WHO: Beverly & Aerith WHAT: Bev's visit to Seattle leads her to Aerith's door WHERE: Aerith's in LA WHEN: Tonight RATING / WARNINGS: Mentions of a demon clown and wanting to kill children, nbd
As usual, the trip to Seattle was a trip she regretted.
She’d gone to the memory center and went into the correct room, unsure of what could possibly befall her next. Her last memory was of her forming a bond with other outcasts at school, Losers for their own reasons. People she could count on, even if they were all a bit different and came from different backgrounds. But this time it was like she went from zero to sixty in terms of terror.
An encounter with IT andblood, thick and hot and heavy; it was scarlet, it oozed, it covered the whole bathroom - and Beverly didn’t really have the patience or the critical thinking skills to sit down and consider what it really meant, if it was somehow tied to her anxiety about sexuality and menstruation and being sexually assaulted by her father in that same bathroom (it was). Alvin actually couldn’t see the blood at all, which seemed like some gaslighting bullshit, him refusing to acknowledge the abuse he was putting her through - the fact that her friends could see it made her feel better, that she wasn’t hallucinating or crazy. They even helped her clean it up - slow and grimy work, and they never once complained. They were there for her. Supported her.
It kind of made her want to go see Richie and ask if he saw it too, but she thought that maybe she needed some time with a ladyfriend first - someone who actually experienced what it was like to be a woman, especially in this day and age. The whole memory had Bev feeling vulnerable and it wasn’t a feeling she liked at all.
When she arrived at Aerith’s shop, she kicked herself for not bringing anything - but she hadn’t even thought to dress up (wearing grey drawstring lounge pants and a matching asymmetrical top), let alone carry along a bottle of wine or a pie or something. She’d been crying, that was obvious, blue eyes bright as marbles and still glistening with tears, even a little red - the shop was closed but she rang the bell for after-hours delivery anyway, then sent Aerith a text so she wouldn’t be too confused.
Hey, it’s me. Sorry to drop by unannounced - are you home?
Aerith was home, and home was right above the shop - so the idea of venturing out after a long day wasn’t all that appealing when her couch called her like a siren’s song only a floor away. Her visit to Seattle had come and gone already. For once, there was no memory - only a single pink ribbon meant for her hair.
It had been a gift. She was fairly sure it was going to be the only thing she’d tie her hair back with now. She couldn’t fathom any other accessory.
That night she had accomplished some mindless tasks. Productivity was how she chose to deal, and when she wasn’t immersed into the world of flower arrangements and deliveries she was tidying up. Wiping down counters, scrubbing her baseboards, trying out some kind of new Pinterest recipe that may or may not end up in total failure. Actually, she was in the middle of mixing up cookie dough - white chocolate raspberry, specifically, a cooking show blaring in the background - when she heard the doorbell. Then her phone made a ding.
She was down the stairs thirty seconds later.
“Hey,” Aerith greeted, and it usually would have been a much more chipper approach but Beverly’s mood - she picked up on it instantly, brows furrowing at the sight of glassy eyes and a sniffly face. Uh oh. “Come up! I’m making cookies.”
Getting her comfy indoors was the first priority. Second one would be figuring out what the hell was wrong, though she had a guess of what it could be related to.
Beverly was aware she looked like shit, but there was nothing for it - she’d basically teleported back from Seattle, ran into her house, locked the door, burst into tears while drinking some bourbon on the rocks with a shaky hand clutching the glass, and changed her clothes. Then sat still for about five seconds before deciding that she wanted to talk to someone. Aerith just happened to be that someone, lucky her?
“Cookies?” she repeated, following her friend up into the apartment above the flower shop. Bev had been here before but she was comforted by the earthy, sweet scents that seemed to permeate the walls - probably because of Aerith’s wares, or her own self, who knew. It seemed like a good idea to come here though. “I’m sorry, I didn’t - bring anything.”
She wrung her hands nervously, and if she was a nail biter she wouldn’t have anything left - luckily she was not, which was pretty much the only silver lining she could think of. Not chewing on her fingers, how great.
