The Common Room Showing 1,101-1,150 of 1,208

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

Riley was curious, and she slowly seemed to relax to a point of slight comfort. Curiosity took over, now, and her eyes dropped the dark colours of wariness and suspicion and fear. These stories of home made Anna seem less frightening, and slowly Riley began to break out of her shell, as her fear of the Indian before her began to diminish. This talk of animals, and hides, and making your own clothes was interesting to Riley; when she had moved to America, she had always been interested by the lessons of the Native Americans all around the country. "What was it like, where you lived?" Her words were quiet, and still carefully calculated as not to get herself into a situation she wouldn't be able to get out of, but there was less hesitation to them. Riley even went so far as to lift a hand from where it had been wrapped around her stomach to push her hair back from her face.

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

"Oklahoma?" Another smile, wider and more genuine. "It was lovely. Very woodsy, where we lived--we were kind of apart from the rest of the reservation--and very...natural. Imagine going on a hike that doesn't end. Living out there was kind of like that. We hunted for our own food, made our own clothes, fetched water from the river a little ways away. The whole bit. Actually, everything you hear in elementary school about the Cherokee, we probably did." The smile on her lips turned into something that looked almost like a smirk when she said that--she had heard about history classes in regular schools, and how they always seemed to gently brush the surface of the lives of her people, simplifying and trying to rationalize everything they did. It made Raven angry; it made her want to laugh. The sheer volume of the white man's ignorance was amusing to her, in a bitter, almost dark sort of way. But a moment later she recovered, and decided not to capitalize on her thoughts: what good would that do? Instead, she decided to wait and see if Riley would ask another question. She had a feeling it would be geared more towards culture than family, which would make both her and Raven happy in the long run--and so she had no problem with it. Besides, it would be nice to be able to eliminate some of that ignorance for a change, instead of being the target of it.

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

Back home in Wales, Riley had spent the majority of her time outside. There had been lots of green trees and green grasses and beautiful flowers, and the smell of the outdoors had been her favourite thing. But to live in it... Riley had always enjoyed the outdoors, yes, but that was when she had a warm bath to clean up in and a soft bed to sleep in for the night. She couldn't imagine living out in the wilderness, amongst trees and rivers and handmade clothes and food. Riley wouldn't say it sounded bad, per say, but it sounded interesting. It peaked her curiosity, and this time it was even accompanied by a little smile. "That sounds... different." Fun wasn't the word she wanted, and neither was interesting. Different was a safe word. "Do you miss it, now that you're here?"

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

"Definitely." Anna nodded, and the needle threaded through her skins a few times, in and out, as though to emphasize the word. "I definitely do. When I...when I left home"--she could think of no other way to safely skirt the accident and near-death experience which led eventually to her arrival here--"I think I had pretty bad culture shock for a little while. Everything is automated and done by machines here. It's weird to me, to be perfectly honest. Really, really weird. I didn't even want to eat using silverware--our spoons and forks and things were made of wood back home, not metal--when I first started living...like an American, I guess." She shrugged, unsure of exactly how to phrase what she was thinking. It had certainly been a different transition period, abandoning the ways of her people to embrace those of "normal society." That was another difference between her and Raven, she reflected: he did not hold on nearly as tightly to his heritage as she did. She had eventually adapted well enough to most of white culture, but where she had had to force herself conform, he had walked into the new world and way of thinking with very little difficulty. Perhaps that had something to do with all the strife he had endured after the accident, she thought, with a twinge of sadness (he had been telling her, bit by bit, of what exactly had happened to him in the year before he had run from home). Perhaps it was only that he wanted to forget.

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

A little bit of a smile reached Riley's lips; her favourite thing about this asylum was the diversity of the patients here. There were Raven and Anna, the Indians, there was Evander the Frenchman, Phoenix the German and Jacob the Jew, and countless others that Riley knew in the back of her head but didn't think of at the moment. She herself was Welsh, which surprised a lot of people when she would first tell them. And when she was in good company, Riley absolutely loved hearing about others' homes. And despite who Anna was, and Riley had slowly begun to understand that Anna was not her brother in any way, she was no exception. Riley nodded with a little smile. "I get that. When my parents moved me here from Wales, and I had to go straight into school and such, everything was done so differently and I absolutely hated it for a while." Again, her words were carefully calculated, but as she began talking, a sense of comfort became more apparent in her words and the little gleam in her eyes. "It's certainly nothing compared to moving from Oklahoma, of course, but it's similar." She shrugged.

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

"Wales?" Anna cocked a brow. She was no slicker for geography, but the lessons in the group home had done what they were supposed to do; she had an understanding of the world and its countries, and was fairly sure that Wales was somewhere near England, across the Atlantic Ocean. "Wow. Long way to come, isn't it?" She chuckled a little, a friendly sound, and then bent forward again, over her work. Riley seemed to be calming down very quickly--that was good. The Indian girl would even go as far to say that the fact pleased her. Perhaps--and she thought the words with a private smile--perhaps she had made another friend.

((Fade?))

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

{Fade.}

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

October Elise hadn't been seen for weeks, now, and from behind, it would seem as if the little deer had finally braved leaving her cave of a bedroom. October had been locked up in that very room, surrounded by the comfort of those familiar four walls and the warm smiles of the nurses who came to see if she was okay. October had been all alone for quite a while, and today, weeks after the terrifying incident she refused to speak of, October was outside. But of course, it was just her body that was in the common room, and not her mind. Soft curls-- though notably rattier than usual-- and red lips announced Rosalind Elise, who sat on the couch cross legged, gazing at the fire. It felt strange to be in a body again, she thought to herself. She and the other girls had been kept away by walls of pills during the weeks spent in the four-walls, and on these legs, Rosalind was as shaky as a newborn foal. She didn't seem afraid, though, not like Tobie would have been, not like she was. No, she simply seemed uncomfortable. A little awkward. Knit brows and slightly pursed lips heralded confusion as Rosalind found it hard to lift her hand, to move her foot, etcetera. It was strange to be away from the body for so long, and it made her very uncomfortable.

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

Tobie? That was his first thought, and it was excited. Had October Elise finally dared to venture out from her room? The first thing he felt was anticipation, a wave of it that put a smile on his lips and got his fingers to tapping--just once, very subtly, against his leg. What if it was? Could he finish the game now? Could he--no. A scowl, clenched fists, and Raven shook his head hard where he sat. No, no, no. First of all, that was not October Elise. Secondly, there had been no game to speak of; and third, he had no desire to play another round with that girl--well, no. That was a lie, and it was a bad lie, see-through and sad. The Indian hated to admit it, but the truth was obvious: he did want to play again, and very, very badly. That was where the anticipation had come from, after all. But that didn't mean he had to like it, and for the second time in his life--a new record--Raven did not. Ever since his talk with Morgan in the art room, he had been very, very aware of his state of mind, and of late it had not shown promise. The dark thoughts were always there, always lurking, always urging him along, urging him to stand, to smile, to laugh and pounce and strike and see blood. He had tried his hardest to ignore them; really he had. But lately, that had gotten harder and harder to do, and he knew that his walls were crumbling. One of these days, he was going to snap, and when he did it would not be pretty. So, for once in his life, Raven did not make a move. He sat still and quiet in his chair behind Rosalind Elise, and he folded his hands in his lap, and he waited. If she noticed him, fine. He would play it safe. If she didn't, even better.

