Alexander Littlewood | Rena, Katya, Sofia, Max

As surprising as it was, it was Max’s words that brought his first smile of the trip, albeit a faint one that barely stood up to any scrutiny. Had the other man attacked something he was insecure about, or something related directly to pre-Virginia, it would have been a different story. But since he’d gone with one of the few parts of himself that he actually liked, the said reaction was pulled out. “Thank you, I think.” It was said with a slight smirk, one eyebrow raised just as marginally.

What were his first impressions of everyone? Max, that was easy. The first impression was hardly different to the second, or the third, or any time he’d had the misfortune of bumping into him. Katya and Sofia were more difficult, given that he hadn’t been in the best place to remember anything when he’d met them. But Rena - Rena was something else. He’d said as much that time that they’d played this by themselves, but in the group setting he was less keen to say anything worthwhile. She knew what he thought of her, what he’d first thought of her and what he thought of her now, and it felt useless to say it in front of three other people who he hardly knew, and one of which he wished he knew less of.

Suddenly realizing that he’d paused for too long, he began haltingly. “Sofia, I’m gonna be honest and say I didn’t totally notice you when I first met you. But my first impression, when I had one, was that Rena cared about you a lot, and that you were pretty gentle.” Was that too much? Yes, he decided, but now that he’d started with a full sentence it felt unjust to answer the others within a few words. Still, he found himself speaking as if he was reciting something from the depths of his memory: no eye contact, almost careless tone, but an unmistakable sense that he’d measured each word before opening his mouth. “Katya, that you held yourself together so tightly. Max, I wondered what the hell you’d done to Rena to make her react in that way.” And now he was back to the unavoidable answer: “Rena…” He trailed off without even having begun. “I was terrified you were going to tell someone.” It was a different answer to what he’d given her the day before, equally true but mainly used as an excuse to say nothing more than what was obvious at face value.

The rest of the journey largely involved Rena falling asleep on his shoulder, a few terrible movies he began and closed within the first five minutes, and the incessant need for silence. He dozed fitfully for the later hours of their second flight, but even that was never a true escape from the noise. Eventually, he yielded to his inability to sleep properly by listening to the softest music he had downloaded - which naturally, once he’d decided that the chances of rest were low, he fell asleep within the first ten songs. It was Katya who shook both him and Rena awake when the plane landed for the last time, on their home soil at last.

There were the introductions and greetings to get through - he’d plastered on a weak smile, more for Rena’s sake than his - and once those had been set aside they were finally able to leave the airport. The ride to the Petrova’s home, being shown a room, unpacking in an attempt to pretend he belonged if only for a week, fell under the same time warp the entire trip had been under, and which quickly spread to consume the various funerals and people they visited for Viktor. For Rena, he thought, since although he wouldn’t have come if he’d had no connection to the amiable man, she was still the main reason he’d tagged along.

***

It had been Rena’s idea to get out of the property for something other than a funeral. She said that it was to show him more of her home country, but despite or perhaps because of her smile stretched too thin as she said that, he sensed that there was something else beneath her intentions. She wanted - needed - to prove that she was fine, that she was more than fine, she was fantastic, that she was beating grief. At least, that was what he’d assumed. He could be wrong, and he wouldn’t be even remotely surprised if everything he thought he’d guessed correctly was a lie. That was the only thing that stopped him from declining - liar. Although admittedly, he probably would have followed her just about anywhere at this point. The idea of being left alone was attractive, but the chances of being truly alone, without Max’s badly-hidden glances or Sofia’s chatter in some misguided attempt at smoothing over the tension, were dismally low. And so his default was to stay close to her - it was easy to use the excuse of the translator - and this was how they had both ended up in an overcrowded marketplace at eight o’clock, with shouts and whistles coming from what felt like every other person and an overwhelming sense of togetherness in a negative sense.

You’re not here for you. He repeated this countless times in his head, in some attempt to quell the rising fear. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the crowds, the noise, or just another defect on his part. Either way, nothing changed the reality of the situation. This was fine, he was fine. Everything was fine. He was here with Rena - and Sofia, who had inevitably decided to come with - and he was fine. He was fine. Maybe if he said it enough, it would become true. Maybe he’d believe it, sometime. He was fine.

