Chapter Text
[Imogen Temult, 9 years old]
The sky is absolutely covered, not the slightest opening for a sunbeam for the second day in a row.
"Good morning, Geelvan! It's another beautiful Saturday in our wonderful city. We hope you have your coats ready because it's going to be overcast with some slight showers. Don't forget your umbrellas, folks—better to be prepared."
Liliana's index finger taps on the steering wheel with a slow hypnotic rhythm while they wait at the red light. Imogen's eyebrows furrow as she angles her head to stare out of the car window at the grey and white clouds mingling above, her jaw cracking and eyes closing as an unexpected yawn sneaks up on her.
"Stay tuned for the latest updates and your favorite tunes, right here on Geelvan Groove!"
The crooning voice of Frank Sinatra filters into Imogen's consciousness when her mama starts singing along, asking for someone to fly her to the moon. Imogen's mind conjures the image of her daddy in a spaceship, and then a rocket, and then she gets lost in an internal debate of which would be faster and which would be more fun to pilot. Her daddy could make either of those work for mama; he's very good at building things, and even if they were super fast, her daddy would make sure mama felt safe with him until they landed on the moon.
Last night, after a lot of tossing and turning, she had ended up at the foot of her parents' bed, trembling like a leaf. Daddy had pulled her into bed, and they had kept her warm and safe as well. The storm raging outside had been the worst this season, and they had spent the early morning carrying fallen branches and gathering leaves out of the garage entrance. Imogen had helped, and now carried two itchy scratches up her arms like badges of honor.
By the time they arrive at Fearne's, Imogen has spent most of the drive daydreaming. Liliana parks the car at the end of the cobblestone road that goes up to her friend's house and leans in to kiss the side of Imogen's head.
"Have fun out there, little menace. Stay outta trouble."
Imogen turns to beam up at her and nod, causing a small smile to play at the edges of Liliana's mouth. Her leg is already hanging from the side of the Honda CR-V, Liliana leaning in closer to hold the door open for her while she slides down the seat and out of the vehicle.
"See you later, mama!"
"Tell Fearne I said happy birthday," Liliana waits until she's standing, solid on her feet, and gives her the box with her present before she moves back fully into the driver's seat. Imogen waves her free hand goodbye, clutching the package to her side, and turns around to run towards the door, which is absolutely bursting with green and orange balloons. "And send my love to Nana Morri!"
---
The sun is lower in the sky. Probably. Imogen guesses. She hasn't seen it for what feels like years, but the reddish hue on the clouds close to the line of roofs down the hills makes her think it must be. Today, the drizzle is absent, and the wind is nowhere as bad as last night, but it seems to be strong enough to change the curve of the ball after a particularly hard kick from Fearne. The leather squeaks slightly and it gets neatly stuck between some branches in the old oak tree that dominates the backyard.
Fearne stares, frozen for a second, her birthday hat falling slightly down her forehead as realization starts to sink in and her arms drop to her sides.
"Maaaan!"
A very tall figure comes to a stop next to Orym after a short jog of a few meters, where he was standing next to the soft-spoken girl who was Fearne's newest friend. Both of them seem like they're cool, but they haven't talked a lot to Imogen, and she doesn't know how reliable they are in the art of climbing and recovering.
For the one who has been playing with them, Ashton, looks like the climbing part wouldn't be much of an issue. But for someone who looks heavier than Imogen, the flexible-looking branches would be a bigger challenge to climb around and back down through.
The girl, Imogen has yet to learn her name, looks way too small and fragile to go up a tricky tree like this one. And if she's honest, not particularly interested in their game. For quite a while now, she has been kneeling with a long stick and drawn figures on the ground that Ashton comes to check here and there and, Imogen is almost positive, muttering to herself as she draws.
Fearne had invited the girl to play, but she had declined very politely. Imogen knows how important it is to clear a one-on-one conversation with oneself sometimes and had left her to her own devices, only stealing one or two glances at the intricate drawings she was working on whenever she had to run by. The girl had made a huge toad face, the eyes little pools of water from last night's rainfall and the back legs twisted around the body in a way that made it look ready to leap. It was really, really cool. A big and brown oak leaf was casually planted on the toad's head like a hat.
Imogen tears her eyes away from distractions. The tree stands there, thinner branches almost naked and mockingly swaying with the breeze. The longer she looks, the longer she feels the tree would shake her off like a flea if she tried to climb it, like a big annoyed huffy stallion. Imogen straightens her spine with the impending sense of duty, and her attention drifts only momentarily to Orym.
Orym's piercing eyes are on the ball, one of his hands scratching the back of his head, the other safely tucked to his stomach, protected by a cast covered in drawings of a full rainbow of colors; the bright yellow handkerchief Imogen herself had gifted him holding it close to his body. Imogen squares up her shoulders and takes a step towards the gnarly-looking tree, hands catching on the rough bark on its side and one foot trying to find purchase to throw herself upwards.
"I got this," she thinks her voice sounds very firm and not half as nervous as she is. It's Fearne's birthday, she won't make her climb for the ball, she can do it. All eyes are on her, making the nape of her neck tingle. It makes it a bit more anxiety-inducing to take the first few steps upwards, fearing the fall, but curiously picturing what her own cast would look like if her wrist broke like Orym's had. Halfway up the distance, she considers asking the toad girl for some art if that ever happenned. Maybe some horses with colorful manes. If the doctors are in a good mood, maybe she could ask for a colored cast, maybe purple? Or red? Her thoughts and ideas consume her and by the time she comes back down to earth, so to speak, she's on a thick-looking branch very close to the ball.
"Gonna try and wiggle it free, can't reach it!" She yells down at her friends, Fearne is doing one of her happy celebratory dances down there and Orym nods with a look of blatant respect. Even Ashton looks a tiny bit impressed, with his half smile and crossed arms.
Imogen smiles a bit, chest puffing, and reaches towards the thinner branches to shake them. The ball stays where it was, firmly lodged. The little crease on Imogen's forehead comes back full force while she considers the possibilities.
"You good up there?" Orym's tiny voice reaches her, and she gives him a quick wave of her hand before backtracking just a little on her perch to stick one foot forwards and try to nudge the ball with it. There are some mumbles below, but Imogen is on a mission now, so she focuses. The ball is being very stubborn, and Imogen's patience is slowly wearing thinner than the branches holding it in a weird sort of net.
