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Richard King was distressed.
Well, stressed--- currently becoming distressed. Wallowing in a backlash of cluttered words and an air of thickness and color and feeling. King normally wallowed his way through life, like some kind of fat lazy pig he barely had enough motivation to do anything but. Today, however, he truly was soaking in it all and refusing to move. Wallowing. His body pressed against the floor beside his sister's bed, unmoving and heavy as he breathed in and out and in and out and tried to stay calm.
But he wasn't calm, he was distressed. Or currently becoming distressed.
Emotions were a fickle thing to Richard King. He felt as though he understood them better then anyone else in the room currently. Pleasure and displeasure, hate and love, excitement and disappointment. Feelings were coins, flipped over and over again in one's mind, and King saw each toss with a glinting eye and an apathetic smile. Right now , the emotions he saw were almost all muddy and depressed. Anxious. Scared. For once King related with every single one of them, and he accepted the harsh thoughts to churn in his own mind as he sent a single gaze across the room. He froze only when Jess leapt up onto the bed, eyes widening with brief shock that faded away into more dubious sighs as she complained about the silence. King wasn't shy about letting people know who he liked and for what reason. Astrid was probably one of the many who know of his faint obsession with the blonde pretty girl. Jess spoke her mind loud and clear and King couldn't help but adore this fact about her. He sat up slowly from his wallowing-position (back straight, arms tight, head arched up, eyes searching) and passed on a snake-like smile to the girl.
"What do you wanna talk about?" He moved more, a shocking action from the initially silent teen, "Ah, how about we talk about the fact that we're going to be as good as dead the next time we step outta this house. Oh! Or we could discuss ways to run from our friends and families when they pull a taser or a gun on us for being witches." He rose to his feet, quickly and full of malice, and he stalked over to stick his forehead against the glass of Astrid's window. The world continued on despite their circumstances. He saw a tree across the street shudder with time passing, dappled with sunlight and September heat. His brow puckered with more stress, and he traced the road below and the dog walker heading down the street and the distant pines that had haunted him for years now.
He loved this town. He didn't want to be killed by it.
"What we need to talk about is a plan. This plan-- whatever. Can we run? Should we run? I mean... We could also plan a suicide pact or something." King's lips spread apart again, smile so sharp it could cut diamond, and he turned to face the sprawling shapes of his friends and enemies. The emotions surged from them, and for once he let his own do the same. The smile turned into a pained grimace.
King was distressed.
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King stared at Malcolm, as he so often did, and grinned a venomous grin at his morbid joke. The smile remained even as Astrid hissed out a complaint and moved on to more pressing matters, and King pressed his back against the far wall as ideas came and went. King watched the colors shimmer in the air, changing as time went on. The coins flipped again and again as hormones and stress kept his companions from staying sound of emotion (and perhaps mind). He honestly didn't want to think of a plan. He had no motivation, and even if the suicide pact idea was said with jest his heart seemed to swell with the thought of just ending it all early.
But at the same time, he didn't want to die like this.
King's eyes drifted from Astrid, to Jess, and then finally Aiden Philips. His jaw automatically set at the boy's voice, tight with distaste and annoyance because the kid finally had something useful to say. Death ran further away from King, replaced with just the smallest flame of hope for this whole escaping plan. A van was one step closer to the outside world, one step closer to being on the run but warm and almost safe. His eyes lowered to his feet, glare vanishing as he let out a noise that could perhaps be deciphered as appreciation to Aiden's words.
The next issue floated before his eyes now: food, water, clothes, necessities. King tapped the wall to get everyone's attention and leaned forward, face shadowed by the back light gleaming in through the window, "Okay, van: check. Now we just need everything else--" His eyes turned to the door opposite, glaring again. His father's house sat just outside this space of theirs, a house full of secrets. Secret doors, leading to an under used wine cellar, secret security systems, secret weapons, secret safes. The card sitting in his wallet would only be of use in town, and would endanger them everywhere else. Money, money, money. King felt a sliver of an evil smile return to his lips, and he said darkly, "I'm sure dear old dad wouldn't mind if we borrowed some things, right? Maybe some cash, and whatever else we can find in his room or study." King's hands fell to his chest, gripping at his shirt with unshed anxiety. If they didn't escape, if they couldn't get away, then this idea would murder him and perhaps the rest of them as well.
Motivation to die was swapping with motivation to live however, and the mental block that made his back ache had to be pushed aside for the greater good. For the others. For himself.