“Cookies,” Aerith confirmed. The oven was pre-heating, so the apartment was a tad warm - but it was quaint and cozy, tastefully appointed with various potted plants. The atmosphere was peaceful.
Except for the sound of Gordon Ramsey calling someone a fucking idiot in the background. She led her to the couch and insisted she sit. Cozy blankets were draped over it; her guest was welcome to them. “You don’t need to bring anything,” she assured Bev, offering a small smile. “Your company’s perfect. I promise.”
Surprise visits were completely fine. Sadly, it wasn’t as if she had much of a life beyond the shop. “Can I get you something to drink? Water, maybe? You look like you can hydrate with the crying you’ve been doing.”
Beverly hated crying - one, because she felt vulnerable as fuck, like her nerve endings were all exposed and out there for the world to see. For another, her skin was ivory and that meant blotchy with redness when she got a case of the sniffles. Annoying. But she’d suck it up and deal with it. “Water would be great, thanks,” she managed a small smile. It was tempting to ask for whiskey, but that probably wasn’t the answer right now. Hydration was.
She sat there for a moment, tugging a blanket around her shoulders even though she didn’t really need it - not in the middle of an LA summer, hazy and bone-dry. And yet it comforted her for some reason. “I went to Seattle,” she opened with; Aerith could probably guess. Wasn’t like Bev was over here sobbing about a man or some shit.
Well, unfortunately for Beverly she didn’t own whiskey. Or any hard liquor, to be honest. Maybe there was a bottle of rosé in her fridge, unfinished? Aerith couldn’t remember. Her beverages were usually just water, or something sweetened like tea or lemonade. A glass was pulled from her cabinets, the water filter switched on, and she added a couple ice cubes in to chill it.
“I had a feeling,” she hummed, joining her back on the couch and offering the glass. “I got spared this time - sort of. I got a ribbon.” Aerith pointed at it. It was what was currently holding her ponytail up. There was nothing visually special about it - it was silky, a blush pink. The sentimental value behind it was immeasurable, though. “I take it you didn’t see anything nice.”
That was an opening, if Beverly wanted to take it. She was a willing ear, a shoulder to cry on to. This whole thing was hard. It was muddling, and parts of it painful, and she wasn’t sure if anyone had memories that radiated sunshine and rainbows all the time. It was a pleasant thought, though. She genuinely did hope someone got saddled with that luck.
Beverly nodded her thanks, taking the glass. She actually chugged it all quickly too, in only a few sips, so maybe she’d been thirstier than she initially realized. Plus drinking water felt good - it didn’t get her all woozy and lightheaded, or hazy to the point where she didn’t even give a shit about passing out when she had things to do.
“That’s a pretty ribbon,” she said softly, shifting her gaze toward Aerith and the way her hair was pulled back. Bev figured that the ribbon must mean something - whatever was pulling the puppet strings, whoever was calling the Seattle shots, they wouldn’t make anything about this whole endeavor pointless.
At least she hoped not.
The glass was twisted in her hands, around and around. “But no, nothing nice. I was a kid, a teenager - just in the bathroom and I heard...these voices,” she tried to explain, looking down into that empty glass, the ice cubes melting. “Of dead children. They called to me - and then, blood, everywhere. It came from the sink and there wasn’t an inch in the whole bathroom that it didn’t touch. I know it was the clown, just fucking with me - “ An exasperated sigh escaped her then, through her nose. “Okay, so it’s not really a clown, but that’s the form IT takes. A demon. A monster.”
Oh. Um, wow. Voices of dead children, a bathroom full of blood - that sounded like an actual living nightmare. Aerith’s eyes were wide and blinking as she took it all in, painting herself a much too vivid mental picture of Bevery’s words.
The clown bit added several more shades of creepy.
“Bev, why -” Aeriith scooted closer, hoping that the hand that found itself on her friend’s knee wasn’t too intrusive. “Why do you have a monster that takes the form of a clown doing this to you?” Was it trying to kill her? She imagined if it wanted to it would at that moment.
The hand on her knee wasn’t intrusive at all - Beverly found it comforting, actually, kind of as a way to keep her grounded so she didn’t go running for the balcony to take a flying leap or something. Or maybe that was a little dramatic, but still. Everything sucked.
