pineslog | I'm rootless

Entry tags:

I'm rootless

Who: Malia Tate, Damon Salvatore, Marie D'Ancanto, and an open starter!
Where: Wayward Pines Academy, S&D Automotive, It's Raining Hen, Weaver's, around town
When: May 8 - May 14
What: School times. A full moon. Living life around town.
Warnings: Werecoyote shifting and such in the thread with Damon. Will update as necessary, otherwise.

Work your fingers to the bone, building castles out of snow
May 8. For Marie. After class.

[ School isn't her strong suit, and Malia doesn't think twice about that. It's her reality.

She's heard a lot of sayings about how much Mondays suck, but it's always been another day of the week to her. Maybe because she skips classes so often? Ha. Anyway, this Monday has her attending a class she's been to only a few times (really, will she ever even graduate at this rate?!)

The class, European History, lags on with each detail about the Industrial Revolution that she tries to absorb. She's the final student still sitting as class finishes, to have not gathered up her notebook and book, giving the pages in front of herself a blink of confusion before she finally closes it. Maybe she'd understand more if not for a nagging set of nerves that had her ducking her hands just under the desk to hide the dark claws that popped out, at will (thanks to the soon to emerge, upon the town, full moon.) Ugh. Maybe. She holds the book, still slightly open, fingers of one hand holding her place as she stands to move up to the front of the room, looking at her teacher. ]

I don't get any of this. Or, why it's important. [ Says the student who's...barely ever there. ] Why does steam-powered anything matter, when we don't use it anymore? [ Oh, Malia. ]

I'm a nomad walking on, humming to the same old song
May 9-10. For Damon. In the basement of the school.

[ Malia still hates full moons. With all her memories back, she can't help but go back to when she had her anchor, when she was a part of Scott's pack. When she was in the somehow safer feeling boundaries of Beacon Hills. Now, though, being controlled by the moon again has become routine for her. Upsetting as expected, and enlisting the help of someone outside the circle of what should be familiar could be dangerous. But, Damon knows that. They've been over it, and she won't fault him for doing what he needs to, if it comes to that. Otherwise, she won't risk anyone who isn't resilient -- especially not people from home.

Maybe it won't boil down to becoming a dire situation. She's kept herself secure each month, several chains fashioned, complete with loops that serve as shackles and this metal collar, for the circumstances at hand. Secured to metal hooks that Malia didn't try to determine the actual use of: they were there, that's all she needed to know.

Getting to the school earlier than she regularly would, wanting to be sure to be ready to go for Damon's presence -- she's taking his safety as seriously as her own, not wanting one of the people she can actually trust to die -- she lingers in the hallways until she creeps down to the basement, to the small boiler room. It has a heavy door, opposite the wall where she keeps the chain setup. A stop at a closet where she stores the chains before heading in, tossing the chains down, eyeing the wall with its small section of metal that holds those hooks in place, scratches along its surface. Oops?

She knows there are cameras everywhere too, but what do you want, Sheriff? To bring a werecoyote there, and then have them run around in town slaughtering people? No, this way works, and so far, she hasn't had anyone reveal that they know she's been down there.

She works to set up the chains, intending on hanging around in the hours prior to the first effects of the full moon, those tingles of rage indicating a buildup to a lack of control that she's so familiar with. When those happen, into the hours of the night, that's when she'll get herself chained in. It's how she's assuming she'll be when Damon gets there, although, she's not sure how early he plans to be, either... ]

Lower case society, tied to no community
May 11-May 14. OPEN + for Percy. Wayward Pines Academy. It's Raining Hen. S&D Automotive. Streets.

[ Another month, another full moon down. Malia lives there in town, tries to do more than merely exist.

Moon already starting to wane the tiniest bit, she feels refreshed from the 10th and into the 11th. That Thursday, she intends to attend her classes. Really, but. Instead, she sees a poster. Similar to ones posted before, about some missing guy, but the text is different. Staring at it outside of French's, she speaks to no one in particular. ] What's with this? How would they even know that [ that he's more dangerous ] if they're still trying to find him? [ Punching holes in yo logic, Wayward Pines.

That distracts her enough to scout around right in town for a bit, deciding to not head off for the woods. Seems more like an activity that should be done with a buddy, those days.

On Friday, after she attends all of her classes (truly an achievement!), art, European History, industrial arts, English, phys ed, and some science with a lab that had her staring out a window most of the time, she stops to get a quick bite of super nutritious fast food chicken before gravitating toward S&D Automotive. She has no reason to drop in on Damon, would wave and smile if she saw him, but she thinks she spots an unfamiliar form in the building. Naturally, she approaches, head tilting as she does. Did he just drop something, or is someone else in there working too? ] Hello? [ A little cautious, but also loud enough that whoever it is should be able to hear. ]

[ Her weekend brings shifts at Weaver's, taking up the position of a waitress and helper at the bar since Damon and Eliot are better at making drinks than she is. Somehow ordered drinks and food make it to your table -- and she's not even that gruff! Maybe working for a bit has naturally elevated her very minimal customer service skills?