No. Not better, whispered the voice which was at the same time his own but not his own, that soft and cynical drawl somewhere in the back of his mind. You know it's not better, big boy. You know you want to. But Raven shook his head again, harder this time, and clenched his fists until he felt his nails biting into his palms. No, he thought, no, goddamnit. Just leave it alone. Leave her alone. You don't need this shit right now. You don't. And he thought the words firm and angry, trying, trying so hard to convince himself that there were true--and it was only the barest, barest glimmer in his eyes that showed it was not working.

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

It was a sharp intake of breath and the rapid movement of hair that caught Rosalind's attention, and unlucky for her, she turned her head just enough so that she could see the figure behind her that had made the noise. Her reaction was almost instantaneous. She could feel her heart pounding in the body that wasn't hers, and she felt Tobie in the back of her head burst into a fit of tears yet again. Perhaps she would have to stay there a while, and the girls would have to be careful to avoid the Indian. The intensity of the screams at the back of her mind were piercing, and Rosalind winced slightly as she tried to form the lips that were not hers into words. After a few seconds, she figured it out. "Well hello there, darlin'," Rosalind said, putting on a big smile and trying to keep her voice from shaking. "You scared me a little bit, y'know. You ought to make yourself more aware sometimes." There was a teasing tone to her voice, underlined with terror that was all too noticeable for Rosalind's likes. "Its been quite a while, y'know."

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

"It has, hasn't it, Rosalind?" The words were out almost before he thought about them. The smile, small and somehow sharp, somehow unpleasant, was on his lips almost before he thought about it. And his eyes, beetle-black, were on her form--and he had barely thought about that, either. They were shining, his eyes, and it was not a kind shine; had she winced? Is that what he had just seen, a wince? And her voice, was it shaking? It was, he could hear it--was she really going to make it so easy for him, was she really going to make it so...so pleasant? Those were his thoughts, and they came without warning, and it took Raven a moment--no, more than a moment, two or three or four or six--to remember that he was trying to resist them. To remember that he was not going to break

(indulge)

today, not if he could help it. To remember that this wasn't even Tobie he was speaking to, but an alter; a sultry, confident Southern girl, not the terrified fawn from a few weeks before. Besides, he reminded himself, this one was more likely to kiss him than scream--and she'd even done so, down in the basement so long ago, and she hadn't been frightened in the least then, despite the fact that he'd also been in a mood which could not be described as "pleasant". But she's scared now, murmured the voice, and it was vicious and smiling. That's so terribly, terribly obvious...think you know why? Of course he knew why. The reason was also terribly, terribly obvious--and the Indian hated to say it, he did not want to say it, not now, but it was there, and it true: he liked it. Rosalind Elise was blatantly afraid of him, and she was showing it, and he liked that. He liked that quite a bit.

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

Rosalind didn't like the look that Raven was giving her, no, not at all. His eyes said what his lips didn't: It has, hasn't it? Why don't we catch up, darling? I'll use my knife and I'll cut the months out of you. We'll catch up for sure. Rosalind wasn't one to be afraid of other people, and she could normally flirt and seduce her way out of it, and that normally would have been an option with Raven, but Rosalind's body was terrified. Somewhere in the back of her head, Tobie was screaming, yelling, Get out of there now! Please!, and yet Rosalind's legs felt like lead. Swallowing her fear, Rosalind keep the smile big and the southern charm outplaying the terror, and always a wonderful actress, it was hard to even see the fear from Rosalind. "How've you been, darlin'? It seems as if all the talk in the asylum about'cha has been dying off." She finished the phrase with a grin and a little wink, playing the coy card much better than the terrified one.

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

"Finally," the Indian agreed, and he offered a chuckle. It was not an entirely pleasant sound, but it was not dangerous or anticipatory, either; instead, it held within it his usual brand of drawling amusement, the sort that always made people give him looks--and indeed, the sort that had been present in the basement on that quiet day, when little Rosalind had attempted to cure his migraine with long, slow kisses. Raven figured it couldn't hurt to play the mysterious charmer, just as he had down there that day; acting tense and nervous and uncertain would only draw attention, after all, and no doubt it would merit more than a few questions from this bold Southern girl. And all that would do was remind him of exactly why he was tense and nervous and uncertain in the first place, which would only put them on the road to the black land--which, he reminded himself once again, firmly, was not a good thing. Now he flashed a grin at the girl, crooked and small, the sort that always made people--girls especially--unable to meet his eyes. "I mean, it's about time," he added, rather wryly. "Look at these! They're just scars now. Nothing people haven't seen before, and yet everyone still chatted each other up until they were blue in the face." He held out his wrists to prove his point, shook his head and made a soft tsking sound. His crooked grin remained throughout, and there was a gleam in his dark eyes now to match it. He had forgotten how easy it was, to slip back into this way of speaking and acting. He had forgotten how natural it felt. Now, if only Rosalind would play along...everything would turn out fine, then. He was almost sure of it.

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

Well, Rosalind had nothing against playing along with Raven's little game, and it certainly helped to keep Tobie's yelling out of her ears, and Rowena's crying, and Katrina's screaming. Much unlike the other girls inside her head, Rosalind laughed, and she kept the big, wide, red-lipped smile in place. She put her best acting into place, which was quite incredible acting for a girl of her age and in her condition, and there was absolutely no fear shown from Rosalind and her little giggles. "Y'know," she said with a little grin, kicking one leg over the other and beckoning for Raven to come sit beside her so she didn't have to keep craning her neck, "there isn't much to talk about in this boring ol' place as it is. Something interesting happens, and it's all people talk about for months. I mean, look at that Peter Parker kid, and that little runt. They offed themselves and suddenly they were saints." Rosalind then winked, and tossed her pile of curls over one shoulder. "Of course your little journey into the white light was much more significant," she said with an airy chuckle that was the first sign of her rampant fear. "What would the asylum do without'cha, darlin'?"

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

"Celebrate?" Raven suggested, and while there was amusement in his words--as though he, too, were just playing along--they pulsed with an undertone of bitterness. It wasn't as though St. Peter's Asylum would mourn his loss, after all, not on whole; sure, there were several who would miss him, Rosemarie and Morgan and now his own sister (whose arrival had swept the idea of trying again clean off the table) but most of the patients would be quite relieved that he was gone, of that the Indian was absolutely positive. Still, that would not do for their little game, to give voice to such thoughts; and so he said nothing of them, instead rising to go and sit next to the petite beauty, shooting her a little smirk as he did so. "I mean, you have to admit: it's not like they wouldn't. Still..." And now the smirk widened, and became vaguely like a grin--the sort of expression you might see on a mischievous child rather than a suicidal young man. "Truth be told, I kind of like it here. Well, you know. As much as a prisoner can relish his imprisonment." A low chuckle, a sly look, a wink of his own. Of course, Raven was not referring to the asylum itself, and he wanted to make that absolutely clear to his little friend; it was better to be safe than sorry, especially now, and he knew Rosalind as a girl with a tendency to ignore the filter from her brain to her mouth. No use in getting her running off on that tangent. That would be bad for the game--and for sanity, both his and hers. He did not change the subject, but he did keep the crooked, wry smile: clearly an invitation for Rosalind to do so herself, if she so desired.

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

Rosalind shook her head. "Darlin', you ain't giving yourself enough credit." Her words were spoken with a coy little grin and, had she been able to comfortably lift her hand, she would have patted him on his thigh, and maybe it was better off that she couldn't exactly feel her hands. Rosalind offered a wink, and then: "You can't be that bad. I don't think people would so much "celebrate" as they would... let out a sigh of relief." Rosalind stuck her tongue out playfully, and reached one hand (with much difficulty) to push her hair out of her eyes. "But it sure would be boring around here without'cha, darlin'." This was said with a wink and a little chuckle, and Rosalind kicked one leg over the other and rested her head upon her hand, which was on the couch above her.