“Our town is - evil,” she said, trying to think of how she could explain this. It sounded ridiculous, and she didn’t even have all the pieces yet either. For that, she probably had to keep going - which made her want to vomit, the very thought of returning to Seattle again. “Lots of kids have gone missing. The police don’t even really look into it. But there’s this...force responsible for everything, this monster who feeds off the fear of kids. IT likes to scare them first, their fear is like food or something. Or makes them tastier when they’re finally...eaten.”
Something like that, anyway. It was all blurry and vague and she hated it.
Wow. That was -
A lot. Insanely terrifying, too, she could understand why Beverly was so caught up in emotion of the memory. She sucked in a breath of air only to slowly exhale, and that hand that clasped her knee sought out her hand instead.
“Okay, how about you -” Aerith stood up, tugging the redhead along with her but she wasn’t going to be pushy about it. “Help me roll cookie dough into balls? It’s white chocolate raspberry ones I’m making. We can talk in the kitchen.”
Maybe giving Beverly something to do with her hands to unleash remnants of that nervous energy would help? She wanted to have her give it a try, anyway. The kitchen wasn’t anything massive but it overlooked the living room - having given her the perfect view for watching guilty pleasure shows - and the cookie dough was currently resting in a bowl on the counter, the bakesheet next to it.
Well, now that she’d gone and killed the mood. Beverly hadn’t meant to just word vomit but then again, she’d shown up here needing to talk so she let it happen and - now she felt awkward, but what else was new. People were never her strong suit - it was often easier to hunker down in her studio and work her fingers raw, to the bone, sewing until she dropped.
“I can do that,” she promised with a sniffle and a small smile, hand curling around Aerith’s - she let the other woman lead her to the kitchen, where everything was set up. “Do you have an ice cream scoop? I’ve read that’s a good trick for getting perfect balls. Cookie balls. Whatever.”
Plus it helped ensure your hands were less sticky too, which could be a conundrum while baking. And it meant perfectly round cookies in the end.
“Perfect balls, that’s the dream!” Aerith giggled. But, the ice cream scoop? Not a bad suggestion. She fished one out from one of her drawers to test the theory. “I’m not the best at the kitchen, but I’m getting better. I’ve been channeling memory stress into productivity.”
Which is what she was trying to gently nudge Beverly towards. Baby steps, though. It wasn’t like baking cookies would solve their problems or offer a total distraction from what they were experiencing.
She scooped the first one out and, wow, behold. Delicious spherical perfection? It was plopped onto the baking pan, and then she offered Bev the ice cream scoop for the next ball. “So is this… IT monster, it’s playing with you like you’re food before it tries to kill you?”
Aerith winced at her own words.
“I think so,” Beverly nodded, taking the ice cream scoop and digging in for her own perfect ball, following suit and plopping it onto the cookie sheet. They could take turns - and if she so happened to maybe taste test a little bit of the dough, well, that would just be a secret kept between them.
She cared fuck all about salmonella and raw eggs right now. Not with so much else on her mind.
Plop, there went another would-be cookie. These were going to turn out well and be tasty with a nice, cold glass of milk. Wild times going on here. “It’s hard to make guesses about it because I don’t have all the memories yet. But I think my other friends have experienced their own encounters too. I’m not sure what to do. IT’s terrorizing our town but we’re just kids, so...not like any of us are skilled at slaying demons.”
Fair. Children shouldn’t be skilled in slaying anything, really, but - hmm. Aerith thought it over. There was literally nothing that Beverly could do on this side. They were left to watch things unfold, helplessly, hoping that the next memory they were shown wouldn’t leave them heartbroken.
Once the cookies were positioned on the pan, she slid them into the oven for the baking. The timer was set. In ten minutes or so they’d have freshly baked cookies and she was pretty sure they wouldn’t end up being a total culinary failure.
