Post by Madeleine Baudelaire&Russ Ford on Apr 6, 2008 20:30:18 GMT
“… did you hear about Madeleine?”
“That new guy, Russ, he says she’s a gypsy…”
“How come she didn’t tell us?”
“- too scared, probably-”
“I don’t believe-”
“She’s a gypsy.”
“Dirty breed.”
Russ watched as Madeleine’s fists curled. “Cool it.”
Her fingers just clenched in tighter.
Breed.
If there was one word that Madeleine hated more than any other, it was that. Breed.
Verb: to procreate
Noun: 1. linage; stock; strain – She comes from a fine breed of people. 2. a group of animals within a species, developed and maintained by humans. 3. an offensive term – breed; half-breed.
What the word meant determined on the mouth it came from. From that person, an Academic of name unknown to Madeleine, it very obviously was meaning number 3. And usually when it was used as an offensive, it wasn’t something straight out of Harry Potter.
“See, Russ,” she hissed, through the pearly whites that were currently set on edge. “This is why I kept it quiet.”
Russ looked up from his book exasperatedly again. “You’re not the only one that gets this, Madel.”
“I know; but it doesn’t make my job any easi-”
“Is that really all it’s about? You know now that Ryder’s gone that only about two of your Warriors actually give a crap-”
“That’s still two people-”
“- and now that you didn’t tell them, none of them are sure that they can trust you anymore-”
“Stop.” Her teeth were gritted as she glared at him. Satisfied, Russ turned back to the new-looking book in his hands.
The insults had been coming like that all week. Russ was right, they were only from a few people – but a few people were all it took to spread poison. Though, again as Russ had said, the grand majority of her Warriors didn’t care, and defended her from the prattle that she could hear (Cole Turner had been particularly brilliant, cracking his knuckles threateningly at someone who made a comment about in breeding). Their only problem, like Jack’s, was that she hadn’t told them before. She hadn’t been honest. And what kind of leader did that make her, one who couldn’t even be truthful with her troops?
She shivered, though the fire was blazing beside them. Glancing at the book, she asked, “What book is that?”
“Long Way Round,” he answered, without looking up. “It’s two guys travelling around the world on motorbikes.”
“Any good?”
“I’m only on chapter 2; I bought it this morning. There’s nothing else to do here.”
Madeleine grinned. “None of the girls good enough for you, then?”
He glanced up, a wicked smile on his face. “Well, your red-haired friend with the green eyes is hot, but-”
“She’s taken,” Madeleine answered quickly, resignedly recognising Olivia from this description.
“Aren’t most of them? There’s a bit of an epidemic here. Most of the chicks are going out with chronic nice guys. You’re no exception.”
Madeleine just rolled her eyes, lying back in the chair and determinedly trying to ignore the people around her.
The people who had been talking before, a mixture of guys and girls, had divided into groups of their sexes, the guys muttering amongst themselves, the girls desperately trying to catch Russ’s gaze.
She had to sigh. As of yet, Madeleine was Russ’s only friend in the school so far, and hanging about with him proved to have a couple of occupational hazards. Firstly, Russ’s mouth was going to get him into trouble very, very quickly. She’d lost track of the number of times that she had to tell him to shut up. Though, even taking that into account, he’d made a good impression, and although many boys were intimidated by him, they’d struck off on a good chord.
The other hazard was that wherever Russ went, girls and their glances and sighs followed. It got a little irritating at times, but Madeleine was able to get a dark piece of black humour out of the fact that she’d been there first.
She glanced at the girls, before turning back to Russ. “See anything you like?”
He looked up briefly, before dropping his gaze. “Not really.”
“Picky.”
He laughed. “A little.”
“Funny; I don’t remember you being so.”
This laugh was brighter, the darkness lifting from his eyes.
She smiled, shaking her head as she brought her knees up onto the armchair. Russ went back to his book, and there was a comfortable silence for a few minutes, in which each left the other to their thoughts.
Madeleine studied Russ for a minute, studying the onyx wave of his hair, the darkness of his eyes, the shape of the contours of his face – and was unsettled by the resemblance to Shaun that she could see there. It was ridiculous how she had never spotted it – though, maybe it wasn’t. It was only at certain times, when Russ was quiet and calm, and happy, that Madeleine could see him as a dark mirror to Shaun. At other times, he was like an anti-Shaun. Too dark and brooding to be anything like her brother; his eyes too dangerous black to be compared to the warm brown of Shaun’s. The resemblance between them could only be seen if you knew it was there. But now, as Russ sat there, mellow, Madeleine felt sad as she looked him, the calm expression in his eyes a mirror to what Shaun’s could be like. And there were more obvious similarities – both had the bareknuckle fighter’s physique.
And suddenly, she found herself cursing Russ for that.
As though he’d read her thoughts, he looked up at her, considering her for a second or two.
“What?”
“Have your nightmares gone away?”
