Cascade Falls [Arc I]

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Alison stepped inside Jean's lovely home, happy to have some sort of change of pace from her usual dull and boring life, the life forced upon her. She smiled to Jean and the others, following into the kitchen and setting the small bag of in season fruits on the counter. "I brought you some fruits from the store," Alison said to Jean. "I'm sure you can whip something up with these some time." She crossed her arms in front of herself and greeted the others in the home. It was nice to be in such a social event. Their every move was still being watched but it was still a welcome distraction for all of them.

Everyone was doing their part to help but Alison stood to the side. She was distracted. She felt like she had forgotten something important and couldn't shake the feeling. Her eyes scanned over Jean's gorgeous kitchen as she took in every small detail. The journalist in her wanted to analyze the situation, monitor everyone's body language but she pushed down those thoughts and feelings. She wasn't a journalist anymore. She didn't need to investigate or report on anything. She just needed to fit in.

It seemed Alison was not the only one a little distracted that evening. Lee burned his hand with the coffee. Ali thought the action curious. Lee worked in a coffee shop, handled the liquid almost every day...why would he burn himself? No Ali, stop investigating. Smile and pretend as though it was the most normal thing you have ever seen. Lee's pleasant demeanor helped move her thoughts and distract her again. She couldn't afford to look as though she was acting anything other than "normal". "You alright Lee?" she said with a hint of concern but was distracted when she heard Casey mention a portion of her old life. Alison's eyes darted quickly to the girl and she shook her head ever so slightly, trying to signal to the girl that those words were unacceptable.

Casey was new to Cascade Falls and hopefully her small slip would go unnoticed or at least forgiven by those that were on the other side of the camera. Alison did her best to hide her slip. "Yes all the mothers here at Cascade Falls swear by butter. They always come into the store and tell me all about the many uses of butter." She smiled warmly but inside she hoped that Casey's slip would not cause any issues. She didn't really know the girl but she didn't want to see her on the other side of the Sheriff's knife either.

As if on cue, the wailing screams from the other side of the fence pierced through the kitchen walls. Ali jumped slightly but didn't look at the direction of the fence, she couldn't risk it. She moved instead towards the wine bottle and poured herself a drink. She drank half its content before she remembered herself and slowed the pace. She refilled her glass with a soft smile, "The wine is great by the way." She breathed in deeply and went out to the porch where the others were gathering for more pretending as if everything was fine and she didn't just hear the wails of some beast.

Sheriff Eric was already outside, possibly doing the same as her. "Evening Sheriff," Ali said with a smile, raising her glass in some sort of toasting gesture. She didn't really know what else to say. Before her stood the man that carried out "justice" in this town. Everyone feared him in one way or another. "I haven't seen you pass by the store in a while. You should drop by. You must be running low on groceries. I just received a fresh shipment. Gotta get 'em while they're fresh."
 

“That’s right,” Riley replied, regarding when he last saw Eric, feigning remembrance. “You should stop by tomorrow. It’ll be fun,” he added. The sheriff didn’t take his eyes off him, as though totally aware of how fake Riley was being, which didn’t surprise him. Not that being fake wasn’t part of living in the town, but he often got the impression that Eric took particular offense to it. Though he technically wasn’t breaking any rules, he wondered if getting on his bad side enough would single-handedly cost him his life. The thought was often met with apathy, but he still made a point not to get wasted with him around. Being fake might be mildly annoying to those who were aware of it, but being too honest would be worse. Riley’s grin slowly grew as their staring contest dragged on.

Casey’s nervousness toward her minor slip-up snapped him out of it, immediately feeling bad that she was stumbling on something that was an ordinarily normal thing to say. Before coming to Cascade, he never realized how prevalent the past was even in the most mundane conversations. Now he had to think twice about half his jokes. Better start believing it’s not butter, he thought. Ba dum tss. Riley chuckled when Jean handed her the butter. “Now it’s a party,” he said with a small laugh.

Riley nodded when Jean requested for him to get her a glass of wine. He poured himself and Jean a glass and began to walk to the porch when he overheard what she said to Lee about kissing his booboo. “It was getting hot in here anyway!” he said loud enough for her to hear as she went to fetch the first aid, teasingly of course. He walked onto the porch where Eric and Alison were standing, smelling one of the glasses of wine he was holding. “Mmm.” His mind began to sift through the many ingredients that could’ve composed the drink and what foods might go well with it. Although one could rightfully criticize him for his abuse of alcohol for its after-effects, he did have a deeper appreciation for what went into making it. The abuse came after.

“How are you doing?” he asked Alison, remembering her looking more than nervous on the way to Jean’s. “Feeling a little tipsy yet?” he teased with a smile. He turned to Jean when she came onto the porch and handed her the glass. “A toast?” he asked, raising his own glass slightly.
 
On any given day, Eric missed at least a dozen slip-ups. As a one man police force, there were only so many things that he could catch, and if a person wasn't standing directly in front of him and talking about their old life and how badly they wanted to return to it, then there was nothing he could do. Fortunately—sometimes unfortunately—the many cameras and microphones that lined the walls and sidewalks of the town guaranteed that indiscretions didn't remain a mystery for very long. If there was a problem in the mountain, if there someone who needed to be dealt with immediately, the phone would have started ringing and everyone in Jean's kitchen would have had their night ruined.

Instead, the only sound that reached Eric's ears was the echoes of far off screams and the click of the patio door opening behind him. Wine glass still in hand, the sheriff raised a brow and looked over his shoulder, happy to see Alison. She was a nice woman, as friendly as most people could be around town, but perhaps a little lonely. Depression was only a symptom to suppression in Cascade Falls. “Evening,” he greeted her with a nod of his head, preparing himself for the same practiced small talk that hadn't changed much since his arrival in town. After eight years without change, there wasn't much that anyone could truly say about their lives that hadn't already been said within the first five minutes at some other party.

They all settled that way; settled for what was easy instead of for what was really on their minds.

Did ya?” he asked rhetorically, swirling the remaining wine around in his glass. “I'll have to stop by soon—sure I'm out of something.” Without Leah, and without any children, keeping his pantry stocked before the winter wasn't a priority and most of Eric's meals tended to be for one. With the exception of Josh, who had become a trusted friend over the years, the majority of his life was spent alone. It was a sad existence, the thought of which forced him to take another long drink from his glass.

There was a bitter taste in the back of his mouth that he attempted not to acknowledge as he looked back to Alison. “How are you handling the store?” he asked, “must be hard sometimes. It's a big place.” Before he could think to ask anymore questions, the patio door opened again and out came the others with Jean at the end of the line. Eric noticed that both Casey and Lee were absent, still inside for one reason or another, but Riley was quickly proposing a toast to the generous woman with the crumble—probably the best idea the kid had had all year.

Turning to Jean, in all of her mysterious beauty, Eric too raised his glass. “To Jean for...always being so generous,” he said, never one for public speaking unless it was forced on him during a fête. Glancing around at the others, he wondered if anyone else would speak up. More screams interrupted their toast, but Eric grit his teeth and acted as if he hadn't heard a single thing but the soft hooting of an owl in a nearby tree.

By some kind of miracle, no one made a mad dash for the sheriff outside and Casey assumed that she was in the clear. Better yet, Alison had even made an attempt to cover for her, something that could have gotten her into trouble as well. She only wished that she could have thanked the other woman in some kind of normal capacity, but she supposed a grateful look would have to do before Alison disappeared out onto the back porch. The others were quick to follow and soon enough, Casey found herself alone with Lee and butter dish clasped in her previously trembling hands courtesy of Jean. Except, she thought, they weren't really alone; someone was up there, watching and waiting.

It's not that bad, is it?” she asked, her smile sympathetic as she set the butter down on the counter and reached for the first aid kit instead. “I mean, how often do you get burned at work?” This wasn't the first time that the two had been alone that day, although Casey found that she was more nervous than usual. It probably had everything to do with the thought of the phone ringing any minute, and less to do with present company, but Lee had been an incredible comfort ever since she had arrived in town.

Taking his hand, the blonde cleaned off any residual coffee and swabbed a bit of antiseptic over the burn—more sanitary than butter and guaranteed to keep him out of Norma's clinic. “That'll do, right?” she asked, smoothing a bandage over the freshly cleaned wound. “You don't need kisses?” she laughed, her cheeks foolishly coloring as she turned away from Lee and discarded the bandage wrappings into the nearby trashcan before grabbing a drink. There was safety in numbers, and the party had obviously moved.

To Jean's bad ass baking skills!” Casey piped up once she stepped outside into the middle of toast. She raised her glass and squeezed herself into a spot near Riley.
 
Two flowery potholders and a deep calming breath was what it took to get Jean from the strange little pocket of something very like jealousy to the poised calm she prided herself on. It was her armor against life in Cascade falls and for just a second there had been a chink in it. That wouldn’t do at all. Calm serenity were her strength and gift to her friends and fellow captives. She was generous to a fault and would give the all she had.

Stepping onto the porch she smiled to see the colors splashing over the sky, her yard, hedged by tall trees was already dark and the buzzing of insect song could be heard from the shadows. But her porch was lit and filled with life as people talked and mingled. It was almost enough to make her unaware of the calls and cries that filled the night. Owls and foxes, she told herself seeing through the lie but feeling better for having delivered it.

She carefully wove through the small crowd and put the crumble onto the space left open in the table, a place held by an iron trivet to protect her table. She graciously accepted the glass of wine Riley handed her. Her fingers brushed his in the transfer and the slight contact further solidified her suspicion that she’d known him from a bar in Boston and that then, as now, he’d likely been her bartender. She couldn’t ask him, and hadn’t yet puzzled out a way to hint at it, but there was some covert strength to be gained in the speculation even if it never manifested as anything more than an idle fancy.

“Thank you,” she murmured to Riley as she lifted the glass to her lips.

She swallowed the very nice wine Eric had brought and smiled, wondering where it had come from before it had wound up here, behind the fence. She made a note to look at the bottle and did her best to catch Eric’s eye just as he proposed a toast to her and Casey took it up. She looked away, pleased and aflutter from the offering. Was it really generous if it was what she needed to do to remain sane? She wasn’t going to be so ungracious as to not accept the toast so she nodded to Eric and to Casey who had pipped in her sweet little addition to it.

“Thanks,” she quipped. “But hold your praise until you’ve had the crumble. There’s a gauntlet been thrown down. We’ll see if Lee wants to take it up.”

