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

Carlos shrugged. "Well, alpacas are weird and, if you ask me, pretty darn unlovable. The fact that you not only like them but consider them to be your favorite animal just kind of tugs at the heartstrings, you know?" The young Hispanic patted his heart with one hand for emphasis, grinning. "It's like you're rooting for the underdog and being all 'Hey, you know what? I'm totally going to defy gender stereotypes and love freaking alpacas. Take that, society!' Know what I'm saying? Or am I flogging the metaphorical dead horse at this point?"

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

Another little chuckle came from the Hispanic as she shook her head a little at her friend. At his teases and good nature, not because she was disagreeing with him. "I suppose I understand," she said, now nodding her head in good-natured reluctant agreement. Though, in her country, alpacas weren't as against the rest of society to love as the rest of the world. To think that Carlos saw her as a person who went against most stereotypes of girls her age (she was assuming, anyways) struck her as funny. "I'm glad to know I can tug at the heartstrings, as you put it. And to think! I'm not even trying! You must admit, that must be impressive, is it not?"

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

Carlos nodded at her with the quick, almost jerky movements of a boy hopelessly head-over-heels, completely amused. "Oh, sí," he replied, and the slight grin he now wore revealed that he was teasing, just as she was. "Muy impresionante, Juana. Muy impresionante."

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

Carlos was almost as good as acting as she was, for his impression of a boy head-over-heels was a fairly impressive one. As far as Juana knew. She hadn't had a lot of boys back home completely smitten with her as Carlos was acting. It was good enough for the golden-eyed girl to praise him with a small round of quiet applause (they were still in a library) and a large grin of obvious amusement on her face. "Well, gracias, mi amigo! It's a difficult thing to master really, though I'm sure I make it look easy." She took a little bow in his direction as best as she could sitting down on a couch.

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

"Oh yeah. Totally. Easy as pie, mi amiga." And Carlos chuckled. "That's another one of our so-called weird American sayings."

((In case you can't tell, I am derping. Fade?))

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

A shrug, and a purse of her full lips. She hadn't known, and it seemed that Carlos was also good for enlightening her on American sayings. "Gracias, amigo." Juana smiled warmly at him. She was beginning to see that Carlos was a good friend for many things.

[Me too. Fade.]

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

Nighttime was one of the only times when Leah actually felt safe around the asylum. There was something about the quiet and the darkness that came with the rise of the moon which was comforting--she knew that most of the patients, even the most awful ones, usually adhered to the rule about curfew, if only because there was nothing they could do in the night that they couldn't in the day. Even people like Raven, she'd heard, usually stayed inside their dorms after the lights went out and the doors all locked unless they had something very specific they wanted to do. These were reassuring thoughts, and it was because of them that the young green-eyed girl had let her guard down so soon after coming into this large, book-filled place. It was very quiet in the library at night, she thought. Very peaceful. When she had gotten up and asked for a nurse to let her out because she couldn't sleep, she had made sure to slip a fuzzy pair of socks on over her pajamas so that she wouldn't disturb that peace walking into the room. Now, she sat in one of the plush chairs, feet bumping in slow, rhythmic time against the front of the chair, her head cupped in one hand, burnt caramel waves spilling down over her arm. Her eyes were closed, and her lips curved up in the barest impressions of a smile--she loved the night. She loved the library. She could relax here.

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

But Leah was not the only patient up that night, wandering the asylum in the dark of the night. To her, it wasn't peaceful, but terrifying, and she wished it could just be daylight already. She had had another nightmare that night, a really bad one that was the main reason why she was jumping at every shadow and every sound around every corner. The girl in pink had again been found screaming in her dorm, thrashing violently in her bed until Jason--bless him--had come to her rescue and come into her dorm. He had offered company in her dorm, but her nightmare had been graphic to say the least, and it had also, go figure, taken place in her dorm. The pink walls has been splattered with dark red, and she had been too scared to stay in her dorm or Jason's, and so she had left, able to avoid the staff with some sort of luck. She knew from past experience that the library was open, even in the earliest hours in the morning. She was wandering down the aisles, breathing in the old smell of the pages of the books, even though she wasn't one to read, the smell was calming. She was close to the area where Leah was, right behind her chair (Leah was so small, she was unseen by the dark-haired girl) and she heard the sound of the feet beating against the chair. She didn't register the sound, and immediately her heart stopped and her wide, scared eyes only widening further at the sound. A loud gasp escaped her, and she whipped around quickly, her pink and flowing nightgown flowing behind her, trying to identify the source of the sound.

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

It was not the sound nor the feeling of air against her as Cleo whipped around that startled Leah, but the feeling of feet--small, insect feet--brushing her shoulder. A jolt of fear shot up her spine, and she twisted around in the chair so fast that she was worried that she would throw out her back. Wide green gaze shot first to the butterfly--small and with wide, coral pink wings shot through with veins of a color that was almost red (she would have thought it a rather pretty insect had it not settled down on her shoulder)--and then up to the girl it represented, who looked just as frightened as she felt. "Oh!" she gasped, one hand flying up over her heart and the other moving to quickly brush the girl's butterfly from her sleeve. The hand that did it shook slightly. "Oh my goodness, you scared me!" Her voice was soft (they were in a library, after all) but it held the breathless, unmistakable tones of surprise and slight fear. The tattooed girl found herself looking the girl in pink up and down for weapons, and then up to her eyes for malicious intent. She saw her own fear reflected back at her, and let out the breath she'd been holding. "Oh," she repeated, heart hammering so loudly she was afraid that this unexpected visitor might hear it. "Oh."

