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Cordelia Lynn Holmes


Lynn bit back the words in her mouth as Keaton spoke, the taste of bitter truth burning her tongue as she ground her teeth. Do we expect to split up? Denim, you have to know how this ends. Keaton spoke up about sharing powers, and even as she considered the logic of it, it irked Lynn. Even you can be wrong, Denim, she wanted to tell her, cautiously. Keaton spoke up about her abilities as Lynn had suspected she would - matter-of-factly and directly. To say it matter-of-factly was almost like too much humility, she thought. Lynn had caught the lizard's fastball her first day on the Promise, and still seen nothing that amazed her as much as Keaton's abilities. And Keaton had shot that glance at her - something pitying, almost, something Lynn could not quite decide.

Before she had time to contemplate it much further, Archie spoke, and Lynn turned to listen, Keaton slipping from her focus.

"I'm an accident waiting to happen, and we all know what happens to accidents like us."


Something in look shook, and for a minute she was shaking and cold back in the hospital bed. Accidents like us. Lynn had felt since the hospital - since the kid, the burning kid - since the party - since Salamandra - as if everything in her was filed down to a hair trigger, primed to blast at the slightest touch. Accidents like us. At once Lynn was livid, enough to scream, wanting to shout that Archie wasn't an accident, that he'd never burned a kid alive on one of his boats, never hurt anyone - the lizard had, sure, but not him, he was deliberate and intentional and only an accident like a blackjack, or a lottery ticket, or those urban legends she'd heard about guys who'd kept a lighter in their pocket that had stopped a bullet.

But at the same time Lynn wanted one other person to be collateral, too. Just to - just to get it.

Eli started to speak and she forced her thoughts to focus, but it was like trying to mold sand into place with her hands. An ultimatum to Packet? Lynn wanted to ask. Denzel was too kind. Not an accident. If this guy could get them into the Spire, they didn't have a fucking choice. They had to. Lynn would do it, if none of them would. Or if none of them could. This guy could get them into the Ring - he could get them Cara, he could get them security, life support, maybe even some kind of gravity thing, Lynn didn't know. That was it. There wasn't a chance for him to live if he stayed behind - there was no chance at all. He was going to die like everyone else if they didn't. Lynn felt her eye itching as she grimaced. They'd just have to make him. Lynn wasn't about to watch all of them die to placate one kid being too big of a pussy to -

Lynn felt cold. Like ice in a whiskey glass.

"Do we need him?" she asked sharply, the words leaving her throat so suddenly they took her by surprise as the light of her hair and eyes softened to a bronze-red of a campfire. She felt the attention shift to her and that sudden openness, again, and spoke again. "If he's as young as Eli says he may not be trustworthy. I don't want to work with someone who narcs us out for a Playboy and a pack of cigarettes." Lynn felt her heart hammering in her ears. But you aren’t a bad thing The smell of smoke bristled Lynn's nose and she blinked, forcing herself back under control. Her heart was still hammering. Her throat was dry. She wouldn't have - she wouldn't have hurt this Packet kid, it wasn't like that. Eli was talking from somewhere down a tunnel, she'd moved away from sitting right next to her to somewhere else. The t-shirt was growing tighter on her skin, she could feel every fiber. Lynn dug her right hand into her knee, nails digging into her skin. They still shook. She wasn't like that - she wasn't going to. She wasn't -

"How long are we thinking we'll need?" Lynn asked, her voice sounding foreign to her. Words. Anything. Not anything more about this kid. "The sooner the better. Today."
Cordelia Lynn Holmes


Lynn very rarely felt as though she had picked up on something that Denim had not. The girl quickly and assertively stated that Nic wasn't a spy, which threw Lynn's mind for a stutter-step - he just happens to be here? Now? - but Lynn quickly came to a possibility that Keaton either hadn't considered or hadn't verbalized - this guy may have just been completely nuts, or a moron, or something else like that. He didn't have to be as comatose as Gennedy's other lapdog to be as brain dead. Lynn chewed on her lip, watching Leotard and puzzling over the possibilities while Keaton spoke for a moment. Lynn spotted the bag of flour beside her and had a quiet grin. There were times that trying to be friends with Keaton was infuriating, frustrating, like standing in the shadow of a giant - but there were others when it was reaffirming, like the older girl had everything figured out, like she knew what was going on and could make it all -

Lynn paused for a moment. ...Keaton was a friend, wasn't she? Lynn felt like the realization had almost caught her off-guard, it had been so natural and unquestioned.