Sunday evening (Mother's Day? what? not even) as she's walking home, she passes by the animal shelter she's never actually been into. She can hear quiet purrs, the occasional cat chatter between the felines within its walls: she doesn't care one way or another about domesticated cats, to be honest. Stopping for a moment results in looking down to see a cat emerge from some bushes, and it...follows her. Frowning, she turns and looks at it, the animal grooming itself in the mild enough air of the night. Moving again, she realizes it still trails after her, and she abruptly stops, hands coming out at her sides. ] What do you want?! [ Talking to a cat out of frustration. In the middle of the street. Yep. ]

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[ He keeps promises. Even the dark ones, the ones he keeps to himself, until they find the light of day and change everything. But, this is a real promise, one with stakes and consequences and not one rooted in his own track record. Malia is his truest friend here because he has no other memory of her other than being here. Emma matters. But, Emma was given to him. Malia is a free agent.

Stefan knows that remnants from their time in the Phoenix Stone can be felt, even today. Even months later. Remnants from burning an empty coffin. From reliving his mother's and Henry's deaths. Part of what drives him to the school that night is his time in the army, as hellish as that night was.

Leave no man behind.

And he'd left Enzo. To burn.

He wasn't going to let Malia burn in her own flames. She didn't want to hurt anybody and she shouldn't have to.

He doesn't drive, but instead hoofs it to the Academy. He arrives earlier, mid-way through an orange and purple sunset. Malia propped the side door open with a board, so Damon slips inside easily, leaving the board there just in case. Stefan remains on speed dial should he need assistance. (And Katherine should Stefan be occupied. Caroline, if it comes down to her, but he doesn't want Elena dragged down into this.) Following a set of memories about sneaking away to the basement for cigarettes and drinks, he remembers the way. He remembers the big door marked "DO NOT ENTER," not as heavy as he once remembers but the Damon that lived here had been human. He closes the door behind him, just in case. A rabid werewolf isn't dexterous enough for handles.

He checks his phone, seeing that he manages two bars, before looking ahead and heading down the set of metal stairs.

Oh, and he brought something, the bag in his hand. He raises his hand as he sees her putting the finishing touches on her restraints. ] Donuts from Hurtz.[ For after. ] I'm getting Fifty Shades flashbacks. [ Not that that's what this is! He hands her the bag of donuts before he takes off his leather jacket. He opted for a Nevermind t-shirt and ripped jeans (just in case). If anybody who knew him could see him now.

Turning back to face Malia... ] Ready?

[ If Scott were there, things would be different. Even if he didn't have all his memories. Malia could've gone to him in spite of that. Even Liam could've helped. As it stands, this part of her werecoyote life isn't one she's willing to ask Lydia for help with, not there. At home, it's different, but...the way the town works, operates and affects some people, it puts distance in places that would otherwise not exist.

Damon is the ally, the friend, as close to a member of the pack that lives only in her heart as she could get, that she chose. She chose Stiles as that too, and the parallel isn't lost on her. Ironic that being human for as long as she has, a fate she once hated, provides her with being able to discern where she can place her trust. Not a decision to make lightly, without thought, and Damon's earned the trust she puts in him.

She hears footsteps as someone approaches. It must be him: no one ever comes down there that time of night. She smells something, food, that collar around her neck (ouch, huh?), the restraints for her hands, well, in her hands, as she glances over. Her brows knit. ] I...don't know what that means. [ She opens the bag and peers in, inhaling, before stepping to set it down against the wall. No werewolf ever has an urge to rip apart donuts, right? Donuts ain't never hurt nobody.

She peers down over him when that jacket comes off, lips pressing together a little. She's in jeans, and a plain purple t-shirt. A nod. ] Yeah. But could you... [ she breathes in, eyes casting down as she blinks, head giving half a shake. Stupid full moons ] help me, with these? [ She holds them up, chains giving a rattle. ] If you're here, I might as well have both hands tied up. Right? [ Makes sense! ] Usually I physically...can't. But I've never gotten away, just...clawed the hell out of the wall. [ A nod and brief glance behind herself. ]

[ He nods, taking the chains in hand, working at fastening them around her wrists. ] Just think what the on-the-run janitor might think if he stumbles in on this. [ Keeping it light. Not dire. She shouldn't worry, shouldn't need to. He sees the claw marks, fastening one manacle on tighter than he probably should. ]

Maybe he's hiding somewhere down here after he heard me last month? So, he might. [ A faint smile, going along with Damon's tone. She makes a sound, a small groan, when he tightens it, arm flinching from the pain. But, then she inhales and nods, holding her other wrist out for the same. ] I don't wanna hurt you. [ So tighter is better. ] Since I don't want to, maybe that'll help. With the anchor thing. [ She knows she can't will her werecreature self into obedience, not without a means that works for her, but she's still hopeful about her own consideration. ]

Maybe that's why the local yokels think he went bonkers. He's crying wolf. [ He's kidding. Almost. He fastens the second manacle, equally tight. ] Good and tight. [ He yanks once, twice on the chains. Happy with them, he backs away, giving a look around. ]

Feel anything yet?

