sixthiterationlogs | You have that look in your eye

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You have that look in your eye

WHO: Rose Hathaway

littledhampir
WHERE: Various places around 6i
WHEN: 15th - 25th of August (Before the end of Sirens Call)
OPEN TO: OTA - Late tag-ins are always welcome.
WARNINGS: Minor references to blood & a pack of rabid Bambis. Character Death. Others may well come bc… Rose, so. Watch this space. FYI. So much TLDR under the cut.

If you go out in the woods today...

THE WOODS + THE INN

She’d been getting a little too comfortable with the fact that the wildlife here didn’t seem to have a problem with her. Rose’s strictly human status here in the village was generally a point of contention for the Dhampir, but if she had to have picked one thing that didn’t suck - it was her recent ability to be able to pet an animal without fear of it trying to snack on her. Until today.

In her defense...Who the hell would think to be careful around something that looked like Bambi had been left in the dryer on high for too long?! Sure they lull you into a false sense of security by sending one out to try and get your attention, and the next thing you know there’s eight of the little suckers - and she does mean that word literally - all trying to sink their teeth into you while you flail around like a fish that had escaped from its bowl. (Or. ya know. The lead singer of a popular Australian 80s band.)

While it was true that Dhampir blood was considered to taste better than that of a Human, Rose had been hoping that her change in race, courtesy of this godforsaken place, might have meant that had changed it. If the last ten minutes of her life was anything to go by, she hadn’t gotten so lucky.

You would be forgiven for laughing, however, if you happen to spot Rose as she emerges from the edge of the woods. Her appearance mildly alarming due to the bite marks that adorn her arms and legs. The long dark hair that had been pulled back into a ponytail was now a tangled mess that half framed her face. The clothing she’d raided from the discarded items of the Inn, probably more useful as dishcloths than it would ever be for training now. You may even spot one of the little creatures in question as it’s brave enough to think about having another go. And if you do, you’ll also spot Rose as she turns around and sends it back towards the treeline with a kick that sails wide.

Don’t worry if you miss it, she’ll be dragging her sorry self back to the Inn, looking like the disaster that she is, in search of something she can use to clean herself up and bracing for the numerous questions she knows she’s going to regret.

People are strange when you're a stranger

BUILDINGS AROUND 6i

If her encounter with the pack of Rabid Bambis had taught Rose anything, it was that this place was in desperate need of somewhere she could use to train. Running every day might be a part of her routine, but if she weren’t so bored out of her skull from not being able to take to the mats of a gym, maybe she wouldn’t do stupid things like, oh… say… pet the cute yet utterly terrifying spawn of satan.

It’s why she’s been out scouting the various buildings around the village, something that seemed like a wise idea until she realized that half of them were occupied and Rose had no idea which half. The ones with lights on inside made for an easy avoidance, but seeing as most of the people around here didn’t actually have electricity, there was a 50/50 chance that one of the windows she peered through belonged to an inhabited residence. Surely this was going to be fine.

And can you shake it off?

HOT SPRINGS

Even before the Wendigo attack, the Hot Springs had been a regular haunt of Rose’s, dating back to the first time she’d found herself in the village with a busted ankle and a series of conspicuous bite marks that weren’t exactly easy for her to keep covered. From the very moment she’d found out about the spring water and it’s healing potential, she’d been coming here every day. In part because of the healing but also because it seemed to be one of the few places she could visit that wasn’t overrun with people like the Inn was.

Of course, coming here these days wasn’t half as relaxing as it used to be but that was a story that even Kira didn’t have enough alcohol on hand to pry it out of her. It’s usually around dusk that she can be found this way, though, when most are making use of the last hour of natural light the village is afforded.

They say life carries on

PEETA'S GRAVE

When a Dhampir - a Guardian, died in her world, their death wasn’t something that was marked in any significant way. There was no memorial for people to come together and grieve. No procession of mourners to see them onto whatever came next. They were simply buried in a grave with a headstone that read the words ‘Eternal Service’. Dhampir, who like her, had dedicated their lives to protecting others. Dhampir, who like her, had always known that they would one day die because of it.

It was a part of her culture that had never particularly sat well with Rose. The attitude that when a person died, it was acknowledged - albeit briefly - and moved on from. Peeta was by no means a Guardian and yet, he’d gone into the fight knowing he could well die protecting others and while perhaps her only real connection to him was that she’d been there with him at the end. The thought that his death could be just like the many Guardians who had fallen before him, sat uneasily with Rose.

