Who: Izzie, Sascha, The Narrator, and Lucas (brother) What: Izzie doesn't want to go in to dinner When: November 27th (Thanksgiving), late afternoon Where: stAgnes Warnings: G Status: Narrative, complete.
“Now you see, ladies and gentlemen, Isolde never wanted to really come home. Not because her parents were cruel, or fed her Brussel sprouts, or even gave her coal in her stocking. Though she did deserve it as a twelve year-old, just so you know. No, Isolde Blake didn’t like going home because while she was there she realized just how strange she really was.”
Gritting her teeth, Izzie tried to keep in mind the advice she’d been given already. Irritate the narrator. Drown it out with music. That it could DEFINITELY be worse! But she could only listen to Lindsey Stirling so loud before the bass started vibrating in someone else’s ears and she got stared at. But at least she said that BEFORE I got inside. And maybe if she waited outside, the narrator would start that whole…
Sascha looked up silently when Izzie went still beside him, and then leaned into her leg just enough that his presence was felt. Rarely did she fall over, and she didn’t this time. He was just there to catch her, just in case. Nostrils twitching, he looked around the sidewalk and just… waited.
… argument thing, and she’d at least get some humor out of this. Izzie had been looking for humor all day, ever since this weirdo had started talking about her, including her inner thoughts. She’d escaped to the dog park, but even there things just felt off and weird. Shoving her hands deeper into her pockets, she then freed one of them to rub at Sascha’s ears. With the slightest flex of mental muscle she sent the image of her parents and her siblings to the dog. What were they up to?
That was an easy one for Sascha, who dropped his head to the ground and sniffed at the steps leading up to their townhouse. The scents were fresh and he could follow them like blurry color trails straight to their sources, and his ears caught voices inside. Muffled, not like he thought he remembered voices being, but there. Looking up, he thought of them all in the dining room. That’s where they were.
Did that mean food? He flashed the image of meat.
Izzie snorted. Sascha just liked meat; though they tried dog food first he turned his nose up at it and went without eating. Not that he ate meat that much more often, but the fact that he did nearly drove her mother insane. It cost a fortune! “Poor dog, can’t get a break.”
More pictures of meat appeared in the back of her head.
“Yeah, I’ll get you something.” She was already missing Thanksgiving though so a steak would have to wait. She’d just wanted to take a walk in the dog park while it was quiet, but this was her penance. She’d missed saying grace already.
”Not that it’s any business of mine, my dear, but shouldn’t you go inside? Your family IS waiting.”
Gritting her teeth again, the teen rolled her eyes and then shifted around to sit on the front steps. Sascha folded himself in front of her, eyes on the people passing by. “Uh… No, actually. It’s not any business of yours. So since you kind of butted in, I think I’ll just sit here.” Fleeting moments of rebellion, sure. Izzie could do that. Now if her mother ordered her inside she’d dive in with her metaphorical tail between her legs to hide behind her, and try not to garner notice.
Her father had the oddest look on his face when he heard the narrator earlier that morning. Like he’d just shut off, tuned out, and was somewhere else entirely. He’d stammered back into function when her mother had swatted his shoulder, and asked Izzie what that was. Could she turn it off?
”But you can’t just SIT here.” The narrator finally sounded annoyed. Still like Effie Trinket, though. ”Nothing happens when you just sit there, other than that awful, awful dog licking in otherwise censored places. And they ARE waiting. The story must go on, the chapters must be written. Whether you feel off balance and weird or not.”
“No they’re not.” Izzie glared up and over her shoulder, towards where the voice seemed to come from. She was just staring at the sky, but it felt better to look somewhere. “Sascha told me they’re eating. So maybe I should just go take a walk and get leftovers later.”
“Or maybe they’ve heard you and they really are waiting.” Smug.
Izzie froze. “How did they hear m—are you talking THAT LOUD?!”
“I might. You won’t know until you go inside.”
“Ah, no.”
Smugness fading, the narrator huffed. “Just go already! Everyone wants to know what your family’s like. They’re all dying to hear about it. Just the slightest little clue about what they’re like around you.”
Izzie met Sascha’s eye, and pictured a cat being dunked in water. Like a caterwauling cat, wasn’t she?
The dog barked softly, raspily, and slapped his tail on the ground. That was funny! Angry cats were hilarious.
”You can’t share jokes with the dog. I know what you just told him.”
Izzie twisted to look at nothing again and almost opened her mouth to tell the narrator—who was starting to need a capital N just for identification purposes—that it didn’t matter, because it was true. She was whining like a grumpy little pu—
Lucas was in the doorway. Her brother was tall and darkly colored, with a blank expression on his face that was normal for him. He didn’t enjoy social affairs—he was probably loathing dinner right now, with their mother trying to get everyone to chat and their father sneaking a look at his tablet PC under the table. Mallory would be stealing another biscuit already and ignoring the order to wait for her sister before she got seconds. Mimicking under her breath while rolling her eyes that ‘Izzie won’t appreciate being left out.’ And Lucas? He would be mentally calculating the number of peas in the bowl to pass the time, and trying to figure out what book he was going to read next.
”And then entered the brother. Stalwart, calm… boring. Izzie sometimes wondered if he was really her brother, or a robot experiment of her father’s.”
“I have NOT!” Squeaking, Izzie glared into the air. Lucas blinked once or twice, hazel eyes darting into the air to try and find the mystery woman narrating his sister’s life.
At their feet, Sascha was unperturbed. It was just another human voice. What were they so frazzled about? There was nothing threatening Izzie at all—her brother was about as harmful as that cat in the bucket of water from before.
“Ah…” Lucas swallowed, then raised a brow. “Mom is waiting for you to join us for dinner.”
“Sorry, Luke. I don’t think you’re a robot. I really don’t, I swear.” Izzie was on her feet again, and swallowed down the discomfort. It wasn’t true, but it was close enough to being truth.
”It wasn’t so much a lie as a blurring of the truth. Luckily for Isolde, Lucas had no clue how to blur anything, nor did he realize when someone else did. So she was safe.”
As the teen screamed and growled simultaneously, her brother cleared his throat and turned around to head back inside. “Come on.”
Well that was great. Somehow, without her even trying to, she was hurting her brother. Who never purposefully hurt anyone—he was just about as socially adept as toothpaste. “Come on, Sascha. Let’s get this over with…” Muttering under her breath, Izzie nudged the dog with her toe and then headed up the steps with her hulking black shadow in tow.