"Come. On." Imogen mumbles and gives the spider net of vegetation a fumbling little kick after each word. No give. Her pant leg catches on something and the fabric tears. Great.
"Get out of there," she grumbles and tries shaking the entire thing again, still no reward. Her mouth is clamped shut now, teeth grinding a little and her face feels hot, arms a bit numb with the effort of keeping herself up. Her eyes drift briefly to the scratches of the branches she carried on her own this morning. Branches, her new nemesis. It had been a heavy load and for a moment Imogen had considered dropping some to move out after the first bunch. But she had put on a brave face and finished the task in a single run; she could do it then, and she can do it now.
Her foot pulls back a little and Imogen goes for it, a harder kick. There's a snapping sound and one of the branches holding the ball hangs loosely, and then the ball is no longer there. It's in the middle of this triumphant realization that she hears a screeching scream and her scalp is suddenly full of pinpricks, the blood draining from her face.
Imogen chances a look in the direction of the noise. There, toad girl stands, her face and the front of her pretty blue dress absolutely covered in mud. The girl is staring down in the direction of the cool toad, and Imogen follows her line of sight to find the ball floating in the middle of a huge eye, like a weird pupil that bobs slightly up and down. And then her eyes are on Imogen.
Oh no.
---
[Laudna Briarwood, 12 years old]
It's bittersweet, finally starting to feel like she might make it here. It would have been amazing just a couple months ago, but now she's packing up and leaving in less than a week. Sylas is gone, they have no reason to stay, and Delilah is breaking down. The remaining Briarwoods will go back to Whitestone, to familiar territory, to the place Laudna called 'home' for three years before she was uprooted and stuck here in Geelvan. It had been a nightmare to be here back then, and it's going to be a nightmare to leave now.
Laudna waits patiently, back against her locker, fingers flexing against the paper envelope in her hands. There's been a lot of thinking, not a lot of talking, and way too many memories. The memories were the worst part. Laudna has lost parents before, and she doesn't necessarily remember her biological family, but she remembers loneliness. There isn't a worse feeling in the entire world, and Sylas had been the one to take her in and give her a place to live and people to call her own. Laudna wouldn't forget that, and his absence felt like a stabbing sort of pain in the back of her throat when she thought about it. She gives some of her passing classmates a small smile, the response almost robotic. Tries to push away the image of Delilah, in total shambles, nowhere near the solid and intimidating presence Laudna had learned to respect.
Not now. There will be time for sorrow later. Days, months. Ashton promised to make it on time for lunch, and Laudna has yet to see her friend break a promise. They need to make it count, whatever time they have left together. Delilah had accepted to let her have a phone, so there was that. But Ashton didn't have one, so... there was that.
Fingers now anxiously tapping on one of the sides of the envelope, Laudna wonders if it is stupid to give her friend a silly friendship bracelet when a phone would have been so much more convenient. What was she thinking? A piece of thread and a letter?
Lost in thought and self-deprecation, Laudna misses the fact that there has been someone standing right in front of her, maybe even talking to her, for at least a few seconds. Her head snaps up and Imogen raises her hands placatingly.
"Woah, you okay?"
It takes every bit of her education not to snap and bite, but Laudna wasn't raised in a barn. Imogen doesn't let the lack of verbal response deter her.
"Sorry, didn't mean to spook you. I came to apologize, but... now I'm worried. You don't look great?"
Wonderful, now she can add 'not looking great' to her list of fascinating things she's been told today. It's not even a statement, why is she making it into a question? Her brows furrow and her mouth tightens into a line.
"Why, thank you. Just what I needed to hear," Laudna wouldn't have thought there was any of her mood left to sour, but well, here they are. This girl is just rude.
"No! No, not-- not what I meant to say," Imogen stammers quickly, "thought you maybe looked like you needed a friend?"
Laudna can feel her face contorting into something close to inhuman and Imogen's looks like she's smelling something particularly putrid before it goes through every single one of the stages of grief the family therapist has informed them about. It is incredibly tempting to leave her standing there, trying to figure out how to take her own entire foot out of her mouth, but Ashton finally arrives and saves her from showing any lack of manners.
"What's going on here?" Ash slides a hand up Laudna's arm, lets it rest on her shoulder, and Imogen seems to accept defeat, hands stupidly up again but this time in surrender.
"I was just leavin', sorry about that."
Ashton gives Imogen an odd look, and then Laudna, who stares haughtily at her back as she leaves. Her friend's mouth forms the words 'what the f*ck' and Laudna chooses to ignore the language.
"Why is she being so weird? Why are you mad? Oh, you look mad," Ashton takes a small step back, a small smile on their silly face, and Laudna feels her brow relax and her own lips curl. "Ready for lunch? I got some sour candy, and these sodas. We are not supposed to have them together, but."
"But?"
Shoulders raise and fall, that's just the end of the sentence, apparently. Laudna shakes her head fondly, takes Ashton's hand and pulls, puts the envelope in it when Ash starts following.
"That's for you, first of many."
Laudna keeps walking, hands laced behind her back, eyes straight ahead. There are tears pricking at the corners and she can't let Ashton see them. But even worse, if there are tears in Ashton's eyes, that will completely break her.
---
[Imogen Temult, 14 years old]
Imogen wants to look away, but the girl in her gym class is just so pretty. They have been running laps on this goddamn awful track for an entire semester, every Thursday, and Imogen has yet to gather the courage to walk up to her and strike up a conversation. They're on borrowed time; she might not see her once the year is over, and that feels like a wasted opportunity.
Her face is red, her legs are screaming, and she's a little bit winded, but Imogen can't remember ever feeling like this torture didn't last long enough in her entire life. The hour ticks away too fast, and the girl always leaves as soon as they are freed by the insidious gym teacher, who seems to believe their main goal in life is to make laps around the planet as fast as humanly possible.
It was very distracting, and distractions work in her favor because then she doesn't have to focus on her fatigue, the pinching in her side, or the burn in her muscles.
