the shadows I live with Who: Briony (+ NPC Fells family members) Where: Fells household When: Morning
Trapped in that muddy ‘take your shoes off’ space between the kitchen and the door to the back yard, Briony threw a glare that was almost half-hearted over her shoulder at her adoptive mother. Not that it mattered because she wasn’t even looking to see. She was too busy yelling at Hayden in that way that meant she didn’t want The Youngest to hear. Weren’t they supposed to be going out somewhere? Even though it was a Monday and they should both be in school. The Fells family didn’t do ‘sick days’. Mostly because Briony never really got sick unless you counted her stuffing her fingers down her throat, and Rachel never believed Hayden when he claimed he was sick ever since that time she caught him trying to fake a fever by holding the thermometer against the radiator. He was learning by now though. He kept his mouth shut and didn’t complain so much. Maybe he realised that nobody really cared?
They were all supposed to be going to church today. The little demon had had mixed feelings over it. On one hand it meant she got to go to a funeral! At least, Briony hoped it was a funeral. She didn’t believe in going to a church to pray that people come back safely -- because frankly, she’d rather they stayed where they were to rot and die. Or die and rot. That order made more sense. On the other hand, it meant she was getting dragged to a really-real church with really-real blessed ground where her eyes would do funny things and she would probably end up hurling all over the place (that’d be funny). The holies bugged her like that, nevermind their stupid buildings. Why they couldn’t just go to Amazing Grace, she didn’t know. Something about supporting a friend because their kids were missing. Support. Support.
Rachel Fells couldn’t’ve picked a more alien concept if she’d tried.
Humming the first few bars of Johnny Cash’s ‘Hurt’, she lost any patience she might have nearly (almost-nearly) had with her current state of being locked out like a dog that’d gone and bit somebody, and decided to ignore what almost-nearly sounded like arguing that’d started inside the house. It was Rachel and Hayden. That was new, she reflected, kicking off brand new patent leather shoes one by one. She’d been deliberately waiting to scuff them with the utmost care on the underside of someone’s church pew, but she didn’t want to get her tights muddy while she switched into the much-coveted rain boots that had once been Airla’s.
But Airla was dead now, so she was using them.
There had nearly been a screaming match (Rachel’s screams, not hers) over whether or not she’d get to to wear her ‘Wednesday Addams’ tights to church but she had won and she’d be dam--nooo, she’d be blessed if she mussed them up now. Stomping her feet more comfortably into her boots, Briony briefly pressed her nose up against the glass of the kitchen door (Hayden was sat in his chair like he was on the Naughty Stool while Rachel pointed a finger at him angrily), then swept around with a flourish and seized her umbrella. A coat might’ve been a better idea since it was kind of cold out and it’d stopped raining yesterday, but even though she had eyed the coat pegs the thought seemed to have zoomed right out of her head.
Splat, splat, spludge -- and the humming stopped as little Fear stood in the middle of the best mud-puddle in the garden, fiddling with her umbrella. How did you get the stupid things up? It creaked and creaked and... Briony paused. Face crunching into a confused frown, she swung the umbrella out of her line of sight to stare at her feet. Rain boots were meant to keep water out, but her toes were definitely wet. Not because she was stood in a puddle -- because yesterday’s rain seemed to already be inside of her boots. Or Hayden had put water in them. She refused to notice that Airla’s old rubber boots were actually too big for her.
Shoot.
Oh well. Church didn’t seem to be happening right now -- or ever -- and the messier she got the more likely they were to stay home. Somewhere behind her she could hear Rachel and Hayden’s voices getting louder. Good. The humming started over again (but without any real tune) and Briony dragged her feet towards her favourite Climbing Tree, leaving very deliberate tracks in the mud. Handle of the umbrella hooked over the nearest branch, she began to pull herself up before spotting something fuzzy and soggy and... dead. “Huh.” After a moment’s consideration she blocked out Rachel’s yelling in favour of staring at next door’s cat. The ginger tabby wasn’t so ginger any more, blood having dyed it in a patchy way and not yet washed out. Someone had hung it on her tree with... wire. They use cheese wire on TV... Fascinated, nine year old fingers itched to reach out and pull it down so she could see, but she was too short. Glancing back at the house, Briony frowned. Then she screamed at the top of her lungs: “DADDY!”