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

"Boring to you, peaceful to others...ah, but what about me?" Raven grinned at her, but it was not an expression of playfulness or even amusement: no, it had traversed some line and was lingering now around descriptors such as strange or odd, perhaps even unsettling. Thoughts of death brought out those kinds of smiles--and when you coupled those thoughts with his current state of mind, you were mixing a recipe for nothing pleasant. "You know I'd come back," he said, and his laugh was light, maybe even childish; so much so that it was, perhaps, impractical to label it a laugh at all, and one would have been better off using the term giggle. Not quite something the Indian did when he was feeling his best. "And even if you didn't, I'm telling you now. I'd be back." A wider grin. Some unidentifiable light in his eyes, some gleam, some spark. Nothing good on his face. "Maybe I'd find you again," he said softly. "I might find you. Would you like that, Rosalind? If I died and came back and found you, some night, maybe here, maybe the library, maybe your room?" And his hand, though he did not notice it at the time, crept across the couch. Slowly, slowly. Perhaps the Indian had heard her wish, to put her hand on his thigh--perhaps he was moving to reciprocate. "Ghosts can walk through walls, you know," he whispered, and his voice was pitched and excited, the voice of a child sharing some delightful secret. His eyes glittered, black and bright. "And windows, and locked doors. It wouldn't matter what you did. It wouldn't matter where you went. I would still be able to find you. Come for you." And then his hand closed over hers--no gentle move. Fast like a strike, an act meant to stun; and his fingers curled around hers, and he smiled, and he did not let her go. "Would you like that, Rosalind?" Softly, so softly. "I would."

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

Her heart thudded in her chest, and Rosalind could feel the fear creeping its way back up her throat, threatening to escape her lips in a scream or a shout or a cry. But, again, Rosalind was a master of acting-- she had to be, for her profession-- and all that showed from miss Rosalind Elise was a sly little grin and a tsk tsk tsk from her lips. "What would your darling Rosemarie think of that, darlin'? I wouldn't mind, 'course I wouldn't, but I would mind getting beaten to a pulp, y'know?" Of course, Rosalind knew that she wasn't safe where she was; his grip on her hand was so tight that she couldn't have left if she had wanted to, and he didn't seem the most... sane as of now. She was very well aware of the fact that Raven could just as easily be talking of Rosalind's own trade as he could his own trade, sex versus murder. And, to be honest, at the moment, neither of those options enticed Rosalind. But she knew it wasn't safe to let that show, and so Rosalind curled her lips up into a smile and shook her head. "As long as your little lady keeps out of it, you can do whatever you want, darlin'." The words were followed by a convincing wink, and Rosalind let out a breathy little laugh.

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

Sounds like fun. The thought showed in the smile as it changed on the Indian's lips: in an instant, it had transformed from slightly unsettling to something more, something worse, something that surely would have made anyone with less gall flinch and turn quickly away. But Rosalind, clever and brave young girl that she was, held his gaze--and it was because of that that she might have seen some flash in his eyes, a brief bright light that was there and then gone; a light which spoke his thoughts much more clearly than the smile did. Sounds like fun, Rosalind. But don't you think you should be watching your pretty little mouth, before it gets you in trouble? Before I take your invitation and spin it until I make you regret offering it at all? Don't you think that might be a good idea? But when he did speak, Raven said none of these things. No, his mouth and his mind were on two different tracks. "Don't worry," he told her, and his voice was a murmur; not a purr, no, for it was not nearly smooth enough--yet another sign of worse things yet to come. "I'd be very careful, I promise. I'd find you somewhere big and quiet, take a few hours...and you could scream all you want, and no one would hear you. No one but me." His words were drenched in ambiguity, and for once it was not clear on his face whether he was referring, to use Rosalind's words, to her trade or his own; but really, did it matter? Those trades weren't so different at all when he was the practitioner. It didn't truly make any difference, what exactly he was talking about--because at this rate, they would both bring the same things. Pain. Pleasure. High.

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

The ambiguity was thick enough that Rosalind felt she was drowning in it, or perhaps that was simply the terror rising in her chest. Had the Indian who held her in place where she sat been clearer with his words, Rosalind would have known what to do; she would have known what this invitation of private hours to make her scream would mean, and it would have saved her a lot of pain. But Rosalind knew that was the Indian's game, and she knew that she had already leapt too far into it to be saved. If Rosalind changed her mind, said no, and offered to leave, regardless of how suave she played it, he would be on her in an instant and she would receive what Tobie had avoided. If she did the opposite, if she kept playing his game, she knew where it would end, and more likely than not she would end up hurt in that prospect as well. There was no way out for Rosalind, and as she swallowed down her terror and as her mind flew for answers, she knew she would find one, and the terror was replaced by a sort of acceptance. Rosalind was brave, though, and she put on a big, red-lipped smile and kept her act up. "As long as you promise I won't get in too much trouble then we're good here, darlin'." Rosalind knew what she was inviting him to do; despite the dripping ambiguity in his words she was almost certain of his intentions, and Rosalind simply kept going. With a quick, convincing glance around the room, Rosalind returned her unflinching gaze to his and gave Raven a coy smirk. "You just tell me when and where, darlin', and I'll be there."

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

In an instant, his mind was racing with sounds and images and the inklings of plans, all the beautiful things he could do with those words, that utter acceptance and permission. He thought of knives, and the contrast of cold air--it was nighttime, and they were outside--and the warmth of a body and that body's blood, perhaps on his hands or his arms, anywhere, really, anywhere it could be felt. He thought of those full red lips parted; to kiss, to scream, both, it made no matter; he thought of blue eyes wide and shining, with tears or delight or both it made no matter; he thought of the words he might say, and the words she might say, and the laugh he might give her to answer them. He thought of silver flashing under light--on a knife or his ring, under fire or the moon, what difference did it make? In that moment, Raven's head was a whirlwind of sound and sight and feeling, and for a few seconds he could not think, and he sat with an almost blank expression before the Southern belle who had offered him his few suggestive hours, and the only thing that proved he was not lost in his own head was the smile that sat on his lips. It was small, and crooked, it did not show his teeth; but it was growing, steadily, with each passing second. And after a minute or two of silence, those lips parted, and the Indian spoke. He reached out, and tucked one little curl behind Rosalind's ear, and then his lips brushed the spot and he whispered: "You're such a brave girl, sweetheart. You're such a brave little girl. And now you're about to become my little brave fool, just like Rosemarie. Don't do that, sweetheart. Don't tease me. It's not good for you." And then he pulled back, and he looked into her eyes, and his were black as pitch, black with shadow and desires he dared not voice aloud, desires he was--for this moment--a master of. Those eyes hovered just before hers, and the lips below them were not smiling, and the voice that filtered through those unsmiling lips was, for just a moment, soft and dark as velvet. "I promise it would not be good for you."