He tightened his already vice-like grip on his jacket as a fresh breeze fluttered through his hair. He’d underdressed, again, and even though this was their fourth day here some part of him continually underestimated the weather. Today will be warmer, he’d think. This jacket should work well. But after little more than a half hour outdoors, he was already trying to disguise his shivers as a natural, calm movement. It wasn’t that cold. Of course it wasn’t. Rena was comfortable, Sofia was comfortable, and he was just imagining things. Besides, there was something fascinating with constantly being slightly below the warmth you wanted. The way it crept through any layers, winding its guilty fingers around your wrist until it was too late, it was always too late, to do anything about it. (He wasn’t entirely sure whether he was still thinking about the cold.)

Rena was saying something again, something to do with the night before - what had happened then, what had he done? - but he was only vaguely aware of her voice. He wanted to listen, he wanted to concentrate on everything that she wanted to think about as some way of connecting, or empathizing, but the attention necessary for that seemed to elude him. His gaze wandered over the masses around them - when had it become so concentrated? - haphazardly, only half-absorbing the mental stimuli. Everything was so loud - was there anywhere he could escape, anywhere he could have a breather even if it was only momentary? He turned to touch Rena’s wrist, to explain himself. He had tried to enjoy this, he honestly had, and that it was nothing to do with her that he felt that he was only a few minutes from collapse or complete withdrawal. Surely she would understand. He needed her to.

But when he turned, she wasn’t there. Had he walked away? Had they walked away, without him or them noticing? The agitation was now too present to bear. He needed to get away, he needed to find her, he needed - anything, anything but whatever he found himself in. Where had she disappeared to? He searched the crowd, eyes leaping frantically from person to person without considering their appearance. He would notice her without trying. Wouldn’t he? Trying seemed too difficult to even attempt at the moment, and so instead he began pushing through the crowd at random, in an effort to do something, anything, that could change this. Whatever ‘this’ was. He didn’t have the time, energy, or mental capacity to consider that at the moment. Did he ever? Not the time.

He seemed to have difficulty breathing, and the only thing that was keeping him upright was the crushing need to find Rena, to find anyone that might be able to change it. Someone glanced at him strangely, someone tried to put their hand on his shoulder, but everything was too blurry and inconsequential to matter anymore. Nothing mattered, except that he needed someone. The fact that he used that wording, that he didn’t drive himself in circles debating whether it was appropriate to rely on someone, should have told him something. Instead, it flitted through his mind without a second thought. He needed someone.

Another hand grasped his shoulder, but this time it wasn’t the gentle, comforting of the other stranger. It was rough, as if the owner was impatient enough not to care that he was on the verge of something else, of a cliff, of mental and physical collapse. “Gotcha.” Again, had he been operating at his optimum speed, he would have noticed the use of English. Usually, the translator was the only thing that let him understand the various people he was forced to interact with on a daily basis. But in the moment, nothing alerted him to anything strange. Nothing was stranger than the feeling of the person’s skin on his sleeve, and almost immediately he fought the urge to either throw up or keel over. His vision was erratic - they’d described it as seeing stars, but somehow that felt inaccurate. It wasn’t seeing anything, it was the lack thereof, and the so-called light was like pinholes poked in the canvas of his sight. Leave me alone. He tried to form the words, but all that came out was a choked sound that resembled a gasp more than the words he was trying so hard to say. By this point, the only reason he wasn’t crumpled on the ground was that one of the people - two others had materialized out of the corners of his vision - had a tight grip on his shoulders. “Please,” he tried again. This was as far as he could get, due largely to the pressing weight on his chest and the inability to find any other words.

Now that he couldn’t see a thing, his hearing appeared to be fading as well. Snapshots here and there, a mess of phrases, the heavy breathing right behind him that did nothing to quiet his panic, sudden silence. Had they gone? The question was irrational, given the clenched fingers around his arm, but he wanted to cling onto it. He needed to cling onto it. If that was all he had left, he would take it.

“Listen up, Alexander.” Briefly, he wondered where the person’s accent was from. It seemed foreign, too measured to be a native English speaker. Why did they know his name? Everything was still so loud, and if he’d still had control of his movements he would have clapped his hands to his ears. “We’re going to make this simple.” And they did. Even with his unreliable aural faculty, the message was clear enough. They’d tried to kill Max, and clearly failed. That much he’d already known. Rena had outlined it vaguely - Rena, he needed Rena - but the information after that was new. Different, even. They needed to complete the objective. They couldn’t risk another failure. He, apparently, was deemed qualified enough to be given the task. Not that he had much of a choice. They needed Max dead by the end of the month. More information would be issued, though they didn’t mention when or how. But since they knew where he was staying, it wouldn’t be difficult. The penalty of not complying? Equally straightforward. He would forfeit his life, instead of Max’s. He wasn’t to tell anyone. If he did, not only would his life be forfeit but also the life of whoever was unfortunate enough to listen to him.