Two things happened. The shouting inside stopped. Then Paul Fells came rushing out, even though the demon knew everything about her told him to run back the other way. Her eyes widened as she turned them on him, still clinging to the pointy end of her umbrella. “Fizzles got real stuck,” she stated, clearly just a bit bewildered but with every faith that her adoptive father could put things to rights. Uh huh. And I’m Daddy’s Little Angel. The only reason her eyes weren’t rolling was because Paul was just there and, really, she wanted to know what was going on with the cat. Because she sure didn’t do it. She’d definitely finished torturing cats by the time she’d hit three.
Above her, Mr. Fells’ reaction was almost impossible to read. He gently unhooked her umbrella from the branch without taking his eyes off the dead cat, then nudged her along. Since he hadn’t been looking, Briony guessed that he meant for her to go inside and not walk through the fence. So she decided to try her luck.
“But I wanna play--”
“Inside, Briony.”
He was using That Voice. The one normal kids just didn’t argue with. The one that made her want to break his fingers and maybe put a fork in his tongue with child-safe scissors. The demon’s jaw dropped and then snapped shut before she grasped the umbrella tightly in both hands and stomped her way through the mud and back into the kitchen -- deliberately neglecting to change her shoes just to rile Rachel on top of everything else. Behind her the bell on Fizzles’ collar gave a sad jingle. The trail of muddy footprints her boots were making through the kitchen wasn’t going missed by her adoptive mother, either. It didn’t take very long before Rachel tore her attention away from Hayden’s apparent bad behaviour (he’d said something rude that Briony had just ignored) and grabbed her youngest’s arm. The tingles that immediately ran up the demon’s skin were proof that perhaps the woman was regretting that. She might have laughed if she hadn’t been jerked away and up into the air by Paul -- Thought you were freeing the cat. -- who immediately explained what had apparently happened to Fizzles. Any colour that was left in Mrs. Fells’ face drained away. The little Fear loved when that happened.
What Briony didn’t understand, and quite simply couldn’t understand for a good few moments, was why Rachel’s attention turned back to Hayden. Hayden who, up until that second, had been taking the opportunity to slink out of his chair in an obvious attempt to escape the kitchen. Instead of freezing like half of fifth grade when faced with a super-cranky Bubbles (rabbits and headlights were a boring combination), he just stared back. With the exception of the colour slowly rising in his cheeks, his face was blank. Watching her sort-of-brother from the lofty heights of Paul Fells’ arms, Briony tilted her head in vague amusement. The hold Paul had on her was practically protective, though she had no idea what he thought she needed shielding from, and Rachel was giving her son the same horrified look she had given her before (even though she couldn’t ever prove a blessed thing).
The group staring match was getting really boring though, especially since Hayden had taken to glaring at her like she was the actual devil. She was nine, but even her games of make-believe had never stretched that far.
“Why’s everyone acting so weird?” The demon prodded Paul in the chest rather determinedly, her eyes moving between Rachel and the family’s new troublemaker with a seemingly innocent lack of understanding. When her mother-figure and brother didn’t answer, she looked at the father-figure. Unfortunately for him, the fact he was carrying her -- shielding her from the death of their neighbour’s cat -- meant he was close enough for her to see every nervous twitch in his face. There were loads. She didn’t know how he could be so close to her without getting the shakes. “Daddy, what’s going oooon?” There was that deliberately persuasive lilt that apparently only girls managed. Combined with her pout it was a killer; Paul Fells had never been able to resist it.
“Honey, Fizzles had an acciden--”
“Bullshit,” Hayden stated acidly. Now he was just glaring at everyone.
