phantastus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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dazlious2014-04-10 05:34 pm
phantastus) wrote in dazlious2014-04-10 05:34 pm
When the full moon turns white, that's when I'll come home.
WHO: Heather Mason and Dale Cooper
WHERE: Twin Peaks, Washington
WHEN: Tail-end of summer. Peaks/SH AU.
WHAT: There's no feeling like being forced to pack a few harmless, government-approved belongings into boxes and being shipped across the country to live with a stranger directly after a series of events so horrific and earth-shattering that your entire life as you knew it was gone.
There's also no feeling like waiting on your front porch for a teenager you've seen only pictures of but know was involved in something terrible and now is your responsibility, after living alone for years.
RATING: Probably PG, potential mild profanity and references to disturbing events.
The pines passed the windows lazily as the car-- unremarkable black, government-issued and intended to attract as little attention as possible but somehow never succeeding-- wound its way up the twisting mountain road.
There was no conversation-- hadn't been during any of the trip, whether it was the flight to the west coast or the drive up here.
That was fine with Heather. She didn't particularly want to talk to anyone involved in this.
Chin in hand, she was scrunched in the backseat with a cardboard box in her lap and the seats next to her taken up by more of the same. Her whole life-- or the pieces of it that had been deemed hers to keep-- stuffed into a car thousands of miles away from the little Daisy Villa apartment she had lived in with her father for the past three years. To think that it could all fit. It would be sad if she weren't so angry about it, and if there hadn't been so much left behind.
She puffed out a low sigh as a sign on the road approached and passed-- Dead Dog Farm, 1/4 miles.
Dead Dog Farm.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was just dropped into an R.L. Stine book," she muttered under her breath, half expecting the driver to say something about how it would be nicer than it sounded (like everyone else had been saying, in that strained, I'd-rather-not-be-talking-to-you tone that most authority figures had been using with her ever since that night.) He didn't, though. Go figure.
The road below them had turned to dirt and gravel at least three miles ago, and it continued to crunch and rattle under the wheels as it continued up the narrowing path until a building became visible between the trees.
WHERE: Twin Peaks, Washington
WHEN: Tail-end of summer. Peaks/SH AU.
WHAT: There's no feeling like being forced to pack a few harmless, government-approved belongings into boxes and being shipped across the country to live with a stranger directly after a series of events so horrific and earth-shattering that your entire life as you knew it was gone.
There's also no feeling like waiting on your front porch for a teenager you've seen only pictures of but know was involved in something terrible and now is your responsibility, after living alone for years.
RATING: Probably PG, potential mild profanity and references to disturbing events.
The pines passed the windows lazily as the car-- unremarkable black, government-issued and intended to attract as little attention as possible but somehow never succeeding-- wound its way up the twisting mountain road.
There was no conversation-- hadn't been during any of the trip, whether it was the flight to the west coast or the drive up here.
That was fine with Heather. She didn't particularly want to talk to anyone involved in this.
Chin in hand, she was scrunched in the backseat with a cardboard box in her lap and the seats next to her taken up by more of the same. Her whole life-- or the pieces of it that had been deemed hers to keep-- stuffed into a car thousands of miles away from the little Daisy Villa apartment she had lived in with her father for the past three years. To think that it could all fit. It would be sad if she weren't so angry about it, and if there hadn't been so much left behind.
She puffed out a low sigh as a sign on the road approached and passed-- Dead Dog Farm, 1/4 miles.
Dead Dog Farm.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was just dropped into an R.L. Stine book," she muttered under her breath, half expecting the driver to say something about how it would be nicer than it sounded (like everyone else had been saying, in that strained, I'd-rather-not-be-talking-to-you tone that most authority figures had been using with her ever since that night.) He didn't, though. Go figure.
The road below them had turned to dirt and gravel at least three miles ago, and it continued to crunch and rattle under the wheels as it continued up the narrowing path until a building became visible between the trees.
no subject
“I'm sorry. I know telling you it's a standard safety procedure won't change that your privacy has been violated. For what it's worth, I can assure you that it is and you aren't going to prison.”
no subject
Snorting, she reached behind her and picked the sandwich back up again.
"Yeah, well. Sending me this far out in the middle of nowhere might as well be prison."
no subject
He was going to say 'it's not as isolated as it looks' but really that'd be a lie.
"I'm not a prison warden, Heather."
He starts on the other half of his sandwich mechanically, sets it down, swallows.
no subject
It was hard to tell what she said, but it was probably along the lines of 'Yeah right'.
This was going to be a long year.