The pretty girl with the long lashes stops at the sideline, one of the other runners slowing down by her with an easy laugh that earns them a small playful shove. Imogen tries to act casual and stops a few meters ahead, stretching her arms just to have something to do, just so the girl with the lovely dark eyes and high cheekbones doesn't fully realize she's there to stare at her like an absolute creep. She's taller than Imogen, with a lanky frame and long limbs, a beauty mark under her eye, and a gentle smile that could melt a glacier. Imogen finds herself smiling a little at this without meaning to.
The girl looks just as winded as Imogen is, but her friend looks like they could run several more laps without breaking a sweat. They stay by her side, however, patient and relaxed while she ties her long hair back up in a ponytail.
Imogen thinks her heart somersaults when the girl's eyes settle directly on her, and then quickly starts a frenzied beating, tensing with a shot of adrenaline at the change in her expression. She's so unprepared for it. The prettiest girl in the class, maybe in the world, looking at her with eyes loaded with absolute, deep, gut-wrenching spite. It makes her snap her gaze away like she's been burned.
It's not like Imogen is particularly popular, but something about her easygoing personality coupled with an uncanny ability to read people makes her either very likable or... well, some people get uncomfortable around her. And that's fine! Seriously, who cares? If people like... say, Traci think she's a freak, then maybe that works in her favor; she doesn't want the likes of Traci around anyway. They can look at her with disdain or mockery or whatever they want.
But this? That look of disgust? From someone she hasn't even spoken to? That's unprecedented.
Her cheeks feel even hotter. Imogen gives them a couple of gentle pats and wishes they would go back to some semblance of normalcy, trying to will them into their usual pale state. She wonders what is so wrong with her face that the lovely girl in her gym class looks at her like she's the reason for all her problems.
"You doing okay, Temult?"
Imogen's eyes snap back up. She feels ridiculously uncoordinated when she shields her eyes from the sun. Orym gives her an easy smile as he slows down by her side, Fearne not two steps behind him.
"Yeah!" It's too high-pitched, almost a squeak. Orym's smile falls noticeably. Fearne co*cks her head as she leans forward, planting both hands on her knees.
"This is horrible. We should have skipped this stupid class," Orym gives her a quick, reproachful glance, and she briefly holds her hands up in surrender, too out of breath to speak further.
"What's wrong?" Orym lowers his voice, and Imogen casts the quickest glance in the girl's direction. His follow it like a hawk, catching the way his friend's eyebrows knit together when the dark-haired girl huffs a breath and takes off back to the track, the person previously waiting for her in tow. They look amused and are chuckling to themselves.
"Orym," they nod when both of them jog by the group. Orym gives them a smile and a little wave. Fearne waves in a much more exaggerated way, hollering and whistling loudly.
"Ashtooooon!!!" Ashton's arms raise above their head like they're about to cross the finish line of a marathon at the second piercing whistle.
"You guys know them?" Imogen can't help but look at them go. The girl hasn't looked back once.
"Yeah! That's Ashton, they're part of the boxing club. And that's the girl you—"
"Class isn't over, you three! Back to the track!"
Imogen grumbles when Chetney, their sad*st teacher, spots them. Fearne lets out a heavy sigh, giving Orym a pleading look he refuses to acknowledge.
"C'mon, girls! Put your heart into it, 7 laps to go," and he's gone.
Imogen whimpers, her legs complaining as she forces herself back into a light jog, Fearne quickly catching up to her.
"She's Laudna. You remember her, left for a while during that whole mess with her... father?" Fearne shrugs with a noncommittal noise. "She doesn't like you very much," she confides not too privately. Imogen flinches like she's yelled it. Maybe it's not that loud, but with the girl—Laudna—she lets the name sit on her tongue for a moment, keeps it there, and rolls it around like hard candy—is all the way across the field, pretending Imogen doesn't exist. Laudna. Yes, she remembers her.
"Yeah, I got that feeling..." Imogen wonders what she could have possibly done to offend her so much. Her memory comes up blank.
"It's because you covered her in mud, and then called her oddish drawing," Fearne falls back a few steps, and Imogen slows down with her, suddenly super invested. "You called it a stupid... potato? Maybe an onion?" Her eyebrows raise slightly, one corner of her mouth lifting. Imogen stops dead in her tracks, staring at Fearne like she's grown a new head. "Back in second grade."
"Second grade? That's it?"
Fearne shrugs and stops, hands on her knees again.
"20 minutes to go, Calloway!"
Fearne rolls her eyes, and Imogen knows what comes next. "I need to go to the bathroom!" She yells back at Chetney, who throws his arms in the air and turns towards the other kids, way ahead of them.
"And you said your fire horse pokemon would eat it and poop it back out as charcoal. Now come with me, I'm bored of this. Orym can join us when he's done being the teacher's pet."
---
[Laudna Briarwood, 15 years old]
The house looms over her, all sharp edges and shadows. Laudna fidgets with a loose thread on her sleeve, wonders if it's possible for the temperature to drop the second she sets foot on the front porch. The tip of one of her nails catches on a small tear where the thread has gone loose; she realizes what she's doing and immediately stops fidgeting. It's improper, and it's just making matters worse with her blouse.
One hand stabs the key into the keyhole and the other reaches for the doorknob as she straightens her spine. With a long exhale, Laudna walks in. The foyer is in darkness except for the flickering light of a dying fire in the room beyond. Her coat slung over the rack, Laudna peeks into the lounge, where a thick smoldering log and some sad, cold coals sit unattended.
Delilah isn't home.
Unusual, but Laudna is not about to start questioning small mercies.
Her steps resound in her own ears, the place feeling both bigger and emptier. The climb up the stairs feels longer even as she rushes to her bedroom, leaving the door ajar. It's really tempting to shut it tight, crawl under the blankets, turn on a flashlight, and read some of her new mystery book. The atmosphere is perfect in the complete silence of the empty estate, with the added effect of thunder rolling in the background and flashes of lightning peeking through the curtains. But Delilah will have her head on a spike if she dares, so she decides to concede some privacy to avoid a fight... And she needs to take a shower, maybe even sew up the mess she made of the cuff of her sleeve.
Laudna allows herself a few moments of absolute bliss. Falling backward on her bed, limbs stretched as wide as they go, starfish Laudna relishes the sounds of the storm growing closer. Light flashes behind her closed eyelids. One, two, three, four, five... and there's thunder. Two beats closer.