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

Cleo whirled back around, facing the girl with the light brown hair, letting a small smile part her lips. A smile of relief. This was no monster, no demon coming to claim her, no ghost, no Abigail coming to avenge her death, but a little girl, who looked as frightened as she was sure that she did. Her smile widened at the girl, not at all friendly at her comment, but still a bit nervous and on edge. She thought she was frightening? That was a laugh. Cleo wasn't intimidating to anyone, not even the young patients that hadn't yet reached puberty. This girl must have been very scared for her to have scared her. She laughed out loud, quite loudly, forgetting she was in a library (even if she remembered she wouldn't have cared much). She tipped her head back and let out a shrill, nervous laugh. It was long and disturbingly loud, sounding out of place in the library and out of place with the nightmare victim. When she finally managed to get herself under control, she ran her hands through her mussy, black curls from the roots down to the ends, not noticing that she had ripped out a few strands because her hands were sweating. She was nervous, but why? This girl seemed harmless, and possibly scared. Perhaps she was just worried about getting caught. "I scare you?" She asked incredulously, chuckling again. "That's hilarious. A real riot, a belly-buster. I don't scare anyone. You're the one that scared me. I thought I was the only one who would take walks in the moonlight." Though the girl probably didn't know it, Cleo hardly ever took leisurely strolls at night. Only to get her mind off of something terrible or to get away from a scary environment, as she had tonight.

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

"That's what I thought too, though!" A smile parted her own lips, and it mirrored Cleo's: small, relieved. There was nothing threatening about the girl--well, besides her laugh, which had made her want to cover her ears it was so shrill--and her butterfly had already taken wing to go investigate one of the bookshelves nearby. Leah allowed herself to relax, letting out the breath she'd been holding in a long sigh. "I like it here at night," she explained, glancing back up at Cleo. She made sure the dark-haired girl's eyes were on her own before moving her left hand on top of her right, covering the monarch butterfly there. She certainly didn't want to have that conversation tonight. "I didn't think anyone else would come out. That's why you scared me." A cautious glance was thrown to the nightmare victim's butterfly, but of course she refrained from mentioning it. Rosemarie had already proved that saying something about the stinging insects would only invite the inevitable conversation of why she was here.

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

This girl actually liked the dark? Cleo couldn't imagine anyone who would like being in the dark, or like it in general. It wasn't that the dark-haired girl was afraid of the dark, but she was afraid of what could be hidden inside of it. Especially after a bad nightmare, like the one she had had earlier. But hey, didn't everyone have their own ways of soothing and coping. In the corner of her eye, the girl in pink saw movement that was Leah's hands covering her tattoo, but she didn't see the action being made and thankfully for the tattooed girl, had no idea what she had done and she asked her no questions. "I don't like the dark," Cleo disagreed with her, casting an anxious glance around her in the dark library. "Usually, you probably are the only person who takes walks around here." She regarded the younger girl with a small smirk. Most wouldn't dare do anything like that unless it was entirely necessary. "Brave. No one would ever do anything like that on a nightly basis around here." She fan her hands up her arms, oblivious that Leah's attention was on her butterfly a few feet away. She was a bit preoccupied with the thought she'd just given herself. What if others were prowling around other than her and Leah? Others like Raven? As if she wasn't paranoid enough, she shook her head briskly, as if trying to get the thought out of her head.

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

"You think I'm brave?" Leah raised her eyebrows, looking genuinely surprised as she turned her head to look at Cleo. The only person who had ever called her brave was her father, after she was finally allowed out of the hospital a few weeks after she had been rescued from that small, terrible room. The green-eyed girl shook her head, sending burst caramel waves tumbling down her back. "I'm about as far from brave as it gets. Liking the dark doesn't mean you're fearless. Besides, I only come out here because I'm almost sure that nobody else does. Not even the awful patients come out after curfew unless they have something they really, really want to do." And of course, because she was so new, she didn't know that some of those desires occasionally involved hunting down new prey--but even if she had, it probably wouldn't have had much bearing on her actions. When she came out of her room in the night, her plan was always to find a nice, secluded spot to rest in--or at least to run and hide if she heard anybody coming. And besides, so far she hadn't had any misshapes (she wasn't sure that she would count this encounter with the dark-haired girl a mishap--after all, she didn't seem threatening.) The only thing she really had to worry about was getting herself hurt in a fall, and that hadn't been much of a problem so far. The tattooed girl saw absolutely no reason to take Cleo's compliment--if that was even what it was--seriously.

