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southboundhq · 4 years

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MEET HARLOW,

FULL NAME › Harlow Vulpecula Belle AGE › twenty two GENDER › Cis female (She/Her/Hers) FROM › Upper West Side, New York LODGING › Copper Cactus Motel PRIOR EMPLOYMENT › Ballet Dancer (Soloist) NOW PLAYING › ‘Non, je ne regrette rien’ by Edith Piaf

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warnings: death, injury, mental illnesses, suicide / contemplation of suicide, substance abuse, implied abuse and emotional manipulation

The rise of the curtains meant the show is starting. When they fall for the last time, it means the show is over.

A life in four acts (and counting), one for each loss.

ACT I. BELLE

She was her mother’s daughter; the same laughter, the kindness, the eyes.

The gentleness of her mother’s touch, the honey of her voice. Her delicate fingers brushing through Harlow’s hair, the warmth radiating through every room in their small home, right in the heart of Paris. The smell of the evening wind. The sight of it all. Harlow, in her best dress, her legs swaying, as her mother took her to watch Swan Lake. The first time she had ever held onto something.

An angel loved and doted on.

Memories of her golden childhood, from a time she wishes had never ended. It was the only thing that Harlow Belle could do: cling to the innocence and the wonder that her mother blessed her with— even as her mother’s health quickly deteriorated. For they were things she could not understand; she had never known loss. A ghost in the night, taking away the color from her mother’s cheeks. Her mother whispering I love you, but it had sounded so much like Farewell. The man standing by the door the next morning, one she did not really know, but was familiar only because it was his face in her mother’s cherished photograph. He wept at her side and her mother ran her hand through his hair, planting a kiss on his head. His hand was warm, his voice gentle, leading Harlow away.

The universe had shown her paradise, and it burned it down infront of her.

You’re not coming with us? Harlow had asked.

Her mother smiled, I will be with you, my love.

But her mother never came, no matter how long Harlow waited. She was alone.

ACT II. LACY

She never really understood why her mother never came. Or why she had to leave. Was her mother dead? Did her mother not love her anymore? There wasn’t an answer that Harlow wanted to hear, so she simply never asked. Entangled in her own little world, where she blurred the lines between her reality and her memories.

On some days, it was as easy as breathing. It meant formally studying ballet. It was the white dress she wore on her father’s wedding day. It was listening to the affection in their voices as they spoke to her. As if she belonged. It was her hand on her stepmother’s belly, waiting for their unborn son to kick from the womb. It was a future where the ache left by her mother was the size of the pendant of Harlow’s dainty necklace.

It was easy, too, when she was twelve, one the eve of her first real performance.

You’re coming to watch, right? The excitement in her voice.

Her stepmother tucked hair behind her ear, Wouldn’t miss it.

It was the heartbreak and the fear, a distant memory replaying in her head. Harlow, watching the empty seats her parents couldn’t fill. The tears that followed, the apologies, the sobbing. The car accident that happened that night, claiming the lives of her stepmother and her unborn child. Her father, paralyzed, spending his days in a wheelchair and looking out into the window.

Sometimes, Harlow thinks he’s asking to be taken, too.

He did not look at her. He did not speak to her. Not that he could.

Harlow found herself alone again. And this time, it was her fault.

ACT III. PRIMA

Her grandmother, as she had learned, was an esteemed and respected Principal Dancer, known for her completely control over her body and the tantalizing performances she brought. She was eloquent, with a dignified walk, the air around her had always seemed so.. perfect. But Amanda Lacy, in Harlow’s experience, was a distorted mirror—her reflection was crooked, and every inch of her cruel.

The first time Amanda Lacy used violence on Harlow was a week after the accident. Harlow had refused to dance so adamantly, and she remembers the thunder and lightning that sounded as Amanda Lacy’s hand collided with her small face. It was my fault, Harlow would repeat her grandmother’s words, It’s because I didn’t want to dance. It’s because it was my fault that dad can’t dance anymore.

It was easy, too, to fall back inlove with ballet. Too easy.

Dancing as the sun rose in the morning, until late at night. Under fluorescent lights. Her body in full view. Drenched in sweat. The tears on her eyes as she pushed her body to its limit, to bend until she almost breaks. Almost. Until every muscle ached.

