saying that it didn't physically hurt him. Juana's hug was doing nothing except for complicating the matter. The Hispanic sighed again, this one shaky instead of weary--the same sort of sigh that always came before a flashback or a fit or both. But it wouldn't come; in the back of his mind, he knew it. He could feel it. There was too much care in Juana's touch, too much concern in her voice. If it brought him back into any memories, it would be those of his mother after he was finally allowed to see her when he'd first been taken back to America. The boy didn't think he would mind all that munch if he did have that sort of flashback, actually--because there, he would at least be aware that it was a flashback and not real life. "Good flashbacks", as he called them, were always easier to control because he wasn't angry or afraid or panicking. It might, he thought in the back of his mind, actually make it easier to talk to Juana. If she looked like his mother, and sounded like her, perhaps telling the story wouldn't be so painful. Maybe a flashback here, in this situation, was a good thing. Now, there was nothing to do except wait and see.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

"No, esta importa," she argued, though there wasn't much fight in her voice. It was important, but scars like those, there were stories that came with them, much like the emotional scars she carried, and so she didn't press him much. She wanted him to know that yes, she cared, but she wasn't going to make him tell her if he didn't want to. She hugged him tighter still, wishing she could see his face, though he sounded like he was pained, and his sighs were heavy to help her thought. Still, it would be more helpful to actually see his face. "You don't have to tell me ahora, amigo, but if you can at all sometime, I would like to know." And she left it at that, quieting so she could leave him to his thoughts.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

Carlos had never tried to force a flashback before. He'd never wanted to, before now. It always hurt too much to experience even when it was a good flashback, and that was to say nothing of the bad. But today, he felt, that was about to change. He wanted to tell Juana, really he did; but he didn't think he could when she appeared to him as she was, as a friend--a tentative one at that. It would be easier to tell her if she were someone else. His mother, perhaps, or even the kind young woman Maria--not much older than Juana, she was the one who had taken over care of anybody not old enough to fend for themselves at the plantation. He had fallen into that category, and they had often spent a lot of time together. Perhaps, if he could trick his brain into thinking that Juana was actually Maria, he would be able to give her a story. "Siéntate,' he told her, sitting himself and nodded at the spot before him. "Quiero probar algo."

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

Juana nodded and sat down against the cold tiles that were also wet. She placed a reassuring hand on his arms before dropping that as well and placing it in her lap. She looked up at his face expectantly, waiting for him to speak and read the emotions on his face. To tell this story obviously pained him, so she simply sat on the tiles and tucked her knees into her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Estoy escuchariendo," she assured him with a little smile of encouragement. It was a smile that said he could trust her to tell her his tale, she would stay mum about it to anyone else, and reassure her friend if things got hard to say.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

It was a long time before the young Hispanic spoke. For several seconds, even a minute or two, he just sat there with his eyes closed, and even when he opened them in was a moment before he spoke. "Fue hace unos años," Carlos began with a little sigh. Maria--who was the only girl he could see sitting in front of him now--did know English, but what she knew wasn't much and he didn't exactly want the police listening in. They sat outside of a building of some sort, Maria and him, possibly an airport--he could hear the loud, steady drone of an engine nearby--but they were alone, and that was what mattered. He had asked her if she would mind playing the part of his mother, just for a few minutes, as he tried to figure out exactly what he would tell Dora Rivera when he saw her. She had obliged; and that was the memory Carlos was immersed in now. "Yo tenía diez años. Yo estaba tomando un paseo por Miami cuando estos dos tipos en un coche de tracción a mí, y al preguntar por direcciones. Quería ayudar, por supuesto, así que fui a ver lo que podía hacer - y luego, antes de que te des cuenta, el conductor baja la ventanilla, sobresale el extremo de una pistola eléctrica, y me dispara con algún tipo de tranquilizante. Me desmayé y cuando me despierto de nuevo, estoy en esta pequeña choza. Hay una gran cantidad de personas se congregaron a mi alrededor. Hace calor. Cuando se le preguntó lo que sucedió, este hombre - el Sr. Alvarez - me dice que he sido secuestrado y yo soy parte de una red de trata de personas en México." Here he paused, looking Juana--Maria, in his mind--up and down, as if asking how he was doing.