Those who have visited Peeta’s grave might have noticed the appearance of the forget-me-nots that somebody had been leaving there regularly. A single, lavender flower that seemed to be replaced with a new one every day. She never stays long, only long enough to retrieve the wilting flower and replace it with a new one. For Rose, it wasn’t so much about mourning as it was about remembering. About making sure, that at least as long as she was here, the boy who had sacrificed everything to help keep the people here safe, wouldn’t be just another headstone in a row of forgotten heroes.

Wildcard

Pick your poison. Rose lives at the Inn so when she’s not outdoors, she does spend an awful lot of time there.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Major's been steadily catching up with everything that's happened since his last stint in the village. His memories have fully recovered, which has been both a blessing and a curse. He, Ravi, and Liv are still sorting out what to do about the living situation since Liv took his old room, and Major's not the type of guy to come in, figurative guns ablazin', demanding his old things back. He offered to sleep on the couch, or, if they agreed upon it, to move into a larger house and hope the electricity gods saw fit to bestow their gifts upon them again - allowing all three of them to live together with a reliable means of storing brains.

He's been trying to contribute to their personal and uh, "unconventional" food stores by going out and seeing what creatures might be caught in traps, trying to remember all that Wanda had taught him the last time about hunting. He still can't quite get over the moral aspect of it (ironic, given his history), but he's gotten better in terms of accuracy and aim. He's caught a couple of squirrels whose brains he'll happily harvest when he decides to take the long way around back to the shared cabin.

In doing so, he stumbles upon Rose, removing and replacing a flower at what appears to be .. a grave? He thinks to simply scurry off without being seen or heard, not wanting to interrupt whatever moment she's obviously having. But something makes him stay. He doesn't want to be a total creep, so he makes some kind of noise - a jostling, rustling sort of sound - to announce his presence and avoid startling her. Though he wouldn't be surprised if she'd somehow already figured out he was there.

"Hey," he offers quietly, solemnly as he approaches by a few steps. He looks to the grave once close enough. He's been fortunate enough to not have had to bury anyone while here, but it's not as though he's a stranger to death. "I never knew him well enough. I wish I had, though." He places the squirrels far enough away from the grave so as not to make things weird and walks closer to the grave. "I heard about what happened. I'm .. I'm sorry, Rose."

Before she can even turn to see who was making the noise, the lavender flower she’d already replaced was hastily concealed by the closing of her hand. Its wilting petals becoming crushed in her grip as she sought to keep it from view. She could do this, come here, pay her respects in some small way but for some ridiculous reason she still didn’t like the idea of people knowing she did.

“Hey-” Straightening and likely looking every bit as guilty as she felt, like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. It’s not exactly easy to look casual or unaffected when you were standing by a grave, her hands tingling as they remembered her digging it, far better than she actually did.

Rose follows his gaze to the grave as he sets the squirrels down, her weight shifting uncomfortably as her escape has now been cut off. It would be, frankly weird for her to scamper off after having been caught here and while there are not many people she’d fight the urge to do that for in the village, Major had earned more than that from her.

“So do I.” She answered honestly, still clutching the flower in her closed hand. “We weren’t friends - “ Rose almost too quick to point that out, not wanting his sympathy for a loss that wasn’t truly hers to feel. Maybe she and Peeta could have been friends, if things had been different but they weren’t and Rose had never gotten very far in life by looking to the past.

“He was just, somebody I met really.” Rose glossing over practically everything about what had happened, unsure how much Major actually knew. While she was sure he’d heard about the Wendigo, she saw no reason why her name would have come up in relation to it all. She hardly thought of herself as making enough of an impact on people for them to be bothered talking about her.

“It’s on the way back to the Inn.” The half-lie tasting bitter on her tongue as her weight shifted once again.

It's been a weird week; certain questions given suggestions of answers, new questions posed. He'd spent the first day wondering if he'd been swapped out of one body and into another, flown over the village worried he'd see himself passed out on the ground, or worse--bird-brained and eating ants.

But he's been in and out of the sky enough times now to realize it's something he's doing, that he can choose to be man or bird, apropos fucking nothing. Some kind of twinge in his wrist, if he recalls. Bitten by a rogue magpie and now turning in the light of the...not full moon? In the middle of the day?

Whatever: point is, he can fucking fly. If this place is going to be an absurd nightmare day in and out, at least let him live that dream. It also just makes getting around easier, and, not knowing how long it'll last--he's staying somewhat close to the ground, somewhat close to home, and also using it as much as possible. Rose, on her morbid errand, will find a magpie sitting on Peeta's grave, setting down a cluster of goldbells like it knows exactly what it's doing.