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"Now that that's settled, then," King's face was unknowable. A mixture of countless expressions, happiness and fear and disgust and excitement and everything in between. He stepped across the room in five big strides and pulled open the door with more force then necessary, already aware of what his first mistake and first act of freedom would be. A priceless, empty vase sat on a hall stand just outside Astrid's door, leaning against the banister as if it were just asking to get thrown off. He thumped forward, heavy footed and inspired suddenly, and his calloused hands clutched the ornate decor. He reveled in how light it was, how delicate the intricate white handles seemed to be beneath his grip, and his smile widened into something much more sinister. "Rest in pieces, bastard!" He cried over a roar of white noise and anxiety that only appeared after he told his brain to throw it, and then he held it over the banister and let it fall and fall and fall and shatter on the floor below.
His whooping laugh almost sounded like a pain cry. He stared down shakily at the remains, the white dust and chips that glittered in the afternoon sunlight, and he shook and shook and shook because it was so close to the front door now. If his father walked in he would see it easily, and he would blame King and King wouldn't be able to fight back.
But he's not coming back yet.
King glanced back at the room full of kids, smiling or grimacing (he wasn't sure), and then stepped back to kick the hall stand over. The clatter inspired another laugh from him. "Destroy this place! It's gonna be fun." His voice was laced with anxiety and excitement, and without another word he rushed for the stairs and vanished to the lower floor. Panic continued to surge but the less he thought about his father and his fists the more he realized how much easier it would be to run from him. With a van and friends and stolen money, he could get far, far away form this house. Farther then he ever thought possible. The cycle was crumbling in his head, the abuse was now nothing more then a scare tactic and he was overcoming it faster then someone should perhaps.
But are you really?
The study was grand and empty when King pushed through the usually locked doors, glittering with dust and afternoon light. His father's work place stood before him like a hideously nostalgic dream, or nightmare. It didn't hold the clutter of a scholar, rather the neatness of a politician, complete with fat silver pens with 'Henry King' written on them and wax stamps. Books were bound in blacks and browns, their binding nameless save for dates and the occasional surname. King brushed passed the bookshelves first, ripping the binders from their place, watching them curl at his feet like dead and browning flowers. Documents with his father's name, his own name, Astrid's name fell from some of the less-professional looking books, as if they were meant to be hidden away from curious eyes. King found more pleasure in stomping on them than reading them.
The safe was hidden behind a rather hefty collection of lawyer-esque trappers, pressed deep into the wall like a shadow or a painting. King had to prod at it a few times to test the reality of the object, and when his finger tips met cool metal and matte plastic his smile spread. His panic swelled to anxiety, but he didn't even notice the tightness of his chest. Not yet. Not yet.
Combinations passed through his mind constantly; his father's birth date, his mother's, Astrid's. The surprise he felt was huge but easily forgotten when he placed his own birth date into the safe and found that it worked. He didn't want to have time to think about it, so instead he ripped open the door and grabbed whatever was in there. Checks, either blank or late, shuddered in his grasp at first, and after throwing those useless things away he found what they all needed: cash. Stacks of money, tied together by plastic and string, sat heavily in his palm. Twenties and hundreds, stacking higher and higher at his feet and as he continued to pull out wades the only thing on his mind was how were they gonna carry all this dough.
With the final available stack came a stowaway. King didn't notice the metal box at first, but when he felt it shake against his palm as he let the bills settle his eyes automatically fell to connect with it. Shiny silver metal gleamed up at him, calling to him, and as he collected the small trinket in his hand he suddenly knew exactly what it was.
A Zippo lighter.
It was heavy despite it's size, and otherwise clean and unscathed save from an odd collection of letter near the base of one of the metallic sides. The lighter was engraved, pressed perfectly to read out "Si vis pacem, para bellum". King's brow furrowed with curiosity, and while he could tell the saying was in Latin he had no idea of how to translate it. Curse small town education, his mind whispered coyly, and King grinned to himself, shoving the lighter into his back pocket before collecting the remaining cash up into his arms.
They were going to need a very big bag.
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King turned as Jess returned with the pillow case, a wild smile distracting from his otherwise burning eyes. At first he pretended not to hear her suggestion, hands instead shoveling stack after stack of bills into the makeshift bag, but he kept one out and let his face glitter with teenage rebellion. "Make it rain, huh?" His finger looped under the plastic keeping the final stack together, pulling it loose with a swift flick of the wrist and wild chortle. Crisp twenties flew into the air as King drifted a hand over the stack, raining down onto the book covered study, raining down onto the shoulders of Jess, raining down onto the yet untouched desk. King couldn't keep track of just how many bills suddenly leapt into the air, all he knew was that the stack was well over one hundred dollars and all the money would be a hassle to collect later.
