St. Peter's Asylum discussion

[Totally derping. Fade?]

[Fade.]

Phoenix was not a frequent visitor to the peach tree--the last time she'd been out this way, she'd had to contend with the likes of Akantha, and the spot behind the short wire fence seemed to be a hangout between the more dangerous residents of the asylum who she would prefer not to deal with--but today, the little redhead needed some peace and quiet; and for once, luck was smiling on her. The peach tree was empty and silent but for the clicking and clacking of bare branches as they moved in the wind, and the grass on the ground was yellow and dead but not unbearably cold. That was where she sat this afternoon, her hair pulled up into a stern, tight bun (though two strands hung down to frame her face, as they often did) and her knees tucked up under her chin. Her head was tilted back against the trunk of the tree, her pale blue eyes closed. For once, neither of her skunks were with her--she had spent half the winter holed up in her room with them, and having to keep them entertained so they wouldn't cause a ruckus was beginning to give her a headache. But it was peaceful out here, beneath the tree. Peaceful and quiet and away from everything. She liked it that way.

The little, curly-haired girl herself was also out looking for peace, something she rarely found nowadays. Everyone and their sister seemed to want to talk to her about something. About Raven. About Rosemarie. About why she was still here. Even the nurses began to ask her about what she knew of the outside world. Morgan was sick of it. She knew nothing. She told nothing. She kept quiet about Raven, quiet about Rosemarie. She didn't know why she was here anymore (when she had first arrived, her religion led her to believe she would be released when God wanted her to. Now, Morgan wasn't so sure.), and she didn't have the slightest idea about the world beyond the walls of the asylum. Irritation was an unfamiliar emotion to the little Morgan Chaconas, but she was faced with it at this particular moment. Morgan didn't sense that there was someone inside the gates of the peach tree, and so her hands blindly fumbled around for the handle of the gate. The old hinges creaked, announcing her arrival to the woman Morgan didn't notice, and it wasn't until the little girl almost walked into Phoenix did she even notice that she wasn't alone, almost tripping over the girl. Both hands reached out to steady herself, and her eyes were wide, though they stayed focused in front of her and not down at the girl. "Oh, goodness, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there."

"Hölle!" Phoenix gasped, not out of fear for herself but for the young girl. She caught Morgan's wrist to steady her as she tripped, letting go once the child spoke and found her balance again. "It is all right, Fräulien," she assured automatically, when she heard the apology. It wasn't often you heard someone so polite in this place, but her courtesies had not left her quite yet regardless of what had happened to everyone else. Curious to know who in this asylum would be so willing to speak in such a manner, she tilted her head to one side, studied Morgan for a brief moment, and then went on. "Not many do see me, especially out here--but you would have a hard time seeing anyone at all, I think." What was difficult to see to some others was plain as day to the little redhead: the blonde girl was blind as well as young (though she did not seem to be prone to tripping about, judging by the wideness to those cloudy eyes). Her thin brows knitted a little in concern, though it did not show in her voice when she spoke. She did not want to sound overbearing--but as was said, she still had her courtesies. "Are you all right?"

A relaxed little grin crossed Morgan's lips as she steadied, her heart beating fast and her smile a little giddy. These words that the girl was saying were words Morgan wasn't familiar with, and that fascinated her. And with how quickly this girl noticed her little detriment, Morgan was even more fascinated in the strange girl. The little girl took a seat, this time taking care not to trip over the redheaded girl, and she nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just wasn't paying attention." Morgan cocked her head to the side, curls bouncing over one shoulder, and she knit her brows together. "How did you know I was blind? And what were those words you were saying?"

"Your eyes, Fräulein," Phoenix murmured with a little smile. "They are blue, but there is something almost cloudy about them which makes them seem closer to white." What Mutter would call angel's eyes, she thought. It certainly seemed fitting: the little girl was small and rather effeminate, with long strawberry-blonde curls that bounced when she moved her head and a gentle, almost vulnerable appearance. She was certainly one of the youngest patients here, the little redhead thought. If not the youngest. The innocent beauty of childhood had not left her in the slightest. "And those were German words," she explained, answering Morgan's second question. "I am not from America--can you hear it in my voice?--and sometimes I use words from my mother tongue when I'm startled or surprised. That is all." In a rare turn of events, Phoenix's voice was soft and pleasant, even amiable. She liked children; and though she was habitually wary of all strangers, she could tell straight away that this young girl meant no one harm. And even if she had, the German girl thought that with her build and demeanor she would have trouble acting on her whims.