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

It was her only chance. Rosalind knew that if she kept her brave face on, if she stayed where she was and said I can take it, I can handle it, I'll be okay, that she would be as good as dead. And she wanted to say those things, oh how badly she wanted to. Raven already knew that one girl was afraid of him, and adding herself onto the list would only make it worse. As his lips brushed her cheek, where his hand had just been, a little shiver ran down her spine, and not the good kind. And Rosalind Elise knew that no matter how brave she pretended to be, she wasn't. And she had to leave. Gently, oh so gently, Rosalind squeezed his hand, the one that was still holding on to her own, and she worked her way out of his grip, never once taking her blue eyes from his, and never once letting terror show. "I'm not your Rosemarie, Raven," she said slowly, her red lips deliberately rounding out the letters as if she knew he was lost in his own little world. "I can't be for you what she is." As her hand was freed, Rosalind uncrossed her legs, and she stood, though she didn't move to leave just yet. Bending down, and gently, still so gently, tilting his head up, Rosalind pressed a soft kiss to Raven's lips before making her way towards the door. "I'll be anything else, but I can't be her." And her blue eyes broke from his, and the door was open, and Rosalind Elise walked out. Before she shut it behind her, though, she turned back, and murmured a small "Thank you." And then she was gone.

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

((There you go. See, that is how you keep the pot from boiling over. Fade.))

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

Looking back upon it, the Elise girls would find it interesting that each of their encounters with the famed Indian were in the common room. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the common room was rarely empty, but it always seemed as if the Elise girls found the room empty. Today, however, did not fit into that category. As the mess of a girl entered the common room, her cautious gaze darted from guard to guard, each of which gave her a nod that she did not return. Her lapis eyes were empty, and her hair was tangled in a mess around her head. And that very head was full of screams.

Let me at him. I'll take him out and we'll be fine.

That's not going to work, Katrina. He'd kill us before we even got a shot.

Y'all are forgetting the important factors: you see those scary night-sticks on them guards? I sure don't wanna see the bloody end of 'em.

Just let me--

No, no, no, no.

No!

Tobie's head was pounding. Everyone was yelling and they weren't stopping and Tobie could find no solace. Her own voice was smothered by the shouts and arguments of her other counterparts, and for the first time in a long time Tobie heard them all loud and clear as if they were right beside her.

He's sitting right there! Just let me go after him!

No.

Nuh-uh.

"Fuck you guys." And Katrina spoke aloud, and for a momentary second she saw the figure of the Indian before her, before Rosalind pushed her out of the way.

Raven was there. The same man that had terrified the Elise girls for... months, now? God, how long had it been? Had one been looking at the poor girl as she looked at Raven, they would not have been able to pinpoint her personality regardless of how much they may have known her. Tobie was not one girl, but all of them at once. And that made her a danger. Not to others, but to herself.

"Hey there, darlin'." The voice was Rosalind's, and the coy little grin was hers as well, undoubtedly, but she did not look herself. Her grin did not reach her eyes, and Rosalind did not sit, instead standing and trying to fight to keep the body. Just until she could leave. Just until she was safe. She couldn't go back into the padded room, not again. And so Rosalind put on her best smile through the struggle, and try as she might, she was not Rosalind.

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

"Woe," said the Indian, and that one word was for a few moments the only sign that he had heard the girls at all, because he did not move another muscle in his chair: his head remained tilted back against the cushion, his eyes remained closed, his ankles remained crossed and his fingers remained laced together, the cradle they made of his hands sitting prone and still in his lap. "Woe betide me, and woe betide this house of torment, and woe betide you four lovely girls." And then one eye opened, and Raven looked at Tobie, Katrina, Rowena, Rosalind; hell, he didn't know and couldn't care less. What mattered was that they were here--no, she was here, whoever she was--the body was here, no--damn it, something was here, and that something was interrupting his solace. That was what mattered to him. For a near month had he kept himself in check, suppressing his desires, keeping the yawning gates to black land at the edge of his consciousness; for a near month had he refrained from even touching a knife, from heading to the haven he had made of the asylum's graveyard, from chasing after anything that would run and catching up and breaking bones and seeing the harsh white of them, amazingly, wonderfully grotesque poking out from once-closed flesh, blood red and warm and gushing from the seemingly bottomless well that was a life, running over the hands which had opened it, staining them, bathing them--

One hand rose slowly, slowly from his lap to massage at his temple. These were exactly the thoughts he had been working so hard to avoid, exactly the kind of mood he was not ready to lapse into for wont of the correct recipient. And one girl--one demented, confused, terrified little girl--had nearly undone four weeks worth of patience and restraint and careful, careful planning. Don't wander the halls at night, lest you find someone worth targeting. Don't go to the graveyard no matter how agitating the itch grows, in case you find a cat or a bird or a rabbit or, to hell with it, even a mouse would do. Don't beg Anna for your knives back, I don't care how much you want them, I don't care how much it aches, man up and take it you've done it before keep your mouth shut you're better off ignorant than enlightened, you know that, you know that.

Restraint grew so repetitive. Monotonous. Raven had even begun to feel safe, his brain was stuck so far in the rut of stop, think, go. And now--now!--this scatter-brained girl had shown her face again, whoever that may have belonged to at present, and that face had the gall to smile, the body it belonged to had the balls to prance right up to him and nearly undo all of that work, make him retrace all of his steps, make him regress, make him--Great Spirit forbid, Great Spirit protect him--relapse. And with six words she had done it.

Not okay.

Simply not okay.

And so Raven did not stop the wry little smirk that twitched, crooked and vulpine, at his lips, and he did not pause for an instant to think about the situation at hand when he drawled:

"Having an identity crisis, sweetheart?"

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

She was not Rosalind, no, Rosalind was now hidden in the back of her mind, crying, screaming, begging to come out. There was no red lipstick, no large curls, no coy little grin, and there was no Rosalind.

She was not Rowena, no, Rowena was standing with her arms crossed and her brows knit, a stern expression in place. Hadn't she told them? Hadn't she warned them that this would happen? Hadn't she told the Darling October to stay inside, to keep safe? She had. She had told them that this would happen, and they didn't listen. They never listened. There was no remorse, and there was no Rowena.

She was not Katrina, no, though Katrina was the most animated of the figures in the crevice of October Elise's mind. She listened to the other girls. She knew this would happen. If she was out there, throwing the punches instead, they would be safe. They would have an excuse.

There was no excuse for what the empty body did.

October was an empty body, that was really the only way to describe it. With all of the girls in her head, some screaming, some crying, some shouting and yelling and pleading and begging and saying I told you so October could hardly her herself think. And so, when asked why, she would be able to give no answer.

She had no idea why she attacked him.

Attacked is not quite the right word, because, though October was tall, she was frail, and had she not caught the Indian unawares she wouldn't have been able to tackle him to the ground. But lo and behold, there she was, legs straddling either side of him and fists and nails punching and clawing and tears streaming from her eyes. It felt like an eternity to the four girls watching from the inside, watching this empty body throw feeble punches and scream harsh words and claw at the exposed neck of the Indian. And it felt even longer than that as the four girls inside watched the guards come running, and come tear the body away.

The girl left kicking and screaming, delivering a few good kicks to the Indian on the floor as the guards hauled her away. With a guard on either shoulder, dragging the struggling form of the Elise girl with them, the girl gave up. She fell limp. And she began crying.

Crying was not an oddity for October Elise, or for Rosalind, or Rowena, or even Katrina. All of the girls had been seen at least once in a sobbing mess, but none like this. The body of the eighteen year old mess was hiccuping with sobs, almost like a child would, and she was sniffling and shaking and the tears wouldn't stop. And a new gaze landed on Raven, in the distance now as the guards pulled her away, and before the door was shut behind her, the girl spoke.

