July Arrivals

[sixthiteration]

WHO: Arrivals
WHERE: The fountain park
WHEN: July 1, 12:00 PM
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: N/A
STATUS: CLOSED

---

In the snug circle of an old park, a fountain sits burbling beneath a broad, midday sky.

Once-neat paving stones have buckled and cracked from the slow nudge of wayward roots. Benches stand covered in lichen and rust. Three paths push into the underbrush like the spokes on a wheel, the encroaching forest creating lush tunnels through the dark.

But the fountain stands singular and pristine, brightly splashing in open rebellion of the deep, muffled sounds of a place long ago gone to seed. A vibration hums through the ground, there and quickly gone, and the water in the fountain trembles, lapping against the high walls of its cool, pale reservoir.

It is the first of July.

It is precisely twelve o'clock in the afternoon.

Comments

[thecatinahat]

"Wait," he says, as patient as ever. "Where are you from?" he asks her, this time in English. He'll need to find someone who can speak Spanish with him or he'll go crazy, but he can muster up limited English if need be. "You can sleep." He knows he won't, given his lack of trust of these strangers and knowing what happens when Cougar falls asleep, but at least someone can find some respite.

[teen_angst_bullshit]

"Ohio," Veronica answers, and then shakes her head. "And I don't think I'm going to be sleeping anytime soon." Never mind the adrenaline still working its way out of her system, she's just not in the habit of dropping off in strange and potentially dangerous places.

"You? Where are you from?" she asks as she pulls out a chair and takes a seat. Unshouldering her pack, she steadies it between her knees and begins pulling out items one by one, taking stock.

[thecatinahat]

Questions are something that he might have to get used to answering, it looks like. He frowns and gives her a shrug. "Lots of places," he says, because in the last few months, he's been in Bolivia, Miami, LA, and then back to Jensen's home to watch the Petunias play soccer. "Army," is his explanation, which is probably not enough, but it's the easiest way to explain without getting into more details. He doesn't want to tell her that he's a sniper, that his kill count is over two hundred, and that if he falls asleep now, he's going to wake up screaming.

He watches her begin to pry things out of the bag, eyeing her with worry. "How old are you?" he asks next.

[teen_angst_bullshit]

"Seventeen," Veronica easily answers, and then arches an eyebrow as she looks back to him. "Yeah, I know. If it helps at all, I generally try to be a little less annoying than the average teenager."

It's weird to think that she'll be 18 soon, too. Officially an adult, at least in the eyes of the law. What a ridiculous fucking concept.

[thecatinahat]

He doesn't care that she's seventeen for any other reason than knowing it's not fair to throw a seventeen year old into a hard situation and expect her to somehow know how to cope. Survivalist training is something he's done and he's had to weather terrible situations because he's been in special ops. Your typical seventeen year old doesn't have to live through these kinds of things.

And he can't help but think that all those little kids, those angelitos will never even have a chance to make it to seventeen. Something curdles in his mouth and he breathes out heavily. "Sorry," is all he says, glancing around. "Maybe someone is your age," he offers, thinking it will be better than a sniper with personality troubles, seeing as he's not really best suited to coping with seventeen year olds.