Scratch Your Name: Epilogue
Jun. 18th, 2009 12:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
harborshoreMaster Post | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue
--
It's been two weeks and four days; they settled on their new headquarters after spending those two weeks switching hideouts faster than was good for any of the injured people. Though the third one was fun: meeting Mikey and Gerard's parents had been both amazing and informative, especially in how much it explained about the Way brothers. And Lindsey will always respect a woman who can rock that kind of bleach.
But having their place is good for everyone. Bob's infection has finally gone down and he's walking better (and Brian is less of a fucking nuisance as a result). Alicia is moving a lot faster, Frank hobbles around with a hilarious boot he made mostly by himself (Ray helped), and the others are maybe starting to look like they might get there eventually. Gerard's fingers aren't functional at all yet, but that isn't getting in the way of him arguing with Lindsey about the mural they're working on.
“I think it needs more blood and guts,” he says decisively, pointing at the scene where she's sketching dancing skeletons.
She raises an eyebrow at him. “You know, there's a point when it just goes beyond thematic.”
“What's your point?” he asks, and she's pretty sure he actually means that.
Sighing a little, she points at the far corner, where she'd started this morning. “We have people eating their own flesh over there,” she says, and then points further up, where she'd balanced on a chair to sketch before. “And there, there are your two bleeding lovers. Also, battle scene. Don't you think we could leave the poor skeletons alone? I'm sure that's why they became skeletons, so they wouldn't have to deal with all those guts and blood anymore. I mean, fuck, there's such a thing as too much, right?”
He smiles. “I like too much.” She rolls her eyes, because of course he does.
Amanda's laughing at them, further down the wall, drawing a set of stars with a marker, half on the wall, half across Dusty's cheeks.
Amanda still walks with a cane, though she's becoming steadier day by day. Dusty is acting as conversation partner and I-will-get-you-the-damn-chair-when-you-need-it partner right now. Their third, Katie Kay, is off with Alicia, trying to figure out the last of the relocations of funds from Chantal’s clothing companies--the money’s coming in now, from the complicated series of transactions that Kitty did at the last minute. This hid the money they need access to now. The problem with a secret hideout is the same as its primary virtue: it's secret, and so you don’t want to be too open about buying large quantities of anything. Thankfully, now that the money has finally gotten through, Katie Kay and Alicia can set up the last needed supply chains so they can keep the operation hidden. Chantal sent them off with excruciatingly clear instructions. It's a good thing they did manage to get Jimmy back for her, or the fact that she's still so limited in what she can do (the tendons in her arm aren't healing quite right) would drive her and everyone else up the wall.
“I agree with the needs more gore,” says Frank from right behind Lindsey, and she jumps, her pencil skidding on the wall.
“Warn a girl,” she says, mock-glaring at him. “And of course you agree. Guys, you know it's not that I give a fuck about the blood, it's that I want some more understated creepy.”
Gerard looks interested. “Like what?”
“Like, okay, what if we sketch the city skyline in the background over here? Only, they're not just houses, you can see their shadows behind them, much bigger, and like they're alive? That's not--that's not exactly subtle, but I remember thinking the city had changed back when it all started. I was never scared of the dark at night before I was ten.”
“You're not scared of the dark now,” Frank objects. Gerard has a faraway look in his eyes, hands moving in little twitches across the portion of wall she'd been gesturing at.
Lindsey shakes her head, swallowing. “My sister gave me my first knife when I was eleven, when she couldn't always walk me home from school anymore. And then she and Steve taught me to use it. That shit helps.”
Frank nods, looking much more serious than he usually does.
Gerard turns around from the wall. “I like it,” he says. “Especially if you can mix it with some of your stuff from before. They should be up here, too.”
She nods, already seeing it. Nighttime and skyline shadows; Steve, Greta, Pete and Cassadee. She wants to see if she can make the music appear up here too, if she can remember the way they smiled and shone on stage. But she thinks she might change the lights some. There’s more than red in her mind now.
“Put yourself in, too,” Mikey says, spinning around on his chair from where he and Kitty are setting up the computers. Vienna still can't use the arm she broke in the fight she got in while leaving the city, or she'd be helping too: her elbow is shattered and it's going to take a fuckload of time to heal. She directs, though, especially when it comes to the equipment they managed to salvage for her.
Lindsey grins back at him, because yeah, that sounds about right. Herself, and “You too, Mikeyway, I want all of you in here.” Change is a tricksy bitch, but damn if there isn't something about all this that just works.
Lindsey hums under her breath, sketching out her new universe across the wall, and listens as Gerard hums along. Amanda starts up, clear and strong in the corner, and Vienna joins in, voice rising the way only hers can. There's a symmetry to singing as you work, singing as you draw, and Lindsey wants the music in every line if she can get it there. She can draw all night if she has to, but she wants to start painting in the morning. They can always repaint it if they start hating something, but only if they want to, not because someone paints over it or washes the walls clean at night.
It's strange to feel freer than ever in a building where your freedom is contingent on you being really fucking careful about when to go outside, but free is the way everyone in here is smiling, even Mikey. Free is the way Bert and Quinn keep climbing up to the roof. Free might be lying to yourself, but there's something, something, and she can't touch it or say it or figure it out, but she thinks she can draw it.
