maskormenacelogs | { 𝕒 } fight or flight

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{ 𝕒 } fight or flight

WHO: abigail & jayden; abigail & derek; abigail & will; abigail & freddie; abigail & hime;
WHERE: various;
WHEN: various;
WHAT: flotilla of apologies & sleepovers & secrets. a whole bunch of things in one neat little package. actual real life being a teenage girl time. catch-all for closed things throughout the month because i'm a weirdo.
WARNINGS: underage drinking? abigail's entire traumatic life, probably. mentions of abigail's entire traumatic life. TEENAGE GIRLS.

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{ ᴀʙɪɢᴀɪʟ & ᴊᴀʏᴅᴇɴ; ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 1sᴛ; ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ-ɪsʜ }

[ when jayden arrives, abigail is already waiting on the front steps, fluffy cat at her ankles sniffing the grass but seemingly too delicate to actually touch it. boys showing up at her house in the middle of the night is not a new thing, she's learned to bypass knocking and potentially waking up her roommates.

bundled in a thick sweater over her tank top and leggings, she is surprisingly sans scarf, but the sweater covers most of her scar and her neat side braid covers the rest. it also covers the conspicuous lack of ear. there's a reason it had been a surprise to jayden. she hides it very well.

she fidgets a little, shifting back and forth, but her arms are crossed so her usual nervous habit of tangling her fingers together isn't there to give her nerves away. ]

Hi.

{ ᴀʙɪɢᴀɪʟ & ᴅᴇʀᴇᴋ; ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 10ᴛʜ; ᴀғᴛᴇʀɴᴏᴏɴ }

[ abigail really needs to learn self-defense. not just because she has a tendency to get kidnapped and held hostage and, you know, murdered, but because her mode of self-defense is... also murder. not because she is a monster or enjoys it, but because she is excessively pragmatic and murder is guaranteed to work. murder has not failed her yet.

but if jayden hadn't let go when she said he was hurting her, she would have hurt him and that's scary. so learning self-defense is really for the best, for everyone.

derek is a good teacher and abigail truly wants to learn so she turns out to be a diligent and attentive student. and surprisingly tough for someone who is so small and unassuming. what, you think she gutted a grown man without having some muscle to put behind it. even still, derek could easily kick her ass so by the time he calls for a break, she's breathing heavy and has to push strands of hair escaping from her braid off her damp cheeks. ]

It's too hot for this.

[ huffing out a breath, she grabs a bottle of water off the back steps and sits down in the grass, fanning her bare throat. #midwesterner. she is delicate and does not like the heat. ]

{ ᴀʙɪɢᴀɪʟ & ᴡɪʟʟ; ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 10ᴛʜ; ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ }

[ hannibal is gone. abigail realized this when he didn't make a peep during her "hostage" situation. she has the self worth of a rotting, maggot riddled potato, but she knows he would have been there in a heartbeat.

to protect his investment, of course.

she's not sure how she feels about it, but she doesn't know how she feels about a lot of things. her life is a constant learning curve.

but she knows she cares about will and since hannibal isn't here, will deserves to know what he doesn't know. will deserves raspberries. not actual raspberries, unfortunately, abigail doesn't have any of those. she has a box of wheat thins in her lap as she sits cross-legged on her bed reading flannery o'connor for the fortieth time.

she doesn't bother to let will in because a. it's will, b. it's not the middle of the night, and c. she's not sneaking him in under chilton's nose. chilton knows will, there is not reason to secret him in the way she did with stiles.

her scarf, for the record, is still off limits and is currently wound around the post at the head of her bed, half stuck under her pillow. ]

{ ᴀʙɪɢᴀɪʟ & ғʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ; ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 16ᴛʜ; ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴀғᴛᴇʀɴᴏᴏɴ }

[ abigail is wearing her scarf again as she sits sipping her rose lemonade from some hippie coffee shop that only serves fair trade organic everything, but it's looped loosely enough that part of her scar is showing. baby steps.