By the time this exchange - although it was more of a monologue, with Alex only gasping every few minutes in an attempt to ease his burning lungs - was over, Alex was almost over whatever had sparked the fear. Almost, or so he told himself. As soon as the woman’s grip on his neck was removed, he crumpled onto the floor. It was another while until he could safely get up without immediately falling again - he’d tried a few minutes after, and naturally failed - and in the meantime his wrists were somehow bloody again. It had happened, unconsciously like every action in the last however long he’d been alone, in an attempt to distract himself from himself. Momentary relief was always appreciated.

How long had it been? His sense of time, along with essentially everything else, seemed to have disappeared as well. Had he been gone long enough for Rena to notice, to realize that he’d lost them? To worry her? He brushed that last thought away as quickly as it had arrived; she’d probably assumed that he’d drifted away to look at something else, and forgotten to mention it to her. The entire idea of leaving his one protection in a busy public area went against his very core, but she might not notice that. Not yet, at least. Once he stood up successfully, his next mission was clear - if anything that went through his head currently was clear: find Rena, and make sure she saw nothing out of the ordinary with his demeanour.

Brushing his hands on his sleeves with a slight wince, he tried to hide whatever signs he could. The black fabric hid the blood well, and as long as he could make it without flinching more than usual she wouldn’t notice. She couldn’t notice. This time, he wouldn’t let her see the ugly parts of him, not when the stakes had been raised by so much. He hadn’t made a plan, nothing more than finding her again, but already things were shifting in his mind. He could figure something out. He could make this work. There was no chance of him killing Max - as much as Alex despised him, he couldn't. Taking someone else's life was unforgiveable, while his own was always up for grabs if someone wanted it.

His surroundings weren’t as bustling as earlier, and he wasn’t completely sure whether it was because of his slightly less suffocated mood or because people had truly left. He couldn’t trust his mind, he wouldn’t trust it. Perhaps because of this he was able to find the pair without as much panic as before, and without clutching the nearest structure to prevent himself landing on the floor too many times. It still happened, but he managed to keep the count under ten, and he’d take that as a victory.

Alex raised his arm as if to tap her shoulder, but decided against it at the last moment. He shouldn’t bring any more attention to his hands than was absolutely necessary. Instead, he stepped beside her so that she could see him properly. “Rena.” He swore internally at the sound of his own voice. It was too shaky, too hoarse, to persuade her that he was fine. “Lost you there for a second,” he tried again, settling for an equally shaky half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Or most of his mouth, or cheeks, for that matter. It was a dismal attempt.

His gaze met hers for a moment, but immediately decided that it was too risky to bare himself through their trademark eye contact, and flung it just below her eyes. As soon as he realized that the object of his gaze was in no means safer, it shifted after another fleeting pause off her lips and onto her shoulders. That was out of harm’s way, at least. He resisted the urge to glance behind his shoulder and make sure that no one had followed him - he'd never recognize them, and there were so many people it would be impossible to identify one. It was irrational. Still, it felt essential to his survival - although that wasn't something he should joke about, not anymore when it was at stake - to check, to calm the fear that had never truly disappeared.

Brinley, Chase, Reyes, Sophie, Sullivan, Violet | Each Other, OPEN

Brinley locked her dorm door and walked down the hall beside her new roommate. So far, she didn’t mind Sophie. She was very energetic and happy and enthusiastic and friendly and her face scrunched when she smiled. Her eyes were a very bright blue and she couldn’t keep her hands still when she talked. She was almost exactly opposite of Brinley, but it made her intriguing for now. Brinley was intrigued by off-brand punk bands and old literature and indigenous folklore and the little quirks that made each person unique. She didn’t hate people but she didn’t prefer them, only the few nearest to her. Still, she allowed herself to be dragged out of her room by the blonde Brit towards some event she’d described in extensive terms to be a bonfire. It didn’t seem so bad and she knew that if her brothers knew she’d turned down opportunities to make friends and create connections, they would be disappointed in her.

Not wanting to risk that, Brinley was being led down a winding corridor that eventually led to a flight of stairs. Except that door was locked, and the next three attempts at exiting the building led them to places they didn’t even know existed. Sophie was the one guiding them and was equally getting them completely and utterly lost. After some amount of silent observing and praying the blonde would gain a grain of intelligence, Brinley spoke up and successfully guided them out of the building in three minutes, wishing she had gotten herself to do so sooner.

