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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Aug 14, 2022 18:46:51 GMT -5
(CW: Very brief description of blood/death) Tawny shrugged flippantly as Noah suggested she was a bit of a voyeur, not exactly denying nor confirming the accusation. She would never consider taking curious peeks into the lives of her friends or family, but tuning into a stranger's memory, skimming through "this week's highlights", provided some harmless entertainment at times. It seemed a bit insensitive to liken them to characters of a TV show, but she couldn't truthfully invalidate the comparison. She knew they were people and it was their actual, unscripted lives that she intruded upon, but it was with a certain detachment that she observed them. A superficial investment. She watched his eyes, her smile curling deeper as he razed a long, knowing look across her face. His hand moved to her waist, his touch hot against her bare skin, and a delight kindled in her gut as the muscles in his arm momentarily firmed, as if preparing to answer her 'subtle' suggestions with action. The anticipation earned a darkened, hungry gleam to her eyes. But Noah sighed, arm going lax as he consigned himself to only the stroke of his thumb against her ribs. Tawny offered him an exaggerated pout, only half-feigning a severe disappointment as he steered them back to the task at hand. A little detour wouldn't be such a big deal, right? "Oh, I suppose," she let her wistful gaze fall back to the fingers ghosting across his upper arm. She squeezed there, mouth quirking to one side of her face. "But I'll hold you to the house tour." She was growing rather eager to be shown around, to appraise the many spaces where fun could be had and to litter there ground with hastily shed clothes. "Here we go."She lowered her guard and allowed the memories in, eyes slipping closed as she dived into their embrace with practiced ease, carefully tethered with intention now rather than floundering aimlessly. She saw herself spew her drink across the kitchen island between them, shock scripted so apparently across her face as coffee dribbled down her neck and chin. Inwardly she cringed, watching her awkward self as she swiped at the countertop, so obviously unsettled. Tawny forced herself into the pull of the current, more tamed and shapeable now, and let it carry her back. Noah turned a piece of shorn wood in his hand. Winced when the carving knife skipped off its surface to slice into his finger. She leaped back. The scene that unfolded before her was familiar, and as she watched his hands rinse one another in a small sink, she realized that she'd seen it before. The water swirled pink as his thumbs worked over his fingers and into his palms. Tawny planted herself, watching as he lifted his eyes to the mirror and methodically plucked chunks of something (as unrecognizable as it had been before) from his hair. His face was splattered with what appeared to be blood, and he wiped at it with little ceremony, minimal emotion to be read upon his features. Feeling an uncertain twinge, Tawny let herself only dip teasingly into the tug of his memories, letting them pull her only slightly, to minutes before. Immediately, there was the mention of Blackstorm and a part of her prepared to skim away, not wanting to intrude where she promised she wouldn't. Yet, a larger part of her paled, went cold, as she recognized that the seedy motel room around her was a clear companion to the dim-lit bathroom where Noah would soon be rinsing himself of blood. How had that happened? That curiosity, tinged now by a stir of apprehension, stilled her, and she watched through Noah's eyes as the man before him stood, an understated anger hardening his face as he focused. A self-satisfied smile spread tight across his lips as Noah blinked and gave a small shake of his head, agitated by something Tawny could not feel. "That's a warning," the man's voice oozed through his smug, imploring grin, and Tawny could almost feel a prickle of sickly anticipation, an unexplainable, heightening urge to turn away as if she could sense something bad was about to happen, right before the man's head exploded. Noah braced against the spray of blood and brain, blinking in surprise as he watched the body topple forward into a heap of unnatural angles, seeping a pool of blood around itself. "Damn." His voice was largely unaffected as he pushed himself from his seat, angling toward the bathroom. As he began to walk forward, the room darkened. The thread snapped and the power slipped from her. Tawny blinked her eyes open to see Noah's unchanged expression, brow furrowing as confusion knit quickly across her features. She felt her eyes widen and her lips part as they made a swift, searching sweep across his face. Her hand fell to the one he held against her side and pulled it away, levering herself forward and practically leaping off the couch. She whirled around to face him as she shuffled back, but the coffee table bumped against her calves and threatened to send her toppling back. She managed to catch herself with a hand and slowly lowered herself to sit on its edge, looking at him with newly-appraising eyes. "Ohhh, okay, okay," the words stuttered quickly from her mouth, her heart beginning a rapid flutter in her chest, but she snapped her fingers and lifted her brow beseechingly, "Context, yeah?" Tawny nodded, keeping the lifted finger between them as she tried to process what she'd seen. She sucked her lips tight against her teeth. "I'll be needing that..."Her other hand grasped the coffee table's lip, knuckles white as she felt her stomach twist. Immediately, she wanted to bite the words back. Perhaps it would have been wiser to keep quiet, to play it cool rather than confront him about it. If he decided she'd seen too much, or if he went around killing anyone who didn't join Blackstorm's cause, then she was quite obviously a sitting duck. It wasn't like she could outrun him. She'd done track in high school, but she had no shoes, had nowhere to run, and entertained no delusion that Noah wasn't quick himself. She had no phone and had left his in the kitchen like a happy, beguiled idiot. Any sort of power struggle was laughable. Noah was strong, she'd already imagined plenty of times how the strength in his arms and hands could easily overpower her, but the thought was no longer accompanied by a pleasant spread of enticed warmth. Instead, it prickled a cold, uncertain dread through her. "Because I just saw... a man's head explode, and it sure as fuck wasn't a movie."