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

Small eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. She didn't think that dangerous patients came out of their dorms during the nighttime? They were probably the most likely to get out! This girl was either stupid, naïve, new, or maybe all three. Still, she wasn't as safe as she thought. "Your probability isn't all that good, sorry to say," Cleo told her as she moved over by the window. The window was illuminating some of the moon's light onto the floor and she welcomed the slim beam. She felt almost safe in the light where it was better to see things in the dark. "Most dangerous patients are the ones who come out after curfew. Hardly anyone comes out here just because they like to be out here. It's brave of you to be out here when this is their time." Guards were hardly ever out this late and when they were, they were easy to avoid. This left sadists and other dangerous to an advantage if they could get out of their dorm, and many could. The doors were old and easy to break out of, and nearly anyone could get out if they wanted to. "And luckily for you, you haven't met anyone like that." Without knowing it, Cleo had just most likely soothed the girl a little, admitting to her that she had nothing to worry about. She was completely harmless, even more now that she was frightened an uneasy in the darkness of the library.

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

Leah's full lips puckered down into a little frown. She was remembering her encounter with Rosemarie Toom in the cafeteria, remembering how so many people had stared as they talked and how even more went out of their way to warn her afterwards about the danger she had been getting into, talking to someone as horrible as the ex-Hunter. Still, Rosemarie had gone out of her way to try and console her, as if to win her trust. She certainly hadn't seemed all that threatening--in fact, the tattooed girl would have called her genuinely nice if she hadn't heard so many rumors, or had fear so deeply ingrained into her psyche. As it was, Cleo's words only confused her. It was clear that she had a lot to learn about how the asylum worked--or at least how the patients who lived there operated. "What about Rosemarie?" she said aloud. Her eyes, for once, were actually on the person she was speaking to rather than her butterfly--it was obvious that there was no anger of a sting tonight (unless of course Cleo turned out to be one of those "dangerous patients" and started attacking her for no reason.) "I've met her, and everybody says she's pretty bad. Doesn't she count?"

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

"Of course she counts!" Cleo exclaimed with wide eyes. She had met Rosemarie already? Cleo hope her fate wouldn't end up like all of the other new patients that Rosemarie met. Even the girl in pink could tell that this girl was fragile, easy to break. She doubted that Leah could make a comeback and all of a sudden tun the tables on Rosemarie as Phoenix had done. "She's the worst female sadist we have around here. She's part of the major sadistic, torturing couple our lovely asylum has. She's bad news, her boyfriend Raven is even worse, and together, they're downright despicable." Raven and Rosemarie had to have been the two most dangerous and terrifying people at the asylum, and Leah had already made her acquaintance. Maybe she wasn't as lucky as Cleo had earlier thought.

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

"Could you..." Leah hesitated for a moment, unsure if she even wanted to ask the question. What if Cleo suddenly started getting angry with her because it brought up bad memories? That would surely make her no safer from the pale pink butterfly on the bookcase. In a few moments, however, curiosity won out and the tattooed girl finished: "Could you tell me about them? Or at least about her? She seemed like she was really trying hard to get me to trust her when we met. Why would she do that?" A slight tilt of her head came as Leah asked the question. Her voice was quiet as usual, innocent, maybe even a little scared. It was true, Rosemarie had been acting so unlike how everyone said she did. The green-eyed girl almost found that concerning, it was such a change from what she had been warned about, what she had expected. Cleo seemed like she had been here a long time (she certainly talked like she had)--surely she would know something about how the redhead operated. Perhaps she could help her out. Right now, Leah almost hoped that she would--she was beginning to get scared, thinking on the situation as much as she was. It really had been strange. Had it been an act? Was Rosemarie trying to win her over to make her easier (and better) prey? The more that she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. She could hope it wasn't true, but now...well, maybe the dark-haired girl would offer some information. Leah decided that she wouldn't give the ex-Hunter any more thought until she knew more.

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

But Cleo didn't mind talking about Rosemarie, as Leah thought. It was Raven she was afraid of, he was the one who had attacked her time and time again, but she still didn't mind informing the girl about him. From what she'd heard, he wasn't up for playing any games for a while. This was the best time to bring up his name. "All right. She's been here for a while, about two years or so. Raven "turned" her, I guess, because she'd sworn off men due to some religion thing before she met him. She became a sadist then. I guess she's not horrible to some people," she said with an unknowing shrug. She'd never personally spoken to the redhead, but her boyfriend and her had caused some problems for her boyfriend and her as well. The only nice Rosemarie she knew about was the ones she heard about in rumors. "She's befriended some people at the asylum other than Raven, but only a few, and most are her little playthings. She might, for some odd reason or other, actually want to make you a friend. Last I knew, she's never been really social with people unless she's holding a knife to their throat." That gave her enough information to make up her own mind without making it seemed biased, though she would prefer for her to stay away from her. She didn't want her to get hurt or broken.

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

Leah's eyes widened at these seemingly innocent words. A knife? Rosemarie had a knife? But of course she did--it was to be expected from someone like her. From...from a sadist (the tattooed girl had to think a moment to remember the word.) There had been no mention of that in the cafeteria, of course, but perhaps that was the point. There was no better way to earn someone's trust--especially someone as fragile as her--than to assume nonthreatening, and to mention a knife would have chased her, potential prey, off immediately. The more the green-eyed girl thought about it, the more sure she was that the redheaded ex-Hunter was simply trying to get to her, for some reason or other. It was the only explanation that would make sense; especially with Rosemarie's reputation. Especially considering what the dark-haired girl was now telling her. Most are her little playthings. Of course. That was what the small sadist-in-training was trying to make her. A very amusing little toy. Leah squeezed her eyes shut against the thoughts, shaking her head back and forth violently once. "I don't want to," she whispered. Whether she was talking to Cleo or the image of the ex-Hunter which now burned behind her eyes was unclear. Nonetheless, the words came out: "Oh, please, I don't want to. I'm already a toy. I am--no, no was--his toy. Not again. Please not again." And it was as if she had forgotten that Cleo was even there. Indeed, it was likely that she had. There were too many memories, too many bad thoughts now swirling around in her head, fighting for control. And when that happened, when the chaos took over, there was no regaining any sense.