Briony, never one to miss a true Kodak Moment, ran with the silence that had suddenly fallen. “That’s a swear!” she declared, pointing right at him. “Mom, he used a swear!” Personally, she was delighted. Rachel, though, had frozen with her hand pressed to her mouth, staring at Hayden as if he were a stranger. Catatonic. Briony was sure the word was ‘catatonic’. Meanwhile, she suffered the minor annoyance of having her arm lowered for her by her Daddy -- she could have done that herself and her arms were bare, but he was so close she bet he couldn’t tell the difference if more Fear was added to his current state. He probably really couldn’t. He was even telling her to ‘shush’ and he knew how much she hated that. Puffing her cheeks out defiantly, she deliberately sagged in his arms and let her head loll until it rested on his shoulder. She did not miss pretending to be possessed in a really-real church just so Hayden could swear at home. He could do that whenever.
“Hayden...” Rachel’s voice was very small and she sounded like she was about to cry, but she was talking. Her face was still stuck in the same expression, though. “Do you know what happened to Fizzles?”
Briony wondered if the adults had any idea that the name of the cat made it very hard for her to even pretend to take this seriously. “He’s a goner?” she supplied in an oddly chipper, pseudo-helpful way. The other thing she hadn’t grasped in this particular case -- mostly because she didn’t care enough to -- was that she was meant to be somehow affected by the kitty’s death. Fear just didn’t do personal trauma.
Her remark got a reaction from the sort-of-brother, though. His head tilted until his gaze matched hers -- and he stared at her. Hard. He had dead eyes. Weird for a twelve year old. “They think I killed it,” he all-but spat at her.
His temper only made her want to poke at him more. “So?” She could be really good at poking when she wanted. It helped that Hayden hated her. “Did you?” It was the first question that came to mind. Frankly, it was the only one she was at all interested in right now. And it showed in the way her head tilted up to let her look at him properly. Rachel turn that alarmed expression to her instead; since Paul was keeping his mouth shut, Briony ignored her. Having a maybe-sociopath (yes, she knew what one of those was) for a brother was way more interesting than what she’d had before. That didn’t even take into account the effect it’d have on the parentals. If she wasn’t mostly trying to be Daddy’s Little Girl right now, she’d be egging the possible-headcase on.
The boy held her gaze for a moment longer, his eyes eventually angling past her to the back window. then to the floor. “It was alive when I left it.”
Oooh, liar. His answer was mumbled, almost drawled into one word. A bad attempt at pretending to be sorry. As Rachel excused herself from the room (probably to cry loads upstairs), Briony rubbed at her nose to cover a fleeting smirk. Then she turned on Paul. “Is Hayden gonna go to the head-doctor? Is Mommy? Are you gonna tell next-door what happened? Will they call the cops?” Yes, she knew it was only a cat. But if she could add fuel to the fire she was going to. Paul didn’t seem to be falling for it, though. She tilted her head at him. Catatonic. It was definitely the word. She was sure of it. She was also sure that he’d go and have a heart attack if he held her much longer. He was replaceable, but not yet. “Daddy, let me down.” Receiving no response, she carefully freed herself from his arms and dropped to the floor. From this angle he looked like a giant poseable doll. “Are we still going to church?”
The effect was almost instant, though thanks to his state of shock, he failed to notice her tugging him right past Hayden and into the hall. “Ah - no, Briony. You’ll have to wait for mass.”
“... Darn.” A pout for her Daddy, a smirk for her maybe-sociopathic kinda-brother as she looked back to see him staring after her, bewildered. He could maim and-or kill as many pets as he wanted, she didn't care -- everyone in that house was still hers. So was their attention. If he was killing cute-and-fluffies as a cry for help he was going to be disappointed. She could run circles around her so-called parents for a lifetime. Sucked to be them.
Someone really needed to do something about Rachel’s crying, though. Or just find the woman a spine. A real one, maybe. In a box! With ribbon and glitter and a bow... Somewhere in that equation, she would find a way to put a chisel to use.