Denzel jarred her back to attention and she nodded, sitting next to her. The new boy kept glancing Eli's way and - and thought Eli was talking to her? Lynn once again looked between everyone at the table trying desperately to see some sort of facial cue or silently-mouthed phrase that would cue her in as to what the actual fuck was happening here. Amelia was glancing at her kind of weirdly, but Lynn had no idea if that was on her wavelength or not.

Archie spoke up first. His voice was different, she thought - almost like it had been in the hospital room (and again, as had happened a hundred times in the time since she'd seen him last, she remembered it wouldn't happen again like a knife between the ribs or a bullet to the knee). Were they getting it? Did they understand what this meant? Whatever guard those kids are under is more than enough, Lynn wanted to say. Just go. Just fucking rush the escape pods and go. Archie said he would buy them all time. He got it. He got what this as. But he shouldn't have. He wasn't supposed to. Would Spoons pull him back, I wonder? Lynn thought, for a minute gone entirely from the table, standing in whatever fluorescent-lit cell the kids were in, smoke and gunpowder around them. One was burning, melting in front of her, a Chinese boy, burning burning, Archie was there, shifting, and the others, shaved bald and tagged, collared and dressed in scratchy jumpsuits, looking on in horror. What do you do if that's the choice? the whiskey-clinking voice asked, and Lynn buried the thought down as her hair and eyes flashed violet.

Eli spoke next, and Lynn's mind began dizzying with the possibilities. For the first time, she thought, there was something of an actual chance that this could happen, and the anglerfish dream-trap of getting out and surviving and living somewhere on earth seemed all the more real for just a second. Just a little moment. Then it was gone. People like me don't make it out, Lynn reminded herself soberly, and the flickering light pulled back away to a hospital bed for a while. A technomancer? That made sense. That made lots of sense. Someone like that could do lots of things. Lynn rolled the phone over in her hand, and a thought began to form.

...how strong are you, Cara? And how strong are you, Packet?

Lynn looked around her, at everything wired to a grid, bound to a machine, interlaced with that always-watching detached voice. "Interesting," was all Lynn murmured as she mulled over the possibilities. Airlocks. Oxygenators. Gravity...light...null tech.

Spoons started up and Lynn was jolted back to attention - her mind seemed to wander so much more these days, and she coudn't figure out why - and pulled up her sleeves. Lynn had counted on the scars being there, but not the reason why. The more she talked, the more it seemed to come together. Christ, Spoons. There was something there, too - organized crime? They'd found a way to make people paras? Spoons story made Lynn's blood boil (the steam gently rolled off her head) but there was some flickering beginning of an idea there as well, one Lynn did not have time to indulge. Amelia was speaking next, and she got the million dollar question Lynn wanted to ask but didn't know how.

Before she could, Leotard piped up, and all the color guards in the world couldn't have handled the red flags. He can release spores? Instinctively, Lynn wanted to reach to her face, to somehow check, but she had enough sense not to look rattled in front of this guy. If there was the slightest sign of doubt before a man in a fucking leotard, she was done for. Lynn did not believe for a minute he was entirely on the level. Transmitting thoughts? That shit means he has to be in your neurons or whatever. No way that's all. No fucking way. Lynn let her mind race for a moment, like a pack of mad dogs chasing a dozen different scents. Could he even infect her? The last thermometer they'd attempted to use on Lynn had melted, and Lynn knew high temps killed bacteria. She'd never caught a cold once in her life, and even drugs and the like only worked on her if she focused on bringing her temperature down. What was the use if she was the only one unaffected? Showing people the vision of other people meant he had to have some kind of control over what they saw and perceived. He could get all the others killed - and was there any way of telling who was affected, Lynn wondered? Or if he was even speaking honestly at all. Lynn did not for one minute trust this slippery bastard. No one rolled up at the eleventh hour with mind-altering powers and a safehouse back on Earth. Lynn had been offered one too many dreams too good to be true to believe in this one.

She forced herself to think a moment longer before ballparking the melting point of a picnic table and creme brulee'ing that leotard into it. Keaton thinks he's not a spy. Unless he found her already, maybe she's right. Even Denim can be wrong, I guess, but this doesn't track. If he's capable of mind-altering - Lynn paused, trying to think it through. If he's working for Gennedy, why would they want us to storm the Spire? Archie alone could fuck up whatever they have in place. That doesn't track. So he's gotta be -

Lynn felt a little cold place inside all the fire. There's someone else on this station who works a lot like you, though. Somebody who can be in a lot of places at once and see a lot of different things. Lynn tried to remember the night in the forest. Had he been there? Wait, Leotard was Rolex - that motherfucker. That same motherfucker. What had Arianna said? They're keeping them upstairs. Arianna wanted them in the Spire, it would seem - and this one had waltzed up and offered to help them. He'd been there right after the cop had shot himself, Lynn remembered. It was coming together.

