"Hey, if she's my Aunt now," Claire said, grinning lightly, "the least I can do is take her shopping, right?" And Claire was Texan - she could sweet talk with the best of them. Heading up into Rachel's room, she looked back over her shoulder. "Oh, a beer would be great!"
Totally not laughing at him at all.
"Come help me," she requested. "I need something else to do besides," worry over her bio-dad, replay her conversation with Sylar, obsess about whether or not she was good enough for what she wanted to do, "think."
The room was obviously lived in by the both of them, which... Yeah, come to think of it, they were married, so that made sense. "Did you know the freaking paintings move?" she asked Peter as she pulled open Rachel's side of the closet. "I almost had a heart attack when some guy on a horse followed me to my dorm room."
Wrinkling her nose, Claire pulled out a halter top. "Who wears stuff like this?" It was a mystery. "She seemed normal enough - why does she buy clothes like this?" So much leather in the closet that Claire started to wonder if Rachel had stock in some cow tanning company or something.
"People all used up inside." Maybe I'd come back to the tent because I needed to change and maybe for a shower and maybe I just kind of got lost on my way back from Gryffindor and wound up outside. It was hard to tell. "People who are only good for one thing so they have to wrap themselves in it to even have an identity. Masks made of leather and lace and cheap knock-off silk."
My heels had made no noise as I had walked inside; my entire body was held, hovering, just this side of pulling an aura. Muscles held in tense stillness, eyes almost fully black, my head was tilted to the side, studying them, with my hair spilling over my shoulder. "You're bright on the inside." Her aura almost hurt my head, until I realized I had opened my second sight again by accident. Closing it again required effort - by all rights I shouldn't still be able to use that and I wasn't quite sure if it was real or just my fevered mind filling in blanks where I expected there to be substance.
Hungry. So hungry that I couldn't remember not being that way, couldn't remember anything before this except for a vague impression that there was something more. I honestly couldn't remember now why I wasn't feeding. It was more a compulsion to not than any reasoned sense.
My eyes turned to Peter. "I know you." He was someone important. But I couldn't force myself to recall who. "Your hair is in your face." My lips curled back into a cold smile. "You should fix that."
Retrieving two bottles from the fridge - a light beer, practically nothing on the alcohol scale, he didn't want to get in trouble with the Bennets - Peter followed Claire to the bedroom and handed one to her. "You're only getting one, and you're staying here long enough to make it seem like it never happened," he winked conspiratorially at his niece. He liked playing the crazy uncle, it was fun.
"And yeah, the paintings are pretty crazy," he agreed, popping the cap off his beer. "I saw this one of a guy with no head, and he kept laughing at me and following me from painting to painting. He was weird." Peter honestly couldn't answer Claire's questions about Rachel's clothes. Well, he could, in that he supposed Rachel dressed that way because it was the only way she felt good about herself, but... yeah. No good answers, there.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, he was cut off from having to answer by Rachel's appearance. Crap, the one thing he'd been dreading. When he'd last seen Rachel, she hadn't been quite right in the head. And it looked like she was even worse now. Shifting so that he was standing in between Rachel and Claire, Peter tried not to look panicked. "Good to know I'm memorable," he muttered under his breath. Then, raising his voice, "Get out, Rachel. You know you're dangerous, and I don't want you around Claire right now."
Hey, awesome! Taking the beer with a grin, Claire raised one hand in oath. "My lips are sealed." She pulled a small drink, browsing more through the horror show of clothes in Rachel's closet. "I'm beginning to think that this place is going to make me feel really normal," she laughed a little, shortly. Talking, walking paintings? Definitely weirder than a girl who could regrow her kidney, right?
Jerked from her thoughts by the sound of Rachel's voice, Claire's eyes went wide. "What's wrong with her?" she breathed, staring. Rachel looked like death - complexion too pale, dark circles under her eyes, and some kind of otherworldly grace that was almost straining to be free from under the woman's skin. She looked like power contained and yet like someone who'd been thrown to the side and forgotten.
Her jaw dropped as Peter ordered Rachel out. "Peter!" she snapped, pushing around him and approaching Rachel. "God, can't you see she needs help? You can't just kick her out." She walked over to the woman slowly, hand held out as if trying to get close to a skittish animal. Rachel's head was lowered, eyes closed and breaths rising and falling with sickly slowness.
She wasn't afraid. The golden girl with the aura so bright that it made me wince wasn't afraid and I took a deep breath, calming down. Fear would trigger me, but she wasn't, so it was okay. Right? It was okay? It was going to be okay?