It didn’t take long and they had reached the party scene. Brinley grew more and more nervous with each step they took directly into the eye of the storm of people gathered around a large bonfire. “We’re looking for my brother. His name is Chase, he’s tall, he has brown hair, and he’s objectively very hot. I don’t say it in a strange way, only to tell you that wherever he is, a swarm of girls will follow.”

It didn’t take long for Sophie to spot her brother, though Brinley had been trying and failing to for quite a few minutes. Most men she saw could fit that description, and each person she looked at made her feel more and more out of place. These people were supermodels on the covers of horse magazines and she was an eccentric, out of place nobody from everywhere and nowhere with nothing to her name except for an expansive collection of niche interests. Of course, it felt nice to be different, but it didn’t help her desire to go unnoticed and keep a low profile throughout the night. That, and the fact that she was with a golden retriever personality who stopped to introduce her to every single person they saw along the way. She lost track of names beginning with the first one.

“Chase! And Ellie.” She seemed falsely happy to greet the latter, who looked at her with the same returned discomfort. Whatever desire to lay low and stay out of the way she once had was now reduced to a fervent desire to understand the dynamic here. “Meet Brinley! My roommate!” Brinley offered a shy half-smile and a little wave. Assimilate, assimilate, assimilate.

“Actually, she goes by Violet now. She’s rebranded for the nth time.”

“Hey,” the stranger greeted softly. Violet was beautiful too. She was something between Brinley and the others here, and Brinley couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. She didn’t trust her, though, to be fair, she didn’t trust anyone. Especially all of these pretty faces whose names she hadn’t remembered. She glanced over at Sophie, the closest thing she had to a friend here. Anywhere, really. “Nice to meet you.”

In order to escape the small talk that ensued, Brinley perched herself in one of the bottom branches of a tree at the edge of the gathering. It was a quiet enough location that she could hear herself think, yet observe the scene going on around her. She could people watch as she wished without being in the action. Immediately her attention was drawn to a remarkably tall man in questionable clothing. He looked as if he had made it himself, and she immediately identified him as a creative type like herself. She watched him with the man next to him. His name wafted to Brinley on the evening breeze. Sullivan. An interesting name, perhaps Irish. The creative type had a romance-language-esque accent. She couldn’t pin which one. He seemed disinterested in what Sullivan had to say, yet vaguely more interested than he seemed in everything else. As more words from their conversation floated to her with the wind, she realized they were talking about a girl. One the creative type was calling a friend; one that hadn’t arrived to the gathering yet. She assumed he’d been texting her when Sullivan had joined him, hence the beginning of the conversation. Now it was simply one man denying and the other prodding for any evidence that his assumption of a budding romance was correct. The creative type gave him none. He wasn’t a man of many words. He reminded Brinley exactly of herself to the point where she was afraid of going to speak to him more than she was of anyone else. She held a certain admiration for him that turned to terror when the thought of saying something to him occurred. Continuing to listen to their conversation and read their lips, Brinley’s focus occasionally shifted to another person or two in the crowd until the people made her dizzy and she returned it to the conversation at hand.

Drew / Kay | One another, Cam, Aaron, Reyes, Sullivan

Kay pulled his knees closer to his body, blue-green gaze falling to his hands momentarily. Already, he was partially regretting his decision to sit on the ground instead of the benches someone had dragged out for the occasion, since the longer he sat there the more aware he became of the icy temperature of the dirt. But somehow, whether it was because his position was finally comfortable or because he was too lazy to move, he stayed. Truthfully, the motive was largely the dancing flames in front of him; from his lowered viewpoint, they were mesmerizing enough to drag him away from conversation.

When was the last time he'd seen a fire like this? The summer of senior year, maybe, at one of those overhyped parties that were more Drew's type than his - but no. That was the memory that leapt into mind first, purely because its edges were blurred into a happy mess, but there must have been times after that. If anything, he must've sat beside more bonfires in his college days - half of the art faculty had seemed to have some strange fascination with fires.

And yet now, on a cool spring evening with distant chatter drifting towards him half heartedly, it was easy to understand. They were enrapturing, and if that was what it took to find inspiration he wasn't going to argue with it. It seemed to create a lull, a pause in time itself, and he had no choice but to keep his eyes on the fire.

"Heyy." Kay was jolted out of his reverie as a cold arm stretched over his shoulder, quickly followed by her too-familiar head on his shoulder. Drew began fondling his hair, winding a curl around her finger before letting it spring back into position carelessly. Although that descriptive was hardly necessary, since everything that his sister did always came across as effortless, unstudied, and their many conversations told him that for her, it truly was. Even if she worked hard for something, the effort in itself came naturally.

