[s c a r s] and -SOUVENIRS-

[Charlotte Verne]

y o u m i g h t j u s t b e t h e b e s t t h a t i c a n f i n d
b u t i c a n ' t s e e m t o f o r g e t t h e t e a r s i ' v e c r i e d

People have scars, in all sorts of unexpected places. Like secret roadmaps of their personal histories, diagrams of all their old wounds. Most of our wounds heal, leaving nothing behind but a scar. But some of them don't. Some wounds we carry with us everywhere and though the cut's long gone, the pain still lingers.

Charlotte sighed quietly into the darkness around her. She’d been feeling odd for the past few days. Now that she thought about it, she was in a funk. She’d been listening to sad songs and reading angsty stories, and she’d been thinking back. Of course. She couldn’t help herself. Well, the cure for an achey-breaky heart was a good midnight ride. She quietly pushed open the door to the barn, closed it behind her, and moved down to her horse’s stall.

Charlotte glanced over the name plates as she passed, finally stopping in front of the stall that said ‘Scaena’. A large mare had already poked her nose over the stall door and was tapping Charlotte’s shoulder. The woman gave a small smile and gave her mare a pat before moving away to grab all of her things. In one trip. She’d always been like this, wanting to grab everything at once. When she was young, she’d bring in as many groceries as she could at one time, and was normally seen with about seven bags in each hand, wondering how she was going to open the front door.

Charlotte put down all the pieces of tack in their respective places in the aisle; the saddle on one of the saddle racks, the bridle on Scaena’s halter hook beside the stall door. She slid into her horse’s stall reaching out and patting the mare’s neck as she slipped the halter onto her. She hummed quietly as she stepped into the aisle and the mare followed her to the cross-ties. One of her proudest accomplishments was having trained Scaena to follow her without the use of a lead rope or halter or anything connecting them.

Charlotte snapped her mare into the cross-ties and the mare nosed her pockets curiously, searching for treats. Her improving mood was interrupted, however, when she felt something on her hip vibrating. Who the hell is calling at this time. She frowned and pulled her phone from her pocket, glancing over the name of the caller and sighing. It was her friend, who she had visited with earlier in the day and who apparently did not own any sort of time telling device. And then her friend’s other friend had showed up, and things had gone downhill. People had been particularly stupid that day, and she wasn’t sure she could trust her friend to improve her mood. Oh well. She flicked her phone open. She felt like snapping at somebody. She held the phone between her head and her shoulder as she continued to tack up Scaena. Her friend immediately began to berate her.

… You seem to have a very firm grasp of the English language. You put together several full sentences, even using a couple of words that contain two or more syllables, and then he appears and suddenly we need a thought bubble over your head to understand what you’re thinking. Can you tell me why that is? Charlotte’s eyes narrowed as she tightened Scaena’s girth, despite the fact that her friend could not see her expression. The verbal thing comes and goes. This was not what she needed. The conversation was finished shortly after that, and Charlotte flipped her phone closed as she led Scaena into the cold outside air. She swung easily up into the saddle and took a second to adjust things before pulling her riding gloves from her back pocket and slipping them on.

Charlotte clucked quietly to the mare and she moved forward. Charlotte directed her around the side of the barn, toward one of the trails when she heard a noise off to her right. Charlotte tended to be fairly paranoid when she was alone at night, and had learned hat she sometimes just had to shake it off. But Scaena had noticed whatever the rustling was, too. She was standing stock-still, her ears perked. Charlotte’s body tensed slightly as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, looking for a form in the dark. And then her eyes fell on one she recognized as Scaena shifted underneath her. Her mouth fell open slightly and she felt emotion boil inside of her; happiness, anger, relief, betrayal. And then they were gone. She pushed them away, getting rid of the emotional clutter and confusion so she could concentrate and wrap her mind around what was going on. She rectified her expression, closing her mouth again and cocking an eyebrow in a sarcastically questioning manner, whether the expression could be seen in the half-light or not. Well, you’re the last person I expected out here. Whether he could see her expression or not, there was no mistaking her tone.

So what's worse? New wounds which are so horribly painful or old wounds that should have healed years ago and never did? Maybe our old wounds teach us something. They remind us where we've been and what we've overcome. They teach us lessons about what to avoid in the future. Or that's what we like to think. But that's not the way it is, is it? Some things we just have to learn over and over and over again.

[Taylor;]

SIMILARITIES;;

Times changed. People changed. Everything changed. Why? Well, no one knew exactly, it just happened that way. Sometimes people changed for the good, other times, worse. Some even, both. Things were never sure, even things promised weren't. People's talk was always cheap, thus the happenings of the young man there. It was dark. The chill in the air stung slightly after about fifteen minutes of standing in it. There wasn't much snow on the ground, though bits of it were melting in patches amongst the soft, almost muddy ground. Though the darkness brought silence, silence was good. It comforted the soul, in so many ways. If you listened well enough, you could almost hear it whispering unknown secrets. Truth be known, it was about the only thing that offered the young man any comfort in the past year. He left, because why? Well, that was something he had yet to figure out. There he was though, standing carefully near the barn, actually just outside it. The only thing that gave off his presence was the Ford pickup parked in the ranch yard, and ever so often the faint moonlight stole over him, though all else was pitch black. His gaze slowly moved to the limitless sky. The moon was a mere crescent, the stars just as perfectly set as if someone had painted them there. The cloud cover had died off, though the next day it would be overcast once more. There was a muffled noise in the barn before, but he had ignored it, just as he simple ignored the noise being made somewhere near him. He felt comfortable where he was. Why worry?

