My heart will lead me there soon [Locked & OTA]

[posilutely]

WHO: Queenie Goldstein
WHERE: Graves' House/Inn & Hot Springs
WHEN: 1 week after her arrival & March 22, evening
OPEN TO: Graves, Credence & All
WARNINGS: Half-naked witch? IDK
STATUS: Closed

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backdated: about a week after arrival (for graves & credence)

Queenie Goldstein is not the sort of girl who looks a gift horse in the mouth, she really isn't. Ask anyone -- She's just a regular ray of sunshine. Too much of one, some people think, but Queenie's always felt it's better to err on the side of being grateful.

She and Teen, they didn't always have a lot. Somebody needed to find a silver lining for them both.

It would be a real understatement to say that it's been a challenge to maintain her typical upbeat demeanor since she found herself whisked so abruptly away from New York City's familiar clatter. She knows the silver lining's there, but there's only so much the universe can ask of a gal when she's been pulled from her home, her job, the only family she's got left. Does she have a roof over her head? Yes. Does she have food to eat? Absolutely, even if it makes her feel awfully guilty to not have much to give in exchange. She's got a couple of familiar faces around, too, even if technically they both tie her stomach up in knots.

It could be so much worse. She's been trying to remember that this whole last week as the full weight of reality settled on her slender shoulders. She really has. Some days it's just harder than others.

So, it's no real surprise that when she woke up today and found a big, ol' box sitting on her kitchen table, and then she opened the box and saw what was inside, that she had to sit down and cry for a minute. But a minute was all she was giving it; she dried her face on a towel, plucked herself up, and did the only thing she could do: She made cocoa.

The first she carries next door, a single tea cup shivering in her hands as she waits on the porch, hoping that Mr. Graves is home. A little later, she carries another to the inn, saucer fit over its top to protect the hot liquid inside as she looks for a skinny, sad boy with wide eyes.


current: at the hot springs (ota)

The hot springs has, by far, been the flat-out, absolute best thing Queenie has discovered about this place. A chance encounter on the road a couple of weeks ago, a teenage girl with big, tired eyes and a towel looped over her arm, dark hair still pinned high on her head.

I don't want a scar, is what the girl had said when she'd pulled up her sleeve to show the ghostly web of lines tracing her skin. It's great for your hair, too.

Queenie's been slipping out into the forest every few days since.

The girl hadn't been wrong; curls once limp were now bright and bouncy again, and Queenie just felt better each time she took the time to go the springs. She could swear she had more energy than ever before, but even if she didn't, she thinks she'd go anyway. Sure, she's got a tub at home, but it's just not the same.

Today she's carried along a couple of bath towels and an empty teapot to fill with water to carry home. They're set neatly aside under the nearest tree, under a low branch draped with her coat and clothes, black cotton fluttering gently in the warm mist skating off the water. She's kept on her underthings -- She's not that bold, no matter what her sister might think -- but there's not all that much left to the imagination as she gratefully sinks in, all the way up to her shoulders.

Comments

[ottimismo]

Sonny, born and raised in the Catholic church, clings to his faith like it's an anchor, like it's the only thing that could possibly keep him grounded. Sometimes, it is. Sometimes, at home, a case gets too rough, too dark — a Catholic school pimps out a harem of young female students, they come across a young girl whose mother locked her in a cage, too many young lives are taken far too early — and Sonny has to find solace in something.

He won't gamble like Amanda does. And he won't pick fights and use his fists like Nick did. For Sonny, solace is going to the church and kneeling in the pews, gripping a rosary between his fingers and having a talk with God.

It's not, of course, some miracle elixir that magically makes everything okay again. But it tends to do wonders for him, all the same.

He falters again over her suggestion, though thankfully it doesn't involve stuttering this time. The words simply stick stubbornly in his throat, and he glances up at the trees canopying overhead, and the gray clouds beyond them. It's chilly out, even for him, a native New Yorker. He's wrapped in a coat with his hands shoved into the pockets.

"Won't it be cold walking back all wet?" He's not actually purposely stalling — it's a genuine question, curiosity in his voice as he looks back down at her again. "We might catch colds."

[posilutely]

To this, Queenie simply smiles at first, blithe and knowing as she drifts back toward the center of the pool, watching him.

"I brought an extra towel," she says, and just that, not feeling the particular need to push when he can do the math. The water's warm, her clothes are dry and waiting for her on the shore, and so long as she doesn't get her hair all wet, catching cold is just an excuse to not do something nice.

