2019-05-27: Revelations
| 2019.05.27: Revelations | |
|---|---|
| Continuing from 'From Bad to Worse', Sierra is chased outside the Styx and Stones but turns to face her chaser, to his demise. Grinch also comes to her aid and the pair face off against a few Ghouls before breaking away into the night. | |
| IC Date | May 27, 2019 |
| IC Time | Night |
| Players | Keeley, Wendy |
| Location | Styx and Stones |
| Spheres | Mortal+ |
It's Memorial Day in the good ol' USA. This means that the Styx is moderately hopping. Not fully, completely hopping, because plenty of bikers are riding to bigger events out of town or out grilling meat. Those who just want to hang back and grab a drink? They're here, and there are enough of them for it to not be slow.
Wendy is waiting tables, because that's what her job is. The pale blonde girl has her chelsea-cut hair baretted back behind her ears, a mini-apron tied around her waist, and a T-shirt with a bazooka on it and the text 'DEFEND PROSPECT.' She seems like she's keeping up with the demand tonight fairly well. Her eyes have this sleepy look to them, though: like she either hasn't slept in 40 years, or is just waking up from a 40-year nap.
The front door gently creaks, slowly opens, large blue eyes, pale features, waves of strawberry blond hair peeking through the small opening Keeley has made for herself. With another gentle push, the door opens and with a swish of long skirt, she makes her way inside, though remains near the door for a moment, fingers playing with the bottom button of her blouse as she looks around.
From the far corner, where the roughest of bikers sit, one spots the young woman and lifts a hand to catch her attention, turns it to a thumbs up, as if passing on a message. Keeley responds with a shy smile, lowering her head, allowing strawberry blond locks to hide her features, while the biker returns to his companions.
And then she starts making her way toward the bar, oddly moving around a spot not far from the entrance, gazing up at the ceiling as if expecting it to drop on her head at any moment. Circling the spot, she finally escapes whatever threat she sees and makes it to the bar.
With Keeley taking her spot at the bar, Wendy walks up and slips around to the other side. "I'm, like, taking my 15, Danny, okay?" she says, in a voice that's a completely flat monotone -- think Wednesday Addams. She takes the bar's soda gun and fills a glass with Coke or root beer or something before leaning against the back wall. As she drinks, she looks around -- and then her eye is caught on Keeley. "Oh! Uh. Hey. You, like, all set, or whatever?"
Reaching the bar, Keeley stares at one of the stools, tilts her head to get a better look, gives it a poke then a push, before seeming fine with it; she slips her bottom onto the seat and wriggles back until she's comfortable. The question from Wendy has her look up, large blue eyes wide as if caught in the headlights, but then she smiles, lowering her head just a touch, looking off to the side rather than directly at Wendy.
"I'd like one of those.", she tells the girl, pointing to the drink that Wendy poured for herself, "I had one the last time, it's very nice. The bubbles get up your nose sometimes, though.". Her voice is adorable, sweet and soft, almost childlike.
Leaving Wendy to it, she digs around inside her handbag, weird clanks and rattles coming from inside - who knows the horrors that lurk in there - finally pulling out some money to pay for the drink. The note is lifted, stared at, turned one way then the other, until she's content and places it on the bar for Wendy to take. "Thank you.", she says politely.
Wendy looks over at Danny, seeming to seek approval before pouring a customer a drink. She's just a waitress -- and even though this is a place that mostly just serves domestic beer straight out of the bottle, Danny's still the man who rules behind the bar. After getting a nod, Wendy takes another pint glass, scoops some ice into it, and fills it with soda-gun Coke that's only a LITTLE watery.
Wendy takes the cash, and then pushes the drink towards Keeley. She holds onto it a little too long, though -- just one of those things that happens sometimes, where someone reaches for something at the same time that the waitress is handing it over, and hands touch. No big deal, right?
Following Wendy's gaze along to Danny, Keeley recognizes the man and lifts a hand, though again doesn't look directly at him. Danny.. well, he recognizes her too, but the friendly greeting isn't returned, instead he rolls his eyes and carries on with his business. That doesn't stop Keeley, she waves again, before finally having to give in and lower her hand slowly back to her lap, her face dropping like a puppy scorned.
While keeping an eye on him, she reaches out for the drink and the fingers touch. Keeley's eyes widen, the young woman breathes in a gasp, quickly turns her attention to Wendy, her lips part into an, 'Oh wow!', gesture, simply staring for a few moments. This time she doesn't even look away, so strong is the awe.
Wendy, on the other hand, doesn't have it so good. The telepathy triggers and goes crawling around inside Keeley's head, finds memories of ghosts, dead things dancing around her bed, laughing as she tries to sleep but instead is curled into a ball, screaming for it to stop. Another memory, Keeley opening her eyes to find the world has changed, everything is decaying, the streets are filled with rubble and moss creeping up from the ground, people with their faces rotted, diseased children with black eyes, laughing as they skip past. And then a final memory, Keeley in the back of a car; the car swerves, hits a truck carrying long steel rods. Masses of them impact with the car, her parents in the front seats are pierced multiple times, while a few others reach through to the back, one slamming into the side of her chest and piercing straight through. Then black.