For once, Morgan's bright smile reached her clouded gaze, and for the first time in a long time the childish wonder was there. Morgan had of course met people who claimed to be of other... ethnicities? Was that the word? She had met Raven the Indian and Carlos the Mexican and Evander the Frenchman, but never had she met this German woman. The little girl found herself wondering where Germany was, what it was like. She had heard stories from the three previous men of their homelands, and she had developed her sense of a picture-- shapes and colours and sounds-- in her mind of their respective homes, but Germany was a new place altogether. She had of course heard of it, but knew next to nothing about it. "What's Germany like?"

"Oh, it is beautiful." Memories of her hometown of Munich were clear in her mind despite how long it had been since she'd lived there; it was hard to forget. The inner city had been so big and colorful and old, full of wonders for a little girl of four. "The buildings there are much larger than they are here, and older," she told Morgan. "Germany is a very old country with very old cities." She frowned a moment, trying to decide whether to go on: it wouldn't do much use trying to describe architecture or other such things to a blind girl; she would never see or be able to picture it, after all. And she doubted it would be of much interest to Morgan anyway. "But what my country is really known for are its artists," she said instead. "A lot of famous composers lived and worked there, like Beethoven and Mozart and Wagner and Strauss. In fact, many of them lived in Munich, where I am from. I lived there until I was four, before Mutter decided to move back to Pennsylvania, where she was born. But what about you?" The little redhead offered a friendly smile and a curious tilt of her head. "I am sure you do not want to listen to me ramble. Where are you from, Fräulein?"

It sounded lovely. Morgan had kept a list in the back of her mind to visit all of these places she had heard of, and she added this Munich to her list. When the woman asked the same question to Morgan, however, her clouded gaze narrowed slightly, and pale brows knit together. The girl shrugged. "I don't know," she said sheepishly, her expression entirely innocent. "My daddy left me here when I was three." Even if she had known the name of the town she came from, which she didn't, she wouldn't have been able to describe what it looked like, or her house, or even her father. As far as her life before the asylum was concerned, the memories there were an empty black pit. No shapes. No sounds. No colours. The asylum had so quickly become her home, and she had all but blocked out the life before it.

"Three!" Phoenix repeated, eyes widening slightly in surprise. And she was so small...that had to mean the poor girl had spent more than half of her life here. The thought was depressing and unnerving, even to the little redhead--and if St. Peter's had been this bad since poor Morgan's arrival, it was a wonder that she was still sane. "Goodness, Fräulein! Why on earth would your father do a thing like that?" Surely she did not belong here, at least not in the way that she herself did? It was an absurd notion, and even if it were untrue, Phoenix found it hard to swallow that a three-year-old would have displayed psychotic symptoms severe enough to merit her moving into a state facility. Even the youngest of patients the asylum had seen hadn't had their own problems develop until much later.

Morgan shrugged. It didn't shock her anymore that people were so surprised. She understood that three was a young age and that she looked so innocent that no one could even think of a reason why she would be here. "Idunno. The nurses tell me he just didn't want me. I don't have any problems, not like..." Morgan had to pause before names such as Raven and Rosemarie came to her lips. Even Anna. If Raven was her father would that make Anna her aunt? Would Anna have the same rules as Raven did about talking about her? Morgan didn't know. And so Morgan decided to play it safer. "Not like most of the people here. I'm normal, they tell me, well, aside from the fact that I can't see."

Phoenix nodded, and made a soft noise of sympathy. Normal, the young girl had said. Did they not all say they were normal? She had a sudden feeling that there was more to this than met the eye; but without more information she would not be able to figure anything out. A name would be nice. "Oh!" she exclaimed then, from feigned surprise. There was no need to arouse any suspicions or make anyone feel less at ease, not with how well the conversation had been going thus far. Besides, it would go well with how she herself had been acting up until this point. "Meine Güte, I haven't even introduced myself. I am Phoenix von Brandt, Fräulein. Who might you be?"

"Morgan Cartwright." The little girl with the curly hair offered a hand to the girl-- Phoenix. What a pretty name. Morgan remembered one of the nurses reading her a book that had a phoenix in it, a mythical bird of fire. Morgan found herself wondering if that bird fit this girl like a raven fit her father figure. Morgan offered a bright smile to the girl, however, and didn't bother to voice her silly thoughts. "Phoenix is a really pretty name," she commented, twirling one curl around her finger and smiling.

"Danke, Fräulein," Phoenix replied, smiling. "Morgan is a very pretty name, as well." And familiar. The little redhead, like most of St. Peter's, had heard the child's name coupled with a few choice others, names like Raven and Rosemarie--names which made for very interesting combinations. She, like most others, had often spent time wondering what connection the two elder patients had with this sweet little girl; but unlike most of the others, the German girl had connected at least a few of the dots. There was something special, close-knit, going on between the three of them. Something that was almost like a family. A very odd, very unstable family, she thought but did not say. Instead, a light laugh was given. A bit of mischief entered Phoenix's eyes and tone when she spoke, as though she were teasing the blond child. "Very pretty, and often spoken. Now that I think about it, I have heard quite a bit about you, Morgan."

