foolishwren | 126. [Video, action for anywhere in Goldenrod] (backdated to January 29th)

Current Location: Anywhere in Goldenrod City

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126. [Video, action for anywhere in Goldenrod] (backdated to January 29th)

_{[She'd been lucky enough to be spared the effects of the past three weeks. BUT SHE'S NOT SO LUCKY THIS TIME.]

[The video opens on her already walking hurriedly down a surburban Goldenrod street towards the downtown area. IF SHE JUST KEEPS MOVING, MAYBE SHE WON'T HAVE TO TALK TO ANYBODY ELSE TODAY.]

[But just in case, she's hoping she can stave off karma catching up with her by making a quick confession to the network.]}

HEY.

So anyone who was here like a year ago and wondered about the weird black eye I had that one time?

I lied.

I didn't get it in a fight with a dude 'the size of Kentucky' like I claimed.

Actually, I just walked into a glass door because I was thinking about how much I wanted a Pumpka-spice latte from Sawsbucks and I was too embarrassed to tell anybody.

_{[The camera then turns abruptly to the sky.]}

THERE! You happy, weird Pokemon gods? I said something embarrassing! Now leave me alone!

_{[The video ends.]

[Spoiler alert: she is not going to be left alone.]}

[ooc: For action threads, feel free to tag in with your character ANYWHERE AROUND THE CITY.]

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_{[After taking a long sip, she sets her mug down with a clink and folds her hands in front of her.]}

They're called the Order.

And they're a really nasty cocktail of small-town Christian and Satanic, with some corrupted stuff yanked out of the local native mythos thrown in there to keep things spicy. _{[How much of it had come from the town's original power and how much of it had been spun into existence like catgut string from the thoughts and words handed down through generations, she had no idea. The gods were real, but they were also sick, demented creations of the very people that claimed subservience to them. A mad scientist's fusion of old and new mythology cobbled together from their desecrated corpses.]}

My mother led the biggest, most central sect-- but she had her fingers in every goddamn pie so really, she might as well have been responsible for all of it as far as I'm concerned.

[That's a new one. Blake's never heard of them, but the name's vague enough there could be a million of them. He remembers the Satanic Panic back in the 80s, how once they got to the bottom of it there was nothing there but mob hysteria, but Heather doesn't sound like a kid somebody accidentally talked into making up memories.

Don't lead. Let them talk. That's what they always told Blake, though he was usually working with the kind of assholes who needed to get lead with fists before you could get anywhere.]

Christ. Your mother?

["Big" and "Christian" suggests one of those money-grubbing megachurch things. Must've been good at keeping the Satanic parts quiet until the members got too deep in to get out.]

_{[Far from it, and she'd laugh if anyone suggested the possibility. She wishes those memories were planted and not real.]}

Yep.

I use that term in the loosest possible sense, for the record.

She was a monster.

_{[He's not far off the mark, although the Order had been significantly more on the downlow back then. Vincent had been the one to monetize the whole thing and bring it into the public's eye under a more harmless-seeming facade. But even in Dahlia's day the darkest parts had been kept well-hidden.]}

I don't know just how long it was around, to be honest, but it's old. Had its roots real deep, and there were plenty of people going along with it even if they weren't members proper.

The police. The government. The hospital. Especially the hospital.

It was bad.

[Blake believes her when she uses the word monster. He's known plenty of parents he could call that. You don't run into a lot of model ones, in his line of work.

There's one word in there that makes his hands suddenly fist and his teeth clench. In a reflex like doubling over when you're punched in the gut, he spits out,] Police don't--

[He bites it off and stares hard down at the counter. It takes a minute to wrench his head back on track.]

How'd you get out?

_{[She can't help but shoot him a look at his cut-off exclamation.]}

Crooked cops exist, Blake. Get over it.

_{[Lifting her mug, she takes another deep swig of coffee before continuing.]}

The quick and simple way of saying it is that my dad-- adoptive, not blood, I have no idea who the biological one was-- got me out. But it's a lot more complicated than that.

_{[She normally wouldn't specify that Harry Mason had adopted her-- in her mind, it doesn't matter and she doesn't like how sticking it in there automatically puts distance between them no matter what her intent is. But in this case, she wants it clear as crystal that her father'd had no relation of any kind to Dahlia Gillespie the cultmaster.]}

[It's too sharply that he snarls] I know that. The worst son of a bitch I ever knew was a cop.

[He knows it better than anybody.

He didn't mean to say that much. He takes in a deep breath and shoves that old anger back down to where it lives.]

But that doesn't have anything to do with you.

Your dad tracked you down and got you out, huh? Must've been a resourceful guy.

_{[She huffs a little, but doesn't offer a rebuttal. As long as he's listening, this doesn't need to turn into some kind of debate on the broken police system.]}

Yeah. He was.

Very.

_{[Ironically, more after the fact than before. After all, he'd discovered the truth about Cheryl and the existence of Alessa practically by accident. But only the resourceful could survive the Otherworld to begin with.]}

But we weren't talking about how I got out, we were talking about the disappearance thing. Might as well get it over with, and I'm gonna warn you in advance, this is gonna sound crazy, but I've sat down to dinner here before with someone who was literally the metaphorical human embodiment of the nation of France, so take whatever you know or believe about where you come from and just throw it out the window for the duration of this conversation, okay?

