[author: emmeleth] Chocolate + Cookies and Cream
Author: Emmeleth
Story: A Strain of Song
Challenge: Chocolate (17. freedom), Cookies and Cream (1. run)
Words: 1969
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The City is her home, but her home is a prison. Her parents taught her to obey her elders without question, but Cecelia Robinson longs for a bit of adventure in her life.
Notes: Backstory I submitted for my larp character, in narrative form.
“Mama?”
“Yes, Cecelia?”
The child at the window pointed down into the alley. “There are some children down there, mama, kicking a ball around. Can I go out there with them?”
The woman paused in her stitching and glanced up. “Cecelia, your father and I have rules about going outside for a reason.”
“The City is a dangerous place, and I must never go out alone,” Cecelia recited listlessly, tugging on a dark lock of hair pensively.
“Why don’t you go play with your brothers or sister?”
“James and Byron are sparring and they say I’m too weak to join them,” the girl said, looking as cross as a five year old child could. “And Hester is on a mission with daddy.” Cecelia scurried over to her mother’s chair. “Mama, can you tell me a story?”
Mr. Robinson handed her daughter a needle and piece of scrap cloth. “Tell you what: I’ll teach you to sew. Then I can tell you a story while we mend clothes. How’s that sound?” Nodding acceptance, Cecelia took the needle and jammed it haphazardly through the cloth. She yelped as a spot of blood soaked through the worn fabric. “Cecelia, be more careful!”
“I’m fine, mama...” the little girl protested as her mother began wrapping her thumb tightly. Mrs. Robinson sighed.
“Just watch me first. Then you can try.”
“Yes, mama.”
“How long...”
Cecelia poked her head out the door cautiously, glanced up, down and around the alley, before stepping out and gently pushing the door closed. She sighed happily, fluttering her skirts around her legs. It was a surprisingly mild day in the City and getting out of the stuffy house felt wonderful. Leaning her back against the wall, she closed her eyes and basked for a moment.
“Hey there, sunshine.”
She opened her eyes at the familiar voice; a tanned boy of sixteen or so grinned at her.
“Hello, Vaun.”
With a smile he held out a battered satchel. “Check it out,” he said encouragingly. Cecelia reached in and withdrew a thin chain with a dirty charm. “I found a whole bunch of them, hoping maybe someone in the Suburbs will want them. But you take your pick.”
“Thank you! It’s very pretty. How have you been, Vaun? I have not seen you here lately, I thought you might have forgotten which window was mine,” she teased.
Vaun sat down against the wall, tugging at Cecelia’s arm for him to join her. “Like I could forget a face like yours.” He pushed her playfully. “No, I’ve been out scouting for a while. I’ve found a new place to live, very secure.”
“Oh, wonderful! I’ve been worried ever since-”
“Raiders can’t stop me, you know. I’d love for you to come see it sometime.” Cecelia knitted her fingers together. “I could have you back before dark, your da wouldn’t even know it.”
“He would.”
Cecelia’s heart skipped a beat as a strong hand yanked her up and away from Vaun. The boy jumped back, glaring at the stern man behind her.
“My daughter knows she is not supposed to go out unchaperoned.”
“She wouldn’t be.”
“You’re hardly an adequate guardian. You will stay away from my daughter from now on. If I catch you near her, you’ll regret it.” The boy held his ground, until the brushed aside his coat to reveal a pistol at his side. “I’m serious,” he said flatly.
Vaun took a tentative step backwards. He glanced from a tearful Cecelia to her father. “Someday, Cecelia.” He backed away, turning around a corner.
“Inside,” her father ordered, slamming the door shut behind them. Cecelia tried to hurry away from him wordlessly but he caught her by the shoulder. “You only leave with us, got it? It’s for your own protection. You won’t last outside.” He kissed her forehead. “Be a good girl now, and go help your mother.”
“How long...”
She would never mention it to her parents, but Cecelia didn’t enjoy going on missions in the City. The only reason she ever volunteered was to get a ticket out of the house. In the two years since she had not seen Vaun, and no one she asked ever knew where he might have been. Cecelia waited on a bench while her mother witnessed to the patrons of a bar.
