video;
[Mary finds herself at a pretty nice costume shop, using some of that money her darling moose of a son lent her since his unfortunate (and midget-making) bounty hunt, happily spending his money on her first purely enjoyable Halloween.
The woman there is pretty nice, as far as it goes, and like so many others can tell instantly that Mary is a Newcomer. When Mary's paying for her purchase, the woman notices her wedding ring and winces in sympathy over the cash register. "You're married?"
"Yes." The answer comes instantly, but not necessarily happily.
"Oh," she says with no small amount of sympathy (or pity). Everyone knows how it is for those Newcomers. "Is he - or she - here?"
This time it takes a second. "No," she says softly, then pays quickly and gets out.
At "home", the shopping bags lie abandoned, her new purse spilling sideways onto the bed Mary's sitting on. Staring. There's a small box in her hand, the cheap wood kind with a lock and a little key, meant for keepsakes but for those too poor to afford something polished and nice. Mary will always love John, she's pretty sure. But there's an uncertainty there that terrifies her- she took vows and she meant them, she still means them, but the things she's learned will never go away. Ever. He had a child with another woman, mistreated their children, made them the broken, self-hating shells they are today. But he- he loved her. By the sound of it, always did.
Mary can't live for someone else. Everybody has a rope, and an end to come to, and she thinks maybe she's approaching hers. Falling apart isn't an option, and her normal solution of run away and never come back is out of the question. So here she sits, staring at her left hand and the tiny diamond gleaming in the late afternoon sun that filters through the blinds. Every day, every hour and minute that she breathes she can feel the weight of more lives and pains on her shoulders than she knows how to deal with; the expectation to be something impossible. Her marriage doesn't exist anymore, she's realizing: the man she remembers is dead. It hurts to look at the ring he bought her in Chattanooga when he parked the Impala (their home, their shelter from life) under a stone bridge and they ate cheeseburgers in the starlight.
That man isn't here anymore. He isn't anywhere, and Mary in all likelihood will never see him again. Even if she does- she isn't the same person. She toys with the ring with her right hand, wondering how her finger would feel without it. Wondering. What would she say if she saw him? Or Sam and Dean? Would he become the father she learned about, the tyrant and drill sergeant who broke them slowly over so many years.
Ultimately, it's an experiment in freedom. Taking her wedding ring off is hard, her hands retaining water, but she gets it off and into that little box. Into the box, where nobody can get it, and then she just stares. It looks so alone, so desolate and almost pointless sitting alone in there. It's just jewelry without her hand to anchor it. She's just trying it out, while considering herself very much married- but she can't be everything to everyone all the time, especially to people who aren't even here. The woman at the store was well-meaning, but reminded Mary that she doesn't want to be marked by something she can't control and can't take honest responsibility for. Even as she closes the box and locks it, even as she slips the key onto her existing key-ring so nobody can ever harm the ring or get to it, she doesn't think it wrong.
He may not have moved on, but he would be a stranger to her- and he is dead. As dead as she is. Isn't that the point where the responsibility ends? Death did them part. Now Mary kind of wants to try living for herself. When she puts the box in a drawer and draws away, something in her feels strangely light and free, if bittersweet and sad.
[Then she pulls away with difficulty and turns to her bags- to her NV spilling from her purse, to the bags forgotten on the floor, and turns on the video. Mary looks tired, wan, but lively: she arranges the NV on her tall dresser and draws back, for a longer view of herself. Someone with an eye for detail, who's been paying attention, might notice that she's not wearing her wedding ring.]
Okay. Halloween is only a few days away. You know what that means, don't you? [The most srs face (except not really).] You have to pick a costume.
I don't know about everyone else, but I'm going to the Lux that night, and I have a costume picked out, too. [Holding a dress up to herself with a smirk. Yes, she's completely aware that this costume is just a little bit skanky. It's fun.] Flapper. I know it isn't original, but it's fun.
That's the whole point, right? [for a second she looks kind of adorably innocent, like a kid on Christmas morning. This is her first real Halloween. Or, the first one that isn't ruined by paranoid hunter parents keeping her home, or trying not to be that in front of her kid. She smiles brightly at the camera.] As long as I have my mask, it'll be fine.
[Then she tosses it aside and looks a little curious.] So, does Siren's Port have any Halloween traditions they don't have in America? I guess trick-or-treating wouldn't work here, would it? [o_o] Unless you went during the day. Somehow, I can't see rotgut kittens and fourth graders dressed as skeletons getting along.