((Translation: It was a few years ago. I was ten. I was taking a walk in Miami when these two guys in a car drive up to me, and ask for directions. I wanted to help, of course, so I went to see what I could do - and then, before you know it, the driver rolls down the window, sticking out the end of a stun gun and shoots me with some kind of tranquilizer. I fainted and when I wake again, I'm in this little hut. There are a lot of people gathered around me. It's hot. When asked what happened, this man - Mr. Alvarez - tells me I've been kidnapped and I am part of a network of human trafficking in Mexico.))

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

When Carlos told her his story--she of course, had no problem listening in in Spanish--she thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head. At first, they only widened a little but as his story unfolded, they became wider and wider until they looked as wide and circular as an owl's, her golden irises taking up most of her pupils. He had been kidnapped and sent to Mexico? That was so horrible, she felt her heart wrench, almost as if it were about to break at the news. How could someone want to do that to anyone, but especially someone like Carlos. There were just some people like that who didn't care who the person was, they just did things for their benefit. She wondered how Carlos couldn't have trust issues. The older Hispanic girl unwound an arm from around her legs to wrap around his shoulders. "¿Qué ha pasado?" She asked him gently, eyes looking away from his face because the pain there was just too much.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

"Yo trabajaba," said Carlos darkly. Forcing himself into a flashback wasn't going as well as he'd hoped--reality and the memory were intermixing, swimming in and out of focus. But that was all right; he didn't mind talking anymore. Because once he got the ball rolling, it became quite hard to stop it. "La plantación era absolutamente enorme - cientos de acres, cientos de personas que trabajan esas hectáreas. El cultivo en crecimiento había caña de azúcar, y en caso de que usted no sabe, se necesita mucho trabajo para plantar, cultivar, cosechar, procesar, elaborar y vender. Nos habían trabajar dieciocho horas al día, siete días a la semana. Incluso los niños más pequeños - el más joven que he visto en un campo de ocho años de edad - están trabajando a tiempo completo como los adultos. Fue brutal. La vida era un infierno. Nos daban de comer lo suficiente para que no íbamos a colapsar de cansancio todos los días, y el agua era muy escasa. Los buenos trabajadores llegaron a beber. Cualquiera que las bestias no les gustó mucho fue que no. Más a menudo que no, que estaba en la segunda categoría." Another pause, another evaluation. The young Hispanic didn't look quite so concerned for Juana's health anymore--he actually looked rather angry--but he wasn't afraid of snapping. There was no way it could happen, here and now. He was lifting stone weights off his chest. The feelings that it brought were awful, yes, but the relief that came along with it was great enough to overwhelm any other emotion. Who knew it would feel so good to actually have a listener for once?

((Translation: The plantation was absolutely huge--hundreds of acres, hundreds of people working those acres. The crop growing there was sugar cane, and in case you don't know, it takes a lot of work to plant, grow, harvest, process, prepare, and sell. They had us working eighteen hours a day, seven days a week. Even the littlest children--the youngest one I ever saw in a field was eight years old--were working full-time like adults. It was brutal. Life was hell. They fed us just enough so that we wouldn't collapse from exhaustion every day, and water was very scarce. The good workers got to drink. Anyone who the brutes didn't like very much went without. More often than not, I was in the second category.))

