(no subject)
Most days, Lucy tried not to think about how much she missed her brother. It crossed her mind, of course, on a regular basis - living with Mathias, she had a near-constant reminder of it, which helped in that she'd gotten used to it, let it become normal - but it no longer held the enormity it once did. A year and a half down the line, and it was all that really made sense. If there was one thing she was good at, after all, it was knowing how to keep going even when things were at their worst, throwing herself into whatever she could to avoid shutting down. And if there were times that sometimes felt like a betrayal, well, the point was to not think about it. She had a life here, a fiancé and a roommate and a little girl to look after, a wedding to plan. There wasn't time to stop and let herself get hung up on the past, or else she'd have never been able to do a thing.
A day like this, though, made dwelling on the past inevitable. It was four years to the day since she'd shown up here, fresh from a riot and running on adrenaline. Four years, which was, all things considered, a damn long time, especially considering how much had happened in that time. There were days she couldn't believe it, and days too that it seemed like it had to have been so much longer. When she thought back to the girl she'd been then - hell, even the one she'd been all of a year ago, with how much had changed in that segment of time, too - she could hardly wrap her head around it, which was why, most of the time, she didn't try to. Now, though, she had to. After all that time, she'd finally found herself happy again, something she had thought on multiple occasions that she never would be, and that was good thing. She just also had to wonder what the cost was.
Considering all that, and the island's history - the fact that she'd gotten her own police record a year before - Lucy had really only expected for something out of the ordinary to happen. She wasn't any kind of expert on what this place did, and would certainly never have gone so far as to think that she could predict any of it, but it was a suspicion she'd woken up with, one that stayed with her all morning and into the afternoon. Still, when a folder appeared on the counter in front of her after she'd turned her head for all of a second, it startled her enough that she spilled the tea she'd been fixing on top of it, mug clattering as it tipped over, though she caught it before it fell to the floor. "Shit," she swore, hurriedly reaching for a towel to try to mop the liquid up. It was distracting enough that she didn't get to stop to think about the possibility that this might have been for her, not until she caught the name on the folder's tab: Carrigan, Maxwell. Breath catching in her throat, she went still.
This, she probably should have seen coming, too. It wasn't the first time the island had seen fit to give her something of her brother's rather than what was strictly hers, and there was nothing better to leave her unsettled. She hadn't thought of it, though, and she supposed that was the point, that she hadn't been thinking about him. Hell, it had been over a year and a half since she'd last seen him, longer than she had ever gone without seeing him in her life, and she was so different now than she had been the last time they'd spoken. She had taken such advantage of his presence when he'd been around, and now, apparently, she had done the same with his absence, and she didn't understand how she had ever let herself get to that point. What she did know was that she wasn't going to do it again.
"Oh, Max," she sighed, struggling to keep her voice steady, teeth pressing hard to her lower lip. The kitchen was about as public a place as it got, but she didn't care; still standing at the counter, though she wasn't sure how long she'd be able to stay on her feet, she opened the damp folder to begin reading its contents, the medical records detailing the injuries that had gotten him pulled out of the war and into a hospital, the treatment that had gotten him hooked on morphine. This, she wasn't going to ignore. Home seemed like a million miles away, but there was no getting over family, not like she'd done with other people, no matter how hard she had tried to pretend otherwise.
[Timed to Monday afternoon/early evening. Open to all; she's shaken, but it's still a fine time to meet her. ST/LT/everything perfectly welcome, and open until this says otherwise.]
A day like this, though, made dwelling on the past inevitable. It was four years to the day since she'd shown up here, fresh from a riot and running on adrenaline. Four years, which was, all things considered, a damn long time, especially considering how much had happened in that time. There were days she couldn't believe it, and days too that it seemed like it had to have been so much longer. When she thought back to the girl she'd been then - hell, even the one she'd been all of a year ago, with how much had changed in that segment of time, too - she could hardly wrap her head around it, which was why, most of the time, she didn't try to. Now, though, she had to. After all that time, she'd finally found herself happy again, something she had thought on multiple occasions that she never would be, and that was good thing. She just also had to wonder what the cost was.
Considering all that, and the island's history - the fact that she'd gotten her own police record a year before - Lucy had really only expected for something out of the ordinary to happen. She wasn't any kind of expert on what this place did, and would certainly never have gone so far as to think that she could predict any of it, but it was a suspicion she'd woken up with, one that stayed with her all morning and into the afternoon. Still, when a folder appeared on the counter in front of her after she'd turned her head for all of a second, it startled her enough that she spilled the tea she'd been fixing on top of it, mug clattering as it tipped over, though she caught it before it fell to the floor. "Shit," she swore, hurriedly reaching for a towel to try to mop the liquid up. It was distracting enough that she didn't get to stop to think about the possibility that this might have been for her, not until she caught the name on the folder's tab: Carrigan, Maxwell. Breath catching in her throat, she went still.
This, she probably should have seen coming, too. It wasn't the first time the island had seen fit to give her something of her brother's rather than what was strictly hers, and there was nothing better to leave her unsettled. She hadn't thought of it, though, and she supposed that was the point, that she hadn't been thinking about him. Hell, it had been over a year and a half since she'd last seen him, longer than she had ever gone without seeing him in her life, and she was so different now than she had been the last time they'd spoken. She had taken such advantage of his presence when he'd been around, and now, apparently, she had done the same with his absence, and she didn't understand how she had ever let herself get to that point. What she did know was that she wasn't going to do it again.
"Oh, Max," she sighed, struggling to keep her voice steady, teeth pressing hard to her lower lip. The kitchen was about as public a place as it got, but she didn't care; still standing at the counter, though she wasn't sure how long she'd be able to stay on her feet, she opened the damp folder to begin reading its contents, the medical records detailing the injuries that had gotten him pulled out of the war and into a hospital, the treatment that had gotten him hooked on morphine. This, she wasn't going to ignore. Home seemed like a million miles away, but there was no getting over family, not like she'd done with other people, no matter how hard she had tried to pretend otherwise.
[Timed to Monday afternoon/early evening. Open to all; she's shaken, but it's still a fine time to meet her. ST/LT/everything perfectly welcome, and open until this says otherwise.]