Luce's righteous fury had been summarily quelled upon reaching the medical wing and being turned away, Banjo not even present, no wiggle room given for further zealous tantrums. She'd been burst like a balloon, deflated completely and with no recourse left to her to seek recompense and pseudo-confession to placate self-pity. And that's all it was, in the end; more trauma, more turbulence, more that Luce was unequipped and unwilling to deal with, instead seeking an external forgiver to shoulder the burden for her. Once that had been denied, there was no more energy left and she felt all the anger - comfortable, exciting, anxiety-drowning anger - drain away to be replaced by familiar despondency and loneliness. She had nothing left to turn to, no further distractions from the swelling grief within her and taunting ghosts around her. There was only one place she could think of that might offer some solace; swiftly, she turned away from the ward, blinking furiously to fight off tears as she made her way back to the communal gardens.
Location: Community Farm - P.R.C.U. CampusFirst Class #2.46: She's In Her 'Rebel' Phase
Interaction(s): N/AThe greenhouse was still a mess; more so thanks to the efforts of her last visit. Where shattered glass had previously been relatively localized, it was now scattered across the floor and amongst the plant-beds, with soil similarly dispersed from Luce's previous scrabbling around. She took a deep breath, trying not to feel that same crushing despair at the desecration of her solitary safe space as she had at first discovery; her hands itched where she'd scratched and scraped them on the glass in her frenzied attempt. She surveyed the scene, trying to keep a cooler head; dead plants wilted in the dirt, broken stalks lying haphazardly, withered sprouts dying on the vine. But there was something untouched, something that stood proud and vibrantly green among the debris.
The aubergine stalk she'd planted two weeks ago stood strong and proud, and from the doorway Luce was astounded to see the tell-tale white-to-purple blended bulb of a ripening fruit. It seemed like a steadfast bastion against all the wreckage that surrounded it; Luce couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth within her, and just like that she was resolved to clear up and return the greenhouse to her hard-earned glory.
She grabbed a waste bag and donned a pair of thick gardening gloves, beginning her clean-up by carefully picking up the larger shards that lay around the glasshouse; there was clear vinyl tarp available somewhere, she was sure, and a couple strips of that plus some well-applied duct tape would seal up the broken panes in the ceiling nicely. With the big shards cleared, she moved on to sweeping the soil and small fragments from the ground, collecting the detritus and binning that as well. Next was the glass in the plant-beds themselves, tiny twinkling stars amidst the rich brown of the fertilized earth; kneeling on the stone tiles of the floor in front of the wooden log that bordered the bed, she took a garden sieve in hand, and began the thoughtful, methodical process of sifting out the remaining glass, returning pure soil to the bed. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed a pile of compost bags, recently dropped off and lying innocently one on top of the other just outside the greenhouse door.
By the time she'd finished the sifting and had set the sieve aside in favor of a new bag of compost, replanting the stalks she was able to save, and carefully fertilizing and watering the surviving eggplant, Luce was quietly weeping. These were not the racking, panic-induced sobs she was used to, with heaving breaths and a shaking chest; instead, it was a gentle stream, a ceaseless but soft flow of tears from her eyes, down her cheeks, running down her jawline to culminate at her chin and drip into the soil. It felt cathartic, expulsive, a steady drain of every awful thing Luce was feeling, had felt, would feel. She wept for her dead brothers, for her lonely mother, for the fear she'd felt at Hyperion, for Jim, for Tad. For the turncoats from Eclipse, who felt so spurned that a terrorist's megalomania was the better option for them. For Katja, and her murdered parents, torn from her for no better reason than hatred; for Banjo, rejected by his missing parents, never getting the opportunity to find a real home; for Haleigh, buried alive beneath her own, un-asked-for power; for Calliope, forced to deny her own reality by a father more concerned with ambition than family until she had a nervous breakdown; for Iñigo, detained and imprisoned in a strange place for nothing more than their nature, before being dumped off out-of-sight, out-of-mind. For herself, and the other survivors. For Cass. For Cass.
There was a sizeable gap in the soil where the un-salvageable plants had once stood. Luce wiped her face, the flow of tears finally staunched, standing up with a groan as her knees ached and joints protested. Her dress uniform, this morning pressed and pristine, was now filthy, creased, caked in dirt and stained by sweat, but she paid it no heed; instead, she dropped the trowel she'd been using, rushing from the greenhouse before it hit the ground, possessed of sudden and inescapable purpose.
Perhaps ten minutes later, she reappeared, a plant pot held carefully under her arm as she scooped up the fallen trowel and once again bent down on complaining knees, digging and replanting with a zealous fervor. The flower came out of the pot, went into the ground, got composted and watered, given space to spread its roots and bask in morning-to-noon sunlight; planted with pride-of-place, Luce stood up and took a step back, unable to stop herself as a soft smile blossomed across her face, a final few saline drops falling from her chin. In front of her, a brilliant blue orchid stood vibrantly in the earth, with everything it needed to flourish.