"No, no, no, don't let them put me in there! Not in the dark room! It's scary and there's monsters and please don't put me in there! Please! Please! I don't wanna go in there! I didn't do no wrong! Please!"

And as the girl who was not Rosalind, not Rowena, not Katrina, and not October spoke, the door to the common room was shut, and she was gone.

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

It was strange for Elin to be out this late. The clock read ten-thirty, which was remarkably past her curfew, but it seemed as if everything were pushing her away from her room this evening. Her sleeping pills had run out, and while the nurse promised to get her more, he had forgotten, and so she couldn't exactly go to sleep. And in her own room, a few of the lightbulbs had begun to burn out, which meant she couldn't be safe in there. And so, with a nurse standing at the door and a cup of warm tea in her hands, Elin Amos sat inside the common room and it was for once actually empty. It was a peaceful image; a princess-like girl in a long sweater that fell off of her shoulder and shorts that you couldn't see under the sweater surrounded by lit candles and a fireplace and the sort of dim lighting that came with night at the asylum. Beside her was the oil lamp she would carry to go outside-- the nurse had said it was "in case of emergency", which was kind of him-- and it was lit to as bright as it could be. And Elin could have fallen asleep right there, but that was not a good idea, because then she may have never woken up. And so the princess's eyes stayed open, the lights stayed on, and the clock ticked later and later as she waited for her nurse to return with her sleeping pills.

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

And outside the door there came the sound of hushed conversation. The voice was almost too low to make out, but its distinctive use of the words "we" and "our" and "us" in the place of singular, first-person pronouns gave away the fact that it was Lenore who was speaking. She stood before the common room's closed doors, her long white hair tied back with a blue ribbon and soft pajamas colored in pastels (yellow for the top and pale pink for the bottoms) clothing her. Sleeplessness, in all his haggard, exhausted glory, had decided to take it upon himself to make her feel as miserable as he did, and after a while the child Boredom--dull blonde hair, dead green eyes, monotonous voice and all--had decided that she ought to join the little party going on in Lenore's room, and she had very rapidly found herself sick to death of both of them; so she had gotten out of bed and walked to her door and pounded ceaselessly on it, calling out occasionally, until finally a guard on night duty had heard and unlocked it from the outside, and allowed her out to wander so long as she promised to head straight to the common room (where he knew there was another man on duty watching over a patient). Thus, here she was, and after a polite hello and a quick reassurance that she was allowed to be here and would not cause any trouble, the man at the door eased it open and beckoned her inside. "It is bright," she said aloud as she walked in, to no one in particular. Sleeplessness trailed in behind her like a wraith, Boredom's limp hand in his, and her head was turned towards them. She had not seen Elin. "Why is this so? Why are there lights all around?"

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

The sudden voice caused Elin to jump slightly, which made the cup of hot tea in her hands slosh and spill out onto her thigh. A little hiss left from between clenched teeth, and Elin pulled her sweater over where the tea had burned her thigh as she carefully set down the mug and turned her eyes to the voice. She had, of course, recognized Lenore the moment she heard a voice outside the door, both thanks to her sweet tones and her strange pronouns. But when honeydew eyes looked over to meet the dark ones of Lenore, they were not as soft as usual, not as bright as usual, and not as amiable as usual. It was dark, and it was late, and Elin was a little bit panicked, but she had to remind herself that Lenore was not the reason she was panicked, and so when she spoke she tried to keep the anxiousness out of her voice. "Hello, Lenore. I apologize for all of the lights; it makes me more comfortable." Elin remained vague. She and Lenore had never exactly spoken of their respective conditions, and while she had a slight idea of Lenore's hallucinations, heard from other patients, her own condition was not so notable, and so it was likely Lenore had no idea why the room was so brightly lit.

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

"Oh," Lenore said with a nod, recalling their discussion at the peach tree--hadn't Elin mentioned something along those lines before? Wasn't that why she'd stared at the lights coming from the asylum proper that night? "We see." And then, because she did not want to be rude and pry, she flopped unceremoniously down upon a nearby couch and turned her dark gaze up to the ceiling with a dramatic little groan. "The light is fine, though. It does not bother us. We are actually glad that it is here, and you are here--because we are bored, Elin," she complained. "And we cannot sleep." The Emotions beside her gave her dirty looks when she bemoaned them, but she ignored both the two pointedly.

{There is nothing to do,} Boredom whined as she clambered up on the couch Lenore was occupying now. Her small bare feet left little impressions on the soft cushions. {Lenore! Entertain me. I'm going to die if I don't find something to do.}

"Be quiet," Lenore chided, giving her a sharp look. "And you"--she jabbed a pale finger at Sleeplessness--"go away. We are with a friend now and we would like to speak with her. You should not interfere so callously." The man gave her a lazy, tired smirk, a signature expression of his, and said nothing. "Or at least make her leave," Lenore implored, giving Boredom another agitated glance. The child was tugging at the hem of her shirt, trying to climb into her lap, and Lenore pushed her away with a scowl--though to Elin, of course, it would look only as though she were straightening her pajamas, if in an incredibly irritated manner. She sighed and shook her head impatiently. "Fine. Do not listen. We do not care anymore, just leave us alone." And then she turned her gaze back to Elin, and rather apologetically said, "We are sorry. Ignore them, please. How are you, Elin? We would like to know. It has been a while since we have seen you about."

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

How was Elin? That was sure the question of the night, wasn't it? A few hours prior, after dinner, Elin had retired early to her room, which brought concerned questions from the nurses that she pushed away by simply saying she was tired. When she arrived, and found no pills and dimmer lightbulbs, she cried out in a panic for her nurse, who in turn asked the same question. The guard at the door to the common room had asked it as well, when her nurse brought her to here and demanded the room be lit well. And now Lenore was asking the same question. Elin had been fine earlier, before dinner, but since she had entered her room she had been in a rather sour mood. Elin tried her best, however, to remind herself that this was Lenore, and that Lenore was only curious and sweet, and so Elin put on an almost shaky smile and shrugged. "I'm alright, I suppose. I'm just waiting for my nurse to get back right now; he's been out a lot for me this week." Earlier in the week, Elin had spent the night awake waiting for her favourite rose-scented soap, a scent that her room had quickly become devoid of and she could not seem to relax without it. Even earlier, he had been out to get her fresh eyedrops. He was a sweet man, her nurse, and Elin could not thank him enough for taking such care of her. Elin shrugged again, and gestured to Lenore. "And you? How have you been?" Elin was careful to avoid a plural pronoun, because despite the fact that she knew of Lenore's Emotions, Lenore didn't necessarily know that she knew.

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

"We have been...well," said Lenore, after a considerable pause. She supposed it was no lie--she certainly hadn't been unwell lately, not really, at least not in a way that would be a cause of concern for anyone. Bored and a little restless, yes, but that was no big deal, was it? Everybody got bored and antsy sometimes. In fact, she had heard talk that life at the asylum was almost surprisingly calm. That none of the big-name patients had been making any trouble at all, much to everyone's surprise (and relief, she figured, but of course that was never said out loud).