It's a very relaxing exercise. Red flash of lightning, and one, two... Laudna almost jumps out of her skin, her phone exploding into a jarring burst of electric guitars screeching and drums pounding in a fast, chaotic rhythm. Her hands fumble with the blaring device, Ashton's face greeting her from the screen, tongue out and middle finger raised. Her voice manages to sound accusatory and endeared at the same time when she puts the phone to her ear.
"Did you change my ringtone again?"
"Only for my contact. What's up, Spooky?"
Laudna makes a show of sighing, falling back to her previous position in bed. There's some rustling and the sound of a door closing on the other side of the line.
"Just trying to survive another day in the haunted mansion of insanity. Delilah's not home, so it's eerily quiet for now, but we both know it won't last."
"Lucky you. I'd kill for some quiet right now, even a fleeting tiny moment of it. There's a new kid next door and they're having a tantrum that could rival a banshee's wail."
Laudna smiles to herself, fingers absently pulling at the loose thread again. "Sounds like a nightmare. Other than the mythical creature predicting the arrival of The Ultimate Timekeeper, how was your day?"
Ashton snorts, "Ah, yes. The Grand Reaper of Souls... that must be it. To be honest, nothing too exciting today. Practice kicked my ass so hard I think I'm going to have to crawl to school tomorrow. Got a new sparring partner, so that's kinda fun. And then I came home and found out that Andy spilled an entire bottle of water on his bed."
"He's not the sharpest tool in the shed, isn't he? He's lucky he's cute. At least it wasn't your bed."
"After the last incident, we bunked together," Laudna makes a face, and even though Ashton can't see her, he continues. "Yeah, exactly. His bed is right above mine."
"Yeah, okay, he's a dick," she deadpans and hears the delighted 'hah!' that pulls from Ashton. "Do you need a place to stay for the night?"
"And have mommy dearest chew you like a piece of stale bread until her jaw starts to hurt and she finally spits you out?" Laudna knows for a fact that's exactly what will happen, but she couldn't care less. She opens her mouth to say so, but Ashton laughs before she does. "Nah, I'll be fine, we have spare mattresses, but thank you. If Andy decides to dump an entire bucket of water on our beds again, I'll be taking you up on that offer. I've always wanted to crash at your place, those guest rooms are bigger than the whole institute here."
Laudna rolls her eyes fondly at that, decides to play along. The loose thread is now a small ring of silky burgundy around her index finger, already a lot more of it free from the fabric.
"Yes, of course. I will even sneak you in through my window. No one needs to know. You could spend a month in this place and not cross paths with Delilah once," Ashton laughs again, and Laudna already feels so much better about this awful day.
"Ouch, you're gonna keep me your dirty little secret?" A tutting sound followed by a dramatic sigh. "I'll make sure to keep my GPS up to date, then. Wouldn't wanna get lost in your gardens," he pauses and then there's a soft thud, Laudna hears someone say 'get the f*ck outta my bed, Greymoore', but only half-heartedly. There's no rustling to indicate Ashton moving one bit. "What about your day? What did you do after biology?"
"After that, history, uneventful. I had to spend half of Mr. Gilmore's class taking deep breaths, because Fearne and Temult kept giggling at gods know what. And then the entirety of Mr. Errenis class focusing on not strangling her," Ashton doesn't ask which one, and Laudna doesn't feel like she needs to clarify. "We were supposed to read this historical romance, and she kept reading lines out loud in these absolutely ridiculous voices," Laudna swears she can hear the sh*t-eating grin in Ashton's hum. "She just... gets under my skin, you know?"
"Oh, yeah. I do. She does. The gods above know." Laudna makes an offended noise and Ashton speaks up with a placating tone this time. "I get it, pretty girls are frustrating," another extra offended noise, and their voice is raised a little bit, "But you gotta remember, she's just as messed up as the rest of us and there's a huge chance she's a girl kisser. Sounds like someone worth keeping around, Spooks... think about it."
The tips of her ears feel very hot very suddenly, memories come back and play on her mind in high definition. The party at Dorian's, that one time during lunch break, the bathroom stall incident. Laudna rolls on her stomach and fights the urge to groan in frustration.
"Look, you don't have to like her, but you do have to deal with her. Maybe try not to take the bait next time."
"Easier said than done," are the semi-muffled words out of her mouth.
"You got this, I believe in you. You have years of training putting up with me, so I don't wanna hear it. Any plans for today?"
Laudna pushes herself to lay on her back once again and glances at the flickering shadows on the ceiling. "Just a shower and maybe some sewing." Like burned at the realization, she tries to let go of the thread she has been pulling at. She fails miserably, grumbles to herself and starts slowly unspooling it from her finger. "My blouse took a beating today."
"Sewing, huh? You're such an old soul." Laudna makes a noncommittal noise, slowly working her hand free. "Alright. Just don't go getting lost in your thoughts. I know you. Get some tea, read a book, do those things you and the rest of the 90 year old ladies enjoy... and call me if you need anything."
"I will. Thanks, Ash."
Laudna ends the call and lets out a long breath. The storm outside rumbles closer, a comforting thought for more reasons than one. She sits up, glances at the door to her en-suite, and decides to take that shower. Maybe she'll get some reading done before dinner.
---
[Imogen Temult, 16 years old]
The sun dips down and paints the dark brown walls with golden and burgundy stripes, the smooth texture of it familiar and comfortable under Imogen's fingertips. Most of the wooden interiors are worn and polished by years of loving use, the roughness of the grain now a thing of memories.
The rickety old chair that had been grandpa Rel's, and is now daddy's, sits on one side of the square table, a smidge too big for three. Relvin's mug, "Vet-eran of puns" emblazoned on the front, rests unwashed on the kitchen counter. Liliana's, starring a cactus, complete with a hat and a bandana that once upon a time had the inscription "howdy, partner!" but the paint has since been chipped away and now says, "how art," perfectly pristine, sitting on top of a coaster.
There's the indent on the table from when Imogen first tried to carve wood and almost ended up losing a finger. Relvin had taken away the small pocket knife and chucked it out of the house like it was some sort of explosive. Liliana had mutely retrieved it and put it back in the drawer, "she learned her lesson," the only thing out of her mouth at Relvin's pleading look.
The whole kitchen creaks when it breathes and has a beating heart somewhere around the sink area, where mama used to tell her spooky tales of huge child-eating monsters that could be defeated by the power of friendship.