Jean set down her glass within reach and took up the wooden serving spoon she’d set out by the dessert bowls before people had arrived. With deft hand she grabbed a bowl and filled it with crumble, mindful that she maintained the perfect ratio of fruit to crust and handed it, perhaps unconsciously, to Eric first before filling up the rest, handing them out in a casual manner after that and letting people hand them off and distribute them as they would. All except for Lee, that was. His bowl she hand delivered. It was a perfect mound of crumble, warm and sweet and she held it before him with two hands, an offering accompanied by a teasing light in her brown eyes which was momentarily shuttered when a scream seemed to fill the night from just behind her bushes. An illusion she knew, sound carried so strangely, but it made her jump and her hands around the bowl tremble slightly even as she went on, desperately pretending she’d heard nothing.
 

“Nyah, no way it’s that bad.” Lee’s smile gentled as he peered down to a softly blushing Casey, wishing there was some way he could let her know that from what he’d seen? Her small faux-pas about her past had gone more-or-less completely under the radar, even past Eric. Lee hated to see her blushing like that, looking so awkward, and could only assume it had something to do with her slip of the tongue. In a normal world he’d have wrapped his arm tightly around Casey’s shoulders, pulled her close, probably have mussed her hair or told some stupid joke until she laughed - or maybe just punched him.

“But you know me Casey, just an attention hound.” Lee shrugged helplessly no matter he grinned like a fiend, giving her a wink and [carefully] taking back up his coffee cup before following her out to the gathering proper. Coffee was no kind of drink to raise for a toast to Jean but he did anyway, letting Eric’s words and Casey’s speak for his own. Jean was generous, always. She was also a ‘bad ass’ cook and so much more.

Jean was gracious, and decent, and so much more he’d never let slip past his lips because nobody in Cascade Falls ever said exactly what they thought. Surface deep and no more, and after surviving nine years in this little slice of hell, Lee knew this should have become habit by now. Hell, by this time he should be the damned Stepford Wife of Cascade Falls – would be probably, if…

No, no that wasn’t true. Who the hell was he kidding? Lee took a sip of his coffee, setting it down on the nearby side table as Jean approached with a bowl cradled like an offering, meant just for him.

Being a Cascade Falls automaton meant he’d have gone howling into the night during the fetes, chasing down all those terrified people he’d once called ‘neighbors’ if not friends, brandishing a heavy piece of pipe or a kitchen knife, some broomstick turned makeshift club or a brick… Lee would have to laugh as he watched the condemned beg on hands and knees, snot and tears dribbling down their faces, knowing all their pleas would mean nothing in the end. Nine times out of ten, the condemned had been running with the mobs once too, present if not particularly murderous on their own just like Lee because to not be present was as much of a death sentence as any. They knew there was no hope, because there was no humanity left in the mob. There was only hooting and hollering and that damned sick laughter… It was the laughter that was the worst. Hidden behind their masks, they weren’t people anymore. They were monsters who’d forgotten they were ever people – real people with real morals, who would have never, not in a million years, think of slaughtering another human being. Not before Cascade Falls, where murder would become a civic duty...

Lee hadn’t become a murderer though. Not yet. But he hadn’t been particularly brave either and he damn well knew it. Lee was a coward, and right around the end of year three? He’d been ready to walk into the fence, right along with the rest of the cowards who didn’t have the stomach for outright rebellion, being hunted down by a mob and murdered. Quick if not entirely painless, it would have all been over in a moment.

But then, Jean arrived in Cascade Falls.

Not as she was now, no. Not with that laughing playfulness in her eyes, or the mischievous challenge in her smile. For half a second, everything was right and good in this world – but then this damned town had to remind them all, all over again, there could never be anything right or good for long in Cascade Falls. Yet another scream tore through the night and Jean flinched. Lee’s hands shot out in an instant, instinctually wrapping around hers where she cradled the bowl.

“It’s all right Jean,” Lee whispered with a smile he prayed was some small comfort, four swift syllables from his lips that never should have been spoken - but for Jean? For her, Lee could be brave.

His fingers lingered over hers for only a moment, the pad of his thumb gently brushing across her knuckles before he lifted the perfect bowl of blackberry crumble. “Hmm… “ One eyebrow lifted playfully, dubiously, as he picked up his spoon piled high with sticky sweet yumminess and take that first bite. He seemed to let the flavors sit on his tongue a while, savoring and testing the quality of their hostess’ offerings with his discriminating palette.

“Hmm… Will you think less of me Jean?“ he grinned with a seemingly helpless shrug of his shoulders, "If I let the gauntlet lie, and just enjoy? And well... You know... Steal the recipe later of course... "
 
Elena moved quietly as she refilled her empty glass with the wine that had been brought to this ... gathering. Sadly, as much as she wanted it to be a party, the redhead just couldn't bring herself to call it that. The atmosphere was light, and had an outsider been looking in through the windows, or even just watching them from afar, it would have been easy to think that it was nothing more than a small friends and family dinner kind of setting. It wasn't anything that sounded impressive though, but after living through this twisted reality, where it felt as though each existance were but mere pawns and toy soldiers in the grand scheme of things, Elena had learned to live with the yearning that pulled at her heart in the most hurtful ways. She learned to seek for whatever little comfort she could find, to live with only the smallest bundles of joy that could be found in this hell hole.


She had seen the older residents of Cascade Falls, wondered what had made their shoulders slouched, what could have possibly brought on the bags under their eyes. That was all before she become witness and unwilling participant of the ritualistic celebration that had them all howling into the darkest of the nights - hunting and driven mad with bloodlust of sorts. She had been new to the town, and so very, very clueless, so vulnerable, lost, and completely out of place in this deceptively sleepy town. Elena had been told many things upon her arrival, introduced to more concepts and regulations, but nothing could have prepared her for a life living and knowing the dangers within without any escape. It was only natural, she believes, that no sane person would just willingly submit themselves to this kind of life, where everything gets to be monitored, every mistake paints a target on your head, and every story you've written yourself gets tossed to the flames without question, debate, or exceptions.

It was the reset button that nobody asked for.

It was a life that could also present new possibilities, came another voice in her head, a chance to witness another perspective perhaps, after all there is always a method in madness, you need only to look with a different set of eyes. But then who gets to be the almighty judge? Looking up from the glass in her hands, her eyes roamed over the heads in the room, to the now tense air that had been brought on by the smallest of slip ups. Elena had held her breath, though hadn't done very much otherwise as Alison easily stepped in, putting her bit in to move the conversation along, to fill up the suspicious and suffocating silence that would have no doubt swallowed all of them up. The silences were always the worst, much like everything else in this prison. Thankfully, everyone proceeded to move outside, and although the ominous and eerie cries that echoed seemed to linger and set her heart aflutter, it was already better than going mad from the 'what if' situation within closed walls back in the house - as lovely and cute as it was.

Smiling at last, the redhead easily shoved all these thoughts, these theories, these mindless musings of hers to the back of her mind. A lesson she had learned a long time ago, was to simply live in the now, least she miss the small joys that could very well bring her to smile for the next several days, weeks, or even months. Stepping into the small group that had formed, just as Casey raised her glass upwards with the proclamation, Elena allowed herself to tilt her head back with a quiet approving laugh. "Hear, hear," then raising her own glass up, letting it hover as a few others may have their own pitch in. Elena tilted her head at the drink, and although she had heard some praises and appreciation over it, the redhead wasn't comfortable at all around any drinks since her stay here. Perhaps she'd politely pass it along to Riley when she could, provided he wasn't completely smashed already by then, if anyone could appreciate a nice drink, it would be him.

As Jean headed over to spoon up and distribute out the mouth watering crumble, Elena gave herself a bit of time to patiently wait until Jean had finished filling up the bowls before heading on over to grab one for herself. The redhead was one who adored sweets and baked goods, and word around town was that Jean was definitely a master in the kitchen, so there was absolutely no doubt that this was going to blow her mind. However, as much as Elena wished to send her regards and compliments to the hostess, it seemed that she was preoccupied. With a playful smirk, the redhead simply turned her heel the other way, giving the two ... well, it was definitely not privacy, but at least she wasn't going to get in the way.

She stepped her way around the crowd until she found Riley, who may or may not have been engaged in conversation with Alison and Sheriff. Quietly sucking on her teeth, Elena let herself take a deep breath before steeling herself and walking up, her steps light and her smile gentle. It was always a little frightening to step within eyesight of the Sheriff, you know? Throwing a playful saucy wink at Alison, Elena held in the mischievous snicker that threatened to bubble up. Her sexuality wasn't too big of a secret, and many knew knew she was more playful than anything else. Her affectionate nature? A way for her to cope, perhaps, but the redhead had never explored such feelings, as there was very little time to actually do so whilst not feeling awkward and violated by the cameras and microphones. "Evening gentlemen, lady," she greeted, nodding her head in greeting as both her hands were occupied. She then turned to Riley, lifting the hand up that held the glassful of wine. She tilted her head, perhaps in a silent challenge as she dangled the glass just the slightest bit, causing the contents within to ripple gently. "You fancy?" she asked, adding a raised eyebrow to boot.
 
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To always being so generous, Riley repeated the simple (though true) statement from Eric in his head, as though he lacked the energy to say it out loud. The screams continued to drain him and he wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding it. Casey joined the rest of them and contributed to the toast, bringing up his mood a little. “Oops. Almost started without you,” he said, managing to smile a little. “My bad.” Cassie, he almost said out loud, his mouth still slightly open to say it. He quickly raised his glass to his lips and took a sip.


Why am I doing that? He thought as he savored the taste of the wine before swallowing. Although he wasn’t consciously aware until that moment, Casey looked much like his ex-wife. The fact that their names weren’t too far apart probably didn’t help. How weird, he thought, playing with the wine glass so that the liquid swished gently back and forth. His mind wandered back to when he was testing the microphones at the bar, playing a song he had originally wrote when he first met Cassie.

He had his bar tending job in Boston for no more than a month when she stopped by. They talked for hours. She was born in Greece and moved to the U.S when she was a pre-teen. Her lingering accent was nice. He was still very young and coping with the death of his other half, which was something life couldn’t possibly prepare anyone for, especially coupled with guilt. His parents divorced and his father became a degenerate. Although he appeared okay, a dark cloud loomed over him and generally prevented him from getting too close to anyone. Cassie so naturally stepped into his world, somehow, when he needed it most.

He realized he zoned out while looking at Casey.

“There’s…like, a fly. On top of your head. Hold on,” he said, thinking on his feet and swiping gently above her head at nothing. “Yea; get outta here,” he taunted the imaginary fly. “No crumble for you.”

