It can be said that, in some ways, Charlie Bartlett definitely had a sheltered upbringing. Yeah, he acted out, and, yeah, his Mom probably didn't deserve him, but that doesn't mean that he didn't basically grow up in a big house with his Mom and a maid.
"That's..." That's a lot of mess. "Do you need some help?"b
Kiden hadn't been paying any particular attention to what was going on around her, nor had she been expecting company. Still, that didn't really account for her reaction, upon hearing a voice; she scrambled to her feet quicker than she thought possible, and then almost stumbled over backwards in the sand, in order to get away from whoever her mind had decided was lurking above her.
“Okay, seriously,” she began, taking a moment to actually look at who was before her. He didn't look like a pimp and he didn't look dead, so Kiden assumed she was relatively safe. For the time being, at least. “You can't just sneak up on people like that. Shit.”
Kiden took a moment to catch her breath and steady herself.
“Do I need any help? Jeez, what gave you that idea?” Still, being rude hadn't got her very far in the past. “Yeah. Yeah, I need some help. You could tell me where the hell I am.”
Firstly, he hadn't intended to sneak up on anybody. It's difficult to make a lot of noise walking barefoot on sand. He puts up both hands in a little gesture of surrender.
"Oh, shit," he says, with feeling. "Of course you're new." He sighs, and rolls his eyes heavenward, and then he offers her his hand. "Hi, I'm Charlie Bartlett. Welcome to Tabula Rasa."
“New?” Kiden asked, blinking. She got the feeling that she was going to be asking a lot of questions, because this sure as hell wasn't making any more sense to her. And this guy-Charlie, he'd said-seemed fairly casual about it all. Welcoming her, like it was all part of the process. “Look, I'm sorry if I'm being retarded or something, but you really, really aren't making sense to me. The hell's a Tabuwhatever?”
I'm not an expert or anything, but I'm going to go with no. I spend a lot of time out on the beach -- I'm not one of the many people here so desperate to get out, but I guess I am a little homesick -- and there's a lot of weird behavior going on out here. This, though, is new.
Despite what she said, her voice didn't have much of a rough edge to it. Like she'd spoken without even thinking it through beforehand. Kiden pulled her hands away from her face; she'd been shielding her eyes from the sun, because being dragged out of an alleyway in the middle of a New York night and spat out onto a beach was throwing everything off-balance.
“Sorry,” she murmured, looking up at the girl. “Hey, you're not dead. I think. I mean, you might be, and you could just look really good for a dead person. No zombie skin or bullet holes. But uh, if you are dead? No, I'm not okay, and I can't run any errands for you right now.”
Great, Kiden thought as she spoke. Let even more people know that she was slowly losing her mind, right from the get go.
There's a whole lot of crazy in what she says, mostly consisting of the idea of running errands for the dead. I mean, I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that, once you go into the light, you stop needing someone to pick up your dry-cleaning.
Then again, I guess it's not actually out of the question here, considering how many people here can classify themselves as 'alive again.' Except we still don't have dry cleaners.
"That's a shame," I deadpan, "because I was really hoping you could go grab me a Frappuccino." Settling my hands on my hips, I squint down at her. I can't really bring myself to feel insulted, partly because she doesn't actually sound like she's trying to be insulting, so what's the point? "Last I checked, I wasn't dead yet, but I could just be late getting the message."
“Frappuccino, huh? Didn't know dead people drank that stuff,” Kiden said, only half-joking. After being sent on suicide patrol more than once by her dead father, she'd decided to not let much of anything bother her. Easier said than done, though. “Let's see-”
With that, she began rummaging through the pockets of her pants. A few seconds later, and she withdrew a shiny quarter. “Wow, look at that. I've got a hell of a whole lot more money than I realised. Not enough, though. Sorry. Do they even sell Frappuccinos on this island?”
Kiden had no idea where this was going, but she liked to ramble utter nonsense to cover up the fact that she was freaking out more than a healthy amount. And, hey. Living people talking to her was always a good thing.