Noah St Cloud
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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:280 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Aug 16, 2022 16:39:36 GMT -5
Noah’s lips upturned at her disappointed pout, his smirk growing as she squeezed his arm. He’d tease her for her impatience later, perhaps innocently drag out the house tour and see just how frustrated she could get. With that mental image he was half-tempted to tell her to forget about gift sharing, the tour could start immediately. However, her eyes slid shut and after a moment he felt that pressure in his head again. He welcomed it. Almost wanted to purr in contentment as he was plunged back into her memories to view his home from her eyes. But he quickly withdrew from the stream to watch her face instead, wanting to know what she’d seen before he did any exploring of his own. Tawny’s eyes opened, decidedly less darkened with hunger than before. He blinked, then matched her look of confusion as he registered this change, her name on the tip of his tongue as he prepared to ask if she was okay. She pulled out of his grip and up from the couch, skittering backwards until she stumbled on his coffee table. His hand automatically shot out to catch her, but she was out of reach. She steadied herself and he slowly sat back, his arm returning to his side as she lowered to the table’s edge. His features shifted from confused to wounded, his brow knitted and his eyes wide as he wondered what he did wrong. Noah’s stomach dropped. He knew, even before the words tumbled from her mouth, what he’d done. What she’d seen him do. “Tawny…” he breathed. For a moment, he could only give a slow shake of his head. He was genuinely upset. Not because of the life he’d taken, but because damn, what a mood killer. It was probably the worst memory she could have stumbled across, one of the most graphic. As much as he wanted to get up, to cross over to the coffee table and coo assurances as he smoothed the lines on her forehead with kisses, he wasn’t deluded enough to think this was the sort of situation he could distract from with sex. He forced himself to stay down, stay still. Be as unthreatening as possible. How the hell was he going to talk his way out of this one? Was such a thing possible? Part of him was oddly… excited. By the confrontation, by the challenge it presented. He really didn’t want to kill her. But the alternatives were looking slim and his heart thudded in anticipation of a scuffle. If he wiped her memory of the last few minutes, would that extend to her usage of her gift? Or would his memories remain untouched in her mind, unreachable by him no matter how hard he tried? He considered that day in the grimy motel and pondered how much she’d seen. That man had attacked him first, obviously, as Noah wouldn't have been able to borrow his gift if he hadn't. Thus, claiming self-defence was an option, although he remembered the man had also been able to leave before Noah went ahead and kicked the proverbial chilli bowl over. And what about the aftermath? The violence itself was bad enough but how had he handled it? He couldn’t remember his exact response, yet he couldn’t imagine himself shrieking or conveying any form of panic; he couldn’t imagine himself reacting normally. He’d cleaned himself up, called Rotty for assistance… Ah. Had he exposed his co-worker too? Incriminating himself was regrettable, but doing so to someone else would be embarrassing to fess up to. Then again, he figured Tawny would have mentioned it if she had seen Rotty disposing of evidence. Cannibalism wasn’t the sort of thing most people accepted. Noah needed a plan, and fast. He rubbed his face, pressing his palms into his eyes before running his fingers over his hair to intertwine behind his neck. He regarded Tawny despondently. How good was she at spotting a lie? She hadn’t seemed to doubt him during his other instances of dishonesty, but then he’d mostly been lying by omission, not straight-up fibbing. He would have to give the performance of his life. Minimise the event, piece by piece. Convey guilt, criminalize victim, excuse his apathy. Simple, or so he hoped. His hands fell back to his lap. It was a shame he couldn't cry on demand. “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Noah began softly. That much was true. He’d only meant to warn the man, give him a taste of his own medicine. “It was an accident. I don’t – I can’t even begin to tell you how much regret I have.”He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and threading his hands together to clasp between his knees. “It doesn’t excuse what I did but he – he was a hunter. We knew he’d killed innocent people but we thought – if he had a support network, if he got to know other gifted, maybe he’d stop. So we reached out, but…” He swallowed, then repeated himself. “It was an accident. He tried to do it to me first and... I can't tell how strong powers are until they're in use.”He licked his lips, his gaze dropping to the floor. “So my gift – it protects me, right? Well, it turns out, if something severely distressing is happening to me, it can… detach me from the situation.” He winced, then exhaled a humourless chuckle. “God. That – I feel like that made it sound worse than it is. It doesn’t make me lose my morals or anything, it’s just – freaking out about something doesn’t help me so… it stops me from doing that.” He couldn't leave his behaviour unaddressed, but it probably would’ve been better to say he’d been in a state of shock afterwards, unable to process what had happened. Either excuse was still better than the truth; that he didn't give a fuck about the man he'd killed. His eyes lifted to hers again, beseeching. “I won’t hurt you, Tawny. You know I won’t.” Holding her gaze, he slowly eased down from the couch and onto his knees in front of her. His hand skimmed up the outside of her lower leg to lightly hold her calf, imploring, but also ready to grip harder if she tried to run. “I knew there was a chance you’d see that, I knew I wouldn’t be able to make you forget it afterwards, but I still asked you to use your gift on me. Because I trust you, remember?” He offered his other hand, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Do you still trust me?”Tawny Vokes
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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Aug 18, 2022 21:07:13 GMT -5