Peter's harshness made me cringe, shying back for a second. "I know, I told you, over and over and you said it was okay but now it's not and I know."
Claire's hand landed on my arm and I jerked back sharply, eyes going wide. "No." I laughed, then, a wild chuckle that sounded like broken glass falling down a mountain in a rainstorm and oh, God, was this what it felt like to be crazy? "No, I don't think I ever have been. Except once, but I can't remember his name. He shone, though, all blue. But I can't see him anymore. I think I broke it."
My eyes went to Peter's, pleading with him to understand. "I think I'm lost. Could you tell me where I need to go?" Licking my dry lips, hands trembling, I felt like I should remember something. Like this thing that I couldn't reach was important somehow, right there. Three days locked up alone, only going out once to meet me from tomorrow and tomorrow and another day besides, and I felt like I had just emerged from a haze.
"Peter." The name surfaced, finally, and escaped my mouth like a prayer. That's who he was. Peter. Then I looked down at the golden girl. It took me longer, but I managed to find, "Claire."
Then my eyes closed and I was brought back to myself with a shocking suddenness. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I think I--" Went insane for a minute? Am still there? "I'll leave. I'm sorry. I'll leave."
Peter just hung back, his arms folded over his chest and a deep frown on his face. If Rachel started attacking, he would be fast enough to stop it. But that didn't mean he was going to make nice with Rachel right now. His side was automatically the side that needed the most help, and right now, that was Claire.
...Until Rachel seemed to regain a few of her senses. Peter promptly forgot all about sides.
With a low sigh, he started forward and wrapped his arm around Rachel's shoulders, leading her out into the living room. Ivy had told him that bedrooms, with their beds and their intermingled scents, weren't great places for non-practicing vampires. Not that the living room was any better. "Hey," Peter gently cupped Rachel's face, uncaring that Claire might be watching. "You okay?" Silent for a moment, he simply watched her, concerned. It was obvious that she was still a vampire, but he felt he could handle it if she started craving blood again. "Where did you go? I was worried."
Claire hung back. Something was definitely wrong, major weird wrong, and it felt like a family problem. So she contented herself with going through Rachel's closet and dear God did this woman have anything that wasn't skin tight or leather? Yeah, the whole wardrobe was going to have to start from scratch.
Giving up on that, she grabbed a pair of worn jeans, a tank top, and a hoodie from a drawer full of the things the Rachel obviously didn't wear out in public. Slipping out, she laid them on a chair - Rachel would probably feel better once she wasn't dressed like a hooker - then went into the kitchen to make some tea. Tea was soothing, right?
Grabbing a hold of Peter's voice like an anchor, I let him lead me. His hands on my face had my eyes opening again, a normal green except for the faintest rim of black that probably wouldn't go away until I'd fed.
"Yeah," I said, leaning into his touch like I was starving for it. "I - I went into a sorting and there was this girl with all these marks and she... But I didn't. I left. I'm okay." My definition of 'okay' obviously being 'still blood free'.
Shaking my head, my brow furrowed slightly. "I don't know." My voice was quiet, my arms folded tightly across my chest. "Gryffindor? It's all kind of...blurry." My head tilted forward until our foreheads were almost touching. "I'm sorry, I don't think I was...very sane." A brief smile touched my lips and I looked up at him. Terrified. "I shouldn't have come back. I'm sorry. Peter. I'll go."
Totally not laughing at him at all.
"Come help me," she requested. "I need something else to do besides," worry over her bio-dad, replay her conversation with Sylar, obsess about whether or not she was good enough for what she wanted to do, "think."
The room was obviously lived in by the both of them, which... Yeah, come to think of it, they were married, so that made sense. "Did you know the freaking paintings move?" she asked Peter as she pulled open Rachel's side of the closet. "I almost had a heart attack when some guy on a horse followed me to my dorm room."
Wrinkling her nose, Claire pulled out a halter top. "Who wears stuff like this?" It was a mystery. "She seemed normal enough - why does she buy clothes like this?" So much leather in the closet that Claire started to wonder if Rachel had stock in some cow tanning company or something.
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My heels had made no noise as I had walked inside; my entire body was held, hovering, just this side of pulling an aura. Muscles held in tense stillness, eyes almost fully black, my head was tilted to the side, studying them, with my hair spilling over my shoulder. "You're bright on the inside." Her aura almost hurt my head, until I realized I had opened my second sight again by accident. Closing it again required effort - by all rights I shouldn't still be able to use that and I wasn't quite sure if it was real or just my fevered mind filling in blanks where I expected there to be substance.