Until her grandmother was satisfied.

Harlow, who had loved ballet, grew afraid of it. It was a constant game of hide-and seek. A push and pull between her passion and her fear. Escaping. Craving. The chill that ran down her spine, the way her blood ran cold. Amanda Lacy would only ever call her “Prima”, followed by the ache of a wish that she would one day be worthy of being called such a name.

It meant drowning out the praises of strangers, growing blind to the eyes that landed on her, the expectations they had. The anxiety that drowned out the adrenaline brought by the stage lights and the music. The numbness. The collapse and the caving in. Attempting to put an end to it all. The doctors she had to meet with, who only ever gave her pills. though none of them ever really fixed her, a hollow porcelain doll. The slashes on her wrists.

More pills.

More, more, more, until she couldn’t count them anymore.

The empty seat she wished her father would fill, if somehow reality had been kinder to him. To them both.

At the age of twenty-one, Harlow had laced her shoes for a production of Swan Lake. It had been her dream, her turning point, her one last hope to be freed from her mother’s memory, of her grandmother’s presence. There she was, a mess of blood and tears, hunched over the sink, her consciousness fading, the strength leaving her body. Amanda Lacy stands by the door, though Harlow couldn’t gather enough of her thoughts to think about how she had gotten in. There is a look of anger and disgust as she pulls at Harlow’s clothes, her palm coming down on her face in a hard slap.

Compose yourself and dance, Prima. Do not embarrass me. Words, stone-cold.

Stellar form. Control. Grace. Precision. An expressive, electrifying performance. One could not look away.

Harlow Lacy, the prodigy.

IV. HARLOW

The smell of his cigarette followed Harlow even hours after they had parted. The mischief in his smile. His hand, taking Harlow’s own. His fist colliding with a stranger’s jaw, the one who touched her. The way they made a run for it after that. The kisses they stole from each other. The skies when she and the other lost kids snuck into the city pool, the way it painted everything purple. The kisses they gave back.

He called her Prima, too, but it did not carry venom when it left his lips. She should know, he had always tasted sweet for her.

Harlow was fifteen when she met him. The childish trouble they would get themselves into, she and all the other kids who she learned was just like her, the hungry and the desperate.To numb the ache, or to take away the numbing.

Over the next few years, Harlow would have gotten herself through all sorts of troubles. Disappearing for days without so much as a word. She had learned that Amanda Lacy did not really care about her whereabouts, just that she was able to deliver a performance. Harlow made sure to make full use of this knowledge. She would end up coming back, anyway.

It didn’t matter to her at twenty-two, when she put all of her belongings into suitcases and a backpack, and a suitcase filled with all of the money she had made from dancing, and every transaction in the backwaters, everything she could steal from her own family, and all of the money her mother had put in her name (which, Harlow had learned, was a lot).

Her pointe shoes. The necklace her mother gave her. Photographs. Memories. Saying goodbye to her father, though he did not really answer. Even though he may still despise Harlow, she knew he would understand. An apology. And then another. Lying with a straight face, every alibi and every answer perfectly crafted. Pulling all of her strings and sneaking out in the dead of night to find herself on a flight from New York to California, then driving to Las Vegas.

Or anywhere, really.

Anywhere was fine.

She would end up coming back, anyway.

She had been hung-over when she drove into Boot Hill, going straight to a motel to sleep off the exhaustion, stay for a few days, then head back on the road. But there was something endearing about Boot Hill that Harlow couldn’t pinpoint. The way it was everything she never thought she wanted, a remote place where Amanda Lacy would never even imagine her to hide in. Where she was not haunted, seemingly plucked off from the grasps of her grandmother. The poison that dripped from every word that left her mouth. The sharp pain on her body as it collided with the wooden cane. The bruises. The ache.

But right now there is only Harlow, and her three-legged pug, Poppy.

Occasionally, she watches the town’s sign and the open road ahead, thinking she’ll have to go soon. She’ll have to come back sooner or later. She cannot keep running away.

Then there is the heaviness.

I’ll leave tomorrow, she says, but tomorrow never really comes.