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

The older Hispanic girl was very close to tears now as he told her of the more brutal details of his experience in Mexico. She saw the anger on his face, and attempted to console him as best she could, ignoring the glares the guards were giving the two. She could see why they were; they had no idea what they were talking about, and they were very close to each other. Her hand went to his back, ignoring the horrible scars as she ran a soothing hand along the skin of his back. "¿Y te pegaron?" She guessed quietly, one of her fingers lingering on one of his scars as she did so without even realizing it. "Regalamos pequeño comida y te pegaron? Que bastardos!" She didn't yet know what became of the plantation brutes as Carlos called them, but she hoped that they had been given hell. Not only had they harmed her friend, but they ha harmed several other children, some younger than Carlos and some older, but all tragically innocent. None of them had deserved what they had gotten.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

((Thank you. It comes out "And you stuck?" XD))

Carlos nodded grimly. "Sí. Lo hicieron. Con látigos, sus puños, porras. Cualquier cosa que le haría daño." He gave his head a brisk, impatient shake at the thought. Memories of pain, right now, would do absolutely nothing but enrage him, and though the beast wasn't string enough to rear its ugly head this afternoon, he would certainly end up taking it out on something--and he didn't want that something to be Juana, his friend. The girl who trusted him. "¿Tengo que decir que el resto?" he asked her, trying to keep the emotion--mostly anger and a just a touch of something that he could only call hate--out of his voice with little success. He hoped that Juana could realize that none of it was directed at her. "Esto me está molestando."

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

[o.O Go home, Google Translate, you're drunk.]

Juana shrank back a little bit from his tone. Could he possibly be upset with her for asking him questions about his scars? It was possible--she though he had good reason to--but she doubted it. Carlos wasn't one wrongfully be angry at a person. After all, Juana had had no idea about his tragic past, and hadn't meant to bring up such terrible memories. "Esta bien, mi amigo," she murmured gently, squeezing his shoulder in a manner that she hoped would come across as comforting. "If it's bothering you, I don't need to hear anymore until you think you can." She didn't care how long tht would take, Juana was a patient girl with the abolity to wait for long periods of time (it had taken a while for her to get revenge on her sister, had it not?). And she would not go asking around the asylum for his information, as it was not her place. Her friend trusted her, and that meant she would wait to hear the rest of his story from him when he was ready. "Thank you for confiding in me. That must have been very hard for you to tell, and I'm sorry I brought anything bad up." Carlos maybe wasn't mad at her, but she felt bad all the same for asking questions she didn't need to know the answer to. If she had been polite as usual and not said anything, Carlos wouldn't be so unhappy because of her and her curiosity.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

"It's not your fault," Carlos said with a sigh. He dipped his index finger into the now glass-like stillness of the pool water, watching as ripples spread from his finger. It was a mesmerizing motion, and a soothing one at that. It helped calm him down. "Curiosity is a natural emotion, mi amiga. I get that. I don't blame you for anything, and certainly not my mood now. It's about time I come to terms with what happened, anyway." That didn't mean, of course, that he could do that all at once. And he couldn't. It was so much to remember, and Juana's level of concern was so much to take in. He wasn't exactly used to people knowing, let alone caring as much as she did. It felt good, of course it did, but it was also a lot of newness to get used to at one time, and the Hispanic thought he needed a bit of a breather now. "Gracias por escuchar," he told her, looking back over into those--rather lovely, he realized now, when they weren't so hard and wary--eyes of gold. "Yo agradezco, Juana. De verdad."

((Fade?))

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

[Awww. I love these two when Juana's actually nice to him. Fade.]

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

As usual, not many people accompanied the pool today. It was never recommended for many patients to be at the pool together; there could be too many problems and fatalities if someone were to upset a touchier patient. But this was just how the brunette on the side of the pool liked it, nearly empty. It was fun to chat with the people swimming, yes, and especially if they were attractive makes worth talking to, but there were none of those today, and so Akantha was by herself in the horrid bathing suit given to her by the asylum. She had not had one before when she had lived on the streets, so this was the first bathing suit she had ever owned. Sadly, so she thought, it was atrociously ugly and unflattering, but the Anderson girl somehow made it work. She never went into the pool, anyway, and only wore it because the occasion demanded it of her. If she went into the water, her hair would go flat and her makeup would run, and that was not worth it for the time she put in to her appearance. She needed extra time now, to cover up the scars she had been given by the stupid bastards at the asylum (mostly Raven), and she would certainly not ruin all of that for a dip in the pool. She instead preferred to sit, enjoy the warmth of the environment around her, and socialize if she was given such opportunity.

[Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.]

"Hey there, darlin'. Fancy seeing someone else down in these parts."

A familiar southern twang sounded and it was accompanied by a familiar sight. Curled brown hair and bright red lipstick was placed on those pale lips and that pale girl, and instantly one could recognize Rosalind Elise. Clad in right denim shorts and a pale pink corset, the young personality made her way over to where the girl was sitting by the pool. Of course, she had heard fabled stories of the young Akantha Anderson, and she was oh so curious. And so here she was.

Rosalind took a seat beside the girl and dipped her feet into the pool. "You're Akantha, yeah?"

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

"I am," she replied with a nod and a raise of the eyebrow. Nice choice of lipstick, and gorgeous curls, although Akantha found then too perfect for her taste. She preferred the messy, curly, big 'sexy' hair look than perfect ringlets, but this girl made it look good, she had to admit. Impressive. "Who's asking?" Akantha didn't know of the girl and her other 'sisters' because she had found herself spending less and less time in the file room, or out in general. It seemed every time she stepped outside, someone was wanting to throw punches at her, and after spending a week nursing her black, puffy eyes after that bastard immigrant gad broken her nose, she had decided to watch herself when it came to going out and socializing. She had spent the last couple of weeks spending last time on sadism and spending more time doing what she did best and liked best. That was getting to know the people at the asylum better, particularly the guys, as was Akantha's personality to do so. So, she did not know this girl, and she didn't realize how large her reputation was, either. She was curious to know who it was that was asking for her.

[Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.]

Rosalind extended a hand with a smile. "Rosalind Elise, though depending on who's telling you might not get the same name." Rosalind then offered a wink, and began kicking her feet back and forth in the water, making little waves. "I've heard quite a bit about you, miss, and a daresay it's a pleasure." A parting of red lips and the crack of a smile showed Rosalind was in remarkably good moods and in no danger of shifting out anytime soon. It felt good to stretch her legs and walk around for a while; she didn't get to often enough.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

Jacob was not much one for swimming--he hadn't been a fan of the sport when he was alive and he wasn't a fan of it now--but he did like the asylum's pool. It was a fairly large area, well-guarded, and best of all, quiet. He was the type who would come out to the pool wearing normal clothes (today, that meant gray slacks and a comfortable white button-down shirt, with plain socks on either foot) just to sit in one of the chairs and reflect upon things, or write in his journal, or even sometimes pray. Today, he wasn't doing any of the above--not specifically, anyway. No, because the pool was empty, the gray-eyed boy was singing. Very softly, so as not to disturb the guards posted by the gate, and in Hebrew, more as a tribute to God than anything else. Nonetheless, it was a gentle song, a prayer of sorts, one his mother Before had used to sing to he and his sister when they had trouble sleeping. "Shalom Aleichem, mal'achei hasharet, mal'achei elyon. Mimelech, mal'achei ham'lachim, hakadosh baruch hu. Bo'achem leshalom, mal'achei hashalom, mal'achei elyon..."

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

Another boy entered the pool area, one that was quite familiar to being in the cool water, but wasn't dressed for such activities today. Today he had been assigned to walk around the pool deck, but it was rather boring. There was only one boy there, a blonde with gray eyes, and he seemed to be talking to himself. Still, it was the only social interaction he had other than they guards and they were always so cold and grumpy. Drake sauntered over to the boy and sat down beside him with a smile in place. He was speaking in some sort of language, but that didn't faze him as a lot of patients were flown in from other countries and many of the patients spoke foreign languages. "Hey there."

