Don't you worry, don't you worry Who: Cheila + familiar Where: The motel When: The crack of dawn
As she had done for quite some time now, Cheila had risen before the sun, kicked out of bed by unpleasant dreams she could never remember. While the lack of sleep did nothing to alter her mood, it did make her movement rather more lethargic. It was just as well, she reasoned, because she didn't wish to wake her familiar before she was ready. Lala had finally settled at some point the night before -- after her claustrophobic elemental had come to terms with the fact she could not sleep with her motel door open because she didn't know who was out there. It was an argument that had lasted a while, since after going to check which 'who' the bird was referring to, Cheila had pointed out there wasn't anyone there to begin with, and why would anyone come want to into her motel room? When it was established that Cheila herself would readily wander through an open door out of sheer curiosity, she had reluctantly closed it. Lala had not tried to rest until she was certain the blonde would not get up to open it again. Those were not healthy hours for a bird such as her to keep.
Right now, it was too early for anyone to be around. That odd hour when everything seemed to silence itself in preparation for the rising sun. Having dressed herself as quietly as possible, she left Lala to sleep and went to sit in the doorway to greet the morning winds. Inside was too hot and sticky for her liking, and it smelled strange. Her clothes were new, though, and that was always a silver lining. Using her scruffy rucksack as a cushion, Cheila reflected on how she came to be here. Well, mostly the parts involving Lincoln. He had been nice enough to find her new things to wear -- bracelets to cover marks she'd rather people didn't see. She had never asked where they came from, feeling guilty for assuming, at first, that he might have stolen them. It was more likely than not that he had, but she wasn't going to point fingers and what if she was wrong? It would be horrible to insult someone like that.
Temporarily losing herself as the breeze -- her breeze -- changed direction, she fidgetted with the hem of her dress. Being too reclusive to even register his humour, she had failed to notice that her friend had, to the best of his ability, dressed her to fit his mental image of what a Greek priestess should look like. Or perhaps how she should look as a priestess. It made no difference to her. This was the... third? white dress he had found for her. He had a gift for knowing exactly which ones caught the wind properly. Could Finders do that? Just find things that people would like?
'That isn't a psychic ability, daydreamer, that's careful consideration,' Lala corrected sleepily, awake now for the morning chorus. Over the weeks, 'daydreamer' had become a term of endearment between the two. It had started off as an allegedly inaccurate observation. Cheila was adamant her thoughts did not quite reach the lofty heights of dreaming. It was just that she had a lot of them, and often at the same time. 'You probably talked him into an elemental submission, leaving the image etched inside his skull.' Not that it would have been deliberate, to be fair.
"Do you think he was right?" She had moved on, and was now trying to push her arm-band into the exact same place as it had been before. It wasn't cooperating. "Do you think everyone is here?" There was a definite note of hope among the tangle of nerves that was starting to show in the litter blowing around the parking lot.
'The focus was on your mother,' the bird reminded her gently. 'If he is right, she will be here.' Somewhere. Feeling her human's discomfort at the idea of approaching disappointment, she took perch on top of her head. For some reason it reassured her. Or grounded her. One was more likely than the other.
"I think he was right," Cheila continued, eyes to the heavens because she could no longer address her familiar to her face, as it were. "The sky is too pretty for him not to be." There was at least one priestess of the old gods in the town, she had decided, not counting herself. There was whispering in the air around her. Notes of encouragement. This was the right place. Well -- the rest of the town was. This was the motel. She really needed to find the money at the bottom of her bag.
'Pack your things in the right order next time, dearling," she watched Cheila puff her cheeks out in an admission of silliness and hopped outside to join in the birdsong. Inside, all of Cheila's belongings were getting spread out across the floor.
She couldn't quite remember where he had gotten the bag from either.