she's fiddling with the straw nervously as she waits because how boy? how... telling someone you weren't actually dead and the funeral she went to was for a girl who was still alive and just recovering from having her eat cut off?

there is not manual for revealing her horrible life, okay, and right now she isn't feeling very #blessed. in any facet of her life -- except that she has freddie and will. she feels good about that. probably why she's so nervous. because freddie thought she was dead... and abigail let her keep thinking that. for months.

oops? ]

{ ᴀʙɪɢᴀɪʟ & ʜɪᴍᴇ; ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 18ᴛʜ; ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴀғᴛᴇʀɴᴏᴏɴ }

[ AHH GIRL THINGS WHAT.

so hime is taking abigail shopping. "taking" in the sense that they're meeting each other at the mall after school/stealing a shift at the bait shop for monies. but since abigail hasn't gone shopping since before her mom was murdered right in front of her...

hime will definitely need to take the reins on this one.

anypoodle, abigail is waiting by the fountain near the front of the mall type shopping area AS SHE WILL DIRECT HIME because fountains are good landmarks and so she can chuck a penny in for good luck. she's gonna need it, son. ]

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[And here's Jayden plodding up the walkway. He didn't realize he lived so close to Abigail all this time but he tends to forget the whole government housing set up. He's in track pants and a hooded sweatshirt, which could be pajamas. It's pretty late, after all. There's little he can do to hide the cloying scent of marijuana and his slightly bloodshot eyes, but. Hey. If she's going to judge him for that it's probably well within her right. Seems only fair. ]

Hey.

[He spots the cat and crouches down, smiling.] Котёнок! Hey there. Is she friendly?

[He looks up at Abigail, posing the question before trying to reach out his hand.]

Edited 2014-11-01 17:30 (UTC)

[ before she can answer, ziggy marches forward and meows plaintively like please sir, may i have another, like she is some sort of pet deprived creature and abigail doesn't spoil her with affection. ]

She's... [ a giant slut basically. ] Very.

[ she says nothing about the smell, blinking so her eyes don't water. who is she to judge, drinking wine that came out of a box. with a straw. besides that she spent a good month debating the merits of it for her nightmares and decided she was too much of a wuss to figure out how to buy it and just suffered instead. ]

[Jayden's eyes light up a bit when the cat comes right over. He makes the universal kissy noise for "come hither, feline" and scratches under her chin. He's mildly allergic to cats, so it's only a matter of time before his own eyes get itchy and he starts to sneeze, but cats are worth it. He's a big fan.

He pets her for several seconds, talking to her softly in Russian because hey, animals don't care what language you speak, they tend to understand you regardless. Without looking up, he switches back to English, asking Abigail:]

So you're a David Bowie fan?

[ her head tips to the side in curiosity as he talks to her cat in russian instead of english, a tiny, nervous smile fluttering across her lips. ]

My mom was. [ abigail does like space oddity tho, but it was more something her mom passed on to her with the wizard of oz when she stayed home sick, playing the collected works of bowie while she made dinner or dusted. ] She used to play it when I was small.

[The cat is now somehow in Jayden's arms, oh the allergy attack is coming, but he hugs her like a baby and feels the little motor in her throat vibrate into his hands as she purrs. There is almost nothing better than a content cat. He's never owned one, alas, due to lack of space, his sinuses, and a disagreeable mother. He and Ziggy could be good friends, though, that much is apparent.

He hesitates on her use of was. Will Graham's graphic description flashes before his eyes: Abigail's mom, throat slit, falling on the front porch. Abigail inside, held at knife point by her own father. Jayden wishes Will hadn't told him. He feels like now he knows Abigail's secrets against her will. He clears his throat, focusing on the cat.]

My dad, he uh, was really into classical music for some reason. Russian composers, obviously, just to be stereotypical. He'd play these tapes and CDs of like, Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky in his garage when he worked on cars. He said it helped him concentrate.