{Perhaps we are overdue,} said Thoughtfulness in her deep, melodious voice. The woman was not visible, but her words were clear. {This madhouse is full of bombs. Minefields. And they explode every once in a while, bright flame, black smoke...sometimes they leave debris. Lots of them. Others, not so much. You've heard, haven't you? Surely you've heard. The patients buzz about the tremors in the ground as soon as they hit, like a colony of busy bees, only there is no queen. We seem to have a king instead. A tyrant king. And they say he's ripe for a meltdown. Perhaps it is not calm we're feeling. Perhaps it is only dread and anticipation.}

"Hush," Lenore said firmly, aloud. "We can't think with you going on like that." Well, at least Boredom was gone. Thoughtfulness always seemed to be good at driving the other Emotions away, if only temporarily. Few could make sense of her--though she certainly liked to talk and Lenore was getting better and better at getting to the gems of insight that lay behind all her rambling--but she was around a lot, especially these days. But now the girl looked back to Elin, her dark eyes focused once again. "We are sorry once again, Elin," she told her. "That was not directed at you. We were just thinking."

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

Elin offered an amused smile to Lenore, who had once again seemed to have voices talking to her in her own head. More than often enough, Elin found herself wondering what it would be like to be one of those patients, one whom everybody found just the slightest bit... off. The hallucinogenic patients seemed to be the safer side of the asylum, anyways. But Elin was getting lost in her own thoughts, unnecessary thoughts. She smiled again, and shook her head. "Well, then you mustn't be fine, if you had to think about it afterwards," Elin chided with a little wink and a playful little laugh. "Is that the truth, Lenore? Are you fine?"

Before Elin could add more, or before Lenore could answer, a key sounded in the front door of the asylum, which drew Elin's eyes that direction momentarily. As she saw the door begin to open, she looked away; a peek of the black sky told her how late it was, and she felt a pit grow in the bottom of her stomach until she heard the door close and heard the familiar rustling of a plastic bag. Elin then offered a smile to her nurse, who seemed utterly exhausted, and he then returned the smile and tossed a bottle of pills at her. "There ya go, Amos. Don't stay up too late," he said, words slurred with grogginess and exhaustion, and as he left quiet instructions could be heard, given to the guard: don't turn the lights off, don't leave, and make sure she doesn't fall asleep without those pills. Her nurse's words were loud, and it would have been a wonder had Lenore not heard him. Elin glanced down at her hands, which were playing with the lid of the pill bottle, and a slight flush coloured her cheeks. She did not continue to tease. "My apologies," Elin said quietly. "Now, what was I saying?" A desire to change subjects from the inevitable discussion of her pills was evident.

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

A pause in turn from Lenore. "Asking me if I was sure I was all right," she replied, but once again she did not seem as focused; her eyes were on the door, and the man who stood guard there with the bag of--pills? was that what he had been given?--in his hand. Curiosity, red-haired and gray-eyed, stood beside him.

{What's he talking about?} said the child. {Not him, the other one. The one who just left and sounded really tired.}

I don't know. Her nurse, I suppose.

{What'd he have in his hand?}

Pills? That's what I heard.

{It was pills,} Thoughtfulness put in. {They hand them out like candy here. Apparently, your friend cannot sleep without them.}

A little frown drew at Lenore's lips when she turned back to Elin. "We are fine," she told her now. "We promise we are. As of now, we are more concerned about you." She tilted her head almost imperceptibly towards the guard by the door. "Are you fine, Elin? Well and truly?"

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

The girl with the unblinking eyes nodded absent-mindedly, only to answer Lenore's question and not to elaborate. No, her honeydew gaze was focused on the door that had shut behind her nurse, and the knit brows of the guard who stood at that very door. Elin's eyes were shooting daggers, and she would have been throwing real ones if she could have. Sometimes her nurse was so thick-headed, and he always seemed to have the worst timing. Elin had a visible frown on her lips, but she had to remind herself that her nurse had had a long week, and that he was tired, and she tried to convince herself to give him a break. Still, though, Elin seemed irritated.

Her eyes then fell to the bottle of pills in her hand, which she rolled around a little before setting it down on the counter behind her and pretending as if it had never been tossed to her in the first place. With a heavy sigh and a quick smile, Elin turned back to Lenore and shook her head to clear it. "My apologies, again. I didn't mean for the interruptions. Myself? I am fine." Her words were spoken just a hair higher than the rest, a tell-tale sign that she was lying, and Elin flushed an even darker crimson. She could feel a familiar panic building, similar to what she felt when she woke up to darkness, and Elin tried to swallow the panic down her throat and she attempted to place a smile on her lips. "I'm fine," she said again, a little bit less confidently.

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

"You are not," Lenore said quietly, with a shake of her head. "We can see that you are not. Tell us what's wrong, Elin. Please? Can we help you?" And now, Sleeplessness was gone too. In his place there was Concern, his long legs uncrossed, hands squeezing his knees, green eyes nearly glowing with worry. {What's wrong with her?} he asked. {Why is she talking like that? She sounds nervous.}

That's because she is, Lenore thought back, and was silent for fear of agitating Elin even further. Yes, she could hear the rising panic in her friend's voice plain as day; they all could. She'd even seen the guard by the door shoot them an uneasy look. What she didn't know--what they didn't know--was why it was there. The room was well-lit; surely Elin could not be afraid of the dark here? And she'd just been given her pills, so what did she have to fear from falling asleep?

{Even waking up!} Curiosity piped up, his youthful tones taking on a more mature note--the way he got when he wasn't feeling excited. Not common, but then, not exactly rare, either. {It's so bright. Even if she is afraid of waking up when it's dark, she should be fine right now. But she's not.}

{We can all see that,} snapped Concern, a little harshly. {We all have eyes and ears. Now be quiet, and let Lenore think for once. Maybe there's something she can do.}

Lenore offered him a silent thanks, allowed her gaze to linger on her friend. "Elin?" she repeated, making sure she had the girl's attention. "Can we help you?"

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

Why did she feel this sort of panic? Her throat was tight and there was a nest of hornets in the bottom of her stomach and her hands were shaking ever so slightly. Elin debated calling for her nurse, asking for some kind of sedative or something to help her. While many patients looked down upon it, Elin welcomed the pills that the asylum provided; it was more often than not she found herself with this kind of a panic, and back when Zachary had been here it had been bad enough to give her the same symptoms as the dark. Elin appreciated the medication, and she seemed to be itching for it now. Her eyes landed on the guard, who gave her a curious look, but Elin then quickly cleared her head and turned her eyes back to Lenore. She offered a shaky smile. "No, no, I'm fine. I'm alright, I promise." But she obviously was not, and her hands began shaking even worse, and Elin tried to swallow down her sudden panic. In her eyes, the lights could have been flickering out, and it wouldn't have been much worse. "I'm okay." And Elin began to wring the bottom of her sweater in her hands, taking some deep breaths, and shaking her head. "I'll be okay. Don't worry."

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

"Elin?" And now there was worry present in Lenore's voice, as well. The other girl's trembling was growing worse by the second, and her smile looked so thin and fragile it might have been glass, and her hands were everywhere: wringing in the air, twisting at her sweater, tapping on the rim of a long-forgotten cup of tea. The friendly light in honeydew eyes was fading fast, to be replaced by panic.

{What's wrong with her?} cried three voices in unison, and the sheer force of the noise propelled Lenore to her feet.

I don't know! she yelled at them. I don't know! Just be quiet, please! Let me think! Let me help her!

And then, before she knew it, she was across the room and sitting next to Elin on the couch, her own hands--they looked very small and pale compared to her friend's, flushing, like the rest of her body, with energy and adrenaline--hovering in place in the air. "Elin, please," she said, careful to keep her voice low and calm, the way one might when talking to a wounded animal or a child on the verge of a meltdown. Or, more appropriately, a friend on the verge of a panic attack. "Please talk to us. You are very anxious, and we would like to help you calm down." And then she was quiet. Lenore was not doctor herself, but even she knew that insistent pleading could put a lot of pressure on the person having the problem, and she certainly didn't want that. She was very conscious of the fact that offering her assistance could be more than enough--too much, even, if the situation grew any worse. Play it safe, she reminded herself silently. Play it careful. You're here to help, not to harm.