When Wendy gets this broadcast of memories from Keeley, it doesn't come in a nice, neat package, with visions placed in sequential order like ads running between segments of a TV show. They all come at her at once, blasting her brain at irregular angles. The smell of one memory bleeds into the sound of another, until it's hard to tell the global apocalypse from the personal. It's to Wendy's credit that she doesn't accidentally slap over Keeley's Coke. She just lets go, and stumbles backwards.
Wendy finds the back wall with her butt and closes her eyes as tightly as she can. Her hands come up to rub at the bridge of her nose like she's trying to find the latch to take the lower half of her face off. She breathes like she just ran a mile. Danny looks over and screws his face up into something like concern, annoyance, or a mixture of the two.
The awe and revelation turns to one of concern at the sight, Keeley breathing a soft sigh, leaving the glass on the bar as her hands fall to her lap, fingers twisting and pulling at the fabric of her ankle-length skirt. "You looked, didn't you?", she asks, her eyes now off to the side of Wendy, someone who likely understands why she doesn't look straight at people anymore.
"You shouldn't, it's not nice in here.", one hand leaving her skirt, tapping soft fingers against the side of her head, "Not nice at all.", the hand dropping back to her skirt. "Too many things, too many bad things.".
Wendy opens her eyes. They look less sleepy now! More like she was just JOLTED awake. When Keeley speaks to her, Wendy can't really find words to respond. It's like she just took a hit to the head and is still processing that there was an impact at all.
After a long moment, especially when Keeley taps her head, Wendy draws in a deep breath. "I don't..." She starts, and then trails off. "I don't, like, have a choice." She still has that Wednesday Addams vibe to her voice, but there's something a little more surly in it now, a little more hurt. "I can't... I just... I can't."
There's the start of a smile from Keeley, hearing that, it's almost sweet seeing her smile in that way, large blue eyes looking down at the drink still sitting on the bar, allowing her strawberry blond curls to frame her face. "It's..", pausing for a long moment, there's a word somewhere, a way to describe, ".. Okay.".
Reaching out, the young woman gathers up the glass, pulls it in for a small drink, then cradles it close to her chest in both her small hands. "It's amazing.", she says, a tilt of her head, blue eyes still wide and staring at the same spot where her glass used to be, "What you do. I wouldn't want it, I have enough things in my own head, I wouldn't like to look into anyone elses..".
Despite the comments, she's obviously aware of the 'weird' that is taking place, keeping her tone low so others can't overhear unless they're very close. And with a slow twirl, she turns away from the bar, wriggles off the stool and lands on the floor, then heads for a nearby booth; again, she circles some unseen spot on the ceiling on the way there. "Watch that.", she says, pointing up, "It's going to come down soon.". At the booth, she plants her bottom down and wriggles over, leaving space beside her; though there's always the seats opposite.
Wendy is still on her break, and she grabs her Coke to follow Keeley to the booth. She opts for the seats opposite -- touching Keeley the first time resulted in getting visions of death, ghosts, and Armageddon, so she doesn't want to accidentally rub shoulders. After Wendy sits, there's a moment where it's like she's not even sure why she sat down.
"It's not amazing," Wendy finally says. She almost mumbles it. "It's not... It sucks. It fucking sucks. Every day. It's..." Wendy rubs her temples, trying to find words to describe it. "It used to just be voices. From other people. Then it was like... pictures. Now, it's like... It's like I'm there. And I can't stop it. I can't even start it. Unless I shut my brain off entirely, like... it's just... it never stops..."
Wendy stares down at the table between the pair, not making eye contact. "It never stops. I know who's in the closet. I know who in here's wearing women's underwear, and, like, it's not all women. I know who in here's a pedophile. And I don't... I don't want to know. I just want everyone to leave me alone."
The glass is placed neatly down on the table in front of her, Keeley twisting it once, twice, hands framing it for a second until they pull away to rest in her lap. "It does.", the young redhead agrees, her fingers again pulling and twisting the fabric of her long black skirt, "It really fucking sucks.", the bad language is spoken as if she's never said the word before.
"It's a gift you don't want..", it sounds like she's speaking from experience, ".. but it's a gift you have, like it or not.". Her large blue eyes never look up, staring down as her fingers twist and pull, long red hair framing her features as if she were hiding behind the light curls.
"I woke up one morning and an evil spirit had decided to make an example out of me. Now my whole world has changed. But I keep going, because.. I see the other side. All the time, I see the other side. I see them now.", she says, glancing over at the busy club, her eyes tracking things that aren't there, "Do I curl up and cry..", something she was seen doing in a vision, ".. or do I live with it and do something with it?"
Lifting her gaze, her lovely blue eyes fixate on Wendy, despite the distaste evident when she does so; it's not personal, Wendy is probably the only one that knows that. "What are /you/ going to do with it?"