Luna's been walking along in the surf for quite a ways now, and if she's surprised to find someone in this state, it doesn't quite make it from her heart to her eyes. She remains fixed on some point in the horizon until she's close enough to count all fingers and toes.
Rocking back and forth on her heels, clasping her shoes behind her back-- because some things always have a tendency to get away from her, she says pleasantly, "Hello. Have you seen any ring-necked seaflargs? I'm told they look exactly like seagulls, but in truth, they're very different."
Kiden sat up, and looked at the girl with a raised eyebrow. She had absolutely no idea what a ring-necked seaflarg was, and knew enough to realise that it most likely wasn't due to the fact that she'd dropped out of high school. Still, the girl took on an almost too pleasant tone, and Kiden didn't have much more to do, other than stare out at the sea. It didn't hurt to play along.
“Sorry. I've been kind of busy feeling sorry for myself and shit. Why are you looking for, uh, neck-ringed seaflargs, anyway?” she asked, scratching the back of her head.
"Because this is an excellent place to watch birds," Luna says, and saunters out of the water. "May I sit down?" She waits for permission, mindful that she probably didn't look much better when this place fished her out of the Malfoy cellar.
“Is it? Never been to a beach before,” Kiden muttered, and then patted the sand next to her. Well aware of how she looked, she was grateful for the fact that it had thus far been ignored. “Sure. Get comfy.”
Kiden cracked open her eyes, and glanced upside-down from her lying position at the guy who had just called out to her. She wasn't entirely sure how to answer that question, because it seemed perfectly clear to her that she was, in fact, doing nothing more than laying in the sand.
“I'm working on my tan,” she said, finally, picking up the carton of cigarettes that she'd rested against her stomach. Kiden placed a cigarette between her lips, and carefully lit it.
“Hi. What's up?” she added, almost as an afterthought, as she blew smoke into the air.
“Good guess.” Kiden dragged on the cigarette, like she was trying to get through the whole thing in one go. Whenever she was on the verge of getting her thoughts into order, someone else turned up on the beach. “Kid. Kiden Nixon. Whatever makes you happy.”
It wasn't often when a young hero did something bad. Sure Cassie was a teenager, as well as Wonder Girl, so their was the occasional misdemeanor, but nothing major. Nothing like stealing her friend's surf board. She knew she was going to catch hell when Kon found out and tracked her down, but she didn't care. She was going surfing and the stolen surfboard just made it sweeter!
That was, until she spotted the other teenager sprawled out on the sand. Unable to quell the urge to help, Cassie walked over, pigtails bobbing. "Hey, you okay?"
Kiden had only been met with concern and general friendliness thus far, but that didn't stop her from becoming irritated with the new girl stood over her. It wasn't the girl's fault, Kiden reasoned; it was simply that she was understandably stressed out, and she'd be pissed off with her own mother, right now.
-alright, that wasn't the best example. Kiden would be pissed off with her own mother under any and all circumstances.
That said, Kiden decided not to answer immediately. Briefly, she wondered whether she could play dead and the girl would simply lose interest, but then found that taking a deep breath kind of blew her cover.
After a moment, she nodded a little. “This is at least ten times better than having your skull blown open,” she said decisively, and then added, “So, yeah. I'm great. Thanks for asking.”
"Well I hear you there. I've heard that kinda thing hurts." Cassie said with a raised eyebrow. She had to wonder, was this chick new or just having a bad day, both very possible on the island. "If you don't mind me saying, you don't look great. "
Kiden opened her eyes, and despite everything happening both to and around her, she couldn't help but grin. At least this girl knew how to get to the point.
“Seriously? You mean pimp's blood and dirt from every alleyway in New York isn't a good look for me?”
Comments 155
It can be said that, in some ways, Charlie Bartlett definitely had a sheltered upbringing. Yeah, he acted out, and, yeah, his Mom probably didn't deserve him, but that doesn't mean that he didn't basically grow up in a big house with his Mom and a maid.
