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[IC] Wanderlust [Private]
- Modern
- Fantasy
- Advanced
- Slice of Life
- Small Group
- GM McHaggis
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Full
”How right you are, Woolf.” Carmen Quinones kept her eyes down and her face expressionless, though her quick, quiet words carried an air of stifled fright. Sitting only a row ahead of Wes she easily caught wind of the girl’s desperate murmur and, as Carmen’s own stomach began to churn with anxiety, she couldn’t help but agree. Magic, outlawed and dangerous, ran through her own veins like blood.
Carmen was cursed with these abilities-- she had no way to get rid of them after all-- and now she was about to be caught and forced away to some death row where the rest of her witch “sisters” would burn with her. Carmen lifted her eyes to the stage slowly and watched the announcer rifle through more speeches and news with the coldest eyes she could manage to share. A shaky sigh slipped through her usually tight lips, cold and terrified, and then all at once her expression steeled and she returned her gaze down to her knees.
On her lap sat a book, covered by an old romance novel slip to disguise the runes and mantras that curled against the cover and within the brittle pages. She flipped through the tome mechanically, licking her lips and stiffening each time a watchful teacher’s eye would pass by and then fade away back into the crowds towards the stage. It was a thoughtless rush of adrenaline she got from each encounter, and though her hammering heart begged for her to simply close the book and pretend to listen to the rest of the assembly something kept her eyes moving. Perhaps she enjoyed the feeling, the excitement. Maybe she just wanted to get caught already.
get it all over with ya know
”Maybe we can skip school,” Carmen turned, eyeing the girl behind her emotionlessly, ”it’s not like they can hunt us all down, right?” She glanced back towards the other two sitting nearby, lips pursing anxiously. They couldn't hide forever, she knew that much, but putting off the shot for a few days could give them a chance to think of a better plan. Carmen closed the tome on her lap slowly and sighed again, eyes closing as another shiver of nausea and terror ran up and down her spine.
HalfOfLancelot What's worse: being heartbroke or roachbit?
Member
Seen
3 yrs ago
Quiet. Most of Benny's life, summed up, remained quiet. That's perhaps why he seemed rapt with attention, eyes focused on the stage rather than the individuals around him. Attention didn't bode well for a boy like him, in many ways than one. In this instance, attention would get him potential hurt or worse. He furrowed his brows, half-expecting the superintendent to laser focus in on him and his newly found acquaintances—people he knew prior, but didn't really know until not long ago. They shared one thing which could bring down the ire of an entire country down upon them.
"One cup of sugar, a tablespoon of vanilla extract, and a ton of butterfly kisses," he mumbled, reciting a memory to harden his skin and shake out the nerves. "A ton of butterfly kisses," he repeated, a quiet mantra on the huff of his breath.
Drowning out the words spoken on stage came easier, until finally the sounds just became muffled, underwater garbling. Benny closed his eyes, biting down on his lip and rolling forward to clutch at his knees. He didn't open his eyes until he felt a light jab at his side, not realizing his attention was required until he could see Jesse's lips moving, expression animated, yet toned to fit their situation. Even hushed Benny knew he'd garner at least a few stares. Benny's panicked flared without much budging, though his quiet mantras in his head calmed him down enough to simply place a hand on Jesse's knee and squeeze in an attempt to shut him up.
"The assembly's almost over," he said, leaning over so that the trio could hear his whispers, "There's a spot just outside of the theatre where some of the stoners hang out during lunch. People avoid it like the plague unless they're looking for a hit. If we leave soon, we can miss the early bird smokers." To punctuate the urgent situation, the people around them all stood in varying fashions, most exasperated and moody that this event couldn't have gone on longer. Benny almost drove his head into a student's chin with how abrupt he stood. He quickly apologized and squeezed himself through the still waking teenagers, avoiding armpit and B.O. magnets as he wove into the jam-packed hallways and toward the allotted destination.
Like most academically focused high schools, the arts department looked pretty much the equivalent of a life raft getting swept away by the larger boat of 'actual education'. Being more inclined toward creativity, Benny felt the under appreciated and under budget cuts the most, along with the future art students of America. That being said, the school didn't waste much money on the new theatre renovations, but at least it looked vaguely polished and relatively new. Less of an awful accident waiting to happen. It still smelled like overused dance shoes and acrylic paint, though, and some of the seats smelled like puke and pit stains.
Flying through the cramped back stage, Benny found his way toward the one set of double doors that never staid locked. Lo and behold, it wasn't, thank God and Benny quickly made his way to the little alcove in the corner where it smelled vaguely of pot brownies. He gritted his teeth and brought out his phone, mindlessly tapping away as he waited and hoped and quietly panicked.
Carmen barely seemed to register the end of the assembly. Her eyes had turned down to stare blindly at the book cover in her lap while her mind filed through endless waves of plans that were surely doomed to fail. The shuffle of feet and bodies rising dragged her gaze upwards eventually, and the trembling plan to meet up later on met her ears. Carmen threw a brisk glance towards Benny and then Wes, lips pulling into a grim but agreeable line.