Only a couple more years and Imogen will be leaving the place where she's lived her entire life to become... well, that's yet to be decided. She's got time.
She's got time, right?
Before panic starts to set in, Relvin walks in, a dimpled grin on his sun-beaten face, and drops a kiss on top of Imogen's head. There's some weak protest from Imogen at being treated in the exact same way she was a decade ago, but it dies down quickly when Relvin places his hat over the dropped kiss.
"How's my baby girl doin' today? Lil's runnin' late tonight, just texted. Somethin' come up at work."
Imogen frowns at that, "Again?"
Relvin lets out a rush of air through his mouth, shoulders sagging a bit, like the whole thing is a burden with more weight than Imogen understands.
"Yeah, honey. We'll better get started on dinner, so mama can relax for a bit before bed."
Something ain't right. Something hasn't been right for a while now, but Imogen hasn't been able to pinpoint what exactly, so she does the next best thing and tries to be helpful.
Relvin is already rummaging around in the fridge, and he peeks out to look at Imogen. "Shepherd's pie?"
"Sure," she nods, "But chicken instead of beef?"
"One shepherd's pie, chicken instead of beef, comin' right up!"
---
The door opens in the middle of their third card game, and Liliana walks in. Imogen is facing the entrance through the kitchen door and can see the second she steps in and goes from slouched and exhausted, to ramrod straight back after an exhale.
Not right. At all.
Relvin turns on his chair and Liliana leans down to kiss him on the lips, ew, and then walks around the table to kiss Imogen's temple.
"All good?" Relvin asks, and it's so forcefully casual Imogen wants to shake him.
"Long day," Liliana concedes, not like she could hide the bone-deep tiredness of her voice by standing straighter. "You two doin' alright?" Relvin gives a nod, Imogen is giving Liliana a look her mother returns with a slightly arched eyebrow. "Yes, miss?"
"We made chicken shepherd's pie," she relents.
"You two are the best," her mother is still holding her purse, shoes, and coat and looks between them, the oven from where the amazing smell is wafting and the stairs. The duel between propriety and need for comfort is savage and short-lived. "I'll go get changed into my oldest pajamas and shower after dinner, then."
"I'll set the table," Relvin says at her retreating form, and gathers the cards. "Kid was kickin' my sorry ass anyway," he adds completely unnecessarily. Imogen gives him a lopsided grin, jumping to her feet to fetch the glasses.
---
“Hey, Imogen," Relvin says around a mouthful of chicken and mashed potatoes, stops chewing, dabs his mouth with a napkin. "You hear about the restaurant on the moon?"
Imogen gives him an expressionless stare, he shoves another forkful of food into his mouth. "Great food, no atmosphere.”
The silence is deafening and, again, something feels off. Imogen glances to her side and sees Liliana cutting a perfectly bite-sized piece of the meal, transfixed. But staring beyond the meal, beyond the plate, beyond this plane of existence.
"Mama?" Imogen tilts her head to try and catch her eye. Liliana recovers both quickly and elegantly, giving her a smile.
"You're not gonna jump in to save daddy? He's embarrassin' himself," she tries smiling back, but it feels forced and weird. Then she makes the mistake of glancing sideways, where Relvin is giving Liliana the softest look in the universe. Honestly? She's starting to get a little bit pissed off at all of this.
"Okay, someone fill me in, the f*ck is goin' on?" Imogen resolutely ignores Relvin's "Language!" and focuses on staring down at Liliana, still half a head taller than herself while sitting. It's a challenge. "You insist that I need to act like an adult, but you still treat me like a kid. It's frustratin'." It takes a few seconds, but Liliana closes her eyes and gives a nod. Is she gonna get the divorce talk? No way, right? She's seen candy shops less cavity inducing than her parents.
"Things at work are... complicated," Liliana decides to go with, which could be the start of a divorce talk from what little Imogen knows, but it's a weird way to do it. "The firm has decided to represent a client, and you know I'm not allowed to discuss this in any depth, not just with you, but with anyone who isn't workin' the case.
"Well, this client isn't new, not really. But they brought up very new and unexpected concerns, they're doin' quite a few changes and want us to delve deep into some situations and circ*mstances I'm not particularly... comfortable with. It doesn't help they are workin' us to the ground."
Imogen nods, accepting the olive branch for what it is and trying to come up with a response that isn't too pushy.
"Is there... anythin' we can do? That I can do? To help?"
Liliana smiles her first genuine, eyes-reaching smile of the night. Something inside Imogen had been coiled tight and now releases, muscles relaxing a little at the sight.
"Oh, sweetheart. You already do."
---
[Laudna Briarwood, 17 years old]
Laudna sneaks past the service kitchen door like there's a remote chance she could get caught here. The chances of Delilah existing anywhere near a set of pans and pots are about as high as those of the skies opening and a bridge to the moon appearing on her front lawn to beam her up. She sneaks all the same, clutching her backpack to her chest.
The corridor to the front door feels endless. The slight squeak of sneakers (sneakers! Delilah might burst a vessel if she sees her...) on linoleum makes her stop, shoulders bunched to her ears, and reconsider every few steps.
The last big challenge is walking past Delilah's office. The door is wide open, which is the norm and standard policy, in an attempt to seem more approachable than she's ever been. Laudna hears Delilah's voice from here, but she can't make out the words being said. It's enough to confirm her presence there, nonetheless, and Laudna finds herself considering a different route out altogether. There's a way out through the kitchens, to the backyard, and then around the house through the left side. Bypassing the right side, with Delilah's floor-to-ceiling office window, and the front of the office entirely might be a good idea. Laudna looks back and reassesses; backtracking on all her hard-made progress on the corridor is safer, but she'll take a chance and get closer. Maybe Delilah's back is to the door. She's feeling very brave and confident; her hands are definitely not trembling around the backpack full of snacks and water bottles. The lull in conversation spurs her forward, lest she miss her chance at slipping away, and she freezes two steps from the doorframe when Delilah's voice returns with all the weight of her authority.
"No, we are not throwing my money away on that. Hire some cheap muscle, find yourself an arsonist deviant to smoke them out. That is pocket change considering the fortune I have entrusted to your company's hands. I do not care how you do it; you have the connections."