A couple hours passed before anyone came searching for Luce, but when they did they found her still in the greenhouse, covering the missing panes, sweeping the corners, trying to re-organize and reset. It was Victoria Roth that came looking: Aiden Roth’s wife, and a well-respected professor for H.E.A.T. with her own good standing within P.R.C.U. With her was some gruff-looking faculty member Luce hadn't met; it was clear that the both of them had been given a good suggestion on her whereabouts from none other than Gila Mercia, with whom Luce still hadn't decided whether or not to repair their patient-therapist relationship after their disastrous last setting.
"Ms. Calder!" Tori started, making Luce jump and stumble backwards from where she'd been standing on tip-toes, patching some tarp with tape. Luce turned and faced the staff, Victoria's tone indicating nothing less than an incoming scolding from teacher to wayward student. "Do enlighten me as to why you've declined to attend the Team Swap and House Selection ceremony this afternoon?"
Luce's hackles were up; she'd had something of a cleansing afternoon following her turbulence post-funeral, and didn't much appreciate the intrusion based on some nonsense ceremony.
"Pointless. Don't care what team I'm on or which house I'm in. Doesn't mean anything anymore."
Tori sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, while her accomplice simply rolled his eyes.
"Attendance is expected of all students, Ms. Calder, regardless of their very vocal disagreements. Is it also 'pointless' to remind you that while investigation into the incident is H.E.L.P.'s purview and well outside of the academy's jurisdiction, P.R.C.U. is nonetheless strengthening our security measures, and doing all we can to assess how to better improve our defenses and protect our institution?"
Luce shrugged, turning back around to continue patching over the loose tarp.
"Sounds like hollow promises and buzzwords to me." She said dismissively, eliciting a groan from Tori‘a colleague and an irritated "damn disrespectful kids these days..." muttered beneath his breath. Victoria shot a glare at him, before returning a similarly hard expression to the back of Luce's head.
"Regardless of how you feel the academy is handling the situation, you are a student here at P.R.C.U., and expected to behave as such. If you find yourself incapable of acting within academy policy, then perhaps it is not in either of our best interests that you remain a student here."
Luce paused, dropping her arms to her sides. There was a tense, silent stand-off, and through the air one could feel conflicting emotions coming off of Luce in waves. Luce thought of what was waiting for her back in Houston; a town that thought she was a undead freak - a mother who looked at her and saw only the sons she'd lost - a social circle that hadn't existed before the accident and never would exist since the accident - a lackluster education leading to a forestry or mining job that would gift her a paycheck-to-paycheck livelihood. It crystallized then and there: however incompetent the leadership, however frustrating the inaction, however absurd the mandatory traditions - P.R.C.U. was Luce's single best opportunity for a fruitful future and an explanation about her very nature. There was simply no other way around it.
"Fine. I'll come to your ceremony. I'll think it's dumb, but I'll come."
Tori shook her head slightly in pure vexation from Luce's ceaseless attitude, holding her hand up to stop Luce in her tracks as she moved to follow them out of the greenhouse and presumably to wherever the ceremony was being held.
"You misunderstand, Ms. Calder. You've missed the ceremony. Your breach of tradition and academy policy has waived your right to the choices afforded to you by said ceremony. You're to be escorted to your dorm at the intake house, at which point you'll be given your team and house. All the other students got the opportunity to decide their best environment for their time with us; if you feel like that opportunity is of no use to you, then we will make that decision for you."
Luce took a moment to sigh internally, realizing how self-sabotaging she'd really been in her knee-jerk anger. Who knew where she'd end up, who she'd be paired with, which dorms she'd end up in. Surrounded by strangers again? Forced to apologize to peers she'd vilified in her outburst? Some worst-case mix of the two? And what about those she hadn't alienated, those that she'd finally found some common ground with - was it effort wasted by an afternoon of petty frustration? She cursed herself inwardly, nodding meekly to Professor Roth to indicate she understood. Luce felt humbled, embarrassed, childish.
"Good. You can follow my colleague here. Dr. Mercia has penciled in a follow-up session at the start of next week, when you're also to be assigned additional community service." Victoria held up a hand to stop Luce's protest before it began. "It's that or detention, so take your pick. But that's next week. For now, you'd best hurry back to your dorm - you'll have a strict curfew until you've been assigned." This time, only a finger was needed for Luce to close her goldfish-esque gaping mouth. "Remember, Luce - this is a school with rules - not a holiday camp. We want you to make the most of your term here. We also want you to co-operate. There are many young persons out in the world who aren't afforded quite such a sanctuary."
Luce hung her head, admonished, following behind the staff, all the way back to the intake house to await her sentencing.
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