King let his hand drop when the stack was gone, staring at the papers and bills that collected at his feet with wide eyes. His chest rose and fell with heavy sighs, mind a collection of panic and excitement. A horrid combination for someone like Richard King. He saw the colors shimmer to life in the air and then fade away into static. He was fine.
"Well, that was exciting." King finally said, turning towards the desk idly. His hands pressed down on the mahogany goliath, feeling cool wood press back. It was serene and neat save for the few twenties that had drifted onto the empty space, and King hated it with a passion. His hand swept over the entire length in one rough motion, scattering as pile of papers and pens and books across it and onto the floor. The Zippo light in his back pocket weighed down on him like concrete and, without thinking too much of it, he pulled it back out and lit a single document ablaze. The paper rested between his thumb and index finger and burned, burned, burned. Orange fire licked up at him and rolled down the page, erasing whatever important information could have settled among the front of the paper. King only released it after the fire nearly burnt his fingertips raw and the only thing remaining was a single blackened ember. Then he lit another, and another.
"Shit-- Jess, be a doll and open some windows in here." He said in a toneless voice, watching as another document crumbled in his hands, "Gotta get the smoke out before the fire alarm goes off, ya know?" He grinned warily down at an ember that settled in the palm of his hand, burning lightly. The next document he set off held his name and some scribbled information. He swore he read magic in here. He knew, he knew didn't he? It burned away quicker then the rest, willed by King alone, and the fire took on a blueish tint due to his influence. It vanished with the rest.
He started on another.
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"Let's just meet up at Philips' place. It'll be easier that way."
King had lingered in the doorway after letting everyone know the plan, hand tight around the strap of his hastily filled back pack. The foyer was no longer pristine and homely and fake-- it was ruined. Glassware and wood chips cluttered the tiled floor, piling high and dusty in the midday sunlight that streamed through the thin windows beside him, holes sat darkly in walls, and the study smelled of smoke and betrayal. King took it all in and his knuckles turned white and his lip began to bleed sluggishly as he worried and worried at it with his top teeth. They shouldn't have done this. They'll be killed or worse, and King would undoubtedly blame himself because he let it happen without thinking. And then again, he may never see this place again. He was running away, from this house, and this town, and all the problems that came with it.
King felt his back ache. His free hand fell down to close against the Zippo in his back pocket again. The metal was warm with overuse, and the words engraved were dug far enough into the palm of his hand to leave indentations. He drew it out to read the Latin again, and again, and again. The words were a mantra that calmed his never ending anxiety, even if their true meaning was nothing to him as of yet.
Si vis pacem, para bellum
He left the door ajar when he went. The shadow of an excuse, the only thing he could think to do to shift blame if it was at all possible now. The door was open and King was distressed and hopeful and the world was now against him. If he believed in God he would be praying for safety and comfort and guidance, but he didn't so instead his eyes turned to the backs of his companions and he prayed to them, for them.
"Jesus F. Christ, Philips, this place is fucking huge." King didn't like to look impressed, especially when it came to things about Aiden Philips. He hadn't liked the other blonde ever, probably, looking back on it all as his hand glided over the back of a chilled and shiny car. Their families had always had a strenuous relationship, best described as work rivals, and even if King wasn't a fan of his own family he couldn't help but feel obliged to hate the Philips as well. Aiden could probably be considered collateral that was taken too far, or maybe an outlet for King's frustrations, but in the end he couldn't exactly change the distaste he had for the other boy. So, he fought off his wide eyed stare as he glanced around the garage and the few cars within.
Idly, King wandered over to the counter beyond the cars and allowed his hand to drift over the surface. The books and toolkit laying just beneath his fingertips attracted him and his sudden roguish ways, and after he scooped up the toolkit with one empty hand he turned to jut a thumb towards the rest of the garage. "I'm taking this with us. Anyway, where's the van?" His eyes fanned out around the space, keenly glaring into the shadows at a lumpy tarp hidden beyond, "Back there?"