Hungry. So hungry that I couldn't remember not being that way, couldn't remember anything before this except for a vague impression that there was something more. I honestly couldn't remember now why I wasn't feeding. It was more a compulsion to not than any reasoned sense.
My eyes turned to Peter. "I know you." He was someone important. But I couldn't force myself to recall who. "Your hair is in your face." My lips curled back into a cold smile. "You should fix that."
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"And yeah, the paintings are pretty crazy," he agreed, popping the cap off his beer. "I saw this one of a guy with no head, and he kept laughing at me and following me from painting to painting. He was weird." Peter honestly couldn't answer Claire's questions about Rachel's clothes. Well, he could, in that he supposed Rachel dressed that way because it was the only way she felt good about herself, but... yeah. No good answers, there.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, he was cut off from having to answer by Rachel's appearance. Crap, the one thing he'd been dreading. When he'd last seen Rachel, she hadn't been quite right in the head. And it looked like she was even worse now. Shifting so that he was standing in between Rachel and Claire, Peter tried not to look panicked. "Good to know I'm memorable," he muttered under his breath. Then, raising his voice, "Get out, Rachel. You know you're dangerous, and I don't want you around Claire right now."
This would be fun to explain to Claire. Really.
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Jerked from her thoughts by the sound of Rachel's voice, Claire's eyes went wide. "What's wrong with her?" she breathed, staring. Rachel looked like death - complexion too pale, dark circles under her eyes, and some kind of otherworldly grace that was almost straining to be free from under the woman's skin. She looked like power contained and yet like someone who'd been thrown to the side and forgotten.
Her jaw dropped as Peter ordered Rachel out. "Peter!" she snapped, pushing around him and approaching Rachel. "God, can't you see she needs help? You can't just kick her out." She walked over to the woman slowly, hand held out as if trying to get close to a skittish animal. Rachel's head was lowered, eyes closed and breaths rising and falling with sickly slowness.
"Hey. Are you okay?"
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Peter's harshness made me cringe, shying back for a second. "I know, I told you, over and over and you said it was okay but now it's not and I know."
Claire's hand landed on my arm and I jerked back sharply, eyes going wide. "No." I laughed, then, a wild chuckle that sounded like broken glass falling down a mountain in a rainstorm and oh, God, was this what it felt like to be crazy? "No, I don't think I ever have been. Except once, but I can't remember his name. He shone, though, all blue. But I can't see him anymore. I think I broke it."
My eyes went to Peter's, pleading with him to understand. "I think I'm lost. Could you tell me where I need to go?" Licking my dry lips, hands trembling, I felt like I should remember something. Like this thing that I couldn't reach was important somehow, right there. Three days locked up alone, only going out once to meet me from tomorrow and tomorrow and another day besides, and I felt like I had just emerged from a haze.
"Peter." The name surfaced, finally, and escaped my mouth like a prayer. That's who he was. Peter. Then I looked down at the golden girl. It took me longer, but I managed to find, "Claire."
Then my eyes closed and I was brought back to myself with a shocking suddenness. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I think I--" Went insane for a minute? Am still there? "I'll leave. I'm sorry. I'll leave."
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...Until Rachel seemed to regain a few of her senses. Peter promptly forgot all about sides.
With a low sigh, he started forward and wrapped his arm around Rachel's shoulders, leading her out into the living room. Ivy had told him that bedrooms, with their beds and their intermingled scents, weren't great places for non-practicing vampires. Not that the living room was any better. "Hey," Peter gently cupped Rachel's face, uncaring that Claire might be watching. "You okay?" Silent for a moment, he simply watched her, concerned. It was obvious that she was still a vampire, but he felt he could handle it if she started craving blood again. "Where did you go? I was worried."
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Giving up on that, she grabbed a pair of worn jeans, a tank top, and a hoodie from a drawer full of the things the Rachel obviously didn't wear out in public. Slipping out, she laid them on a chair - Rachel would probably feel better once she wasn't dressed like a hooker - then went into the kitchen to make some tea. Tea was soothing, right?
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"Yeah," I said, leaning into his touch like I was starving for it. "I - I went into a sorting and there was this girl with all these marks and she... But I didn't. I left. I'm okay." My definition of 'okay' obviously being 'still blood free'.
Shaking my head, my brow furrowed slightly. "I don't know." My voice was quiet, my arms folded tightly across my chest. "Gryffindor? It's all kind of...blurry." My head tilted forward until our foreheads were almost touching. "I'm sorry, I don't think I was...very sane." A brief smile touched my lips and I looked up at him. Terrified. "I shouldn't have come back. I'm sorry. Peter. I'll go."
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