"Well, you're the last person I expected out here."

The flat tones held a bit of resentment, though that wasn't what caused a slight shiver down his spine. What caused a slight start was the fact he hadn't been expecting her to just be there. He hadn't wanted to see anyone, especially with how much of a Coward he had been. Deep down in what little feeling he had in his heavy heart, he knew there was no reason for leaving without so much as a goodbye, even to Kindred. He had always been a Coward, yet he himself knew it. No one had dared say such a thing to his face, because in all reality, he was only a Coward when it came to any sort of goodbye. A short moment after she had spoken he only had to turn slightly to face her. Confusion was mixed with a bit of surprise over the young man's features, though it left to a somewhat guarded emotion, as typical for him.

"No normal hello for me? No, 'Hi, how are ya?' Nothing?"

His deep vocals formed carefully within his thought, before rolling with ease off of his tongue. Typical when he returned, there was no excitement over anyones faces when he decided to bring his sorry self back. Of coarse that wasn't what he wanted. He never wanted things like that really, recognition. Your good deeds were forgotten the moment you made a mistake. He had plenty of experience with that, those that had lived here in his younger days definitely had played a part in all of it. It was part of the reason his young heart was still so heavy with guilt. That was his own downfall, though. A few more words began gathering deep within his throat,

"Oh, of coarse not. Why would you? What would it matter?"

A fake smirk met with his heavily scarred features, almost finding this humorous, before carefully looking over her features.

"Never mind that. You're still here? Why for? "

Those deep vocals spoke suddenly, almost surprised to the fact she still was here. There was nothing that kept him here, of coarse, that he had let keep him here. True though, he always came back. Didn't that mean something of value kept tugging him back? Most likely, though he didn't want to admit it.


[OOC;;
Done, though I don't like it.]

[Charlotte Verne]

s t i t c h i n y o u r k n i t t e d b r o w
a n d y o u d o n ' t k n o w h o w y o u ' l l g e t i t o u t

We all go through life like bulls in a china shop. A chip here, a crack there. Doing damage to ourselves, to other people. The problem is trying to figure out how to control the damage we've done, or that's been done to us. Sometimes the damage catches us by surprise. Sometimes we think we can fix the damage. And sometimes the damage is something we can't even see.

Charlotte waited quietly for a reply, and let out a laugh at Taylor’s reply. It was cold sound, without humor behind it. She spat her retort at him in a mocking tone. No normal goodbye for me? No ‘see ya’, no ‘so long pal’? Nothing? She pushed air through her nose in an indignant manner. Scaena pawed the ground, annoyed by the tension around her. When Taylor had left, he’d hurt her. Which in turn made her angry. Very angry. After all, she was a woman scorned, like which fury hell hath no.

Charlotte’s eyes roamed over Taylor, sizing him. Her lip lifted slightly when he spoke again, into something very closely resembling a snarl. Silly little boy. She swallowed harshly, and opened her mouth to reply to his second set of questions, but he beat her to it. Why was she still here? Good question. She’d always been a fairly restless person.

This is home. Charlotte tilted her head to the side slightly and her voice shifted into a pointed tone. You don’t up and leave your home without a damn good reason. So far I haven’t found one good enough. Charlotte almost felt sorry for Taylor. All he had to come back to was disappointment and contempt. Not that he didn’t deserve some of it. She was one of the first to say that he did. Charlotte was normally a kind person, but she gave credit where it was due and doled out her mistrust in the very same hand. She didn’t usually lie just to make people feel better about things.

Charlotte moved her heels into Scaena slightly, and the mare stepped forward in a light, prancing manner, and the pair was beside Taylor. Charlotte looked down at Taylor again, lifting an eyebrow. Care to share what’s blown you back into town? I just can’t imagine what it could be. Her eyes briefly shifted to the woods behind him a the sound of several twigs breaking, but she turned her attention back toward him.

Despite her words and her outward attitude toward Taylor, a part of Charlotte still wanted to be friends with him. Or maybe something more. Perhaps it was the insane part of her- the part that loved taking up for lost causes- but it was there all the same. She wanted to figure out what made him tick, more so than she did with other people. But he’d hurt her, badly. And there was certainly no forgetting that. Sure, she hadn't known him for more than a year or so, but she'd gotten attached. When he left, it was like he didn't care about her, about their friendship- like she wasn't worth a second thought about staying. She'd helped him through some, err, issues; she thought they were close. And then he'd ripped it all away. So they’d either continue on like this, with harsh words being thrown back and forth, or find a way to work through it, a way to undo the damage they’d both inflicted.

