St. Peter's Asylum discussion

A giggled erupted from the blonde haired girl's petal pink lips, as Lena's stubborn logic was very funny to the Oracle.

((Fade?))

((Indeed.))

"Well, I best be off, young oracle. Pray tell I meet you again." Lena leaned forward, slipping down the tree much like a graceful cat and strode away. In her hand still twirled the pink hue blossom.

High up in the treetops, hidden from anyone below the foliage except for that distinctive flaming hair, but that could be mistaken for a large peach blossom at a glance. The strong scent of sweet developing peaches helped clear the mind when it got too full like it was now. Singing and humming seemed to help a little bit. An old song the Huntress was singing, with a turn far from the original.

Out on the Mira on warm afternoons/ Old men go fishing with black lines and spoons/ And if they catch nothing they never complain/ I was I was with them agaaaaain/

He was out too, silently crouched on a tree branch quite a distance from Rosemarie, rather high up. A web of spindly branches blocked his way to her, but for now he was content to crouch above the Huntress and listen to her sing. She might like to make fun of the fact that he was a songbird, but here she was, up in a tree and singing her heart out. Not to different from him, not really. Raven only smiled, thinking these thoughts--Rosemarie might think herself a master of the senses, but he'd been up in the tree as long as she if not longer, simply watching.

Eyes being closed to keep her peace and with Raven being as silent as he was, the Huntress had not noticed the impossibly large Indian just a few feet above her. Completely oblivious, she kept singing.

And over the ashes, the stories are told/ Of witches and werewolves and Oak Island gold/ Stars on the river, they spar-kle and spin/ I was I was with them again/

Can you imagine a piece of the universe, more fit for princes and kings? I'll trade you ten of your cit-ies for Marian bridge, and the pleasure it brings.

The tune appealed to the young Indian, and after a while he began to quietly hum along. No longer was he concerned about being discovered; he'd waited long enough. Some vague part of him hoped that Rosemarie might be startled and fall out of the tree--what ammunition that would give him! A Huntress, falling from the trees which she claimed to know so well...the thought brought a silent chuckle to his lips.

Te sudden alert tat came to her slightly sharper than normal senses sent eyes of cobalt blue fluttering and finding themselves almost face-to-face to the taunting- and of course, smirking- Raven. She sucked in a breathe, looking over him with an almost timid gaze.

The raven does not fully love their young
Until their glossy feathers run black The prophecy rang in her mind again. Of course, that was the very thing she had been trying to keep her mind off of.

"Why so shy?" came the murmured words as Raven began to make his way down towards the young girl. There was something--almost fear--in her eyes as she looked up at him, something which made his eyebrows rise. The Huntress wasn't one to betray emotions, especially not fear. Especially not to him. He thought she knew better than that. "What's wrong now, love?"

Rosemarie slowly shook her head, gazing down at the shorts she was wearing. She had only now just realized how cold it was out. She hesitated to look back into those dark and brooding eyes. She had hoped to not run into him until she could fire out what she was going to do with her situation with him. It wasn't a surprise that she would be so lucky to have that one hope. "Nothing," she whispered and awkwardly moved over into the tree.

"Nothing," Raven repeated with a little grin. He was level to the Huntress now, observing with some satisfaction the way she moved over to make room for him; he was gaining ground. But back to the matter at hand, the young boy only shook his head, reaching out to take the Huntress's hand in a gesture of comfort--or something like it. "Nothing isn't worth hiding from me," he said softly.

He plays as many games as a couple of children in a rainy day. Maybe more. She allowed him to take her hand, but didn't react to his touch and merely let it go limp in his much larger hands. "I'm not hiding anything from you," she protested without much force in her voice, the sweet scent of peaches still making her seem more calm than usual.

"You are." Raven wasn't arguing, he was stating fact. The boy didn't argue when he knew he was right. "So what's going on, my enchanting little Hunter? You can tell me. You can always tell me."

Enchanting? Rosemarie turned her head to give Raven an odd look. There was seriously something wrong with him today, or he was trying too hard to irk her. Maybe he was losing his touch. "I promise, I'm fine. If there was really a problem, you would already know about it, wouldn't you?"

