St. Peter's Asylum discussion

[Yay. XD]

Cleo ignored his comment and the tone of his voice. She didn't really notice it, actually, not when she was so caught up in her other emotions. Jealousy was one, and it was not one she was used to. She had never had to be jealous of any other girl before, especially because of her man. The thought made her mad, though, so mad that her body had gone rigid. "Of course that's not what I'm saying," she said dismissively, almost as if what he was suggesting was ridiculous (it sort of was-her telling him who to and not to talk with though that might have been exactly what she was doing). "What I'm saying is that she has a really bad reputation for trying to have sex with anything that breathes. And that I'll kick her ass if she even gets the thought that she can try and get away with something like that with my boyfriend." Cleo was starting to get the sense that she was going a little bit overboard with her reaction, but she felt as though her emotions were helpless from not feeling and that the outburst was an unstoppable flow of anger and sudden sass that wasn't unfamiliar with other patients, but Jason hadn't ever really come into contact with before.

((Not yay.))

"Baby, do me a favor." The grip on Cleo's chin tightened, just slightly, and in the depths of olive green eyes there was a dark flash: anger. "Change your fucking tone. Right now. I do not appreciate it, all right? We were talking. That was all we were doing. And if you want to go around strutting with your nose in the air lipping off about other girls, that's just fucking fine, but don't do it around me. You hear?" By the end of this, the flash had deepened into something more, something which consumed the light which had previously glittered in his eyes. He was tense, now, and almost without him realizing his lips had pulled back ever-so-slightly from his teeth. Be careful, goddamn it, he thought to himself. You stupid fuck. Breathe. Calm down. This is your girlfriend you're talking to, and she's probably just pissed at the doctors and shit, not at you. But despite the rationality to the words, the blond sadist did not take them to heart. All he knew was that Cleo was mouthing off to him as though he were any other boy, and seeing as she'd never done such before, he liked it about as much as he would have liked a kick in the balls. Nonetheless, the hand around her chin loosened--though he did not let go--and he tried to cool his expression with what he hoped was at least a little bit of success.

Cleo folded her hands over her small chest, wincing slightly as the grip on her chin tightened. He had a very strong hand and his grip felt very uncomfortable in her chin. "Hey, I do not go with my nose in the air around this asylum, just so you know," she said, struggling to keep the snap out of her voice and attempting to change her tone as he asked. Was that really what he thought of her? She wasn't sure she liked the thought of that. Besides, what the hell was it to him what she thought of other girls? It shouldn't, she decided. "But I do find it a bit alarming that you're offended when I want to point out that you're mind and I'm yours. You may not be aware of this, honey, but some people's motives around here aren't as honest as they make it out to be." Her eyes flickered past Jason to the librarian who was giving then a leery look. She mad sure to keep her voice down to make sure Jason stayed calm and that the librarian didn't come to break up their discussion that she was really hoping she could avoid from turning into a fight.

It took all of his will not to snap her jaw for that. Don't take that tone with me! exploded a voice in his mind, and he was startled to hear that it was his father's words in his own voice. Still, it had a good sentiment now, for Jason was not a happy camper. His hand slid from her chin down to her shoulder, and he squeezed, hardly holding back at all in warning. "No shit," he said softly, and he drew in close so that they were mere inches from each other. "What do I look like to you, a fucking retard? Huh? I've been in this hellhole for a lot longer than you, Cleo, honey"--angry emphasis on the word--"and for reasons a hell of a lot worse than yours. I think it's safe to say I know a bit more about how the world works than you do." Out of the corner of his eye, he, too, noticed the librarian standing nearby, the look of leeriness on her face changing into one of outright concern. The sociopath knew--or could tell, from that look--that he ought to calm down and he ought to do it soon, but that was the problem, wasn't it? He was a sociopath, and sociopaths leeched off of the emotions surrounding them. Right now, the only emotion in the air was the tense, electric charge of anger, and Jason had no trouble in bouncing off of it. "Now," he said, and his voice was low. "I'm going to repeat myself, and I'm gonna do it one time. Change. Your fucking. Tone. With me. Now." And there was a threat hanging off the end of his words, completely obvious: if she did not, there would be consequences.

Cleo physically flinched away from the pain in her shoulder that flared and made her press her lips together to fight the pain. If that wasn't warning enough to keep herself in check, then his unspoken threat must have been. "That's not what I meant by that," she said softly, changing her tone to a soft tone that she hoped was coaxing the way she wanted it to be. "I'm just saying that you're attractive by a lot of girl's standards and there are a few stupid girls here who might not realize that you're taken or don't care. I just want to make sure they get the message that you most certainly are. That's sort of my job, you know." Her brown eyes glanced down at the hand on her shoulder. She really hoped be would lighten his grip, or else the pain might bring tears to her eyes. She looked back at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Why does that bother you, though?"

Jason took a moment, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. Cleo had indeed changed her tone, and slowly the anger which was bleeding out of the air began to bleed out of him, too. He slid his hand from her shoulder, opened his eyes, looked at her. "That's not what I'm pissed about," he said, sounding much calmer. "I'm pissed that you seem to think I can't be trusted to decide when enough is enough and games start turning into something else when I'm talking to other girls. I might be a sociopath, but that doesn't mean I don't have a brain, Cleo." He wore a frown, but it was no longer a threatening expression which told of bad things to come. It had softened, just a little bit; just enough to let Cleo know that she had succeeded in stepping out of the danger zone. "What I'm saying is that I'm a big boy. All right? I can take care of myself around other girls, even if they're whores and try their hardest to put me on. What you need to do is realize that and stop acting like it isn't true." Again, he raised his hand to her shoulder, but he patted this time instead of squeezing. When he spoke, his voice had gentled. "You got that?"