“I do think there’s strength in numbers,” Aerith eventually said, leaning against the counter. There was still some cookie dough left, though - she saw Bev not so secretly take some earlier, and she’d leave her to that. She deserved it tonight. “If it feeds off fear, I don’t know, maybe you guys can do what kids are good at doing and bully it back. Make fun of it until you’re not scared anymore? Or - that’s probably a silly idea. I don’t know. I haven’t encountered a demon in any of my memories yet. There’s some magic, but that’s it.”
That whole train of thought wasn’t silly at all, actually. Beverly knew that a lot of this, a lot of how IT operated, was about belief - and childhood fears. “If we don’t act afraid, then no - I think that would weaken the monster significantly,” she said, using the ice cream scoop to take just a little bit more of the cookie dough. “I’ll see what happens. I guess that’s all any of us can do?”
They didn’t have all the puzzle pieces, didn’t have the answers. Whatever this thing was, that was leading them to the memories in Seattle, it sure did have them over a barrel. And not in a fun way.
“Hopefully next time we hang out, um - it won’t be so depressing?” she suggested. “I can, like. Buy you dinner or something.” Did that sound weird? Or potentially romantic? She didn’t know. But out of the two, she’d prefer if it didn’t sound weird.
Aerith always thought something like a demon would involve more brute force and a dash of something magical but - who knows. It all seemed like varying worlds that they were remembering. Hers was nothing like this one, not even close. She was sure that it was a different planet entirely.
Bev’s words, though, made her blink away from her thoughts. “Don’t buy me dinner because you feel like you owe me for this, silly,” she chuckled softly, green eyes gleaming as she crossed her arms. “Unless you want to buy me dinner just to buy me dinner?”
Hey, she felt like there was a difference!
“No, I - want to buy you dinner,” Beverly stammered, finding an interesting spot on the tiled kitchen floor to stare at. She was awkward at this. The last time she asked someone to go out with her, they went out once and then he decided to date a guy or something, so - maybe she should follow suit. Clearly what she thought was working was actually kind of failing.
She laughed a little, in a self-depreciating sort of way. “I mean, if you want. You can pick the place.” There was a whole smorgasbord in LA to choose from.
Oh. Aerith’s eyes blinked wide. So it was that. She hadn’t expected it to be true. It’d been awhile since anyone had asked her out for something like that - and with her being so busy, putting herself out there in the dating scene hadn’t been a priority.
“Hmmm,” hummed, mouth widening into a smile, scooting a smidge closer to Bev so she could bop her nose gently. “Yes! But on the condition that you finish all these cookies with me, and you - stay and watch something, maybe? You don’t have to go home, if you don’t want to.”
The cookies had about exactly sixty seconds left - the countdown on the timer had begun - and Aerith’s couch was super comfy for anything Netflix or more angry British Man Yelling In Restaurants. She was also an excellent cuddler. Bev could use some of that.
Honestly, all of that sounded sublime to Beverly - fresh hot cookies and cold milk and something distracting on television; it could definitely be British Man Yelling in Restaurants, that was fine with her. Cuddling was too. She was a little rusty but she’d gotten in more practice at the 4th of July party she threw, when she was a little buzzed and snuggled up with Aerith. A nice, warm, safe feeling for once as opposed to feeling on edge about, well, everything.
“You don’t have to twist my arm,” she promised. “Not going home seems like a good idea.” It was empty there - she liked her place, sure, but she didn’t want to be alone right now.
So when the time went off - ding! - she grabbed a pot holder she found on the counter and made herself useful, removing the tray from the oven. “They smell great,” she complimented. “I think the hardest part will be waiting until they cool a little to eat them.”
She’d probably end up burning her tongue a little, but who cared? There were worse things that could happen.
Aerith was beaming, actually, a closed-mouth smile stretching to her eyes. Okay, so - she was a little excited? A lot excited, actually, she had butterflies in her belly. “Oh, um, I’ve never actually tried this recipe before but if they look and smell good, I’m guessing they taste good!”
They definitely looked like actual cookies, not some kind of abomination she concocted by mistake, yay! She went to get the milk out of the fridge and two glasses. Less hardcore than whiskey, but instead of a hangover there would be a cookie coma. “Can you scoop them onto a plate and we’ll head to the couch?”