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

Well, crap! Cleo had opened up her mouth, and now there was some girl about ready to have a panic attack, if she wasn't already having one. The girl in pink wasn't really the best at consoling people (hell, she had once driven Jason to pounding his face into the wall!) but she tried her best. "Hey there," she said, daring to go as far as to go out of her little sliver of light to awkwardly and gently grab the girl's wrist. "That's okay, you don't have to be a toy, and I mean, I doubt you will." Her words had little hope for the girl, because she had no idea if Rosemarie would do so or not. She couldn't tell what the ex-Hunter would do. "I said she might be trying to befriend you, too."

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

As soon as she felt those fingers around her wrist, Leah flinched back and nearly screamed aloud, yanking on her trapped--she thought of it as trapped--hand hard enough to strain the muscles in that wrist. Her eyes shot open, and her lips shaped a wide 'o' of shock and, ultimately, terror. It was difficult to see the dark-haired nightmare victim now, and all the young girl knew was that there was a hand closed over her wrist, a foreign hand, an unwelcome hand. It was clear that the only thing which kept her from starting to scream or turning to run was fear, whose dark but freezing fingers had closed around her spine, paralyzing her, bringing the shadowy world out of focus. But it was the butterfly that really got the ball rolling. Contact between herself and the insect's host always meant that it would land on her too; that was inevitable. That was something that she'd learned. But in that moment, in the dark of the night, Leah forgot about all of that--when she felt the prick of insect legs on her arm, and felt the brush of the coral pink creature's wings against her skin as it settled upon her, she did scream. It was a high, long and desperate sound, unmistakably a plea and a sound of alarm all at once. She didn't dare move--one slipup, and there would be a stinger embedded in her forearm (she could feel the tip against her skin even now)--but dark green eyes bulged, and the tattooed girl looked at Cleo with blatant, terrified apprehension. Of course, she was expecting to be struck and then stung; she hadn't heard Cleo's words and even if she had, they would have done no good. "Don't hurt me," she begged. It felt as if she were choking--it was so hard to force the words out of her throat. Her voice came out high and reedy, and the rest of the words came in a terrified rush: "Please don't oh God please don't I didn't do anything I'm sorry if I did just please don't make it sting me please please please I'm sorry I'm so sorry just please call it off! Don't make it sting me!"

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

As if her wrist were white hot metal, Cleo dropped the girl's hand, a little bit surprised by her sudden fright of her. Sure, Leah had been timid, but Cleo hadn't thought she was so timid she would shriek in terror at a person's touch. Furthermore, she didn't think there was any reason for the tattooed girl to be scared at all. The nightmare victim was just that, a victim. She was a favorite play-thing of Raven's, would certainly fall victim to Rosemarie if she ever got the chance, and even Jason, in his worst of moods, wouldn't hesitate to attack her and make her victim to Ares from time to time, and he was her lover. Cleo had never intimidated anyone in her life, and was far from it here in the asylum. She was just like Leah, really, and Leah had no reason to be scared. She saw that she was, though, it was something that no one could possibly miss, she was making her fear so obvious, she didn't even bother to hide it. Cleo recognized the fear, it was an expression she wore nightly, an he scream was just as familiar, but that didn't at all mean that she knew how to help the girl. Nothing ever helped her, and the only way she could go back to sleep was against her own will thanks to sleeping pills and she couldn't exactly shove some of those down Leah's throat, she didn't even have any! "I'm not touching you," Cleo told her as calmly as she could, and she hoped that her slight confusion and panic wasn't so obvious in her voice. That would probably scare her more. "I don't know what to call off, hon, I'm not even touching you anymore." She raised both of her hands to show her, show her that there was nothing to worry about, nothing to fear for now. In fact, Cleo's own fears had been temporarily placed in the back of her mind. She was entirely focused on the terrified brunette before her.

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

Leah was shaking, visibly shaking, as she looked up from the butterfly to Cleo and back to the pretty pink insect again. Her breathing was shallow and quiet and quick, an almost rattling escaping her each time she inhaled, and then again each time she let the breath out. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Whether she was apologizing for her sudden screaming or the wrongdoing she thought she had committed was unclear, for the terrified young girl wasn't even looking at Cleo anymore. Her dark green gaze was fixed on the butterfly, following it as it walked up and down her arm, trying not to flinch when it spread and folded its wings against her skin, trying to get rid of the feeling that there were so many more of the insects, crawling all over her. It wasn't true--Cleo only had one butterfly, she was much too kind to have any more--but what she was feeling did not match up with reality. It felt as if there were dozens of the insects swarming her, and it was that feeling that was making her shake so. She hated not being able to tell the difference between fantasy and reality on a normal day; now, this lie that her brain was telling her was almost unbearable. Still, she didn't dare move, didn't dare to try and brush Cleo's coral pink butterfly off of her sleeve (long, of course, to hide her tattoos) because she could still feel the point of its stinger against the fleece, and the last thing she waned was a sting. There was no one about except this girl; that meant she would have to wait out the pain and hallucinations and convulsions on her own. And the thought, to poor Leah, was absolutely terrifying.