Her name slipped from his lips in a wounded whisper and Tawny breathed deeply, watching the sudden shift in mood seemingly unsettle him. He shook his head, rubbed at his face, and took a moment to gather the words needed to explain. And when he started, his voice soft and earnest, Tawny let the hand raised between them fall to her lap, where it was immediately cradled by her other; fingers wringing one another in a desperate need for comfort. It had been an accident, he assured her, and a piece of her ached as she watched him appear to struggle with the telling, as if the regret he claimed was still raw and palpable; as if he were comforting himself as well as her. Tawny recalled the other man's satisfied smile, his growled warning, and the agitated shake of Noah's head. It all made sense, it was believable, and Tawny willed herself to swallow it. But even as she nodded in acknowledgment, the understanding didn't quite reach her eyes; didn't smooth away the hesitance swimming in their widened depths. The tone of his voice, the understated anguish his movements seemed to convey — it all landed dumbly against her, tarnished by the apathy she'd seen and heard in the memory. But, as if reading the angst still rampant in her gaze, Noah had an explanation for that, too. Tawny's fingers tightened in their wrestling of one another and she blinked quickly. As convenient as it was, she couldn't say with certainty that it was a lie. Apathy was an apt and plausible self-defense mechanism and he'd already admitted before that his gift acted with an aptitude toward self-preservation. An emptying of emotion, a void of empathy, to keep hurts from scarring and to sidestep trauma — as sociopathic as it sounded, it wasn't exactly far-fetched. The alternative — that Noah had the capacity to be so cold without the excuse of his gift — was grim and less palatable. But she couldn't force herself to immediately discard the possibility. Tawny took into quick account what she knew for certain and what she could only take his word on. Noah was kind and charming and had given her no reason to doubt or fear him before. Sociopaths usually were accomplished manipulators. He'd saved her life — a sociopath surely wouldn't go through those efforts. And yet, he'd known she was gifted from the moment he'd stolen her power at the lakeshore. Was it with a purpose more than simple concern for her wellbeing, that he waited until she was comfortable in his home before asking her about it? Disarmed and vulnerable? Or was she simply being overcautious now to make up for her lack of caution from the beginning? At his soft insistence that he wouldn't hurt her, that she knew he wouldn't, Tawny felt an ache twist in her chest. Did she know that, truly? She had been ready to curl in his lap like a mewling kitten just minutes ago, lapping up his charm and geniality, but now, as he lowered himself to his knees and moved toward her, the closeness felt threatening. The attempted soothe in his voice, the gentle entreaty, churned an instinctive uneasiness in her gut, even as she wanted nothing more than to accept the appeasement; to nod her acquiescence and let her doubts slip away, unfounded. To assure him it was okay, to even laugh dismissively, 'I get it, these things do happen, haha'. She wished she could dive into his memories again, to skim through and find evidence to placate her misgivings. To cement what he told her as truth and pacify her uncertainty. To see what had transpired before and after the alarming scene she'd witnessed. But she was powerless now, and the fact became heavier, more apparent, when Noah offered her his other hand. The smallest tip of his head, which she might have found endearing only minutes before, churned a deeper hesitance in her gut. As if the small gesture were suddenly too methodical to seek comfort in. Assuming what he told her was true, and that his gift was behind his apparent lack of emotion in the memory — how thin was the line she currently toed? If she resisted and continued to react poorly, would his gift eventually label her a danger to his livelihood? Empty him of any remorse or hesitation and enable him to dispose of her? She could imagine him dumping her back in the lake and letting her drown. Watch her sink in that same, methodical way he'd regarded the man's decapitated body in the motel room. Doing so would be so convenient; a story with its ends tied up so neatly. The rotted deckboard... the fact her family and friends could testify to her inability to swim... hell, it's exactly what would have happened to her if Noah hadn't come along when he did. The stakes were too high to presume that wasn't a very real possibility. To presume she wasn't already treading dangerous waters. "I think," she started in a whisper, inwardly cursing the uneven, breathless way it left her lips, not nearly as solid as she was attempting. She paused to swallow and wet her lips, using the moment to try and force more assurance into her tone. "It would be a great show of... trust." The words were successfully stronger, but still measured and too taut to be convincing. "If I were to go home." Tawny felt a heaviness well behind her eyes as, even she, could hear that her efforts to sound gathered were failing miserably. She blinked away the abrupt blurring of tears, shaking her head with a hollow, scoffing laugh to try and excuse them. She stood slowly from the coffee table and tried to pull away from his touch upon her calf, mentally counting the steps it would take to sprint her way to the kitchen, what advantages could be utilized along the way, and how quickly his much longer legs would gain on her. "And hey," Tawny shrugged. "We don't know that you can't erase it, right?" The tears persisted in their welling in her eyes, but she smiled tightly despite them. She huffed a small, uncomfortable chuckle, face scripted plainly with the pathetic plea her words suggested. "We never did try."Noah St Cloud
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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:280 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Aug 21, 2022 5:24:37 GMT -5
She wanted to go home. But I don’t want you to, Noah bit back. He stared, maintaining a hurt expression despite how unnatural it felt on his face. He wanted her to know what he was and what he’d done and to want him anyway, but it looked like that fantasy would remain as it was; fantasy. He’d failed to convince her. There was water pooling in her eyes and her attempts to laugh it off rang unconvincingly in his ears. A sigh slipped from his lips, his eyes shuttering. He felt her try to tug away but he didn’t relent his hold, even as she suggested erasing her memory. Instead, the hand on her calf slid up her side as he stood, and he watched its movement until it was gripping onto her waist. Unfortunately over her shirt rather than under it this time. He missed the feeling of soft, bare skin beneath his palm, so he raised his other hand to cup her face. He wasn’t letting go of her for a second. “Oh no...” he sighed again. “Don’t cry, baby. I want to hear you beg but not like this.” The hushed attempt at flirtatious humour was as strained as his smile. Painfully out of place given the context. His gaze travelled down her features to rest at her mouth and again his thumb swept over her jaw, creeping up to trace over her bottom lip. The current of her memories urged him to dip in, yet he held back. He didn't deserve to use her gift anymore. He’d been so foolish, too greedy to be sensible and practice caution. “Of course you can go home,” he soothed. He really didn’t want to hurt her. He would make it as quick as possible; she’d barely feel a thing. Just a sharp twist of her head would be all that it took– But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was ridiculous. So ridiculously stupid that he almost wanted to laugh, maybe break something. She knew too much. Hadn't even tried to convince him that she’d keep her mouth shut. And although there was no physical evidence of his crime left, it was her word against his. Sector agent versus Blackstorm radical; he knew who The Sector would believe. All these factors piled against keeping her alive but still he hesitated. He didn’t know if her dad was still alive (and he seemed like a nice man, a much better parent than both of Noah’s combined) and her friends would probably think she was simply ghosting them again and she had so many