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

"Hm? Oh, hi." Jacob, of course, had allowed the song to die down as the figure approached (for politeness's sake) and by the time the stranger sat down he was ready to offer a smile and a little wave of greeting. He did so, both of them friendly gestures, and fingered his necklace a moment in thought as he looked the black-clad boy up and down. Had he seen him around before? No, he didn't think so. He had a feeling he would recognize all of that black--it was distinctive of...(he had to think a moment to remember the term) goth culture, which indeed the young man seemed to be apart of. He grinned a little at the thought; such things had always seemed rather absurd to him. What was the point? But now he turned, giving the stranger his full attention. "Sorry," he said, for he assumed that he was about to be reprimanded--he usually wasn't approached except by staff, and he didn't recognize this young man as a patient. "Was I bothering someone?"

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

The grin widened and Drake shook his head. "No, of course not. Why would you be bothering anyone?" He himself hadn't heard the boy's song before he approached him. He looked over his shoulder, gazing out at the empty poolside abd turning back with an amused gleam in his brown eyes. "Who on earth would you be bothering, anyhow? The pool is sort of dead." He assmed that that was because of the weather. The pool itself was heated, and protected from the weather, but when the weather outside was blustering cold winds and ice cold snow, the thought of swimming around in the water probably wasn't very appealing to most people. Taking that into consideration, and Drake's eyes were on Jacob once again, he wondered why this boy was here. Obviously it wasn't for swimming.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

"Dead," Jacob said thoughtfully. For one brief moment, a smile flitted at his lips as he turned his head to look out at the water. It was indeed quite still--like glass, almost, and he suspected it had been that way for hours--but not dead, in any sense. A strange turn of phrase; at least, to him. But it was amusing all the same. "I wouldn't really call it dead," he told the smiling young man (though he was thinking out loud more than talking to him.) "Water was never really alive to begin with. People, I get, and animals I get, and plants, sometimes, but not really water. You know? It doesn't die. It's just kind of...there." Suddenly his body jerked, and his eyes widened just slightly, as though he had just been startled. Talking like that--rambling, almost, and not to anyone, either--had caused him a lot of trouble when he was alive, and he supposed part of him still was expected yelled words and a strike. He blinked, shook his head to clear it (after all, this was certainly not Nazi Germany) and turned his attention back to Drake, now seeming much more connected with reality. He did not speak again, but a small, almost nervous grin flirted with his lips, and in his slightly worried eyes there was a word: Sorry.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

Drake's brown eyes widened slightly in surprise. Dead? The goth wasn't quite sure he was following correctly, but he figured that it was something to do with the patient's condition and so he went along with it and prevent this boy any mental distress. He also turned his head to the pool and gazed at the water. It looked dead, he supposed, in the only way that water could look dead and that was from lack of use. There was no wave to the water whatsoever and if not for the small line the water made on the side of the pool, the vessel would look completely empty. "Yes, I suppose you're right," he agreed with a small nod in the patient's direction. "It can't really die. And did you know that water recycles itself? This water that we're looking at is probably thousands of years old."

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

No reaction from the dark-haired boy; that was nice. So many people stared or gave him uncomfortable looks when he lost himself in his thoughts. This was quite nice, to be speaking with someone who at least had the good grace not to immediately start trying to interrogate him. Jacob smiled a little, eager to carry on what was for once a seemingly normal conversation. "Is it really?" he asked. "This place has been running for thousands of years?" He raised his arms and gestured all about them, a gesture to encompass the world rather than this select spot owned by the asylum. "I mean, I died a little more than seventy years ago--in living time--so I knew it had to have been going on since before then, but thousands of years? That's an awful long time to keep a heaven going without really changing it at all." And of course, the young boy did not realize that he had misinterpreted what Drake was trying to say; did not know that he was not thinking along the same lines. He was rather fascinated by the concept which had been introduced to him, and he had momentarily forgotten that he was in the presence of someone who did not believe like he.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

Died seventy years ago? What on earth? Drake tried hard to keep his face a blank mask that didn't cloud over in confusion and instead smiled at the boy, shaking his head. He decided it would just be best to ignore the first comment and any other comments about death. He could read the boy's file later once he got a name so he could understand what it was that was going on in his head so he could be prepared for another conversation. Unlike most patients, this one seemed decent and friendly, not trying to kill him or hurt him in any way. It was a nice break, honestly. "No, not the actual asylum. I'm not sure how old the actual asylum is. The water itself, though, is old. It recycles itself when it evaporates and rains again, which is ultimately the water we retrieve to fill the pool and drink and such. So this water here is probably thousands or even millions of years old."