Morgan cocked her head to the side, a grin crossing her lips and showing that she wasn't in the slightest terrified by the notion. Phoenix seemed nice enough. And though that fact had come back to bite her before, she didn't think it would be such a problem now. "Really?" She was curious, honestly, and curiosity was the only thing that touched her tone. Was she really that well known in the asylum? She knew that some knew about her little family, with Raven and Rosemarie and now Anna, but Morgan had never met Phoenix before in her life. Perhaps Phoenix knew one of the members of her family. Morgan made a mental note to ask after Phoenix with the next family member she saw. "Like what?"

"Well, a lot about your little...ah, family?" The word was spoken with a hint of doubt. Phoenix found it hard to believe that anyone could have a familial relationship with the Indian and the former Hunter; such relationships, after all, required things like trust and love, emotions which she found to be rare in the latter's case and absolutely unheard of in the former's. And had she not come upon Rosemarie beaten and crying in the girl's bathroom, an absolutely wreck because of something her lover had done? Had Raven himself not ended up a victim more than once, sent to the infirmary in a body cast, and afterwards to his dorm for a month of solitary confinement? Indeed, the little redhead considered the relationship between the two to be unstable at best--introducing a little girl into the equation did not seem like the healthiest thing for anyone involved. But she spoke none of these thoughts aloud, only sat and studied the little blind girl to see how she took her response. There was no use in keeping on if it would only cause trouble.

The giddy little smile darkened a little, and her expression fell slightly, but not to one of malice that mirrored her mother or father. Morgan had perfected the expression that can only be explained as ashamed, one she frequented when nurses questioned her about this very topic. But the little girl shrugged regardless. "Yeah, you could say that. Family isn't a word we use, though. It's sort of just... understood." In that moment, Morgan seemed nearly twice her age. She understood a lot about her little family and how broken it was, and when Raven and Rosemarie were brought into the equation she wasn't allowed to be the little kid she was. "Are you like everyone else? You don't know how two psychopaths can raise a sane little girl?" There wasn't any malice in her tone, again. Only curiosity. A little bit of her sounded tired. She had answered these questions a lot to the nurses.

"Ja," Phoenix said, partly for bluntness's sake and partly for honesty's. "This is true, Fräulein. I do not know how that could happen." At least, not without one or more of them breaking irreparably in the process. She did notice, of course, the hint of weariness beneath the young girl's voice, as though she had been through this same routine more times than she could count. All the same, she did not think that a sudden, understanding silence from her would mesh well with the gentle character she was performing as, so she spoke again. "But do they raise you, or are you simply friends? Herr Rabe and Fräulein Toom are no more than teenagers--certainly older than you, granted, but not even old enough to legally vote. I do not think that either of them are up to raising a child, placement in this place aside."

It took a moment for Morgan to even understand that those weird words Phoenix was using again corresponded to her parental figures. Had the conversation been lighter, Morgan would have laughed at that. Herr Rabe didn't sound nearly as terrifying as Raven. But Morgan shrugged. "Rosemarie doesn't so much raise me as she does... I don't know, she's just sort of comforting. And Raven teaches me things." She spoke a lot less about her father figure than she did about her mother. She didn't want to say anything she would regret and get in trouble for it. That had happened before and Morgan didn't want it to again. "Idunno, it just sort of works out." Morgan offered a shrug, though her eyes were a little downcast (though she could blame that to the fact that she didn't know where exactly to put them).

"Teaches you things?" Phoenix raised an eyebrow. There was no curiosity in her voice--she was much to measured to let it show--but she was certainly feeling it. "What sorts of things, if you do not mind my asking?" As far as she knew (and she did know quite a bit) Raven was and had never been in any shape to teach anybody anything good. He was cunning and arrogant and untrustworthy, much too aware for her liking and most certainly not afraid to get his hands dirty. With blood if need be. What on earth a little girl could find admirable in a man like him the German girl could not even begin to guess. It was even harder to imagine what she would want him to teach her.

Morgan sensed that these were not the smartest words for her to say, and a little flush coloured her cheeks. "Um..." she seemed a little more hesitant to speak this time, knitting her brows together with a little frown. "Nothing bad. Not like you're thinking. Just who to trust. And how to get myself out of bad situations." And what not to do. And who not to trust. And to not talk about things I shouldn't. And to lie. And how to use a knife. Had he taught her how to use the knife? Morgan wasn't so sure. She never had. It was somewhere in one of her drawers, hidden beneath stack after stack of clothing. But Raven had taught her to lie, and Morgan didn't say all of these to Phoenix. She knew the negatives of her father figure, and she was okay with it, but Phoenix wouldn't be, she knew it.