Wendy is quiet. She doesn't meet Keeley's gaze. She looks down at her Coke, or at the table, or at her own hands. She's like a little girl called into the principal's office -- she knows she did wrong, she knows she got caught, but she just can't bring herself to take it on the chin.
It's easy to see, the longer Wendy sits like that, just how tired she looks. Her make-up does a good job of covering how she probably doesn't sleep well. Even in California, her skin is pale almost to the point of being see-through, because she probably limits how much she goes outside and is around people. Her clothes... well, her clothes are kind of shabby, but that's really just kicking her while she's down.
"I don't know," Wendy finally says, putting her forehead into her palms. "I don't know." She says it like she's trying not to cry. Because that's true, she is trying not to cry. "I'm like... I feel like... I feel like a baby. A baby with a loaded gun."
Pale skin it might be, tired she might look, but to Keeley it's a whole different thing; skin peeling from her face, milky white eyes, bruised and diseased features, clothing torn and faded, it's no wonder she doesn't want to look at it. The young woman gathers up her glass, has a small drink then looks at the glass curiously before placing it back down on the table.
"You need someone to talk to.", the young redhead suggests, "When you have those moments, you need to let them out, they'll eat you up if you keep them inside. It's an outlet you need. I know.", her voice is so soft and sweet, understanding, "I know. It's not fair, people won't believe you. But some are out there. There are so many out there that would understand you.", her hands reaching out, gathering around her glass, cradling it gently. "You're not alone. It feels like it sometimes, but you're not.".
What Keeley is telling Wendy is stuff that Wendy already knows. That's what makes it so hard, really. The most difficult thing to face down sometimes is good advice that you know is true. Wendy's eyes scrunch shut again, and her breathing flattens out a bit. She's trying to calm herself down. It's working to an extent: she's not crying, even if her eyes are a little moist.
"I know," Wendy whispers. "I know. I..." She opens her eyes, to look across the table, finally going eye to eye with Keeley. "Thank you," she says, in a tiny voice. "I... Yeah, I just... I mean... I... Thanks. Thank you."
The eyes try to meet, Keeley's large blues looking up at Wendy, a sweet little smile forming, but she has to keep looking down every few moments; she just can't do it. And then she suddenly shifts to one side, throws her arms up as if defending from an attack, the young woman curling into the corner of the booth, "Don't /do/ that!", staring at a point in the air for a second, then she wrinkles her nose, "Ha ha. Yes.", rolling her eyes, her gaze returning to Wendy.
Her hand raises, an idea, and she focuses on her handbag, digging around inside there before coming out with a pen and a small piece of paper. She scribbles some numbers across it, writes the word Kee, and pauses, pen hovering there. And then she finishes it with 'ley'. Keeley. A smile to herself at the sight, then she slides the paper across to Wendy. "If you want, we can talk about things. Anytime you like.", she nods.
The pen is returned to her bag, the glass of fizz gathered up again for another drink, her gaze drifting off to the biker bar and those moving around inside it. Keeley's outburst has Wendy looking confused. At first, she's startled, and then as Keeley continues her conversation with... no one(?), she settles into just being confused and a bit visibly uncomfortable.
Wendy looks down at the piece of paper, hesitates, and then picks it up. She looks at it like it might have some sort of coded message on it, and then slips it into her back pocket, shifting in the booth to do that. "Thanks," she says. "I... I should probably get back to work, like... just... just flag me down if you need anything, or a drink, or whatever. You... maybe, yeah, like... over the phone." Wendy is as articulate as ever, but her general point comes across, probably.
With a final lift, the glass is emptied of its contents, Keeley placing the empty back onto the table. "Yes. You should probably work.", she agrees, the young woman reaching up, brushing a few strands of long, strawberry blond hair from her eyes.
Before Wendy can leave, she reaches out, closes her soft little fingers around her hand, holding onto it for a few seconds. Her eyes close, she inhales deeply but gently, smiles to herself. Is that a faint tingle coming from her fingers into Wendy's hand? "You're going to be just fine..", she says softly, easing her fingers away, placing them back down in her lap where she starts to twist at her skirt again.
Wendy looks down at the hand touching hers. She seems like she almost might flinch away from the touch, because... well, consider what happened last time they brushed hands. She closes her eyes when it's clear contact is going to occur, like someone bracing themselves for punishment. Then... nothing happens. There's kind a little tingle, but Wendy's sure she's imagining it.
"Th-- Thanks," Wendy replies. "I... yeah. I'll, like, I'll call. I'm, uh, Wendy, by the way. Just so, like, you know my name. Or whatever." Wendy gets up, and tries to offer a smile. It comes off as awkward -- smiling doesn't seem like it comes naturally to her, or at least, not in situations like this.
There's a smile from Keeley, even though it doesn't seem to be aimed at anything in particular, the young woman still looking at the table. "Hello Wendy.", she says softly, perhaps even after the girl in question has gone too far away to hear it.