With half a hop, Kira exchanges the fresh flowers for the withered blossom she came to replace, not surprised to find she's the one doing so. Still getting the hang of taking off, he kicks back off the piled stones, dislodging a few smaller pieces as he pulls himself into the air to wind up on her shoulder.

Magpies can mimic a wide range of sounds, but it's debatable that he manages to croak Rose into her ear before kicking off again, gliding a short distance to a branch and looking back, waiting.

When he catches who it is knocking on his door, he's less surprised that none of the wires around the yard had signaled her approach. Good thing he's home, to call an answer and lift the wire from the door. His is not a door anyone wants to pull open.

Maybe, this many months in, it's time to take down the traps.

"Can I do something for you," he asks, handle in one hand, end of a looped wire in the other. The gleaming metal of the line leads back to a jar, now partially tipped, dropping black dust and nails to the floor.

Very...very probably time to repurpose the set. Owen still squares his stance and stands there like she's come to a perfectly normal house with what he will act like is a perfectly normal request--no matter what it is, at this point.

"You don't have to be friends with someone to be saddened by their passing, to feel their loss." Major can remember at least one person in both high school and college who died by either sudden or tragic circumstances. One person he'd only seen a couple lockers down from his own, and in homeroom in the mornings. They never really shared more than a smile and the occasional hello, but during their Senior year, he found out that he'd OD'ed on heroin. Even though he didn't know the kid as well as a lot of others, the loss still hit him.

He's not comparing that to what Rose is experiencing, but he knows that sometimes sadness strikes without warning, and people often try to justify it or stupefy it.

Very much in the way Rose seems to be doing now.

"You don't need to come up with excuses," he continues, voice soft and soothing. "Not with me." He takes another step forward, eyes drifting from her face to the grave. "I'm glad you do something to remember him by. I think it's the least anyone could hope for - here or back where we come from."

Steph is exercising (read: doing cartwheels) at the edge of the forest, armed of course, when the woman comes crashing out of it several yards to her right. She's about to pull the staff from the back of her overalls when Rose takes care of the chupapaca herself. Which is a relief, because the less people know about Steph's combat skills the more comfortable she is.

She does come after the obviously injured woman, though, abandoning her workout.

"Hey, you need a hand cleaning up? That's uh... a lot." She waves a hand to indicate basically all of Rose's limbs.

She wants to open her mouth to argue with him but even as she does, the wind goes out of her sails, her weight shifting once again as she tries to find the words that are needed. She didn’t know how to explain what she really felt without there being a thousand questions but she also didn’t know if they were the kind of answers that were worth holding in either. She was never going to be normal, not even by her own worlds standards but if she were? She wouldn’t have made it this far in her still short life.

“I’m not sad.” It’s not defensive, not an excuse. There’s enough truth in her words for them to ring honestly as she speaks them and she allows herself to look at him then. Giving up the hiding of the flower, she uncurls her fingers, staring at the crushed petals that lay in the palm in her hand. Rarely did Rose ever wish she had even an ounce of the abilities that Liss had, but right now she wished she could have brought that flower back to life. That was Lissa’s gift though, the light to her dark. She would always bring life while Rose’s gift was death.

“I’m not… That’s half the problem.” Rose absently stroking the petals of the dying flower with her thumb. “I should be, or I should at least feel something but I just… don’t.” Or at least, not what she thought she should feel. She felt guilt, even anger but not at the people who deserved it. She was mad at Peeta of all people for throwing himself into danger when he should have known he was at a disadvantage. Guilty because she’d seen that he was and hadn’t tried to stop him, hadn’t done enough to keep him out of the path of the beast.

“I don’t know when I reached a point when somebody could die in front of me and I’d just feel… nothing.” But after Siberia, after Spokane, after everything that had happened in between the two, she felt like she’d reached this points where the things that should affect her, can barely touch her at all. She wasn’t grieving the loss of a boy that she barely knew. In many ways she was grieving the loss of the person she used to be, she just didn’t know that yet.

“I come here because… when somebody dies the way he did, people should remember.” And perhaps, more than that, she came here because there were people she wanted to remember, but there would never be any grave for her to visit them, not here and not back home. “That’s not really how it works where I’m from.”