"Ja?" The eyebrow arched up just a little higher, and the disapproval in Phoenix's voice was plain. Is he mostly talking about himself? she thought of saying, for she knew the Indian had become more and more unstable of late. Somehow, though, she got the feeling that those were not words she wanted to share with the little blind girl; she was obviously close to Raven in some certain way, as strange as that was, and she clearly cared about the things he said--presumably, that meant she cared about what was said in reference to him as well. And she did not want any bad blood to come between them; that would be hard to work around, what with Morgan being a child (a blind child, at that) and she definitely didn't want any trouble with her so-called "father." No, that was a mess the little redhead wanted to steer completely clear of. So she said only one thing more, and made the line as inoffensive as possible. "And how is that going, Fräulein? Are you learning a lot?"

Morgan shrugged. "I guess so. It's useful at least to be able to pick out the nice people from the mean people." Her blue gaze, as it often did once the young girl grew comfortable with those she was with, landed eerily on Phoenix's own gaze, as if the girl could see her and was meeting her gaze. Eric liked to tell her, all in play of course, that it was really creepy when she looked at people like that, and she would laugh it off. But now was certainly an instance where her unintentional stare came across as odd. But Morgan was eager to change the subject, and with a quick blink a big smile found its way back onto her lips. "What about your family, Phoenix? If you don't mind, of course." In an instant she was polite again, and innocent again, with curiosity radiating from her little grin and her raised eyebrows.

"Mine?" Phoenix raised her brows slightly, a bit unnerved by the suddenness of the question and the way Morgan honed in on her--usually, she could predict such things from people, and the thought of having missed some clue with the child was not one she appreciated. But she met the blind girl's eerily accurate gaze, offered a little smile, and shrugged. "It is nothing special, really. I live--or lived, I suppose--with my Mutter and Vater, with no siblings. I do have two pets, though: Bärin and Katze, skunks who are brother and sister." There. Bringing up her beloved pets always sparked interest, and it kept the topic away from herself or why she was here (which had a lot to do with her family as it was). And Morgan was a child, and a curious child at that. No doubt she would rise at least partially to the bait; and that was all the little redhead needed.

It was like a game. It was very clear that Morgan had been spending most of her time around Raven and Rosemarie, because she sensed that Phoenix was changing the subject and began to wonder why. But Morgan wasn't entirely like her parents, and she was certainly fascinated by the concept of skunks as children were expected to be. It wasn't an act as Morgan's gaze lit up a little and her grin grew wider. Once or twice there had been a skunk in the outer edges of the asylum, and though the nurses wouldn't let her get near, her older asylum friends who frequently took her out would. Skunks were soft, and they told her they were black with a white stripe, and that they would start to smell if they got startled. But Morgan hadn't startled one yet, and she only knew them as their touch. "Skunks?" She shook her head a little, and the curls flew out of her eyes. "I didn't know skunks could be pets."

"Of course!" Nor was it an act when Phoenix grinned at the girl, a more amiable expression than was usual. As was said, she did like children, and talking about her skunks always made the day seem brighter. "It is not allowed here in America very much, but it is all right in Pennsylvania, where I was living before I came here." The innocently perplexed look on Morgan's face was endearing, she thought--though there was something which flickered in her eyes, and her smile. Something which was telling of a...different sort of curiosity. But the little redhead did not comment, only let out a light laugh. "In fact, they live with me here," she told the girl. Another smile, this one more of an act than the last. "Perhaps you would like to see them sometime? They are very friendly."

Morgan nodded with a big grin and an eager expression. "Sure! That would be a lot of fun." Morgan liked the idea of making another friend in the asylum, especially one that seemed to be a little less... renowned than her parents were. Of course, the little girl hadn't heard of this new friend of hers, and she didn't know anything about Phoenix. For all she knew, the German girl could have been as vicious as her father figure was. But Morgan wasn't as analytic as her parents were, and none of those thoughts really entered the young girl's mind. She only offered a grin to the older girl, and instead of thinking about any ulterior motives, she was absorbed with the idea of meeting these pets. For the first time in a while, Morgan was full entirely of childish innocence.

((Fade?))

((Fade.))

The peach tree was one of Elin's favourite asylum locations, with its bright daylight and subtle, earthy scents. Even as the sun set and the creeping darkness made her anxious, the flood-lights focused on the tree made her much more comfortable here than anywhere else in the asylum. And though the rule wasn't followed, the concept that high-security patients weren't allowed added a sense of comfort. Today, the terrorized young princess sat underneath the shade of the tree, with the smell of peaches wafting around her and a book in her lap. The spine read White Noise, and the author was illegible, but the small little smile on Elin's pouty lips told that the book was a good one. Ebony curls blew in the wind, and a few strayed to in front of her pale, unblinking gaze of honeydew. Elin seemed at peace, and with the smile on her lips and in her eyes, she was a rare sight.