Cleo raised her eyebrows, opening her mouth into an 'o' of surprise. "Oh, no, baby, that's not the problem." She uncrossed her arms from her chest and placed her hands on the top of his jeans, one hand gently patting the side of his stomach. "It's not you I have a problem with. I mean, sometimes you don't notice when I flirt with you, but I know you can tell when some girl is trying to come on to you. Still, the thought and the sight, actually, of a girl coming onto you at all is irritating because some people either can't take the hint or refuse to. Wouldn't you get mad if I told you about a guy flirting with me? Or maybe saw someone looming over me like this?" She tried to imitate the gesture she was thinking of, which was nearly impossible because of how much shorter she was than Jason. She did manage to get closer to him, though, which she supposed served the purpose.

"That depends," Jason said honestly. "I mean, I wouldn't really have much of a problem with you flirting with another guy, as long as he wasn't a fucking douchebag and you didn't go crawling back for more every other day. That's what I'm here for." He gave a dry little chuckle. It was true, which was where he found the humor: everyone always seemed to be so ridiculously protective of their significant others. Personally, he didn't really understand what the big deal was. He certainly wasn't going to bite Cleo's head off if she decided to tease another guy--there was a lot to tease him with, after all. As long as she didn't get too comfortable, he was fine with it. "As to the looming thing, that also depends. Is it a threatening loom or a I-want-to-have-sex-with-you loom or a I'm-just-a-physical-person-hi-there kind of loom? Because the only one out of those three which is okay is the third one. I'm the only one who has rights to the other two, as your boyfriend." Again, he gave a dry little laugh, and reached forward so that he could twirl one of Cleo's chocolate curls absentmindedly with an index finger. "And that's my honest take on the subject, hon."

"Well on the first, we disagree," she murmured with a little chuckle that matched his dry one. "Because I think that as your girlfriend, everyone should know that you're mine and only mine." That was true, she wasn't comfortable with the thought of her flirting with other guys. It didn't seem right, but she supposed she could see Jason's point as well. If she thought long and hard about it, anyways. "Oh?" She asked with a tilt of her head, lips curving up into a small smile while he tugged at one of her dark locks. "That is very good to know. We should go loom around like boyfriends and girlfriends do, eh?" She raised an eyebrow in question, a smile growing on her lips and she parted from their somewhat of an embrace to retrieve her nail file. She could see herself using it very often in the future.

The chuckle turned into an outright laugh. "Well," he said, and drawled out the word with a little grin. "If you want to do that, I think we should go somewhere where we aren't being watched." He tapped her between the eyes and then used the same finger to point out the librarian, still monitoring them--but now with amusement rather than worry on her features. Jason couldn't say he minded much; he was nowhere near as self-conscious as some of the other patients, and as long as they eye wasn't hostile and he wasn't in a foul mood, he didn't mind being watched all too much. All the same, it would be inappropriate to start anything in such a public place, and so with a little chuckle the blond sadist linked his arm through Cleo's and walked her out the door, hardly giving her time to protest as he did so.

((And fade.))

Holly had missed books. She'd been an avid bookworm as a kid, her small room further crowded by stacks and stacks of books that she wended her way through to get to her bed and desk. But during her years of hospital shifts, she had had exactly zero time to read, always racing back and forth at a frenetic pace from her apartment in Gainesville to the hospital, snatching an hour of sleep at 3 A.M., an hour at 2 P.M. Leisure time had been a thing of the past since freshman year of college, and was even less of a reality at St. Peter's, where all the nurses had to be on high alert at all times, always prepared for utter crisis. And so it was with a sigh of pure relief that Holly, McIntyre, having already checked on Jacob and made sure that he was okay for the evening, sank into a plushy chair with a Jodi Picoult novel, intent on complete physical and mental relaxation.

Of course, this was St. Peter's Asylum--and such havens never lasted for long. The young man who would be the break in the nurse's was Raven, who himself had come to the library to escape from din (though it was more in his own head than anything, not that he would ever admit it). Reading had never provided a huge sense of solace for the Indian, but it was a better way to distract himself than, say, finding Rosemarie and asking to borrow her bow and arrows so he could practice archery, or wandering aimlessly until he ran into something interesting. No, there were too many temptations there--and so he ended up in the asylum's cozy little bookroom, an Edgar Allan Poe biography he'd read half a hundred times sitting open but ignored on the table before him. He had found something more interesting to focus on a few minutes past: the small, redheaded nurse who had settled in one of the chairs a few feet away from where he himself sat. She was new, he could tell almost immediately. Her posture was relaxed, and she was not in the habit of glancing up and around every so often as many of the older, more experienced nurses did. Indeed, she seemed completely immersed in that book of hers--Jodi Picoult, Raven could see (and wasn't that predictable?) But he said nothing, only crossed his legs and folded his hands on his lap and watched. He was quite content to let her read on, oblivious; sometimes it was better not to make the first move.

It took quite a while for the feeling of being watched-- more than that, scrutinized--to make itself known to Holly. Slowly she realized that the hairs on the back of her neck were stiff, her muscles tense.
She lowered her book--and jumped, at the sight of the lean, barefooted boy sitting across from her, black eyes evaluating her. The battered copy of My Sister's Keeper leapt from her hands like a startled bird and crashed to the floor. She swore, and covered her mouth in mortification.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there," she said, and took advantage of the momentary silence to study the boy. He looked vaguely familiar--had she read his file?--longish black hair tied back in a ponytail, dark skin and eyes, lean and muscular, with an arrogant glint in his eyes.