[It's not the same. Of course it's not the same. Jayden's father wasn't murdered, nobody ended his life on purpose, no one in his family was malicious enough to betray everything they were supposed to be. But he knows the weight of referring to a parent in the past tense, and he wants to show her that, in some small way, she's not alone.]

[ ziggy is 137% behind this plan. let's be best friends. ]

I like Tchaikovsky. [ well, she likes the dancing mushrooms in fantasia and the flowers and fairies. that's... the same thing, right? completely oblivious to jayden's newfound knowledge of her family, she doesn't notice the hesitation, assuming it's just residual awkwardness because of what happened the week prior and because she catches the past tense, train of thought unknowingly mirroring his: jayden's dad probably didn't murder people. or his mom. ] Hannibal listens to classical music. He cooks to it. [ her lips purse in thought. ] Handel. That's the one I remember.

Do you... [ she steps back so the doorway is open. ] Want to come in?

[Deal, kitty. Unfortunately, at that moment Jayden sneezes. Yup, here it is. He begrudgingly puts Ziggy down, vowing to return to the affection as soon as his allergies settle.]

I was never really into classical. I used to make fun of him for it. But he'd complain about what I was listening to, so it evened out. Who's Hannibal?

[This is the first he is hearing about a Hannibal. And what an unfortunate name. Perhaps luckily, he is distracted from further contemplating it by being invited inside. Inside a girl's house, late at night.]

Yeah. Um, sure.

[He springs to his feet, climbing the porch stairs with what he hopes is a cool and nonchalant saunter. He pauses in front of Abigail, nodding at her to lead the way, hoping she can't hear the sudden acceleration of his heart rate the way he can.]

[ she leads him inside, pausing to dump her green plaid rainboots by the door, padding up the stairs barefoot. she keeps her voice low as they walk, though anything frederick overhears would just be things he already knows. ]

Dr Lecter. He's a psychiatrist. He and Will were my legal guardians after my parents died. He wasn't my psychiatrist though, that was Alana, Dr Bloom.

[He follows her inside and upstairs, trying to keep his footsteps quiet, although Adidas sneakers make a lot more noise by default than bare feet. He nods at her explanation, thinking that's a lot of shrinks to have in such a small space. But he's always been skeptical of the mental health profession at best and dismissive of it at worst. Although, maybe given what Abigail has been through, the more shrinks the better.

And then, of course, Will. Jayden tries not to scowl.]

Will, uh... [Might actually kill him if he knew Jayden was here right now, following Abigail up to her room? Probably. Which is helping to propel him forward quite a bit. Fuck Will Graham and his patronizing bullshit.] He's something else.

[That is certainly the most diplomatic he can get about it. Even though deep down he's felt guilty since the last time they talked, the brief and confusing phone conversation where Will had tried to – what exactly? Intimidate Jayden? Scare him away from Abigail? It had ended badly, and Jayden knew his own parting words had been harsh, but they hadn't exactly been untruthful, either. So he shouldn't feel guilty about it. (And yet, somehow, he still does.)]

Edited 2014-11-02 03:56 (UTC)

[ what had stiles said? ] Intense.

[ abigail's room is sparse and neat. the walls have been painted a pale blue and black and white ornithological prints are in white frames on the walls between her windows. a laundry basket by her closet has a small pile of dirty clothes, horse printed backpack thrown on top. scarves are wrapped around the bedposts and her light blue and cream comforter is bunched up by the foot of the bed. there's a pink knit blanket underneath it, even though it's warm in florida basically all the time. she doesn't care.

books are stacked up on her desk and shoved haphazardly on her bookshelf, mostly because she isn't used to having a bookshelf again. she isn't used to having stuff, period, having lived basically a spartan lifestyle at port haven and hannibal's. it makes the things important to her look that much more obvious. a selfie of her and will on her desk next to her laptop perpetually open to tattlecrime, a flannery o'connor anthology on her nightstand, small cat bed tucked under the desk because cats.