Laudna decides right then and there, as Delilah turns from the window to the office door, that this is as good a moment as any to turn around and go back the way she came. This time, when the woman speaks, Laudna hears her so close that the hair on the nape of her neck stands on end.
"I will put this plain and simple for you, Thull," Delilah's inflection on the last word betrays the razor-sharp edge of a sneer. "I am exhausted from having to handle every little detail of your operation that you are either too lazy or too incompetent to manage yourself."
Delilah's voice trails off, and the last few words sound further away. Laudna flexes the ice out of her muscles and moves forward, seeing Delilah standing in front of the window with her back to her. It looks like the conversation has her engrossed enough, and she quickly moves past the doorframe, waiting a couple of breathless seconds.
"Get the job done and bring back results before you think it wise to come here and inconvenience me again," her tone drops lower and Laudna shivers, still trying to find the strength to put one foot in front of the other. "...and never, ever consider yourself important enough to contact me directly, much less to try and bleed me like a pig."
---
Ashton groans, stretching lazily on the picnic blanket, soaking in some of the daylight of a long summer day. Laudna suppresses a smile at the uncoordinated mismatch of dull beige and thin, white lines of the blanket, and the full spectrum of color on Ashton's hair. Her fingers thread through the longer side of it, and the automatic response is a satisfied hum. Laudna takes the easiness and acceptance as the privilege she knows it is and scrapes her nails gently while Ashton melts further into the ground, a technicolor puddle of long limbs and wiry muscle.
"You look like a giant cat," Laudna observes, continuing with the soft ministrations despite the teasing tone of her voice. Ashton shrugs, absolutely nonplussed.
"I'd make a decent enough house cat," both eyes still closed, blissed out expression coloring usually tense features. Ashton looks not only approachable but downright adorable.
It begs the question, not like Laudna hasn't wondered before... because Ashton is an amazing friend, but also handsome, kind-hearted, witty, and fun. How come Laudna feels her skin crawling at the idea of leaning down and kissing them, and yet her entire body warms up at the memory of cold-chapped lips, the brush of a nose against hers, hand clutching at the side of her winter coat? Shouldn't she want to kiss the comforting, nice people in her life, instead of immature fools? Is this what that health ed book means when it says they shouldn't make rash decisions without fully understanding the consequences?
Once upon a time, Laudna had been positive that was about teenage pregnancies, but thinking about it... it might actually be about Imogen Temult.
Or maybe Ashton is way too much of a sibling in her heart already, not that she would fully understand brotherly or sisterly love being an only child. But that could be it; it's the closest she has to an explanation.
"Stop thinking so loud, I'm trying to nap here," Ashton peeks one eye open, one corner of their mouth tilting upwards. Laudna gives a pointed look that seems to have exactly zero effect.
"It's what you do with your brain, big cat. You think. It's the only organ in your entire body that never has downtime, not even for a beat; you would think there's a reason for that," Ashton squints up at her, the perfect picture of poise with a book closed around a thumb, sitting with her legs angled to the side, just at the point where the shadow of the tree stops and the sunlight hits, opposite to where her friend sprawls like one of the silhouetted corpses in detective shows. Dark sunglasses perching just a tiny bit low on her nose, Laudna's dark eyes are fixated over the rim on Ash's as she raises an eyebrow and Ashton finally breaks and barks out a laugh.
"A'ight, you're giving me the Delilah look, and it's freaking me out," Ashton reaches up to push the sunglasses up her nose all the way. Laudna's nose scrunches, and this, this is something she would never dare touch or change. This is one of the best things in her life; she couldn't adore Ashton more if she tried. They are perfect as they are.
"I had to get something out of all those torturing etiquette lessons; the Delilah look is as good as it gets," Laudna opens the book and pretends to read, Ashton's eyelids fall closed again.
Reading doesn't work; her mind decides to release a full bee-hive of questions inside her skull. Laudna doesn't get the full picture. Maybe the problem isn't that she couldn't, wouldn't be able to like Ash in that way, but that she definitely can like an unsophisticated brat like Temult. In a kissing way. In a holding hands and sending poems and flowers way... she shudders, disgusted at herself. She decides to swat at the bees and push this into a tiny box, seal it up, put the box inside a chest and the chest inside a closet.
There's no time like tomorrow to deal with that.
---
[Imogen Temult, 18 years old]
Fearne, at her side, pulls all three paper straws from her drink. Imogen watches as she sticks the smoothie-covered ends in her mouth, discards them, and starts sipping directly from the long glass. There's a lovely chocolate mustache on her upper lip when she finishes downing at least a quarter of it. Imogen's respect for her grows when she doesn't recoil and complain about brain freeze.
"Could be a serial killer," Orym's face, on her other side, is a bit too serious, a bit too somber. It doesn't work very well with the soft pastel colors of the walls, the pop music in the background, or the bright pink smoothie in his hands. They have been to Olivia's only once before, it's the new place in town and it's quickly becoming a favorite for the teenager populace of Geelvan.
"Maybe, or... like, flying saucers, ovnis!" Fearne's pupils are blown out. Imogen can't decide if it's because of excitement or a sugar rush. The smoothies here are really, really good. They're also very, very sugary.
"Neither of those would be subtle, though," Dorian, across from her, adds. He's replaced Orym as the voice of reason. Orym says it's because Dorian hasn't spent as much time with them as he has. Reason aside, he looks at Dorian when he does and makes it sound almost like a promise.
"You guys are not seeing the bigger picture," Cyrus cuts them off. They all turn to look at him, several degrees of skepticism dancing on their faces. For all that he looks like a gym-obsessed version of Dorian, he doesn't share a single thought process with his brother. "Think about it, it's at least three people that we know of in a single week. They would have found the bodies if it was a serial killer, and serial killers never strike that often, anyway."
Orym actually concedes to this logic, giving a nod. Imogen can get behind it, as well, but Fearne still looks unconvinced.
"It's a fairly big place but it's not surrounded by hills, or mountains or anything. Plains all around the city, and a surrounding forest. An ovni would have been seen by someone," Cyrus continues.
"Unless they have the tech to cloak themselves," Dorian chimes in, his brother just punches his shoulder and he mouths a small 'ouch'.