Lynn glanced at Keaton to see if she had put anything together. Lynn stayed quiet for the moment. If Arianna thinks she has one over on us, then she could be listening now through him, Lynn thought. If she needs us in the Spire, that must be something she wants there. Some kind of fucking leverage. Lynn had no intention of doing the hard work for Arianna or dying at the hands of Gennedy. This was a one-way trip but she did not plan on taking a round to the head again for the sake of the bitch who helped let Salamandra loose. I'll stay quiet. He can't get to me, but he might be affecting the others. He'd come with Denzel, Spoons, and Archie, which meant any of them might be addled. Lynn needed to know more about what exactly he could do. If he pieced together she was immune, then he'd likely go for her. Friends close and enemies closer, you ballet-dancing motherfucker.

And as all that raced through her head, she realized there was a moment of quiet at the table, and no one had said it. She didn't know if any of them had realized it or not. "It's worth saying," Lynn said, taking a moment before she said anything more, feeling like she was climbing out of the bed and writing the note all over again, "Getting to Leotard's vacation house back on Earth is probably not happening if you do this. I'm going to the Spire. But if you go, we're probably going to have to kill someone - "her eyes bulging as her skull slammed into the wall of the restaurant " - and if that's not your shit, then that's fine. But you should all decide right now if you're fine killing whoever's up there. They haven't been keeping kids under lock and key without making someone a fuckton of money. They're not going to let them walk away. Gennedy, Ebony and Ivory, whoever the fuck is up there - anyone who knew about this and didn't do anything has all this to answer for." Lynn paused for a moment, the anger roiling through her voice, but her hair and eyes stayed calm. They burned like a welder's torch, intensely hot and narrowly focused. "I mean - if you don't want to go, I think you should fucking make a break for the pods. As the Chinese fuckers proved - " burning, melting, screaming, a kid, screaming, the gun barrel dripping onto his - Lynn blinked, losing her train of thought for a moment " - it - they - these dipshits can't keep us safe. They haven't given a fuck about us since they interrogated us. They can't keep what's going on here stable and shit. It's been one breakout after the next." Lynn paused. "It's a matter of time until the next one's too big, or the next terrorists bring better guns, or whatever. I haven't - I'm not going off this station - " ever " - until somebody answers for this shit. I don't give a fuck anymore. Anyone who says, you know, that a bunch of fucking children can be imprisoned and tortured on, they can fuck right off. I've been to a parahuman prison. I've got some serious doubts whatever's in the Spire is really that much nicer. I don't give a shit if they've got people like Sa - " Lynn shivered " - lamandra there, there's kids. Kids with dolls. Anybody who puts a kid in a prison cell and stabs them with needles, I don't give a shit. But if that's not what you want to do then I don't think it's, you know, a pussy move or whatever if you go to the pods." There was a part of Lynn inside her chest that was looking out between her ribs, shaking and rattling them, screaming at everyone to fucking do it, to go. I don't sleep good anymore, Lynn wanted to tell them. Spoons might get it, she thought, but the others? She didn't want to see that. She didn't want to see Eli stabbing someone or Keaton having to strangle a guard to death. Archie had already, she imagined, killed someone when he was a lizard, but that was different. That was just a bad dream. She wanted them to get on the fucking pods and leave. Even if they got gunned down outside the loading bay that was better than waking up every day wondering when it would be. The little false hope light flickered back out again for just a moment, and she thought about Archie making it back to his boat farm, just living somewhere quiet by the ocean, fishing or whatever. Lynn had never seen the ocean. Not until she was in outer space.

I don't want to see you people fucking die.

"I dunno. I don't - " Lynn paused again, searching for the words. "You guys should just put some thought into it is all. Because if you go up there and you haven't made up your mind and shit then the guy who has is going to get you. Then that's another motherfucker I have to deal with."
Cordelia Lynn Holmes


...a leotard.