there's a little love seat under the window, salvaged from someone else's castoff down the street when, presumably, a new resident moved in and thought the decor was ugly. their loss, abigail's gain. the only real thing of note is the purple glitter skull on her bookshelf and the vast collection of plastic starbucks cups in the trashbin next to her desk.

the lights are off, but the moonlight is drifting through the open window and she has a neato nightlight that shines stars at the ceiling (currently blue because it's her favorite of the three color choices) so there is decent enough light without the overhead light on the ceiling fan needing to be on. the box of wine is next to her bed and her glass is on the nightstand. with a straw.

she sits on her head, crossing her legs neatly in front of her. ] You can sit wherever. [ desk, loveseat, bed. she cares not. ]

He saved my life three times, he's just protective. [ she always sounds incredibly fond of will and it hasn't changed lately. ] I told him it wasn't your fault. I'm... I'm sorry if he -- [ she shrugs. ] -- wasn't nice.

[Jayden, in typical male fashion, does not register much about Abigail's room beyond girly and neat and box of wine. He nods toward it, inquisitive.]

That up for grabs?

[Because add a little underage drinking to his high, why not. He's already appreciative of the little glowy stars cast on the ceiling by her nightlight. The effect is kind of cozy, not harsh the way overhead lights tend to be. Maybe that's just what they need: some obfuscating darkness. Erase the edges.

As for sitting positions, it seems to be pushing his luck to immediately join her on the bed. He picks the loveseat, glancing out the window to see what her view is like. Not much different from his own. But of course it's dark.]

It's okay. [Even though it's not. He's really angry at Will, but Abigail doesn't need to know that. He'll sort it out.] It was my fault. I made you feel... unwanted. That's like, the exact opposite of what I meant to do.

It's okay. [ no it's not. ] I've been looked at worse.

[ that... doesn't make it better, abigail.

she scoots across the bed to pass over the box, and her glass since it's the only one she has, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the bed. ] You're not old enough to drink. [ neither is she, which is why she's still handing over the alcohol because the amount of fucks she gives is in the negative. ] I don't have another glass.

Yeah, well, you shouldn't be. You're smoking hot.

[Might as well be honest about that. She can't really believe he was kissing her out of pity.

He smirks because obviously neither of them should be drinking, but that's never stopped him before. He reaches over and takes the box from her, letting his fingers "accidentally" brush hers in the exchange.] Neither are you. I won't tell if you won't.

[Not that either of them have anyone to tell. They're both parentless, at least in this universe. Will Graham might try to be a standin, but he's got a lot of work to do on the dad role. He pours the wine from the box into her one indicated glass.]

We can share, if you want.

[They've already swapped quite a lot of saliva, why get weird about sharing a glass?]

[ she ducks her head, a tiny bashful smile, and tugs her sweater tighter around her. the last boy that sat on her loveseat was stiles. similarly creeping over in the middle of the night and sneaking up the stairs. the rate she is going she should just hang a ladder from her window. but she can't help comparing the two boys. because they're they only two boys. ever. the comparison is natural but abigail just winds up in the same confused stalemate she was in before. ]

Thanks. [ maybe it's for the compliment or the offer to share, who knows.

letting the warmth of being complimented and the equivalent to half a bottle of wine she's already had dictate the rest of the conversation, she abruptly blurts out: ]

I can't hear very well. Out of that ear. There's nothing to funnel the sound in so it just sort of... gets lost sometimes. That's why I'm always on your left. [ because her right ear is fine. she makes up for it intuitively. and apparently, well enough that he was completely unaware. ]

[Jayden takes a couple gulps, trying not to wince at the bitterness. Wine isn't his first choice of alcoholic drinks, but of course beggars can't be choosers. He wipes his mouth on the back of his palm and offers her the glass.]

I don't mind.

[He's never noticed what side of him she favors. It's good to know, though. Now it's something he can keep track of.]

I can do whatever you want me to, to make it easier.

