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Due to moving and chaos and the internet not looking like it will be connected for a month my absence unfortunately may continue a while longer. Missing MRO muchly, back as soon as I can-
~Verdy

Verdy had decided to go for a walk. Not just a walk-around-the-front-lawn type walk, nor a walk-to-the-nearest-coffee-shop-and-stop. This was a walk of epicosity, she and Jack were going to walk all the way into the city, possibly around it, then back again. Thus far it had been cold and tiring, and they were only in the into-the-city part. Briefly it crossed her mind that she probably should have started with a smaller walk, and worked her way up to something more of this magnitude. It was too late now, though, and as she followed her tail-wagging companion along a footpath she didn’t quite recognise she pondered.

She pondered all kinds of things, who she knew well enough to buy Christmas gifts for, whether she was interested in the carols by candlelight advertised on lampposts and pinboards (it really just sounded a bit cold, and dangerous to be out in the middle of the night with paper clutched close to open flames, but to each their own) among other more mundane things such as work and school. It was not unpleasant, and she found herself content to simply follow Jack as he wandered here and there, smelling trails across the cold ground.

She did see the young woman in front of her coming towards her, and she shifted out of her way, so that they wouldn’t collide. Unfortunately she didn’t account for the lead she was holding loosely in her hand, so used to letting Jack run free around the mansion grounds was she. The young woman didn’t see the lead either, and it wasn’t until she went pitching forward with a cry, Jack lead flying out of Verdy’s hand, that Verdy realised what had happened.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

She bent down to offer a hand to the sprawled lady as Jack snuffled at her worriedly, his leash still wound tightly around her ankles.

The girl spoke about the two men in a way that suggested they were a necessity, but not particularly wanted. The mention of their paychecks made Verdy pause her drink-swirling for a moment as she pondered who would be paying for the two to protect the blonde beside her. Her first guess was the mafia, although the accent wasn’t quite what her movie-based knowledge suggested a child of the mob would have.

Dismissing the mob idea she settled instead on the idea of a daughter of a diplomat, or an upper-class family from wherever the sweetening of her tone originated. It would make more sense that such a girl would need to be protected. While kidnappings and ransom notes seemed a little far fetched, her time in NYC had taught her not to make assumptions about the city, lest they turn around and bite her right in the assumption.

The girl seemed friendly enough, though and Verdy was in the mood to make a new friend after all the time cooped up in her room, distracted by her blanket so she shook the offered hand with a smile, despite her hesitation on account of possible mutation. Xavia, a pretty name, and almost an echo of the mansion’s sister school, however, it did not help her place the face, or the voice that seemed even more familiar.

The young woman took a sip of her drink (a drink that looked to be just a tad too chocolatey for Verdy’s taste) and winced. Verdy knew that look, and from the condensation on the outside of the glass she guessed she knew the reason.

“Brain freeze?”

It was one of those things that everyone suffers from. She vaguely remembered a cure James had taught her once, after one too many thickshakes.

“If you press the roof of your mouth with your thumb it will go away.”

She shrugged, it was obscure, but it had always worked for her. She smiled at Xavia’s acknowledgement of the music and turned her attention to the notes flowing smoothly through the air. The tune was just the right mix of tambres and the fact that it was purely instrumental allowed for easy listening, the type that allows the listener to tune in and out without losing any meaning. The volume was also of an acceptable level, providing a pleasant backdrop to their conversation without being overwhelming.

“Yes, and a nice place for it too.”

It took a few moments for the ‘other’ to register and she cocked her head towards the girl.

“You play?”

Other than a little basic guitar she could barely recall Verdy’s skills with musical instruments was borderline nil. Still, it didn’t take ability to form admiration, and she appreciated good music as much as anyone else.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. So innocent. So calming. So arts-and-craftsy. Little had she known as she ran her fingers over the brilliant colours and interesting textures that this could consume her life.

Biting the thread away from the final knot Verdy rolled her shoulders and wriggled back to admire her handiwork. Brilliant, nuclear-waste green mixed with black and assorted variations in a form easily recognisable as ‘knitted’. She grinned and smoothed the blanket out. It flowed deliciously to the floor on both sides and the end of her bed, and it had the added bonus of being totally hand-made. The feathered synthetic fibres tickled gently under her fingers, contrasted against the stability and functionality of the plainer fibres.

She glanced at the clock. Then the calendar. Then outdoors.

Oh.

The time, she was surprised by, but not unduly so. The calendar remained on the page she had last turned over, with a scene from an underwater adventure above the swirling letters that formed “June.” Outside the window, however, was not the green leaves of late spring, early summer. The children who scurried across the lawn wore a layer more than she would have expected, and most disturbing of all, there was a yellowish tinge to the leaves on some of the trees.

Slightly bewildered she moved to the window and pressed her nose against it. The chill of the glass and the closer view of what was most certainly were brilliant orange streaks across the leaves of the tree outside confirmed what she suspected.

She had missed Summer.