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

"No, I get that about the water. It's just all this that's a little surprising." Jacob gestured about them again. "I mean, I guess God could have this heaven change and progress like the real world did, but I don't know if that's how it works. It's interesting to think about, is all." But then he had a thought--here he was, talking theology again, and he didn't even know this boy's name. Bad manners, he thought, weren't something he wanted to get into the habit of having. He offered the young man a smile and an outstretched hand. "I'm Jacob, by the way. Jacob Fox. If we're going to be talking for a while, I think it'd be nice to at least know who you are."

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

Drake grinned a friendly grin and stretched his arm over the table to shake this boy--Jacob's--hand. He gave it one pump then set it back down onto the tabletop. He desperately hoped he could change the subject because he wasn't sure how he should respond to such a comment, especially when it was spoken so easily as though it was not at all strange to mention. And to him, he doubted it was. "My name is Drake. It's a pleasure to meet you, Jacob." He glanced around the pool again. "Referring to your earlier question, now, I don't think this building is that old. The pool looks pretty new and so does the whole building. Unless it was remodeled at some point, it looks too modern to be old."

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

Jacob shook his head, grinned a little. Either Drake was intentionally ignoring his points, or he was simply not understanding. Just in case it was the latter, he said (and there was amusement in his voice): "No, no, no. Not the asylum. I know this place is probably really old--it looks it. I'm talking about everything else. The whole world. You know, heaven? I'm just curious about what you said earlier, about the water being thousands or millions of years old. I don't think this place has been around that long." Of course, he could very well be wrong--he certainly wasn't going to claim to understand God's work--but it was still a fascinating thing to think about. But now, almost as though picking up on the fact that the nurse was getting uncomfortable with the subject, he shook his head. "We don't have to debate it if you don't want to, though." A grin. "I have my nurse for that. She'll talk with me--about the world and everything else--until she's blue in the face if I let her." His way of inviting the goth boy to change the subject, and to do so without worry. He wanted to be polite, after all, and there was no better way to make friends than to let strangers know you were tuned in to how they were feeling and wanted to keep them engaged in the conversation.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

The goth's face fell for a moment to an expression of relief and then he smiled again. It was nice that Jacob at least understood that his comments were slightly awkward and was polite enough to allow him to change the subject to one he was more comfortable with. Most patients weren't so polite and would carry on about whatever confusing subject they were talking about that their nurse never understood. "Oh?" He said and raised a black eyebrow. He would do just what the boy suggested and changed the subject. "Who is your nurse? I might actually know her. I'm a nurse here myself."

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

"Her name is Holly," Jacob replied. "I don't know how long she's worked here, but she was assigned to me when I first came in, and that was a few months ago. So at least that long." He shrugged, then smiled. "She's really great, though. I like her a lot. She's not as...cold as some of the other staff are. Not unprofessional, but more friendly than nurses usually end up getting with patients, you know? Especially ones like me." A low, brief bout of laughter followed the words. "I'm delusional, people say," the young boy explained, "and so when I talk about my life and stuff--like I was just doing--all the nurses and the doctors tend to nod and say 'uh-huh' and 'that's right, sweetheart.' You know. Typical I-have-no-idea-how-to-deal-with-you responses. But Holly doesn't do that. She'll talk to me for ages if I ask her to, and sometimes even if I don't. It's really nice." Sometimes, he thought, the young woman acted as if he was her son. It was quite a sweet thing, how much Holly cared, and he appreciated the fact that she did. It was a good feeling, to know that at least someone in a more cold, hostile environment bothered to think you were a human being.