"How's my favourite li'l brother?" She arched his back against him, face now turned upwards to the sky. Her words were enunciated perfectly, but something about her tone made him look at her again. Surely not. The campfire had started a half hour before tops, and from what he'd seen it appeared completely innocuous.

"Already drunk?" He raised a brow mock-incredulously, ignoring her question. She'd asked the same thing when they'd arrived, when she'd first disappeared, and now again. The answer had hardly changed - he was fine, relaxed, happy - and another reply would only spur more questions about why he was happy. Is there a boy? she'd inevitably ask for the third time? And, with a suggestive grin, whisper that he could trust her. With Drew, there always had to be a reason, and in her opinion the reason was always related to others.

"I wouldn't say drunk, as such. Mildly intoxicated. A faint tingle in my fingers."

"If we're already referencing the Tolkien universe, I'd say that ship has long sailed." He cast her a sideways glance, eyes more searching than his lighthearted tone would imply.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." She tossed it away with a shake of her hand. "I'm gonna do another round, I think some of the others've arrived." The 'others' being any of the friends she'd made, and within a few days had pulled into a group. "You'll be okay?" She barely waited for an answer, already standing up and dusting off her jeans.

"Sure. Have fun, alright. Knock yourself out." Even with his momentary pause, she was already hanging onto a nearby blond - Cam, one of the Aussie brothers. He said something that made her tilt her head back and laugh without restraint, only stopping to wink at him and toss back the rest of the contents of her cup. Kay held back an eyeroll, an I-told-you-so, everything he knew were typical of the elder sibling or rather the more responsible one, as she narrowly escaped tripping over her own feet by clinging onto the man.

"Didn't mean it literally, but..."

***

"So, where did you say you studied?" The young man in front of her hadn't said, but judging by his uncertainty he'd be easily persuaded to believe that he had. Drew wound a wisp of her own hair around her finger idly, half-listening to the conversation at hand. Most of her attention, though, was focused on her surroundings; and more specifically, the pair on the outskirts of the group. It was rare for her to wish for a discussion to end, but when it refused to hold her concentration for more than three sentences it felt natural to cut her losses and move on. And it wasn't that the person in front of her was boring; usually, she'd have been enraptured by talking to another BA student. No, they weren't at fault. No one was at fault, but if the blame had to be placed somewhere Drew would lay it on the object of her distraction: Reyes.

"Hmm?" She flashed the stranger - they hadn't exchanged names that evening, since Cam had introduced him as 'a good friend' and then disappeared to another conversation - a bright grin, as some form of apology for something she felt no shame for. "Didn't quite catch that."

Before he could carry on, she interjected. "Wait, actually no. Sorry to leave you like this -" another dazzling smile "- but I just saw someone I need to greet. Catch you afterwards?" She stepped past him, almost carried on, but stopped at the last moment to run her fingers down his arm. Even if she was in a hurry, there was no way she'd miss an opportunity like this. She couldn't have helped but notice the way the young man - Aaron, his name was Aaron - had watched her with badly hidden infatuation for most of the conversation. "Later," she murmured into his ear, more of a breath than speaking, but she didn't think she imagined the desired effect of his cheeks flushing bright red. Poor boy. It wasn't his fault he was too young for her liking, or that his degree had done nothing to improve his personality. He could be a fun one to pull along, though.

Drew paused only once more to flick her hand at him over her shoulder. No harm in playing with his hopes.

Before long - she was only sidetracked by three people and one drink, and that in itself was an achievement - she had reached her destination, if one could call such a roundabout route that.

"I swear all the attractive people are mindless zombies." Drew sidestepped a greeting, instead rolling her eyes, part dramatically and part irritably. "I need some intelligent conversation before my vitals start crashing.” She slung her arm across Reyes’ shoulders - from what she’d figured out, he didn’t seem one for her touchy-feely nature, but that did nothing to deter her; it had the opposite effect, really.

Their conversation had abruptly stopped when her advance was made clear, and that could only lead her to one conclusion. "What were you guys talking about?" Drew raised a brow questioningly, gaze switching between Sullivan and Reyes before landing on the latter. Either they were talking about something illegal or about her, and the former was unlikely for a host of reasons - not least of all that Reyes knew her well enough to know that if they were planning something ludicrous she'd want to join. Also, he was one of the most rule-abiding people she knew, and that was even with her conflict-avoiding older brother. No - if they were talking about something neither wanted her to hear about, the odds were that the topic of conversation was her.