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

"There's no need to be sorry," Cleo told her quickly, her voice a little shaky and not as soothing as she hoped. She couldn't put a hand on the girl to help calm her down, or she would scream again and her shaking and terrified nature would only become worse. The girl in pink was completely lost, unsure of why the girl was so scared, why she was apologizing, and why she was looking at her arm in such obvious horror. Maybe because it was the arm she had touched. "Take it easy, Leah, I'm not going to hurt you, there's nothing for you to be afraid of. Look at me," she instructed, pointing at her face. "I don't look at all dangerous or scary, do I? That's because I'm not and there's nothing to be scared of."

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

Leah forced her head to rise, forced herself to look Cleo in the eyes (her own were wide and terrified) not because she wanted to but because she had been given an order, and she didn't dare disobey anyone, not ever--especially not when one of their butterflies sat upon her, as Cleo's did. After all, she never had any idea as to whether they would react badly to being ignored, something which always resulted in at least one sting and more often several (though it did depend on the intensity of the reaction.) It was why the tattooed girl bit down on her bottom lip to stop the fearful whining sound that wanted to escape her, and it was why she forced her head up to look at Cleo (though she could bear to make eye contact for about three seconds.) When that time had passed, she looked away again, with a sharp inhale and a shudder as if she expected the nightmare victim to become angry at the fact that she was being almost-ignored. In all reality, that was exactly what she expected to happen. She was in an asylum, after all. From what she had heard, 90% of the patients were absolutely unpredictable, and more than half of them had tempers. How was she supposed to know if Cleo was one of them or not? She said she wasn't, sure, but she could have been lying, or offering sympathy in the heat of the moment where she usually would not have. It was why the green-eyed girl went into default mode: submission. Sometimes, that was best. Occasionally it was counterproductive--she'd heard that sometimes, acting submissive and afraid made some want to attack you more--but most of the time it worked. She prayed that now would be one of those times.

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

The dark-haired girl's stomach rolled in a way that was almost guilty and most certainly uneasy. It was painfully obvious that the brunette was terrified not just in general, but of her. It was in the way her eyes looked and the wy she refused to look at her. She looked as if she was petrified of her, and it made Cleo feel bad. After all, she was sure she had done something (probably laying a comforting hand on her) to make the girl so scared, and she felt bad for doing so. As best as she could, the nightmare victim transfixed her features from ones of sharp worry to a soft smile of encouragement, trying to show the girl that there was nothing to be afraid of. Not of her, anyways. "Good job," she praised in a gentle tone, the way someone might talk a small child out of throwing a tantrum. Cleo had hward enough people try to soothe her, she knew what to say, not what to do, but sh has gained some confidence and she hoped it was paying off. "Don't worry, Leah, I promise I won't hurt you. I'm sorry for putting a hand on you, I didn't realize it would scare you." She paused a moment, eyebrows furrowing together as she tried to think of something else to say to encourage the girl out of her petrified state. "Breathe deeply, okay? Try to calm down and take deep breathes. There's nothing to be scard of." Not empty words, but the girl in pink knew better rhan anyone that they held wmpty meanings to the girl. She knew better than anyone. Words never did much to help the nightmare victim after a bad noght of cold sweats, crumpled sheets, and blood-curdling screams lf outright terror. Still, she found herself trying because she had to try, for this girl's sake. She hated to see her so scared, abd it made her better understand the pale faces of those who looked upon her when she broke into hysterics.

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

Leah tried. For both her sake and Cleo's, she tried. Her eyes closed and her small form tensed up, as if she were trying to retreat into herself so that she could come out changed, better, calm. It worked sometimes, on occasion--though it was always better if she were hiding--but, seeing as she currently could not, she thought she was going to have to deal. Deep breaths were taken, in and out and in again, quick, rattling breaths that changed to more even sounds with agonizing slowness. Still, progress was being made, and after about two minutes the green-eyed girl opened her eyes. She didn't uncurl herself and she didn't make any move to look at or move Cleo's butterfly (she could realize, now more calm, that such actions would surely make her panic) but she turned her dark green gaze up to the pale face of the nightmare victim, and no longer did her eyes shine with fear. She did not look calm--in fact, her hands and lips were both shaking with awful tremors--but she didn't quite look as if death itself had come for her, either. Improvement, she had made improvement; not much, but some. A whispery breath was let out: "I'm so sorry."