Raven smirked. "No, not necessarily. I can't read minds, for all my grandeur. I need a ticket up to minds." He relaxed then, drawing his hand away from Rosemarie's to lean against the trunk. "And that's how I know you're not fine, Rosie. Normally you're handing them out, and today you're not. Why's that? I know you're not growing tolerant of me, so what is it?"

The abnormally quiet Hunter sat up in a forked branch across from Raven with a sigh. She fixated those calm, almost tired-looking blue eyes finally fixated on Raven's face, trying not to display emotion as she concentrated on pulling the leaves and bark from her red locks. "How do you know I couldn't have grown tolerant of you?" She asked quietly, her hands moving to the side of her head where it seemed a while branch had gotten tangled.

"How do I know?" Raven gave a dry chuckle, studying her with a look in his eyes that was almost...calculating. "Because, Rosie. Had you been growing tolerant you wouldn't be sitting there looking so calm. You would be ecstatic about that little victory of yours, and up in my face gloating about it. That's how I know."

Despite her attempts, a look of honest confusion crossing over her features. "What victory are you talking about? I haven't done anything." That calculating look in his eyes made her want to squirm again.

"Precisely. But if you had, you would be gloating, and you're not," Raven explained with a small, self-satisfied smile. "That's how I know you aren't growing tolerant."

"Um, okay?" Frowning, Rosemarie took her eyes off Raven and his victorious smile to pull more foliage from her hair. She couldn't even imagine how it had all often in her hair from just laying down in the branches.

"Don't ask me a question and just respond with 'um, okay?' when I give you an answer." Raven gave a little laugh. "That's what idiots do when they don't understand something. Be a big girl and use your words, Rosie." He wasn't feeling it today, not really, what with Arabelle on his mind. He wondered if Rosemarie could sense and appreciate the break she was getting; it wasn't going to last forever.

"I can use my words," she growled with a tone of annoyance. "I just don't entirely want to at the moment. I've got things on my mind." Even when he seemed to have other things on his mind, he still got under his skin. It was amazing yet irritating all at the same time.

"I know that." He grinned, eyes popping open. She'd just admitted it herself. "And that's why I came down in the first place. To learn about what's on your mind. Being uncooperative and not responding is, by the way, just going to earn you more irritation. So I suggest you talk to me."

"Why do you want to know?" She asked, moving over a branch closer to the Indian. "Nonone ever said it was any of your business in the first place.

"My business or not, I want to know." Raven shrugged, giving an easy smile. "Besides, nothing concerns you more than I do--and if you're problem is about me, which I'm almost sure it is, doesn't that mean it is my business and that I have a right to know?"

Rosemarie rolled her eyes, plucking yet another leaf from her hair. "Raven, you are so nosy. You should really learn to mind your p's an q's."

"How many leaves can there possibly be in your hair?" Raven interrupted, chuckling. "Have you unconsciously been trying to make to make yourself a laurel wreath, Rosie?"

"I've been up here for at least two hours, so a lot." She shook her head, allowing the last of debris to fall from her curls. "If I wanted to make a wreath for my head, I wouldn't use these leaves."

Raven shrugged. "Okay."

(('Tis not working out...))

[Yup. It's just not our day, I suppose.]

Dinah was sitting as high up in the tree as possible, not paying attention to the mosquito's that had started to swarm around her in the slowly fading light. Her silky blond hair, usually pulled back away from her face, was a shimmering cloud around her thin shoulders. Her clothes, normally so strange, were that of a normal teenager. Just a tee shirt and jeans. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Dinah wiped the tears from her already red eyes and muttered to herself about how stupid and careless she'd been.

Morgan, though hardly old enough, knew the grounds of the asylum by heart. All she did during her first years was wander, wander and wonder and pray.

Today, golden curls sprung lush and excited, providing a halo for Morgan's heart shaped face. She sat on her stomach in the shade of the tree, one hand providing a rest for her head and the other playing with the leaves and the leaves on the ground. Her legs, clad in khaki coloured jeans, kicked back and forth.

((Chores have been PWNED.))