She started.
“Well?” he prompted.
“You remembered.”
“It’s hard not to remember,” he said, gently grimacing. “Well, do you still have them?”
“Not anymore,” she admitted. “When I got here, they were still pretty bad, though I wasn’t crying out anymore. They got fewer and farther between, but then back just before Christmas, they got worse again. I woke up one night to my own scream, which-”
“Didn’t ever happen before,” Russ finished for her.
“No, never,” she said quietly.
“Are they the same nightmares?”
She hesitated before replying, forcing the inevitable memory to the back of her head. “One of them.”
“Before, or aft-”
“Before.”
“So you’ve blocked it.”
Russ didn’t even have to say what it was to make Madeleine shiver slightly and her jaw clench in pain. “Please don’t talk about it.”
“You’ve never told anyone else, have you?”
“Tell Cecelia…”
She closed her eyes, shaking her head furiously, trying to erase the memory. “No.”
“… her - and Maddie? Until…”
“Not even Lee?”
Oh, God, no.
“Russ, stop.”
But now it was too late. The old wounds were opened, the scabs peeled off, and fresh blood flowing from the gaps. The whispers were sounding in her ears again, her own screams ringing, loud and sharp. The blood flew over her hands, the feeble breath on her cheek-
“Stop!”
“I’m sorry,” Russ said meekly, taking her cry as a warning to him. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
She continued to shake her head, eyes tightly closed, trying to shake it out, pretending it wasn’t too late, that she could close the wounds again.
“Madel?”
She opened her eyes, but couldn’t look at his. So instead, she focused on the ochre blaze in the grate, her eyes zooming in on the grey smoke rising from it. “Yeah?”
“You’re still not crying about it.”
She closed her eyes briefly again. “No.”
Russ was shaking his head. “You are so screwed up.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s not like I’m telling you something that you don’t know.”
Madeleine inhaled deeply, dragging her eyes to meet him, cringing away at the unfamiliar, uncertain concern there. “Let’s not talk about it again, okay?”
He shook his dark head, but acceded anyway. “Sure.”
She stood up. “I’m going to bed.”
Russ just looked back down at his book. “Night, then. Happy dreams.”
She had to smile at that one, the old familiar saying. “Happy dreams.”
Though Russ hadn’t meant it to happen, that night, that other, blocked dream had resurfaced again. Unlike the times before, she hadn’t woken up after moaning and moving about in her sleep, the only strange thing was the cold sweat that had broken out over her skin. And again, she couldn’t get back to sleep.
“That new guy, Russ, he says she’s a gypsy…”
“How come she didn’t tell us?”
“- too scared, probably-”
“I don’t believe-”
“She’s a gypsy.”
“Dirty breed.”
Russ watched as Madeleine’s fists curled. “Cool it.”
Her fingers just clenched in tighter.
Breed.
If there was one word that Madeleine hated more than any other, it was that. Breed.
Verb: to procreate
Noun: 1. linage; stock; strain – She comes from a fine breed of people. 2. a group of animals within a species, developed and maintained by humans. 3. an offensive term – breed; half-breed.
What the word meant determined on the mouth it came from. From that person, an Academic of name unknown to Madeleine, it very obviously was meaning number 3. And usually when it was used as an offensive, it wasn’t something straight out of Harry Potter.
“See, Russ,” she hissed, through the pearly whites that were currently set on edge. “This is why I kept it quiet.”
Russ looked up from his book exasperatedly again. “You’re not the only one that gets this, Madel.”
“I know; but it doesn’t make my job any easi-”
“Is that really all it’s about? You know now that Ryder’s gone that only about two of your Warriors actually give a crap-”
“That’s still two people-”
“- and now that you didn’t tell them, none of them are sure that they can trust you anymore-”
“Stop.” Her teeth were gritted as she glared at him. Satisfied, Russ turned back to the new-looking book in his hands.
The insults had been coming like that all week. Russ was right, they were only from a few people – but a few people were all it took to spread poison. Though, again as Russ had said, the grand majority of her Warriors didn’t care, and defended her from the prattle that she could hear (Cole Turner had been particularly brilliant, cracking his knuckles threateningly at someone who made a comment about in breeding). Their only problem, like Jack’s, was that she hadn’t told them before. She hadn’t been honest. And what kind of leader did that make her, one who couldn’t even be truthful with her troops?
She shivered, though the fire was blazing beside them. Glancing at the book, she asked, “What book is that?”
“Long Way Round,” he answered, without looking up. “It’s two guys travelling around the world on motorbikes.”
“Any good?”
“I’m only on chapter 2; I bought it this morning. There’s nothing else to do here.”
Madeleine grinned. “None of the girls good enough for you, then?”
He glanced up, a wicked smile on his face. “Well, your red-haired friend with the green eyes is hot, but-”
“She’s taken,” Madeleine answered quickly, resignedly recognising Olivia from this description.