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

A rather secluded corner of the library, one close to the last row of bookshelves and furthest from the doors, housed the pyromaniac for the time being. Crimson would be found in a rather defensive position, with his knees pulled up to his chest and his head all but hidden beneath the hood of his gray sweatshirt. His gaze, the colour of melted chocolate, was hidden from sight by pasty lids, and the Blake boy appeared to be sleeping. The only sign that he was conscious was the lighter in his hand, and the sound of it being opened and closed, and yet never lit. The nurses wouldn't like that, the patients wouldn't like that, and the librarian sure as hell wouldn't like that. Crimson had learned his lesson of toying with flames around flammables, and it wasn't as if he lacked self control. And so, for the time being, the lighter remained unlit.

[Tea in Chapter Three]

((I'm sorry, I realize it is poor writing! I haven't roleplayed for quite some time. :( ))

In a rather secluded corner of her own, empty except for a few wandering souls, Eira sat, ivory legs crossed in a rather relaxed manner. Her goal at this very moment, was to be as far from the sickening comfort of the dancing fire, in the hearth. It all was going well, and a book was perched in her graceful fingers, until that sound began. Ugh, how irritating it was! A constant clicking sound, reminding her of the obnoxious students in her class, in the Before, that would click their pens. Constantly. Becoming rather fed up, the exotic girl threw her head to the side, to find that everlasting noise.

"Oh my lord, please stop it." The girl said politely, to the boy that curled up, not-so-far from her. She didn't even take the time to consider that perhaps it wasn't a pen, but something far more sinister in her eyes.

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

((Don't worry, hon, it's okay c: ))

Eyebrows arched, and Crimson lifted his head from where it rested against the wall behind him. From beneath his hood his smoldering gaze scanned the room to find the source of the light voice, almost like a twittering little bird, and only a few seconds passed before they fell on the pale girl not too far from him. Well, pale wasn't exactly the best word to describe her. She looked ghostly. Porcelain. The embodiment of winter. And a little smirk crossed Crimson's lips as he ceased, however, keeping the lighter open and gently resting his thumb upon the switch.

"Sorry, was I bothering you?" Whether his voice was full of sarcasm or sincerity was unclear, but the boy's soft voice carried through the near silence of the library and towards the icy girl.

[Tea in Chapter Three]

"Yes." Winter eyes flashed momentarily, before locking on the object in the boy's lazy fingers. The book that Eira held was set aside quite simply, and she moved into a more tense position.

"Is that....a lighter?" The Danish girl's dusty pink lips settled into a thin line, one that showed a general coolness, an ice that held back more obvious emotions. Though her eyes betrayed her, they glinted with an odd mixture of intangible things. A peculiar sort of fear...but a tad bit of comfort? No, no comfort. But it was something close to that sort of feeling.

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

"Yes ma'am," Crimson said, now sarcasm quite obviously painting his voice with black and red. He reached up a hand and pushed his hood back, ruffling his brown locks and offering a little smirk and the arch of one eyebrow. "Does that bother you, miss?"

He could see it in her eyes. Fear. It was oh so similar to what he would see in Scarlett-- when he still saw her, that was. And while Crimson wouldn't outright say he enjoyed seeing the fear, he also wouldn't say he disliked it.

[Tea in Chapter Three]

Eira lifted one perfectly formed, pale eyebrow. "Not exactly, mister." Her voice lilted with the accents of one whom has lived in many places. The ice storms that once raged now alleviated, and her eyes smoothed to a calm frozen sea. She once again leaned back, tapping a boot tip on the carpet.

"What is your name, bonheddig?" A general distrust settled in her lips, but did not leak into her voice or mannerisms.

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

A chuckle escaped Crimson's lips. "Bonheddig?" he mocked, imitating the foreign word as best as he could and crudely butchering the pronunciation. "What is that, Dutch?" Now that he thought of it, though, he could hear some sort of an accent in the way she spoke. A nationality could not be deciphered, at least, not in Crimson's mind.

"Name's Crimson," he said with a little smirk. "And who might be this icy woman gracing my presence, eh?"

[Tea in Chapter Three]

"No, actually, it's Welsh." Eira corrected him quite politely, as if his reply did not anger, nor embarrass her. The faint pink that quickly arose to mask the ice of her cheeks said otherwise.

"And it is Eira." The girl replied, a light smile gracing her lips. She attempted to look quite warm, and not the icy rudeness he apparently took her for doing. No, I am confident. I can talk to people, and they won't think I am rude. Or unkind.

I am ice. Solid, cool and confident.

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

"Eira." Crimson rolled the name around on his tongue, his brows knit together in a momentary window to his mind. "Huh. Is that Dutch-- sorry, Welsh, too?" The moment was gone, and the smirk was back. His molten gaze looked down at the open lighter in his hand, and he stared into the lack-of-flame as the smirk grew on his lips. It seemed, almost, as if the open lighter itself powered these spiteful comments and his sarcastic personality. And that assumption hit the nail on the head.

"So then, Eira, what might you be doing in the library at this hour?" His thumb hovered over the switch to turn on the lighter, but it never acted. His melted gaze met her's with a little smirk. "It's absolutely gorgeous outside. What makes you so secluded?"

[Tea in Chapter Three]

Eira did not allow herself to become upset at the disturbed boy's snide remarks. Especially since she had just met the fire lad, and an incident would not look pleasant on a previously nearly-pristine one.

"Yes, it is." The words fell lightly from rose lips, in response to his first inquiry. The second one took a tad bit more thought. How do you explain a trait that seems unexplainable, odd given her public personality?