The barest impressions of a smile turned Raven's lips up at the corners. "Did I scare you?" he asked, and his voice was somehow pleasant--amused, yes, but it did not hold the cynical, mocking sound it usually did when he was entertained. After all, he did not know this woman (for nurses did not have files, except on the computers in the office, and he only rarely was able to sneak in and hack into one of them these days). There was no use in scaring off potential victims so quickly, was there? The Indian did not usually try his games on staff members--after what had happened with Domonic, he thought the practice a little too...risky for his taste. And besides, patients were generally much weaker, much more volatile; there was a reason they were not trusted to staff the asylum. But today, he thought he could make an exception. Newer nurses were certainly more vulnerable, more ignorant, more...susceptible to influence, if you will. And this round-faced young woman did not appear to be all too savvy at all (otherwise, he thought with some amusement, she would not have said anything at all to him, for she would have known his face and his mind and the dangers associated with both). But she did not, and that was a good sign. So he chuckled, and said in a voice more amiable than usual, "I'm sorry. I do that a lot." Sometimes not even on purpose.

Her guard was immediately up--they had been trained to be wary of patients whose names and histories they didn't know, especially patients who solicited their attention first--but this kid seemed nice enough, with his amiable demeanour and soft voice. Still, the back of her neck prickled when she locked eyes with him--something about those eyes reminded her of obsidian, black and glittering and sharp.
(She had the thought: He's dangerous. He'll hurt me.)
Don't jump to conclusions, Hol, she chastised herself, and gave him a smile.
"That's all right," she said. "I was too deep into that book anyhow." She laughed a little at her own small joke, and stuck out a hand to shake. "Hi. I'm Holly."

"Raven," he replied, but made no move to take that outstretched hand (though he did tilt his head and eye it, as a bird might, curious. What on earth made her think it was a good idea to shake hands with mental asylum patients in the first place?) But the Indian said nothing of it, only stood and crossed to a chair closer to Holly's--what looked like a friendly move but was more strategic than anything, for it gave him a better view. He sat, crossed his legs, and gave her a second glance, this one longer. There was some unidentifiable look in his eyes, some blend between curiosity and a thing much...darker. Just because he'd come to the library for solace and peace didn't mean he had found it, after all. "Are you new?" Raven asked then, and his voice held a rather innocent air. He didn't want to come across as too out-there (or even worse, analytical). That would ruin the game. "I don't think I've seen you before."

"Yeah," she said, and gave an abashed smile, dropping the unaccepted hand. "I just arrived here a couple of weeks ago. You could tell, huh?" Her dark eyes scanned him, noticing the way he sat, leaning toward her with his eyes fixed on hers, like a coiled spring, or something about to pounce. His eyes glimmered in the lamplight, with the cold alien light of a far-off star.
Holly McIntyre was suddenly very, very afraid.
But Holly McIntyre was also a woman whe knew how to deal with fear and strangers in dark alleys, and one of the things she had learned from late-night sojourns in her old high school parking lot with a pair of boys dogging her steps, hissing slurs and suggestions, was never, ever to let the enemy see that you were afraid.
So she fixed a smile on. Calmed her breathing. Watched the boy across from her, and waited.

"That's it?" Raven smiled. It was a charming smile, friendly and amused, and it would have looked alien on his face to anyone who had known him; but this woman did not know him, and he wanted it to stay that way. He could act, and he could act well--but if she did any snooping, he had a feeling any trick he tried would end up making no impressions. And so he kept that smile, and laughed a little, a caricature of amiability: he did not want to arouse suspicion. At least, not too much. That--the fun part--would come later, he was quite sure. All good things to those who wait. "Yeah? That's all I get?" Come on, there's got to be more than that, said his eyes, and it was an amused glimmer that was speaking. Not too friendly--he wanted to give the wrong impression about as much as he wanted to make her suspicious--but at least enough to relax a man slightly. Or a woman, in this case. After all, he thought, he was nothing if not manipulative.

And relax she did--just a little. It couldn't be helped--that smile was so warm and disarming that it caught her off guard. She smiled in turn, despite herself.
But though the glint in his eyes had changed from arrogant to amiably amused, something about him still made her skin prickle. He was still dangerous, still poised to pounce if he cared to.
So she kept her smile on, and said, "There isn't much I can think of to tell you that wouldn't bore you. What else do you wanna know, Raven?"

Now, he thought, he would hear something. Now he could begin the game. Raven smiled, shrugged. "I don't know," he said, in the way that suggested he knew exactly. "Just about you, I suppose. Why you're here. Tit for tat, hmmm? You already know all about us...don't you?" For just a split second the mask fell away, and the Indian offered a wink, as though they shared a secret. And in a way, in some vague, amusing way, they did. For there was some untruth to his words: this nurse did not know all about "us"--he was included in the word, after all, and she knew nothing of him. She would, though. Soon enough. It never took much to get him going.

Holly caught herself leaning backwards, away from him.
He had winked at her. Why?
She suppressed a shudder. Smiled at him.
"Well, I'm from Florida originally. Born and bred, in this tiny little town called Palatka--crawled with rednecks, but I liked it fine. I went to UF's school of nursing and worked at UF and Shands for about a year and a half before applying to this place. I like it here, so far. The people I work with are nice." She didn't want to badmouth her colleagues (who were, in her opinion, a bunch of incompetent, prissy cows) in front of a patient, and she did not
(dared not)
mention Jacob, nor her reasons for leaving Palatka and becoming a nurse. Something in her gut warned her not to, that Jacob was vulnerable and this Raven kid preyed on vulnerability like that.
And she most certainly would not spill her deepest darkest secrets and all the agony of her past to a seventeen-year-old perfect stranger, particularly not one whom she didn't especially trust.
So she decided to deflect the question.
"What about you, Raven? Where are you from?" She smiled.
Holly had played chess with her roommates a few times in college, and a sudden visual came to her of a board, black and white pieces lined up in expectant rows, ready to strike.
Knight to e5, she thought.