“Aren’t most of them? There’s a bit of an epidemic here. Most of the chicks are going out with chronic nice guys. You’re no exception.”
Madeleine just rolled her eyes, lying back in the chair and determinedly trying to ignore the people around her.
The people who had been talking before, a mixture of guys and girls, had divided into groups of their sexes, the guys muttering amongst themselves, the girls desperately trying to catch Russ’s gaze.
She had to sigh. As of yet, Madeleine was Russ’s only friend in the school so far, and hanging about with him proved to have a couple of occupational hazards. Firstly, Russ’s mouth was going to get him into trouble very, very quickly. She’d lost track of the number of times that she had to tell him to shut up. Though, even taking that into account, he’d made a good impression, and although many boys were intimidated by him, they’d struck off on a good chord.
The other hazard was that wherever Russ went, girls and their glances and sighs followed. It got a little irritating at times, but Madeleine was able to get a dark piece of black humour out of the fact that she’d been there first.
She glanced at the girls, before turning back to Russ. “See anything you like?”
He looked up briefly, before dropping his gaze. “Not really.”
“Picky.”
He laughed. “A little.”
“Funny; I don’t remember you being so.”
This laugh was brighter, the darkness lifting from his eyes.
She smiled, shaking her head as she brought her knees up onto the armchair. Russ went back to his book, and there was a comfortable silence for a few minutes, in which each left the other to their thoughts.
Madeleine studied Russ for a minute, studying the onyx wave of his hair, the darkness of his eyes, the shape of the contours of his face – and was unsettled by the resemblance to Shaun that she could see there. It was ridiculous how she had never spotted it – though, maybe it wasn’t. It was only at certain times, when Russ was quiet and calm, and happy, that Madeleine could see him as a dark mirror to Shaun. At other times, he was like an anti-Shaun. Too dark and brooding to be anything like her brother; his eyes too dangerous black to be compared to the warm brown of Shaun’s. The resemblance between them could only be seen if you knew it was there. But now, as Russ sat there, mellow, Madeleine felt sad as she looked him, the calm expression in his eyes a mirror to what Shaun’s could be like. And there were more obvious similarities – both had the bareknuckle fighter’s physique.
And suddenly, she found herself cursing Russ for that.
As though he’d read her thoughts, he looked up at her, considering her for a second or two.
“What?”
“Have your nightmares gone away?”
She started.
“Well?” he prompted.
“You remembered.”
“It’s hard not to remember,” he said, gently grimacing. “Well, do you still have them?”
“Not anymore,” she admitted. “When I got here, they were still pretty bad, though I wasn’t crying out anymore. They got fewer and farther between, but then back just before Christmas, they got worse again. I woke up one night to my own scream, which-”
“Didn’t ever happen before,” Russ finished for her.
“No, never,” she said quietly.
“Are they the same nightmares?”
She hesitated before replying, forcing the inevitable memory to the back of her head. “One of them.”
“Before, or aft-”
“Before.”
“So you’ve blocked it.”
Russ didn’t even have to say what it was to make Madeleine shiver slightly and her jaw clench in pain. “Please don’t talk about it.”
“You’ve never told anyone else, have you?”
“Tell Cecelia…”
She closed her eyes, shaking her head furiously, trying to erase the memory. “No.”
“… her - and Maddie? Until…”
“Not even Lee?”
Oh, God, no.
“Russ, stop.”
But now it was too late. The old wounds were opened, the scabs peeled off, and fresh blood flowing from the gaps. The whispers were sounding in her ears again, her own screams ringing, loud and sharp. The blood flew over her hands, the feeble breath on her cheek-
“Stop!”
“I’m sorry,” Russ said meekly, taking her cry as a warning to him. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
She continued to shake her head, eyes tightly closed, trying to shake it out, pretending it wasn’t too late, that she could close the wounds again.
“Madel?”
She opened her eyes, but couldn’t look at his. So instead, she focused on the ochre blaze in the grate, her eyes zooming in on the grey smoke rising from it. “Yeah?”
“You’re still not crying about it.”
She closed her eyes briefly again. “No.”
Russ was shaking his head. “You are so screwed up.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s not like I’m telling you something that you don’t know.”
Madeleine inhaled deeply, dragging her eyes to meet him, cringing away at the unfamiliar, uncertain concern there. “Let’s not talk about it again, okay?”
He shook his dark head, but acceded anyway. “Sure.”
She stood up. “I’m going to bed.”
Russ just looked back down at his book. “Night, then. Happy dreams.”
She had to smile at that one, the old familiar saying. “Happy dreams.”
Though Russ hadn’t meant it to happen, that night, that other, blocked dream had resurfaced again. Unlike the times before, she hadn’t woken up after moaning and moving about in her sleep, the only strange thing was the cold sweat that had broken out over her skin. And again, she couldn’t get back to sleep.