[Taylor;]

DISQUIETING;;

She spoke first with mockery. It wasn't as if it surprised him any. Why would it? Those he had almost stupidly let in to see what had caused such an ache in his young heart, always seemed to scold him right away. And because? His cowardly heart. He never had liked any form of a goodbye, and so, he avoided them at all costs. And he was definitely paying that price now. He avoided her eyes and she looked in his direction, seeming uneasy. She spoke again, and this time what she said held some form of meaning behind it. It was a 'read between the lines' sort of thing. Finally, he gathered what courage he had, looking up in her direction. Her features that he remembered as somewhat softer, were stern. Though what little her eyes did give away, said otherwise. Shrugging it off, he shifted his weight to his left foot, in an almost uneasy manner.

“Well at least some of us do have a good reason, I guess you just have to look for it.”

Those deep vocals rolled from his tongue quietly, knowing what she had spoken just before, was something he was rightfully accused of. What could he say? There wasn't much help for him, he was in the wrong. He always had been. And why? Well, there wasn't much of an answer to that. Ignoring the fact that she moved up with her mare slightly closer to stand next to him, he turned the slightest bit to look over his shoulder at some unknown noise. This gave him long enough to gather his thoughts, though, she went and asked what she did. She had every right to be angry, as he was sure the same would happen when he took the time to see Kindred.

Though, he truly wished she didn't have the right. She almost didn't deserve it.. What had he done for the past year? Well, to tell the truth, a lot of things. He had found himself all the way in Virginia for a short period, and many other places. He didn't have anything to depend on but himself, but that was the way he had taught himself to be. Mature and independent, he tended to feel uncomfortable when he let himself put his trust in someone else. Trusting someone had always been hard for him. Truth be known, he had left for so many reasons this second time. He had gone to finally see his Father; only to confirm his knowledge, that his Father was a stubborn old man, who didn't care for much but himself. That, and he was still forcing himself to forget he had a son. It had hurt the young man so deeply, and weighted down his guilt even further. He never understood why he felt the blame for everything.

“Not really, no. And truth be known, my dear friend Charlotte, you wouldn't be the first I'd want to share it with.”

He replied roughly, looking up to meet with her eyes. Now of coarse, there was no one he wanted to share such things with. He was tired of letting his heart put him into the strangest situations. But gathering his thoughts, he remembered an ordeal he had gone through, she had helped him through it, not completely, but she'd taken the time to be what he'd needed then, a friend. This thought was pushed to the back of his mind, though. Quietly, he placed a hand into the pocket of his soft scented duster coat. It was getting colder. It in fact was getting later, and the clouds had begun to thicken slightly in the past few moments. A gentle breeze slightly picked up though as once again a disturbance was heard off in the trees behind him, though he only shrugged it off.








[OOC;;
Thought I wouldn't be able to finish it, but I did! xD I like it much, much better than my last post, but it could be better. x3

[Charlotte Verne]

d o n ' t s t a n d s o c l o s e t o m e
y o u d o n ' t k n o w w h a t t h i s d o e s t o m e

Charlotte’s chest clenched when Taylor addressed her second question. Her anger made it slightly hard to breath. Her expression became blank. The only thing giving away either her rage, hurt, or compassion in relation to the man was her voice. Should’ve expected that, I guess. You never did like to let anyone in. You always pushed them away. Her expression flickered slightly, but then it was calm and blank again. She spoke, if one can do such things, in a sigh. Well, look where it got you. Her voice was wistful and almost down to whisper, but it had a larger amount of force behind it than any amount of yelling would have had.

Charlotte shook her head slightly and blinked slowly, as her eyes had glazed over slightly, as they were prone to do when she was thinking. She was about to speak again when she noticed that Scaena had perked up and quit fidgeting. Her eyes were trained on the flora behind Taylor, looking for something. Charlotte took the cue and began searching the darkness, too, completely ignoring Taylor for a minute. Leaves could be heard rustling again, and a second alter a large black mass came bounding into the open. Scaena started slightly, but then snorted, as if in annoyance at the new form. Charlotte realized it was Riot, her wolf, and shook her head slightly.

Riot was trotting happily toward her when he seemed to notice Taylor for the first time. Not recognizing him at first, Riot bristled and growled, approaching him slowly. Then he seemed to catch the man’s scent, and he immediately straightened up and trotted toward him. He nosed his hand and stood on his hind legs with his front paws on Taylor’s stomach, jumping this way and that before Charlotte called to him to calm down. It almost hurt that Riot recognized him. After he’d taken off the second time, she’d hoped to erase Taylor from her memory, to fade all the memories of him until she wouldn’t be able to recognize the blurry shapes and distorted voices anymore. Obviously it hadn’t worked as well as she thought, and Riot had thrown this fact into sharp relief.

Riot calmed at Charlotte’s wishes, but continued to nose his hand and legs, seeking attention from an old friend. Charlotte smirked slightly. Seems you’ve got plenty of friends tonight. With that, she gathered her reins, and she and Scaena moved off around the side of the barn, leaving Riot there with Taylor without so much as a backward glance. And that’s the hardest thing to do, really. Walking away without looking back is no small feat.