((Hopefully, Holly will be an actual character soon. Sera is writing her.))

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

[Oooh! Goody!]

Drake listened intently while Jacob gushed over his wonderful nurse. A bit of nostalgia hit him while he watched the patient speak highly of the bond he shared with his nurse. The goth wished he himself had a patient of his own again, but the one he had been assigned to had mysteriously been killed and it had broken Drake's heart. Since then he had not gotten another patient and he almost hoped that someone new would come along so he could have a patient. Then maybe he could make a patient happy the way Holly made Jacob so happy. "That sounds really great. It's good you have such a caring nurse to take care of you. I've honestly never understood those nurses you talk about, the ones who don't care? I couldn't do my job if I were one of them. It just seems rather pointless. I don't really like nurses like that." His tone wasn't defensive as some might have thought he would have been but rather it was just friendly as the conversation. That was all Drake was interested in, anyways, a friendly conversation between two people.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

Jacob shrugged. He, too, found it a little hard to understand, and agreed with the young goth--if you didn't have the patience to deal with the type, why work with the mentally ill?--but he wasn't one to insult or criticize. Instead, he tried to think of a plausible reason. "I don't know," he said, "maybe they just need the money and couldn't find work anywhere else, hoping for a job organizing files or scheduling appointments or something like that. Maybe they just don't want to be here at all. I knew a few people who were like that." He avoided the phrase when I was alive, for Drake's sake (though he would have usually added it on) and substituted "people" for "soldiers" or "Nazis", just to keep from confusing him further. Though, indeed, he had met--or at least seen--some of the type around the camps, and in his life Before. They wore dejected expressions, ashen-faced and dark eyed, or simply had on neutral masks which showed no emotion at all. He had learned to gravitate towards those types, but he could certainly see where Drake was coming from when he spoke of his dislike. Besides, he figured, trying to be a solider was very different than trying to be a nurse for the mentally ill.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

Drake considered this for a moment, as he had never thought of a situation like that before. He figured you should have a desire to work with the mentally ill in order to work with them. But this situation made sense as well. Apparently he should start looking at all types of situations before forming opinions. "I never thought of that," he admitted thoughtfully and ran a hand through his long black hair. "That's a good idea, though, I must admit. I still don't think it's necessary for them to be so cruel to some of the patients though. I feel bad for the ones who are that cruel to them. Then they wonder why they are getting worse instead of better." It was sort of strange, talking about how to properly treat patients with a patient. Most didn't talk about that sort of thing, and most didn't want to know, either. He wondered what his reaction would be.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

"Well, I would. Wouldn't you?" Jacob raised his eyebrows, almost pointedly. "I mean, if you were sent here, and everyone was reassuring you that it would only be for a little while, but then you arrive and start getting kicked around? Seems kind of worrying, if you ask me." He knew it certainly would be for he himself, it he hadn't such a lack of self-awareness. He knew that he existed, and he knew that he could think and feel, but he thought he was dead, and thus he usually dismissed things like bodily harm when it did occur. There was no reason to fret over what had already been struck down, after all, was there? He didn't think so; and besides, there were so many other things (even in this place) befitting of his concern. He liked to occupy his time with them instead.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

"Hmm?" Drake's dark eyes clouded over for a moment in confusion. Of course he would worry, didn't he say that? Then he understood that he had misunderstood the patient and he nodded eagerly. "Precisely. If I were a patient I would be extremely worried and extremely angry at the staff. They're supposed to be making you feel better, but they aren't and it's tragic because so many patient have the potential to go out and have a life but they don't." If the asylum had done more to help his girl, then maybe their lives would have been very different. "I was talking about the staff, who wonder why patients get worse when they aren't properly taken care of. It's common sense, really." He gave a little shrug, and like that his earlier irritation was gone like it had rolled away with the roll of his shoulders. He had just needed a little vent, he supposed, since he had kept thinking those thoughts since he had arrived, even more recently since his girlfriend had died. Now it was over and he was amiable and friendly again.