unfinished paintings and who would feed her stupid little cat if she didn’t get home? Wait, why the fuck was he thinking about her goddamn pet? Frustration coiled in his stomach like a rattlesnake. He felt it beginning to creep across his features as a muscle twitched in his jaw, so he held her by the shoulders and turned her towards the kitchen. “Let’s go get that Uber,” he murmured, gently pushing her forward. If he couldn’t kill her, what could he do? Imprison her? There were handcuffs in his room; he could knock her out and fetch them. Someone would eventually notify the police of her absence (probably a work colleague or a patient when she didn’t show up to an appointment) and they would track down her car, follow the hiking trail, perhaps drag the lake for her body and maybe fish out her phone and keys instead. His and her footprints likely would have been washed away by then, but the police would start knocking on doors, and even if he successfully convinced them he was innocent, was he supposed to keep Tawny there forever? What room would he keep her in? What would he do when he needed to go out? There was no guarantee she’d get Stockholm syndrome and – being a therapist – she’d probably recognise any attempts to recondition her anyway. And then there was her gift to account for. He would have to avoid her touch like she was made from lava. Not a simple task if he was trying to keep her alive and healthy. In the kitchen, Noah’s eyes were drawn to the knife block in the far corner. He wished he kept his knives in a drawer instead, because he imagined Tawny’s eyes would be drawn there too. On the kitchen island his phone was left perfectly undisturbed, and he glared at its accompanying sticky note adorned with his number and address. He supposed he'd officially lost his clothes to her; she wouldn't want to revisit his neighbourhood. Hell, he could lose his house pretty soon, considering the very real possibility that he might need to go on the run once she'd left. Keeping hold of one of her shoulders, he dragged a high barstool in front of his phone and nudged her onto it. Then he swept her hair to the left, clearing room to rest his chin on her right shoulder as he leaned in close, pressing against her back with his arms on either side of her, his hands placed on the island. If nothing else, he hoped caging her in would dissuade her from making a dash for the knives. That's what he would have done in her position. Fought back. “I could drive you home instead if you don’t want to wait?” he offered, a touch too casual as he unlocked his phone. He navigated to the Uber app before pulling the phone closer, laying it within her reach expectantly. He didn’t think she would accept. There was a driver nearby, seeming to have dropped someone else off a couple of roads away. It would probably take ten minutes or so for them to turn up and, considering her unsubtle fear of Noah, he figured those ten minutes in his house would be preferable to spending twenty or more minutes in a car with him. As he waited for her to organise a ride, he realised the app history would show the address she put in. He could find out where she lived, keep tabs on her. In fact, even if she put in a different address, he already had her name and occupation. How many therapists called Tawny could there be in Los Eurosia? Social media presence or not, maybe he could find her online, use his Blackstorm contacts to uncover her regular haunts. But… why? What would be the point? Her earlier suggestion echoed in his head. “Do you really want to forget it?” he asked quietly, his fingers curling under his palms. He understood her logic. If she didn't remember, he'd have no reason to be hostile. But wouldn't forgetting be more terrifying? To knowingly make herself oblivious to the danger he posed? He pretended – absurdly hoped – it was the visuals that had disturbed Tawny, rather than anything she imagined him doing to her. “If it upsets you that much, we can give it a try. Otherwise… I’m going to need some sort of assurance that you’re not going to tell anyone.”Tawny Vokes
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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Aug 26, 2022 13:20:32 GMT -5
Noah's fingers tightened upon her leg, stopping her cautious retreat and holding her there. Tawny felt another cold slice of trepidation as he sighed, her heart hammering quicker as she imagined whatever empathy and remorse he might have had slipping from him in the same breath. Imagined whatever decision he'd come to as he rose, his hand skimming up her side to settle upon her waist. She would have welcomed a bruising touch there minutes earlier, but now the graze of his fingers over her body made her freeze; parted her lips with a shaky inhale not borne from desire, but from growing panic. Her brow knit, smoothed, then knit again, eyes searching his face desperately for something she could appeal to. He cupped her face and tipped it toward him, his eyes wandering across her features and settling upon her mouth. She felt her lip tremble beneath his gaze. At his words, now sounding a macabre caricature of their earlier coquetry, she let her eyes lid slowly, feeling the fat tears she'd held at bay skip down her cheeks. He assured her, in that same gentle, assuaging way, that she could go home, but Tawny only pinched her eyes shut tighter as the soothe in his voice set her on edge. It was a lie — her chest dropped with the certainty of it and her veins ran cold as she realized any fighting at this point would certainly be hopeless. She tipped her face slightly into his hand, lips pulling into a tight line and a whimper starting at the base of her throat. As a moment passed, she let her eyes flutter back open, vision swimming, but before she could blink away the blur to see what considerations could be playing across his features, Noah's hands lifted to her shoulders and angled her away. As he guided her to the kitchen, Tawny's steps were stilted, her muscles stiffened in preparation to flee or fight. Yet the hands firmly upon her shoulders served a blaring reminder that a struggle would be met with a force much stronger than she could match. So she let herself be moved, and then be nudged into a stool pulled before the kitchen island. Her lips parted in dumb surprise, and then she stiffened again when Noah settled behind her, an arm lifted on either side of her to keep her planted. To prevent her from darting away. He rested his chin upon her shoulder, and Tawny licked her lips, trying to keep her breathing even. Was he trying to make her uncomfortable now? Perhaps he'd decided to have a little fun first, dangle promises before her, get her hopes up before dashing them. For a moment, she remained motionless, not quite believing. "No, no," she answered, perhaps too quickly, as his offer to drive her home snapped her into action. She blinked away her surprise and picked up the phone, holding it before her for another equally-long, considering moment. She contemplated typing in a different address, of having the Uber drop her off a dozen blocks from her apartment building, but decided against it. If Noah hadn't already seen anything to indicate where she lived during his first dive into her memories, there was still time to do so. Not to mention, Blackstorm had its resources — it was something the Sector had to grapple and fight with all the time. If push came to shove, it would only buy her