"I felt like the library today, I guess." There, a very unassuming answer. Safe. His eyes threatened to melt the very ice that layered hers, so intense was his gaze.

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

"You felt like the library today." The words were drawn out, examined, and returned with a smirk. Molten gaze stared at his lighter for a few seconds of silence, and then the lighter was shut and his eyes snapped up to meet her icy ones. "Alright. I'll give you that." With the close of the lighter, there was almost an obvious personality change in the boy. "I do agree, it's rather peaceful in here."

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

The library wasn't just for reading. It was a quiet place, an oddly, unexpected place to find a haven if one ever needed. The girl who wore a bright pink sweater and black jeans didn't need a haven as of now, but she reminded herself that this was the perfect place to go the next time she wanted a quiet place. Today she was sitting on one of the short couches, a nail file in one hand as she began to buff and shape her long nails. The nurses had suggested she pick up some sort of hobby, and to do her nails was a healthy one most girls her age did, so she had been told. When she decided she could paint her nails pink, she was excited about the idea. Of course, the nurses disapproved of the color choice. They had come to the conclusion that using the color pink was not healthy for the girl. Cleo, had not taken to this advice very well. It was one of the first time she had yelled at a nurse. She had asked her if she had ever lost a best friend to a slow and painful force that couldn't be fixed with medicine. At the outburst the nurses had devided that pink was a perfect color for her nails. The outburst had been earlier today and Cleo was still a bit shaken. She had cried, the argument had reminded her of Abigail, after all. She had found the library because she needed a quiet place to focus on her nails and nothing else. The nurse's advice seened to be working. Cleo could admit that she felt relaxed already. She blew off some of the files nail building up on her nailbed and began to polish it clean with her finger.

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

"Cleo, baby, I honestly never thought I'd see the day." The voice, as was to be expected, belonged to the pink-clad girl's lover--a boy who now stood behind her, his muscled arms crossed over a broad chest and a little smirk playing along his lips. "Are you seriously doing your nails? Jesus! You must have been really fucking bored lately, huh?" Though he was teasing, Jason was indeed surprised to see his girl sitting idly on the couch, filing away at her sizable nails (which, he saw without surprise, had been painted hot pink.) And while he wasn't really upset that she had chosen some alone time over him, he was still rather miffed about the fact that she hadn't even come by to wish him a merry Christmas several days ago. Thus the ever-so-slightly nasty comments. All the same, the blond sadist decided he wasn't going to let himself get too upset. There would be no point in that--and he could see, even without looking at Cleo's face, that she was not doing very well. She sat hunched, almost tense, and he knew the posture: something had upset her earlier that day. Possibly enough to merit a minor meltdown.

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

Cleo turned her head upward, brown eyes glittering excitedly. Pink glossed lips parted to reveal a radiant smile. She was thrilled to finally see her boyfriend. The doctors had been holding her hostage for almost a week when they had done a test on her nightmares and discovered she was still having them. They had claimed that they needed a full report before the new year, so her sleep patterns had been monitored one night and since then, they had barely let her out of their sight. That had meant no Jason, and that had caused another fight between her and the doctors. She said that seeing him helped soothe the nightmares (he seemed to be the perfect dream catcher) but the doctors had told her that she shouldn't depend on him to ease her nightmares and that had meant no Jason. The anxiety it caused was also the reason behind the nurses suggesting she invest in a hobby. After a week of dreams getting progressively worse, they had released her. This was the first time she had seen him since then, and it had been way too long. The nail file came down onto the cushion and before either of them were aware, Cleo had managed to wrap herself around him and press her lips to his. "Hi!"

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

Jason had opened his mouth to respond--and perfectly timed, too, for the small girl's lips were crushing against his just as he took in a breath. Good grief! He had hardly even seen her vault over the couch! Nonetheless, he had rather instinctively opened his arms to receive her and she was now cradled against his chest, her legs wrapped around his waist--it didn't matter, she didn't weigh much. Her kisses, too, were readily (he would even say happily) accepted, and the blond sadist even went as far as to reciprocate a moment before finally lowering the pink-clad girl to the ground. "Hi," he replied, a little out a breath. A little smile had replaced the smirk, and there was a little gleam evident in dark green eyes. He could appreciate such an intimate and enthusiastic greeting--it almost made up for her not seeing him in the first place. "I'm glad to see you too?"

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

"I missed you," she explained with a little shameful giggle. Maybe it had been an unusually intense greeting, but she had practically been banned from seeing him and that had only made her want to see him even more badly. She leaned back against the back of the couch and grabbed one of his hands with hers. "I haven't been able to see you in a long time." Her face fell a little at the comment. The past week had been a rough one, with having all sort of medications injected in her and shoved down her throat and all sorts of tests being run on her, it has taken a lot of her mental tolerance. With the hectic week, she hasn't even realized that Christmas had already gone and passed them. She wasn't one to pay much attention to the dates, and Christmas had completely slipped her mind.