Raven disliked her smile. It gave him the feeling that she knew more than she was letting on--or at least was more competent than she wanted him to think--and he did not appreciate the fact that she was trying to play him for a fool. He did not appreciate that at all. But nothing flickered on his face to show his thoughts, and when he received the question he actually deigned to answer, if only a little. "Oklahoma," he told her. He himself wore no smile now; it had died as he spoke the words. "An Indian reservation. A house in the middle of the woods, if you want to get really specific." He gave a little shrug, and did not say anything more. It was a poor response, yes, and more likely than not it would disappoint the young nurse; but she had asked him only where are you from, and he had told her. It was all her question necessitated, really. Besides, this was not about him. If Holly wanted to know about his past, she could very easily head to a computer and look his file up (he had taken and hidden the physical folder which had been kept in the file room long ago, but much to his chagrin he could not erase his records from the electronic system without someone noticing something was up). And if she truly found herself curious--or wary--of the young Indian man with the silver ring on his finger, Raven had no doubt she would do just that. But he did not have that luxury; at least, not yet. This freckled young woman would get a file, but only after she had taken on a charge. And it was that thought which kept him playing, more than any other. Because he had learned something about being a hunter in his years: sometimes--more often than not, really--a bird in the hand was not quite so sweet as two in the bush.

Oklahoma. An Indian reservation. A house in the middle of the woods, if you want to get really specific.

Holly tilted her head at him in consideration. Recognition began to dawn in her mind.
She physically jumped a little, and could not master herself enough to cover it.
Because she knew this kid. She had read his file, and the things she had read in it terrified her.
Nathan Adair. Sadist. Tortures for amusement. Murdered his parents. Psychopath.
She kept her face very still, like the placid surface of a pond.
"Oh--now I know where I recognize you from." She gave a little laugh, and the back of her neck prickled nervously when it came out high and false and small. "I've read your file. Nathan, right?"

He did not answer.
He radiated a silence like a knife laid on a table, anticipatory and lethal.

She caught herself, reined in her terror, the giddy rolling of her stomach.
All this kid is is a bully who likes to make people bleed. You're not afraid of bullies, are you, Holly Rose?
And she was not; so she cocked her head at him again, and asked, voice perfectly neutral and amiable, "You're pretty high security, aren't you? Why don't you have a nurse? All the kids who are a danger to themselves or others have nurses. I mean, Jacob has me--"
She caught herself, had to fight to keep from clamping a hand over her mouth in horror. She shut her mouth, lips pressing into a thin flat line.
One thought rang in her head.
What in God's name have I done?

When his name--the one which no one knew--passed her lips, Raven had suddenly sat very straight. His hands, which had been resting lightly on his knees, curled into light fists. And he said nothing. His eyes became dark, like a night sky with no stars; or perhaps like the bottom of a dead lake. He sat for a moment, and he looked at this little nurse, and he saw the way she tensed and tried to laugh and stared at him as though she were preparing to be struck, right then and there. But on that count she had nothing to fear; the Indian much preferred far more subtle tactics. And she had just given him the perfect trigger. "Jacob?" he said, and tilted his head to one side, as if in curiosity. "I think...I think I know that name." His voice was soft, nearly a murmur; some might have even called it a suggestive purr, if they were good enough at picking up on that sort of tone. It was show, of course--Raven did know that name. And he knew the boy who bore it. "Jacob Fox," he mused, and smiled. Just a little. Just enough to let his newfound friend know that she had been condemned. "Isn't that it? Little boy, blond hair, gray eyes? He's a melancholy kid, I've heard." And then, though his smile did not widen to show it as it might have otherwise, Raven went in for the kill. "Tell me something, Holly. Just how hard is it, trying to convince a dead boy to take care of himself?"

Holly sat bolt upright. Her hands gripped her knees, her fingernails cutting small half moons into the cloth of her jeans. She bit her lip to keep from viciously swearing aloud. Her brain was stuck still, playing the same thought again and again in a staccato loop.
He knows he knows he knows he knows.
How in the hell Raven knew the particulars of her patient's diagnosis Holly had no earthly idea (by this point she knew her charge well enough to know that he wouldn't freely associate with people like Raven for any incentive whatsoever), but whatever the circumstances of his knowledge, the fact that Raven had so readily--so smugly--dropped Jacob's name made her skin crawl with wariness. She felt like a mother predator, hackles raised and teeth bared in a warning. Leave my little one alone.
But she would not--could not--show her fear and her anger now, so instead she schooled her face, folded her hands in her lap, and said, voice light and calm, "Not as hard as you'd think. He's pretty easygoing, for one of the living dead."

Raven shrugged--a small gesture, like his smile, like the chuckle that came forth then from his lips. "Yes," he agreed. "He is, isn't he? I hear dying does that to you...dampens you down, almost. Not quite breaking, not really--but they certainly try, before they kill you." For a moment, it was impossible to tell exactly what the Indian was talking about; he laughed again, as though the words were meant as a taunt--to let Holly know that he knew more about Jacob than simply his name--but the sound was low, and almost bitter. There was some dark form of knowing in that laugh--some strange, alien sort of amusement; recognition, even. Of course, it wasn't as though he would ever admit his woes here, or now. He had a game to play, after all. And to play the game, you had to look ahead. He watched Holly, and that little smile still sat on his lips, the one that spoke so plainly: I know a secret you thought I didn't know--and your negligence is going to cost you. Dearly.