a little bit of time, and perhaps he wouldn't appreciate the dishonesty if he did decide to sniff it out. Tawny typed her address in and confirmed the first ride that popped up, setting the phone back on the island with little ceremony. "What do you suggest," she asked quietly, her hands falling to her lap. "A blood pact?" She attempted to laugh the word out, but it quickly mangled into a half-stifled sob; a long-awaited exhale of everything she'd held at bay, released all at once. Her face twisted and she lifted trembling fingers to cover her mouth. As the tears slipped unbridled down her face, she felt the tension melt from her muscles; the tight coil of fear and apprehension slowly unfurl its paralyzing grip in her chest as it heaved. Even though she wasn't necessarily out of the woods yet and there was still time for Noah to flip a switch and change his mind, Tawny allowed the fight to leave her as she silently cried. She let it slip away, and it was a wonderful relief to simply consign herself to whatever happened now. After a moment, she pressed at her eyes hard with the balls of her thumbs, smearing the tears forcefully from her face before heaving a heavy exhale. "I mean, would you believe me if I pinky promised again?" Though still choked by remnants of her outburst, the words were bleak and decidedly empty. She felt hollowed out and exhausted, as if she'd physically fought for her life after all, and she tipped her head to the side, knocking her skull lightly against Noah's and letting it rest there, her eyes slipping closed. Briefly, she entertained the idea that it could have been different. That his deliberate lounge across her could have been affectionate, growing heavier as she giggled her protests, his trapping arms a tease, his face turning to press a smile against her neck as she laughed and shrugged him playfully away. The only threat being a too-tight squeeze, a daring tickle, or breakfast growing cold as he hauled her away for more entertaining things to do. But the imagining didn't lessen the reality that his posture over her felt only dominating, keeping her pinned and from possibly exacerbating things further. Perhaps it was even meant to inspire discomfort, to make her squirm so he could feel more powerful over her. Tawny blinked her bleary eyes back open, staring passively across his kitchen as she lifted a hand to grip lightly at one of his arms. "No, I don't really want to forget it," she answered finally, tone still largely vacant as she sniffled. She'd only offered it as a pathetic alternative. To persuade him that she maybe didn't have to die. "But we can try. If it'd make you feel better about it. If it means we'd... both... be safer." She couldn't imagine that he'd trust her. Even if he said so, and perhaps even if he believed it at first, there would be paranoia eventually. He might let her go today, but seek her out tomorrow, or a week from now, the both of them waiting for the other shoe to fall with bated breath. She lifted her head from his slightly, turning her face just enough to gauge his profile from her periphery. She studied his long, dark lashes and equally dark eyes, wondering what thoughts existed behind them; how much that he allowed to play across them was real? How cold could they become? "What you said about your gift." Her voice was soft and uncertain, not confident that she should even attempt inquiring further. "Does this sort of thing happen to you often?"Noah St Cloud
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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:280 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Aug 28, 2022 5:41:58 GMT -5
He could feel Tawny shaking, could see tears glistening down her cheeks and slipping off her jaw in his periphery. She barely made a sound, at first. Then a sob broke through and he froze, ice spreading out from his chest to his fingertips while she slumped and lost her rigidity as she openly cried against him. His guts twisted, an unfamiliar thickness at the back of his throat like he was about to throw up, and his gaze dropped to the countertop, brow furrowing as he tried to understand where his sudden bout of nausea came from. Had he eaten expired cereal? Caught some kind of sickness from the lake? Her sobs became words again, and it somehow eased the static in his ears and allowed him to ignore the unexpected queasiness. He became aware of her touch on his arm, felt her watching him as she asked if he was often pushed into a state of numbness. All the time, he almost answered. While his gift’s involvement was a lie, it was true that he never experienced the type of panic that disrupted breathing and triggered tears. Nor did he feel other emotions in an especially strong way, making genuine attachment and understanding of others something he’d given up on a long time ago. He wasn’t completely disconnected from the world though. He could laugh at jokes and find them funny. He could appreciate the company of some people, enjoy their humour or aesthetics just as much as he felt contempt for those who offered neither. He could be angry – with himself, mainly. Noah figured what Tawny was really asking, in a roundabout way, was if he commonly got into messes that required shutting himself down. Messes that may or may not have involved murder. And he couldn't help but overthink the way she phrased it (referring to it as ‘this’ instead of ‘that’); it made him suspect she thought he was currently in that remorseless state. She wasn’t wrong, but he’d technically been in that state from the moment they met. “No,” he told her. “That was an extreme situation. I can still be scared and upset on a ‘regular’ level, like… now.” Slowly, he lifted his chin from her shoulder. He pressed a short kiss to her temple that he immediately regretted (did he seriously think that would do anything to calm her down?) and pulled back so he wasn’t pressed so oppressively against her. “I’m still here. Same Noah as before,” he tried, attempting lightness once more. Yet it was clear he didn’t know how to reassure her. And he couldn’t place why he was still trying when she was blatantly a lost cause. He pulled further away, his arms gliding off the island to fall to his sides as he straightened. He watched her, still expecting fight or flight as he took a step back, then another, then turned on his heel and walked hurriedly to the living room area, unable to stop himself from looking over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t immediately made a run for it. He snatched a tissue box from the coffee table. Paper towels had been within reach on the kitchen island, but the tissues would be softer for her – He nearly stumbled on his return journey as that thought registered in his mind. He really was feeling unwell. Something wasn’t right. After dropping the box in front of Tawny, he picked up another stool and set it down beside hers. He sat, close enough that his spread knees touched her leg and the back of her seat, and lightly touched his fingers under her chin, directing her towards him. He pulled a tissue from the box, unable to meet her gaze for once as he wiped at the smeared tear tracks on her cheeks. “I was hoping you’d have a secret, something that could let us make a mutual destruction type deal.” He kept his voice and expression soft, doing his best to promote a sense of calm. He didn't consider that doing so had the potential to create more unease. He