Major's not rushing anyone, least of all Rose. Whatever she might have or want to say, she can - but he isn't going to put expectations on her like that. He won't force her to talk, or explain, or do anything for his sake. If she so much gives him a look to indicate she'd rather be alone, he'll be out of her hair without a word and without a bad feeling towards her. People deal with grief in different ways, and no one way is more correct than the other. He's never been that much of a judgmental person, but he always remembers his more recent past and how that puts him at the very bottom of the "Can Be Judgey" list.

Her voice draws his gaze towards her face, though - just for a brief moment, to acknowledge her. It drifts down towards the crushed up flower in her palm, the tiny purple petals now darkened and withered. He only knows obvious flowers like tulips and roses, so he's got no idea what the plant is that she's got in her hand, but he figures there's some kind of significance. She'd have chosen it for a reason, whatever it might be.

He continues to listen to her, allowing her to say as much or as little as she pleases. He understands more, now, with her explanation.

"Sometimes, shock and grief sort of make a cocoon around us, to protect us from too many emotions at once. The brain will always try to protect itself. Sometimes, we go into that shock and feel absolutely nothing because there's no other way we can get through whatever's going on. We compartmentalize, dissociate. And then we often feel a sudden outburst of emotion later on down the line, sometimes unexpectedly." He clasps his hands in front of him as he stands, now looking at the grave again. "I used to work at a homeless shelter for youths. Most were young teenagers. I saw that sort of thing a lot there." He shifts a little bit closer to her, gently tapping her with his elbow. "I was told once that feelings aren't right or wrong; they exist outside of the realm of morality. They just are. So if you aren't feeling as sad as you think you should be, it doesn't mean that what you're feeling is wrong. It's ... just what you feel." He turns towards her now, not reaching out for her (though he's the sort of person who's generally inclined to do that), but unclasping his hands to show they're there should she want to hold them. "You coming here, putting flowers on his grave even when no one else knows about it, because you want him to be remembered, because you want to not forget, regardless of how sad you feel or how ... not-sad you feel .. that speaks more than feeling sad for the sake of feeling sad. Feelings are simply feelings, but we've got control over what we do with them, how they affect our behaviors."

He reaches up, places a gentle hand on her shoulder for a brief moment before letting his hand fall again.

"It seems to me like you're feeling plenty, but being constructive with it."

It’s not that she wants to be alone but rather, that she doesn’t know how to be around people and simply feel whatever she’s feeling. Funny for somebody who was always told she was never good at holding back her emotions. When it came to shades of anger or affection, that much was true but if it ran deeper than that, hit harder than that then Rose was well versed in keeping it to herself. Back home, she had to, or at least she thought she did. There was never time for her to feel her way through everything, not when Lissa’s well-being would be at stake. She simply existed, letting the pain or hurt or frustration build until one day, the outburst he was talking about came and it ended well for nobody.

Rose had no idea the true the significance of the flowers she’d been picking. She’d never so much as picked up a book in this place to begin to know what half the things were. She’d chosen it, quite simply, because it reminded her of home. When she breathed in the flower it had just a hint of vanilla, like Lissa’s perfume. The rich, sweet scent of worn leather like Dimitri’s duster. She could smell the woods of Montana, the hints of warm earth as if the sun had been beating down hard that day and the ground still retained some of its heat. Every time she picked one, she was transported back to a time when everything felt much safer, more secure. A time before life started spinning out of control and swept her up in it.

As if trying to shove those memories away, Rose pushes the wilted flower into the pocket of her leather jacket, Major’s words pulling her out of the sea of memories that were conjured every time she held the forget-me-not for too long. Give the man a Russian accent and she could have been in the middle of one of her ‘Zen life lessons’ again, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth before reality saw it slip away once more.

She felt rather than saw him turn into her. Rose stiffening, just a little as she became the object of his focus and while she saw his hands she wasn’t the type who would simply reach for them. She was physical by nature, but not when it came to moments like this - never when she was at the heart of the discussion because she so rarely was. Oh, she got talked about plenty, usually in a rather colorful light but talked to, as an equal. There was only one person who used to do that with her, and it was the used to that made her unsure how to respond now.

“You’re probably the first person I’ve met that’s told me I should feel what I feel.” A light huff of soundless laughter following those words, though he could never understand her reason for it. For as long as she could remember, she was taught to do the opposite; Hold it in, close your mouth, behave. She wondered if people had the slightest idea how often she wanted to just scream for the sake of being heard. To drown out their endless lessons.

“Definitely the first person who's ever accused me of using my feelings constructively.” Unable to help but fall back into that playful banter, though even she could hear that it lacked the melody that usually came effortlessly. She was better at banter than she ever was at the heavier things, capable of holding her own in a witty tête-à-tête but at a complete loss when she might be expected to be open; vulnerable.