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

Jacob nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "It really is." The young man's comment had reminded him of the time, and gray eyes flicked to the analog clock on the wall. It was nearly 4:30, and Holly had asked him to be in his dorm by five for a little check-up. Uncrossing his legs and standing, he gave Drake a friendly nod. "I have to go," he told him. "My nurse wants to see me soon. It was nice talking to you, though! Maybe I'll see you around sometime." And perhaps, by then, the black-clad nurse will have read his file, and they could have a conversation which would start off less confusing. With a smile at the thought, the young boy offered a wave, turned, and headed off.

((Fade?))

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.]

[Fade.]

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

Anna did not want to be here. She did not want to be here in the slightest bit. She didn't like swimming pools--or lakes, or rivers, or any other sizable bodies of water in which one could drown--even on a good day, but here and now, in the early hours of the morning, the Indian girl looked absolutely bitter. She sat on the edge of the pool, her legs in the water, and scowled down at her reflection. A swimsuit. She was wearing a swimsuit, asylum-given at that, a snug black one-piece that had probably belonged to a released patient (or a dead girl, she'd thought warily when it was presented) before it had been passed on to her. And she didn't like it, not one bit. It was tight, the material was strange and unpleasant and it hugged her body no matter how she tried to move. She wanted to rip it off, quite frankly. She wanted to put on her normal clothes and go find something to eat that wouldn't sour her stomach like those grits had this morning. She wanted to find Raven and complain about the stupidity of nurses and clothes you were supposed to wear while you were swimming, which had never and would never make sense to her. "Put this on, he said," she grumbled at the water, digging her finger beneath the strap on her left shoulder and snapping it agitatedly. "Go swimming, he said. It'll be good for you, he said. Therapeutic, he said. Well guess what? You can go fuck yourself, Samuel Fairchild. If you practiced half of what you preached to me, maybe I wouldn't be inclined to doubt your skills as a doctor. Right now, I think you're utter garbage. Thanks for ruining my morning."

[Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.]

It was an odd sight indeed for Aspen, to see her fiery bird hovering just above the water, occasionally skimming it's feet across the surface as it flew around the enclosed pool area with happy little screeches. It wasn't often enough that the phoenix got to come out to play, and while it was one of Aspen's favourites (though she would only state this through the egotistical bird's beak) it was always happy to take charge when none of the other creatures that haunted the girl wanted to. As Aspen entered the enclosed pool, in the same ridiculous swimsuit as the Indian already inside, the phoenix seemed to perk up, and with a giddy chirp it flew towards Aspen as if it hadn't seen her in ages. Aspen smiled, and gave a little chuckle as she stretched out her arm for the flaming bird to land upon, but instead of landing the bird merely fluffed its feathers in front of her, almost playfully, and returned to the water.

"Who are you talking to?" asked the phoenix through Aspen, and the redheaded girl cocked her head sideways and took a seat near the Indian girl. Aspen began pulling her hair up behind her head, but she kept her green gaze focused on the girl. "There's no one here but us, you know, and my name is not Samuel Fairchild."

[Hope , I belong here more than they do.]

"No?" Anna said sarcastically, with a roll of her eyes. She flashed an irritated glance over at the newcomer, and both feet kicked out to disturb the calmness of the water as if to illustrate just how quickly her bad mood had turned worse. "I couldn't tell. I'm sorry." And the words beneath her words were clear: It's none of your business anyway, is it, sweetheart? Keep that in mind. In all reality, the Indian girl did not want to deal with anyone besides her brother today, be they patient or nurse or anyone else. Her stomach was aching, she was wearing an outfit she absolutely despised, Samuel had the audacity to order her about and now she'd been exiled to the last place in the asylum she wanted to go, "for her own good". No, Anna was not at all thrilled by the entrance of this red-haired girl with the glassy green eyes, and it showed. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she was coming off as just hostile enough to make talking to her seem more effort than it was worth.