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

"Haven't been able to?" Jason quirked a brow. "What do you mean? Don't tell me the little shits have had you under some sort of dorm arrest!" For the life of him, the blond sadist could not figure out why--if at all--something like that would even become a reality. Cleo was usually a very well behaved patient; sure, she had a tendency to snap at the staff and her tongue could get to being a little sharp sometimes, but he didn't by any means think it merited a whole new load of restrictions being placed on her. On someone like him, perhaps that would make sense, but not his pink-clad girl. That was about as counterproductive as anything.

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

"No, not exactly," she said, squeezing his hand to try and prevent him from getting too upset. She knew that just the thought of her under house arrest would spark his temper. "They were running tests on me because they told me my nightmares were getting worse and they wanted to keep a tab on them. They ran a lot of tests and didn't want me to see you because I'm not suppose to 'rely on you to make my nightmares go away'." The girl in pink rolled her eyes, using her fingers as air quotes around the words. "So I had to be kept undef surveillance for about a week. But I'm back!" She added brightly, a smile tugging at her lips again. "So tell me; what have I been missing out on?" She had already heard the important stuff with Raven from passing a couple of patients in the hall, but she was mostly curious about how Jason had been anyways. Besides, idle conversation could probably keep his fragile temper in check.

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

"Ummm..." It took a moment for Jason to gather his thoughts. What had been going on lately? Other than, of course, the Indian sadist attempting to off himself--he was sure that Cleo knew about that already, and he was just about sick of hearing the news. "Well," he said finally, "not much, I guess. Christmas came and went--I can't even talk your ear off like I was going to for not coming to see me--and I didn't get any letters or presents, but no surprise there." He frowned a little, gave his head a brisk shake. "And I met a chick in the hall the other day," he added, as a memory surfaced. "Maybe you know her? She certainly wanted to know all about you. Her name was Rosalind. Perfect curls, real obnoxious red lip shit all over her mouth"--the more-than-casual term for lipstick slipped from his tongue without a thought--"Southern accent so thick you could spread it on goddamn toast. I thought she was a lot like that tramp from Of Mice and Men." Now he cocked his head at her. "Any of that ring some bells?"

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

"Oh, shit!" Cleo pressed a hand against her forehead. How could she have forgot Christmas? "I completely forgot! Jason, I'm so sorry! Merry Christmas?" She made a face and looked at him apologetically before the conversation swept her away again. When Jason explained the tramp to her (and the way he did so did nothing short of amuse her) her eyebrows began to knit together and her lips pulled back into a frown. "No, I have no idea who she is. Doesn't really sound like the kind of person I'd want to know, really. Sounds like a skank." She looked at Jason again, lips pulling down from a frown into a deep scowl. "What the hell did she want with you, anyways?" After all, how would he come up with the assumption that this girl was a whore if she hadn't acted as such?

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

Jason shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me," he replied. "I was just sitting there, moaning about how shitty my holiday was going, and then all of a sudden she's up beside me, practically leaning on me and shit and wanting to know about my life." Now that he thought about it, it had been a rather odd encounter, if a more pleasant one than usual. In retrospect, Rosalind had been rather nosy (not that he'd indulged her curiosity all that much) and she'd been a little pushy, too. Part of her personality, he supposed; not that it mattered. More than likely, he wouldn't see the sensual Elise sister again for a little while, if he ever did at all. Now he looked at Cleo, his head cocked slightly to one side. "You look agitated," he told her, for it was the truth. She was scowling a deep scowl, the type that she usually reserved for people she didn't like: Raven, for instance. "What the hell for? It's not like she was trying to seduce me." At least, not on purpose. "Don't get your panties in a wad over it, babe."

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

Her panties were already in a wad, as one might say. Mentally, Cleo was exhausted after the week she had had, and it didn't take much to set her off. Her temper had become short and vicious, not that she would take it out on Jason. She knew better than to direct her anger towards the wrong person. Her scowl only deepened and she flicked the hair away from her face with an agitated motion. "Well, haven't you heard of the reputation she has around here? She's disgusting." And the thought of her flirting with Jason made her even more angry. Wanting to know about his life, his girlfriend. If she had been flirting (and she wouldn't put it past the red-lipped whore) with Jason, Cleo doubted that he would really notice. He had completely looked past some of her lead-ons and flirts as well. Surely the same would be with a total stranger, no matter how obvious she was. "I don't like the thought of her hanging on you--even a little. You could probably catch some sort of STD just from looking at her."

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

"Right, because I can totally catch a sexually transmitted disease without having sex." Jason raised one eyebrow, his voice rather droll. He was not used to this from Cleo--sure, she was sassy, and she had a reputation for being something of a smart-aleck, but he himself had never been on the receiving mood of any such comments. The pink-clad girl had always shown him the sweet side of her sugar-and-spice personality, and it was a little odd for that to change so abruptly (especially over something as minor as him talking to another girl, fabled whore or no.) "What's the matter with you?" he asked. He reached out and took her chin in one hand, tilting her head slightly to the side as if inspecting her for something. "It's not like we were making out or some shit. Hell, she covered up when I asked her to. What's the big deal? Am I not allowed to talk to other girls, honeybunch?" The blond sadist's voice was not irritated, per se, but when he spoke the pet name at the end of the questions, the tone of his voice rose a little in an agitated inflection. Quite frankly, he did not appreciate the thought of his girlfriend trying to tell him who he could and could not speak to. He didn't like it at all.