Topic: A Guest of the System, no more.

Edie Rolstein

Date: 2012-11-04 19:59 EST
Time. http://www.hotflick.net/flicks/2009_Jennifer_s_Body/009JNB_Amanda_Seyfried_001.jpg

She couldn't even begin to calculate just how many times the hands of the clock, in its wire-mesh cage, had completed their circles. Seconds clicked. Minutes drummed. Hours oozed in a sanguine haze. She had to be careful now, when she moved the bear. Carefully, so very carefully, she'd hidden the stuffing with a hole, picked into her pillow. They'd never even noticed. The pills rattled when he shifted, like a thousand muted cicadas. Full and heavy.

The shots were worse, and the shocks worse than that. Catatonic schizophrenia. She'd carried that label for nearly three years. By and large, she'd learned to hide herself behind a placid smile. The feather, for all that the one who'd given it to her had vanished quite abruptly, helped out in that regard remarkably well. Like innocence, in tangible form. Not that she'd ever again know innocence, oh no. She listened. She listened as she stared, listened as she walked, listened as she pretended to sleep. The guards, lax with complacency, were talkative. Through them, she'd learned much of life outside.

Just as she'd begun when first arriving, she cooperated. No fuss, no muss. She'd made wallets, wove baskets for about a week, all the lovely little pastimes institutions gave to the residents they didn't want to trust to the outside. In all this time, she'd never held more than a clipped coin to her name.

Until today. http://www.dvdbeaver.com/film2/DVDReviews49/jennifers_body_blu-ray/01_jennifers_body_blu-ray.jpg

Today, the lock clicked open, and a guard stood there, wearing an expression she'd never learned to read. Pity.

They'd given her things then. Clothing. Not much, and certainly not the best quality, but warm, and not too ill-worn. Pants. Soft shoes. A thick jacket with nappy wool lining against the cold. Underthings, plain and serviceable. Shirts, of the same mindset. Simple, unadorned, a trifle thin, but manageable. A bag to put it all in. Then, a small bag that clinked when she caught it. Money. Not much, enough to eke out a pitiful living for a time, or to blow out in one night's worth of excess to leave her destitute.

Her choice.

She dressed, then layered another shirt on under the jacket, and packed the pajamas and robe she'd lived in for nearly three years. The guard didn't make any mention of that, even if it was technically stealing. A soft heart, perhaps. They'd just throw the things away after she left, in any case. The bear also wound up in the bag, she'd taken care to move it gently. No sense in giving that away.

The setting sun turned the sky crimson as her breath fogged in the chill. Behind her, the iron gates squalled like a scalded pig, then clanked shut. Time's up, girl. According to your documents, you're past the age we can keep you as a minor. The Watch will be keeping an eye on you, making sure you stay out of trouble.

Bullsh*t. She knew bullsh*t when she heard it. They weren't going to be "keeping her out of trouble", they were going to try and catch her at it. So they could bring her back, and keep her locked away, this time until she died.

That wasn't going to happen. Not if she could help it.

The guard at the gate, waiting for shift change, probably wouldn't notice that little bit of steel missing, not for some time. People just ignored her, if she stayed quiet.

Tucking it away, she pulled up the hood and walked, kept on walking on silent footsteps, toward the darkening west, and the smells of the city there.

Time. It was hers, now. http://art-burger.com/movies/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/amanda-seyfried-jennifers-body.jpg ((All images are of Amanda Seyfried, no copyright infringement intended, Cross-Posted in "Getting to Know You".))

Edie Rolstein

Date: 2012-11-04 20:27 EST
Snippets of conversation remembered provided decent enough instructions, as the day went on into evening. A glass vial from this shop, a metal ingot from that one, a spool of gauze from yet another, and so on. Nothing stolen, and no two things bought from the same place. What she lacked in formal training, she more than made up for in raw belief. In the confines of an unused building, with a laughable lock on the door, she made her preparations. A simple circle, drawn in the dirt around where she sat, her breath hissed as she nicked the soft flesh of her arm with the stolen knife. Words murmured in a chant as the vial filled with viscous crimson. Her memories echoed in that same crimson, as she called upon the power she believed so strongly she still held. Her parents. Their dark, twisted, weakly pleading souls she imagined she could still hear faintly within her.

She'd taken their power, taken their essence, as they'd taken bits of her from the day she'd been born. As she bound up the wound with gauze, she stared at the sealed vial in the dirt. It glowed, very faintly, she was certain of it.

Absolute conviction.

The vial and ingot went to a smithy, as more coins from the dwindling sack changed hands. Empty the vial in the quenching bucket. Turn the ingot into another knife, and two long needle-pins. The one she'd taken was a serviceable blade, but it wasn't hers. Not like this one would be. Not like it needed to be.

Two days, he'd said. Come back in two days, and they'd be finished. He offered some embellishments, a touch of scrollwork on the blade, something to give it a touch of personality. A ghost of a smile haunted her face as she'd stated it wasn't necessary. She confirmed her intent to return in that time, and left without another word. Polite. Well-mannered.

Forgettable.

Edie Rolstein

Date: 2012-11-07 19:32 EST
Two days came and went, plodding along with the inevitability of the turning of the seasons. True to his word, the smith offered the trio of items. No box, as she'd not opted for that particular service. A simple wrapping of old cloth, threadbare as anything else she'd ever known in her life.

It would serve.

Another infrequently occupied building, another part of town. The idea of using the same place twice sent ripples of alarm up her spine, and she absolutely abhorred that feeling. It was the same feeling she got hearing a creak in the ceiling, a memory from . . . before.

Another drawn circle, another lengthy stretch of monotonous chanting. She knew what each item should do, what she wished for them to do. One brightly sharpened knife, simple in design, with very little in the way of crossguard. An unadorned half-circle, the least complicated of stops. Lightweight, well balanced. Uncomplicated.

It too, would serve.

The blade sat there, on the dirt floor, between two tapered shafts of dull-grey steel. Daylight crept along into night, as she held her hands over the implements. And when the last bit of sunlight whispered away, the nighttime insects chirping to life . . . they began to glow.

Quelling down the elation, she redoubled her efforts. Absolute conviction, absolute resolution, absolute dedication. Those are what she'd heard she would need. And so she believed, with all the stubbornness of the young, she had.

And she couldn't quite conceal the smile, when they began to float.