How long, how long will I slide....
From the broken window not far down the strip mall, a strangely melodic phrase repeated itself over and over. Cecelia approached it carefully, peeking inside. A warped disc spun sporadically on a turntable.
Separate my side...
Cecelia’s fingers tapped along on the broken window frame. She tested the door, creeping into the empty building. She lifted a thick piece of paper beside the device and turned it over. She could not read the writing, but a red eight pointed star stood out on a black background.
...heard your voice through a photograph...thought it up and brought up the past...
She could not say what, but something compelled Cecelia to tear the star out and stuff it into her pocket. Hurrying back to her bench, she plopped down and tried to peer through the window; her mother’s back was turned and she seemed very deep in conversation. Almost unconsciously she began to hum the tune under her breath, slightly off-key, while her foot drummed a beat on the sandy ground. She wanted to commit it to memory. Her thoughts were so far from her present time and place that Cecelia didn’t notice her mother step outside and call to her.
“Are you even listening to me? What are you doing?” Mrs. Robinson snapped.
“Wha- oh! Sorry, mother,” she said sheepishly, getting up.
“And how did you get so dusty?”
“Er-”
“Hurry along, Cecelia, it’s getting dark.”
“Will I slide?”
Without explaining why, Cecelia’s mother sent her to the family room. Reluctantly she put down her sewing- which was becoming increasingly covered in eight pointed stars like little spurs- and went downstairs. Her father and a young man were speaking with each other.
“Ah, good. Cecelia, I’d like you to meet Wallace.”
“Hello, Miss Robinson,” he said. The newcomer was intimidatingly huge, with a severe face. Cecelia squeaked back a greeting.
Mrs. Robinson entered the living room with a tray and the four of them made small talk over dinner. For the most part Cecelia’s mind wandered, occasionally being pulled back to earth when directly questioned and she had to fumble for an answer. When the last sandwich disappeared and the conversation had dried up, Wallace said a polite goodbye and excused himself.
“So, what did you think?” Her mother asked her with an eager smile.
“Of...Wallace? Um...he’s nice, I suppose.”
“Well, nice is good. He’s also an accomplished marksman too. A protector.” She picked up the dirty tray to take to the kitchen. “He’ll make a great husband for you.”
The word husband sent a shock through Cecelia’s body and she made a strangled noise. “Mother, no! I can’t, I just can’t-”
Mrs. Robinson wheeled around on her daughter. “Never argue with your parents, Cecelia. We’ll have none of it. Your father and I put a great deal of effort into getting him to come out and meet you. We’re looking out for you, sweetie. You need a caretaker.” She swooped into the kitchen through the double doors, effectively ending any of protests from her daughter. Cecelia ran up into her room, holding back tears. She slammed her door shut and slid a chair in front of it. Leaning against the door, she tried willing her heartbeat to slow down.
“Breathe...breathe...”
She ran to the window. Even in the waning light she could pick out the awnings and lower roof. It wasn’t that far of a drop...
Yanking the sheet from the bed, Cecelia threw an armful of clothing onto it haphazardly. She reached into the back of her dresser and pulled out two things; a thin chain poked through a battered piece of paper which she clasped around her neck. After knotting the bundle and tossing it into the street, she carefully stepped onto the windowsill. Once her feet touched down on the sidewalk, her heart began hammering again. She was outside. Free. Almost, anyway.
Cecelia picked a direction and ran, keeping to the out of sight places. She slept, barely, in a dumpster and made it to the outskirts of the City by the next morning. She stood on the very edge of the place where she was born, looking into the desolate landscape, and could not have been happier.
“You got a weapon in that bundle, kiddo?”
An older woman was sitting on a barrel nearby, a dented machete resting across her lap. Cecelia shook her head no. She wore a bandana over her nose and mouth. “You got a death wish?”
“No. I just...had to get away.”
“What’s your name?”
“Cecelia.”