Casey’s similarities stopped at looks, however. Though, to be fair, he didn’t know her very well, but Cascade Falls seemed exactly the wrong place to get close to anyone. His memories of Cassie were a muddled with so many different emotions, that he didn’t know what it meant that Casey somewhat reminded him of her except that he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a soft spot for her. How weird, he thought again before Elena snapped him out of his thoughts and caught him off guard with a question.

His co-worker was always fun to be around and unfortunately the most frequent target to his goofy behavior when he’s bored at work. He’d often playfully flirt, knowing that it couldn’t possibly go anywhere. He looked at his wine glass and realized he had almost downed it already, despite trying to take it slow. He chuckled at her attempt to egg him on to drinking more. "You're trying to get me into trouble tonight, aren't you? Save it for tomorrow!" he said as he stuffed a piece of crumble into his mouth. “Mmm, now that's intoxicating."
 
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The warmth of large fingers on hers and the warmth of the whispered, rumbling voice curling into the shell of her ear, pulled Jean’s attention back from the darkness beyond the trees and the things that lingered there. She blinked her wide brown eyes and the shift within them from inward, fearful, gazing to outward gazing was visible. She saw Lee, saw him and blinked again as if clearing some last bit that kept her from seeing. It was then that she found herself moving one finger, to lift and crook it so that she might run a bold, minute little caress over the back of his kneading fingers. It was a quick touch, no longer than his had been, but it rocked her to her core.

Casual touches, the shaking of hands, the brush of shoulders as you pass one in an aisle, these were the day to day touches of Cascade falls. Shallow connections and fearful friendships. When was the last time she’d been touched on purpose in such a small, but intimate way? A touch ripe with comfort and connection, and fear. Because there was fear at the heart of everything in this place. She couldn’t remember the last time, but she knew it was before. She wanted to shake and tremble for reasons other than fear for the first time in years. But she did not dare. There were cameras everywhere, what she thought had been a small gesture, hidden by their bodies, might have been seen, recorded and studied for all she knew and that thought made her angry, so very angry.

So she closed her eyes again and took a deep calming breath. She shored up her composure and her armor and watched the way Lee’s broad shoulders lifted and dropped, the incredible strength in them and in him, putting an immediate chink in her armor.

“No,” a grin coupled with a flash of dimple flavored the word. “I won’t think less of you. I want you to enjoy yourself and relax. Only you mustn’t let that gauntlet lie for long. You have a blackberry challenge of your own to bring to the table.”

Her attention shifted quickly, looking around and behind, noting her company, watching them eat and drink, ever the hostess. But as people seemed content and busy eating and chatting she allowed herself a moment of weakness in which she dared to take something for herself.

“Why don’t we go pick some for you tomorrow? They ring the graveyard, I’ll show you my favorite spot to pick. I can take my lunch late and we can go in your afternoon lull. What do you say?”
 

Alison looked over at Riley as he walked in, tipping her glass up in his direction, "Tipsy? Not even close" she responded to his tease. It was going to take far more wine to get her to obliterate the sounds of the wails from her mind or the feeling of being trapped. One would assume that after five years she would feel more at home but every day was a struggle. Every day she was painfully aware that she was held in the town against her will and there was always a looming threat over their lives whether by the sheriff himself or whatever it was on the other side of the fence. Alison returned her attention to the sheriff, "Yes. I'm still handling the store. Its a big place but I never have more than a few customers at one time. I like reorganizing the shelves and putting things in order. It helps pass the time on some days."

As the others entered and Riley raised his toast, Alison did the same. She raised her glass towards Jean, "To Jean, the woman who makes everyone feel welcome" and took another sip from her glass. She shut her eyes for a brief moment as she drank the wine but also to try to calm herself against the ever present wailing. Stilling herself the best she could, she reopened her eyes and grabbed the bowl of crumble handed to her by the lovely host. Reluctantly setting her wine glass down, Alison tasted the decadent delight and smiled wide. "Delicious as always Jean. Lee definitely has some competition." She looked over at the two but they seemed to be having some moment and Alison didn't wish to interrupt any further. Elena seemed to get the same idea as she maneuvered herself around the crowd sending a wink her way. Ali returned the wink playfully; there were very few ways to have fun in Cascade Falls so a couple playful mannerisms were always welcome. Ali wasn't interested, her boyfriend still occupying her heart, but she always entertained a little flirting here and there. It helped make everything less lonely. "Evening Elena."

After finishing the contents of her bowl, Alison grabbed her glass of wine and brought the rest down in one big gulp. She had never been much of a drinker before she arrived in town. It was always a half a glass here and there and only at social events. But being in this town and the need to just forget everything and dull the loneliness, made Alison turn to more than a few bottles. Definitely going to visit Riley after this, she thought to herself, careful not to express anything too revealing in front of a crowd, especially not in front of the Sheriff. The fete was fast approaching and she never wanted to find herself on "the list".

"So guys," she said towards Elena, Riley and Casey. "How goes everything at the bar? I've been hearing rumors about a new drink? I'll definitely have to pass by and try whatever you guys got brewing over there." Really I just need another excuse to drown out all my sorrows and fill this gaping hole in my heart.
 
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Dust particles danced around in the morning sun rays. They twirled into a perfect spiral, attaching themselves to dainty antiques. James icy blue orbs stared into the sun's ray. His eyes hopped from one particle of dust to the other. The cozy town, Cascade Falls, ensured boredom. The town simply went into a schedule that consists of a lonesome day in a job that is unnecessary, a get-together among the community, and the nights horrific enigma's. James stayed within a small antique store he was assigned to take care of. He was paid generously to watch over fragile household items. Although, the store never gets any visitors. Nobody had any interest in knickknacks or old furniture - he couldn't blame them, they were mostly dusty and fragile.

The pungent scent of aged items was unbearable to most people in the town. He would hear comments about the scent and inquiries about the smell. It seemed to be the only thing that kept his eyes from closing. He gradually relaxed his body, sinking to the wooden counter. His upper body rested on top of the counter taking the entire flat space. The years seemed to flash before his eyes. He had forgotten what his wife had looked like and her voice. He only had her name written constantly on his forearm, Quinn Marshall. The ample of free time he has, he tries to plummet into his memories. Despite how deep he ventured within his memories, he could never recall her appearance.

Cascade Falls disintegrated all memories of his wife. He could no longer query Laura about Quinn's appearance, she too forgotten. It frustrated him when he discovered this. He found himself entering a rage mode where he left a prominent hole on a whole. His knuckles bled and broke, the hospital patched him up. The psychiatrist questioned him numerous times as to why he did it. He answered the questions vaguely not distributing lucid responses. James couldn't find himself trust the people in the town. The only person he could trust was his younger sister. When he encountered the torturous fence, the danger struck him like a bat to the head. There was an unknown danger that implicated nightmares in James. The noises in the dark had him awake during the late nights. The next day he spoke nothing of it, only to Laura could he tell everything he knows.

Speak of the devil.

A soft jingle from the bells caught James's attention. He watched as a slender blonde walked in with an irritated countenance - her facial expression certainly warded off talkers. "Mornin'," He lifted his head, giving his sibling a smile. She spoke no words in response as she made her way to an antique wooden chair. The loud noise her bag made as it was peremptory dropped on the dusty table. The mornings grew more painful. "We gotta go soon," He stated when he glanced at the clock that hung from the ceiling. It was an odd position for a clock to be placed, but he queried nobody for an answer. "Goin', where?" Laura groaned loudly. "Jean's got another get-together, or so I've been told." James rose from his lazy position. He brushed off the dirt on his button-up and forearms. The dust clung onto his skin tightly, his hands slapped against his arm to remove the pesky dust particles.

He stepped out of the counter and grabbed a hold of his tan jacket. In a swift motion, his left arm slipped into the jackets sleeve following with his right arm. "C'mon, we're already late." He walked to the door, glancing back to reassure himself that Laura was behind. The woman staggered to catch up to him. He rolled his eyes and released a harsh scoff from his lips. The Barden siblings stepped on the sidewalk, making their way to the neighborhood.

After a few minutes Jean's house was at eye sight. Laura bit her lower lip, chewed on her soft flesh. She let out an agitated groan that resonated from her throat. "Do we-" Her sentence came out throaty, her voice croaked into an odd tone. She grunted loudly, which cleared her throat. "Why are there always get-together? Parties are nice, loud music..." Her voice softened as a stare brought an uncomfortable atmosphere that had her fidgety. "Be nice. We've been here too long to be the assholes. Anyway, I'm not going to get threatened to become a target." The word, target, triggered her memories. Fete's are horrendous - they were a dark time in Laura's life. She could recall the hunts; loud noises accidentally shotguns, and the screams. She kept her stoic expression as she recalled her darkest memories.

Laura stood beside her brother with her arms crossed and her weight on one leg. Her fingers ran through her hair with ease, pushing the wisps of blonde hair out of her eyesight. Icy blue orbs watched strong knuckles bang against the simple wooden door. The people in Cascade Falls had the similar facial expression as her's; confused and scared, the dubious future that awaits for them frighten her. Nevertheless, Laura keeps her constant stoic mein. She crossed her arms and let out a loud exhale. Laura looked up at James who seemed to get exasperated for the wait. Her body leaned forward, her knuckles knocked on the door once more.

"Maybe Jean's too busy with her guests?" She gave a crooked smile and shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe..." The words slipped through his close-knit sets of teeth. Laura felt like the third-party as agitation made its way between the two.
 