Holly didn't understand, and that set her on edge. She felt as if she were walking along a rickety wooden bridge, with nothing but dark empty air on either side, every muscle tense and mind spinning with barely suppressed fear. Not quite breaking, not really--but they certainly try, before they kill you.
She thought of Jacob's file, the horrors he had lived through in his mind, and a maternal, protective rage flooded her head. How dare this boy taunt her with Jacob's pain? What did he know about the things Jacob had lived through, and how dare he dangle them over her head?
And a second question nagged at her: why did he have that look in his eyes--a look of bitter, exhausted darkness, a glint that spoke of things best left unknown?
Was he--had he just threatened Jacob? Or was he referring to himself?
Who the hell are you, kid, and what the hell do you want?
A wild impulse gripped her to flee, to scream, to shout You leave Jacob alone or else!
But Holly McIntyre was a practical woman, and her logical mind suppressed the urge to do something stupid. He preys on fear, on vulnerability. He gets off on it. Don't show him you're afraid. Don't be afraid. Stay calm for Jacob.
When she spoke, her voice was calm, flat, and her gaze glittered dark and steely. All the amiability and fear fell away from her features, and what remained was a threat, plain and simple: I don't like you, and if you take one more step in the wrong direction, there will be consequences.
"And what would you know about dying, Nathan? And more importantly, what do you know about my patient, and how do you know it?"

Nathan. The word--the name--was like a thorn in his side, sharp and persistent. "Raven," he corrected her, his voice deadly soft. "My name is Raven, sweetheart. Nathan is gone." Perhaps it was strange, for him to address a woman clearly older than he by that name; but that was precisely the point. It tended to put people on edge when he called them by pet names, especially if he didn't know them very well. It made people look twice, and sometimes it even tripped them up--it wasn't often, after all, that young men overstepped their boundaries with such easy confidence. He was hoping (though not expecting) that this nurse's mind ran the same way. But he cleared the storm from his features before he spoke again, and a calm surety slipped in to take its place. There was no need to let anger get the best of him--at least, not here. Not now. He would have his chance, he was sure of it. "And more than you think," he said then, in response to her first two questions. "More than you'd care to have me know, at least, if my impressions are correct and you're not a pitiless little thing." Some sort of smile twitched at his lips (but whether it could properly be called a smile was debatable). It only tugged at one side of his mouth, which gave him a rather...unsettling look when coupled with the almost mockingly knowing gleam in his eyes. "As to how I know it, well--a good magician never reveals his secrets, does he? I don't know what right you think you have to them."

And he smiled with only one side of his mouth, and his eyes shone like knives, mocking her, the sinister amusement plain as day. You wanna make threats? Two can play at that game, sweetheart.
A wave of fear-- primal, gut-wrenching terror--
(Nathan is gone? What happened to him? )
threatened to overwhelm her then, and was only just kept at bay by the utter rage that washed crimson in her head. Who did this kid think he was, to speak to her as a victim, a plaything, someone to be mocked and condescended to?
What is it that you want with Jacob?
But she knew--could see, in his eyes that glittered like dark stars in the dim lamplight, lethal and cold and laughing--that if she made one more wrong step, showed one more chink in her armor, he would capitalize on it, and then she would have put Jacob in what she was now certain was harm's way.
So she said, simply, "He's my patient, Raven," the name more a ward against danger than a concession of courtesy. "I have a right to know what you know, for his sake. Maybe you could give me some pointers."

"His sake," Raven repeated, and he could not stop the chuckle that escaped him. "Last I checked, our Fantastic Mr. Fox wasn't all that concerned with his personal health. What changed, Holly?" The words were true, and he knew that she knew it. The little boy was indeed very compliant: he was a quiet child, obedient and polite, with little interest in making anything complicated for anyone, no matter the situation. The Indian had never talked to Jacob himself, but he was certainly observant enough to pick up on such things--it was rare, after all, that you ran into a patient who didn't actually want to cause trouble of some sort. Now he smiled, and all that knowledge was evident in his expression; such a confident thing, and the words so clear one could almost hear them: I'm absolutely right, and you know it. "Or maybe I should be asking why you care so much," he said, and that soft pleasantness had crept again back into his tone. But there was an undercurrent of malice to it, and his words were poison rather than warmth. "That's so rare here, you know. Nurses who actually give two fucks. I have to wonder what makes you so different...or is it just him? Just little Jacob being Jacob?"

She was all too aware of the poison underlying the pleasantness--like rotten honey, his voice was--and it made bloody alarums clang in her head. What was he doing? Every muscle in her body tensed as if to fight. You leave him alone you leave him alone you leave him alone.
She leaned forward in her chair, put her hands on her knees, looked him in the eyes, trying as best she could to exude an air of confidence, to show that arrogant, cocksure little bullies who picked on twelve-year-olds neither scared nor impressed her. She allowed a smirk--near identical to the one which had played on Raven's lips just a moment ago--to tug at one corner of her mouth, as if to say, You're funny, kid. You think you're such hot shit, and really you're just some guy with a toothy smile who likes to scare people into doing whatever the hell you want. Pathetic.
But she did not say that, did not dare. Instead she only said, "I'm a special snowflake, I guess. I'm sentimental, and he's sweet. We get along." Her voice was light, casual, but she had to fight to keep her hands from shaking with nerves and terror. Please God please God please God let him buy the façade and go away. Please God, just make him go away and leave us alone.