Much like the dark-haired sleeping beauty, Lenore was also outside; and, also like her, she too was at peace. She liked the peach tree, with its subtly sweet scent and its quiet. She liked the way it stood, unbowed and unbroken, on the hilltop overlooking the place that many called an outright prison. And she liked, most of all, the way it seemed to be devoid of Emotions. After all, there wasn't much there worth getting excited over: it was just a big tree, brown branches still skeletal in the hands of retreating winter, the last earthy remains of long-dead peach blossoms still strewn upon the ground (they would grow back soon, the white-haired girl thought; spring was coming.) Indeed, the only Emotion she saw from her vantage point high up in the branches was the lithe, lovely Serenity, her pale blue eyes smiling and her golden curls stirring gently with the evening breeze. The young woman sat beneath the tree, next to the unaware Elin, while Lenore herself kept her perch up in the tree itself: she had been up here for a little while, after all; there was no reason to come down just because someone had come out to read, was there? She did not think so.

A long, relaxed sigh escaped Elin's lips, the first sound she had made since coming to the peach tree. However long Lenore had been there, Elin didn't notice her until she leaned her head back and her unblinking honeydew gaze landed on the white-haired beauty. Her already rosy cheeks flushed a bright pink in colour, and her eyelids fluttered slightly (though never closed, of course). She had recognized the girl, of course; Lenore was the subject of Elin's affections, and she had done her due diligence to research the white-haired girl with the Emotions. And when her gaze landed on her and the flush crept up on her cheeks, Elin had a little giddy grin on her face. "Hello, there," she said, leaving her head against the trunk of the tree and meeting Lenore's gaze. "I didn't notice you."

A brief chuckle escaped Lenore when she heard that, and saw the obviously unexpected (but apparently pleasant) surprise she had given the girl below her. "We have been quiet," she replied, and a little smile flickered across her lips, though it was gone just as quickly. "It is still out here this evening, and beautiful. We did not want to disturb this...peace." Below her, Serenity smiled to show her approval of the words: small, as always, but undeniably pretty and enough to make the white-haired girl feel pleased with herself. It was difficult to keep Serenity around, and the fact that she had managed such always left a comfortable warmth within her. Of course, it helped that she was in good company; the petite girl below her seemed a soft-spoken thing, with no intention of causing any trouble; and if the utterly pleasant smile and flush was of any indication, she was not planning on changing her track record this evening. A good thing, Lenore thought. As was said, she liked the peace the peach tree afforded her, and she did not want it to fall away so soon.

The black-haired beauty nodded in agreement, and she offered another little smile. "Yeah, its peaceful, that's for sure." And Elin lifted her head again, looking forward at the surrounding darkness. She felt a slight bit of anxiousness creeping up in her throat, and she could feel a flush creeping onto her cheeks, this time from nervousness and not so much from shock of seeing the girl and her Emotions, but she swallowed down the anxiety and focused on the floodlights as she spoke next. "I haven't seen you around before. What's your name?" Of course, she knew who Lenore was, but she didn't want to act as if she did; Elin herself knew what it was like to have people know who you are, and it wasn't enjoyable. After she spoke, and after a few seconds of staring at the floodlight, she loomed back up at Lenore, curiosity evident in her honeydew gaze. "If you don't mind, that is." These words were accompanied with a little chuckle and a smile.

"We don't mind." Again, there came that fleeting flash of a smile. "Our name is Lenore, and we do not think we know you. What is your name?" She asked the question less out of curiosity and more of concern; a desire to hold the unblinking girl's attention even. She had noticed the quick anxiousness with which she had looked around them, and the way she had then focused her gaze on the floodlights near the building before finally mustering up the nerve (at least, that was how it seemed) to glance back up at her. Serenity faded slightly from view, and a distant flicker out of the corner of her eye hailed a different Emotion--perhaps Curiosity, but more than likely Concern. It crossed the white-haired girl's mind to ask if everything were all right, for she did on some level want to know what may have been bothering the smiling stranger, if indeed something was. She liked to keep on good terms with the other patients, after all; and if she were doing something wrong, she would rather know about it than not. But for the moment she kept silent, unwilling to pry so soon. {You don't even know her name,} Caution chided, in her soft voice. {Give the girl time before you start gabbing.}

The we and our used in Lenore's speech didn't seem to faze Elin; no, if anything, she smiled a little wider when she heard it. The more she focused on Lenore, and less on the surrounding darkness, the more she could pretend it was perfectly sunny outside, and the more she could try to believe it. Despite her attempts to pretend, though, there was a nagging thought in the back of her mind asking her how she would get back to her dorm with it being this dark outside. Not all of the pathways were lit up, and she couldn't get a lantern (one of the many objects the nurses saved especially for her) until she got back to the asylum itself. Again, Elin shook her head and focused her pale gaze on Lenore. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lenore." Whether the you was singular or plural was left open for discussion, although more than likely it was meant as singular. "My name is Elin. I'd offer you a handshake, but you're all the way up there." There was a slight tease in Elin's words, a tone she used with almost everybody she came across, and her smile stayed bright despite the worried thoughts in the back of her mind. Elin crossed her legs, folded the corner of the page she was on, and shut the book, setting it beside her and then folding her hands in her lap. "What are you doing up there?"