Lynn turned her eyes away from the man* who was somehow more alien to her than the guy that turned into a lizard with alarming regularity, and found herself uncharacteristically reassured by the woman who beat the shit out of the lizard with alarming regularity. Lynn felt as if her waking mind had been split into too many pieces and passed out a chunk to everyone who'd come along to the picnic. A part of her was seizing upon Eli - she seems skittish, she's looking at me too much - is it the eye? Or - or something else? Is this guy bad news? - another trying to consider what Spoons had said, that Keaton may be at the actual rendezvous point, which was so frankly obvious it almost made Lynn angry at Spoons for pointing it out. At the same time, a part of her recoiled back, trying to assess the hurricane of emotions that was brewing in the girl who'd been comatose a handful of hours before. Why am I so fucking rattled if Keaton's not here? Why - she probably - she probably would've cut and run anyways, so -

That piece trailed off, too quiet and shaky-sounding to hold its own amidst the other trains of thought, all of whom filled Lynn's mind with smoke as they left the station. There was Archie. The knife twisted further. I was never supposed to see any of you again, damnit. Christ why couldn't - why did Amelia have to do this? But the other part of her - one of them - was trying to explain to the others that it wasn't Amelia's fault, she couldn't really even get mad at Amelia for it - but it was a little too noisy for that part too.

Eli looked like she was absolutely terrified. Was that shell shock or was it something else, more urgent? It couldn't be fucking leotard guy, he - / / - the fucking leotard, what was that about - seriously, I don't buy that shit for a second, you were practicing gymnastics four days after Space Columbine? Wait a minute, he can't keep his story straight within a single sentence, first he's doing routines then he's going on a run? Don't they get chafed or something? Is no one else fucking seeing this shit? - // - Natalie was looking at her, the surprise evident on her face. Lynn felt her expression flicker as best she tried to keep it locked tight. Lately, she felt as though there was so much slipping through the cracks, so much she couldn't hold as tightly as she used to. Lynn didn't think for a minute she would've let Archie stay in the bed with her day one - have they made me soft? She looked at Natalie (and how her other eye itched! Like a bad scab) and felt a sudden surge of venom rise up like bile, almost leaving her tongue, and Lynn bl(w)inked, entirely unsure of where it had come from. Get a handle on it you fucking basket case, Spoons already did her makeup today and if you make her cry she'll have to do it again. - // - Eli was still looking at her. Then to the watch, then to Archie. Something about the watch? Lynn's mind tried to remember. He'd had it - the bonfire? She could barely remember. Before, though - it was like Spoon's little necklace. She'd held onto his arm when he'd started to change and kept him from growing, when they found the corpse. For a minute, all the thoughts were knocked aside by that fleeting memory. There were little details that kept overpowering the big ones. The kids locked up, tortured and experimented upon, they were gone when she remembered hanging on as tight as she could, trying to talk him down - or the boiling fury she had for Gennedy would slip away to mocking that hostess at Vaquero. The panic about Keaton was slipping over all the things she was trying to remember from their meet-ups, now that her notebook was gone, shot to bloody ruin. Too many thoughts. She couldn't - // - I look good? Lynn was rattled at the sudden whiplash from the leotard which, quite honestly, had shaped Lynn's perceptions of whether or not this stranger even noticed whether women looked good - to a brief moment of dizzying self-consciousness - to more irritation. Another lie. Two in as many sentences. Is no one going to call him on his shit? And he claims he was trying to save me? Lynn noticed him looking at Archie. It was a little like Eli was, but it was a lot more the way she looked at people. Another little part splintered off, warning there was something dark to this leotard boy, as much as he let the circus dress him and come up with his alibis. And he was taken in by security before he could get to you, was he? the old whiskey-glass-clinking voice whispered, and for once Lynn agreed, wholeheartedly. This one's not going out of my sight until he's going in the ground. They were all looking at Archie, Lynn realized, except for him of course - stupid, clueless him - Natalie was staring up at him, starry-eyed and sweet and - // -

"Let's go, then," Lynn said tersely, snapping as much at the utter chaos of it all than the newcomer and the situation as a whole. Lynn did not turn her back to Leotard, which was the most charitable of names she could give him (and no introductions - some kind of mind fuckery, maybe? Seriously, what the hell is going on with this guy?) as she fell in beside Eli. She'd intended to walk a half-step behind the girl, giving her the ability to glance over to the right and see new guy with the other two (two, Lynn thought bitterly, not one and the other) if he tried anything. On the leftmost wing of the group, she could also actually see the others. Lynn had come to accept there were a fair number of people on the Promise who could snap her in half if they had to. Spoons, the lizard. Maybe somebody with some mind shit. But Lynn had truly yet to meet anyone who could tank a thousand degree punch to the groin, and she'd done it to the devil herself.