She said, ”Yeah, see you there.” with her usual cool demeanor and waved the three off with an offhanded gesture. Carmen settled back in her chair, chin raised, hands folded neatly over her lap, and she stilled herself like that. A statue sat now where Carmen once was, a dainty piece of art that patiently and thoughtlessly waited for the crowds of teenagers to drift back out into the halls.
Expressionless Carmen stared out towards the stage. Teachers lingered on the stage, stealing quick glances at the children that crowded through the manmade aisles and chatting excitedly. Just out of earshot, her mind whispered. As she stared out a familiar feeling decided to creep up her spine. A chilled finger glided up her back, cold and eerie, and where it touched she felt her skin prickle and shake with dread.
Curiosity, and fear. As distant eyes met her own she stood, quickly peeling her glare down to her feet as she shuffled out of the row and after the few students who had decided to wait out the rush like she did. The gaze of the teacher on the stage followed her back all the way out. And the chill of dread returned as the feeling of being watched faded away into the hallways of Lincoln Memorial High.
Carmen froze her dainty amble at the start of a row of lockers. Her hand drifted up to press hard against the dented metal, and her skin relished in the cool feeling that pushed back. A reckless thought to press her burning face against the surface came and went, along with a fleeting wish to cry. The weight of the assembly had begun to press down against her shoulders, weighing heavy along with the other stressors she burdened and heat filled the space behind her eyes and threatened to spill over her cheeks.
Carmen Quinones had many reasons to cry. Most teenagers did. School, college, parents, work, witch hunts -- the works, really. But Carmen didn’t like crying, because crying showed vulnerability and vulnerability wasn’t a Quinones trademark. Like her father she kept her lips tights and her chin raised and her eyes hollow, like her mother she strode with a posture akin to a princess and an aura that scared away even the most thirsty men. Carmen wasn’t going to throw away her Quinones namesake with a few tears, not yet. Rubbing an arm across her face and swallowing the lump in her throat she turned and pulled open her locker, using her body as a shield to block its contents to any stragglers that lingered in the hall.
At first glance nothing seemed out of place. Books held up by books lined the floor of the locker, magnets of accepted colleges clung to the inside of the door and a few stray papers stuck to the walls with aging tape. As Carmen pulled away those papers, however, the chalk sigils and runes appeared bright and real even in the dimness of the locker. She stared at them with slight endearment, though it could only be seen through her eyes, and hesitance kept her hands from moving further. These protective spells kept her curious books and notes safe from harm, and if they were found she would be dragged out into the open and shot on the spot. They had to go today… But still she hesitated.
”Really, you don't like it?”
”Yes ‘really’! It's ugly as hell!”
Carmen froze. Laughter passed by -- two freshmen that were chatting about something worth chatting about -- and she watched them sway down the hall with narrowed eyes. She lowered to rummage with her books briefly, pretending to busy herself in and effort to blend in with the rest of the school system. And then they were gone and her mind was set. The runes vanished with a few swipes of her thumbs and the lasting magic books in her locker were shoved into her backpack. It was the right thing to do, her mind confirmed, because you don't want to die.
Carmen stepped away from the lockers and walked silently into the Arts Department. Familiar halls passed by, music filled corridors that sheltered her during certain periods of the day. As an orchestra student Carmen adored this section of school; the sounds, the smells, the sights, it was all intoxicating and inspiring. She could spend hours thinking in this wing, but right now her face was pulled into an expression she didn't know and her feet traveled in a quick lurch.
And then she was pulling up to the end of a conversation. Wes and Benny were whispering excitedly, anxiously, and Carmen cut them off with an easy,
”I have nothing worth saying.” She shifted and then added, uneasily, ”I’m worried we’re being observed. I think… They're on to us.”
HalfOfLancelot What's worse: being heartbroke or roachbit?
Member
Seen
3 yrs ago
"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high."
Her smile radiated the corners of her lips, pulling soft jowls and laugh lines across the wrinkles of her face. She had a pan in front of her, with a little boy standing on a wooden stool at her side. Across a layer of sheet, blots of cookie dough with little white chocolates and macadamia nuts formed perfect rows. He watched her neatly budge the edges until they formed perfect little circles and added in a touch of what she liked to call love.
"There's a land that I heard of," she turned to him, bringing grey eyes down to and a finger to boop his tiny nose with dot of cookie dough, "once in a lullaby."
As per usual, Benny had drifted off when the other arrived, staring at the phone in his hands with a far off look. He blinked at Wesley thumbing something under her shirt while both Carmen and Jesse started talking. A frown broke his lips and his cheeks scrunched in a pained expression. This panicking wouldn't help anyone and the anxiety either if it got the best of them. His mother always told him, 'A little paranoia does wonders; too much and you'll be a shut in schizo like your father,' her thick Boston accent still heavy in his mind.