❝ i wonder what’s in store if i don’t love it anymore; stuck between the having-it-all and giving-it-up. ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Zendaya Coleman AUTHOR › Fey

#zendaya #rp #rpg #town rp #bio rp #lsrpg #{ all. }#{ newcomer. }#{ f. }#{ over twenty. }#{ fey. }#death tw #suicide tw #substance abuse tw #mental illness tw

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margueritehall · 3 years

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Chapter Five: Last Night I Heard My Own Heart Beating

I know people change and these things happen, But I remember how it was back then ( If This Was a Movie ; Taylor Swift)

May 19, 2018

Forty-five minutes later, after changing out of his own pajamas, Steve sat in his office with Maggie's employee file and a cup of coffee that Nat had brought him when she’d overheard an employee talking about Cap carrying some girl across the building just after dawn. He scanned down the page for the phone number of an emergency contact; it almost felt like an invasion of her privacy when he read through the facts that he didn't feel like he should know, like the fact that her parents had died in the battle of New York just six years earlier.

He felt a weight on his chest when he saw she'd only been twenty-one when she was left on her own; she'd been younger than he was when he lost his mom. Running a hand over his beard, he leaned forward, resting an elbow on the cool glass surface of the desk as his tired eyes read more, unable to look away from all of the new information.

“See the thing about her dead parents?” He looked up to see Natasha back in his doorway once more, taking a sip from her mug as she watched him.

“How did you know?” He raised an eyebrow at her, leaning back to look less interested than they both knew he was.

“I make it a point to google everyone who lives around here.” She shrugged nonchalantly before a small smile spread across her lips. “She’s a nice girl, seems like you’d like her.”

He was incredulous, shaking his head at her antics. Even when they’d been on the run together, Natasha hadn’t stopped trying to find him a girl.

“Romanoff, she’s unconscious in a hospital room.” He tried to reprimand her, he felt his cheeks turning a light red behind his beard as he quickly moved on. “I’m just trying to find her emergency contact to call them.”

She nodded, carrying on as she gestured for him to look further down the page, “That’s her best friend. She works with Dr. Cho.” He registered that she had definitely looked at Maggie’s file at some point and he'd have to talk to her about boundaries again.

“Helen Cho?” Steve raised an eyebrow at the familiar name.

“Yeah, some kind of prodigy, apparently.” Natasha didn’t move, watching Steve read through the information while he tried to carefully control his microexpressions as to not give any of his thoughts away to the trained spy.

Tracing his finger down the page, he found the name and quickly jotted down the number so he could close the file and stop feeling like he was learning too much about her without her consent.

Like the fact that her name was actually Marguerite Brynn Hall, not Margaret like he’d assumed, or that she had served in the Peace Corps in Ukraine after her parents’ deaths.

Or that she was allergic to penicillin or that she had graduated first in her class with her master’s degree.

“Okay, bye, Nat.” He spoke without looking up and it was like he could hear her roll her eyes at him before she finally departed, leaving him alone to make the call.

He gave a quiet chuckle before dialing the number he’d written down, looking out the window and absentmindedly watching the quiet world outside.

The phone rang several times before a chipper voice answered on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

He sat up straighter, “Hi. Is this Poppy Stewart?”

“Yes? And who am I speaking to?” Sitting in a lab in Chicago, Poppy looked down at her phone and made a face at what she saw; the call was from an unfamiliar, New York number. With her luck, it would be some debt collector or someone trying to steal her identity.

“I— uh, Steve Rogers.” He sounded awkward as he tried to introduce himself.

Immediately she was suspicious, standing and turning away from her classroom. “Like ‘Captain America’ Steve Rogers? That Steve Rogers?” Her green eyes were wide with curiosity. Of course, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility; Maggie had told her about her recent move to the Avenger’s facility and she’d mentioned that several of the heroes were also temporarily living there while they tried to figure out their new plan in the wake of the decimation.

“Yeah.” He paused, unsure whether or not to continue. “I wanted to talk to you about Maggie—”

“What?” Poppy felt her stomach drop as she cut him off, the wind swiftly taken from her sails. She gripped the side of a lab table, her happy inflection finally wavering and falling away as she dreaded his response when she asked, “What about Maggie?” Her thoughts began to race. What could have happened to her? They'd spoken the day before. Of course she was hundreds of miles away and couldn’t just drive there in this moment. Had there been an accident? Had she gotten hurt? She couldn’t keep the fear from her voice once she finally inquired, “Did something happen to her?”