Lynn made no real attempt to mask this particular sentiment from Leotard as they walked. It didn't matter if they were followed, not now. Lynn would've found being caught a welcome oversimplification of affairs on the Promise. She fumbled for some cigarettes to give to Eli, but there were none. Gone. "Shit." Lynn glanced up at Eli, and for a moment, she felt as though she were the tallest, that they were all a quarter as tall, the young girl she'd seen being walked to the station the day they'd left their own interrogations. Or any of the ones she'd known back on Earth. Was it you I taught how to tie your shoes, Eli? Or was that somebody else? "You good?" Lynn said, waiting for the conversation of the others to spark up a bit before she spoke. In a way Denzel was working an illusion on her just by standing where she was, blocking Lynn's half-view of the Leotard Boy* and Spoons and Archie. Every other step or so when it sync'ed up right. Could she just make everything go away? "'Cause I've never really had any problems with, like, whipping somebody's ass, so if it's like an interpersonal thing that can get straightened out." Lynn shrugged, missing the flop of her hood against her back as she did so, or the way the baggy fabric hung down around her. I can't believe my dealer went to fuckin' summer camp. I can't believe I'm probably going to punch a motherfucker in a leotard wearing a summer camp shirt.
Cordelia Lynn Holmes


"Amelia you absolute mot-" Lynn leaned into the wall beside her and emptied her insides onto the ground. She had been in the bathroom one moment and then not the next. Her body was still reeling as though she'd just stepped off a roller coaster, and she had the tense, knife-point jitters of adrenaline. Lynn stood for a moment, staring at the superheated acid that was quietly eroding at the brick wall she stood next to. "Oh, fuck me, can we get some dramamol or whatever before we do this again. Fuck. Motherfuck."

Lynn stood for a moment, reeling less and less with every breath. For a passing second, she considered that right now, with her back to Amelia, entirely unaware of her surroundings, would be the opportune moment for the other girl to do something. If I was right all along, and she narc'ed early - you don't know where you are, this could just be to -

"That's fucking stupid," Lynn muttered, barely audible, rubbing at her mouth. This was near the spot. Lynn had smoked in this alley before, she thought. She padded at her pants for cigarettes, but there were none. Christ I thought the day couldn't get worse after hugging that anorexia doc. She needed a cigarette. Throwing up reminded her of - Lynn grimaced and forced that thought down. Lynn shook her head clear and turned to look at Amelia. She gave the girl a nod and walked over, going to stick her hands in her hoodie poc -

Oh.

Lynn cursed again under her breath and walked out of the alley, instinctively glancing for cameras to her right, and - she paused, and had to arch her entire head around to check to the left. The left socket itched furiously, and Lynn wanted to tear the bandage off and scratch it until it calmed down, but she knew that was a terrible idea. For one - ew - and two, she got enough stares as it was. Lynn huffed and kept walking along, for once not bothering a great deal with subterfuge. Lynn had lived most of her time on the Promise - especially those early days - fully expecting to last no more than a few more days at most. Now, she thought, it was really true. If there were terrorists openly attacking the Promise, it was do or die. Either the next batch of jihad jumpfucks gets us, or - Lynn missed a step, remembering the look on the kid's face, screaming, he was screaming, the gun had fused to his hand it was so hot, it - or martial law finds a reason to give us tattoos and necklaces. Then the third. The long shot. All in on a shitty hand.

Lynn tried to think of the words to put together. She turned to look at the area and found it empty. Lynn normally tried to arrive early by design, find a seat with a back to the wall, look around, mark exits - but this was supremely different. The whole point of this was that they would be busy here while she was taking care of things. Lynn just sighed. The air shimmered as she did so. Lynn found a concrete table and sat on it, for once not cognizant of her legs swinging aimlessly a foot off the ground. Her mind was trying to put together the words, the strategy, the plan. Lynn had known all too well how much dumber she was than Keaton, but there had to have been something. A clever turn of phrase, something she could get through. Lynn didn't see any other way. She has to have figured it out too, if I have. We all die if we stay here. They shook us down without lawyers on the first fucking week, do they think it'll be better now? Keaton could plan it. Eli, distractions, knew some of the security guys. Lynn had meant to ask her about that. It was weird - real weird - she was buddy buddy with Annie Oakley over in the ICU. Eh. Questions that would go unanswered.