Below her on the ground, Serenity faded and flickered. A small child, with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes, was halfway visible in her place.

{She's funny,} said Amusement, and Lenore agreed. {You just said why you were here!}

I know. But let us give her a break. She does not seem so...focused.

{Why?} That was Curiosity's youthful tones, and the white-haired girl shrugged visibly at the question. I am not sure. Perhaps she is anxious. But then she turned away (both in her head and in reality) and her dark gaze flitted once again to Elin. "For the quiet," she said aloud, in answer to her question. "It is very quiet up here, most of the time." The corners of her lips quirked up into the smallest of smiles--and this one was almost a tease--aimed at Amusement down below, and all of her comrade in her head. "Would you shake our hand?" she asked Elin, tilting her head to one side. It was rare to find someone who actually desired physical contact like that in this place, but she knew it was social courtesy to shake hands; and if the dark-haired girl wanted to, why should she refuse? Besides, it might help break the ice even further. Perhaps she would speak of her anxiousness then. "We could come down, if you'd like. You must only tell us so."

Her eyes widened a little, as if Elin was shocked by the thought of telling Lenore and her emotions to come and sit. "I don't want to make you," she said with a little chuckle underneath her delicate tone. "But I mean, if you'd like to. I won't mind the company." Elin shook her head a little, brushing curls back with her fingers and then reaching up a hand to the back of her neck. Already, with the few minutes of conversation, her neck was beginning to ache from craning backwards, and she offered a light twitter of laughter as she shook out her head and looked back up. "Its starting to hurt my neck, looking all the way up there at you. Company down here sure would be welcome." To be honest, the idea of Lenore coming down to join her made her excited. That was progress, right? That showed that Lenore was comfortable enough with her already, right? Elin found it promising, but none of these thoughts showed, and the girl patted the grass beside her.

"We are sorry to cause you pain," Lenore said, but her tone was amused and not apologetic. Serenity faded completely from view, and the child Amusement became clearer. {Do you see that?} she said, pointing to the giddy little grin on Elin's face, and there was laughter in her voice. Of course, the white-haired girl did see it, and she, too, found it funny if not a little endearing. With quick, catlike movements (she had climbed this tree many times before, and was quite proficient at it now) she shimmied down the tree and took a seat next to the dark-haired girl. "You are smiling, though you do not know us well," she told her, "where before you seemed anxious. Has something changed?" A friendly smile lifted at Lenore's pale lips, to show that she did not ask out of malice--she had heard of many patients who did that sort of thing, and she wanted Elin to know that she had no part in it. She had found that the quicker you reassured someone, the quicker the tension broke; and judging from what she'd seen so far, the unblinking girl on the ground certainly wanted it broken fast. She saw no reason not to indulge her; and besides, she got the feeling that Elin was...holding back, somehow, eager to jump the many hurdles of courtesy and get into a more comfortable state. So that they could talk more freely, perhaps? It's like she has so many things to say, but is afraid to say them now, she thought to Amusement, and the little girl nodded. {Yes,} she agreed, and a large smile flickered across her face. {It is like that. I wonder what they are.} And Lenore, despite herself, could not help but wonder what those things were, too.

Elin again flushed a little as Lenore asked her about the sudden change in personality. But it wasn't as if Elin was uncomfortable talking about her condition, and the girl flipped her black curls out of her hair, and Elin shrugged. "Its just a little dark for my comfort, is all. I don't like the dark much." That was certainly an understatement, and Elin didn't bring up that she would faint if she stepped out of the floodlights of the peach tree, but that part wasn't important yet, right? "It just makes me a little uncomfortable, is all." And Elin smiled, still, and offered an inquisitive expression to Lenore. "Was it really that noticeable?"