Several minutes later, just before Charlotte was going to turn onto one the trails, she heard a commotion behind her, somewhere around the barn. Her heartbeat quickened and her mind went into overdrive, thinking about what could have happened. She was overreacting. She was really overreacting. She knew it. She was really just looking for an excuse to back. And she knew that, too. But knowing about it didn’t man she could help turning back around, so that’s exactly what she did. It was probably just Riot, chasing around a jack rabbit or running off a coyote. But still. She shook her head, but the different parts of her personality continued to bicker as she rode back to the barn. I thought you were done with him?-When the hell did I say that?-Well, it was kind of freaking implied. But her thoughts were interrupted when she saw a dark shape moving in the almost non-existent light in front of her.

At the end of the day, when it comes down to it, all we really want is to be close to somebody. So this thing where we all pretend to keep our distance is usually a load of bull, so we pick and choose who we want to remain close to. Once we've chosen those people, we tend to stay close by, no matter how much we hurt them or they hurt us. The people that are still with you at the end of the day, those are the ones worth keeping. Sometimes close can be too close, but sometimes that invasion of personal space can be exactly what you need.

Her boots hit the ground almost silently, and she took a tentative step forward. Taylor? Was that you making all that noise?

[Taylor;]

WRONGWORDS;;

He seemed uneasy as she spoke firstly. Her words gave him that feeling that could be none other described as being put on the spot. She had a way of doing that to him, atleast since he had known her. Well of coarse he had always been that way, why place the weight of you're problems onto someone else? The people you gave them too, only took them and worried further about you. He had never liked that, it complicated so many things. And thus, he has always been sort of secretive, you only knew of what was going on with him if you forced it out of him. Which, could be done, with much persistence, and if you knew him well enough. Well, look where it got you. These words caught his attention rather quickly, and this was obvious as his eyes suddenly moved to her features. It wasn't made obvious, however, how those words seemed to hurt him the slightest bit. Everyone knew where such a thing had gotten him, nowhere. It just wasn't something one said though, to be honest. Quietly, he took a slow step backward, looking away from her features.

There wasn't much he wished to say to her now though, as all fell to a silence. It was broken, however, with a low growl. This wasn't want had surprised him, what did, was Riot. If the young man had been much smaller, he would've fallen. But he kept his balance until she'd called him. When he felt that wet nose against his hand, he scratched slightly behind the canines ear. She spoke again, and he looked slightly up to her. She had begun to depart without much else said. With easy steps, he began making his way back toward the barn. After saying what she did, there wasn't much else he truly wanted to hear from her. She knew why he was that way, she'd helped him so much then, and as much as it made him want to let her forgive him, he couldn't. His ignorance brought him down more.

The barn wasn't far, and he'd entered it quietly. The dim lighting in the barn offered some help as to where he was going, though not much. As he was about to take another step, the tip of his boot had struck a stack of buckets near a stall, sending a few of them toppling over the dirt isle. The noise awoke the nearest horses, one even had struck the wall of the stall it was in. With a faint shake to his head, he began reaching quietly down toward one of the buckets. What he didn't realize, that one of them had a bit of old, rusted barbed wire. Possibly the left over from where it had been replaced with new. His hand had been safe until he reached it back, where a barb caught his palm. He'd pulled it back swiftly enough to not notice until it had happened, and when he was able to feel the fresh, new pain in his hand, did he reallize it. A low curse left his lips, looking slowly over his hand. The cut lengthed from the butt of his palm, to the middle of it. Not bad, but deep enough for a gentle pool of blood forming in his hand. Charlotte's vocals were heard, startling him lightly, before he looked over toward her.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

His deep vocals uttered forth, seeming a bit aggravated because of what he'd just done.

[Charlotte Verne]

i f i t w e r e a n y o t h e r d a y
t h i s w o u l d n' t g e t t h e b e s t o f m e

Charlotte frowned harshly when her eyes fell on Taylor’s hand. Good Lord, causin’ a ruckus for nothin’. Charlotte was often either very honest in sharing her opinions, usually bluntly so, or she didn’t share them at all, keeping them a secret. She rather liked to be secretive, enjoyed the allure it gave her. But right now was the time for straightforwardness. Charlotte clicked her tongue and moved forward, Scaena trailing behind her. Lord knew where Riot had Riot had gotten off to.

Charlotte sighed as she came up to Taylor, taking his hand in hers without asking for permission, or even a simple questioning look to seek his consent. That was Charlotte for you. She was either a calm, observant, and alluring person that you wanted to be suspicious of but couldn’t quite bring yourself to be, or she was a determined force of nature, and didn’t let anything hold her back and had no intention of wasting time.

Charlotte drew his hand closer to her face, examining it quickly and quietly. She began muttering under her breath, more to herself than Taylor, and glanced around the floor, looking for the culprit. Haven’t even been here five damn minutes and you’ve already hurt yourself.. Others too… Lucky Apache didn’t kick down the door, dammit… Oh, there’s gonna be hell to pay when Kin finds you’re here, honey… Her eyes fell on the bucket and she reached down, glancing into and seeing that it was, indeed, the miscreant she’d been looking for, despite its inanimate state.