“Just Cecelia?” The girl paused. “Just Cecelia is fine by me. I’m Shay Vance.” The woman reached out to shake her hand. “You okay? Your skin’s looking pretty yellow. Not that I’m one to talk about skin much,” Shay said, re-adjusting her bandana.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.” Cecelia didn’t want this stranger to think she was a weakling, like her family had treated her all her life.
“I take it you’re trying to get out of here. You’re welcome to come with me as far as Vegasia. That’s where my crew and I are headed next.”
“Thank you! I don’t know how I can pay you though.”
“Think of it as a favor to a fellow Court member.” Cecelia’s brow furrowed, causing Shay to cock her head in slight confusion and point out her necklace. “That’s why you’re wearing that, isn’t it? Court of the Chili Peppers?” Shay hummed a few bars and Cecelia's eyes lit up.
“Yes!”
The woman laughed. “I imagine you’re a new convert, judgin' by how you didn't know your Kings' name. I feel a bit obligated to teach you now. Sit down, I got nothing to do until the boys get back.”
Cecelia listened in rapt fascination to all Shay knew of the Chili Peppers, trying to commit to memory the lyrics she shared. “Calm yourself, girl. You'll have plenty of time to learn them between here and Vegasia. My boys are back, rouse yourself and we'll take you to our caravan.” Shay waved to the two men approaching, a tall tanned one and a shorter one with sunken eyes and peeling skin. “Don't mind Tarid,” she whispered, feeling Cecelia shrink against her. “He just don't like to keep his face covered.”
“Who's this?” the taller one called. Shay made the proper introductions. The tall man was Dirk. Both of them shouldered large burlap sacks of goods looted from the shadier parts of the City.
“He insisted on bringing this with us too,” Tarid said, handing over a small stringed instrument. “Told him we need another geetar like a hole in our heads, but no, it has to come.” He shrugged indifferently as Shay took it.
“It's in decent condition. Shame I'm not much of a player.” She passed it to Cecelia. “Here, kid. Our gift to you.” Cecelia strummed it, eliciting a series of discordant notes. The adults cringed a little. “So you’re not much of a player either. You’ve got time to learn.”
Story: A Strain of Song
Challenge: Chocolate (17. freedom), Cookies and Cream (1. run)
Words: 1969
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The City is her home, but her home is a prison. Her parents taught her to obey her elders without question, but Cecelia Robinson longs for a bit of adventure in her life.
Notes: Backstory I submitted for my larp character, in narrative form.
“Mama?”
“Yes, Cecelia?”
The child at the window pointed down into the alley. “There are some children down there, mama, kicking a ball around. Can I go out there with them?”
The woman paused in her stitching and glanced up. “Cecelia, your father and I have rules about going outside for a reason.”
“The City is a dangerous place, and I must never go out alone,” Cecelia recited listlessly, tugging on a dark lock of hair pensively.
“Why don’t you go play with your brothers or sister?”
“James and Byron are sparring and they say I’m too weak to join them,” the girl said, looking as cross as a five year old child could. “And Hester is on a mission with daddy.” Cecelia scurried over to her mother’s chair. “Mama, can you tell me a story?”
Mr. Robinson handed her daughter a needle and piece of scrap cloth. “Tell you what: I’ll teach you to sew. Then I can tell you a story while we mend clothes. How’s that sound?” Nodding acceptance, Cecelia took the needle and jammed it haphazardly through the cloth. She yelped as a spot of blood soaked through the worn fabric. “Cecelia, be more careful!”
“I’m fine, mama...” the little girl protested as her mother began wrapping her thumb tightly. Mrs. Robinson sighed.
“Just watch me first. Then you can try.”
“Yes, mama.”
“How long...”
Cecelia poked her head out the door cautiously, glanced up, down and around the alley, before stepping out and gently pushing the door closed. She sighed happily, fluttering her skirts around her legs. It was a surprisingly mild day in the City and getting out of the stuffy house felt wonderful. Leaning her back against the wall, she closed her eyes and basked for a moment.
“Hey there, sunshine.”
She opened her eyes at the familiar voice; a tanned boy of sixteen or so grinned at her.