Julie was outside too, following an over-friendly nurse who was guiding her out to a quiet spot, as she had requested. The skinny woman--everyone was skinny here--pointed out to a scraggly tree in the distance, and the young immigrant smiled. Some nature for once; perfect. She thanked the nurse and took off towards that delightful little spot of lush green, looking very much like something of myth--a nymph, maybe--in her tight green shirt and deep brown pants, the comfortable sort. She arrived by the tree in the next few seconds, still smiling, panting a little from her run. She didn't see the little girl nearby.

And Morgan didn't see the woman. Of course she didn't. Blue eyes gazed off into the distance, unseeing, and a tiny hand found a peach on the ground, searching it for bruises and then finally lifting it to her rosebud lips.

Julie did a quick scan of the tree, wondering how high it might be, looking for the peaches that grew near the top, finding quite a few on the ground. Also on the ground, she was surprised to find, was a young girl with a head of blonde curls and lovely--but cloudy--blue eyes. "Oh!" she exclaimed, slightly surprised. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you."

Morgan jumped slightly, and almost dropped the peach in her hand, a bite already taken from it. She swallowed to chunk in her mouth before speaking; manners were important.

"No need to apologize," said the little girl with a small smile in the direction of Julie's voice.

Julie smiled too and knelt to get at the child's eye level. It was rare one saw anyone younger than her in the asylum, and now she was quite curious. "My name is Juliana, but you can call me Julie," she said, extending a hand. "Who might you be?"

Morgan sat herself up, to free her other hand, and for a few mummy's struggled before finding Julie's hand. She shook it.

"Morgan D'Aubigene."

"Good to meet you, Morgan." Julie took her hand back, combing her fingers through her hair. She studied the girl: what could have possibly landed her in a place like this? She seemed perfectly normal, sweet and angelic as most five-year-olds were. She wanted to ask but refrained, not wanting to seem rude. Instead, she decided to bring up something else about the girl that interested her. "You have very pretty eyes, Morgan," she said. Maybe the little girl would care to talk about them further.

Morgan smiled. "Thanks, people like to tell me that. I wouldn't know, you know," said the little girl with a shrug. She took another bite out of the peach.

"Really?" Julie raised her eyebrows. "Why, haven't you ever looked in a mirror?"

Morgan giggled; the sound of children's laughter was not one common in the asylum. It sounded out of place.

"I can't see," Morgan clarified.

"Oh!" Julie laughed too, just a little bit. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." She shook her head in wonder, grinning. "But where's your cane, Morgan? Surely you haven't memorized this entire place by yourself?"

Morgan shrugged. "I have nothing better to do. I spent my first two years or so memorizing the grounds."

"Two years?" Julie's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh wow...I've only been here for two weeks!" She shuddered at the thought of remaining here for so long. "How do you stand it?" she wondered aloud. "This is not a very...nice place."

Morgan giggled again. "It's not that bad, if you avoid the bad people and stick with the ones who will keep you safe."

"People here want to keep me safe?" Julie sounded the slightest bit bewildered. Everybody around St. Peter's seemed quite menacing to her, with their cutting looks and sharp tongues. The only one she would even dare to consider friendly was Rosemarie, and only because they'd been friends for years. Not even this sweet little girl was to be treated without caution. After all, she had to be in here for a reason.

((Aww and the truth is she isn't xD))

Morgan nodded. "Some of the ones who are here for things out of their control. All Isidora does is dance. All Tom and Clara have is problems with sound in their head. All I am is blind. Plus the nurses."

Julie's lips tugged down at the corners in thought. She was more curious about Morgan herself; everything else she'd said had already been disregarded or, if not, stowed away to be considered later. "They didn't lock you up just because you couldn't see, did they?" she asked, looking a little confused. "That's not legal. It's discrimination."

Morgan shrugged. "My daddy is really Christian. He took my blindness and decided that the Devil was inside of me and stuff. He sent me here."

"That's horrible," Julie murmured, looking appalled. "It sort of makes my story seem...I don't know, normal. At least my parents both loved me." She couldn't imagine life without the support her parents gave her. Had she been deprived of it from birth, Julie thought she might have turned out a whole lot worse.