_{[DEEP BREATH.]}

I had powers.

I could make shit happen with my mind.

Even when I was really young-- no, especially when I was really young.

And the second my mother found out about it?

She found plenty of uses for it.

Including making people who were a threat to the Order conveniently 'go away'.

[Blake listens. Every word makes his grip on his cup get tighter.

A strange look comes over his face. The corner of his mouth twitches like it's not sure what direction to go in. He looks wary and hope-tinged, like he's not sure whether or not there's a joke getting played, but he wants to look like he's in on it.]

You're shitting me, right? You're playing around and trying to see how gullible the old man can get.

[He sounds like he's trying to convince somebody.]

I've known you for a hell of a long time now, Heather. You may've had a rough childhood, but you're not some kinda psychic assassin thing. You're a normal kid with a smart mouth and a bigass dog.

[Aren't you?

His knuckles are pale as he grips the cup. The look on his face is immobile.]

Tell me you're joking around.

Edited 2016-04-07 13:34 (UTC)

_{[Sorry, Blake. When Heather plays jokes, they're a lot more obvious. And sometimes involve weapons.]

[She stares back at him, and it's with eyes more serious than she's ever looked at him with. Not just serious, either. There's a sadness there, too. A deep, exhausted sadness.]}

... There's a lot about me that you don't know, Blake.

I'm starting to get that feeling.

[He shakes his head. He'd had that hope that she'd burst out laughing and crowing I got you good, old man! But it wasn't a real strong one.

That's an expression he's seen before. Not often on people so young.]

Christ. The fuck is wrong with people? Why the hell do they think they have a right to use little kids for their own stupid fucking personal grudges?

[The bitterness in his voice is thick and dark as tar on a smoker's lungs.]

Because they're small, convenient, and they don't fight back.

_{[Her voice is murky, as dark as her expression. On any other day, she'd have left it at that. Her sharing sessions, when they happen, are usually short and sweet (well, more like sour, but you get the idea). That's the way she likes to keep them. Unloading all of it at once would stretch anyone's belief too far. But today, her tongue is untied and a few more bitter words tumble out.]}

And because no one cares enough to do anything about it, even when the signs are right under their noses.

[Blake's hands tighten until the knuckles whiten. His voice is thick and strange.]

We try. We try, dammit.

But we fuck up.

_{[She can hear the rage in his voice-- that thick, swampy emotion that can gum up your throat like dense mud when it builds up.]

[It's kind of sweet, really. That he'd be so angry on her behalf.]

[She assumes most people would, honestly, because any decent individual would be downright motherfucking appalled to hear about the sad, short life of Alessa Gillespie and all the ripples that followed from it.]

[But coming from Blake in particular... she's touched.]

[At the same time, she can't quite muster his energy. Some days she can, but on so many others, it's all just so tiring to relive. And that's the kind of day it is today.]}

I don't think anybody tried for me.

Or for any of the others.

No one but Dad-- and he barely got out with his own life. Much less anybody else's but mine.

[Blake doesn't like people messing with kids. Especially ones he knows and likes. It's never supposed to get that far. Somebody's supposed to stop them.]

They should have. Shoulda been there, and shoulda gotten it right.

You weren't alone?

_{[She's staring into her coffee. It's a moment or two before she answers.]}

... There were other kids, yeah.

None quite like me. Normal kids.

_{[For the most part, anyway. She's long suspected that Claudia was special, somehow. That she had powers not unlike the ones Alessa had.]

[But while Claudia had endured no small amount of abuse and manipulation herself, there was no comparing anything to what Alessa went through.]

[To that night, the ritual. To the seven years after that.]}

I think one sect ran an orphanage, somewhere. But I don't remember for sure.

Jesus.

[A whole orphanage of their own. The way Heather talks doesn't suggest a happy ending for them. No need to ask.]

What happened to the others?

[Damn it. He can't keep his mouth shut today. As soon as it's out he winces.]

Sorry. You don't gotta talk about it.

_{[He'd have to talk to Henry to find out the fate of the Hope House kids (or one of them in particular, at least), but he's right. It wasn't happy.]

[She sighs, shaking her head a bit.]}

No, it's okay.

The ones I knew personally... they're dead.

That's all there is to it, I guess.

_{[She'll leave it there.]

[EXCEPT NO SHE WON'T BECAUSE HAHAHA FUCK YOU JOHTO]}

One of them came after us. My dad and I.

She'd been-- ... she'd been groomed. Brainwashed. She thought... that she was doing the right thing.

[Blake stares down at the counter for a long time.

All he can say is,] I'm sorry.

I never...goddammit. I didn't know.

[Would he have treated her differently from the get-go if he had? He can't say.

His head whips around when she keeps going.]

Jesus. What'd you do?

_{[Another pause. This one is filled by a sigh. Even with the day's anomalous effects at play, it's still hard to succinctly put it all into words.]}

... Tried to stay alive.

_{[--is what she finally comes up with.]}

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126. [Video, action for anywhere in Goldenrod] (backdated to January 29th)

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