It was the perfect night for an engagement party. For anything, really. It was early November in London and a morning rain had made the evening dewy and extra cool. The chill in the air made Rena shiver, she had always gotten cold so easily. Even in multiple fashionable layers and a warm dress coat, she found herself shivering. Yet, the evening was so picturesque. So beautiful. So vivid. It made her perpetually-numbed senses awaken and function at ten-thousand times their normal level. It was the star-strewn sky, the light of the moon, the mournful call of the boats in the distance. Even when her hands began to grow pale and blue from exposure to the cold, she kept them glued to the railing of the balcony, unable to look away from the scene before her. The slightest smile fell across her lips and her eyes, bringing new life to the aura surrounding her.

“What has you so happy?” Her fiance smiled down at her from a few feet away. She’d barely noticed when he’d joined her on the balcony, looking out in hopes of seeing half of the magic that she did. He must have been there for a few moments in silent contemplation, he seemed composed when he finally spoke.

“If I were to say marrying you..?” She smirked, her beautiful brown eyes holding his gaze. It was he who had to look away, for staring into her eyes felt like staring into the face of the sun. His gaze turned outward, towards the cityscape once again. It was the cityscape that received all of the charm of his smile.

“I wouldn’t believe you.”

She just smiled. He knew her so well. It was a gift of his, or perhaps a learned skill. He took the time to learn everything about her, to truly know her and to love her accordingly. It made the ‘yes’ following his proposal so easy for her, he was everything she had ever wanted in a man. He checked every box and then some. She’d met him at her very lowest, and he’d been willing to sit with her, to pick up the pieces with her without pressuring her for answers or disrespecting her healing process. Michael was one of the biggest blessings Rena had ever received. “Very well.”

Another hour or two passed. Rena had made as many rounds as she felt like around Michael’s people. Over the last two years, she’d lost anyone that had once been important to her and made his hers. Still, they didn’t feel like her people. They felt like his people who occasionally interacted with her out of obligation. She felt the same for them, and on it went. Perhaps the only one whom she truly claimed was Sarah, Michael’s sister. She was everything to Rena, and had quickly fit into the role of the younger sibling Rena had been missing for so many years. She didn’t replace Ivan, which was the most beautiful part. Both Michael and Sarah were so careful, so intentional, so deliberate about respecting the past but becoming the foundation of her present. It was exactly how she had regained her sanity after all she had lacked, how she had grown and rebranded herself and was now a new person, one who didn’t feel the pain she once had. Some days were easier than others, there were days where all she could do was relive the past in aching, vivid reveries. Hallucinations of history so far removed from her yet so apart of her she knew there was no way she would be able to ever truly forget. This was her penance. For what? She did not know. Still, she would bear it for as long as she breathed and she had accepted this long ago.

“There’s someone here for you,” Michael began. Rena thought nothing of it at first, she almost laughed. It sounded like a joke, and her fiance had always had a terrible sense of humor. One she could barely follow. “I didn’t know you invited anyone. I’m excited, it makes me feel loved that you feel safe enough to introduce me to people from your past.”

“Wait, Michael, you’re not joking?” Her eyes narrowed, trying to piece together whether he was serious or not. Before he could reply, she glanced at the door, spotting a familiar figure in the doorway. His eyes were glued on her, and Sarah’s were glued on him. Rena knew that it was impossible to pass off the way he was looking at her as anything other than what it was: a nameless all encompassing word for history, for grief, for unbelievable and incredible love, for everything they had and hadn’t been through together. She felt like she was going to pass out, a feeling she’d gotten rid of for almost an entire year. With Michael the panic attacks had ceased to exist. Michael made it so safe for her here, and the only person who could ruin that was standing in the doorway of the house they shared together. He had no right to trespass on holy ground after so long, so much, so little. She was shaking terribly as she excused herself and marched to the door of the apartment. Through tear-stained eyes, she watched him. The pain and the memory of what he’d done was unconcealable. She wanted to slap him, but if she touched him, she knew it would make his being here real. “You need to go,” she growled, her teeth gritted. She felt as though she looked miserable, unable to pull herself together. Between the tears and the shaking and the pain on her face, there was no hiding the way she was feeling. She wanted to be saved from this tragedy, but something deep within her knew that this moment was always inevitable. For as much as grief and tragedy struck them, their souls would be forever intertwined.

Chester Blue / literally having brain melt down and not remembering what to put here Lmao / M: Lara, Open.

.

.

.
Chester gave a sigh of apprehension as he slid a little futher into the leather seat of his car,His deep eyes flicking with a chaotic calmness to the clock.

.

