cubefall - young rae

[sunbaked_baker]

A rather downcast and troubled little girl comes into the bar today, closing the door quietly behind her. She hadn't been looking for Milliways - she had been entering her bedroom with the intent of flopping down on her bed and resolutely not crying for a while.

She recognizes the changes to the bar room which signals the advent of Cubefall, and the knowledge lifts her spirits somewhat, but she doesn't know if she is up to enjoy whatever potential changes offered to her.

The vid-screen that pops up when she scoots up onto a bar stool offers an array of choices: a pretty little mermaid who might explore the depths of the lake without worry, a boy her own age, an almost graceful-looking robotic antelope-type creature, and a small bird the color of the early dawn sky. They're all tempting - all a way to push everything away for a while and not worry, not be scared. But she doesn't know if she could enjoy a Cubefall change just yet, with the day's happenings still fresh in her mind. She carries with her the sounds of kids crying, the image of her teachers' strained faces as they tried to be strong for their students, to offer strength and guidance to children navigating the treacherous sea of fear and grief for the sudden loss of a classmate, not allowed to react for themselves where their students could see.

When she had tried to tell her mother why she was so upset on the way home from school, her mother's reassurance that they were safe did not help. That wasn't the point. Not really. Her mother did not understand.

"Thank you, Bar. I'll... choose in a little while. Not... not now, I think," she murmurs, folding her arms on the counter top and resting her head on them. She'll choose sometime when she feels like she could actually enjoy the temporary change.

Comments

[irish_vagabond]

Cassidy comes downstairs, and is immediately gobsmacked by the changes. Seriously, he hasn't even been here that long and already the bar is foisting its weirdness upon him. Jaysis.

Kicking aside bits of toys that people could trip over or step on (and Legos are no fun to step on) he clears a path to the Bar. He's greeted by a video screen with some malarkey about reconfiguring into a robot or an animal or somesuch, and he's just like pfff no.

But before he can order his daily whiskey, he spots a rather despondent redheaded girl. (The second redhead he's come across here.)

Huh. Looks like a job for Cassidy!

"Hey there, little darlin'," he says in a thick Irish brougue roughened by decades of hard partying. He climbs up onto a stool next to her and mimics her posture, crossing his tattooed arms on the counter top. "S'matter wi' you, then, eh? Hard day at school?"

[sunbaked_baker]

The ten-year-old rubs the heels of her palms across her eyes as she straightens up, sniffing the sniff of someone who totally hasn't been trying to stave off tears. Her red-rimmed eyes probably give the pretense away, however.

Rae doesn't recognize the person who has taken a seat next to her, but he doesn't seem unfriendly (nor suspiciously friendly). She nods, a little shakily. Her voice is quiet, made rough by the lump in her throat. "Yeah. Hard day."

[irish_vagabond]

Despite often being written off as a weirdo, Cassidy is harmless. Mostly. Usually.

"Mmhm," he hums with a sympathetic nod. "Talk to your folks about it?"

[sunbaked_baker]

The unhappy girl gives the eloquent shrug-and-slight-eyeroll combo that is the universal indicator of the opinion that parents do not understand and never will.

The eloquence of the movement will surely be fine-tuned by frequent use over the next decade of pre-teen and teenager-hood. She is only ten, at the moment, but she has a handle on the idea pretty well already.

"I talked to Mom on the way home. She didn't understand. Charlie might, but he's not home until late, after the coffeehouse closes."

[irish_vagabond]

"That so? Wonder why. Mums're usually on top of this whole understandin' thing, I reckon, but maybe she's just seein' something you don't. Or you're seein' something she doesn't. Maybe you should talk to 'er again later, eh? When Charlie's around. Second opinion an' all."

[sunbaked_baker]

"Most moms, maybe. Mine isn't great on understanding," she remarks, wiping at her eyes again. "She wouldn't want me staying up so late to see Charlie when he gets home. It's a school night."

Even in her midst of grief, life goes on as normal. Isn't that what her mother wants? For nothing to disturb their family's normalcy?

"She thinks... I think that she thinks I'm just worried about us, about our family's safety. I know she worries about Kenny, and worries that Charlie works so long after sunset. But know we've got the best wards we can afford, and I know Charlie's careful. And at least one SOF is usually around near closing in case of... of trouble. But none of that makes..." Her throat tries to close on the words, and she has to swallow hard. "None of that helps when it's someone else."

"The teachers say they can't tell us what they don't know for sure, but the... the rumor around the school is that Jenny Miller and her family had their house wards broken and they were killed last weekend. We'd thought she was just out sick, because she wasn't in class for a few days, but somebody heard her parents weren't showing up at work either..." The words cut off, the girl's throat tight with the effort of resisting tears.