Charlotte moved back toward Taylor again, her gaze flicking first to his hand and then back up, meeting his eyes. She quirked an eyebrow silently before turning to Scaena and untacking her quickly, leaving her things on hay bales in the aisle, and putting her back in her stall. She motioned toward the door of the barn with the bucket she’d picked up again, delicately avoided the barb Taylor had cut himself on. Well, come on. We can’t have you bleedin’ out in the middle of the barn. I’m sure one of the students has got some Barbie Band-Aids we can steal…

Charlotte grabbed his good hand and led him from the barn, flicking off the switch as they moved outside. Her eyes adjusted quickly and she made her way quietly to her bunkhouse, pulling Taylor along. When she reached the porch, she saw Riot curled up outside the door, and he quickly stood when he saw her. He glanced back and forth between her and Taylor, and cocked his head to the side. She spoke a word to him quietly in Sioux, seeming to reprimand him. He simply yawned in response, and glanced to the door of the bunkhouse. The animal’s questioning look had made her think, and that’s why she’d snapped at him. It had seemed to ask ‘and what on earth do you think you’re doing?’ Or had that been her own mind?

Charlotte opened her door and moved inside quietly, flicking on the lights and pulling Taylor inside. Riot had already made his way in front of her and propped himself up on the couch. She toed the door closed and motioned tot eh couch, setting the bucket down beside the door. Wait right here. She went into her bathroom and began rearranging her medicine cabinet in the hunt for Hydrogen Peroxide, and reemerged several minutes later with a large brown bottle, several Q-Tips, a rag, and a short roll of gauze. She huffed and sat down on the coffee table across from the couch, setting the gauze and all but one Q-Tip down and unscrewing the bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide.

Charlotte glanced up to meet Taylor’s eyes as she dipped the Q-Tip into the bottle. She set the bottle down and took his hurt hand in hers again. She dabbed at the blood with the rag, soaking it up, and then ran the Q-Tip along the cut. Her eyes flicked up to his again as she dipped another Q-Tip into the bottle, and she decided that for now she would try not to be upset with him.

If it’s any consolation, I’ve had a hard day too. We had some people drop off some horses we bought and there was some miscommunication about checks and prices and final amounts, and it was bad. I started running out of French curse words they wouldn’t understand. She and taylor used to have discussion about random odds and ends, and the conversation to Charlotte's love of and apptitude for languages. She shook her head as she thought back on the day and huffed again as she picked up the roll of gauze. Not only that, but I was already pissed off because they were five hours late. Five freaking hours. It took forever, waiting for them. I swear I could hear my soul dying. A little awkward, maybe, but at least she wasn’t chewing him out. Yet. She felt a silly talking without any sort of reply, so she glanced up to him to see if he had any sort of reply. She put a small cotton pad against his cut and began wrapping his hand in gauze, keeping her hands busy.

[Taylor;]

WEARINESS;;

Her frown only sent him a message of a bit of worry. She'd moved quickly up to him, and taking his hand, rather carefully mind you, to get a better look at the injury. A lot had happened in a matter of moments. As she bent slightly, he didn't catch much of what she was saying, though a bit he'd caught on too. Of coarse, he was a little more focused on forcing the pain registering in his mind, to the back of it. Again, it wasn't horrible, it was just a simple injury. By the time she'd taken his other hand, he of coarse didn't protest, the young man was smart enough to know not too. He'd done it when he'd first met her of coarse, challenging how far he could go, but he'd only ended up with a look of surprise on his own face. Yes, just as he himself was full of surprises, he often was wondering what sort of thing was to come out of her next. It confused him so deeply.

It wasn't long before he found himself at the front door of where her home, of sorts, was. He'd been uneasy on the walk over, though silent. Who wouldn't be? He'd been too cowardly to say a goodbye to anyone. He had his reasons, because most likely if he would have, he would have been forced to stay, and that would have hurt more than any goodbye. You couldn't force someone to do something opposite of what they wanted too. He'd always been the type to never let much tie him down. There was so many things that he had, had to let go of, just to feel some sort of Independence. By then, she'd already pulled him inside, and offered him to sit. He only did as was told. She'd come back, and he found himself ever so often searching her features as she spoke. When she started cleaning out the wound, he finally decided to protest.

“Wait, don't, I mean, you don't have too. I can take care of it, I don't need you to worry about it.”

Those deep vocals came easily, seeming a bit confused as he tried to find the right words. For reference, those who knew him, knew very well, he wasn't good with words, he never had been. Often when he meant to say one thing, something else came flying from his mouth, and the end result was never pretty. She then began idle chit chat, more speaking to herself than him. As she spoke lightly of her not so great day, a rare, but small smile crept into his features, understanding completely how her nasty her attitude could get if you made her wait for long. Her last words struck him slightly though, causing that faint smile to smooth away from his features. She began bandaging the small wound, before looking up to him easily.

“Wouldn't I know it, at least, that sound isn't unfamiliar to me.”

