It is early morning, the sun has perhaps only just started filtering through the windows. There is only one occupant sitting in a chair. A somewhat odd girl, dressed in pajamas, sitting with her knees tucked under her chin watching a cooking show with the sound turned off. Or at least aiming her eyes at the screen where the show was.
She was lanky, and somehow ever perfectly still looked a bit awkward in undefinable ways. And the there was the glitch. One you looked at her long enough, she flickered, like a TV set gone bad. Like static moving across an image.
She slept fitfully, waking up constantly in the night - staring at the wall or the ceiling or the back of her eyelids, trying not to think even though her mind was full to the overflowing point of thoughts and feelings and worries.
But eventually the night passed. The night passed, and it was the morning.
She threw on the same clothes she had worn the night before. She didn’t have anything else.
The girl looks up, and it’s almost again like a wave of static crosses over her.
“H... h... ——- Morning. I’m H... H... ‘m Dash”
It was disconcerting- she seemed to often change her pose without you being able to see the intervening steps between poses, more like a flicker.
Then almost like an afterthought pasted to her face she essays a smile, as if it’s something someone told her was supposed to be done in these situations.
She had a hard time falling asleep but that didn't last all that long. Before even an hour had passed her system settled and she fell asleep. It was fitful, every time she moved a new pain poked her. She moaned slightly and rolled over to try again.
When she awoke in the morning, the sun hadn't quite come up. That was odd because she normally slept beyond the dawn. Her family life kept her on a different schedule. Usually she was up late at night, darkness was a friend.
She put on the same clothes she had worn when they brought her in. Complete with the dirt and soot stains from the battle. Her face and hands were clean t least. Some places her skin had a sickly tint of greenish yellow from the bruises that were slightly healed last night. She frowned at them, a lingering pain wasn't something she was used to. Shaking her head she figured she would have to get used to it.
Walking out into the girl's common room she looked at the pair. She offered smile. It was small and hesitant, but it was an attempt.
She didn't initiate any conversation, but she didn't look like she would turn any chance of interaction away either.
The girl was scrawny. She didn’t look much older than 12, and was a grand total of five-foot-nothing tall. She was skinny, though it was hard to tell how much as the clothes she was wearing were several sizes too big, and obviously at least second-hand - a pair of skinny jeans that hung loose on her, only staying up because of a cracked turquoise patent leather belt. She wore a faded blue t-shirt bearing the name and logo of a diner that was razed in a super powered battle seven years ago, tucked into the waist of her jeans on one side.
She had pale skin, tangled chin-length strawberry blonde hair that had clearly been cut at home, and greenish grey eyes with dark circles beneath them. Her nails were ragged, probably chewed, and there were scabs and raw areas next to her nails where the skin had been picked.
On the whole, she just didn’t look like much. She set about making herself a cup of tea, briefly glancing over to Anne and Dash.
"Any green tea?" She inquired. "I could kill for a cup of..." She tried to smile, but it fell short. "I guess I shouldn't say that. Even if it is a euphemism."
"Anne," she offers. She is dressed in dirty clothing, which is clearly well tailored and of the finest fabrics. Even the edging on the pants had a tint of some sort of golden thread which was metallic, as if made from real gold. She wore no jewelry at the moment. The softness of her hands bespoke a life that had not done any hard physical labor. She appeared to be in her mid teens with soft brown eyes, straight brown hair below her shoulder blades.
Sticking out of a pocket are some truly unflattering rubber gloves. They look like something that one might wear to wash dishes.
Last edited by Pandemonium; Sun 16/08/2022:10 UTC.
"Thank you," she says as she takes the cup. She puts her fingers against the sides of the mug warming them and consequently her heart. She brings the cup in close and deeply inhales. A smile of satisfaction crosses her face.
"Mmmh," softly escapes as she takes a sip of the warm liquid. "What brings you to this ... um place?" She didn't direct the question to any particular person, just to the open air so it can be answered. More curiosity than anything else. Yet she was clearly interested.
Blonde, disheveled hair... bed head. Weary, tired blue eyes... probably didn't sleep much last night. Imagine that, right?
Cadence wore a oversized hoodie sweatshirt that looked brand new. The hood was thrown back and half her hair was inside the neckline, the rest fell wherever it wanted about her face. A pair of blue gym shorts and black ankle socks... but it was that other feature she was wearing about her ankle that made her the envy of the couture accessory season. A a 4 inch white cuff was attached to her left leg just above her ankle. It appeared to have some kind of pad lining but looked sng. It was obviously electronic in nature and probably not her own portable wifi router. It was clear that she wasn't comfortable wearing because of the way it affected her gait.
She haltingly made her way toward the kitchen, more specifically the refrigerator. She ignored the other girls thus far.
“I’m here by mistake. They think I have powers. I’m only here until they wise up and yeet me into the foster care system,” she said, as she settled into one of the chairs - drawing her knees up to her chest and perching her heels on the edge of the seat cushion. She took a sip of her tea before continuing.
“Until then I’m going to enjoy the whole warm bed and regular meals thing.”
Cadence opened the refrigerator, or 'fridge' as her mother called it. Granny called it the Ice-Box. Cadence took a breath and dismissed the small flash of memory with a shrug. That was all gone now. She looked over the contents on the interior shelves and then shifted her stance to survey the door racks as well.
A half gallon jug of milk, already opened, not missing much, but looking pretty new. She pulled it out and closed the door again with her other hand. Slowly, as though shuffling her feet was the best she could do this early in the morning. It was morning right? Maybe not? Bleary-eyes as it was, she swept some of the hair from her face to look across the common room to a window. That didn't tell her much. It was daytime... close enough. It was morning somewhere, right?