[irish_vagabond]

"Jaysis. Sorry to hear that. That's rough, darlin', that's really rough."

He has no idea what some of those things mean--wards? SOF?--but apparently a girl and her family's been killed. And he's not going to pester her for details when she's feeling like this.

"Of course you're upset, what's not to understand about that? You've every right to be. You can't just go on pretendin' it didn't happen, y'know?"

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae nods.

"I wasn't even... I mean, I knew her, but we weren't close." She had expected that to matter. That not being close to someone could somehow shield a person from being upset at their loss. Her mother certainly had expected it to matter, and didn't understand when Rae had tried to explain why it didn't make it hurt any less. "But... still. It was bad, today, at school."

"Nobody could focus on lessons, not even the teachers, and they were..." she grimaces slightly. "The kids were upset and scared. But the teachers... they... Jenny was one of their kids, too, you know? But they had to try and be strong for the students, so the kids wouldn't be more scared."

But Rae, familiar as she is with how her mother's fears are made manifest in her behavior, could tell the steadfast support and understanding of her teachers - while true and heartfelt - was masking their own grief.

[irish_vagabond]

"Really? They went on with your lessons?"

That's pretty shite.

"They probably had no choice, though. They still had to take care of you all, an' that's a lot of pressure right there. They were feelin' it as bad as you, I'm sure."

[is_the_motion]

"Need any help honey?" Bonnie asks gently, coming to sit next to her.

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae doesn't answer right away - she doesn't know what help to ask for, doesn't know what could help. She may instinctively lean against Bonnie and give her a hug in hopes of one in return, however. Her eyes are red-rimmed but dry, her face drawn down and unhappy.

[is_the_motion]

Bonnie wraps her arms around the girl and gives her the biggest hug and just holds her as long as she needs.

[sunbaked_baker]

It's a good hug. Bonnie gives good hugs. They're enveloping and warm and stabilizing. But they have the effect of weakening the resolve that has kept Rae from crying.

Sunshine hugs Bonnie tight, burying her face in Bonnie's shoulder. Her breathing soon becomes uneven with poorly-suppressed weeping. It is the kind of weeping that has been pushed away for hours while more important things needed doing, but in the quiet has gained momentum for its return, and there is very little one can do to stop the flood once it starts. Rae cries quietly, unable to stem the tide until it begins to ebb on its own, leaving her feeling worn out.

She doesn't want to pull away, but does eventually, just letting go enough to be able to wipe at her wet eyes, sniffling and hiccuping intermittently.

[is_the_motion]

"Yer gonna start me off in a minute." Bonnie says softly, gently rubbing her back and finding her a tissue.

"Do you need to come talk somewhere quiet?"

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae gratefully accepts the tissue, wiping her eyes as the tears slow. She hesitates, then nods slightly in response to the question. She doesn't know what she'll say - the day was a mess of awful news and speculation, upsetting emotions and people trying not to show their suffering - but being away from people would be good.

[is_the_motion]

"Scout hut?" Bonnie suggests. "Or we could use the infirmary day room."

[sunbaked_baker]

"...Outside?" She has been indoors all day today, and it'd be good to see the sun.

[onceholyknight]

Michael is... not unfamiliar with troubled little girls.

(He's lost count of the nights he sat up with Maggie, sometimes with Charity there too, sometimes letting her sleep.)

He makes his way over, cane clicking lightly on the floor, and settles on the next stool.

[sunbaked_baker]

The girl is sniffling slightly, her breathing uneven as she tries to keep from crying. She's found a quiet moment after all the tumult, and everything she's been holding in is trying to come back with a vengeance. She glances uncertainly at the person who sits next to her, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

[onceholyknight]

There's a kindness in his eyes that can't be faked, and he nods to her gently with a hint of a friendly smile.

"Evening."

[sunbaked_baker]

She offers a faint and very brief shadow of a smile, the kind of smile that is the learned response to being smiled at rather than a true smile. "Hi," she replies, quiet and subdued.

[onceholyknight]

He hadn't expected a true smile, not when he can see and hear the tears trying to break through.

"I'm Michael."

[sunbaked_baker]

"Nice to meet you, Michael," she says, because she was raised to be polite and the required behavior comes through even in times of grief. "I'm Rae."

[onceholyknight]

"Glad to meet you too, Rae." It's completely sincere, beyond politeness. "And how are you today?"

That's light, but it's also an invitation.

[sunbaked_baker]

The girl sniffles and wipes at her eyes in the way of one trying to deny that they are already weeping.

The true answer is too complicated and messy and terrible. She says aloud, voice tight and rough from the lump in her throat. "Not good."