"Would we get along, do you think?" Raven said, and his voice was dripping with such innocence it was almost sickening. The smiled he showed her was all teeth and no humor, a warning at best and a promise at worst. The young nurse's mouth said one thing, but her eyes said another--and the Indian could see her thoughts, the insults, as plain as day within them. And he did not appreciate their presence. "No," he murmured, in answer to his own question. "We would not. And you know that. I want you to keep it in mind, Holly, before you start wagging your tongue. That would be very...smart of you." And then he stood, and gave her a little smile of farewell--no teeth, this time--and half-bowed, gentlemanly. He did not speak again, but the words were thick in the air as he scooped up his book and walked away: Goodbye. I'll see you again.

((Fade?))

((Fade.))

White wings flapped, and the loud cry of the white shape was loud and piercing to the silence of the library. They would have been curious as to why no one reacted to the cry, had the library not been empty aside from the white dragon and Aspen Palmer. The dragon was bored, flying from bookshelf to bookshelf and spitting fire into the air, though it was kind enough to avoid the books. Aspen and the dragon agreed that the last thing the asylum needed was another fire. And as the dragon flew around as a white blur, Aspen herself sat in one of the plush chairs of the library, her glassy green gaze following the dragon around, just as bored. Her foot tapped incessantly, a key sign to the dragon's presence, and she bit down on her bottom lip while her index finger was pressed between three-hundred pages of The Night Circus. Reading was not Aspen's favourite past time, per say, but it was something to do to pass the time. The nurses told her she should get out more, and avoid her room with all of her beautiful creatures, and the sphinx urged her to listen. Its good to be outside, the sphinx had told her when she pouted. People will look at you and smile, and the unicorn will help you make friends. Well, the unicorn certainly wasn't here, and instead of galloping hooves Aspen heard shrieking and flapping wings and bursts of fire. Sure, the unicorn would have helped her make friends, but what would the dragon do? For that uncertainty, Aspen was thankful that the library was empty.

It was not as empty as she thought--it was only that the other patient in the room was keeping rather quiet, and though he was incredibly hard to miss as it was (people tended to notice you when you were six-foot-three and had shoulders as broad as his) he knew how to avoid detection, and he knew it well. Jason Turner, too, was not a frequent visitor to the asylum's library--reading had never been one of his favorite pastimes, even before his life had gone to hell; these days, he hardly even glanced at books at all--but it was a good place to come when you wanted some peace and quiet, which he did. A rather foul mood defined the bullheaded boy this afternoon, and he had come to this place to get away from everything; but even now, despite his intentions, his dark green eyes were focused on a girl and not a volume: a small girl, with a flat, bored gaze much, much paler than his own; and he was thinking as he looked at her. Thinking that did not recognize her, and that was s strange thing; as an elder patient of the asylum, the blond sadist knew about a good portion of the people he made his home with if he didn't know them personally, but not a thing about this girl rang a bell. Thinking that such was odd, but keeping his tongue; he was never a good socializer, and though he could pass himself off as amiable at times--when he had to--he did not like to do so. It almost pained him, playing nice. He hadn't done it in such a long time, trying to drag one of those caricatures out of hiding was now more tedious than anything else. And that was precisely why he never did it, and didn't do it now. Besides, it was always easier to justify unfavorable behaviors when someone else made the first move.

Eyes continued to circle around the room, following the screeching white dragon, and it wasn't until the dragon landed behind Jason on the back of the chair that Aspen's eyes ventured from the white dragon and to the boy who was sharing in her peace and quiet. The dragon sniffed at Jason, flicking its tongue and then offering a screech and a flap of the wings. It's claws dug into the chair, and it was clear almost instantly that the dragon didn't like the idea of this blonde man. Aspen's own eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and her brows knit together. "Hello, sir," she said in a soft tone, eyes never actually on Jason but on the dragon just to his left, watching the movements of the small white beast. "I didn't notice you there." The dragon began moving around the chair, carefully refraining from touching Jason, a habit almost all of the creatures had, and the white dragon looked the boy up and down. Tall, taller than 6'0, to be sure. Broad. Intimidating, also just as sure. And the dragon did not like people who tried to be intimidating. The dragon hissed and bared its teeth at Jason, and when she spoke, Aspen's tone was sharper. "How long have you been there, if I may ask?"

"A long time, girlie," Jason replied, and his tone, much unlike hers, was blunt and almost bored when he spoke--but the look in his eyes were anything but. As soon as the stranger had spoken, something akin to dislike evident in her voice, they had darkened, and sharpened, and it gave him a rather frightening set to his broad features. He did not like people with attitudes on a normal day; today, as irritated as he was, he had no patience for them at all. He had already had his fill of nurses jumping up in their towers, looking down at him and telling him to "go to his room and relax" like they always did when he felt like this. He had already become sick of patients giving him snide looks, asking him who had pissed in his coffee this morning, or who had shoved a pole up his arse, or what had the doctors injected him with this time. He could only hope that this girl, as unpromising as she was already looking to be, had the good sense not to push him any further. "You got a problem with it?" he asked her now, a scowl bringing his lips down at the corners. "I'm just sitting here. Did they make that illegal while I was sleeping last night, or do you just think it's your business because you own the library or some shit? Lemme tell you something, honey: it's not, you don't, and I am not in the mood." There. If anything would bring her down, that would. And if it didn't, well...he would jump that hurdle when he got to it, he decided. No use worrying about it now.