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

Everything happened so fast, then. Elin opened her mouth to speak. She saw a new expression take over the guard's face, which made her turn around. She saw the oil-lit lamp burn out. And she reached for it, and the guard was suddenly there and he reached for it, and the lamp fell to the floor. Glass shattered with a loud crash followed by the tinkling of little pieces of glass dancing in the carpet, and both Elin and the guard froze. For a few moments, it was as if Lenore didn't exist. Elin whispered to the guard, in an eerily calm tone that was just below audible, and he disappeared. Elin turned her honeydew gaze to the fire, hoping and praying that the light of the flames would be enough. The room itself was lit well enough, but Elin had learned long ago that her fear was not always predictable. She didn't know what would set her off, and so, much like years prior when her lights began shutting off, Elin focused on the most secure light source.

She didn't speak again until the door opened again, heralding the guard followed by her nurse. More quiet, hushed words, and the exchange of a pill and a glass of water, and then her head was rubbed and the two men took up an inaudible conversation near the door. The only sign of Elin's distress was the shaking glass of water in her hands. At last, Elin spoke, though even after a few minutes and the pill she would not dare to look away from the fire. "I'm sorry, Lenore. I do not mean to distress you."

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

"You're not disturbing us," Lenore protested, again careful to keep her voice steady. "You are not feeling well. We understand. Take your time and relax." And then she lowered herself carefully to the floor and began picking up the little shards of glass that glittered in the carpet, her hands quick and deft as they combed the dark rug. She saw one of the guards by the door--the one who Curiosity had been standing next to just a few moments before--give her a look and move as if to stop her, but she shook her head almost imperceptibly and, thankfully, he stopped.

{He doesn't want you touching glass, Lenore. You might be a bad girl and hurt yourself,} sneered a familiar voice, right next to her ear, and despite all her instincts she did not look over her shoulder. Unease made a habit of scrambling her thoughts and keeping her from acting rationally, and she made his job all the easier when she looked at him. And so, stubbornly, she did not. Instead, she focused on willing him away. Elin is fine, she thought firmly. She's just having a moment, that's all. Nothing you need to worry about. Leave me.

{A moment?} Unease chuckled, a sound just as ugly as his voice. {Seems like an awfully long moment to me. How do you know you're not making it worse?}

I'm not. Elin and I are friends.

{You think. You hope.}

Be quiet and go.

{Why? Scared, Lenore? Afraid she's going to have some kind of meltdown? Wondering if she'll hurt you?}

No! Elin wouldn't do that.

{Thinking and hoping. Tut, tut. I thought you knew better than to rely on all that.}

Lenore did not grace those words with a response. She picked up the glass piece by piece and gathered all into a pile so that it could be more easily seen. When she was through she rose and sat on the couch again, folding her hands in her lap. She kept her eyes on Elin; she would not--could not--look at or start listening to the man who stood just behind her. Elin was safe, perfectly safe. Elin had her pills and the room was not dark and she was going to be absolutely fine. No one would get hurt. Things were going to turn out all right. This was not the kind of breakdown she needed to be afraid of. Again and again and again Lenore repeated the thoughts to herself, but all the same, she could not help the silver of doubt that was slowly growing in her mind. Thinking and hoping, Unease had tsked. She could only hope that he wasn't right.

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

As if Elin could hear the voices of Lenore's hallucinations herself, she said, "I'm not going to hurt you, Lenore."

It was amusing, Elin found herself thinking, how in this asylum, "breakdown" and "hurt" were two words often seen to be the same. A few bad patients had built up the reputation that an unstable person was dangerous to those around him or her, and more often than not a danger to themselves as well. She thought back to years ago, when Zachary left her and she suffered her breakdown that was a famed tale among the nurses. She had always heard them whispering about how they were worried she would hurt herself. "Breakdown" and "hurt". The infamous Raven was a prime example of the relationship between those two words. Whispered words and shadows told of how he broke and hurt the only two people he cared about, and then he made an attempt to take his own life, or so the story went. People here had breakdowns and then hurt other people. They shattered into a million pieces and then hurt themselves. And Lenore had a right to be afraid, Elin supposed.

The words were repeated, and this time, Elin took her eyes away from the fire and gave them to Lenore. "I'm not going to hurt you, Lenore." Elin's voice was gentle, and calm, and though her hand continued to shake the glass of water that it held, she kept her eyes on Lenore, and offered a tiny, exhausted smile. "I promise. I'm not in here for that sort of thing. You have nothing to worry about, hon."

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

Lenore was surprised at the wave of relief that flooded her when she heard those words. She was surprised to see the woman appear on the couch beside Elin, characteristic with her dark brown hair (looking almost damp, like she'd been sweating) and her deep blue eyes, wide and ultimately thankful. She was even more surprised to hear Unease snicker behind her, to feel his hand on her shoulder--she nearly jumped at the touch--to hear him say: {I think she's lying.} Swallowing the lump that started to form in her throat, Lenore raised her chin and turned her head and eyed him steadily.

I don't. Leave. Now.

And then he did leave. He leered at her first, thin lips curling to reveal his pretty, too-white teeth, but he did disappear. And when she could no longer see him she turned back to Elin, her dark eyes calmer, even sure. "We know," she said quietly. "We understand, and we are sorry. We get...antsy, we suppose. Around this place. There's so much bad energy, it's hard not to let it change us." She returned her friend's soft, small smile. "But we are trying," she told her. "We are trying as hard as we can. And we believe you." Slowly, one small pale hand crept across the couch and settled on Elin's knee, fingertips light on the skin there. And then there were words, soft and gentle: "Elin, we only want you to be all right."

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

And Elin smiled. Since Zachary had left, she had had only her nurse to care for her. She had kept away from the other patients, and she had avoided her father. For years, Elin had felt alone and uncared for, and she wasn't one to complain about it. She had gotten used to the solitude. But having Lenore, as whatever she may have been to Elin, was absolutely wonderful. Elin could find no other words to describe it. Lenore made Elin feel cared for for the first time after Zachary left. She made Elin smile, she made Elin laugh, and she made Elin feel safe. Somewhere, deep down, Elin knew that she could safely (or as safe as it could be) find herself in the dark again, because Lenore would wake her up. And Elin loved that feeling.

Elin kept her eyes away from the fire, and allowed them to focus on Lenore. The room was well lit and Lenore was the brightest thing in the room. With a soft smile, Elin placed her own hand on top of Lenore's, and she squeezed it. "I will be. I'll be better, now. I promise."

((Fade?))

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

((Oh my goodness that was adorable! Fade.))

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

The last time Morgan Cartwright had been in solitude for this long, things had been bad and it was all thanks to the one person who had been Morgan's favourite person in the world, but now she hadn't seen for weeks? months? Morgan wasn't good at keeping time, but it had been far too long since she had seen her father figure, and while it didn't seem to be particularly deleterious to the young girl, if anything it was probably better for her, it certainly made her unhappy. She had been in her room for that same unintelligible amount of time, the weeks or the months, and she had been doing next to nothing. She read occasionally, and had been brushing up on her braille by doing so, and she had eaten all of her meals like she was told, and she smiled to the nurses when they asked her if she was alright, and that was all she really had to do to get them to leave her alone. It was a blessing, to be in this horrid place with all the leniency that came with her condition, or rather lack thereof. She was kept relatively safe, but she wasn't kept under a strict watch. And Morgan enjoyed that.