True, he never said much, but on occasion, it was words with a slight power to them, a simple message that seemed to say how badly he was hurting, how badly he wanted to change,e though he knew he couldn't. He'd never liked the man he had grown up to be, and often he wished he could change so many things, at least to help him not feel so crushed down by the guilt for many things he had no control over.

“Are you done yet? You sure you know what you're doing?”

This was where he became testy, he never was well to sit still for long, especially when someone was caring for him like this. It seemed to ease his pain, physical, and emotional. At least, to force the bit of pain away from the wound, he could focus on the softness of her hands as she went about doing such things. It was that kind of care that comforted a weary spirit, at least in the way she did it. Carefully though, he'd let his eyes focus over her once more, before mindlessly looking away.

[Charlotte Verne]

m a k e t h e b e s t o f i t
p l a y t h e h a n d y o u g e t

People are always insisting on a quick fix. Just stitch me up, slap a band-aid on it and send me home. It’s easy to suggest a quick solution, when you don’t know much about the problem or you don’t understand the underlying cause or just how deep the wound is. The first step toward a real cure is to know exactly what the disease is to begin with. But that’s not what people want to hear. We're supposed to forget the past that led us here, ignore the future complications that might arise and go for the quick fix

Charlotte glanced to Taylor’s face as he replied, but her own face remained impassive. Her eyes flicked back down to her hands, which were working deftly to finish off bandaging his wound. When he decided to smart off to her, he was greeted with narrowed eyes and a not so gentle tug to tie the bandage in place that silently said for him to keep all other remarks of that sort to himself if he wanted to keep the injuries to a minimum.

Charlotte leaned back and looked over her handiwork quietly, and giving a small nod of satisfaction. She collected the things from the table and stood, about to take them to the bathroom. Her eyes moved to the door briefly, then to Taylor, but she moved to the bathroom without a word. She reappeared a moment later, moving past the couch and into the small kitchen the bunkhouse sported. She shivered slightly as she reached into a cabinet. So where are you staying tonight?

Charlotte tilted her head to the side slightly as her fingers groped through the cabinet. She found what she was searching for with a triumphant expression and pulled out two tins and set them on the counter. She continued to speak as she pulled out a pot and a carton of milk. And for the rest of.. Well, however long you’re hear? Are you gonna come back here and work? And in her mind she added Do you think Kindred will let you come back here and work?

Charlotte’s eyes remained steady on Taylor in a bit of an unnerving manner, considering that her hands were still moving, putting grounds and water into the coffee maker. As she returned her eyes to her work, she decided to let the rest of her question out. She wasn’t feeling much for obliqueness at that moment. And what about Kindred? Does she even know you’re back? She met his eyes briefly before looking back down to the milk she was pouring into the pot she’d set on the stove. She’s gonna give you hell, I hope you know. She lifted a challenging eyebrow before looking back down to the brown powder she was putting into the milk.

Charlotte continued to busy herself as she waited for an answer to any of her questions. She was about to speak again when the phone on the wall beside her rang. Her eyebrows came together in confusion as she reached out and picked up the phone. Hello? There’s a raccoon in my garage… At least I think it’s a raccoon. Charlotte took a calming breath as her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. 1:13 A.M. How appropriate. Grab a shovel. Umm, this is a weird time for gardening tips, don’t you think? Her friend could be a bit ditzy sometimes.

No, grab a shovel so you can shovel the raccoon. Shovel the raccoon! I can’t do that! Raccoons are cute and fury, and they have the little burglar masks. She closed her eyes in a quietly exasperated manner. Her day hadn’t exactly been one for a Hallmark card, and her friend’s constant calls and Taylor’s sudden appearance weren’t helping things much. She could feel her emotions gathering, organizing themselves into a tribal council. The poor phone was about to get voted off.

Stacy, are you listening? And I mean really listening, I want you to hear this. Yeah, I’m listening. Go ahead. Okay. Now listen real close. I’m gonna tell you. Her eyes opened as she held the phone away from her ear, looking at momentarily. She took a quick, calm breath and began bashing it against the counter and didn’t stop until miscellaneous parts were hanging out. She huffed and disconnected what was left of it from the wall and glanced toward Taylor. It’s been a bad day. She pushed the remnants into the trash quietly. She could go buy another one tomorrow. Hell, she could make another one with spare parts. She was pretty good with building things, be it furniture or electronics or housing.

The coffee maker began beeping and draining into the pot. Charlotte stirred the liquid on the stove, which had turned out to be hot chocolate. She shivered again as the steam reached her face and took the hot chocolate off of the stove. She poured the coffee into the pot and combined the two things before pouring them into a couple of mugs she pulled down from the cabinet. She then picked up the two mugs and made her way back over to the couch, setting the drinks down on the coffee table, one in front of Taylor, and plopping down beside Taylor, pulling a pillow into her lap. It was quite obvious that she wasn’t going to let him leave without some serious backlash. She had decided that she wasn’t going to be getting any sleep that night when she’d seen Taylor’s hand cut, so she’d simply embraced that fact. Not that she didn’t like late nights. Her eyes flicked up to Taylor as she picked up her mug form the table. So… She took a sip of her drink, but her blue-grey eyes remained on Taylor with a watchfully piercing manner. Why?