“No! No, she’s okay.” He was quick to respond, knowing his initial statement probably wasn't the best way to bring this up to her. “She passed out a little while ago.”

“Passed out?” Poppy raised an eyebrow.

“Fainted.” He confirmed with a quiet sigh, “She hadn’t slept in two days. She’s in the medical center now and she's being looked after. They had to stitch her hand up because she cut it pretty badly but they have her on a sedative for now.”

“Oh.” Poppy exhaled quietly, feeling her heart break as she blinked back her tears with a shake of her head. “Why wasn’t she sleeping?” She thought aloud.

Steve paused, feeling like he should maintain some of her privacy, but this was Maggie’s emergency contact and best friend. “She said she couldn’t stop thinking about ‘them.’” He tapped a pen on the desk absentmindedly, flipping it again and again.

“Of course she couldn’t.” She knew that Maggie would work herself in to an early grave someday. The survivor’s guilt following the death of her parents had nearly killed her so of course this was affecting her on a brand new, much larger, scale. Poppy’s attention was taken as one of her undergrads called her name. She paused and held a finger up to her student, slightly exasperated as she thought, ‘Is data analysis truly that difficult?’

“Could you have her call me when she wakes up? I just need to know that she’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course.” He made a note to himself.

She hated that she couldn't be there, and she knew her request would irritate Maggie, but her words spilled out quickly, “And…could you make sure she isn’t alone when she wakes up? She likes to pretend that she doesn’t get scared but she hates hospitals. Like, she really hates them. She complained about going after a fucking car accident when we were in college so I just know she'll be upset about this. And I know you’re probably busy doing ‘you’ things but maybe you could have someone else—”

“I can be there.” His voice was kind but firm as he cut off the rambling girl. A part of Steve felt strangely protective over Maggie despite not yet knowing her well.

“Thank you.” Poppy let out a quiet sigh of relief at his promise, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she exhaled. “I appreciate you calling me.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll call you if anything changes before she wakes up.” The two said their goodbyes and he sank back in his chair.

Since the decimation, there was no set schedule or things he had to do. Everyone had just been trying to stay afloat in the new world. Standing, he grabbed a book and some paperwork and made his way back to the small, hospital room where she slept silently.

He didn’t know when she’d wake up but he knew that she wouldn’t be alone once she did.

Twelve Hours Later

There was a slow, steady beeping that cut through the mostly silent air. The soft mattress cradled Maggie gently as she blinked awake after hearing several hushed voices from across the room. Of all the beds, hers was the only one that was occupied within the spacious room. The dim light streaming through the shaded windows allowed her to see everything clearly as her eyes adjusted to being open once more.

Beside her, in a chair, was Steve Rogers. His focus was on the book in his lap as he read it silently flipping to a new page and she watched as he silently mouthed the lines to himself unaware of his audience. Several feet away, Pepper, Bruce, and Natasha were all speaking with one another.

Maggie opened her mouth to speak but it was incredibly dry. Spotting a bottle of water on the table beside her, she began to lean over and stretch her arm out to reach for it but her movement didn't go unnoticed.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” There was a small smile on Natasha's face that didn’t quite reach her eyes as her raspy voice broke the atmosphere while Maggie struggled to sit up in the bed, feeling like she was being weighed down by several cinderblocks on her chest.

Looking over at her, Steve quickly sat his book down and leaned over to help her, one of his hands resting on her back gently as he guided her into a sitting position. She rubbed her tired eyes as he uncapped the water bottle she'd been seeking and handed it to her with a small smile that she returned gratefully. Maggie accepted it wordlessly, looking around at the other visitors as she tried to piece together details that didn't quite fit.

“How long was I asleep?” Her voice was hoarse from not being used; she cleared her throat before taking a sip of the water. It was silent as they all exchanged glances; unsure of who should speak first. Her nerves began to prickle quickly when the fog from her mind slowly dissipated and her consciousness returned in full. She blinked, trying to remember events that weren't coming to her, when she heard the beeping of her heart monitor pick up its pace as she slowly became more anxious. Her soft voice was filled with anxiety, “When did I come here?”