--
Master Post | Part 3 |
--
It's been two weeks and four days; they settled on their new headquarters after spending those two weeks switching hideouts faster than was good for any of the injured people. Though the third one was fun: meeting Mikey and Gerard's parents had been both amazing and informative, especially in how much it explained about the Way brothers. And Lindsey will always respect a woman who can rock that kind of bleach.
But having their place is good for everyone. Bob's infection has finally gone down and he's walking better (and Brian is less of a fucking nuisance as a result). Alicia is moving a lot faster, Frank hobbles around with a hilarious boot he made mostly by himself (Ray helped), and the others are maybe starting to look like they might get there eventually. Gerard's fingers aren't functional at all yet, but that isn't getting in the way of him arguing with Lindsey about the mural they're working on.
“I think it needs more blood and guts,” he says decisively, pointing at the scene where she's sketching dancing skeletons.
She raises an eyebrow at him. “You know, there's a point when it just goes beyond thematic.”
“What's your point?” he asks, and she's pretty sure he actually means that.
Sighing a little, she points at the far corner, where she'd started this morning. “We have people eating their own flesh over there,” she says, and then points further up, where she'd balanced on a chair to sketch before. “And there, there are your two bleeding lovers. Also, battle scene. Don't you think we could leave the poor skeletons alone? I'm sure that's why they became skeletons, so they wouldn't have to deal with all those guts and blood anymore. I mean, fuck, there's such a thing as too much, right?”
He smiles. “I like too much.” She rolls her eyes, because of course he does.
Amanda's laughing at them, further down the wall, drawing a set of stars with a marker, half on the wall, half across Dusty's cheeks.
Amanda still walks with a cane, though she's becoming steadier day by day. Dusty is acting as conversation partner and I-will-get-you-the-damn-chair-when-you-need-it partner right now. Their third, Katie Kay, is off with Alicia, trying to figure out the last of the relocations of funds from Chantal’s clothing companies--the money’s coming in now, from the complicated series of transactions that Kitty did at the last minute. This hid the money they need access to now. The problem with a secret hideout is the same as its primary virtue: it's secret, and so you don’t want to be too open about buying large quantities of anything. Thankfully, now that the money has finally gotten through, Katie Kay and Alicia can set up the last needed supply chains so they can keep the operation hidden. Chantal sent them off with excruciatingly clear instructions. It's a good thing they did manage to get Jimmy back for her, or the fact that she's still so limited in what she can do (the tendons in her arm aren't healing quite right) would drive her and everyone else up the wall.
“I agree with the needs more gore,” says Frank from right behind Lindsey, and she jumps, her pencil skidding on the wall.
“Warn a girl,” she says, mock-glaring at him. “And of course you agree. Guys, you know it's not that I give a fuck about the blood, it's that I want some more understated creepy.”
Gerard looks interested. “Like what?”
“Like, okay, what if we sketch the city skyline in the background over here? Only, they're not just houses, you can see their shadows behind them, much bigger, and like they're alive? That's not--that's not exactly subtle, but I remember thinking the city had changed back when it all started. I was never scared of the dark at night before I was ten.”
“You're not scared of the dark now,” Frank objects. Gerard has a faraway look in his eyes, hands moving in little twitches across the portion of wall she'd been gesturing at.
Lindsey shakes her head, swallowing. “My sister gave me my first knife when I was eleven, when she couldn't always walk me home from school anymore. And then she and Steve taught me to use it. That shit helps.”
Frank nods, looking much more serious than he usually does.
Gerard turns around from the wall. “I like it,” he says. “Especially if you can mix it with some of your stuff from before. They should be up here, too.”
She nods, already seeing it. Nighttime and skyline shadows; Steve, Greta, Pete and Cassadee. She wants to see if she can make the music appear up here too, if she can remember the way they smiled and shone on stage. But she thinks she might change the lights some. There’s more than red in her mind now.
“Put yourself in, too,” Mikey says, spinning around on his chair from where he and Kitty are setting up the computers. Vienna still can't use the arm she broke in the fight she got in while leaving the city, or she'd be helping too: her elbow is shattered and it's going to take a fuckload of time to heal. She directs, though, especially when it comes to the equipment they managed to salvage for her.
Lindsey grins back at him, because yeah, that sounds about right. Herself, and “You too, Mikeyway, I want all of you in here.” Change is a tricksy bitch, but damn if there isn't something about all this that just works.
Lindsey hums under her breath, sketching out her new universe across the wall, and listens as Gerard hums along. Amanda starts up, clear and strong in the corner, and Vienna joins in, voice rising the way only hers can. There's a symmetry to singing as you work, singing as you draw, and Lindsey wants the music in every line if she can get it there. She can draw all night if she has to, but she wants to start painting in the morning. They can always repaint it if they start hating something, but only if they want to, not because someone paints over it or washes the walls clean at night.
It's strange to feel freer than ever in a building where your freedom is contingent on you being really fucking careful about when to go outside, but free is the way everyone in here is smiling, even Mikey. Free is the way Bert and Quinn keep climbing up to the roof. Free might be lying to yourself, but there's something, something, and she can't touch it or say it or figure it out, but she thinks she can draw it.
--
Master Post | Part 3 |
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Date: 2009-07-08 05:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-09 08:17 am (UTC)