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The howls and screeches, nightmarish calls to the skies that echoed every night in Cascade Falls, were not a welcoming sign. Sammy paused as he heard the first searing cry split the evening, sending chills down his spine as he rested his palm against an aged pine tree, body tense and nostrils flared as he cocked his head to the side, listening intently. The cries came again, some mad scientist’s combination of hawk and wolf, and the young man scrunched his nose in distaste, working his jaw thoughtfully as he weighed his options now. The town was close, so close that the bright lights (so bright in a world where nothing man-made still twinkled; where nothing lit the night but moon and star; where not even a fire was bold enough to flicker when sun had fallen) of its neatly lined streets cast his shadow behind him, an unfamiliar night-time visitor that made him nearly as nervous as the calls, his eyes constantly shifting to catch a peek of an extra silhouette timidly laid across the dirt of forest floor. If he sprinted, tucked his head and ran with abandon and with force, he could make it. Dart into sight of the men with long guns and perhaps they would pick the hounds from his heels, but instincts deeply ingrained over years of walking in quiet and in still made him hesitant of such a bold move, and as the sun lowered ever still, the thin shadow it laid growing fainter, ever lighter against the starker one cast by the town, he decided against a bolt and began to slink down the hill, carefully edging towards the entrance to Cascade Falls he had left from—the only one he knew.
[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] It had been a long, long time since Sammy Henderson had step foot in these woods, since his then new boots had crunched cheerfully through the undergrowth he now picked through, boots held together with whatever makeshift patches he could scavenge making as little noise as an anxious deer’s where they had crashed and thudded years before. He moved hesitantly, head swiveling from side to side and ears peeled for the slightest sound, and he froze often, going still to identify the swishing of a squirrel back to its burrow; a bird settling into its nest; a large beetle making an erroneous step and falling into the leaves. It was a bit silly, he thought as he toed the line of light that marked the edge of the sniper’s sightline, his filthy form and haphazard mixture of clothing—dull metal here, old canvas there, bits and pieces of everything from hide tanned through trial and error and scavenged synthetics scattered throughout—helping him to blend into his surroundings to where only the gleam of his eyes, the only thing slick and clean enough to catch the light, was really visible from the gloom. A bit silly to be slinking around like an animal this close to home, on a heroic return (or as heroic as one could get shambling back without a thing in hand but scars and broken memories), but those [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]sounds[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]. His head darted to the side and he straightened from his hunched walk in an instant, brows knit and muscles tense as a loud crunch resounded, distinct in it’s form. He could see it moving, it's pale skin stretched against its gnarled and disfigured form, but he noted with relief it wasn’t the worst thing—it was only one…and the man-sized creature was [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]small[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] Relief was no cause for relaxation, however, and he had the scars (stretched wide across his back, the deeply twisted gnarls of an unfamiliar weapon, barely reachable by his fingers and so ugly in healing) to remember that little lesson, so as the thing ambled along, snuffling for a meal it could smell beyond the fence (but not on [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]him[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent], no longer on him; he’d learned to hide that sweetly tantalizing breath when he’d been run ragged and near to death, when sheer luck and snow melt had been his saving grace; he knew to smell of dirt and of forest, of mud and muck and mushrooms), Sammy slowly reached backwards and nimble fingers loosed the knot that held his blade in its sheathe, the worn machete sliding free in one smooth motion. He held the weapon loosely in his left hand, it’s blade angled back and below like a two-foot knife, and with his eyes still locked on the shambling creature, he knelt down enough to pull free a thick leather cord stored in a pouch at his shin. The sling, for it was a sling when given enough view to show itself, was loaded quickly with an oddly shaped clay ball that had a great many holes and smelled sourly of death, and when the thing had turned away enough to not see, Sammy spun it in a whistling circle, letting the ball loose to fly far to the side. It sang shrilly as it went, leaving a sickly scented trail in the air, and went crashing somewhere in the undergrowth a few hundred yards away. Instantaneously the thing’s head whipped towards it, howling it’s eager pursuit as it followed with crashing of its own, and Sammy shrunk down into a crouch as the hooting and howling of at least three more echoed around him and a handful of like-sized creatures went barreling off through the trees.[/BCOLOR]


[BCOLOR=transparent] The former lacrosse player wasted no time scrambling to his feet as the air was filled with the things’s hunting joys; his own noises were lost in the bellows of their pursuit and he took advantage of it to wheel away to the side, machete held tightly in his grip (never too careful, don’t forget; don’t forget) as he sprinted towards the light, exploding from the trees with a breathless gasp. He threw his arms up in front of the fence, making it clear he was as human as possible, but turned his back on it before he would relax, his eyes scanning the trees with no remorse for looking nervous. “H-Hey guys!” He called cheerfully, not trying to scan for the men hidden by spotlight but tossing a bright smile over his shoulder at them nonetheless, “Don’t suppose you could give a guy a break and call in the good doctor before the skinny brigade realizes they can’t eat mud?”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] Another blinding smile was tossed in the direction of the lights before, with an ear to decide the howls were moving the other way, he began to relax, sheathing his machete and leaning over to brace on his knees, breathing heavily. Only now, when he was at his stillest and in the light, would it be obvious how long this man had walked. What remained of the clothing he had been sent out in was tattered, barely held together with awkwardly attempted patches, and the weapons he now wore were not entirely what he had left with. A machete hung upside down at his hip, its blade stone-sharpened to an odd shape and poking out of what had been a full sheathe, and was now only 3/4s of the way there. Pistol holsters were on his sides, but they had clearly been modified into makeshift pockets with tops messily stitched where a strap had been, and what looked like some sort of natural string sticking out of one. The guns themselves were not immediately noticeable, but there were enough bullet casings to go around, each one painstakingly tied (never far enough to clink, never shiny enough to gleam) into a makeshift armor around one shoulder. The other shoulder held some sort of metal that had been very tenaciously beaten into as close to a useful shape as it could be gotten to, faint scratches of paint still clinging to the dark surface indicating a very bright red—perhaps a car’s finish?—and similarly abused metal (although not from the same source) served as knee and elbow pads. Thick leather from a creature that was not a cow was wrapped wherever armor could serve, stitched with a line of fur peeking from the inside at the sides of his legs, and an equally fluffy hood was folded up into a collar at his neck, beads of sweat forming beneath it (better to be sweaty than to be bleed-y). [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] A worn backpack was clasped tightly to his spine with a rolled blanket tied just as securely to its base, and the shape of at least one pistol could be seen against the sides along with a mishmash of other shapes and objects barely held by the bag’s thinning material and aged seams. There was a quick release on both sides, one side a clip of metal barely holding together and the other an easily freed knot where he'd repaired the strap, and below the release on his left side there was the hint of a makeshift leather handle, the long strap wound around a stake of metal showing some fur and soft from use, not tanning. He was particularly reluctant to show this tool to the eyes, however, his body angled carefully away so as to not display the cruel hooked blade that had ripped so much more flesh than machete or bullet, still stained and dark with the blood of its latest throat. The blade was less like a knife and more like a luckily warped piece of steel, broken and burnt until an edge could be whittled into being by rock and by time, and while it was held in a loop of leather to keep it at his side, the dull metal was open to the air. Sammy wasn’t proud of this tool, and so distracted from it with the much more impressive one along his back, the make-shift glaive’s dark-tinted metal and hooked tips more aesthetic to the eye and less violent in nature. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] While it was certainly [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]used[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] as a weapon, the staff-like mimic of a lacrosse stick twisted and jerked to perform powerful downward blows and nasty side-swipes, it was much more often used as a way of life, rather than death. A net--hard to tell if it was twisted metal or worn hide from a distance--was strung painstakingly between the glaive’s twin prongs, a replaceable thing that he had carefully tied day in day out so as to not stress the leather and had used to catch fish and shake fruit delicately from trees in lucky seasons. He also carried what looked similar to a baseball bat sticking out of his pack, the aluminum handle rusty at best, and “barely holding together” was a much better description. Any other secrets he carried, hidden in his many layers, remained a secret for now as he rose to his full height and turned, one hand looped into the strap of his bag and a brilliant grin spread against his muddy face as he shielded his eyes against the lights of the fence, laughing faintly, “Hey, don’t suppose you guys could move a bit quicker, huh? I’m keener for a bath than you’ve been in your entire [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]lives[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent].”[/BCOLOR]
 
Every day in Cascade Falls was trying.

Some days were worse than others, harder to get through if a fête needed to be called, or if a troubled soul decided to throw themselves on the fence, even worse if the rumblings of rebellion reached his ears but somehow, Howard managed. After the sun had finally set on his perfect town, Howard retired to his office instead of hovering over his technicians. It was a slow night at the hospital, so few people got sick and so many rooms were left empty that Norma had volunteered to take watch that evening. She was always so eager for power—a motive that he trusted less and less with each day that passed. Every so often, Howard wondered if his contempt for his own creations were as obvious as they felt.

The haunting sounds of Mozart's Requiem filled the room from a vintage record player, echoing perfectly off of the stone walls of the mountain, now hollowed out in a space that was exclusively his own. An original Picasso—stolen—hung on one of the rough walls, looking down on other priceless artifacts, remnants of a lost world that he had done his best to preserve. Howard's face was long, drawn as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the high back of his leather desk chair. He didn't sleep much anymore, far too concerned about Group B in the valley and what they could be up to; when they would betray him like Group A.

If only their minds were more capable.

Sometime later and without much warning, the mahogany doors banged open, waking Howard from his accidental nap. Before him stood Norma, free from her white nurses uniform and instead dressed in a black jumpsuit that paired with a hand-held radio. Her dark eyes were wide, hard to read, and her brows were raised in a tell-tale sign of bad news. “Yes?” he asked, Mozart's beautiful music interrupted by the ugly crackle of radio static.

We have a situation at the fence,” she replied, hesitant.

More mutts?” he asked, his own brow raising. There were gaggles of them that approached all of the time, coming in packs to either be picked off by the trained hand of a sniper or fried to death while trying to climb over and into the valley. However, Norma shook her head and fear shot through the old man like a heart attack. “Then what is it?” he asked, his words measured as he slowly rose from the chair and set his hands down on the polished desk.

All of her reluctance was quickly wearing on his nerves, and Howard found his fingers subconsciously digging into the wood. “Norma...” he urged.

Henderson made it back.”

Back?” Howard snapped, unable to fathom that any man, let alone one as oblivious as Sampson had survived for longer than a few weeks on the outside. “No one has ever returned.” The Nomad Mission was designed that way, a trap from the beginning that Howard had concocted to deal with those who weren't harmful enough for a fête. Dying at the hands of the sheriff was meant to send a message, to inspire good behavior in the town but there were some people too unpredictable to be trusted, individuals that Howard had taken for their good health or strong genetics and not their brains. Some were too curious for their own good.

At the time, Howard had believed with all of his heart that Sampson would be the downfall of Group B, that he was a pest to be eradicated. That was when the young man had been given a backpack and a coat and pushed out of the valley, thrown to the mutations to tear apart—out of mind and out of sight on a fake crusade to find other survivors and bring them back.

Internally seething, Howard whipped around to the bank of monitors implanted in another wall, a way to always have eyes on the town below. He turned them on and with a few taps on a nearby computer keyboard, brought the camera feed up to view. Sampson looked terrible, nearly unrecognizable as guns were trained on his skinny, bearded form, but his eyes were the same—shifty as ever. Behind him, the radio crackled once again in Norma's hand and Howard snatched it from her with a dark glare.

Go ahead,” he said into the bulky device.