met her eyes, saw them red-rimmed and weary, and quickly avoided them again. “But of course you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t get involved in anything like that.”The tissue was deposited on the counter and he stared down at his hands as they dropped to his lap. He could touch her. Try to remove the last few minutes from her recollection. But during his last venture he hadn’t even been able to control which memories he was being shown. How was he supposed to pick out specific moments to erase? There was also the fact that she didn’t truly want to forget; had only suggested it to appease him. Not that it should matter what she wanted. “Okay,” he breathed. He looked out the nearest window and ran his hand through his hair, twisting it as he went, and a few thick strands fell back over his temple as he nodded to himself. Mutual destruction was still on the table. It just required more physical threat than he'd like. “Here’s what’s gonna happen.” He hardened his stare, turning it on her. He normally delivered warnings with a smile, but for once he wasn't feeling so pleased with himself. The fun had been sapped out of their dilemma. “I’m going to tell one person about you. Just your name, none of the stuff we agreed to keep between us. And I’m going to tell them that if I get taken in, it’s because of you.” He paused. “And even if you hide… There will be people that you know, that won’t.”He felt the insinuation was clear enough. Hopefully it would be sufficient to keep her quiet but… it wouldn’t make her like him again. He didn’t think she ever would. He reached out for her back, rubbing between her shoulder blades as he dipped his head closer to her level. His brows slanted together, his eyes flicking between hers searchingly. “It really was an accident, Tawny. And… I know I’ve been awful, scaring you, but I need you to not tell anyone,” he murmured. She wouldn’t forgive him for it, he knew. “I'm sorry. Please understand.”Tawny Vokes
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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Aug 30, 2022 10:51:46 GMT -5
Noah assured her it wasn't an oft occurrence, but Tawny felt no sweep of relief or comfort at his words. She only nodded her head in acceptance, too freshly vacated by her cry for anything else to immediately land a blow upon her. She felt weary and emotionally hollowed; the same feeling that would keep her curled in bed throughout the day, blinking away anything and everything that begged a reaction from her. Nothing could penetrate the nothingness she blanketed herself with, and she only closed her eyes when Noah pulled away with a brief press of his lips to her temple. As he backed away, saying he was still the same Noah, she twisted in her seat, prepared to look up at his face and consider if that were really true as he stared down at her. But he was already moving away, toward the couches they'd come from, and Tawny could only watch his retreating back. She let her gaze follow him, but turned to face forward before he could turn around. She wanted to draw her legs up and wrap her arms around her knees, but the barstool was too slim, so she only picked at her nails in her lap. He returned with a box of tissues, then pulled up another barstool to seat himself beside her. She let him wipe at her tears, despite her very instinctive urge — a lingering resentment borne from being coddled and babied by her father her whole life — to pull her chin from his grasp. But she allowed the moment so she could watch Noah's face; watch as his eyes skipped deliberately from her own. His words, his admitted hope that she would have some secret to exchange, to hold hostage in turn, inspired no comment, and eventually, she let her eyes slip to the countertop as he dropped his own to his lap. Noah started again and the decision in his voice prompted her gaze back up. When his eyes found hers, the depths were decidedly steeled, somehow darker than before, but Tawny didn't flinch. She breathed deep as he continued, letting her know what would happen if she didn't want to be a good girl and play nice. As he spoke, her eyes drew slightly from his face to focus on the wall beyond him. The threat to herself was fine, something she could eventually shoulder for letting herself be so dumb and careless in the first place. But then it wasn't only herself she'd be endangering, was it? She didn't feel that she had many people in her life to be used against her; made it a point, in fact, to keep anyone from burrowing too deep to have that sort of power over her. But there was her brother and his beautiful family, and she still wouldn't like any of her friends, as fair-weather as they may be, to be dragged into some nefarious plot. Especially if it meant torture or death on her behalf, at the hands of someone who knew nothing about her or them. It was impossible to imagine the kind of person Noah had in mind to avenge him. Who he trusted enough to take care of the aftermath, should she choose to not keep her promises. She hadn't glimpsed anyone of note in his memories, but it would undoubtedly be a fellow Blackstorm member, and the obvious implication was that this person didn't mind dirtying their hands. Was this a Blackstorm norm, then? She wondered what gifts they would have, if Noah cared enough about them to warn them of her own, and if they cared enough about him to be brutal with her in retaliation. Or if they were the type of person who would even need the excuse. Would it be out of loyalty to Noah that they brought her consequence, or because it was the type of thing they enjoyed? The possibility discomforted her, as it very well intended to. With a long breath, Tawny brought her eyes back to settle upon his. "So much for trust," she whispered flatly, jutting her bottom lip out to feign a pout. The ingenuine gesture felt odd on her mouth, emptied entirely of the mocking fun and tease it might have been steeped with before. "But I guess it can't be helped." It was inevitable, and she knew it was. Despite what he'd said before, she didn't expect him to trust her. But still, the threat loomed heavily between them, broke open a chasm she figured could never again be crossed, and her brow knit as a pang of regret threaded slowly through her chest. His hand settled upon her back, rubbing comfortingly, and despite the closeness — despite the touch she had all but welcomed before — Tawny felt a detachment bloom beneath his fingers. A slow-sinking understanding that things could never be as they were. And despite everything — despite not knowing if she even wanted things to be as they were — the thought of it made her ache. The throb shattered the nothingness she'd concealed herself with and threatened to bring on a fresh gleam of tears. "I'm so ridiculous," she whispered, with a sharp, breathy laugh, forcing the wetness from her eyes with a couple of hard blinks. Why was she always crying? And why did this feel like such a loss, when she wanted nothing more than to be safely away from here? Tawny shifted in her stool to face him squarely and, before she could convince herself not to, spread a hand across his knee. Her mouth tucked at one corner into a saddened half-smile, the look more authentic than before. "I won't tell anyone. I wouldn't have. Even before the threats." Her brow began to furrow as the realized it was true. She wasn't sure what to believe about him. Wasn't sure how much of what