Edited 2018-08-16 14:51 (UTC)

[Elena knew Rose's usual haunts, so when writing wasn't enough to get her out of her own head and the other brunette wasn't in her room, she headed down to the springs to look for her. It helped that Elena liked it here as much as her friend did; it was quiet in a more peaceful way than an empty room could be.

She walks to the edge, divulges herself of her shoes, and sits down, letting her legs slip into the water to just below the knee.]

Hey you.

She had no intention of lingering when she stopped by today, the flower intended for Peeta’s grave, clutched in her hand as she veered off the direct path to the Inn. The sight of the Magpie wasn’t anything too surprising, she was getting used to the wildlife encroaching on the village and despite her altercation with the pack of rabid Bambis earlier that week, she seemed to have a weird affinity with birds. Okay, one bird, and it was a Crow, not a Magpie but seeing as it was the only animal to not view her as something to scratch, growl at or generally avoid before she wound up here? Rose found herself almost partial to anything feathered.

She stopped, eyes narrowed, watching the Magpie with what looked like a miniature bouquet of flowers, the cluster of goldbells bringing a spark of color to a place that was rendered drab, purely because of what it was. She watched it for several moments, finding a rare smile touch her lips at the awkward way it hopped towards the grave and set the flowers down.

She had the strange sense that it knew what it was doing, even before it took the flower from her hands, Rose watching the exchange with an odd mix of fascination and unease as she thought back to the Crow who weirdly had more in common with her, than anyone she’d ever known.

A huff of laughter spilled past her lips as she watched its uncoordinated take-off, Rose about to stand up and leave when it landed on her shoulder. She stiffened, half expecting it was going to pack her for laughing at its folly before dismissing that as too stupid to consider. It was a bird for fuck sake, it didn’t give a damn if she laughed or shooed it away.

And then as if to prove her wrong, it squawked in her ear, its wings lifting her hair as it took flight and landed not far from where she stood. She thought - she swore she’d just heard the damn bird say her name, Rose’s head snapping around to stare at it accusingly before she shook her head and ran her hands down her face.

“Jesus... I really am going crazy again.”

[A slow smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, Elena one of the few people Rose was always grateful to see. Even here, in this little piece of paradise that she came to in order to escape for a while. She was escaping the masses and the uncomfortable solitude that the four walls of her room provided. Elena was always a welcome sight.]

"Hey yourself. [Her eyes opening as she sat on a smooth slab of rock, half submerged in the water. The majority of her clothes lay in a pile beside the springs, Rose stripped down to a black set of standard-issue underwear that probably covered more than most bikinis. Her skin was already looking a shade or two darker than her regular olive complexion, Rose only too happy to drink up as much sun as was humanly possible these days.]

Seriously considering pitching a tent just over there. [Nodding to a line of trees.] Save myself the bother of making this trek every day.

[Not that Rose would have the first clue how to do that, but ya know. Semantics.]

Rose spun around, still not used to anyone being able to sneak up on her, but here in this place? Not only did she have dulled senses to contend with, but that stupid pack of Chupapaca’s to distract her as well.

It took her a second to fully comprehend what Steph was actually referring to, Rose looking from the girl to the edge of the woods again before finally inspecting the damage.

“The little assholes bit me.” Is there a plural for bit? You’d think somebody who spent her life around Vampires, she might have had the answer to that. “Tiny little… rabid vampire deer!” More indignant it seems than she actually is afraid. She will come back to answering the question of help bit for right now, she’s a little too stunned to focus on the cleanup.

She almost didn’t knock, not from looking at the place. It wasn’t like some of the other occupied places she’d come across, the ones that had true signs of life in them. It was the traps - or what she thought was traps - that had been rigged around the property that made her think she should check. Either somebody was using this place for practice, or somebody was taking paranoia to a new level around here.

Somehow, she wasn’t surprised when it was Owen who opened the door, her gaze honing in on the jar in his hand, her eyes narrowing as she followed the wire to where he’d rigged it up. Back home, she had a healthy amount of paranoia herself, it was drilled into her to be so from as early as she could remember but it was one thing to sleep in front of a door, another thing entirely to rig your home with an elaborate network of wires that had potentially nasty surprises at the end of them.

“You’re a little scary… you know that right?” Look he might be able to act like all of this is normal but even by this places standards? It wasn't, okay.