Today, her nurse had demanded she go out of the four walls of her room, saying something about how she would go crazy if she stayed in there for too long. So Morgan had put on jeans, and the first shirt her hands touched (which had happened to be a simple black t-shirt), and she had allowed her nurse to lead her out. The sound of the crackling fire had announced the common room, and so Morgan had sat upon the couch near the fireplace and wondered why her nurse dragged her out here, to be just as antisocial as she was in her own room. She still sat there now, approximately an hour later, though her nurse had taken leave and allowed the guards to keep an eye on her, and Morgan was still wondering what her nurse was possibly thinking to accomplish with this little adventure.

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

Perhaps her nurse had conspired with Jason's--he, too, was being forced from the confines of his room this afternoon, and he, too, was (quite agitatedly) wondering what she thought she was going to accomplish in doing so. He nearly kicked open the doors to the common room, a deep scowl on his face, muttering what sounded suspiciously like caustic profanity under his breath; but he had come out, and that was something. His nurse had been satisfied when he assured her he would at least go sit somewhere that was not on his mattress. "Lo and behold," he grumbled, "here I am. Fuck you too, babydoll." But even as he spoke he was scanning the couches, the chairs, looking to see if there was anyone around he could talk to--or, if not, rib until they cracked and he found himself amused, if nothing else, for his trouble.

But then dark green gaze alighted on the only other person in the room, and the harsh, angry set to his features slackened slightly: he recognized the tiny form in the plush chair. "Oh," he said aloud. "It's you again. Little girl. You keep showing up wherever I go, Megan." He was halfway to the couch before he realized that he had, once again, gotten her name wrong. "Fuck!" he snapped, sitting down heavily and thumping one fist hard against the arm of his seat. "Fucking hell! Why can I never get your goddamn name right? I've never this bad." Scowling again, shaking his head, Jason finally seemed to remember that the little blonde child was not deaf, only blind, and could hear every word he was saying. "Sorry. Morgan. That's your fucking name. Anyway." He cut her a glance. "I guess I'm just trying to say hi. How ya been, kiddo? Haven't seen you in a while."

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

It took Morgan a moment; as Jason had said, it had been quite a while since she had encountered the famed sadist that was not her father, but the moment she recognized Jason Morgan's lips parted in a smile, and she entirely forgot about how her nurse had dragged her out of her room into another empty room (it really was ridiculous, it wasn't even as if Morgan would get a change of scenery, or any scenery, as it was) and she was focused on the person who was now before her. Morgan laughed, an odd sound that she herself hadn't heard in quite a while, and she couldn't seem to wipe the smile off of her face; she couldn't help it. Jason was amusing, and he made her laugh, and that would certainly make her nurse happy. "Hi, Jason," Morgan said, a little laugh behind her words. "I've been alright. Bored. Doing absolutely nothing except for listening to gossip from my nurse. Actual life here is pretty boring, y'know?" And Morgan cocked her head to the side, as if she were amazed by the fact, but then quickly offered another smile and a look of curiosity. "And what about you? And who's "babydoll"?" Morgan, as Jason had also remembered, was not deaf, and had of course heard his curses as he entered the room, and while it was clear Jason wasn't speaking to her, it was unclear who he was speaking of.

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

"Ah, no one." Jason waved a dismissive hand and rolled his eyes. "Just my bitch nurse. Somehow, she thinks getting out of my room's gonna do me some good, but babydoll doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. See, I haven't seen my girlfriend in months, Morgan, and she acts like it's easy for me to just up and make other friends without doing some shit for myself in between." He chuckled, smirked. "She's wrong, of course, but then, who gives a shit? The staff here is always wrong about something or other." Personal feelings now off of his chest, he took a moment to mull over the child's words. She was bored, and feeling gossip-y? He wasn't surprised, not really, but he had to admit that coming from the little blind girl, those emotions were rare. After all, he'd only ever seen Morgan when she had something on her mind: when she was anxious in the graveyard or broken and detached in the basement. He had not ever been exposed to the fact that she fell into the same humdrum routine most of them did when not out getting into or causing trouble. "Aren't you still seeing Powhatan?" he asked, for that was what he remembered most from his encounters with her. She always seemed hung up on something Raven had said or done. "He's still getting off fucking up everybody else's lives, last I heard. Are you telling me he hasn't bothered you lately?" That was a kicker, he thought. Morgan seemed completely infatuated with the asylum's most famous resident; to hear that he had not stirred up a single thing in her life since they last met made Jason wonder what was up. It seemed out-of-character--for both of them.

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

Morgan didn't comment on Jason's own excursions with his nurse, who seemed as if she would get along very well with Morgan's nurse, but instead focused on the interested tone of Jason's voice. Nothing malicious, she assumed, simply because nobody made any attempt to hurt Morgan anymore (at least, nobody except for her father figure himself, but that was once, and she had forgiven him for that), but simply the same kind of curiosity that Morgan herself had. She hoped, at least. The word Jason had used to describe Raven was foreign to Morgan, who knit her brows when he said it, but then she put two and two together, and figured that he was speaking of Raven. And again, Morgan shrugged. "Idunno, I've seen him a few times, but not much. He isn't very social anymore, now that his sister is here. He mainly goes around, and threatens people about this, and that, and then hides out in his room. He's become very boring, and I don't like it much." Morgan crossed her arms over her chest as she spoke, not so much to go along with the words as just a place to put them. And again, as she finished, Morgan shrugged. For once, Morgan wasn't looking directly at Jason as she spoke next, which was eerie in itself, simply because it was quite out of character for her. But it had been brought to her attention that it made several people uncomfortable, and Morgan had begun to make a visible effort to not look at people when she spoke to them. "But no, he hasn't bothered me. Like I said, it's been very boring with my life lately."

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

"Oh," Jason said aloud, and it was clear from the slight tremor in his voice that he was trying not to laugh. "Oh." For a moment, there was silence. Jason did not know whether he ought to leave Morgan in her ignorance (people said, after all, that it was bliss) or to tell her what he knew to be the truth: that Raven hadn't simply become boring, no, certainly not, and he hadn't decided to become a hermit, either. No, it sounded to him like the Indian was trying to protect Morgan--and everyone else, in a strange turn of events. That he could feel a storm coming, building in his mind, and for once he had decided things would be better off if he didn't go absolutely batshit on some poor unfortunate who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Indeed, it sounded to Jason like the slippery little fuck was keeping secrets. Even better, running away from them. Running and hiding. The thought made Jason smile, and then he began to wonder: what did he have to lose? If nothing else, telling Morgan what was really going on with her "father" might pique her curiosity just enough so that she went to see him, and who knew where that would lead? What would happen if Raven attacked her again? If he wasn't in his right mind and something he said or did frightened her away? What if there was another fallout? It would certainly be some show, for sure. Maybe even worth the investment. In fact...yes. Why the hell not? What did he have to lose? Nothing, as far as he was concerned. Not a single thing. And the more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him, and the more he wagered there was actually something to gain here. Finally, that little chuckle escaped him, and now that it came out it sounded more like a laugh. Dark green eyes found Morgan, and around an amused, dark little smile he said: "You wanna know what's really going on, little girl?"