Turning, she swims slowly away toward the other side of the pool, giving him privacy if he wants it. He seems like the sort that would.

[ottimismo]

Sonny sits for a moment longer, gazing up at the cloudy sky, then back at her again. She's turned her back towards him, giving him some sort of privacy. His sisters would tease him over his hesitance, every single one of them so much bolder than him when it comes to thinks like this. They always were, though — he's a grounding force, an anchor to their wildly destructive storms.

They're not here. He doesn't have to stay grounded for them if they're not here. He didn't realize it was a concern of his until now, but it is. There's nothing wrong with doing something bold, so he stands up and begins to ditch articles of clothing, hanging them up near hers. Once he's down to his undergarments, he's quick to slip into the water, feeling awfully bare and exposed with so little on.

"If we do get sick, I'll make us soup," he says, sinking down until the water's lapping over his bare shoulders. It is nice, the water warm and steamy compared to the cold. Her company only makes it that much better.

[posilutely]

"Gosh, I think I might be coming down with something," Queenie replies with an impish glance back over her shoulder, and then feigns a weak cough. "Guess you're just gonna have to now."

Not that she's not completely capable of making her own soup, not that she doesn't do just that nearly every day, but he wants to, she thinks -- He's proud of it, and likes taking care of people. She remembers that first day.

Finally turning back, she drifts a bit, her gaze lighting on him for long, contemplative moments before pulling away to the scenery. "You miss your family, huh?" she asks, glancing back again. "This is the first time I haven't lived with my sister. I just can't get used to it."

[ottimismo]

She's not wrong — he loves cooking, but doesn't get the chance to do it quite as often as he'd like here in the village. If there's one thing the village isn't lacking, it's good cooks. Every time he turns around, someone's in the kitchen whipping up something good, which is especially impressive given the scarcity of supplies.

"If you want me to make you soup, all you have to do is ask," he says, grinning a bit at her teasing.

It's odd, he thinks, that she's able to pick up on how he's feeling and what he's thinking so easily. Maybe she's just good at empathizing, like he is. Either way, she's right, and he watches her as she glances away and back again, admiring the way her curls bounce every time she turns her head.

"Yeah," he says, voice a little bit softer as he drifts closer to the center of the hot springs. "I used to see them at least once a week, now it's been three months. It's just so quiet here. I can't get used to it, either."

[posilutely]

"And it's so dark at night," Queenie agrees, her eyes rounding as she steps closer, suddenly emphatic. "I never really thought about it before I got here, but those first couple of nights were like being on another planet. It's funny, 'cause our mother used to complain about the noise and all, havin' to ch—"

Drawn up short, she falters with the unfinished syllable hanging there, and then shrugs it away with a little smile. "It just ain't the same without it."

[ottimismo]

Sonny notices the sudden stop, the incomplete sentence being traded out for another. But he's comfortable brushing it off, too caught up in his agreement to be bothered by it. He's long forgotten that the both of them are more naked than not, even as she steps closer. Their conversation envelops him, making everything else seem so dim in comparison.

"Yes," he agrees, giving a faint laugh. "It's always so bright and busy in the city, even at night. You can see the stars here. I don't think I ever saw the stars before this. It's weird."

[posilutely]

"I went to school in the country, but it's been awhile since I was there. But even then, there was so many kids, somebody was always causing a commotion. Here, it's like they roll up the streets at night."

They're close enough now that if she wanted to, Queenie could reach right out and touch him, but he's finally forgotten to worry about his own awkwardness and she'd hate to spoil it. She stops an arm's length away and contents herself to settle there.

"They're nice though, yeah?" She tips her head back to look at the patch of sky visible through the treetops; still dusk yet, but no less pretty. Looking back to Sonny again, she smiles. "The stars."

[ottimismo]

Sonny misses the city. He misses the cracked sidewalks and the start-and-stop traffic that always tried to make him late for work. He misses the neon lights that peeked through his curtains, and waking up to the neighbors fighting or a car alarm going off. He misses the convenience of it, sure, but he misses the familiarity more than anything. He misses his sisters.

Of course, it's possible he hates the village a little less than everyone else in it. He attaches himself to the silver lining, reveling in how green the grass is when it's not too cold, how fresh the air is, the new friends he's made.

"Yeah," he says, tipping his head back the same way she does to look at the sky. He'd be content to sit with her all night, truthfully. His gaze lowers again, and he looks her in the eyes. "They are."