Amelia could move them around. Natalie, well, they'd have to tell her it was a field trip or something, but Lynn reasonably believed that she was the only person Lynn had ever met who could, feasibly, pull someone's spine out of their ass, which was a valuable skillset anywhere. Then - then Archie. That was the stutter-step. Can they get him to the pods without him flipping? That was the sick twisted part, the little Che part of her whispered. They need Archie in case things go south. Archie's a great big distraction and every one of them knows it. Maybe he takes Natalie with him too, she stays, wouldn't you like -

Lynn closed her eye and rubbed at her forehead. Something inside her felt so fragile. Her hair glimmered white, soft and radiant, but she did not notice. Why the fuck did he hold me? Why did she come after me? I just - fuck. This isn't gonna get any easier. They have to understand. Lynn couldn't think of a lie Keaton wouldn't see through. Fuck, for that matter she couldn't think of a lie any of them wouldn't see through. That Chinese motherfucker should've aimed an inch to the right. She pulled out her phone, looking at the messages. One from Eli. She started to answer, then stopped. What was she supposed to say? (Lynn also wondered who the fuck narc'd on her. It wasn't Anderson, that she felt intuitively, but somebody did, and if there was a spare moment in this whole process to rectify that, she intended to) There were none from anyone else. None.

Lynn stared off ahead, thinking. She hadn't put much thought into her own next steps, for that matter. Everything since she'd woken had just been a frantic scatter from one movement to the next. Not lying there, though - he didn't interrupt once, he didn't care, he got it, he got how it didn't make sense, how - to - Lynn was trying to think, there were still the kids, someone had to pay, someone had to burn, she didn't know, if she'd only been fucking smarter, she could've found something more tangible than the hint of a hint, than numbers on a doll's leg, than - if she could just get them towards the docking bay, maybe she could slip away. If they all went they didn't stand a chance, they didn't - they were going to have to kill whoever they found, and Lynn wouldn't think twice about Gennedy, she'd already burned a child alive, hadn't she, but the others, could Eli, could - was she still spinning from the teleportation, she felt light-headed, and -

Lynn blinked. Her heart was racing. She reached for a cigarette but there wasn't one. Fucking nurses. She rubbed at her forehead again. Then something occurred to her. "Hey, uh, Amelia," Lynn said, the words feeling clunky leaving her mouth. "You got a smoke?"

She had barely asked before they came. As had been the case all day (not all day, things were quiet for a minute, when you were just still, and you got to pretend), her thoughts hit her half a dozen at a time. Eli looked worse for the wear. Nobody was really badly hurt, but she looked - well, like Lynn felt, though that sort of acknowledgement would never have surfaced to Lynn's conscious mind. Lynn thought after this they would - she blinked, and pushed the thought aside, the nausea worsening for a moment. Natalie. Natalie looked. Natalie looked good. Lynn felt another wrinkle, something that tugged at her from a different angle and in a different way. You know for how fucking awkward that candleshop thing was she was at least trying. The same desperate thought, the one that always came up to the surface, reared up again. She can't - she can't keep him safe, you know, she - And then it flickered and changed, like a candle flame. Archie was there. She'd lied to him in the hospital. Lynn had not - she wasn't supposed to have seen any of them again. She wasn't - this was so much harder than she had thought, and she was not sure why. In the back of her mind, there was the sound of ice clinking against a glass, and the creak of warehouse doors, the old familiar twinge of pain in her knee, some days when the weather changed, when she took stairs too quickly.

Lynn ignored it. Just - just for a minute or two. For a minute she managed to tell herself burning a kid alive meant she could still be a good person. There was still a way. That Archie and Eli and Keaton and Natalie and Amelia, they were all good people, and that - it didn't - there was a way for someone to make it out. There was a way. Just for a minute.

If her thoughts were dancing like firelight, this motherfucker just stepped up and pissed out the fire. Lynn didn't stand up and bristle, but her hair flickered to a sunset orange. Two things were very wrong with this picture. The first was this - wait, Lynn thought - he'd been at the bonfire, right? When she was trashed, she thought there was the faintest sense of an impression of this guy - he -

Lynn glanced over at Amelia and back to the others of the group to make sure she was not, well, hallucinating again. This motherfucker was wearing a leotard. Like they were in the fucking X-men. The part of her mind that had carved a toothbrush shiv an hour and a half ago noticed a bulge in his satchel and Lynn, out of old hypervigilant habit, locked it away for later, trying to decide what it could be, but she was momentarily transfixed by the scene. He had on a Rolex, which Lynn felt obligated to relieve him of at some point. He had on a leotard. He was wearing a leather jacket. Lots of black. And a leotard. The absolute, utter panic Lynn had felt seeing the group approach was just too baffled to speak. He was wearing a leotard. There had been a school shooting that week. He was wearing a leotard. Lynn was missing an eye and this motherfucker wanted another round at the pommel horse.