Now, the dragon didn't like that at all. As Jason spoke, its white wings spread out, like one of those birds that gets bigger when it feels threatened, and a menacing expression crossed the dragon's scaly face as it hissed and spit at the boy in front of it. Its white tail flicked with irritation, and an irritated screech left its open jaws, jaws that were snapping dangerous fangs at the boy, fangs that couldn't hurt the boy. It tried to spit fire, opening its jaws and the screech of fire sounding, but Aspen shook her head subtly. The dragon then hissed, and moved itself up and down the arm of the chair, beady blue eyes never once leaving the threatening boy. Aspen then turned her glassy green gaze to the boy in front of her, the boy in the foul mood who angered her dragon. "You don't have to be rude about it," she responded, her voice dripping with the contempt apparent in the dragon. "I asked a simple question. Your foul mood doesn't give you an excuse to be rude." Aspen crossed her arms over her chest, a lot of spite coming from such a small girl, and her glassy gaze moved just to his right to see the dragon, who was still spitting at the boy and threatening flames. She felt his irritation, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, cocking her head to the side as her white dragon did the same. "What makes you so pompous as to act this way? Are you rich? Royalty? Or simply an infamous sadist of this hellhole?"

"Well, you got the first part right." Jason rolled his eyes as he spoke, the thought of his parents and the money they had--money he would have, when they died, fat lot of good that would do him--prompting the move. "I am rich, girlie. Just can't do a single fucking thing with the money. Which is a shame, really, because then I'd be able to pay someone to keep your mouth shut for me." He gave her a smirk, an expression which was meant to grate on the nerves and get under her skin; she seemed to be easily impressionable, this girl with her glassy green eyes and many assumptions. Which, he thought, could make his afternoon very interesting--as long as he played it right. As long as she didn't ruin it for him. Which did seemed unlikely, especially now; but hey, a boy could dream, couldn't he? "As to the others...meh." The broad-shouldered sociopath gave a short bark of a laugh, and his smirk grew ever-wider. "Depends on who you are, I guess. I mean, my girlfriend seems to think I'm pretty fucking great. But people like you? Nah. Usually, I have to win your type over with my dashing good looks. And...other things. Ya know what I mean?" And he winked at her, just to rub her further the wrong way, just because he was hoping--in the back of his mind--that she might rise to the bait and give him a chance to go off on her. It would be good for his state of mind, he thought, and he wouldn't even have to get into a fight with anyone, either. Which meant no solitary confinement, and no guards having to deal with his rage while it played out. A win-win situation for everyone, surely--well. Except for the girl now in front of him. But them, who was keeping track?

Aspen's gaze again narrowed, and the dragon shrieked at Jason's cocky words and cocky attitude and that wink. The wink made the dragon nearly fall off of the chair, but it caught itself with its wings and flew around in agitation, spitting flames and smoke and screams of sheer irritation. If Jason had hoped to rub Aspen the wrong way, he certainly did, so much so that the dragon's constant movement led to an agitated tapping of her fingers on the arm of the chair she was sitting in. "No," she answered with a steely tone accompanied by underlying annoyance and a sharp cock of the head. As she turned her head, the dragon landed on the table right in front of Jason, the only thing separating Aspen and the blonde boy in front of her, and did the same with its own head. "I don't know what you mean." Her words were quick, no longer carefully calculated, and the dragon hissed and scratched the table with it's sharp claws, though they left no mark on the wood. "Please, sir, please do explain. Be my guest." The dragon screeched after she finished speaking, spitting flames that stopped just before reaching Jason's chest, and Aspen shushed the distressed creature with a sharp look and a visible shake of her head.

"Oh, no." Mock innocence. Jason widened his eyes and raised both hands in an expression of horror. "Things like that just aren't supposed to come out of a young man's mouth, honey. At least, not in public." He chuckled, a long, low sound that was none too kind. "You want to go somewhere else, though, somewhere private...well, you're welcome to me. And my words, and a few other things too. As long as my girlfriend doesn't find out." Again, that infuriating smile, and a wink to accompany it. Nothing amused the blond sadist more than playing lewd when it made people uncomfortable, especially spiteful, big-headed little girls who thought they were something special. And he could feel the irritation radiating from Aspen, like some heated smoke; and even if he hadn't picked up on it, there was always the agitated tapping of her fingers on the table. Yes, he thought, she was definitely irritated; and definitely proving to be amusing. Perhaps he would get his kicks today, after all. He saw no harm in that--at least, not now. How much damage could a pint-sized entitled girl possibly do by herself? Not much, in his experience. Not much at all. No, in the moment the sociopath could sense no danger at all; and so he kept right on playing.

"Excuse me." Aspen's words were sharp, and her eyes were narrowed into reptilian slits; all of her demeanor matched that of the dragon, who was again screeching and flapping its wings. Smoke tendrils escaped the dragon's open jaws, and despite the fact that she knew it wasn't visible to the rest of the world, Aspen found herself wondering how this man before her could not hear the horrendous screeching coming from the dragon's maw. The dragon snapped at Jason with a hiss, never once closing its fangs around the boy, but coming uncomfortably close for Aspen. Her green eyes looked back up at Jason, and they narrowed again. "I don't appreciate your advancements, sir." Sarcasm was dripping from her voice, and her fingers kept tap tap tapping.