It's a nomad,” Johnson replied, “mutts are gonna be closing in soon, sir.” There was silence as Howard watched, looked at Sampson just standing there, watching as he contemplated his next move. There was always the option of putting him back, sedating him into submission with the remainder of the first group and the others who had yet to be woken, but something stopped him. “You want me to put a bullet through his head?”

It was tempting, but Howard didn't think of himself as a murderer. “No,” he said, bringing the radio up to his sneering mouth, “no. Let him in. Norma and I will meet you at the hospital.”

Being social was second nature for Casey and even in a place that discouraged standing out, she still liked to be in the center of it all. It wasn't about the attention or the need for approval, Casey just liked to feel a connection from those around her, a small inkling of something that said she was wanted, that no one was going to disappear from her life. Although she may not have been close with most of the people tightly gathered on Jean's deck, they felt like a weird family—people who made up for the ones she had been taken from. All it took was a smile to put her at ease, or a kind gesture that started her clingy wheels turning. She was sure people hated her for it, or just didn't understand, but Casey didn't care. For a few hours, she could just forget.

A fly?” she laughed, squeezing her eyes closed as Riley's hand brushed over top of her head. “Did you get it?” Playing along was almost too easy and there was no chance of slippage when her mouth was occupied by crumble. Setting her drink down, Casey tucked into the heavenly treat and made a noise of approval that was usually reserved for whenever Lee decided to make danish. She turned, thinking of the man and ready to make some kind of joke, encourage the baking war that was sure to feed them all, but the comment died on her tongue at the sight of an intimate moment.

Swallowing hard, Casey had lost her appetite but took another bite from her plate. Everything in her mouth was suddenly too sweet, but the blonde didn't let it show as she turned back to the others. Alison, Elena and Riley were just as good—the same lonely people just trying to make it.

There's a new beer inside,” Casey said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Riley said something about a party tomorrow, right?” She looked to the man and then to Elena, her smile having waned some. “New beer? Tell 'em. The masses need to drink.”

Even when surrounded by similar people at a party where everything appeared to be all smiles and good times, Eric still felt alone. From the corner of his eye, he watched Jean with Lee, her offer to pick blackberries at dusk not against the rules by any means, but someone was bound to try and listen. He took another bite from the bowl that had been dished toward him, approving of the sweetness and letting Jean know with a rather lame thumbs up. He doubted if she noticed anyone else in the room.

Everyone seemed to be busy with their own conversations, too busy chatting to catch the soft knock from the front of the house. “There's...” he began, but paused as he thought better of interrupting. It wasn't his house, but Jean had done enough that night, catered to enough people and he assumed that she wouldn't be too cross about him answering the door for her. After all, she always seemed to make room for new guests.

Having not bothered to excuse himself, Eric squeezed his slender form through the tiny crowd and back into the house. The opened door revealed the Barden siblings, the very two who often inspired envy among those who were trapped in the town without any comfort of home. Thinking on it, Eric craved their freedom to mention whatever childhood memory they pleased, to share a genuine story without having to alter the people in it, or the time and place—they didn't know how lucky they were.

Evening,” he said, offering a smile. “Everyone's in the back—there's still some crumble left, so I guess you're just in time.” He stepped aside to let Laura and James in and close the door that didn't belong to him.
 
The faint sound of people talking brought the siblings at ease. Laura placed her weight on one leg as she began to rub her arm. She glanced around the neighborhood. The few people whowould walk on the sidewalks would give them a smile and a wave. Laura would not reciprocate the exact same action; she only handed out a thin smile and a nod. Her social skills plummeted after her first fete. There are remnants of her first fete that clung onto her memories till this day. Haunted by the blood, gore, and screams. It only gradually grew worse when it was her turn to take the bullet out. She shook her head softly, which allowed her blonde hair to fall out-of-place. Strands of blonde hair blocked her vision, limited her to see only parts of the door. Her vision wasn't necessary at the moment.

At the sound of the doorknob turn, Laura quickly pushed her hair back. Her vision was clear when she watched Eric usher out of the house. Partial of his body was within the house and outside. Laura gave the man a thin smile while her brother gave the man a smile that revealed his teeth. "Nice to see you, Eric," James said in an amicable tone. Laura nodded, "Yeah, good to see you." She felt unsafe around the sheriff. She remembered the fete's where people got captured and killed in front of the town. It was as brutal as it was killing a cattle. She was in close proximity of James. She wished for the ability to read minds - it would've brought her mind to ease.

"Crumble?" James queried, he looked over at Laura and nudged her arm. He raised both brows and shrugged his shoulders. Laura let out a soft chuckle, "You people and your crumble." She shook her head as she entered the household. The interior of the house was just as prim and clean as the outside. Simple furniture that went with a specific color scheme, vases, and house accessories to bring 'life', and the pungent scent of baked foods. The scent of enticing to her nostrils, she noticed her mouth-watering. She cleaned the corner of her lip with the back of her hand. Her icy blue orbs glanced around to check if any eyes caught her ill-mannered act.

The sound of people became distinct. Familiar voices boomed loudly, penetrating the thin walls of the house. She followed behind James as he walked out into the backyard. There are major differences between the Barden's backyard and Jean's - her's was kept and cleaned, furnished with lawn chairs and tables. The Barden's simply left the weeds to grow and the tall grass to consume the chipped beige fence, that was once white. Her eyes observed the backyard to see familiar faces and one new face. Another soul for the glorified hell hole, Cascade Falls.

"Eric," He gesticulated towards the newcomer. "Whose that?" He asked. The foreign face caught him off-guard. She stood out from the familiar faces, other than the apparent fact that shewas surrounded by the most people. There always seemed to be a low-income of inhabitants. There are the few that would socialize, the minuscule that will never leave their home, and the others that have gone too far to be considered normal. Apart from the faction within the social there was a group who obliged to the rules. People who were consideredan anomaly in James' eyes. Though, he would never tell them. There were some things in the town that were meant to bekept a secret.

A soft touch got his attention. He swiftly turned his head to the left to see Laura with two cups filled with wine. The red liquid swished around in the cup, hitting against the walls. James smiled at his sister taking a hold of the cup. "Maybe if you socialized more than maybe you'll know." Laura's voice brought a tinge of irritation. He chuckled softly, his head looking down at his cup taking a sip. The wine was cold and bitter. It wasn't his drink, he was never a drinker. The taste of alcohol was too bitter with that the hype killed its novelty. "Well, I'm not the type to lurk around the town. Usually watch'n over the antique store."

There wasn't much to watch, just a peaceful place to hide.
 

Although slightly disappointed, Elena only allowed a tiny smirk to show on her face as she watched Riley chuckle and turn back to the crumble. Of course, it wasn't like she'd let him have the last laugh though, the smirk on her face fell into a fond smile instead, and for a moment Elena herself wasn't sure just who, or what, the smile was for, tipping her head back just the slightest, the nagging curiosity, and the questioning echo at the back of her head, all washed away just like the wine that was washing down her throat. As the redhead finished draining the contents of the cup, an immediate difference was noted as she lowered her head straight once more. Blinking the slight dizziness away, she placed the empty glass down on the rails of the porch - where a number of glasses had already lined up - and fought just for a second to get her thoughts sorted out. Just when did she turn into such a lightweight? Oh she knew the answer, she could probably recite the entire story for the masses, but there was no way that she could, or would.

So why did she down that all by herself again? Couldn't she have just ... Right, Riley. His words echoed from moments before and she huffed, smirking halfheartedly, "I'll hold you up on that," she started, "it isn't fun when you're the only one getting sloshed," she gestured dramatically. A lightweight she may be, but she was far from going under the table. Buzzed perhaps, but Elena knew her limits well. That's not to say that she hadn't let herself go wild for a few nights in Cascade Falls, back in the beginning, when she learned that many words were forbidden, she sought instead, to recreate moments, however lonely it felt. After waking to the next day, she learned her lesson well, but still sought to recreate familiar moments, most of which usually required the need of some good drinks, and a lively party. As nice as Jean's party was, the party Elena yearned for was just slightly out of reach, missing the wrong people and drinks that weren't strong enough to send her to the happy place she needed.

Shaking away the thoughts that dangerously veered onto the long road of 'The Past', Elena looked into the bowl she had scooped up earlier and tore off a small piece of crumble, tossing the warm baked good into her mouth. At once, fruity flavors seemed to just melt on her tongue, and while a lot of other inappropriate thoughts also popped into mind, Elena let out a hum of approval as she thoroughly enjoyed the sweet taste. It was like Riley said, simply intoxicating. Jean had definitely put a lot of work into it, or at least had one hell of a secret ingredient that was added into the recipe. Just as Elena popped another piece into her mouth, her attention redirected over to Alison. Ah, of course she hadn't forgotten about her. A poor unfortunate target of her usual overwhelming affections - at social events usually, Elena was a little too shy to bother the other during her working [though this word was used lightly] hours.

Just as Elena were to answer, after swallowing the piece she popped in, Casey seemed to beat her to it. Not that she minded, the other girl was a bit of an oddball, and Elena had taken to always wondering what she'd be up to next. She simply had that effect on the crowd, she mused to herself a while back, turning her head towards the kitchen as the blonde gestured at it. Turning back to the small group though Elena smiled and mimed zipping her lips, "Now, that'd be telling," she teased, though she continued, "I don't know about Riley and the boss, but I believe they'll be making everything official tomorrow night? Spent most of the day preparing for tomorrow ... though I did get off a little early myself."

Popping one of the last few pieces of the crumble in her mouth, Elena chewed softly as she watched the two girls. Casey's words definitely sparked a little something in her head. The truth that the masses needed the drinks, not simply want, but truly needed. It was almost funny to think how her entire life ended up like this, craving for company, seeking comfort with drinks ... and best, or possible worst, of all, many others who were looking for the exact same thing. The parties and drinks weren't even luxuries, entertainment or even events anymore, it had turned into something that was a daily fix, or weekly ...

God, her mind was all over the place tonight, she really shouldn't have had that last glass.

Finishing off the crumble, Elena swallowed silently once more, thoroughly satisfied with the sweet that dampened the worries and warmth that filled her ever dropping stomach. "You both should come around tomorrow, it'll be a lot of fun for sure," she said, "and who knows, maybe Riley might put on a little something special for the crowd to hear," she teased, remembering how Vicky had pulled her from the back, the staff area, giggling loudly to hear and watch Riley perform.