Somehow, the days and weeks had slipped away until finally, here she was on the cusp of Fall. She was sure that she had been eating, but on a closer inspection of her memory she discovered that she had, in fact, been moving to and from the dining hall in a wooly-minded haze. Of course she had taken Jack out for walks, but her mind had been clouded by thoughts of the blanket she was diligently creating, stitch by stitch and the weather had passed by unnoticed.

Bother.

At least her blanket was pretty. She moved back to the bed and snuggled under it. She would deal with the problem of the missing Summer later. After a nap.

...I had to go and jinx myself by saying I was back, didn't I...

Chaos in the sharehouse where I live, and when the police were contacted they ended up taking the side of the guy who has an AVO out against him and who made myself and another housemate feel very afraid. Apparently he's a "big puppy and not a trained killer" because he cried when the policeman was talking to him. My housemate needs to 'stop being a baby' and I'm not to call the police every time there's a household argument, way to make me feel safe mister officer of the law.
I'm going back to my parents for a week to let things cool off a little. Not sure how consistent/sane my computer time will be *sigh* keep you posted.

The younger girl almost bounced in the seat at the news. Verdy smiled, sugar rush. The same rush was tingling in her fingers, the fizzy cola and the chocolate was being quickly absorbed by their empty stomach walls, the energy being sent out to all those things neglected when hungry. Her eyes had that twinkle in them instead of a dull lifelessness, and had someone brushed against her skin they would have felt warmth, rather than the characteristic chill of a body conserving energy for life over heat.

Agnes phrased her next question very openly, but Verdy had a fair guess as to what she was talking about. She sighed and took another sip of the cola. All the months, weeks, days, hours on the streets lined up before her. Some of the time good, some of the time so awful her mind cringed away from the memories and refused to think on them at all. The girl seemed so pleasant though, for a street rat, and so young. As young as she had been when she had fled her home what seemed like forever ago. Realising she was staring rudely off into the distance she blinked away the thoughts and wriggled back to lounge against the back of the bench.

“Three years, almost exactly, give it a day or so.”

The cross-over between Hawaii and New York had confused her, and while she wandered bewildered at first she lost track of the date. It didn’t bother her too much though, when she watched the news she sometimes caught the date, and on the newspapers, so good at providing that extra insulation against the chill wind. Most of her time was focused on survival though, rather than on how long she had been doing so. When the belly was empty the main priority was filling it, not pondering how long it had been empty for.

“And for you?”

The girl gave off the wary vibe that suggested she had spent more than a day away from her parents and met more than one creeper in a dark alleyway. This one was tough and wiry, and would be fine as long as she could manage to keep her head above the water. Briefly the thought of all she could teach this young one flitted through her mind, followed closely by the knowledge that she could figure it out herself. Besides, one homeless girl was far less likely to be watched with distrust than a pair. Get any more than two together and it was almost certain that at least one person would mistake the group for prostitutes, no matter how recent from goodwill the clothes were.

“How are you finding it, getting by?”

She wondered if the girl had visited the youth homeless centre, she wondered if she knew about the soup kitchen, or the asian take-out place that neatly boxed their left-overs at the end of the night and left them on the bench outside for the streeties to share between themselves. She wondered how much of it was her business, and if there was a way for Agnes to be offended by the sharing of information.

“It should be easier, now that the weather is warmer.”

It was always nicer to be able to sleep without being crouched on a folded down box, hugging knees to chest and back against a wall in an effort to keep some body-warmth in. Towel became blanket, and all clothes were worn at once, when winter’s bite roamed, and the shelter line seemed too daunting.

‘Something different’ so very often seemed to be the start of her conversations these days. One of these days she would have to start up a conversation with a total stranger without random provacation, just to be different. She made her way closer still, until she was leaning on the fence, her body pleased that she had stopped that infernal running weakly reminded her of stranger-danger before turning its focus back to a twitching muscle in her calf. If anything happened, she always had her hands.

She cocked her head at his question, but he followed it up by offering information about himself, so instead of being a creepy older man, he seemed sweet, and borderline lonely, the type of person who talks about the weather, or what job field you’re in. The type of person who, sometimes without even realising, is yearning for a bit of social interaction.

She smiled at him and nodded at his comment.

“Over a bakery, that would make me hungry too often I think. But lovely smells all the same.”

Where she lived often smelt of socks, sometimes of the charred variety, and the general odours that come from living in a place chock-full of teenagers, that combined with all the different smells particular to all the assorted mutations, not to mention pets, made for an intriguing scent that it was best not to inhale too deeply. With all the cleaning staff, at least it was certain to be a relatively clean smell, even when unidentifiable.

“Nearby, of a sort. I’m living in Xaviours sister-school, the mansion sorta thatta-way”

She gestured in the general direction where she thought the school was located. Semi-embarrassed by her lack of knowledge she made a mental note to check if the school had a particular name, as well as a better description of its location than ‘thatta-way’.

She gave a wry smile. While to some she would seem to old to be living in a school, she was still finishing highschool, and the mansion provided a safe, reliable home while she was studying, not to mention food of all kinds and friends in abundance, provided she could find them in the range of facilities, both mutation-related and not.