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A smooth and mostly humming ride later brought King’s mood up considerably, despite the circumstances. The circumstances of seating, that is. Astrid had wiggled up to share the bench with Aiden, who had insisted on driving which King honestly couldn’t care less about. His eyes couldn’t help but wander to the back of his sister’s head, however, even as his thigh pressed against Mal’s awkwardly and his lap was currently filled with a startling amount of Jess. He could have easily allowed himself to fume a bit more, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and suspicious shimmer around him as if trying to tempt him, but each bad thought was replaced by another bounce of the wheels against potholes and a pained laugh as his back banged against the sturdy walls.
"Dang, you’re heavy Jess! Why don’t you sit over there?” He laughed, voice laced with jest and stress as his good foot pointed out at the bed/bench opposite to them. And then to his sister and Aiden, he said, "We’re going to buy shit right? And is there anything in the glove compartment we could use? Like… More money?”
”Wow, King. Are you trying to pick a fight?” Nevertheless, Jess moved off away, flinging herself into the seat across from him. Her lower lip jutted out in a pout.
”Do we really need more money?” Astrid asked skeptically, at least before she realised she was being stupid. They were kids on the run; what they had stolen from Henry King wouldn’t last forever, and they definitely couldn’t use their credit cards where they could be tracked. [b][color=6d98f3]Okay, yeah, I guess we do. Let’s see…[/b][/color]
Inside the glove compartment, which had its own small light at the back of it to make finding anything in its dark depths possible, Astrid discovered an assortment of papers, most of them scrunched up or in some way damaged. Quickly smoothing one out, a few mysterious symbols stood out to her, all in a row as if it was some form of handwriting. When the second of the torn pages proved to have something similar written on it, she pushed them aside and took out the next big item: the unmistakable form of a great American roadmap – probably the most expensive brand found in a gas station somewhere on a desolate route.
”No cash, just… weird notes and a map. At least that’ll come in handy.”
”I grabbed some cash from my family,” Aiden spoke, glancing over briefly at the notes before turning his attention back onto the road. The van was surprisingly easy to drive, he had been expecting it to be a lot more difficult and uncooperative. Maybe it was possible to survive in this for a while. Aiden navigated his way easily through the town of Verona, turning on the familiar streets until he pulled into the small parking lot of the dollar store. ”Go crazy, guys. Might as well stock up on anything we need right here.”
”Wow, the dollar store? What are we, peasants?” Jess scoffed, hopping out of the car.
"Genius, Philly. Positively genius.” Whether King was being sarcastic or not was lost to the wind as he hopped out after Jess, throwing Malcolm an unreadable eyebrow-raise just as his head barely missed the lip of the van. He pulled his wallet out from his back pocket, pulling out his two credit cards with the elegance of a magician or gambler, "I’m gonna run these suckers dry in here. Splurge on junk food and shit. Who’s with me?” He glanced out at the near-empty lot of the store, and then back to the van and the crew idling around it, lips shadowed by a thin, boyish smile.
”Yeah, ‘cos the best place to run down a credit card is in the dollar store,” Mal said with a sly grin directed at King, even though an excited tremor did run imperceptibly down his spine. Sure, he could have gone to a store at any point in his life with a hundred dollars and spend, spend, spend, but it was better when it was somebody else’s money.
He reckoned that he should have felt bad about that.
Meanwhile, Astrid was compiling another list in her head of everything she had failed to bring with her, and it involved practically all of her toiletries at home, pens and pencils, and food. She was sure food was a big must, no matter how long they managed to survive on the road. And, Aiden was even providing her with another way to get back at Dad – worthy of a blinding smile, surely.
As they moved inside, Astrid ran over to grab a shopping cart and used it like a battering ram to barge through the– doors that opened automatically. One day, she promised herself, [/i]one day they won’t do that, and I’ll break right through them.[/i] “Okay. Go ham.”
”Maybe it’s not the best place to spend a lot of money, but we can buy a shit ton of stuff!” Jess grinned, grabbing Aiden’s hand to pull him along into a dash. He was moving far too slow for her tastes. With a chuckle, Aiden obliged and broke into a slow jog to avoid getting his arm torn out. ”Can we just buy out the entire store? If we all put our cards together, we’ll have enough money, right?”
”Go for it,” Aiden shrugged, ”We probably can’t fit everything—and she’s gone.” His words of caution were easily disregarded by the slight shopoholic girl dashing away eagerly. She would probably end up spending her life savings here if she wasn’t stopped — which probably didn’t matter much anymore, actually. So instead of keeping tabs on her (why did Aiden have to be the responsible one, again?), Aiden was content to wander around to look at whatever caught his fancy, while Jess wreaked havoc on the store.