"Okay, what - " Lynn paused again, trying desperately to make sense of literally anything on this station, because with this, this final point, it had all come crumbling down. She looked from one to the others. "Did - " Lynn was trying desperately hard not to say any shit that might, you know, cross any lines, in terms of sensitivity or whatever. "Sorry, Cara must've fucked up the text - I said, hey guys, let's meet up, not, hey guys, let's cope with the school shooting by getting a fucking spec ops ballerina instructor to show us a good time, classic Cara." Lynn looked at Archie for a moment (two, three, if we're being honest) and tried to puzzle anything from his face. Anything. Were they hazing this guy?

Or maybe it was - oh.

Lynn pulled her cell phone up into her sleeve and took a deep breath before murmuring, "Cara."

"...yes, Lynn?"

"...am I, like, allowed to make fun of this guy?"


Cara did not answer.

"Fucking washing machine," Lynn muttered, turning her phone off for good. She looked back up. There was a hint of - of something on Archie's face. A little hurt, maybe. Don't you get it? Don't you fucking get it, Anderson? Do you think - don't you think - I would've...it wasn't...fucking Amelia, she had to fuck this all up. A little more time, I wanted - but this is already really hard, okay, and what if I - what if I turn out - I killed a kid, I -

The candlelight thoughts flickered again. Once the bewilderment at Nic had passed (it came in waves), the more sobering thought had occurred to Lynn. For all her jitters and jumpiness, this was far more chilling. She stood up, glancing around. "Before I ask who and what the fuck is - " she stopped, just bewildered. " - okay, I have questions that I don't think God himself could answer about new guy, but - " she scanned again, the fear gripping her a bit more tightly. Did one of them say something? Cara. Fuck. Fuck that bitch. "Where's Keaton? Have any of you heard from her? Recently?" Lynn had not seen her since the hospital, or even had any contact beyond the text. Her mind started to race again. We were just texting, but - if they got her, if they figured out - Lynn kept her voice steady, remembering the situation with the body in the woods. They couldn't have that. Not now. "Is she coming?" Lynn realized she hadn't - when was the last time she'd spoken to her? It had been a while, before the docking bay, they'd -

Lynn took a deep breath. She was probably fine. She was probably fine.

Lynn rubbed at her eyes. The left one still itched. If they realized something was up, or something had happened to her, Lynn felt that nervous knot in her gut spiral down into an abyss. Why wasn't she here?

She needed a distraction. Anything. Just for a minute. She couldn't look at Archie or Natalie. She gave Eli a smile, feeling guilty for not texting back for perhaps the first time in her tenure at the Promise. Then back to -

"I - is that like a religious thing?"
soraya (and mr. hops)


Soraya knew she was far away from home when she felt the snow.

It startled her. She scrambled up and looked around, panicking, panicking - worried that -

He was right there. Her backpack, too. She grabbed him tight and took a minute to breathe, snowflakes fluttering down into her hair.

I'm okay, So.

I know. I was worried you weren't.

Soraya grabbed her backpack and threw it over her shoulders, clinching the straps down extra super duper tight. She crouched down low, holding Mr. Hops in front of her with both arms. She was grateful she had on her jacket. It was cold. It was snowing. It didn't snow back home.

This isn't right, is it?

It's not.

Should I be scared?

Mr. Hops didn't answer. There were many things that Soraya was scared of - dogs, loud noises, people with certain kinds of faces that just seemed suspicious - and Mr. Hops told her to not be afraid of those things. They were silly. But there were some things that Mr. Hops would get quiet about, and Soraya knew those were the things she had to be real scared of. Sometimes, she asked, if there really were monsters in the closet, or she'd ask Mr. Hops if he saw some of the things she saw in her dreams. Mr. Hops would always get quiet, and she'd hold him twice as tight. This was bad. She was hiding, she thought. In the house. She had found all the good hiding spots already, but if you kept hunting, you never knew when you'd find another good one. She was going to surprise her parents - they'd been so stressed, she could tell, with everything going on, and when they thought she was asleep she'd sneak out and listen to them. They talked about "the economy" and "in the streets" and "don't know what we're going to do" and "not that, let's just go to bed" and then she'd scramble back and hide in the bed (and she wore socks, so if they checked her feet, they'd be warm).

But now there was snow. Her feet would never get warm.

