The wind lifts her hair, fair and golden and floating like Ophelia's in the water, blows so hard that Cassie could swear it lifts her, too
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Mamet peers up at the silhouette on the edge of the roof, the sun almost too bright for him to make out any details. He walks closer, shielding his eyes with his hand, the cigarette perched between two fingers forgotten for the moment.
She's...really close to the edge.
"Hey!" he calls up, waving his hand. "You on the roof! What the fuck are you doing?"
"Oh." Cassie opens her eyes and looks down, following the world when it tilts too sharply forward. There's a man down there in the sand, and he seems to see her. It's odd - no one ever sees her when she's like this, and if they do, they never ask.
Mamet jerks forward when she tilts. He's never seen anybody fall off the roof, and he kinda wants to keep it that way.
"Um. Hi."
Her movements give her away. She's either on something, or crazy, and Mamet's seen a lot of fucking people too drugged out or drunk out of their minds to where there's hardly any difference between the two.
He unstraps the guitar from his back and stubs out the cigarette, tossing it away.
"So. How 'bout you sit down, and I'll come up there. Okay?"
"Oh yeah," breathes Cassie. She doesn't mind that he's a stranger, or that he could be anyone. He could want anything at all from her, and it doesn't matter so long as he wants. She takes a step backwards, stumbling to fall in a small heap just beyond his sight.
It doesn't hurt. Very little does, these days, and that's the point.
"You might fall if you're not careful," Luna says. She likes the roof too, and she's come up with a kite in hand that she's made out of a Muggle newsprint called Parade. It's a misleading title, as there have been no pictures of parades in it at all. But it makes for good kite material, something magic isn't required for, a necessity here.
She's barefoot, in a t-shirt that's cut to fall over one shoulder and a patchy-looking denim skirt, but she smiles brightly. "Are you new here? I'm about to fly a kite, you could come with if you'd like."
Cassie turns slowly, not out of fear for the fall that awaits her if she shifts at all backwards, but because she's finding it difficult to focus just now.
"I don't think I'm new," she says. This doesn't look like New York City, but Cassie can't have run that far. "I just don't belong, that's all."
She takes a long and thoughtful look at the girl's kite, absorbing the colours until she can see them even when she closes her eyes. "Your kite is wonderful."
"Nobody really belongs here," Luna says. She stands quiet and still, tilting her head as she studies the other girl, and decides that they could nearly be sisters, for the way they look and sound. That would be brilliant.
"We just all end up here, is all. And thank you, I spent all morning making this. Why don't you come over here and I can show you how to fly it?"
A lot of shit's happened on that roof. I feel like a lot of it happened in another life, another part of me that I cut free months ago. All this baggage that isn't weighting me down so much anymore. Seeing the girl there is a strange kind of deja vu, dragging up memories of another person standing there, just like that, cheating death and cursing his whole fucking life... the life I thought we'd built together.
I blink against the sun, holding up a hand to shield my eyes, and in the glare, the fall of blond hair around her face looks like a glowing halo. She's a slip of a girl, pale and almost transparent, and from the look of it, fucked up outta her head.
"It's a pretty nasty fall, you know," I call up to her, thinking inevitably about Logan's broken leg, almost two years ago.
"Oh." Cassie opens her eyes and stares down the neat, hard lines of concrete wall to the boy below. His hair is loose and lovely like Sid's, but he isn't him. They never are, and Cassie's high enough that she can't remember whether or not she wants them to be.
"Sure," Cassie says easily. She follows him with her eyes for as long as she can, turning until he disappears and she's left alone at the edge. She starts a little when his head appears, beaming at him in genuine delight.
"Oh wow!" she says. "You've come back. That's so lovely."
Cassie's used to being yelled at, even if most communication seems to happen more at her than to her, and she nods at him without moving an inch from the edge.
It's not her fault, after all. She didn't come to the edge, it came to her.
Indeed she had been, legs hanging off the edge of the roof, her over-sized hat attempting to fly off at any moment.
Ophelia turns her head at the sound of a voice and holds out the bowl in her hands. It matters little to her that this girl who is there hadn't been there before. People come and go as they please and she has always liked strangers.
Cassie turns towards her voice, unable to find its owner until she remembers that her eyes are closed.
"Wow," she says, staring at the strawberries in real delight, even if she doesn't take one. They're a bit jumbled, falling in on one another, and if the girl will let her Cassie'd like to arrange them. "Your hat is lovely."
"Thank thee," Ophelia pulls the bowl back and sets it on the ledge next to her.
"I did find it and I shall keep it. There are others if you would like one to match." Matching isn't something Ophelia minds. She likes order and rules as much as she likes making them up to suit herself. "Come, sit, tell me where you've been and things like that."
"I had one," says Cassie. "When I was in hospital." She sits down, studying the other girl for some sign of mockery, but there doesn't seem to be any to find. "Oh. Do you truly want to know?"
Comments 58
She's...really close to the edge.
"Hey!" he calls up, waving his hand. "You on the roof! What the fuck are you doing?"
Reply
"Hullo," she says in answer to his question.
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"Um. Hi."
Her movements give her away. She's either on something, or crazy, and Mamet's seen a lot of fucking people too drugged out or drunk out of their minds to where there's hardly any difference between the two.
He unstraps the guitar from his back and stubs out the cigarette, tossing it away.
"So. How 'bout you sit down, and I'll come up there. Okay?"
Reply
It doesn't hurt. Very little does, these days, and that's the point.
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She's barefoot, in a t-shirt that's cut to fall over one shoulder and a patchy-looking denim skirt, but she smiles brightly. "Are you new here? I'm about to fly a kite, you could come with if you'd like."
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"I don't think I'm new," she says. This doesn't look like New York City, but Cassie can't have run that far. "I just don't belong, that's all."
She takes a long and thoughtful look at the girl's kite, absorbing the colours until she can see them even when she closes her eyes. "Your kite is wonderful."
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"We just all end up here, is all. And thank you, I spent all morning making this. Why don't you come over here and I can show you how to fly it?"
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I blink against the sun, holding up a hand to shield my eyes, and in the glare, the fall of blond hair around her face looks like a glowing halo. She's a slip of a girl, pale and almost transparent, and from the look of it, fucked up outta her head.
"It's a pretty nasty fall, you know," I call up to her, thinking inevitably about Logan's broken leg, almost two years ago.
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"It wasn't so tall before," she says.
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Finally, I breathe out a sigh, moving to go around the building where the ladder is.
"Stay there, okay?"
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"Oh wow!" she says. "You've come back. That's so lovely."
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It's not her fault, after all. She didn't come to the edge, it came to her.
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Indeed she had been, legs hanging off the edge of the roof, her over-sized hat attempting to fly off at any moment.
Ophelia turns her head at the sound of a voice and holds out the bowl in her hands. It matters little to her that this girl who is there hadn't been there before. People come and go as they please and she has always liked strangers.
"Aye, tis. Strawberry?"
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"Wow," she says, staring at the strawberries in real delight, even if she doesn't take one. They're a bit jumbled, falling in on one another, and if the girl will let her Cassie'd like to arrange them. "Your hat is lovely."
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"I did find it and I shall keep it. There are others if you would like one to match." Matching isn't something Ophelia minds. She likes order and rules as much as she likes making them up to suit herself. "Come, sit, tell me where you've been and things like that."
Reply
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