[ she's not going to say no to the wine, taking a sip before passing it back. ]

Thanks. It's not that big a deal, I learned how to adapt. [ she learned to apart to all her scars. her speakers are on the right of her laptop, she doesn't wear earrings, her hair neatly covers the scar, she almost always has the scarf...

it's sad how she says its not a big deal though when it is decidely... a... big... deal. ]

[Jayden nods, because he knows about adapting, and he knows about things that aren't big deals that really are kind of big deals.]

Will, he... told me some stuff. I'm not sure you wanted him to, but he did.

[He swallows hard on the wine, letting the words out before he can chicken out on saying them. He doesn't think he can sit on the knowledge any longer, with her not knowing. What if she decides to tell him herself, and he can't play along well? She'd think he lied to her, and he doesn't want that. It seems better not to have secrets, if this is going to work for them at all.]

[ her shoulders lift in a relatively unconcerned shrug. she was going to let freddie use her life as a book, she can't really complain about privacy. ]

About my dad? [ most of her stuff stems from that so she assumes it's what will divulged. it does bug her, a little, if only because abigail has so little left that she can claim as her own, her story, her history, is one of the few things that is hers. though as will reminded her when he scolded her in regards to the book, is wasn't just her story.

so. she doesn't even have that. great. maybe it's that bitter thought that urges her to spill some secrets of her own, though on the same topic. maybe if she were thinking more clearly she would ease into it, but probably not. she's never been real kind in dropping knowledge bombs. ]

He killed girls that looked like me. Eight of them. He'd strangle them with his bare hands and then mount them on antlers to take out their organs. [ her feet kick back and forth placidly, like a kid fidgeting at the dinner table in a seat too big for their little body, and her gaze drops to watch her bare feet swing. she doesn't seem overly invested. ahaha. ] He killed them so he wouldn't kill me. It worked for a while. And then it didn't. Someone called and said the FBI was coming. He killed girls that looked like me because he wanted to keep me close, so when Will burst through the door he wasn't about to leave without me.

[ and the award for most impassive retelling of how her father tried to kill her goes to miss abigail hobbs. ]

[Well, that is... profoundly fucked up. Jayden takes another deep swallow of wine. Thank heaven for the THC circulating inside him, because instead of feeling angry, he simply feels intensely aware of how fucked up that is, and also aware that he might at some later time feel angry about it.]

Why antlers though?

[That seems... impractical, to be honest. But what does he know, Abigail's the one from Serial Killer World. He drains the cup of wine, pours more, offers it over to her.]

[ she waves off the wine, shaking her head but quietly relieved he's not, you know, justifiably freaking out. ]

He was a hunter. He used every part of the animal to honor them. That's just how he used the antlers. When he wasn't decorating like Gaston.

[ /ruins disney. ]

[No, he's not freaking out. In fact he almost snorts wine out his nose laughing.]

Wow, uh. Wow. That shouldn't be funny, but... [He's still laughing. Humor is his favorite deflection tool, and maybe he's just glad she's used it, too. This is an easier conversation to have.] Did he have a dumb midget friend too?

[Because seriously, what even is Lefou.]

Just me. [ she shrugs, but there's a tiny smile.

she's just really glad there is no more freaking out.

REALLY GLAD.

she just looks, like, mildly glad. ]

Pshhh. You're not dumb. You're really smart. I'm all caught up in soc because of you.

[Because of those ten questions you checked. Totally. But hey, he's just glad she's smiling. He slides off the loveseat onto the floor, under the pretense of putting the now empty wine glass on the bedside table, but ends up scooting closer to the bed instead. He slowly blinks up at her, resembling a sleepy but friendly dog.]

You are kinda short, though.

I'm feeling pretty tall right now. [ hi there. ] Did you finish your homework while I was gone? [ her expression turns teasingly stern. tut tut. EDUCATION IS THE FUTURE. ]

That's because you're all the way up there.

[He rests his head against the side of the mattress and laughs.]

I did, I swear. Well, most of it. I'm handing the rest in on Monday. I have to finish a paper on Hamlet.

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{ 𝕒 } fight or flight

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