he'd told her was lies. Hell, wasn't entirely convinced that he wasn't a sociopath that had briefly decided upon killing her. But she meant that. Why? Because he'd saved her life? Been nice to her? Was still, somehow being nice to her, even as he threatened her? Because she'd been able to share something with him that she couldn't share so completely with anyone else? What if she wasn't overreacting and he was exactly what her mind screamed at her to be wary of? What if the motel room wasn't just an unfortunate, one-off occurrence? Once she was safely home, she knew the feelings and possibilities would churn and gnash against one another, fighting for dominance in her mind as they kept her up at night, wondering, trying to figure him out. Tawny retracted her hand, pulling herself forcibly from her considerations before confusion could knit its apparent way across her features. She leaned over to glance at the screen of his phone, watching the car inch its way closer through the winding roads of West Hook. "I'm going to get my things," she stated quietly, though looked at him with a lifted brow as she made to slide off her stool, wondering if he would stop her. She stepped toward the bag of clothes she'd deposited by his sliding glass door, bent down to pick them up, and then looked back at him with her fingers upon the door handle, preparing to step out to get her shoes and socks but wanting to make sure doing so wasn't going to unsettle him. "I guess for my own sake now, I hope you were careful. What if you get nicked anyway, not from my doing?" The motel scene flashed briefly in her mind, making her wince. She couldn't imagine that had been an easy thing to clean up. Even if the other man was a hunter and had killed innocent people like Noah said, someone had to miss him. Or, at the very least, notice his absence. People would be investigating his vanishing. Could Blackstorm really make all of that disappear? Who exactly was in their pocket, keeping things from seeping down to the Sector? Normally, she wouldn't truly care — it was something for those better paid than her to take care of, figure out, and be exasperated about — but the fragility of her pending situation now forced her to wonder. "Suppose I'll be on the ropes for that, too?"Noah St Cloud
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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:280 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Aug 31, 2022 13:15:56 GMT -5
The touch of her hand on his leg made Noah's stomach dip. For a moment he was rendered immobile by her watery eyes and regretful smile, and when she told him that she wouldn’t have told anyone, he believed her. But he couldn’t retract his threats. No matter how much he wanted to. Even if he trusted her for a day, for weeks, for months, he needed his certainty to last longer than that. Needed to know she wouldn’t have a moment of moral reckoning and confide in her fellow Sector members. He crossed his arms and looked down at the island top, studying the patterns in the marble. Guilt, he realised, finally identifying his body’s unpleasant reactions. It was guilt that caused his squirming insides. When was the last time he felt it? Had he ever felt it? Maybe his words could remain unacted upon. A bluff. He knew he could find someone to get retribution for him if he looked hard enough, but no one in particular had sprang to mind when he’d put together that plan. No one he trusted implicitly who would also willingly deliver that level of violence. He wasn’t sure he wanted to give Tawny's name to such an individual anyway. She was… his. He didn’t want to share her existence, even if he was resigned to never seeing her again. Her memories had left him with the strange notion of her being real, an actual person rather than the speaking bodies he dealt with the rest of the time. It wouldn’t be fair – wouldn’t be right – to put her in serious danger if he didn't have the stomach to hurt her himself. Noah shoved those thoughts down as she removed her hand, and he didn’t protest her drifting away to collect her things. He eyed his phone, half-tempted to cancel the Uber and force her to stay a bit longer. But no. It would pass, he told himself; his interest in her life would be reduced to interest in her gift, and then he would borrow others (and actively seek out peculiar ones) to keep him occupied. The best thing for him would be to forget the whole day, return to normalcy. Watch television. Play games. Go out for drinks and a good time and hopefully become needed somewhere by Blackstorm. His stare lifted from the phone and found her looking over at him, her fingers on the sliding door handle, and after a moment of unfocused gazing while his brain rebooted, he gave a curt nod. Permission. How strange – to go from her being comfortable enough to sprawl in his lap, to her seeking consent for one of the most mundane of actions. Tawny raised a valid point about him getting nicked without her involvement, but between his declining resolve to follow through with his mutual destruction plan and the unblemished state of the motel room when he’d finished cleaning, he suspected she needn’t worry. It was the most neatly wrapped up crime he’d committed in quite some time; he was more likely to get arrested for something else, something like trespassing or assault which he’d serve far less time for. She didn’t know that, though. “You’ll be fine. I promise I won’t get caught, there’s nothing… left.” No body, no crime. Let her interpret that how she liked. Hopefully she’d picture a vat of acid rather than connect the dots to his sweater-eating story. He heard a light crinkle of paper, felt a miniscule slice in his palm, and realised he’d picked up the sticky note. He stood, slowly moved over to pick up the hoodie she’d left folded neatly on the table, then slipped the sticky note into one of its pockets. Belatedly he wondered if she would find it or whether it would be shoved straight into the washing machine to turn to mush. That was if she bothered washing it at all; he wouldn’t be surprised if she discarded the lot of his clothes as soon as she got home. The thought deepened his frown. He felt like a lonely puppy in a store window, futilely licking at glass in an attempt to reach disinterested passersby on the other side. He moved to his home's entryway and waited for Tawny to join him. With a half-glare that lacked bite but said he wasn't asking, he took the bag from her hands and placed it on the floor so he could coax her back into his hoodie, and as he put her hands through the holes, his lips momentarily quirked upwards again at the way her arms swam in the sleeves. He opened the front door. Watched an unfamiliar car park up in front of his house. He licked his lips and looked back at her. “If you ever need…” The words died on his tongue. Need what? Help? He’d just threatened to have her and her loved ones killed, why would she ever turn to him for anything? Even ‘Gift Day-care’ would be an uncomfortable suggestion at that point. He picked up her bag, holding it out to her with his brow furrowed. “Stay away from lakes. Or go to some classes, okay?” Being unable to swim was a huge disadvantage. She'd experienced its consequences first-hand and hopefully that would be enough to convince her to deal with it. What if she got caught in a flood or something? He wouldn’t be there to save her and he’d be so… disappointed… if he lost her to water, of all things. He was disappointed enough that he wouldn't be the one to teach her himself. Tawny Vokes