"That's..." That's a lot of mess. "Do you need some help?"b
Reply
“Okay, seriously,” she began, taking a moment to actually look at who was before her. He didn't look like a pimp and he didn't look dead, so Kiden assumed she was relatively safe. For the time being, at least. “You can't just sneak up on people like that. Shit.”
Kiden took a moment to catch her breath and steady herself.
“Do I need any help? Jeez, what gave you that idea?” Still, being rude hadn't got her very far in the past. “Yeah. Yeah, I need some help. You could tell me where the hell I am.”
Reply
"Oh, shit," he says, with feeling. "Of course you're new." He sighs, and rolls his eyes heavenward, and then he offers her his hand. "Hi, I'm Charlie Bartlett. Welcome to Tabula Rasa."
Reply
Reply
I'm not an expert or anything, but I'm going to go with no. I spend a lot of time out on the beach -- I'm not one of the many people here so desperate to get out, but I guess I am a little homesick -- and there's a lot of weird behavior going on out here. This, though, is new.
Reply
Despite what she said, her voice didn't have much of a rough edge to it. Like she'd spoken without even thinking it through beforehand. Kiden pulled her hands away from her face; she'd been shielding her eyes from the sun, because being dragged out of an alleyway in the middle of a New York night and spat out onto a beach was throwing everything off-balance.
“Sorry,” she murmured, looking up at the girl. “Hey, you're not dead. I think. I mean, you might be, and you could just look really good for a dead person. No zombie skin or bullet holes. But uh, if you are dead? No, I'm not okay, and I can't run any errands for you right now.”
Great, Kiden thought as she spoke. Let even more people know that she was slowly losing her mind, right from the get go.
Reply
Then again, I guess it's not actually out of the question here, considering how many people here can classify themselves as 'alive again.' Except we still don't have dry cleaners.
"That's a shame," I deadpan, "because I was really hoping you could go grab me a Frappuccino." Settling my hands on my hips, I squint down at her. I can't really bring myself to feel insulted, partly because she doesn't actually sound like she's trying to be insulting, so what's the point? "Last I checked, I wasn't dead yet, but I could just be late getting the message."
Reply
With that, she began rummaging through the pockets of her pants. A few seconds later, and she withdrew a shiny quarter. “Wow, look at that. I've got a hell of a whole lot more money than I realised. Not enough, though. Sorry. Do they even sell Frappuccinos on this island?”
Kiden had no idea where this was going, but she liked to ramble utter nonsense to cover up the fact that she was freaking out more than a healthy amount. And, hey. Living people talking to her was always a good thing.
Reply
Rocking back and forth on her heels, clasping her shoes behind her back-- because some things always have a tendency to get away from her, she says pleasantly, "Hello. Have you seen any ring-necked seaflargs? I'm told they look exactly like seagulls, but in truth, they're very different."
Reply
“Sorry. I've been kind of busy feeling sorry for myself and shit. Why are you looking for, uh, neck-ringed seaflargs, anyway?” she asked, scratching the back of her head.
This place just got better and better.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
“I'm working on my tan,” she said, finally, picking up the carton of cigarettes that she'd rested against her stomach. Kiden placed a cigarette between her lips, and carefully lit it.
“Hi. What's up?” she added, almost as an afterthought, as she blew smoke into the air.
Reply
Reply
Reply
That was, until she spotted the other teenager sprawled out on the sand. Unable to quell the urge to help, Cassie walked over, pigtails bobbing. "Hey, you okay?"
Reply
-alright, that wasn't the best example. Kiden would be pissed off with her own mother under any and all circumstances.
That said, Kiden decided not to answer immediately. Briefly, she wondered whether she could play dead and the girl would simply lose interest, but then found that taking a deep breath kind of blew her cover.
After a moment, she nodded a little. “This is at least ten times better than having your skull blown open,” she said decisively, and then added, “So, yeah. I'm great. Thanks for asking.”
Reply
Reply
“Seriously? You mean pimp's blood and dirt from every alleyway in New York isn't a good look for me?”
Reply
Leave a comment