King strode through the store with his head high and his best ‘I’m gorgeous’ smile dawned. The single cashier barely rose an eyebrow, but he didn’t seem to mind, because he felt like some kind of unstoppable God with his cards in hand, because his heart was as light as it could be considering the situation. Because his back ached but after a few weeks it may not have to anymore.
He hummed a nonsensical song and strode through aisles, gathering up bags of chips and random movies to play on the small DVD player he had stowed away in the front of his backpack. He hummed and hummed and hummed, even as he returned to the chart to pile up his belongings, only passing on oddly still smiles to his comrades. King was jubilant, it shimmered around him like aura, and he could only hope his good vibes could infect the emotions of his friends as well.
At one point in his musical exploration he stopped, eyes staring down curiously at an aisle that seemed to be filled with novelty snow globes. He picked one up and viewed the inside world, a tiny replica of some long-eroded city, and King gave it a hefty shake to bring the glitter and water to life. "Oh.” He muttered to himself as he saw lights filter through the shining glitter that drifted down upon a possible-New York City. It looked positively magical despite its unassuming surrounds, so he stared at it for a moment longer than he should have and sighed.
They wouldn’t need a snow globe.
“That’s got more glitter in it than my wardrobe,” Mal said, chin landing on King’s shoulder as he reached around with one long arm and poked at the offending snowball. He laughed at his own joke, before his face took on a serious deadpan expression – smile dropping into a comically severe line – as he continued, “Joke. I wouldn’t be caught dead in glitter. You taking it to spice up the van?”
King scoffed, shrugging Mal away as he said, "Nah. I kind of want to throw it though. If you get what I mean.” He gave it one last shake and then put it back on the shelf, grin fierce in the dim lightning of the store. An odd happiness came over him again, utterly inexplicable, and he shoved Mal forward with his shoulder lightly to start another confident stride to the next aisle. "Anyway--”
”Woohoo~!” With a cheer, Jessica slid into the aisle, using the shopping cart like a scooter. Her cart was already half-full with a variety of items ranging from chips to nail files to novelty paper snowflake patterns. Anything that even remotely caught her interest went in the cart. She nearly crashed into the wall from scooter-ing too hard, but hopped off and stopped it just in the nick of time.
”Guys, guys! Did you know that there’s a thing called ‘slut pills’? I didn’t. I got seven.”
"What? Shit, better share ‘em with Philly. He’d probably love ‘em.” King stared into her cart and his grin didn’t falter. Jess’ mood was intoxicating and infectious, and King’s eyes devoured all of the shimmering colors relentlessly, "I got, uh, some shitty movies for the DVD player. And almost a snow globe-- almost.”
Mal had since stalked to the end of the aisle and down into the next one, the pharmaceuticals and toiletries and everything else under the sun. Astrid was already there, picking out the highest factor sunscreen she could possibly find that wouldn’t turn her into some sort of white-faced mummy slathered in embalming moisturiser that smelled like lemon. Despite her arms being full of wet wipes and tissues and ‘feminine hygiene products’, he didn’t offer to help her, instead leaning down to pick up a few boxes of condoms. A few.
“Not in my van,” she muttered.
“So outside the van, then. Gotcha.” A wink and a mortified laugh from Astrid later and they were heading back down the aisle cart in tow. It wasn’t as full as Jessica’s, though it was slightly more sensible, having tubes of toothpaste as well as chocolate. A few tins of custard lined the end. “Anything else we need, lads?”
”Condoms? Niiiiiice~” Jess smirked, scooting by Mal. ”Planning on banging one of us, Mally?” As she skidded by, she tossed a pack of fake nails into her cart as a last minute impulsive buy.
”We’ve got food, basic necessities, entertainment, emergency shit…” Aiden mentally went through everything in their carts and what they would probably need on their journey with a wry smirk. ”And a lot of extra things we don’t need, eh Jess? Slut pills, really? You don’t need ‘em.”
”I don’t, but you do. King agrees with me too!”
”I don’t need these to get laid. I’m hot — but you already knew that.” Aiden winked before pushing his cart through. ”Astrid, you wanna put all of that in my cart?”
Eventually, everyone got their purchases through (with thanks to the very overwhelmed cashier, poor boy), and racked up quite a bill. Their receipts were probably over a mile long. There had been some skeptical comments regarding whether they actually needed everything they had bought and whether everything would fit into the van. But after shifting and cramming, everything seemed to fit in nicely.
”Anything else guys? Last minute things you want to grab from home, anything you forgot to buy?”
Nope.
They were ready.
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