As friends, as human beings, we all try to do the best we can. But the world is full of unexpected twists and turns. And just when you’ve gotten the lay of the land, the ground underneath you shifts. And knocks you off your feet. If you’re lucky, you’ll end up with nothing more than a flesh wound, something a band-aid will cover. But, some wounds are deeper than they first appear and require more than just a quick fix. With some wounds, you have to rip off the band-aid, let them breathe, and give them time to heal.

[Taylor;]

REALITY;;

There he went again, his thoughts traveling as the silence dragged on. Not to say the silence pestered him, often he found comfort in it, as explained before. But this silence was different. The gaps in the conversation tended to cause his curiosity to spike. She seemed different, but all the same. A good different, but in such a way, that the young man still respected her point of view. It wasn't often he respected any one person’s point of view, but in this situation, it offered a sense of reality. Enough for him to want to understand what she was saying when she said it. Though, these thoughts faded when she tugged at the bandage none to kindly, as if to reprimand him. It caused him to jerk his hand back lightly, though he left it for her to finish caring for the wound. His eyes wandered to her as she seemed to pause for a moment, before leaving the room. Most likely she was confused. Just as much as he was. It seemed confusion was one emotion that always had a place.

All fell silent again, except for the noise she made while searching through a cabinet. As she inquired over where he would be staying that night, he let his eyes wander over the layout of the room. There wasn't much furniture except for the couch of which he was seated on, the coffee table before him, and a few other minor things. A couple frames hung on the wall, though he didn't take the time to figure out just what the pictures were of. About to open his mouth to answer her first question, her next caused him to come at a pause. It took him a moment to re-gather his thoughts, before he replied,

“I'm not sure. I never plan anything out before I do it, I just do it. You always knew that.”

He seemed rather steady as those deep vocals left his throat, though he was far from it. Steady was a privilege for those who wanted the same thing everyday, and for those whom had nothing to recover from. It seemed the young man would take two steps in what seemed to be the right direction, only to find out he'd taken the wrong route. All in all, nothing had never settled for him. It was what caused the confused, heartbroken person he had become, to be. One could never go back on something they've done, and perhaps that's what hurts a person the most. A bruised conscience causes one to do things they've never thought of before. And what about Kindred?..Her next question now caused him to look up lightly, only to catch her eyes for a short moment. What little he saw of them, he saw so much in them. Her questions always had a deeper meaning, and that was ne reason he had enjoyed her company. She didn't force things out of him as so many did, she seemed to calmly get it out of him. Unlike so many others.

“She doesn’t. At least I don’t think so. And apparently, everyone’s bound to give me some hell. Just, some more than others. ”

These words were lowly spoken, if not the least bit uncomfortable. He did, however, let his eyes fall over to where she was, busying her hands with so many things. Being gone, and alone for as long as he had been, it taught him a few things about people. People never actually cared for something you did for them, in the long run. They always seemed to go off to the next best thing, once you had seemingly wronged them. And apparently, such things were true, because as it seemed, no one here had truly wanted him to go, but once he had, it didn't seem to matter. Atleast in his mind, the one thing he hadn't thought of was the simple fact that, it did matter he was back, although some people weren’t brave enough to show it.

As these thoughts were going along in his mind, her phone had rang, and she had been having a light conversation. Not trying to invade what bit of privacy she had, he didn't bother listening, though he caught the last bit of it. This next time he looked up to her though, she seemed pushed to the limit. Her next actions only worried him slightly, because, he didn’t want to be the reason for it. His surprise arrival most likely hadn't helped her supposed bad day. It wasn't long before she placed a mug before him on the coffee table, before settling next to him. As she got comfortable, he let his eyes fall over to her. And there she was again, asking such deep things, in such a simple manner.

“Why did I leave? I'm not exactly sure, although, with little thought I'm sure I could figure it out. I suppose I just got tired of trying to fool myself, ya know?”

Silence had fallen for quite a few moments before he had spoken. Though as he spoke, he'd let his eyes wander to his newly bandaged hand, holding it with his other, allowing his thumb to run over the bandage with curiosity. Most likely if she hadn't forced him to let her take care of it, he would've only cleaned it out and gone on with the day. That was just him though, he had his own way with going about things.





[OOC;; Finished.

[Charlotte Verne]

[ e v e r y o n e ’ s w a i t i n g f o r y o u n o w ]
[ e v e r y o n e ’ s w a t c h i n g y o u n o w ]

Communication. It's the first thing we really learn in life. Funny thing is, once we grow up, learn our words and really start talking the harder it becomes to know what to say. Or how to ask for what we really need.

Charlotte didn’t respond as he spoke about his planning skills, or lack thereof., other than to lean back against the arm of the sofa and take another long drink from her mug. She listening quietly as he answered all of her questions in turn, occasionally raising an eyebrow or cocking her head to the side. When he tried to explain why he’d left, however, her eyes narrowed slightly as she drained the rest of the liquid from her mug and set it back on the coffee table. She shook her head as she got off the couch, her words coming out fast, in one breath, like they always did she was pissed off and everything started to feel very ‘much too much.’

