Repose

[Ella was quite delighted to find Helena in town. The world, Ella knew, was small enough to fit itself within a thimble, and yet she was always surprised when things pleased her. Perhaps it was a life built upon hunger that did that. She was never one to expect the gifts beneath the tree, but she could always be counted upon to smile brightest when said gifts appeared. Ella never did question the appearance of crinkling paper and bright silver bows, and perhaps that, too, was upbringing. But, simply, she thought it was the bee's knees that Helena was here. She'd always liked the other woman, who was so elegant and proper. Ella had never been prim nor proper, and a gilded cage hadn't taught her to sing any better songs. Helena was quality, and Ella was a handout on a dirt road, and yet they understood each other.

This night, Ella dressed like frumpery, and she arrived at Lux every inch the lady of the flower shop. The role of spinster, she'd learned decades earlier, made it easier to learn things about a place. Vacuous smiles and freckles bright against alabaster, and no one suspected a thing. So long as her curves were hid beneath loose fabric, and so long as she laughed and smiled and sang, as a proper canary should.

But Helena knew better. In Helena, Ella had a confidant who knew her to be more than this frumpy seller of carnations. Helena knew, if only in the telling, that Ella had tippled her way through the roaring twenties with gin juice in her belly, and with the echoing woods of speakeasies beneath her feet. Tonight, however, Ella walked in and looked around before approaching the bar with all its shine and luster. Uncertain, and deliberately so, she asked the bartender to choose for her, and she fully expected him to return with something featuring an umbrella. Music played, and her pump wanted to dance, but she needed to be tipsy first. Or, so was the expectation of a spinster flower-marm upon the town.]

[Meredith's fate is old news, but he's out of the loop.]

There is a lot of blood in the road.

Who: Atticus & Janus
What: A bus ride
Where: Repose → Capital
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Nope

Atticus didn't need to take the bus. Even without the El Camino's restoration done, he still had the Caprice. Didn't need to take the bus. Had a full tank. Liked driving. Loved the radio blaring loud and the windows open. Liked being alone with his thoughts along endless black. Loved the way the sunlight made the road and sky meet and blur in the distance. Could've gone in the morning. Didn't need to go now, in the middle of the night, on an 11 o'clock bus. Bottom line: Atticus McVickers didn't need to take the bus. But there he was, at the bus station at 10:50, waiting.

Jeans and a sweatshirt in faded black. His stubble had become a beard the day earlier. His curls really needed a cut. He had his thick Walkman in his pocket, as normal, and Pink Floyd's Wall played loudly enough to hear if you came close to him. No earbuds for Atticus. He liked old sponge headphones, and his had gone from black to faded gray over the years. Had a reservation for the night in the Capital, and he was meeting an estate agent for breakfast. The bag hanging from his shoulder had a decent set of clothes in it. Would get someone to iron them at the hotel.

Would be a lie to say he didn't want to get away. Had been uneasy since the incident at the B&B, and Janus' hints of someone more powerful than him coming into town hadn't fallen on deaf ears. Would've warned Michael, but Michael hadn't been back to the B&B in weeks. Atticus wondered if he'd moved on. Janus might know.

Bus arrived, and Atticus climbed in and sat in one of the empty seat behind the driver. Had bought his ticket that morning. For a procrastinator, that was almost proactive.