"No," Lenore reassured her with a little smile. "But we are perceptive in the quiet." And it was quiet out, with nothing to excite her--which meant no Emotions clamoring for attention in her head. The white-haired girl remembered saying as much, but she did not repeat herself; while she didn't exactly mind talking about her own condition, it was not a favorite topic. It tended to alienate people, if she ever got very specific, and she didn't want Elin going and running from her, the familiar mutterings of "freak" and "weirdo" on her lips as she left. Lenore had learned long ago not to react to hurtful things like that (at least, not where anybody could see her) but that didn't mean she was used to them, and she liked the dark-haired girl who sat unblinking beside her. She seemed kind and rather friendly, a rarity in this place. Why not enjoy it while she could? "Do you want to go inside?" she asked, to change the subject, tilting her head to one side. She was surprised to hear the petulant young voice of Disappointment--an angelic blond youth of about six with baleful brown eyes--in her head as she did: {No, I don't want her to go! She doesn't have to, does she?} But Lenore shushed him. If Elin was uncomfortable out here, it would be rude to demand that she stay. "We could walk you in, if you don't want to go alone," she offered. "Or call a guard over to help."

That idea made Elin even more uncomfortable. As if the thought of it drew her gaze, her pale green eyes staring out at the dark expanse before her, lit only by the moon. It was only thirty, forty yards. But in perspective, that was a lot. Elin realized that she would not be leaving the peach tree tonight, unless she sent someone to get a guard for her. But she was used to spending nights outside among the flood lights, wide awake, waiting until the sun rose and she could go back and finally sleep. It happened more often than not; funny, she thought, that they wouldn't offer her a lantern to carry with her when she went out in the evenings. Regardless, she didn't want to leave. Elin enjoyed the company of the pale-haired girl, and she didn't know when she would be able to see her again. And so Elin shook her head, black curls flying, and she offered a smile as she turned her pale eyes back to Lenore. "No, its fine. I'll stay."

"All right. If you're sure." Lenore nodded slowly, and was surprised to hear Disappointment actually laugh--a childlike, triumphant sound--before his presence seemed to fade from her head. Did they really want her to stay so badly, her Emotions? It would seem that they did; and this approval was a rare thing, almost unprecedented. For a moment, just a moment, a smile flickered across the white-haired girl's face, and she saw (or thought she saw) a brief flash of a freckled brown face and warm eyes the color of chocolate: Happiness's round, cheerful features. Well, good that they liked Elin! She liked her too. There was something undeniablely endearing about the petite girl with the wild dark curls and the honeydew eyes; something that spoke of quirkiness, of a shy but good heart. And that was something Lenore liked to see. It was such a rarity in this place, those qualities, that she couldn't help but do so. It suddenly came to her that the silence had gone on a long time--and what had she been doing, besides staring?--and the girl shook her head as if to clear it. "We are sorry, we were...distracted," she said, and again her head cocked to one side. "We do not mean to be rude. What would you like to talk about, Elin?"

Anything. The thought brought a small smile to Elin's lips, and her eyes lit up from the discomfort that had been there initially. Elin had noticed the girl's eyes, following invisible shapes and people and emotions around the area, and she even saw the slight smile that crossed Lenore's lips, and that was sure promising. Elin shrugged in turn, however. "Anything, really," she braved, her voice warm and friendly. "Like... before. Would you mind talking about before the asylum? What it was like?" Elin's own life had been exceptional compared to so many people of the asylum that she hardly ever thought of it being offensive. But Elin quickly added on: "That is, if you would like to. You don't have to. I'm simply curious."

"No, no, we don't mind at all." Lenore shook her head as she went to reassure Elin, and cocked her head to one side. "What would you have us tell you?" she asked. "Our life is not very interesting, really." These were not words said out of fear--the white-haired girl was not concerned about giving Elin some sort of leverage against her--but out of slight concern; in all honestly, she was worried about boring the unblinking girl. It was true, she did think her life to be uneventful before she came to the asylum; and she was ever-so-slightly worried that her newfound friend would think the same thing. And for some reason, she found the thought alarming. Concern, whose lanky form became visible above her in the tree, spoke: {Don't disengage her. That would be disastrous, especially because she's the only person here who's even been remotely friendly to you so far. Play it safe, okay?} And, eyes cast up to look at him, Lenore nodded. I will do my best, she thought to him. Because she liked Elin, too, and wanted to run her off about as much as her Emotions themselves; that was to say, not at all.

But there was no worry of boring Elin, part of the reason being that her attention was pointed at Lenore and nowhere else, to avoid the creeping darkness that caused her throat to swell and her heart to beat faster than usual. Of course, though, on top of that she enjoyed the interesting young blonde and her strange pronouns and ways of speaking. And so Elin was not at all worried of leaving, nor was she in danger of being scared away. Elin would stay right where she was. So Elin smiled and she offered a shrug. "What was your family like? Where did you live? How long have you been here?" The questions were mere curiosity, of course, and her soft smile showed absolutely no signs of dark intentions.