Danny had similarly been looking through the buildings of the village; both to find a place to live and to train. He'd been hoping to find a building with a second floor so he could turn the first floor into a Dojo but he'd take whatever he could get.

It was difficult to find a place that wasn't occupied but not impossible. He sat in one such house, the couch had been pushed against the fireplace so that Danny could sit in the center of the living space. His eyes were closed, his wrists resting gently on his knees as he meditated. He could hear the clatter of the buildings next to him and the distant call of the forest.

It wasn't a great choice but it wasn't a bad one either.

He heard Rose at the door before she got close enough to knock and called out to her. "Come in." Yet. He was still getting a feel for the space, testing if it was good enough to become a Dojo. He wanted to get tatami mats but he didn't think that was possible. If he found the right material he might try a hand at making them but he had no idea how to do that.

She waits. Rose is clearly out of sorts, and Steph's been there way too recently.

"Yeah, I saw one of them. It had that furby vibe, but with more blood around the mouth. No foam, though, so it probably wasn't rabid."

"It took me a long time to allow myself to feel whatever I felt, too," Major replies, his words heavy with an underlying sigh. "We all have our trials and tribulations, and I know I've experienced a great deal of privilege in my life - but something that was always difficult for me to deal with was being told I .. more or less wasn't allowed to feel sad as a guy. I wasn't allowed to cry, or be affectionate with anyone but the woman I was dating, or be .. soft. I always had to be rugged, and tough, and prone to anger." He shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders to no one but the ghosts of all of the people who tried to mould him into such a person.

"But .. that never really worked well for me. I've got too many feelings. I'm like that girl in Mean Girls who wants to bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles to make everyone feel better, who just has a lot of feelings." He can't help but laugh quietly at the thought. "I wasn't supposed to watch those movies. I was supposed to roll my eyes and complain if a girlfriend "dragged" me to see it, or make her go with her other female friends and instead go see action movies with explosions. Don't get me wrong, I love explosions and car chases, too, but .. I like what I like. I don't really care about what's supposed to be "girly" or not." He realizes he's rambling and, with a breath, stops himself. "My point is: I get what you mean, in that you haven't been .. given the permission to feel what you feel. Not that you've ever really needed that permission, and not like I'm the Wizard of Oz who's suddenly given you the ability to feel sadness instead of courage.

But .. you have it. Like I said, feelings aren't wrong or right - they just are. What we do after and while we feel those things .. like coming to lay flowers on the grave of someone we didn't even know all that well .. that's what really makes a difference." He turns to her fully, tilting his head as he considers her face with careful but polite scrutiny. "So, I'm a hugger. You don't seem like you're a hugger, and I don't wanna just do it without you saying it's okay. But is it okay if I hugged you?"

“I always had the opposite problem.” She admits, thinking back over how much had changed, especially in the last year. She never used to care what anyone thought of her, still didn’t to a degree but it seemed that any time she allowed herself to be… herself, she was being told how wrong that was. Don’t dance with that person he has a bad reputation. Don’t have fun, you should be focused. Don’t wear this, don’t say that, don’t be who you really are because there’s always somebody watching and you could make somebody else look bad. Like that was what mattered the most in all this. How her behavior might reflect on others.

Perhaps what was worse, was that she’d accepted her need to change, to shove the person she truly was behind a facade of the vigilant, professional Guardian who could never be touched: Physically or emotionally. She’d allowed it to slip since she’d arrived in the village, trying to let that other side of her come out to play but then things like this happened - monsters came, people died - and she was back to thinking that maybe, they had been right all along. That she couldn’t be who she was when she needed to be so much more. And then there were moments like right now, when she felt untouchable by sadness and she wondered if something had been broken inside of her.

It was his way of explaining things that dragged her from those thoughts, Rose once again with that now familiar vacant stare as he references something about mean girls and rainbow cake. Unshockingly, she had no clue what he was talking about, but she could at least grasp the point he was trying to make.

“Oh - I’ve heard of that one.” Because the rock she lived under wasn’t quite large enough for her not to have heard of Wizard of Oz. “Never actually made it to the wizard though…” Allowing herself to be sidetracked? Perhaps a little more deflection. She was trying, she was but people just didn’t talk to her like this. They didn’t give her permission to feel things and they never took the time to even really see how it was that she was feeling. They just allowed her to get on with it, assuming she’d be okay and the truth was, a lot of the time she wasn’t and couldn’t be. That’s where she had to pretend, to push it all down because when death was coming at you at breakneck speed? You didn’t have time to fall apart.

