lookforheaven (aucontraire_) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2015-07-16 02:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | # 2018 [07] july, adelaide hawkins, tr lansing |
Who: Adelaide and TR
Where: Their Capitol digs
What: Attempts to communicate.
When: Backdated to the next evening after these messages
Since she was very small, Adelaide has lived a precarious life.
Her memories of her father are scarce, more gleaned from stories than real life, but he was a devilish mean bastard and death from a bullet through his head was no more than he courted, from what she knows.
The shakeups and uncertainty from life at Rodeo's side were no less significant, but in between crises the Hawkins siblings made a good show of stability between them.
No, the most consistent offender in Adelaide's watch-your-step lifestyle was far and away her batshit crazy Mama. Walking through the door to their trailer each and every day had been a gamble, a guessing game of 'what devils are out to play today?' Charlotte Hawkins' relationship with Rodeo was a roller coaster ride of devotion and revilement, the woman driven more than half mad by the spitting image picture her son was of the man she had loved, who had beat her 'til she cracked.
It was something different with her daughter. With Adelaide there were very few ups, it was never less than a bitter slog. A mirror image of Charlotte except with Daddy's forehead and Grandma Hawkins' dimple, Adelaide had caught on at an early age that her mother was ripe with envy of her youth and, Adelaide could only assume, the fact that she was not (yet) batshit crazy. She picked at Adelaide constantly, acidic or dismissive or expectant by turns, so that before Addie was in double digits the sound of her Mama's voice made her teeth clench.
Whether Mama was ranting and raving, or sitting quiet in the dark kitchen smoking and sharpening a steak knife, or talking too fast and too loud with her makeup done too bright and her hair coiffed maniacally and a wild look in her eyes, you just never knew what was next, what would set her off, or when she would finally drink enough to pass her out.
Once, Adelaide awoke in the night to find Mama standing over her with a devilish light in her eyes and a pot of boiling water in hand, and she can't be sure what would have happened next if Rodeo hadn't come home that very moment.
So Adelaide learned young to always be aware of herself, to always know where her next step was taking her, to avoid conflict at home. To navigate minefields, and to manage situations rife with tripwires. Except for her first year in Boston, she has never lived in a situation where she didn't have to watch her moves. She only becomes aware of the weight of it in brief moments when it's gone.
So maybe it's not so surprising that she landed herself here with TR, in a place where she has to take a friend into the bathroom to have a private conversation. Maybe it's not so surprising that when he texted to ask how she was feeling, her mind immediately went over everything she could have done or said to tip him off to one of the many things she is keeping from him. Maybe it's not surprising that she's cooked them dinner (spaghetti and a precious jar of pasta sauce, fresh basil, with a crisp Verdicchio), lit some candles, and is acting like everything is normal.
James Morrison is playing from the laptop she's had since long before the endtimes, Charlie is laying out on a colorful blanket and kicking his feet at toys that dangle above him, and when their door opens to announce Thomas has arrived home, Adelaide sets down the dinner plates and turns to greet him, never letting on that her nerves are jangling. "Hey darlin'," she says, leaning up to brush a kiss across his cheekbone. "Hope you're hungry."