"H-hey, maybe we should calm down a little," Benny started, looking from Carmen to Jesse and then settling on Wesley, "Maybe now's not a good time to start planning our... uh... whatever it is, but it's a good time to chill, right? Why don't we skip today and head over to one of our places, right? I don't have an idea, but maybe I have a suggestion."
Nerves settled in at that moment, Benny's head lurching to the side to check down the brick walls. Not a peep aside from the occasional woosh from a car. All of these ideas in his head, things like running away, finding a promised land, all that biblical mumbo-jumbo seemed ridiculous when he put the words to it. His grandmother, however, made it always sound compelling; it was an adventure just waiting to happen. And every time she'd talk about their little safe haven, she'd look like him half the time in class: glazed over and dopey, scribbling in his notebook while he imagined a wild hunt, a spire of indescribable things, magic beyond this world. If he knew half of it, that's exactly what she was dreaming of, but they way she said it, it sounded real. The way she told him, it sounded absolutely life like.
"I may have... found something my grandma hid in her cook book before school began," Benny started. Regardless of their relative solitude, Benny didn't take any chances and kept his voice barely above a whisper, "She liked her riddles and puzzles and I haven't deciphered even a tenth of what she gave me, but I did find something. Maybe a piece of a map leading somewhere. I dunno. She always talked about finding her haven and the way it sounded, she might of have thought it was real? It's the only lead we got. You guys wanna take it? I'm desperate here; I don't know what to do or where to go and my Nana's never steered me wrong."
He added, hushed, under his breath, "at least, I don't think so."
Familiar bodies came and gathered around her and Wes, standing stiff and watchful of the empty air behind them. Distant chatter kept Carmen’s hands tight and clammy and her feet ready t move, but she knew it all stemmed from open classroom windows and late teenagers. She slowly returned her attention to the group. Jesse Steinburg always seemed to hold the emotions Carmen never dared to show. He was her opposite, emotional where she was distant, warm where she was cold, and right now his high-strung voice and panicked expression acted as a mirror into her own soul.
Carmen hated mirrors.
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against her heels. Words bubbled to her lips and fell as Benny shot her an anxious look, and Carmen turned her eyes down to her white converse and glared. She stayed quiet as Benny quietly explained a plan of his, and her lips tilted slightly as he spoke lovingly of his grandmother. Cute. Thoughts of how one would procure magic through their bloodline came and went -- it was a discussion and discovery for another day -- and she turned her eyes up to stare thoughtfully at Benny’s idea. Her lips pursed, grew red from force and then fell open.
Carmen said, ”I’m curious to see what this map is, if anything. If-- If we do end up leaving, it would be useful.” She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to be driven to such a feat. Her home was here, among the dreary, rainy trees of Maryland. In her bedroom, in her father’s arms, in her classes, that was where she wanted to stay. But those homes were threatening her with imprisonment or death and her unquenchable desire to live thrummed through her blood like energy. Carmen frowned slightly, eyes turning back to stare dubiously at Wes.
Time moved around them, and a distant smell of something rank was approaching quickly. Classes had fully begun and the cutters were ready for their daily joint. She nodded once at Wes’ question, taking a few steps towards the parking lot beyond their huddle.
”We can hide in my garage. Got the address, right?” She didn’t bother handing it out. Carmen assumed everyone knew where she lived at this point of their ‘partnership’. ”We’ll meet up there, just… Park a block down or something. No one can know we’re there.” Going to classes was the last thing on Carmen’s mind. With a final nod to the group she turned and snuck out towards her parking spot. Among dents and rust-buckets she ambled, head down and face drawn to look sickly or anxious as an excuse. The silvers and blacks of the trunks she passed eventually turned into a burning orange and she froze, laying a hand on the bumper of her own car.
Carmen had an unusual love for old, old muscle cars. Her father was the influence, probably, with his garage full of shiny and old or rusty and old vehicles and his bedroom full of gleaming car models and toys. Her ride was a1970 Dodge Bee, painted bright red-orange and kept in pristine condition despite it’s age. Though its interior was gleaming, the engine and brakes often failed her, and she just couldn’t find it in her heart to hate the old thing. It was, after all, her’s. Not her father’s, not her mother’s. It was Carmen’s and Carmen’s alone. She drew her hand across the side until her fingers settled and curled around the door handle. The smell of old vinyl and gasoline met her nostrils as the door popped open and with the scent came a familiar feeling of calmness. Familiarity kept her sane.
i don't want to leave you too
The thought was fleeting and forgettable. Carmen barely even realize she had imagined it at all as she slid into the driver side and plugged her keys into the ignition. The Bee churned on with a puff of black smoke and a calming violin piece and Carmen pulled out of her spot and into the roads beyond without another glance at the school.
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