"Shut up. I'm terrified of aliens, they don't get to exist. Definitely not this close. There's only one way to explain all of it; the disappearances, the fact no one saw anything, police have no leads! Who does this, hmm? What kind of factor would tie to all of the clues?"
Orym sips from his straw loudly, but other than that everyone else stares in silence.
"C'mon, guys! It's easy!" He turns to his savior, "Imogen, you got me, right?"
Imogen startles, eyes snapping to Cyrus, and then a bit frantic to the rest of her friends. When she finds everyone's attention is on her, she says the smartest thing she can think of.
"Huh?"
Cyrus rolls his eyes, like this is too much for him already. He lays his hands on the plastic tablecloth, ready to unravel the mystery once and for all.
"Sasquatch."
The boys groan, Fearne asks "the yeti?" and that leads to a whole new conversation on geographic locations and cultures, and Imogen's attention drifts away from her table once more.
"You see, 'yeh-teh' means 'bear man' in Tibetan language."
The chatter fades out and Imogen's eyebrows furrow, one corner of her mouth pulled down as her eyes subtly track the way the person sitting next to Laudna offers her the cherry from the top of their smoothie. Imogen downright scoffs and turns to her own drink, swirling the straw around for something to do before sipping. The cold smoothie freezes the roof of her mouth and she welcomes both the slight pang of pain that shoots up her brain and the sweetness on her tongue. Both are perfectly distracting.
"Sasquatch, from Sésquac, however..."
Another quick glance, and Laudna's cheeks are tinted with a blush, and this person Imogen doesn't recognize is grinning ear to ear. One of their hands is on Laudna's. Imogen fights the urge to ask where the f*ck Ashton is to her friends, who are very much not paying attention to Cyrus' tirade anymore.
Orym holds a paper crane made out of a napkin to Dorian, Fearne is working on some sort of structure using discarded straws, tongue peeking between her teeth, and Imogen deems it safe enough to go back to lurking and seething.
"Who are we cursing?" Fearne whispers, too close. Imogen startles once again, and her friend gives her poignant look. "You look like you're trying to f*ck someone up for life, maybe their bloodline too." Her sharp eyes follow her line of sight and she lets out a barely there 'oh'. "That's not Ash. Where the f*ck is Ashton?"
Imogen turns to give Fearne her gratitude, even if the question has an entirely different reason for her.
"Is that Laudna?" Dorian almost crawls over Cyrus to steal a glance, his brother gives him a shove, both annoyed at being interrupted and at being crushed. Imogen pushes her smoothie away and hides her head between her arms, cheek smushed to the cold plastic.
"I don't know, and yeah."
"Imogen, are you trying to become a stereotype? And during pride month no less?" Orym teases, his voice light and a half-smile on his face. Imogen gives him the middle finger for his troubles.
"Who is that with her?"
Fearne is doing mental calculations Imogen can hear from her spot against the table, the brain gears turning and grinding.
"That's Yu. She's in my arts class, has the hottest looking tattoo I've ever seen. Waves and geometric patterns in blue. Good arms too, damn, lots of muscle in there and-- okay, I see. We hate her."
Fearne, not very subtly, turns to Dorian, her mouth drawn into an awkward grimace, eyebrows raised. Dorian, not very subtly, crosses his throat with a thumb. Imogen slaps her hand in the middle of the table, making them both jump a little in their seats. She's glaring daggers at her friends.
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"So... pride!" Orym says, wearing his biggest grin. "We should all go celebrate together this year."
There's an all too enthusiastic round of "yeah!", and Cyrus raises both arms. Imogen knows what comes next.
"Party at mine!"
---
"I dare you to kiss the hottest girl in this party," Ashton says, grin stretching before they decide it's the perfect moment to chug down an entire bottle of... Laudna doesn't even want to think what's in that. It's red, it looks sticky, and it makes her back molars ache just to see it.
There's some movement behind her, her attention shifts but she doesn't turn around. Imogen has been sitting there, well, 'sitting' is a very generous word for it. She has been lounging on the loveseat like a lazy cat, legs dangling over the armrest, for nearly an hour.
Laudna finds it very impolite; rude and unnecessary, infuriating even. There's a shortage of seats after all.
Keeping the woman out of her sight had been her priority when Ashton had dragged her here. Annoying as it is, Imogen has this spark. Laudna hates that she can't help but acknowledge it. Whatever it is, it circumvents all the stupid mannerisms and the rudeness and it shines bright. People gather around her like moths drawn to a very crass, hot... haunted lighthouse. It's not like she hasn't tried her best to explore her weird attraction to the worst kind of idiots, it just hasn't worked with other people yet. It's... a little bit embarrassing.
The kind of thing that forges insecurities? Imogen has embraced it and somehow always looks like she's thriving. Maybe that's what being out of f*cks to give looks like, and it gives Laudna a full body itch.
The synthetic leather squeaks, Imogen is sitting up, taking a sip from her beer bottle, walking a couple steps forward. She stops right at Laudna's right shoulder, who is sitting on the floor right next to the coffee table. Seat shortage, see? Laudna's eyes are nailed to snack packages and empty bottles littering the table, no one moves a muscle for two never ending heartbeats.
It would probably be better to face it head on, chin high. Cut straight to the chase. Laudna turns around, hoping to look like the picture of disinterest and falling along the lines of sticking your hand in dirty water to fish for the soggy food clogging the drain. Eh, it's close enough.
Imogen is standing there, looking somewhat bored and co*cking an eyebrow at her. Laudna is about to ask what the f*ck do you want? because she has been taught manners, but Ashton has been rubbing off on her for years.
"So. You up for it, or...?" Imogen's expression doesn't change a bit, up until the point when the question registers among the sheer amount of screeching and screaming inside of Laudna's skull and she stammers something like.
"Yea-- I mean, I'd rather lick a dead rat-- but sure. What the f*ck.I'll do it." It's more than she has ever spoken in front of many of the presents, it's more inarticulate than she has spoken maybe ever, and it's the most sincere interaction she has ever had with this woman. The corner of Imogen's mouth curls in the most insidious smirk.
Ashton has found a way to get another drink and is raising it in a silent cheer.
---
[Laudna Briarwood, 21 years old]
Two years. It's been two entire years since she set foot in Geelvan.