Soraya knew what her first instinct was. She didn't even have to ask Mr. Hops. Sometimes, she just talked to Mr. Hops. Maybe she knew deep down she was really just talking to herself - she knew that when her parents looked at her "talking" to him, and gave her a sad sigh, one that reminded Soraya her eleventh birthday had been a few months ago, and she was supposed to be Grown Up now, and Grown Up and Mr. Hops were two things that were impossible to put together. But sometimes Mr. Hops flickered with that light, and Mr. Hops told her things she never would've known on her own.

The first instinct was easy, though. She hid. Soraya didn't know where she was or if anyone else was here. Maybe somebody took her in the middle of the night and now she had to get away. She ducked inside a building and looked around for a moment, creeping across the floor to a window. She stayed tuckered down in the shadows, where she could see out but nobody could see in. Those were the good hiding spots. The other good ones were the ones that were so obvious nobody even thought to look. There was a train, she could see. There were tall, tall buildings. Could we take the train, Mr. Hops? There could be a conductor or someone who could help us.

If there's a conductor, wouldn't he be making noise?

Soraya hesitated. He was right. He was always right. There should be a whistle, or steam, or anything. Like in Harry Potter. She liked those. They got a little scary sometimes.

Then someone shouted.

Soraya grabbed Mr. Hops tight. She - she didn't like shouting. Not at all. Her heart thundered in her chest, but she forced herself to be smart. If we do something dumb they'll find us, won't they?

Mr. Hops was silent for a moment. Yes. They will.

Can we trust them?

...I don't know.

Soraya stayed and listened. Someone was asking where people were. Maybe they were lost too? It could be a trick, Soraya thought. It was cold outside, and dry in here. Soraya had resolved to try to move upstairs and try to hide herself even better, but then she heard movement from up above.

How many are there? She asked, her fingers digging into Mr. Hops.

...three. That I can tell.

Soraya was scared. Three? She could maybe run from one, but three was a lot. There was snow. They'd be able to find her in the snow. She one time made tracks all over the place with her dad when they went skiing. But if she moved around a lot in here, the person upstairs would hear her, too. Mr. Hops, can we go away? I'm really scared.

He said nothing. Sometimes he did that when he wanted her to figure things out. Maybe - maybe they weren't bad guys. Soraya wanted to believe that, she really did, but there was no way to know for sure without risking getting caught. And it was a lot better to just not be noticed. A lot better. Soraya chewed on her fingers for a moment, trying to think. She had to be smart. They sounded like grown-ups. Yes, she could hear others, now. The one upstairs was shouting too. A girl's voice. Other girl's voices. That was good. Girls were nicer. One girl sounded strange, like a cowboy. Soraya had grown up speaking English, too, but the cowgirl took a minute for her to understand.

Mr. Hops, Soraya asked, and she was whispering to him even in her head. I need to know who they are.

Mr. Hops, she could almost hear him sigh, and there was just a little feeling of fatigue in Soraya, as if she'd done a few homework problems. There was a smiling girl - the cowgirl. A coin. What does that mean? Hush. Sorry. There was a boy with a guitar. Trains. There was a little wooden queen piece on a checkerboard, like the kind her dad had in his office he tried to teach her buts she'd gotten bored.

Soraya frowned. Mr. Hops was always right but sometimes she couldn't understand what he meant. Like right now - she was so scared she couldn't try to figure out what any of that was supposed to be. If she really had to, she could talk him into making them both go away, but if they hadn't seen her yet, she didn't need to. Not - not yet. But she could. If she heard the checkerboard lady come down the stairs, or maybe if the cowgirl had a gun. Those were scary - and very loud. Soraya wished she could know if they were good guys or bad guys or not. They weren't monsters, at least. Mr. Hops would've known if they were. She wondered when the lady upstairs was going to come down. Probably soon. Soraya glanced around for a better spot to hide. They were all talking loud. She tiptoed quiet as could be across the floor. It was some kind of lobby. Hmm. There weren't a lot of good places to hide in a lobby. She found a cluster of sitting chairs and made herself small behind one of them. There were a few near each other, so if she had to, she could slip behind another one if somebody got close. And they couldn't see her unless they came in and sat down, and they couldn't see her from the stairwell. Unless, Soraya thought, feeling her stomack drop down to her knees, They have Mr. Hops too, and their Mr. Hops tell them something.

She stroked her rabbit nervously, one arm tight around his chest and the other on the chair as she peeked beside it ever so barely. They don't, she told herself. And if they do, mine's better.

She just had to be quiet. That was okay. That was what she was good at.
May get a post up tomorrow
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Will hopefully crank out a sheet sometime this weekend, dependent upon how busy I am.
Interested
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