The blonde had become much accustomed to this part of his routine,Each morning waiting until 8:57 when he knew Lara would arrive without fail.The pair had always had what most would describe a strained relationship - But to Chester it was an intriguing interaction to engage in.Quite frankly it served as a very welcome distraction to the crumbling ruins of his engagement,More-so today to the hot violet mark freshly embellished on his skin from another morning arguement.If he dwelled on the subject for too long his hand got to undying urge to scratch at the makeup that he had become a dab hand at applying over the last few months to cover any bruise.It was a skill he preferred to keep quiet about,Amongst other things.

.
And so he had begun a short while ago leaving a note on her door,something cheesy or cheeky that he knew would strike Lara with mild irritation.Just so when she arrived on the dot it would be there staring back at her unimpressed expression.

.
The moment his mind began to drift with a helpless grin to todays clever quip of ' Are you a parking ticket?Because you've got 'fine' written all over you.' there she was,Chester's expression unmoving much like hers as the prim shoes she was wearing clicked to the office.His eyes intently watched her scarcely even pause at the decoration continuing on her way with an ever constant emotionless demeanor.It being one of the things that never failed to draw his attention,his lips curved to release a light hearted laugh that was withheld into a chuckle,wracking his whole body and causing his grip on the car key to falter momentarily.Satisfied that his pre-work duty was complete, the car started as his pedicured fingers easily entered the location of today's modeling job and set about his day.

Heather Proudstorm | 22 | Eventer | Titanium "Storm" and Queen Of Spain "Armonìa" | School Horse: WO Descendants Of Khan "Khan" | M: Cameron, Anyone else who wanted to tag along the road trip adventure lol

Lara | Chester, Hunter, Ivy

“...and the barn staff are all pretty welcoming, you should have no problems-” Lara’s sharp gaze fixated on the post-it note that was, like the person who had put it there, needing no assistance in the ancient art of drawing attention to itself. Her eyes narrowed out of mild annoyance as the pair drew nearer, and she barely skimmed the light-hearted scribbling before ripping it off the door, opening said door, and discarding the neon-colored paper into a box inside that was filled with many notes like that one. Though she tried to avoid allowing her new protegee to read that morning’s example of benign incompetence, the smirk on the woman’s lips told Lara that she had been largely unsuccessful in that mission. She sighed and led the woman inside.

“Sorry, where was I?” Now flustered--and largely annoyed--Lara took a seat at her desk. She crossed out several items on her to-do list as she waited for a response from the woman across the desk from her.

8:51 - coffee at exactly mid-commute

8:55 - park car

8:56 - meet Ivy and run through itinerary

8:57 - pull note off door

8:57 - throw note away

8:58 - get back to matters of importance

“You were talking about the environment here at White Oaks on a scale of amiability.”

“Perfect, so as I was saying…” Lara continued on, every so often glancing at the door and expecting the other office worker to come in at any moment and fulfill her duties. Today that involved a barn tour for the newest addition to the barn staff, which Lara herself could not do for fear of getting even a second behind schedule. She had over two-hundred items on her to-do list for the day, and she was scheduled from sunrise to sundown with no flexibility. Even now, allowing herself to complete tasks outside of her daily itinerary instilled anger in her. After a few more moments of waiting, she called Kholo to find out who could replace the older woman in showing Ivy around. “Thanks, Kholo. Send them both up.” She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice at the names that were given. Hunter was too shy to give an effective tour of the property, in her opinion, but the second option was much worse in every way possible. Some part of her had to admit that she enjoyed his being back on property, though she couldn’t recall in the slightest exactly why he was back, but most of her was daydreaming about ways to end his life. She glanced at the door, then back at Ivy. “Sorry for the delay, it should be any minute now,” she promised, her body rigid with resentment. “She’s sending two people up who could help out, you can choose which you’d like to go with. I’ll keep the other to help with menial tasks around here to get back on schedule.”

Cameron Fairfield | Heather, Mr. Heartwell, Sophie,

It would have been a lie to say that Cam wasn't disappointed that the barn was relatively in the middle of nowhere. The parking lot was empty, save for Heather's truck and what he assumed was the owner's car, although it would have been generous to call it a parking lot. Per his standards, it was closer to a small clearing. Not that the other facilities were lacking - a careless glance, more to look for other preferably female people than to survey his surroundings, told him that where the parking lacked the barns and arenas took in full force. Still, the property was silent. His effort in his appearance was wasted, unless he could tempt the serious-looking man who greeted them as they arrived. Unlikely, though. Heather, though he'd once vied for her affections with vigour, was equally disinterested. Apparently, he'd have to wait until they returned to find the attention he clearly deserved. There were plenty of fanatics there, at the very least.