“I hug.” Delivered with a mock, defensive tone, the smallest of grins letting him know that she was painfully aware of her ‘touch me and I’ll break your arm’ vibe. In part because… it was always a fifty percent chance that she would, and a hundred percent chance that she could - as history had proven - but not when it came to Major. “I happen to be an excellent hugger.”

She just also happened to be somebody who didn’t know how to ask for one, who had never been shown that it was okay to seek that kind of comfort from another person.

As if to prove to him that she could, Rose made a show of opening her arms to him, closing what distance there was between them as she wrapped her arms around her body. It was only once she was pressed to him that she realized, she couldn’t actually remember the last time she had done this and she found herself holding him a little tighter in response as she allowed herself just a moment to feel the comfort of another person.

At the sight of her blank stare, Major realizes he really needs to make other references to things, but considering he has no real experience with real vampires who are simultaneously Haley Joel Osment from The Sixth Sense outside of .. well, the movie itself and the various novels and movies he's seen with vampires in them, he .. doesn't know what sort of references she might get. To him, Mean Girls was a pretty big movie, but he knows it's not as big as The Wizard of Oz. He thinks that maybe he can make references to very big, culturally significant things. Maybe she'll get those.

He isn't sure if he knows enough to keep that going for an extended period of time, but he's going to try. No one likes to feel like they're left out. And he doesn't mean to make her feel that way, if he does. He figures it's a leftover trait from having worked with teenagers for years. They understood the best when he used what they knew. That meant movies, TV shows, books, all fairly current and all less than 20 years old. But he hasn't worked for Helton Shelter in .. god, years at this point. He didn't have to keep doing that.

That also brings up another question of how old Rose might be, but .. he knows better than to ask that.

"Wait, you've never seen the ending of The Wizard of Oz? Is that what you're telling me?" He's not appalled but he's shocked for sure. His grandmother loved the movie and would watch it fairly often. Major liked the music, and he liked the story, so he'd watch it with her whenever he happened to be around and available.

"I don't doubt your ability as a hugger. It was more .. whether you .. wanted a hug, I guess. Not everyone's into that. I think everyone's got the potential to be vying for the spot of World's Best Hugger, but not everyone wants that title." Her making the first move surprises him, but also delights him. He softens almost immediately, easily melting his frame into hers.

When he feels the shift and tightening of her arms around his waist, it doesn't take long for him to understand the meaning behind it. Even if he can't know everything she's been through, he remembers their first meeting. He remembers the terror in her eyes, the distrust in her face, the fright in her words. He remembers how panicked she was, how betrayed and unsure. Those aren't the responses of someone who's been shown love, affection, and friendship in droves. Those are the responses of someone who's been hugged too little, and maybe loved too little, too.

He reciprocates, tightening without being aggressive, and reaches up one hand to gently smooth down her hair to her shoulders. He murmurs a soft sound of comfort.

He's more than happy to stay here for as long as she wants.

“Yes? In my defense… I’ve never seen the ending of a lot of movies. Never really been allowed to sit around and watch them.” And when she was younger, she never really had the focus to do so. Liss would watch them and Rose would glean the basics through the bond, but that was a conversation that involved a whole lot of explanations that she wasn’t sure even Major would get. He’d been great so far, accepting every bit of insanity that she’d thrown his way. Better even than she had when it came to the Zombie revelation but she figured there had to be a line somewhere. Nobody could be that infinitely accepting of another person’s crazy baggage. (Well… nobody except Major but she’s yet to learn that part.)

“I was just messing with you, Major.” She manages to get out before she moves in for that hug.

There were the kind of hugs that you gave somebody in greeting, one you’d share with a good friend. They were brief, a quick surge of warmth and then you went about your day as normal. It was like that with her and Lissa but even then? Only sometimes. Then there were the hugs you gave in comfort, when you were trying to make another person feel better, and Rose seemed to have an endless supply of those to dish out, especially where the aforementioned best friend was concerned. But this. The kind of comfort that somebody offered her? It had happened once, maybe. After Spokane. The first time in living memory that her mother had even shown her an affectionate gesture and even that… it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t a warm, all encompassing hug that blocked out all the bad in the world.

She feels the lump well in her throat even as she tries to swallow it down, the sudden onslaught of emotion shaking her as he holds her tighter in kind. There’s a stiffness in her body that comes from desperately trying to hold it together, her chest shuddering against his broader one as she exhales a shaky breath. For a moment she thinks she can do this and somehow be okay. Allow somebody to care about her and take some comfort in their presence, but it's his hand that is her undoing. The way he strokes her hair. The way his chest vibrates gently with the comforting murmur that passes his lips.