“Hello, Vaun.”
With a smile he held out a battered satchel. “Check it out,” he said encouragingly. Cecelia reached in and withdrew a thin chain with a dirty charm. “I found a whole bunch of them, hoping maybe someone in the Suburbs will want them. But you take your pick.”
“Thank you! It’s very pretty. How have you been, Vaun? I have not seen you here lately, I thought you might have forgotten which window was mine,” she teased.
Vaun sat down against the wall, tugging at Cecelia’s arm for him to join her. “Like I could forget a face like yours.” He pushed her playfully. “No, I’ve been out scouting for a while. I’ve found a new place to live, very secure.”
“Oh, wonderful! I’ve been worried ever since-”
“Raiders can’t stop me, you know. I’d love for you to come see it sometime.” Cecelia knitted her fingers together. “I could have you back before dark, your da wouldn’t even know it.”
“He would.”
Cecelia’s heart skipped a beat as a strong hand yanked her up and away from Vaun. The boy jumped back, glaring at the stern man behind her.
“My daughter knows she is not supposed to go out unchaperoned.”
“She wouldn’t be.”
“You’re hardly an adequate guardian. You will stay away from my daughter from now on. If I catch you near her, you’ll regret it.” The boy held his ground, until the brushed aside his coat to reveal a pistol at his side. “I’m serious,” he said flatly.
Vaun took a tentative step backwards. He glanced from a tearful Cecelia to her father. “Someday, Cecelia.” He backed away, turning around a corner.
“Inside,” her father ordered, slamming the door shut behind them. Cecelia tried to hurry away from him wordlessly but he caught her by the shoulder. “You only leave with us, got it? It’s for your own protection. You won’t last outside.” He kissed her forehead. “Be a good girl now, and go help your mother.”
“How long...”
She would never mention it to her parents, but Cecelia didn’t enjoy going on missions in the City. The only reason she ever volunteered was to get a ticket out of the house. In the two years since she had not seen Vaun, and no one she asked ever knew where he might have been. Cecelia waited on a bench while her mother witnessed to the patrons of a bar.
How long, how long will I slide....
From the broken window not far down the strip mall, a strangely melodic phrase repeated itself over and over. Cecelia approached it carefully, peeking inside. A warped disc spun sporadically on a turntable.
Separate my side...
Cecelia’s fingers tapped along on the broken window frame. She tested the door, creeping into the empty building. She lifted a thick piece of paper beside the device and turned it over. She could not read the writing, but a red eight pointed star stood out on a black background.
...heard your voice through a photograph...thought it up and brought up the past...
She could not say what, but something compelled Cecelia to tear the star out and stuff it into her pocket. Hurrying back to her bench, she plopped down and tried to peer through the window; her mother’s back was turned and she seemed very deep in conversation. Almost unconsciously she began to hum the tune under her breath, slightly off-key, while her foot drummed a beat on the sandy ground. She wanted to commit it to memory. Her thoughts were so far from her present time and place that Cecelia didn’t notice her mother step outside and call to her.
“Are you even listening to me? What are you doing?” Mrs. Robinson snapped.
“Wha- oh! Sorry, mother,” she said sheepishly, getting up.
“And how did you get so dusty?”
“Er-”
“Hurry along, Cecelia, it’s getting dark.”
“Will I slide?”
Without explaining why, Cecelia’s mother sent her to the family room. Reluctantly she put down her sewing- which was becoming increasingly covered in eight pointed stars like little spurs- and went downstairs. Her father and a young man were speaking with each other.
“Ah, good. Cecelia, I’d like you to meet Wallace.”
“Hello, Miss Robinson,” he said. The newcomer was intimidatingly huge, with a severe face. Cecelia squeaked back a greeting.
Mrs. Robinson entered the living room with a tray and the four of them made small talk over dinner. For the most part Cecelia’s mind wandered, occasionally being pulled back to earth when directly questioned and she had to fumble for an answer. When the last sandwich disappeared and the conversation had dried up, Wallace said a polite goodbye and excused himself.