 
“Understood,” Johnson replied to Howard, holstering the radio and turning to the rest of them. “We’re letting him in. Nomad!” he called to Sammy after addressing the others, gesturing for him to proceed toward him. “Hands behind your head until I say otherwise! Powerwalk!” Several soldiers kept their assault weapons pointed at him, trained to execute him if he made any suspicious movement. They knew Howard probably wouldn’t mind if they shot him dead if he didn’t obey the command to keep his hands up, but considering that Sammy accomplished what was meant to be impossible, they couldn’t help but be a little impressed. And curious. A gunshot erupted from a nearby tower where a sniper was stationed, taking down the mutts that followed the nomad. Another shot was heard momentarily. And another. The sniper was using a suppressed rifle, keeping the shots a secret from the town.

Somebody shouting “Woo!” could be heard closeby, though it was unclear who it was. Although their jobs were to shoot down approaching mutts, it was very rare to get this much action in one night. Most of them were dying to use their toys. The soldiers on Sammy pretended they didn’t hear it. “Stop right there,” Johnson said to Sammy as he proceeded to search him and confiscate every weapon he had on him. He raised a brow as he held the lacrosse-like stick, examining it. “Nifty,” he commented, throwing it casually toward another soldier to catch. After searching through his backpack he gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Alright nomad; at ease. Lets see if we can get you that bath,” he said, escorting him to the hospital. “How the hell did you do it?” he asked in a hushed tone.

Howard watched it all unfold from the camera feed with a scowl. Just a bunch of children with guns, he thought with contempt. They did their jobs and they did them well, but he also understood that the grim truth has made a lot of them somewhat childish in a desperate attempt to enjoy what little they had left. He motioned for Norma to follow as they quickly made their way to the hospital.

“Not even close?” Riley replied to Alison. “Don’t become too immune to the poison,” he cautioned, playfully wagging his finger. He reflexively laughed toward Elena’s misfortune of being the only one feeling hammered, but he very much knew what that was like first hand, as it was the only way he could fall asleep on most nights. He sighed sarcastically and poured himself another glass of wine. “There,” he began, with a grin. “You won’t be alone.”

His eyes darted from one person to the next as the ladies talked about the upcoming party at the bar as he drank his wine. Alison sounded like she really wanted to take her mind off things, so he genuinely hoped the party would lift up her spirits. He made a mental note to talk to her tomorrow if he could. But then again she might be too busy being hit on by a drunken Elena, he thought, amused. “Party all night, new beer is half-off for one night only, while supplies last. Don’t miss this once in a life time offer!” he responded to Casey’s inquiry, chuckling a little. “Or was it free? I don’t remember. Our boss is a crazy guy.”

He took another sip of his wine and noticeably swallowed hard when Elena suggested that he would be playing music. “H-hey, wait a minute. We already booked our live act and I wouldn’t want to make her feel unwanted, you know what I mean?” he had a hard time keeping a straight face. “I know I’m a rock star and all, but I can’t be going around and showing off all the time.”

“Evening, Sampson,” Howard said in a monotonous voice to mask his inner frustration. He pulled a chair beside Sammy’s hospital bed, noticing he had only been tended to to a minor degree. The nomad still reeked. Howard forced a pleasant smile and tried not to breath in too much oxygen at once. “It’s good to have you back. How long has it been? Something like five years? I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it back,” he said with a smile, unconsciously gritting his teeth.

He cleared his throat. “This was a truly noble mission to undertake and one that’s imperative for our survival in the harsh, new world you’ve experienced first-hand. I hope you remember that your findings cannot be talked about to anybody but me,” he paused. “I recall leaving you with a journal to record what you've experienced. I’d like to have a look at that.”
 

Lee tried to think of a single moment in the past nine years that could begin to rival this one. He tried - but really only for half-a-second, because he knew damn well there wasn't one. The only memories he had left to him were the fading memories of 'before Cascade Falls,' already dulling and folding at the corners like old photographs left in the sun. He'd held every one of his nieces and nephews on the day they were born, grinning like a fool when his sister pestered him about making one or two of his own some-damn-day. Lee remembered his little brother's high school graduation day, and his parents' thirtieth wedding day and the surprise family reunion all their kids managed to arrange at the Hilton. There'd been so many good days once, but no more. Now they were all dangerous memories.

This though? This one ethereal brush of his skin, just a whisper of a touch so light it might never have been - oh but it was, and nothing that could be taken away, ever again. Lee committed the look of the woman before him to memory right now, the softly perfect curve of her cheek, the brilliance of her night dark eyes even here, the sweet laughter playing on those perfectly painted lips that dare not show itself - but it was there too. Lee could see it there, and maybe tomorrow, he might finally hear it.

"Now you're talking. Do you think a blackberry pie might be a little trite? A little unworthy? Unimaginative?" Lee asked, lifting one brow playfully. "Yeah, yeah it is... I'll give it some thought tonight then, after me and the gauntlet head back home."

Lee's voice trailed off then, his hazel eyes falling to the bowl he still held in his hands. Nine years of deep-seated paranoia would not be shrugged in an instant, and he suddenly felt as if the all the eyes in Jean's house right now had fallen on them, human and otherwise. For this brief kaleidoscopic burst of happiness, and for the chance at just one more? Lee knew he could find that courage to do... Damn, to do damn near anything. The one thing he didn't want, was to see the source of that happiness in danger. He'd already shown his hand, far more than he'd ever dared before this night - and before the damned Sheriff at that. A cold worm of fear began to squirm in his gut, the hairs prickling along the back of his neck, and it was all he could do not to backpedal from Jean right now, the paranoia whispering vile fears into his thoughts.

"Tomorrow," he said quickly with a shake of his head as if clearing it. "Tomorrow it is, when you foolishly show me the secret of your amazingness, Jean. Say, about two in the afternoon? Casey's good - she won't mind, and not a problem for her to hold things down no problem for an hour or two." Lee seemed to search for words then, weighing them carefully, wanting to stay right where he was and wanting just as much to run far, far away from Jean, to keep her safe.

"I uh... I'd best go make sure it's all right with Casey though," he murmured, contradicting himself in the space of two sentences. Lee prayed she would see in his eyes how very little he truly wanted to go, but knowing very well that no matter how amazing the lady in front of him was, in so many ways, there wasn't a chance in hell she was a mind reader. But one hand lifted from his bowl, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, in Casey's direction with a single step back. "I can let you get to the rest of your guests, stop hogging you to myself."

Lee might have winced though that smile he gave Jean, trying to walk nonchalantly, and certainly not run.
 
[BCOLOR=transparent]
A smile remained on Sammy’s face even as he turned his back once more on the town, scanning the treeline for trouble while he listened intently to the sound of radio chatter. Years had made him wary, made his ears keen and attentive to the slightest twitch of leaf litter around him, and had long since trained him trust his ears as much as his eyes, and a faint flicker of distaste shown for a moment in his gaze as he heard just the slightest threat to his person, muttered through that little black box to the man beyond. A bullet to his head, huh? His smile didn’t falter, but if his teeth gleamed a bit more feral, his eyebrows dipping just a hair and his expression darkening for just a moment, no one would blame him. He’d come an awfully long way to be put down like some rabid dog, and maybe they weren’t sure, but [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]he[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] knew that those shamblers--those mutated monstrosities--didn’t spread their muck like some sort of damn disease. For the barest moment he felt murderous; thought that maybe he’d give them a [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]reason [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]to shoot, to lift the muzzles of their long-nosed guns in [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]defense[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]; he wouldn’t need more than a moment to leave a lasting impression, after all, the gutter always wanted a taste of something rich and red on its tong—Johnson interrupted his thoughts, the other’s comment to his crew cutting the idea of assault partially from the nomad’s head and Sammy turned, dipping his head in a curt nod.[/BCOLOR]