She turns her head, pressing her face into the grooves of his collarbone. Her warm breath fanning out against his skin as her body molds to his. She can feel a wetness spring to her eyes but doesn’t understand it, what it is that she’s feeling as he holds her to him, like he can somehow make everything okay. The thing is, even if she knows it isn’t real and can’t last, as she allows herself to stand there with him, she actually believes that maybe he can.

Rolling his lips in, he lifts his chin incrementally, not quite a nod. He wouldn't call it paranoia, when a literal beast of shadow and strange flesh walked into the village, but that's not what he's been accused of. "I come from a scary place," he admits. "And the doors don't lock."

Not that he has much to protect, here, but it's easier to let himself have a full shower, sleep in a bed, if someone else is going to get the bad end of their own intrusion.

"Come in, I guess?" A pinch at the corners of his eyes adds credence to the idea that he's never quite said the words before. He walks in from the door, reeling the wire around his bad hand. "You want some water?"

It had taken months to get Hoshi to repeat certain words, given very little else to entertain himself with. Kira at least has the avantage of his mind, but translating it into speech is still a process. Easier with words he's heard, easier if he repeats it a few times in his head, and tries to push it through his beak.

"Crazy," he mimics, hopping sideways on a branch.

Fuck, but it's weird to be this small. Less by the day, but still.

"Going," he adds, head tilted, pegging her with beady black eyes. "Going."

Gliding from branch to a cluster of tall weeds, Kira bends them under his weight, flapping several times to make up for his poor judgment. Rose might be crazy, or this bird might just be very bad at being what it is. Looking back, he calls it again, waiting for her to follow.

She considers that for a quiet moment and you can almost imagine the kind of scenarios she’s running through her head. What she would do if the bad things from her world were to show up here. How safe was she really at the Inn with its welcome everyone policy. No wards. No weapons that could actually do the necessary damage. It’s sobering for her to realize just how lax she’d been, considering what could, in theory anyway, happen.

“Fair enough.” Accepting the paranoia as well, good sense really.

She briefly considers telling him the truth - that she wasn’t actually here to see him, but rather a suitable place - but of all the people who live here, she’s found that he’s one of the few whose presence she can… tolerate, better than most. He reminded her of being around the Guardians back home, which in itself was a strange yet nostalgic comfort.

“You sure you can get to the sink without a tomahawk flying at my head?” She jokes - dryly - and yet… really? What she'd seen in the last few minutes, warranted asking.

"Just don't touch any of the windows," he advises, though most of the wires in the house simply add tension, keep things shut. It's the doors that are actually trapped; not his fault if someone is savvy enough to avoid the alarm but not enough to leave his house the fuck alone.

She'd knocked, he'd answered; no holes in anybody today.

As he makes for the kitchen, Nim bounds down from her path across and between the furniture, curious enough to seem more dog than cat in her approach. "She does just fine," he points out, crossing out of sight before the sound of cabinets, glasses, and running water signal his location. The long, spotted cat stands over Rose's feet, arches its back, and leans its entire side against her shins, purring loudly.

Which of course means she at least have to look, if not touch, Rose edging close enough to one until she can spy what she was looking for, the wire in question. She’d already gotten the sense that Owen wasn’t normal by any standards. Not that she was judging, neither was she, but it added to the puzzle that he presented to her mind. The paranoid guy who lives like a recluse in a house far from the center of the Village; The whole place rigged with traps and yet, one who doesn’t keep himself away enough to not step up and help fight a Wendigo.

“Noted.” Calling back. She had no intention of finding out for herself what those traps might actually do.

The inbound cat is enough to force Rose to stop her progression into the house a stiffness in her body coming from years of experience as she braces for the expected attack. It’s one of those awkward things she always expects with people’s pets, ever prepared to have to find a way to extricate herself without causing any damage. Apparently, people don’t appreciate it when you hurl their beloved pets away from you, even if they are trying to snack on you at the time.

“What the hell do you feed your cat.” She manages, at least once she remembers she’s no longer the walking equivalent of anti-catnip. “I’m pretty sure she could send Psy-Hounds running with their tails between their legs…” Rose bending to offer the cat in question her hand for her to sniff or rub against or… do whatever the hell cats do when they don’t hate you on sight.

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You have that look in your eye

Peeta's Grave

/smacks her tbh

Peeta's Grave

House 40

LOL it's okay /pets

The Woods

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hot springs;

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BUILDINGS AROUND 6i

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