There are no regrets, Laudna knew since the moment she left there wouldn't be a reason other than Ashton to come back to the city. Delilah is back in Whitestone, and if there's anything they've learned about themselves is that they are better kept apart. Ashton hasn't been around since Fearne started uni, because obviously, the dumbass would fall in love and move in the next day. It feels like a crime of hate that her best friend would end up the Uhaul lesbian of the pair. But the visits to a whole new city had felt refreshing and there were zero bad memories attached.
But now they are here, both of them. Ashton and Fearne. And also Orym, Fearne's best friend. And Dorian, of course, Orym's partner. Which means two things; one, that there's going to be a really big party because Dorian will follow Cyrus' tradition even if it kills him, and two, that Imogen will be there.
Laudna has dated. She has been around. She has met people.
But.
Laudna has been dreaming about Imogen in quite a number of positions the second she decided to come back to Geelvan.
That's a problem.
---
"Sometimes you just want someone to slam you against," Imogen's hand makes a sweeping gesture to nothing in particular, her words a bit slurred, nothing she can do to help it, "the first flat surface and shut the thing up,"
Vaguely, she's aware she's oversharing and an entire group of people are listening. Some of them she hasn't even seen in years, some of them she should want to keep some face for. She doesn't, care or keep face. They're as tipsy as her at best, and completely f*cked up at worst.
Fearne is threading her fingers through the soft fur-like material of the rug beneath her like she expects it to start purring if she puts her heart to it. Orym is smoking the blunt Fearne left behind and he's already smiling at the ceiling, nodding his head in total agreement. Imogen feels eyes on her vacant of their usual apprehension and tries to ignore it. She gestures absently at something unseen above her own head. "Just shut that whole thing up, y'know."
There's no ignoring it. Imogen hasn't seen her in forever and she looks somehow more beautiful than before. All sharp edges and long limbs, the curve of her hips does dangerous things to Imogen's blood.
There's the smallest twitch of Laudna's eyebrow and Imogen dumbly follows the tiny quirk of her lips like it's tilting the entire world beneath her feet, like if she doesn't catch the angle, if her gaze doesn't fixate on the hint of amusem*nt there, the world will spin off its axis and she might just fall.
---
Laudna is in a bit of a mood. Maybe it's the party and the memories and the friends she doesn't see as often as she used to. Maybe it's the summer heat and the tequila. It's probably the way Imogen's eyes catch on hers, heavy and dragging, before the hook is gone and Laudna feels a bit like panting for oxygen.
It's unbecoming, she knows. But if anything, maybe this will stop the dreams.
---
The door hasn't even fully closed by the time Imogen's back is pressed roughly against it. Laudna's lips are insistent on hers, long delicate fingers making quick work of the shirt buttons before running up her sides. Imogen breaks the kiss for a second, feeling dizzy and fearing her legs might give out if they don't lower the intensity for a second. Laudna is not having it, she makes a noise close to growl that tears itself from somewhere in her chest and buries her face against Imogen's neck.
"Okay," Imogen forces the words out of her mouth, aloud, her voice half an octave lower than she remembers it. "Is this going to be-- oh," the back of Laudna's fingernails drag upwards, leaving a trail of red burning marks, and her fingers spread over one of her tit*, Imogen's head spins. "A--," she groans at the pressure when Laudna squeezes without a care, tries again, "a thing?" Her voice breaks at the last word. Laudna lets out a tired sigh, she seems to consider Imogen talking as not a great feature for this plan and bites down hard, sucking just as harshly on the skin of her throat. Imogen nearly collapses when her abused neck is released, Laudna's lips are somehow now against her ear and dripping venom with every exhale, with every word.
"Shut. Up."
Imogen honest to the gods whimpers and she hates herself for it; hates herself for enjoying this kind of treatment, hates her heart for skipping one or seven beats when Laudna hums, pleased with the silence that follows.
"I thought you said you wanted to 'shut that whole thing up'."
Imogen tries to glare, she tries so hard, but Laudna chooses that exact moment to slide her free hand down, fingers planting themselves firmly between her thighs over her clothes, and the air caught in Imogen's lungs is suddenly scalding hot. The loaded glare turns into something with a different edge; not the serrated, blood coated thing she was going for, but something that curves to match the tilt of Laudna's satisfied smile, something glistening with barely contained, unadulterated hunger.
Laudna's fingers apply delicious pressure and Imogen chokes on ash, makes the most pathetic, pitiful noise. Laudna smiles and stares down at her, licking her lips.
"Look at you. You desperate, little thing."
Imogen closes her eyes, refusing to look up to meet Laudna's, refusing to acknowledge the way her smile becomes predatory or how Imogen's treacherous body arches into her touch. Refusing to accept that even this, and only this, she will greedily take and drown herself into. She remains silent and obedient.
"If you wanted me to f*ck you so bad, you could have done the simple thing and ask for it."
Laudna's lips hover above Imogen's, just barely out of reach, she feels her breath there and lazily opens her eyes. The hand releases, fingertips drawing a slow line she can barely feel over the denim of her jeans, upwards to the point where the buckle of her belt is. "Preferably, when we aren't in a room full of people," the buckle snaps open, the belt hangs loosely around Imogen's hips, those same fingers move to the singular button, Imogen's attention is pinpointed like a laser on the path they trail, purposefully ignoring the expression on Laudna's face. "Ideally, you come to me naked and save me some trouble." Her long, cold fingers slide under Imogen's underwear and immediately her eyes are back on Laudna's without conscious permission. No thoughts, only pressure.
There's a single second of self-assured satisfaction when those pupils grow two sizes at what she finds. It doesn't last longer because every nerve ending in Imogen's body turns to molten metal, making the electrical pulses connecting them all curl and twist and spark, incapable of choosing a direction. The flow of her thoughts stops abruptly, a stuttering breath falls from her lips, like a sigh, or maybe that was Laudna?
The touch burns and soothes at the same time, Laudna presses their foreheads together. Imogen feels her soul leave her body at the tenderness of it, Laudna barely breathing. They're at a stalemate for precious seconds before Laudna seems to come back to herself, her expression hardened.
"Now you're gonna be a good girl and keep that smart mouth of yours shut tight so we don't get caught."
---
They don't get caught. Not that time, not the next. At some point, it becomes a habit. It's a good summer, but it's about to end.