"Advancements!" The word burst out of Jason as a laugh. "You've got to be shitting me. Honey, I'd rather fuck that Southern whore than get it on with you. At least she knows how to sweet-talk." And the sociopath could not help it; by the end of his reply, he was laughing, and it was a full-blown belly laugh--the thought of this girl, this glassy-eyed little brat, in bed with him (with anyone, really, but especially him) was just too much. And she was actually falling for it, too! She thought he was serious! That had been his intention, of course, to provoke a reaction; but he had not expected something as blatantly hilarious as this was turning out to be. When he finally calmed, Jason was left simply grinning, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, and it was actually more like a mirth-filled sigh. He grinned at her, an expression which was not lewd as the last had been but filled with amusement. He sat forward, with his hands on his knees, like an expectant child waiting to hear a story from a parent or older sibling. "Just--just do that again for me, would you? Make me laugh. You're fucking funny, little girl. You know that? You're a goddamned riot."

Little girl irritated the dragon even further, and his laughter only served to push it over the edge. The dragon didn't move from where it was resting, but whether that was a decision or from the fact that it's claws were dug deep into the wooden table was unclear. The dragon turned it's head, removing it's focus from Jason and placing it upon Aspen, and the dragon was telling her that she should leave. The dragon wasn't so much providing a threat, and it wasn't telling her if you don't leave you'll only get yourself in trouble, and instead it was offering to leave for her own good. This was getting them nowhere, and the peace and quiet that the girl had come out for was ruined by this big, tall, boisterous blonde man. Aspen nodded, agreeing with the silent coachings of the dragon, and as if not waiting for an answer the dragon unhooked it's claws, which were now covered in strips of wood, and flew out the door, spitting one last stream of fire at Jason. Aspen herself stood, offered Jason the finger, and followed the dragon out the door.

((And fade. That was surprisingly amusing.))

Today was shaping up to be marvelous; Lenore felt good. She had been feeling good all day. A pleasant dream of home had woken her up this morning and given her over to high spirits, and for once in her life her more broody companions had not found a single reason to crop up and sully things. It was Happiness who she'd been in the company of for the past several hours, in fact: tanned and round-faced and freckled, her wild brown curls going every which way as usual, her dark eyes wide and sparkling as usual, a smile ever-present on her full lips, dimpling her cheeks. She had followed Lenore out of her room, had made her laugh with her antics as she took an early-morning walk in the park while it was still cool and she could relish the feeling of dew on her bare feet; she'd even made breakfast bearable, sitting across from Lenore and cracking clever (though of course not unkind)witticisms as she ate, somehow making the food taste better with her mere presence. And to the girl's surprise, she had not left as afternoon rolled around, and she was still here now: sitting contentedly at one of the back tables, swinging her legs back and forth and undoing the snarls from her hair with nimble fingers. Lenore herself was halfway across the room reclining in one of the plush chairs around the table, a dreamy little smile curving at her pale lips. She didn't know how long this mood was going to last, but she hoped it would be a while. She liked being content to just relax. It was nice.

It was incredible, really, how pills worked so well for some and so awfully for others. Elin Amos was luckily considered among the former, and after her incident a few nights before, the pills had been taken diligently, the eyedrops applied liberally, and Elin had been a much happier girl. Even her nurse had commented on what a difference the pills had made, and her nurse was no optimist. It was a lovely summer afternoon; it was bright, and a lovely temperature, and Elin Amos walked into the library with a big smile already on her face. Her dark curls were a little more tamed than usual, pulled into a tight bun on top of her hair, with a few spare curls allowed to fall free in front of her eyes, and pale skin was accompanied by a white dress. Honeydew gaze landed upon Lenore, and Elin's smile grew wider, and she made her way over. "Hello, there, Lenore!" A perky grin, and Elin plopped down on the couch beside the white-haired girl.

Lenore opened her eyes, saw who it was who had joined her, and then offered a wide smile of her own. "Hello, Elin," she said brightly, waving. It seemed that her friend, too, was in a good mood, perky and smiling herself, and that only made Lenore's better. She liked having Elin around on a normal day; she had a feeling this afternoon was going to be even more pleasant now that they'd found each other in such good spirits. "It is good to see you," she told her, glancing briefly over her shoulder to watch as Happiness looked up and gave a grin and a wave of her own. "We didn't expect anyone to be here. The librarian says it is very calm here these days, very quiet." Another smile as she turned back to the girl with the honeydew eyes, and her expression was avidly curious. "So what are you doing here? Did you come to read, or to relax, as we did?"

Elin smiled, and she nodded. "I came here to relax, just like you," she said with a grin as she leaned back into the cushions behind her, resting her head back on the couch behind her and kicking one leg over the other. "It gets very boring here, y'know, without all kinds of company." Elin didn't have a family to come visit her, or rather, she didn't have one that would come visit her, and Zachary had been unable to be reached for almost a full year, now. Elin was quite alone in the asylum, but now she had Lenore, and that was enough to make her smile any day. Elin smiled, then, and gave a playful poke to Lenore's arm. "But you're here, and so it won't be boring anymore, eh?" Elin looked over, then, and offered a little wink and a laugh.

Lenore laughed, and she wasn't sure if it was more at the poke or the wink or the words themselves. "Well, we can try to make it interesting," she said, sitting up and pulling her knees up into the chair, shifting so that her legs were curled up to the right of her and the rest of her body leaning forward, towards Elin, as if she wanted to prove all her attention was present. A little smile pulled at her lips, mischievous. "But how? We do not know what you like. We do not know what would entertain you. We are horribly ignorant, in fact." And then she hooded her eyes and gave what she hoped was a sultry smile; she had never been interested in theatre or acting, but something about the atmosphere here in the room made her feel adventurous, whimsical. "So tell us what would entertain you," she told her, sotto voce. "You need only ask, and we shall serve. For this moment, we are yours." A wink of her own, to complete the theatrics. "Choose wisely."