The woman there is pretty nice, as far as it goes, and like so many others can tell instantly that Mary is a Newcomer. When Mary's paying for her purchase, the woman notices her wedding ring and winces in sympathy over the cash register. "You're married?"
"Yes." The answer comes instantly, but not necessarily happily.
"Oh," she says with no small amount of sympathy (or pity). Everyone knows how it is for those Newcomers. "Is he - or she - here?"
This time it takes a second. "No," she says softly, then pays quickly and gets out.
At "home", the shopping bags lie abandoned, her new purse spilling sideways onto the bed Mary's sitting on. Staring. There's a small box in her hand, the cheap wood kind with a lock and a little key, meant for keepsakes but for those too poor to afford something polished and nice. Mary will always love John, she's pretty sure. But there's an uncertainty there that terrifies her- she took vows and she meant them, she still means them, but the things she's learned will never go away. Ever. He had a child with another woman, mistreated their children, made them the broken, self-hating shells they are today. But he- he loved her. By the sound of it, always did.
Mary can't live for someone else. Everybody has a rope, and an end to come to, and she thinks maybe she's approaching hers. Falling apart isn't an option, and her normal solution of run away and never come back is out of the question. So here she sits, staring at her left hand and the tiny diamond gleaming in the late afternoon sun that filters through the blinds. Every day, every hour and minute that she breathes she can feel the weight of more lives and pains on her shoulders than she knows how to deal with; the expectation to be something impossible. Her marriage doesn't exist anymore, she's realizing: the man she remembers is dead. It hurts to look at the ring he bought her in Chattanooga when he parked the Impala (their home, their shelter from life) under a stone bridge and they ate cheeseburgers in the starlight.
That man isn't here anymore. He isn't anywhere, and Mary in all likelihood will never see him again. Even if she does- she isn't the same person. She toys with the ring with her right hand, wondering how her finger would feel without it. Wondering. What would she say if she saw him? Or Sam and Dean? Would he become the father she learned about, the tyrant and drill sergeant who broke them slowly over so many years.
Ultimately, it's an experiment in freedom. Taking her wedding ring off is hard, her hands retaining water, but she gets it off and into that little box. Into the box, where nobody can get it, and then she just stares. It looks so alone, so desolate and almost pointless sitting alone in there. It's just jewelry without her hand to anchor it. She's just trying it out, while considering herself very much married- but she can't be everything to everyone all the time, especially to people who aren't even here. The woman at the store was well-meaning, but reminded Mary that she doesn't want to be marked by something she can't control and can't take honest responsibility for. Even as she closes the box and locks it, even as she slips the key onto her existing key-ring so nobody can ever harm the ring or get to it, she doesn't think it wrong.
He may not have moved on, but he would be a stranger to her- and he is dead. As dead as she is. Isn't that the point where the responsibility ends? Death did them part. Now Mary kind of wants to try living for herself. When she puts the box in a drawer and draws away, something in her feels strangely light and free, if bittersweet and sad.
[Then she pulls away with difficulty and turns to her bags- to her NV spilling from her purse, to the bags forgotten on the floor, and turns on the video. Mary looks tired, wan, but lively: she arranges the NV on her tall dresser and draws back, for a longer view of herself. Someone with an eye for detail, who's been paying attention, might notice that she's not wearing her wedding ring.]
Okay. Halloween is only a few days away. You know what that means, don't you? [The most srs face (except not really).] You have to pick a costume.
I don't know about everyone else, but I'm going to the Lux that night, and I have a costume picked out, too. [Holding a dress up to herself with a smirk. Yes, she's completely aware that this costume is just a little bit skanky. It's fun.] Flapper. I know it isn't original, but it's fun.
That's the whole point, right? [for a second she looks kind of adorably innocent, like a kid on Christmas morning. This is her first real Halloween. Or, the first one that isn't ruined by paranoid hunter parents keeping her home, or trying not to be that in front of her kid. She smiles brightly at the camera.] As long as I have my mask, it'll be fine.
[Then she tosses it aside and looks a little curious.] So, does Siren's Port have any Halloween traditions they don't have in America? I guess trick-or-treating wouldn't work here, would it? [o_o] Unless you went during the day. Somehow, I can't see rotgut kittens and fourth graders dressed as skeletons getting along.