“Taylor.. Taylor, none of this psychological bullshit. I know there’s something that happened, some actual thing, not just ideas or thoughts. You’ve always thought you could hide things so well, but I can always feel it. I’d say others can, too. Like Kindred. We feel it when things shift, when things change. We feel it when you get restless.” She looked to him pointedly and her words began to pick up speed again as she turned toward a closet door.

“So maybe we should blame ourselves for not putting some distance into everything? We should blame ourselves for getting to close to you, huh? And maybe you should blame yourself for lying, most of all to yourself.” She let her head rest against the doorframe of the closet before smacking her open palm against the wall and straightening up again.

"Quit being such a fucking coward, Taylor Dunn, and you just say it all. If you’re not going to say it to anyone else, at least say it to yourself and quit hiding behind excuses.” She finished with a raised eyebrow as she glanced over her shoulder at him and swallowed hard. Maybe her flying off the handle at that particular moment wasn’t completely warranted, but she was tired of hitting stop-blocks Taylor put up. She’d never get anywhere toward the truth with ‘fooling myself.’ That would only lead to discussions that were far off topic, and she’d had quite enough of that, thank you very much.

Charlotte opened the door to the linen closet, pulling two blankets and a pillow from the shelves inside. She turned around slowly, resolutely, with a determined look that said she’d resigned herself. At least for a night. Her chin was held a bit higher as she held herself steady, tossing the blankets and pillow quietly beside Taylor on the couch. She gave a short huff breath, as if accepting some proposal she didn’t quite want to. “You’ll stay here, at least for now. The couch pulls out, as I assume you remember. We’ll talk more in the morning.” She motioned to Riot, who jumped down from the couch and came beside her, and she spoke in a tone that left no space for argument. “And you will be here in the morning.” She gave a nod of finality and turned on her heel, retreating into her bedroom with Riot on her heels, the door shutting with a click of conviction.

At the end of the day, there are some things you just can't help but talk about. Some things we just don't want to hear and some things we say because we can't be silent any longer. Some things are more than what you say, they're what you do. Some things you say because there's no other choice. Some things you keep to yourself. And not too often, but every now and then, some things simply speak for themselves.

[ w h a t h a p p e n s n e x t ? ]
[ i d a r e y o u t o m o v e ]

[Taylor;]

gonemissing;;

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It was hard for him, expressing how he felt. She knew that, and even he knew that. Curse the part of him that was so secretive. Nothing ever came out right, and why? He was never good with words, except for the times he needed to be. And so, began her short lecture. Atleast, to him it was, at first. His eyes shifted quietly to Charlotte, as she uncovered the bit of truth in how easy it was to spot that uneasiness about him. So, she was right. Partly. Restless, even he had to admit it fit just perfectly. Although it seemed like he wasn't listening, he was attentive to every word she spoke. All the while, a different mix of words built up in his mouth. At the right opportunity, he'd break. Though, Charlotte didn't deserve the satisfaction to see that. Atleast then, he felt, she didn't. He began to fidget slightly, loosely fisting his right hand, the tips of his fingers pressing into his palm. It was a nervous habit, everyone had one.

When she turned away from him, he slowly stood, being mindful not to press his injured hand to the arm of the sofa to pull himself up. He paused slightly though, a moment later. A Coward? That, he could be. But it didn't mean she'd had to bring it out in the open. A thoughtful look seemed to reach his eyes, though his features spoke no emotion to what she'd said. He became inattentive to what she'd said though, as she tossed the bedding toward the couch. Talk more in the morning? No. She wouldn't pressure him into breaking just yet. Not even then. He may have deserved every bit of her sour attitude toward him, but that didn't mean she could walk all over him.

“No, no, no. It don't work that way, Darlin’. Don’t go on asking me for something I'm not willin’ to give to you right now. You sure as hell know what I’m talking about, too.”

Easily, those rough vocals left his mouth. Of coarse she knew what he meant. Having her grill him into saying something wouldn’t work. Charlotte should have learned that by then. It was made obvious he wasn’t willing to say anything then, or in the morning as she wished. She'd by then shut the door behind her. Sure, he'd be there in the morning. But who said he'd have to get his rest there? He was a big boy. He could make his own big boy decisions, he didn't need people like Charlotte or Kindred to do that for him. There was some annoyance at all of this boiling under the surface, but that would be explained later. With a couple small steps to the front door, he took hold of the handle and stepped back outside, where the cool night air greeted him with a gentle sting. The faint glow of moonlight lit his way to the steps on the short porch, where he decided to sit for a moment. His eyes cast in the direction of his pickup, and toward the white farmhouse. There was so much going through his mind then, that one couldn't tell by the look of him what it was.

It was simple for most. You grow up, get a job, get married, have children, and be happy the rest of you're life. As it seemed, he’d either never been taught that theory, or he simply went by his own rules.










[ooc;;
Okay so this post is crap. Sorry about that.]