Absently she put the milk container on the counter and started to open and close overhead cabinets until she found a cup or a glass, if they were even allowed to have glass... glasses... such a weird word... glass was one thing and well, it was also the same word for the drinking container made of glass... Whatever. She shook her head to dismiss the errant thoughts. Right now, the only thing of importance was finding something to pout her milk into...
Wait... Cadence stopped and took the two steps back to the half gallon container on the counter. She picked it up again and looked at the date with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. Apprehension was mixing with hopefulness. There were rules to drinking milk. Good ! There were still five days left on the 'Best By' date. But now came the more critical test as she opened the cap and selled herself for... You know, the gag thing... that moment when you smell soured milk un close and confined. But it was important because smelling soured milk was nothing compared to drinking soured milk. Clode your eyes, deep breath, exhale slowly and.... sniff.
"Thank you Jesus," she muttered and sighed in relief. It smelled good. So then the hunt was back on for a glass but now she carried the milk with her as though it were a prized possession she had won at the State Fair midway games. And so, finding the cabinet with the plastic tumblers wasn't hard, there weren't that many cabinets. But the cup had to go through a sniff test as well. Who knows, right? Yeah, sure appeared a little anal retentive and OCD but it was the first morning in paradise. The process for the future would be a whole lot smoother and simpler once she had some trust, especially if the people here understood how to avoid 'Crimes Against Milk'.
With her milk poured, she returned the jug to the fridge, then closed the door and stood right there with her back to the other girls in the living area of the common room as she drank a huge swallow of it and her shoulders relaxed as she sighed with as much contentment as could be mustered in her new home. Tumbler in one hand, she shuffled across the floor toward the shared bathroom, raking her other hand through the wild man of tangled hair.
“If I could will reality to be what I wanted it to be, do you really think what I’d choose was being in the foster care system until I aged out and was kicked out onto the streets? Getting punted from family to family and having to carry my belongings with me in a garbage bag? I don’t want that life. I don’t want the life I left behind either.”
She gestured to the room at large.
“This place? This place is the dream. Hot water that comes out of the faucet rather than having to be heated on the one stove burner that still works. Sheets on the beds. Actual pillows rather than couch cushions scavenged from a dumpster. No bedbugs. Windows that aren’t broken or boarded over. A roof that doesn’t leak. Actual good food, enough food that the hunger pains go away. No responsibilities.”
She took another sip of her tea.
“If I sound like I don’t believe that all of this is real, it’s not because I want it to not be real. It’s because people like me don’t get to live in places like this. People like me don’t get to be warm, and safe, and extraordinary. The other shoe is going to drop. It’s all going to be ripped away. Because that’s what always happens. That’s reality.”
Too early in the day. Hell, even if it was afternoon already, that was still too early for deep soulful conversations about dumpster cushions and leaky roofs.
Cadence raised her tumbler up above her head, as a toast it seemed. "Here's to living the dream," she announced as she passed the living area by on her way to the bathroom. And just before she got to the door to the bathroom she spoke again. Her tone wasn't condescending and it wasn't dismissive. It wasn't anything at all like ridicule either. Cadence just sounded tired and matter of fact in her tone.
"Not to ruin the moment," she said with her free hand on the door knob, "But they have tech that scans people... if they say you have powers... You have powers..."
She walked into the bathroom, the door closing behind her.
“Right you know. They tell you powers, you got powers. Might not know what you got, but you got. I got, that girl got. That girl too. All. You maybe not broke too, but power? Yah. Have. Not here other.”
She continued to sip the tea. She watched and listened. Having money and a non leaky roof had other problems too. She kept that to herself though. She didn't want people thinking she was a chip off of the old block.
When she was asked she pointed to the gloves. "Let's just say that we don't want to do any involuntary touching. For the most part I can control it. But it can do nasty things to your lifespan." She shrugged like it wasn't a big deal.
“Living the dream,” she replied to Cadence, raising her cup of tea.
She nodded slightly as Anne said that touching her was bad news - she’d gathered that it was something touch-related based on the gloves.
“We need to get you better gloves, so your hands don’t end up marinating in those.”
And finally to Dash, “Sorry for being harsh there. You didn’t say anything wrong. Everything’s just so weird. It’s like I’m trying to learn to walk with my arms. But my arms are where my ears should be. And they’re on the wrong sides.”
The milk girl with gadget on her leg wasn't long in the bathroom. As she came out, still shuffling as though she was a casting extra in a 60s zombie movie, she finished the tumbler of milk and sighed. She walked her way back to the kitchen.
"Are we it? Or, are there more Broken Dolls on the Island of Misfit Toys?"
She rinsed her cup out and looked around for what she should do with it next. Were the girls responsible for their own cleanup? What was the deal? Sure, there would probably be some official event where the rules of the place were explained and all, but for now she put the cup in the efficiency sink.
“Well. Think about all th’ girls I know of. Are s... are more boys. Think at least three, an’ two more came in late night. ‘Course there no timetable for new here, people aren’t captured on time, right?”
She looks at the gloves. "They were a spur of the moment kind of a thing. Not like I get to make much of a fashion statement in here." She purposefully didn't look at her own dirty clothing, nor at the ankle adornment on Candace. In fact she was mostly looking into her tea, with an occasional look up. It was clear she was listening though.
Last edited by Pandemonium; Wed 19/08/2000:29 UTC.
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