Bruce was the first to respond, moving towards her as he pulled the small penlight from his pocket and turned it on. “You don’t remember?”

Looking down, she tried to retrace the steps of her timeline: she’d finished at her office around five in the evening, she’d gone back to her room and showered, then she laid down to sleep. She remembered tossing and turning for hours before going to get a glass of water to take a sleeping pill but then it was like her slate had been wiped clean.

“I…remember getting a glass of water last night.” She sounded uncertain, looking up at him as he used the light to perform a quick examination on her eyes and mental status. Had that been a dream?

While he watched her pupils dilate, his kind voice was low as he responded, “That was really early this morning.”

Maggie’s brows drew together and she shook her head, pulling away as he tried to finish her assessment. “That doesn’t—”

Pepper walked over, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking one of Maggie’s hands in her own. She felt a pit in her stomach and she knew that she wouldn't like what Pepper had to say. The woman's soothing voice couldn't soften the news from her words, “Steve found you in the kitchen after he woke up. It looked like you had collapsed and when we had F.R.I.D.A.Y. look at the security footage, you’d been there for almost two hours before he found you.”

“Two hours?” Her voice cracked and she felt herself deflate. Pieces of the early morning came back to her: glass shattered on the water-covered floor, a bloody handprint on her leg, a cabinet knob digging into her shoulder.

“You cut your hand pretty good on the glass so they stitched that up for you.” He nodded to the hand that Maggie hadn’t even realized was currently wrapped in a thin layer of white gauze. Blood rushed to her cheeks, making them burn red-hot in embarrassment.

She hated being taken care of and this was her worst nightmare come to fruition.

She took stock of the multiple pieces of equipment that she had been hooked up to in her unconscious state. An IV had been placed in the back of her hand, a blood pressure cuff was squeezing her arm periodically as it took the vital. There was a pulse-oximeter on her finger and leads from a heart monitor had been placed on her chest to track her cardiac activity. Her comfy pajamas had been replaced with a hospital gown at some point and her feet were now clad in the 'fall-risk' socks that had traction grips on the bottom. Curling her toes, she cringed and looked down at herself; she felt more than humiliated before she realized that no one had actually answered her question. “So, how long was I asleep?”

Steve checked his watch and frowned before looking up at her, “You kind of…fainted—” Maggie groaned and leaned back on the headboard, wishing she could sink into the cushion of the bed and never reemerge from its depths. She met his eyes as he continued, “And then Bruce put you on a sedative so you’d actually get some rest. So, it’s been about twelve hours.”

She shot forward when she realized that she had missed a whole day of work, especially when she knew that it was all hands on deck. She quickly pulled the wire leads from her chest and through the neck of her gown, wincing as the adhesive pulled away from her delicate skin. She removed the small thing that had been pinching her finger for half of the day, but before she was able to pull the needle from her hand, Steve had quickly covered it and gave her a scolding look with the shake of his head.

“Maggie!” Pepper’s voice was firm as she took Maggie’s other hand again, “Stop.”

She could feel her lip quiver as she closed her eyes. She hate that she cried when she was angry or embarrassed; this was no one's fault but her own. Steve quietly let go of her hand and she used it to swipe away some of her tears, “I missed a whole day of work. I was supposed to have a call with—”

“I had it rescheduled.” Of course she had. Pepper was always three steps ahead of everyone else, including her. The older woman’s thumb soothingly ran across the back of Maggie’s hand as she continued, “You needed rest. You’re taking tomorrow off too and you can start back Monday if Bruce clears you to.”

The man in question was speaking with a nurse, checking Maggie’s current numbers against the ones from early this morning.

“I’m bribing him not to.” Natasha chimed in, teasingly, as she sauntered towards the bed. She paused and met Maggie’s eyes with a tight smile on her lips, “I’m glad you’re okay but don’t pull this shit again.” With a small nod, she left the infirmary, most likely heading to a meeting. That was about as warm as the Black Widow got.

Pepper’s phone rang and she sighed quietly, giving Maggie’s hand one last squeeze before standing to take the call to another room.

