The bullies had no desire to face off with the woman theyâd regularly seen doing the routines Haylee did. They backed off, but not without parting shots, âWell I guess now we know why she looks like that. I should have known a real woman wouldnât have those arms,â they dismissed at Haylee, âThe freaks all grouping together.â
The other woman thrust her chin up, âDonât even think about ever coming in here again you sick fucks! Iâm reporting you right now. Management will ban your ass!â as they left, Belle could still hear their voices as they called her a guy as they complained to each other.Â
Sobbing into her knees, she bit into her finger hard, rocking in place. She needed to dress, needed to move. But she couldnât. She wanted to scream, but she forced it inside. Even breathing was hard enough. Too much. It was all too much.
Despite what it was the group of females were saying, Haylee didnât budge, nor did she even bother replying to what was being said. There was not a chance in hell she would even entertain them with some kind of comeback, knowing that doing such a thing would only cause more harm than good. After all, she had tried talking so many times to get out of whatever discipline was coming to her, tried to talk her way out whatever fresh torture would come her way whenever she had done something wrong. It could have been the smallest thing, quite honestly⊠though even to this day, she couldnât even stand the sight of marbled cake without feeling a rush of something akin to panic.Â
Sighing softly, she could hear the choked noises from behind her that had some of that hardened outer shell she wore softening, reaching immediately for the towel that had been discarded before she stepped forward and gently covered the girlâs shoulders.. she had seen the way Belle had dressed, saw the way that she held herself until this pointâŠ
âTheyâre ignorant,â Haylee spoke quietly, hoping that with the towel covering her and Hayleeâs body providing a sort of block from the outside world it would allow Belle to calm down further.Â
Belle accepted the towel gratefully and wrapped it around herself. She was beyond thankful that the woman whoâd stepped in hadnât tried to touch her. Normally she could put up with it, but not as near breaking as she was now. Making a whiney noise, Belle grabbed the edge of the towel and bite into it. Her feet stamping on the tiles where she sat curled into a ball.Â
She hated this. Hated how she couldnât stop it. Couldnât make her voice connect to her mind. The way everything she felt was just too much. Her mind sparking into static and silence that defied description. Chewing on the towel and digging her fingers into her thighs to the point that she left behind the marks of her own nails, Belle finally found her voice again.
Sniffling and wiping her nose roughly with the back of her hand, her eyes wandered over Hayleeâs feet and arms, anywhere but her face, âThanks.â
The storm raged over Metro City, lightning cracking overhead. Dashing for the cover of an awning, Roxanne cursed the fact that her mode of transportation was a little yellow scooter. The gas mileage was great and it was so easy to get around the city⊠until days like this. Hunching in her dark jacket, she rubbed her arms to stay warm, making idle conversation with the woman next to her, âI hate these freak storms this time of year. The weather has been so bad this fall.â
Face falling blank, Roxanne blinked, âUh, what?â she really hated when people made jokes about her frequent kidnappings. The weather was easier to explain, âWork,â she shrugged and pointed at her moped, âAnd that doesnât offer much protection.â
âmm, must be bitch working in this.â Alixon glanced up to the dark sky again when lighting crackled above the scrapers. Huffed gleeful. The dropping rain would only get worse from here⊠Huddled chin into her orange raincoat. âAre you done? with work for today I mean?â
Roxanne laughed, âIâm off the clock but works never done. Itâs a bad habit but I always end up bringing it home with me.â
Workaholic is what her mother would always call her. Her father too. But once Roxanne sunk her teeth into a story, she just couldnât give it up.Â
Wayne still didnât know what to do with his life, that never seemed to change. Not these days. He slept, ate, wandered, slept again. There wasnât much point in anything else. But sometimes the music still called to him, a flicker of spark that would lead him out to the park with his guitar. His hair was long and curly, shot through with gray. Roxanne would always tell him he looked like some sort of yoga vegan hipster thing, but mostly the large man just couldnât be bothered. Today he let it hang in his face as he set up. His beard too was long but heâd trimmed it up nicely not too long ago. While fairly sure he was fully clothed, Wayne had no clue what he was wearing, it hadnât mattered.
Sitting on the bench near some trees where people were close enough to listen, the ex-hero strummed his guitar, humming the first bar as he warmed up. Getting the feel for the strings, he started singing as he played Moody Blue.
Before she started to work in Memory Lane, she barely noticed that a day just for oneself was so prescious. The day seems to bright, the stores more tempting, take seat in the grass in a park even more relaxing. She left her bag aside, foor she prepared at home. A couple of sandwiches, a bag of bisquits and a thermo with hot tea just for herself. Â The feeling is wonderful. It was a pity that Az doesnât like to wander around humans, very well she could enjoy his company. The android sighed, pushing the idea aback, knowing that her brother prefers the silence of the lake, or hunt underwaters. Â After look around to the families, she picked from her bag a book she decided to start today, after learn with huge effor to not use her speed to read them. Patchy got scared many times cause she moved the pages fast to end it in 10 minutes.. Â –
– Maybe she was too secure that this could be a normal day, that she didnât notice that not too far from here, behind a different tree, there was a man singing.  A tone that totally distracted her.. She glared aside, leaning slightly forward to try to see who it was, but just could notice thr side of a wide back and long dark hair. With a frown, she tried to recover her reading but again failed miserably⊠âI canât believe thisâŠâ She huffed. Great. Now she is gonna be accused to scare a poor homeless man off of the park.. maybe if she asks nicely he could try to be less depressingâŠ.
Wayne didnât really care whether or not people put money in the open guitar case, but it was the expected thing to do, so he did. Even though heâd given away most of the Scott assets long ago, he still had enough money to last his lifetime… and no heir to give it to. His will gave every cent that was left to charity anyway. So it didnât matter what was given… if it was enough he might be food on the way home and then stuff the rest in the tip jar. Considering how homeless he looked, that gained a lot of stares last time… not that Wayne noticed.
Oblivious to those around him, Wayne picked another song, voice raised melancholy into the air at a soulful pitch, âThis is the end, beautiful friend. This is the end, my only friend, the end of our elaborate plans, the end of everything that stands, the end no safety or surprise, the end. I’ll never look into your eyes, again.â
{{ munday photos. Forgive my psycho looking ass. }}
RP backup 