“So, what did you think?” Her mother asked her with an eager smile.
“Of...Wallace? Um...he’s nice, I suppose.”
“Well, nice is good. He’s also an accomplished marksman too. A protector.” She picked up the dirty tray to take to the kitchen. “He’ll make a great husband for you.”
The word husband sent a shock through Cecelia’s body and she made a strangled noise. “Mother, no! I can’t, I just can’t-”
Mrs. Robinson wheeled around on her daughter. “Never argue with your parents, Cecelia. We’ll have none of it. Your father and I put a great deal of effort into getting him to come out and meet you. We’re looking out for you, sweetie. You need a caretaker.” She swooped into the kitchen through the double doors, effectively ending any of protests from her daughter. Cecelia ran up into her room, holding back tears. She slammed her door shut and slid a chair in front of it. Leaning against the door, she tried willing her heartbeat to slow down.
“Breathe...breathe...”
She ran to the window. Even in the waning light she could pick out the awnings and lower roof. It wasn’t that far of a drop...
Yanking the sheet from the bed, Cecelia threw an armful of clothing onto it haphazardly. She reached into the back of her dresser and pulled out two things; a thin chain poked through a battered piece of paper which she clasped around her neck. After knotting the bundle and tossing it into the street, she carefully stepped onto the windowsill. Once her feet touched down on the sidewalk, her heart began hammering again. She was outside. Free. Almost, anyway.
Cecelia picked a direction and ran, keeping to the out of sight places. She slept, barely, in a dumpster and made it to the outskirts of the City by the next morning. She stood on the very edge of the place where she was born, looking into the desolate landscape, and could not have been happier.
“You got a weapon in that bundle, kiddo?”
An older woman was sitting on a barrel nearby, a dented machete resting across her lap. Cecelia shook her head no. She wore a bandana over her nose and mouth. “You got a death wish?”
“No. I just...had to get away.”
“What’s your name?”
“Cecelia.”
“Just Cecelia?” The girl paused. “Just Cecelia is fine by me. I’m Shay Vance.” The woman reached out to shake her hand. “You okay? Your skin’s looking pretty yellow. Not that I’m one to talk about skin much,” Shay said, re-adjusting her bandana.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.” Cecelia didn’t want this stranger to think she was a weakling, like her family had treated her all her life.
“I take it you’re trying to get out of here. You’re welcome to come with me as far as Vegasia. That’s where my crew and I are headed next.”
“Thank you! I don’t know how I can pay you though.”
“Think of it as a favor to a fellow Court member.” Cecelia’s brow furrowed, causing Shay to cock her head in slight confusion and point out her necklace. “That’s why you’re wearing that, isn’t it? Court of the Chili Peppers?” Shay hummed a few bars and Cecelia's eyes lit up.
“Yes!”
The woman laughed. “I imagine you’re a new convert, judgin' by how you didn't know your Kings' name. I feel a bit obligated to teach you now. Sit down, I got nothing to do until the boys get back.”
Cecelia listened in rapt fascination to all Shay knew of the Chili Peppers, trying to commit to memory the lyrics she shared. “Calm yourself, girl. You'll have plenty of time to learn them between here and Vegasia. My boys are back, rouse yourself and we'll take you to our caravan.” Shay waved to the two men approaching, a tall tanned one and a shorter one with sunken eyes and peeling skin. “Don't mind Tarid,” she whispered, feeling Cecelia shrink against her. “He just don't like to keep his face covered.”
“Who's this?” the taller one called. Shay made the proper introductions. The tall man was Dirk. Both of them shouldered large burlap sacks of goods looted from the shadier parts of the City.
“He insisted on bringing this with us too,” Tarid said, handing over a small stringed instrument. “Told him we need another geetar like a hole in our heads, but no, it has to come.” He shrugged indifferently as Shay took it.
“It's in decent condition. Shame I'm not much of a player.” She passed it to Cecelia. “Here, kid. Our gift to you.” Cecelia strummed it, eliciting a series of discordant notes. The adults cringed a little. “So you’re not much of a player either. You’ve got time to learn.”