Steve was still leaning forward as he watched the scene in front of him unfold. Maggie turned to face him, biting her bottom lip as she toyed with a loose string on one of the blankets. Some of the events from the morning had come back to her in short flashes and echoes, “You carried me here.” Her voice was soft as she recounted what she remembered, “I’m sorry about everything.”

“What?” Steve tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow at her. He was taken aback; an apology was the last thing that he expected to hear.

She stifled a yawn and shook her head as she murmured, “I didn’t mean for all of this—”

“Maggie, it’s not your fault.” Interrupting her, his voice was firm. He rested his elbows on his knees as he looked into her eyes, “You didn’t do anything wrong. This stuff happens.” He shook his head at her familiar need to be the strong one, “You can’t be everything all of the time, sometimes you have to let other people take the wheel.”

“But I—”

“—can’t always control everything.” There was a note of finality in his voice when he finished the sentence for her.

Though the two didn’t speak often, it was like he read her like a book. It was almost unnerving how he could know her so well in such a short period of time.

Changing the subject, he sat back a little as she settled back into the bed. “You need to call Poppy later.”

“You told Poppy?!” Maggie groaned, cutting her eyes at him.

“She was your emergency contact!” Steve was almost defensive as the incapacitated woman cut her eyes at him. The glare that was piercing America’s star-spangled-man-with-a-plan was almost lethal but he had to tamp down a smile that threatened to rise at her response.

“She will never let me live this down.” She grumbled, laying back and settling into the blankets once more, pulling them over her shoulders. “I’ll call her tomorrow and if she calls before then,” she jabbed a finger towards him, “you get to deal with it.”

“Deal.” He chuckled, watching as she got more comfortable in the bed; the exhaustion that plagued her was still not completely gone.

“Captain Rogers?” Maggie’s gentle lilt saying his title got his attention once more.

He shook his head with a half-smile, “You can call me Steve. I think we’re past titles.”

“Steve,” She agreed, giving a sweet smile in return as her eyes became heavy once more. Her breathing was becoming slow and even as sleep began to take her again, earnest as she continued, “Thank you. For everything.”

“No problem.” He whispered as she closed her eyes and gently gave her cold hand a reassuring squeeze as she drifted back off to a dreamless sleep.

xxxxxxx

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#we learn to live with the pain - fic

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auraunbound · 11 months

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A Breath of Fresh Air

It was finally time. After a long stint of community service with the Union, the Neon Demons were once again allowed to walk the streets freely. The elder two had gone to pick up their personal effects from lockup, only breathing a sigh of relief once they were well clear of the building.

“Ugh. If I never see another tree in my life, I’ll die happy.”

“I take it loggin’ wasn’t the rewardin’ experience you her hopin’ for?”

“Do ya’ know how many times I broke my nails out there? I mean, ‘s not like I got a manicure or nothin’, but it still annoyed me.”

“Yeah, well ya’ probably would’a hated the mines too. Even will all’a that gear, I don’t think I’ll ever get the dust outta my lungs. On the bride side though, this is probably the best shape we’re ever gonna be in. I got muscles in places I didn’t know could have muscles now.”

“When I said I wanted solid abs, I didn’t mean lining them with tree bark.”

They bantered a bit as they walked, making their way down to a nearby Bureau facility. Of course they were still missing one more individual that they had to go and retrieve. They entered, and Kat approached the front desk to explain their situation. She signed a few releases, and after a few minutes, a young girl was led into the room by a Bureau officer.

“Kat... Molly!” Immediately upon seeing them, Poppi ran up to the two girls for a hug.

“Shh, there there baby girl. We’re not goin’ anywhere now.”

“Aww, I missed ya’ so much kiddo!”

“I-,” Poppi was sniffling now, gentle tears of joy starting to drop from her face. “I m-missed you guys too!”

“Are you alright? You’re not hurt or anything? They weren’t too rough with ya’?”

“N-No, I’m fine, promise. They j-just made me go to school. I actually kinda liked it, except for the ‘missing you guys’ part.”

“That’s a relief. Well, let’s get outta here. We can catch up more back in familiar territory.”

The three made their way out of the building, starting to head toward the nearest train station.

“Damn, it feels so good to be off the hook again! Can’t wait to get back to the Vale. Hope Syd hasn’t forgotten about me.”

“Two years ain’t that long Mol’. I’m sure he’ll be all smiles once you walk through that door.”