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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Sept 1, 2022 15:23:00 GMT -5
He was confident he wouldn't be sniffed out and Tawny wasn't certain whether to feel comforted or disturbed by the fact. She supposed it was good for her in regards to the threat posed against her should he be caught, but the idea that Blackstorm could cover up their misdeeds so seamlessly was still alarming. Or even the idea that Noah himself was practiced in doing so. At his short nod, she slipped out onto the back patio and took a seat at its edge to pull her socks and shoes on. The fresh air was still nippy and the sun had barely moved across the sky, churning now as the earlier threat of rain had culminated into a dark, thickening overcast. Removed from the house and greeted by an atmosphere not so tainted by fear and uncertainty, Tawny felt almost bewildered as she realized how little time had actually passed. How quickly things had gone amiss. It felt wrong for everything to be so unchanged, so unperturbed, when she herself felt anything but. She didn't linger, and made her way back inside to where Noah waited for her at the front entrance. He took the bag from her hands and poked her back into his hoodie. She wanted to insist it was unnecessary, even as she zipped it up and pulled her hair free from its neck. He opened the door as the Uber parked itself at the curb and she stepped out onto the porch, turning back to look up at him. He started to extend an offer to her but the words fell unfinished from his mouth. She took a breath and parted her lips, reaching for something to say in response. A goodbye? Thanks for saving my life, sorry things got weird after all, very cool of you not to murder me? I hope we never meet again? I hope we do? For a brief moment, she considered laying another ginger touch upon his arm and asking him to take one last, parting glance into her memories. To dip only slightly in, so he could take a look at himself through her tear-blurred eyes as he loomed over her in the living room. Perhaps figure out for her what she saw there. But nothing felt quite right, so Tawny only pressed her lips together and let the breath slip through her nose. Her eyes drug between his for another moment, then she nodded, took the bag he held out to her, and turned. As she stepped off the porch and made her way down his driveway to the waiting car, she forced herself not to glance back over her shoulder. She could feel an overwhelming relief begin its slow spread through her, but there was a persistent tug of remorse that made the freedom feel slightly barbed. Her eyes threatened to well again and she swiped at her nose with the sleeve of his hoodie, feeling ridiculous, conflicted, and heavy as she opened the door and plopped herself in the backseat. "Oh honey ... look at you. Poor, sweet thing." Tawny smiled thinly at the Uber driver; an older, kind-looking woman, twisted in her seat to study her passenger. After a quick, unabashed glance over — expertly taking it all in and coming to a swift, convinced conclusion — her painted lips pursed and she shot Noah's porch a pointed, disdainful glance. "Men. Such dogs. Ain't ever worth the time. Certainly ain't worth the tears."Tawny only offered a quiet, forced chuckle, wiping her eyes against her arm. The woman straightened and continued to grumble heatedly to herself as she put the car in drive, fiddled with the GPS mounted on its dash, and pulled away. Tawny shifted to glance at herself in the car's rearview mirror as she secured her seatbelt across her chest. The sight made her grimace. Her face was blotched from crying, her eyes tired and glassy, and her hair a half-brushed mess. With her bag of belongings clutched in her lap and her too-big clothes, it was immediately obvious what conclusion the driver had come to. She looked like a cried-out woman who'd been broken up with, or perhaps just sent home after a wild, drunken night. The idea of this whole thing being as simple as any other walk of shame almost brought an amused pull to Tawny's lips, but she only settled back with a sigh, tucking her hair behind her ears as she watched the trees pass through her window. After a moment of sniffling, she let her head tip against the glass and inwardly groaned. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a couple of days, but she wouldn't even be able to get into her apartment now. There remained a whole list of things to do and take care of before she could even sit down and process everything that'd happened to her. The prospect was punishing and she had no energy for it. Her eyes slipped closed as the Uber driver's grumblings grew louder, becoming bitter stories of all the men who'd wronged her in her life. ~ ~ ~ Tawny parked along the curb and settled back in her seat with a long exhale. It had been a rough week, getting her car situated and all her lost things replaced. A largely sleepless week to boot. At one point, one of her patients had asked her if she was alright, and that had been jolting. She peeked at the house looming beside her, only half-pleased now that she'd found the sticky note Noah had slipped in her (his) hoodie pocket. If she hadn't, she could claim she didn't have his address and couldn't recreate the Uber's trek through the complicated streets of West Hook. Left it at that. But she had found it and, while it would have been simple enough to discard or ignore it, the little note had stayed pressed to her kitchen countertop for the entire week, drawing her eye throughout the days. Not that she necessarily needed to be reminded, as the events that'd transpired had yet to stray far from mind, no matter how she tried to distract herself from them. Before she could sit and think too long, perhaps even convince herself to drive away, Tawny grabbed the cane basket occupying her passenger seat and forced herself from the car. She situated the package on one hip and made her way up Noah's driveway, squinting against the sun as she studied the front of his house for the first time. So unassuming and well-manicured, bright and fresh, it was hard to imagine that she'd been such a terrified, emotional mess inside of it. She set the basket on the porch and nudged it with a foot so it was halfway in front of the door, unable to be ignored. She stared down at it, contemplating, then bent to take out the envelope that peeked behind the bulk of his freshly-washed hoodie. She'd gone back and forth on whether or not to include it among his things, but now, she decided, it was better that she didn't. She turned to leave but paused with one foot lifted off the porch. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it for a long moment, before whipping around to tuck the card back in the basket. Before she could change her mind again, she wrapped her arms around herself and walked across his lawn with finality, no longer bothering with the driveway. She really hoped he wasn't home or at least hadn't noticed her pull up; wouldn't know exactly what to do with herself if the door creaked open and he called out to her. Sprint back to her car and drive away like a coward? That seemed the least awkward of all options. The thought put renewed vigor into her step as she retreated. -----
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