[BCOLOR=transparent] Despite his acquiescence, arms lifted slowly over his head as he strode inside, shoulders back and his stature purposely tall and intimidating, there was a shred of suspicion, of wariness in his stare as he sized up Johnson and his crew. A gauntlet of distrust had been thrown and he wielded it now, unabashedly showing his mild aversion to the group with his shoulders back and his head held high, his muscles loose in a way that indicated a readiness to move...if necessary. At the same time that lazy smile still played on his features, a cheerful contradiction to his ready-to-bolt stance, and he did his best to indicate himself as harmless when left unprovoked. This state didn’t so much as falter at the shot, not even a flinch in his shoulders or a twitch in a finger, but he actually turned his head to glare at the shooter’s celebratory holler, a frown sliding into place on his face. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Nose scrunched, the wrinkles it caused standing out against his scruffy features, the irritated expression was so out of his nature that it agitated the muck and mud that had made its home there and cracked the layers just enough to show a strip of clean-ish skin as he cleared his throat and barked up towards the happy sniper, “You’ll call a pack with a voice like that,” he cocked his head slightly, lacing his fingers behind his head in a relaxed position, but there was seriousness and threat laced into his tone, “Probably why you guys have so many circling around out here…be a bit quieter and you wouldn’t be bringing them in from fucking Nantucket.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] The guns weren’t the problem. Guns sounded like tree fall…like buildings collapsing beneath their own weight…like bridges snapping; they may draw in a few curious bellies, but [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]nothing[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] drew the bastards like a human’s crowing yells. [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Nothing[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent].[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] Displeasure aside, the nomad stopped where he was told, arms still in the air, and a smile returned to his face as he shifted into a more accessible stance, allowing the other man to reach the many buckles, straps and knots that kept his weapons on him. “Keep them in what they’re in, if you don’t mind.” He chirped at one point, watching a knife he had particular fondness for be taken, “Most of the holsters have some fungus growing inside—I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the only way to keep them from smelling the blood. Just can’t wash it off enough.” He rolled his shoulders in a ‘what can you do’ shrug, cracking the barest of grins, and was silent through the rest of it, amicably moving to help Johnson reach what he needed but otherwise staying still right up to the end. When the gutter was taken, it's hooked blade glinting nastily, Sammy’s jaw tightened slightly, his muscles tensing in a way that indicated he wanted to lunge for it, but had restrained himself. It was the only blade that had the slick of a slime mold evident on the actual metal, the tiny pits and flaws in the metal keeping the eager fungus clinging to it with remarkable tenacity. Habit nagged at him to take it from them and clean it at the very least, meticulously run it under the cleanest water he can find until nothing but the light fuzz of the fungus poking from underneath the leather wrap would show, but even more just seeing it taken out of his reach made him nervous. He didn’t want to count the times it had saved his life.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] The glaive caused a similar reaction as it was taken, and he visibly bit the inside of his cheek when Johnson put hands on it, his eyes narrowing incrementally as he grit his teeth. “Yeah, I got damn lucky to put Slim together.” He admitted, eyes locked on the metal with a single-minded persistence, “...kept me out of harm’s reach more than once.” Unsaid was the booming ‘Respect it!!’ that screamed from his eyes, from the quirk of his jaw as he forcibly relaxed himself, taking a deep breath that rattled in his nose somewhere between an inwards sigh and a growl. He understood why his defenses were taken, even had expected it when he approached, but the sheer amount of panic and fear that rushed up into his gut, stilling his heart and stuttering his lungs, was an uncomfortable and unanticipated side-effect. The ‘at-ease’ almost didn’t reach him in his distraught state, but somewhere in the back of his mind it grabbed him and he snapped out of it with a wide-eyed blink, nodding slightly as he lowered his hands slowly, easing his shoulders out of the position he’d held for a surprisingly long time.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] It rarely occurred to him how long it took to disarm.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] It wasn’t something he engaged in very often.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] His right shoulder creaked noisily as he rolled it slightly, urging an old injury to relax its grip, and he held his hands slightly up, keeping his gaze locked on Johnson as he rolled his wrists over and something metal glinted there. “Gonna unbuckle these, ok? They’re wrapped up so they’re safe.” He nodded, as assuring as he could be while nerves made his fingers twitchy, and tilted his chin down in a mimic of submission as he carefully undid the makeshift guards on his wrists. Underneath the leather, tucked away where he could easily twist them up and into his fingers, were a strange pair of roughly made metal hooks with a bar between them. They were attached to his wristguards, making it impossible to separate the two without some attention to detail, and probably the most harmless thing he owned--be rather stupid to try and smack a shambler with it and get [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]attached[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] to it. “For trees.” Was his only explanation as he carefully offered them to the group, having not thought they’d notice them anyways. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] They weren’t purposely [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]hidden[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] persay, but he kept them tight to the arm where they wouldn’t get in the way, using them primarily at night when he wanted a safer place to sleep and needed to scale a pine tree. He didn’t mention the similar tools on his boots, small bits of metal that poked up from the balls of his shoes, but they wouldn’t be considered a weapon anyways--far too tiny to do more than surface damage even if he delivered as powerful a kick as he could. He supposed he could sit there and scratch someone to death if he really wanted to, but it would take hours of bleeding out and to be frank, if he wanted someone dead [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]that[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] badly he’d probably just break some bones. Or hell, slam their face into a wall a few dozen times. Besides, he had a feeling that his boots were going to be taken along with everything else, so he’d like to at least get to the hospital with some shoes on rather than tromp barefoot and expose everyone around him to how badly feet started to smell when you wore the same shoes (minus socks; he’d run [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]those[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] out of commission a year ago) for over 1,460 days.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] “Man, you have [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]no idea[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] how amazing that sounds.” He chirped at the idea of a bath, actually biting his lip as he rolled into a long stretch and sighed happily, “I mean, technically I’ve had some baths but like, [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]soap[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent].” he waggled his fingers, miming grasping at some imaginary bar excitedly, “I have missed soap so much--I can’t wait to actually smell like a human again.” A bright laughed resounded from the young man as he folded his arms behind his head--conveniently forgetting that he hadn’t had access for [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]deodorant[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] for just as long--and he grinned brilliantly as he trailed behind Johnson, for all the world completely at ease now that they were heading along. He wasn’t, and out of the corner of his eye he noted his weapons and how they were being stored, his mind already going over how he could weasel out where they were going to be taken without sounding like he might want to cause trouble with them.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] Dark eyes flicked to the other at the question of ‘how?’ and Sammy gave him a strange look, tilting his head as his smile slowed to a neutral expression and he stared, unable to answer and barely able to breath for what felt like minutes, but only a few seconds passed before he turned his eyes aside and took in a long breath, letting it loose in an extended sigh as he stared at the skyline. He himself barely knew how he’d done it, how he’d scraped by time and time and time again with nothing but nightmarish memories of violence and the howling screams of creatures so far from human and so desperate for the taste of one; the burning, ripping sensation of the skin and muscles of his body carved and torn by some monstrosity’s gnarled hand; of running until his lungs were empty and his breaths were stuttering gasps that each sounded like his last, his last his last, and he swallowed, nostrils flaring as he opened his eyes, not even aware he’d squeezed them shut. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] ...[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] ...[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] ...he could hear their breathing.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] ...[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] “Luck.” He finally answered, jaw quirked in a way that said it all and a ferocity in his eyes that told of hardships and near-misses he wasn’t quite prepared to say aloud. In a way, he almost felt that if he spoke them...let the years, the horrors, slide past his lips...they would become set in a reality he wasn’t ready to accept just yet, so instead he cracked a smile, that didn’t reflect against the death--the death he’d [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]brought[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]--in his eyes, and hid it all in a laugh, shaking his head with a hum. “Lots and lots of luck. I wouldn’t suggest it.” [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] He was quiet for the rest of the walk, casually answering anything that was directed at him but while his tone was cheerful and his body language seemed relaxed, there was a distinct tensity to him now, a buzzing beneath his skin that he couldn’t quite keep from broadcasting. By the time he was settled in the hospital and Howard arrived, however, he had it back under control and he was lazily reclined on the bed, counting dots on the ceiling with his arms behind his head and one leg crossed over the other, bouncing slightly with his urge to get up and do something--laying around wasn’t as comfortable as he’d remembered. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] He turned his head as Howard arrived, cracking his lips in a toothy grin that showed one canine a bit too prominently, and rolled into a sitting position, politely facing the other head one, “Doctor, doctor.” he chirped pleasantly, and for a moment a small smile reflected in his eyes before it was gone, replaced with a bittersweet tolerance that told of just how his opinion of the good doctor (accepting; honest; friendly) had changed (distrust; warning; alert).[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] A wane smile, thin and bitter, slid onto his expression at the mis-number and he shook his head, turning it into a light hum as he reached up and scratched the back of his neck almost sheepishly, “Four, actually,” he offered, tilting his head slightly as he glanced up, meeting the other’s gaze in a way that was borderline challenging, a blank yet intense stare...like a dog deciding whether he was going to submit...or bite. “Made an attempt to get back in six months,” he added, eyes dropping as he chose to accept submission for now, “...was too far though. Decided to keep going instead.” He shrugged, as though the decision hadn’t been a tossing and turning fight with himself that kept him locked in place for a good month, “Took me a lot longer to make it back after that...hard not to get holed up with those things around.” [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] Acid dripped from his tone on the word ‘things’, and he lifted his eyes to meet the man’s once more, a fiery hatred flickering there as he stared. A thousand curses echoed in his throat, the yells and threats and hatred having been screamed to the sky years ago when he’d been nearly dead a dozen times over and “why didn’t you [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]warn me?![/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]” danced on his tongue along with them; “your fault your fault your fault [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]your fault your fault [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]your fault[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]” repeated like a glaring mantra in his mind, but he left them unsaid as he visibly quirked his jaw and changed the direction of his hatred, nostrils flaring as he sneered out, “Shamblers followed me everywhere...took me years to figure out how to shake them, and by then I was halfway across the country.” Well...more than halfway, but he was going to keep [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]that[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] mostly to himself...as to himself as the firm weight of smooth metal at his collarbone, held there by a thin chain whose slight grate he could feel at his neck...grounding him.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] He allowed the subject to change easily as he nodded along with the other’s spiel, eyes drifting at the clearly copy-paste speech of nobility and honor and what’s right yada yada, and he turned slightly away, not needing to hear it again when it had been whispered under his breath for the first year...when things got really bad. It wasn’t the only thing he’d muttered to keep his legs moving, to keep his eyes open, to keep his heart beating when he was sure more blood was on the ground than in him, but those were for him to remember and instead of comment he scratched idly at a tattoo on his forearm, leaving trails of clean-[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]er[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] over the inked skin. Only once the journal was mentioned did he tune back in, giving the other a slight side-eye. Honestly, he was surprised that the man thought he still had it...it wasn’t exactly one of the things most people would consider the [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]most[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] important part to staying alive when things got nasty. For a moment he considered telling him it had gotten lost, been dropped in a river or torn by a mutt, but grudgingly he shrugged and reached beneath the bed, tugging his backpack up from the broken strap. He shuffled through it for a moment, digging around kindling and charcoal, around broken bits and bobs and something that looked suspiciously like a nokia phone, beneath bundled wads that could be considered clothing and a metal box that rattled like paper and knick knacks, but eventually he retrieved it, pulling up the battered book with considerable care. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] The poor thing was in absolutely pitiful shape, broken and bent, stained and beaten in a way that looked as though it had been snatched up from all sorts of places, soaked to its spine (it [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]had[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] actually been in a river...fun days those..), and had in the line of fire of something that splattered like blood and was just as brown as it. He had clearly done his best to keep it and keep it functioning, however, the binding patchworked to the best of his ability and wrapped with leather to keep the pages in, and there was [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]new[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] “paper” in there as well, matted pieces of bark and animal skin and whatever else the man could use as a drawing surface all stuffed inside. Four years of his life, and dug his fingers in like he didn’t want to hand it over, eyes flicking up to the other, “I want to keep it.” He said, hesitantly, quietly but filled with resolution, “I’ll keep it hidden...I won’t let anyone see it and I’d tell you if anyone did,” He went on, eyes firm and the slightest bit desperate, “I just...” He dug his fingers in more, glancing down at it, “I’ll redraw the entire thing for you--put it on neat paper with clean ink; I’ll even write footnotes. You won’t have to touch it like this, and believe me, you don’t want to...at least half of the pages are in deer blood or charcoal--I ran out of pencils and ink pretty quickly.” [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] Sammy looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes, and swallowed thickly. If the man said no he wasn’t sure what he’d do, but he’d get it back. There were drawings there, buried in the corners beneath charcoal rubs and bloody ink sketches done with feathers, under the gnarled teeth and anatomical doodles...drawings he [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]needed[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]. And somewhere, tucked between pages that were stuck together with tree sap and smeared to look like they wouldn’t part, there was a small, worn piece of paper that he would [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]never[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] let go. He dug his fingers further in, nails going white at the force and for a moment, just a moment, the metal at his neck felt too heavy.[/BCOLOR]
 
All of the small parties, baked goods and white picket fences cast an air of happiness over Cascade Falls that never failed to linger for too long. Although Eric knew otherwise, he often felt like he had been transported back to nineteen-fifty, a time when things had been simpler, life was a little easier. Just because he had a nice enough life now didn't mean that he didn't miss his old one. Laura's comment questioned enough without meaning to, as if crumble was some kind of cruel joke and not a way to escape for a while. Eric laughed, the sound lacking the humor that it should have been dripping in. “You know how it is,” he said and allowed the siblings to pass him on their way to the deck. He closed the sliding glass door behind them and stepped back out into the cool night.