“I’m just wonderin’ what Rook’s been up to all this time. Ya’ think she’s been waitin’ for us?”

Kat was looking around at the scenery of the district, glancing up to see a very familiar logo sprayed on the side of a building in neon paints.

“Yeah, I got a feeling she has.”

#[they're comin home]#[this is obviously for apricus btw they are very much still dead in rwby]#[but they're all free now]#{The Unbreakable Leader; (Kat)}#{The Tenderfoot Ink-Slinger; (Molly)}#{The Wind-Carried Prodigy; (Poppi)}#apricus tag tba

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auraunbound · 11 months

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The Best Times Aren’t the Best Times (Until They Leave)

The following occurs a year prior to the start of the Vytal Festival.

“I still think she’s too young.”

“Li’l late for that now Kat. ‘sides, she’s a tough kid. Ya’ got this Poppi! Just grit your teeth!”

“Rook, I know you’re tryin’a be supportive, but that ain’t helping.” Molly didn’t even look up as she said it, focused entirely on the work at hand. “Poppi, I know it hurts, but ya’ gotta stay still or I’m gonna mess up.”

Poppi didn’t say anything in response. Her eyes were tightly shut and her entire body felt tense. Of course she wanted this tattoo, she’d just never considered the logistics of actually getting it.

Rook then slid up a chair next to her and sat, taking a hold of her free hand.

“Trust me Poppi, you got this. Imma be right here the whole time. If it hurts too much, just squeeze my hand as hard as ya’ can, a’ight?”

Poppi nodded in affirmation, allowing Molly to get back to it. The buzz of the tattoo gun filled the room with the occasional whimper from Poppi. She did well with not squirming, though whenever a particularly sharp pain caught her off guard, she followed Rook’s advice and squeezed. The ordeal took well over an hour. The design itself wasn’t particularly complex, and on a seasoned client it likely would have taken half the time, though Molly made sure to take her time for the kid’s sake.

“Aaaand, done!” Molly piped up, sitting back and letting Poppi breathe out the longest breath she’d ever held.

“Hell yeah, I knew ya’ could handle it! Let’s see it then!”

Poppi was all too relieved that it was over. She sat up and turned herself to show off the ink. The surrounding skin was of course red and irritated, but on her left arm, right up by her shoulder was the logo of the Neon Demons.

“H-How’s it look?” she asked hesitantly.

“Looks dope as shit! How’s it feel to have your first ink?”

“It’s great! I-I’m a little tired now though, might call it a night.”

“No worries, kid. I’ll have Rook nab ya’ a special somethin’ to have with dinner.”

“Oh! And make sure to keep it wrapped up for now! You don’t want it to get infected!”

“I gotcha!” Poppi called back as she stepped out of the tattoo parlor. Their hideout was only about a bloc away, she’d make it there just fine. Once she was gone, Molly started cleaning up her equipment as the group talked.

“I’m still havin’ second thoughts ‘bout makin’ her go through that.”

“Kat, she wanted to go through it. I know she’s a kid, but she can make her own choices. She ain’t dumb.”

“Yeah Kat, ‘sides, I told her before that if she ever decided she wanted to stop, I’d stop. None of us said she had to get it yet.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m just worried that she’s feelin’ pressured to do things she’s not ready for just ‘cause we all did it. Ya’ know how much she looks up to us.”

“Kat, I’m gonna level wit’cha,” Rook said, placing her arm on her leader’s shoulder. “You’re right. Maybe she wasn’t ready. But I guarantee that when she’s our age, she’s gonna look back on today as one of the best days of her life. I mean, take it from a walkin’ canvas. Ya’ never forget your first ink. Ever.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Now c’mon, we got a celebration dinner to make, and I’m thinkin’ ice cream for dessert.”

“I want sushi!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Kat said with a chuckle.

#[after years of name dropping them]#[the demons are finally here]#{The Unbreakable Leader; (Kat)}#{The Fluorescent Vandal; (Rook)}#{The Tenderfoot Ink-Slinger; (Molly)}#{The Wind-Carried Prodigy; (Poppi)}#{The Vibrant Teeth In The Night; (Neon Demons)}#{New Faces - New Stories; (Character Introduction)}

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