A light, quick laugh came forth from Lenore; not because she found her new friend's questions amusing, but because the way Elin had asked them, in a rapid-fire stream, made her so reminiscent of a young child that for a moment, she found herself with an image in her head: a round-cheeked, grinning dark-haired girl with honeydew eyes and small, pudgy hands constantly reaching out to grab new things, asking how and when and where and why in bright, innocent tones. And it was the sheer contrast between the picture and Elin herself that was amusing--even Concern, sitting high above her, cracked a smile. When she finally managed to shake the thought, she only grinned at the girl and replied: "Well, we were born in a small town called Westbrook, and our father was a schoolteacher and our mother was a doctor. They were loving and very good to us, and we lived just like a normal girl until we found out that we were...not normal." As she spoke, the wide grin disappeared from her pale features and the slightest of frowns replaced it: it had been a strange thing, to come to terms with the fact that she wasn't just like all the other girls in her neighborhood and classrooms; a strange thing to find that no one else saw the figures that she always did, the Emotions who had been appearing to her and giving orders and advice since she was in kindergarten. It had been hard to look at the shock and worry on her parents' faces, when she finally did tell them about her constant companions. Everything, really, had been hard after her seventh year. But she said none of this to Elin, heeding the soft, wary voice of Caution in her head:

{She does not need to know these things. At best, she will not care and you will have wasted your breath; at worst, she will care, and she will make you tell, or she will tell, and then you will have problems here.}

Indeed, Lenore had heard all too much about the nature of some of the patients in this asylum; their fondness for information, and their penchants for using it to play with the heads of the ones it belonged to. And she wanted no part in that, no, no part at all. The unblinking girl with her soft smile and curious gaze may have seemed like a good confident, but the white-haired girl did not want to take any chances. She might not have had malicious intentions herself, but for all she knew Elin was a gossip who liked to talk to people who did. So, instead of elaborating, she simply went on: "And when we found out this thing, and we stopped trying to ignore it and pretend that it was not true, we were sent here, and here we have stayed. They say they are trying to help us here; we do not believe them." She shook her head a little, frowned. "To be honest, we do not like this place much at all. There is something...off about it." And then she fell silent, allowing Elin the chance to mull over her words and losing herself briefly in the ever-changing swirl of her own thoughts.

Elin did care, and she herself felt a slight tinge of concern, dark brows knitting over her honeydew gaze and her head cocking slightly to the right, black curls falling over that shoulder. As she pondered over what Lenore had said, Elin found her hand reaching up and her fingers pulling through the tangled ebony curls, and she nodded once she came to terms with Lenore's words. "I wouldn't like it here either, if I had had a life like you seemed to," Elin said with a soft smile and a little shake of her head. "It sounds like it was nice," she added as an afterthought, the curiosity still apparent in her gaze as she tried to piece together the missing puzzle pieces. "How long have you been here, Lenore? If you don't mind, that is." Elin crossed her legs beneath her, criss-cross-applesauce, and she placed her hands in her lap and straightened her head. "I myself have been here for almost seven years, I think. The years all kind of mull together in here." Brows knit slightly, and then she nodded as if confirming her own fact.

"They do," Lenore agreed, with a little nod of her own. "Time...it is strange here." And the form of Concern blurred and faded at the edges up in the tree, replaced by the taller and more graceful figure of Thoughtfulness: ashen-skinned, with long black hair and wide brown eyes always distant, as though pondering. {It is strange here,} the woman echoed. {It seems to blur, doesn't it? Or pass too quickly, or creep by like the shadow of a thief against a house--too slow, too slow. Never right, time. Not here. A strange feeling in the air...not namable, but there nonetheless. Obvious, even.} And the white-haired girl nodded sagely in reply to these words. Though Thoughtfulness was prone to lacing her speech with metaphors (and, indeed, talking a little too much) she liked listening to the limber woman; she often had some very interesting things to say. Still, she was in the middle of a conversation now--it would not do to be rude and ignore the waiting Elin, would it? Not after she had just been asked a question. "But we have been here several months, nonetheless," she went on. "They have not been bad months. They are simply different than what we are used to. But you--seven years, Elin? Truly?" She cocked her head, dark eyes curious and, yes, thoughtful. "We cannot imagine what it must be like for you. Has this place changed, in that time? Was it always this way?"

Elin frowned a little bit, more so from foul memories of her lack of control and the darker days when she hated Zachary, when she was really Snow White in her glass casket. Had the asylum truly changed? She had to think of it, and Elin spoke her thoughts aloud as they crossed her mind. "I mean, it used to be a lot quieter around here. There weren't as many attacks, the nurses were a lot more lenient, but it seemed as if they... cared less, you know?" Elin shrugged, and ran her hands through her curls with a shrug. "Everything was really different when I was a kid, especially because I had a friend named Zachary who came to help me with my condition. It was a lot scarier when I was little, even though it was a lot more peaceful. Now, though..." Elin's eyes seemed far away, and again, the girl shrugged. "Now, I suppose I'm just used to it. Things have been pretty calm since the fire, though."