When it came to people that he had gotten close to in town, the Barden's hardly fit that bill. It was no fault of their own, in his mind and Eric was sure that they were fine people, but their antique shop often brought him within inches of breaking the rules that he had been commissioned to enforce. The shop always felt like a trap, stocked with items from childhood or beyond, showing off items that could trigger any kind of memory from a life before. It was torture, which was why Eric always kept his eyes straight ahead whenever he had to walk past the neatly displayed window.

Who?” Eric asked, pulled from his thoughts by James' question. He looked in the direction that the other man had gestured, eyes landing on a small cluster of people with a certain listed someone at the center. “Oh—that's Casey,” he said, although he hardly thought of her as new anymore. “Don't you ever go by the coffee house? She works there.” It was a standard meeting place for most people, but maybe James just didn't like coffee, or maybe he didn't want to be too friendly with anyone in town; it made sense in a sad sort of way.

In the back of his mind, Eric couldn't blame James and Laura for not stepping outside of their comfort zone. In a town where everyone was spied on and nothing was sacred, sticking to family was the safest bet—if only the rest of them had been so lucky. “You should go introduce yourself,” he suggested after Laura's reemergence with two glasses of wine. He was thinking about another glass for himself, but he wouldn't have minded something harder to get him through the rest of the night without any worries.

How's your shop anyway?” he asked, looking to Laura and noticed Josh from the corner of his eye. He waved the other man over, hoping to draw him out of his shell a bit. It may have been hypocritical, but Eric needed the distraction of conversation that night. There was just too much on his mind, too many worries and anxieties.

There were very few things to look forward to in Cascade Falls, but for the first time since her arrival in this strange town, Casey was excited about something. She wanted to hang out at the bar and party, have a few too many and pass out after without a care in the world. The way Riley and Elena were talking made her think of old times, all of the parties she'd crashed with her friends, the times she'd gotten to drink for free, the pills she was offered that made the night a little better but less memorable. She knew that this party wasn't going to be anything like that, of course, but Casey could dream and she wanted to be there until the doors closed.

Are you going to sing?” Casey asked, her smile bright as she looked over at Riley. It seemed strange that the town allowed for such things, a creative element that could actually entertain others and not just depress them. She hadn't even known that Riley was capable of such things, and he didn't look the type but now, Casey was even more excited for the party. With any luck, Lee would even let her leave the cafe early tomorrow night.

After swapping her crumble for the wine glass she'd set down, Casey felt back in her element. She wasn't a lightweight by any means, but after so many months removed from wild parties and late nights, she was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol in her glass. Her cheeks were a bit rosy, she felt warmer, but there was still a pleasant look to her as she remained determined to get lost in conversation and not turn back around to look at Lee with Jean.

It didn't matter what they did together, or how they looked at each other. They were all trapped and miserable anyway—if their happiness was one another—good for them.

Laughing softly at Riley's discomfort, Casey shook her head and had another sip from her glass. “Come on,” she urged with a nudge, “you can't be the warm up act or something?” From the corner of her eye, she saw someone gesture toward her and caught the eyes of the sheriff for a moment. A cold chill ran up her spine, unsure of why Eric and that other man were looking at her, but she hoped that nothing bad would come from it. Her slip up was still fresh in her mind, but she offered the pair a polite smile anyway before turning back to the others. “Elena could be your hype man,” she suggested after a beat.

To Howard's best recollection, Sampson had been annoying from day one and all of that time wandering around in the new world had done nothing to make him any less difficult. The only secrets that Cascade Falls could afford were his own, the bits and pieces that he intentionally left out in order to make the town safer for everyone inside of it. Allowing Sampson to keep the journal that had been given to him simply wasn't going to do. He was a forgetful man, careless with his things and if any regular person stumbled across whatever was written or drawn in that book, the consequences could be dire and making an entire group forget was too tall a challenge, even for him.

At the same time, unfortunately, Howard knew that he needed to keep Sampson's trust. “I'll make you a deal,” he said, the same placating smile parting his lips, “you leave your journal with Norma and come back to the hospital every day to redraw it,” where someone could keep watch, “and when you're done, you can have your copy back.” Howard was a man of broken promises, and currently, he had no intention of ever letting Sampson have either copy. If all went according to plan, the man would be back in his place before winter fell over the valley.

Now,” he said, still wearing the same smile as he stood and beckoned Norma back into the room. “How about a bath and some real food?”
 
More guests were arriving, it seemed, some of them persons he didn't acutely recognize. If he'd seen them around before, then perhaps it was a passing face or a delivery made...something he didn't particularly bother to commit to memory. Even so, Cascade Falls was a small town, a small community; he'd cross paths with everyone sooner or later. Better it was sooner. The entire scene was deceptive, the smell of baked goods lingering in the air, a temporary comfort to the minds of those present. Still, he wasn't the type to wander over and say hello to every unfamiliar countenance, and so he kept his distance for the moment, finding that somewhere in the bustle he'd strayed some ways from Eric, who - as Sheriff - obviously had more credit among the people.

Conversation - even idle conversation - could lead to so many things. An unconscious slip of the tongue would no doubt catch the attention of whoever monitored them through the slew of mechanical eyes. Mechanical eyes which watched - blatantly so - every minute of this gathering. His throat suddenly felt impossibly parched, and he swallowed stiffly as he sought himself a glass of water. As appealing as the food smelled, he'd had only a little, his stomach feeling a tad more uncomfortable than usual. As others conversed, he remained where he was, eyes finding every new face and evaluating them for trustworthiness. Of course, it was hard to read a person's intentions from countenances alone, but he could try. Cynicism, in his opinion, was not too terrible a thing - particularly so in a place where every move, every breath was scrutinized. How many in this town were truly like him? Trapped, condemned to a life of false luxury. Or were there perhaps people loosed into the crowd, people who worked for the power running this charade?

You sound like a lunatic, his mind whispered. But didn't he have every right to think like one? It was never a good day when the paranoia worsened. It would flit in and out of his system, its touch soft as a butterfly on the shoulder. Nagging thoughts, little suggestions that forced his mind to think a certain way. And yet, through it all, he found that Eric was the man he questioned least. It was almost amusing, considering what the man's job entailed; but the sheriff had never given Josh reason to doubt. At times, he could forget the fact that he was stuck here and genuinely enjoy a good barbecue or a game of horseshoes. Little pinpricks of brightness through a heavy, bleak curtain. It was laughable now, after ten long years, that he'd once thought of this as a way to start over.

But Eric must have noticed him lingering, lost in the labyrinth of his head, for he was summarily waved over to partake in the discussion. Ordinarily he'd have preferred to stay silent, but Eric had always encouraged him otherwise. Small talk had never been his forte, despite his passion for writing. It was different, writing and speaking. With words on paper, one could take his time mulling over the perfect phrase, the perfect description. With speaking, it took an average of four or so seconds of silence for things to get awkward, and for the conversation to get stilted. Alcohol was the social lubricant, of course, but he had no time to grab himself some wine before sauntering over. His reluctance to do so did not show in the casualness of his gait.

"Josh Duke." He introduced himself with a friendly nod to those with Eric. "I deliver your milk. Hope you don't mind me getting in on the conversation." If residual discomfort remained, he did his best to conceal it. Anxiety was not a friend, and he'd rather he be rid of it as soon as possible. Even if it was just for the moment.
 

“Oh, pie is never trite.” Jean said softly to Lee, the words wending their way to him over the joyful din of a house of people a million miles away. They came on a warm breath that combined solemnity and mirth with just a hint of the strain that anything that occurred in Cascade Falls bore. It was true, pie was never trite, not really. Unassuming perhaps, a balance of tender crust to sweet fruit with bunch of alchemy tossed in to turn common ingredients into something that was greater than the sum of its parts. Pie was rife with emergent properties and should never be dismissed. Especially not Lee’s.

“Two it is.” She agreed, her own elevated mood surrounded her like an aura laced with the scent of sugar and spice until it seemed to collide with that of Lee’s which smelled of coffee, warmth and the rising bitter scent of paranoia. Then her mood seemed to catch at the sharp barbs of his concern and her smile grew a little fragile. “I’ll meet you then.”

She stood for a moment, watching him wend his way through the small crowd towards Casey with her bright head and bright smile where she stood talking with Riley. She pulled her gaze away with a shake of her head, resetting her focus ignoring the disquiet she felt at his destination. She was the hostess, she had duties to perform. Jean quickly scanned the crowd making certain that everyone had a bowl or a glass of something. She paused when she saw the siblings chatting with Eric.

When had...?

Then it clicked. When she’d been so intently talking to Lee, talking and not talking and saying a good deal more than anything with words there had been a knock at the door. She felt a moment of panic that she’d not answered the door. How long had they been waiting there? Who had let them in…? The guilt was intense as she turned to the dish of crumble and scooped up two bowlfuls with hands that shook. She blinked fast, her eyes overly bright as she grabbed two spoons before hurrying towards where the Barden’s stood with Eric.

She didn’t see them often, they didn’t seem to socialize much, but she’d been in their shop often in the beginning as she’d furnished her house and found all the little treasures that helped her to make it feel like a home. Only the home had been filled and there had been no reason to keep stopping in and she’d never been one for retail therapy. She was too practical for that and had shifted her attentions to other projects, the yard, knitting… But that still didn’t absolve her from being a negligent hostess.

Her heart beat fast, the spell of joy cast over her so briefly in that short conversation with Lee and all its spoken and unspoken words crumbled away. She hadn’t answered the door. She’d invited people over, then not let them in. What would they think of her? Would they feel unwelcome? Someone had let them in, maybe it had been Eric. The thought served as a small balm, soothing some of her rising panic. Like when Lee had rifled through her drawers looking for what he needed, Eric feeling comfortable enough in her home to answer the door pleased her. But it wasn’t enough to absolve her of responsibility.

Her thoughts and panic looped over and over until she stood beside the group which now included Josh. She was armed with crumble, a bright smile, happy eyes and her poise firmly in place. Standing straight she lifted her chin. She had fumbled but she would rise up with grace and see to her self-appointed duty. She handed the Barden’s each a bowl of crumble without blocking or interrupting Josh.

“I’m so glad you both came.” She murmured to the two and then flashed Eric a grateful smile, broadcasting her gratitude for his help in the matter.
 
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