As expected, Heather wasted no time in finding her prospective new horse. Toby trailed after her, loyal as always, and Cam kept by her side with the ease of practice. His ambling stride was both longer and slower than hers, and other than the occasional jog or halt it evened out just about right.

"That the one, eh?"

He let out a low whistle as Armonia sniffed his hand suspiciously, before succumbing to his obvious charm and nuzzling it properly. The mare was groomed to perfection and turned out in equally sparkling tack, but even covered in mud one would have to be blind to miss her potential. It was more than surface-level beauty too, if the toned muscles said anything about that. "She's a looker, al-damn-right." Partially turning away from the mare while keeping his hand in front of her nose, he winked at Heather as suggestively as he could to a platonic friend - even more exaggerated than usual, most likely just because of that confirmed status. "Makes three in this place. And," he dropped his voice to a stage whisper, "just between you an' me, it doesn't include my mate Heartwell over there."

Once Heather was mounted and warming up in the arena he'd admired upon arrival, Cam found a place on the bleachers to watch the pair ride. Any onlooker, though, would have found that motive hard to believe: his eyes were half-closed, partly to block the sunshine, and with one arm stretched out against the bench and the other beneath his head, he was the definition of relaxation. That didn't mean he was ignorant of his surroundings, naturally. Every few minutes, he sat up to rearrange his hair just on the odd chance that a suitably attractive woman appeared out of nowhere. That was half the attraction of the equestrian world, other than his family legacy and riding experience - it seemed to draw the most good-looking people of his generation. Perhaps that was truly why he'd first begun, he mused; he was unreasonably handsome, after all, and if his theory was correct - of course it was - equestrianism naturally pulled fetching people closer. A magnet, or something like that. He didn't feel like finding the right word.

It was barely an hour, or close enough to that to count, before Heather was satisfied with the mare's paces. From the limited pieces he'd seen through his careless gaze, he'd have agreed. She just needed to sign the papers and load Armonia, and the mare was hers. Which was exactly what she did, mostly with Cam hanging beside her like the flirtatious, smirking shadow he was. He assumed the vet check had been completed earlier in the week, but he wasn't going to bring it up. If the sky was telling the truth, they'd be able to get back just in time for the social that evening. Maybe, if she was too tired to protest, she'd agree to being dragged out as well. Might as well hope, and of course he might as well pester her the entire way home. What were friends for, if not that?

The rest of the drive was as uneventful as always, save for the occasional sound from the back of the vehicle. The only other noises were the steady hum of the engine and the just as consistent banter between the pair. Not for the first time, Cam was enjoying the fact that not only had Emily pulled out at the last moment, Heather's acquaintance-cum-friend hadn't pitched either. People were always fun, and a newcomer would only have added to the enjoyment of it all, but their mainly teasing-based friendship was comfortable enough by itself. Besides, the real problem was clear: the more people, the more he'd have to fight for the front seat. Already, he'd been championed by a dog on the trip to the farm. That was not a risk he wanted to take again.

---

The bonfire was already roaring by the time Cam arrived, after a quick shower and a fresh t-shirt. If he was going to go, he had to spruce up before showing his face to the outside world. He was always gorgeous, obviously, but there was no harm in enhancing his natural beauty. Heather hadn't given him a direct answer on whether she was keen on coming or not - she was too diplomatic, he thought, for a simple no - and until she arrived he was going to try his hand out on any stranger at the party. Admittedly, that was unlikely to stop even if she did arrive. What can I say? The people love me.

It took a few minutes of idle chatting to notice a particularly attractive and vaguely familiar woman hanging around a pair in the middle of the small crowd. It was half of that before he sidled over, caught a lull in one of her conversations, and slid just as easily into her attention.

"G'day, Sheila." Cam raised a brow at the young woman beside him, a self-assured smile on his face as usual. He leaned back against the tree, one hand in his pocket and the other holding an almost-empty cup. "Say, don't I know you?" He knew he did, and he was even more certain that she would have remembered him. Still, more as a form of conversation than to introduce himself, he stuck out his hand in an ambiguous fashion that could imply a handshake, fist pump, or high five. Knowing him, it could have meant any action in the world, not excluding any he'd made up himself.

"Cam," that same lazy grin, a smooth back of his hair even though it was perfectly in place. "And who do I have the pleasure of meetin'?"

Heather Proudstorm | 22 | Eventer | Titanium "Storm" and Queen Of Spain "Armonìa" | School Horse: WO Descendants Of Khan "Khan" | M: Cam, Social gathering