[ Malia laughs, not forced at all but a little dry. ] Must be it. [ Another set of nods, looking approvingly, turning her wrists over, tugging on the chains herself, stepping closer to Damon to see how far she'll be able to move. How close to him she can get. She expects him to move back, accordingly.

Another nod. ] Yeah. I've been feeling stuff for a few days. That's, how it works. The closer to the full moon it gets. But, yeah...I. [ A pang of remorse hits her face. ] I'm sorry you have to see this.

Bones break. It's pure agony. I've seen it.

[ Then again, he's not sure if that's the same thing here. ]

[ Her brows furrow. ] That doesn't happen to me. Why do wolves' bones break in your world? [ Why not converse right before she goes werecoyote apeshit, huh? In a boiler room, where she's being affected by the full moon, any conversation seems pretty up for discussion, too. ]

Because, they're literally reshaping themselves, forming the wolf -- [ He uses his hands, gesturing. ] form. It's excruciating. So, if your bones don't break, what happens? Can't be as bad as that.

[ The furrow doesn't fade. ] They actually turn into wolves, every time? All of them? That's. Only certain wolves can even do that. I don't turn into a coyote unless I mean to, and, it doesn't...hurt. [ Shifter. It's a better word for it, but she doesn't know such terminology. ] I get...angry. And can't calm myself down. I just wanna kill anything I can. My...face changes. Claws come out. [ A blink, her eyes going blue. ] This and... [ now she's groaning, her version of story time possibly coming to a wrap as her fangs start to protrude first, face still human, neutral, but the words comes out in a growl ] this. Hurts pretty bad, too.

[ She. Hates. Full. Moons. ]

[ It's time. He keeps his distance, rethinking his choice only briefly. ]

Looks like it.

[ He inhales, watching her. ] What do you need from me, Malia?

You have any... [ labored breathing, words coming short and farther apart, though she's pushed the growl out, temporarily ] ... words of wisdom? [ You know what she's getting at, hopefully, since she's short on the phrasing capacities.

Seconds ticking by cause her face to warp, shift, broaden in no way that's inherently ever human, fists clenching, her own nails digging slightly into her palms, growl sounded under her breath, a groan of pain. It doesn't hurt any more than the rest though, her teeth asteady set of fangs, and hey, she looks angry but isn't as enraged as she'll get. Stages and all. ]

It's always darkest before dawn? [ OK, he's not trying. His eyebrows go up as he watches her. ] There's something where I come from, it's called the sire bond. Basically, this dick of a werepire managed to make more of his kind and they felt an allegiance to him, because they felt grateful. Becoming a hybrid meant that they no longer had to endure their monthly bone breaks. This kid, Tyler, broke that bond, when he made it not hurt to shift. [ He takes two steps in, dropping down, crouching. ] All of this, is about control. You don't think you have control, but, Malia, you do. You know you do. You've controlled yourself for months, without me, without your pack. If you can do it alone, you can do it here for me.

[ He watches, seeing how this affects her. ]

[ She's used to Stiles, Damon, your attempt at lame comments pale in comparison! Not that he couldn't do better if he really tried, not that he would in that moment.

She listens, but the links of the chain are starting to feel heavier. That they hold her back revs within her, and she tugs up hard at them. Either a test for her own still rational self or out of impulse, or a combination of the two.

A step back, body flinching forward, then back again, staring him down, head going down slightly, hair falling partially over her face. ] Why for you? Because you're my friend? [ Convenient that you didn't wait to ask how you could help, Damon, while she has coherency.

Though, that's fading, feet taking her toward him again, though at least she spits out -- ] Move! [ A long growl, chains pulling taut. ] I don't. I do wanna hurt you. [ She doesn't. Rage that works toward unbridled is a vicious monster. ]

[ He doesn't flinch, doesn't move back. He can see the pain, see that she's struggling, but if he moves, if he gives in, her fears win. ]

I'm not moving! [ He practically snarls that back at her. ] Yeah, Malia. Against all odds, on my first day, I met a girl I threatened and four months later, she's the only real connection I know I have here. Nothing fake, nothing fabricated. Real. That fabricated moon up there doesn't control you, Malia.

[ The moon's in full swing, and whether or not Damon can tell? Malia's struggle stems from trying to tap into the control that's at her core, even if she doesn't think she can freely access it.

He doesn't move. She growls, abrupt and loud, and forced.

Friendship, it's become the most important part of her life since she's been human again. She never thought connections with humans could happen, that the memories of a little girl could ever add back up to her cherishing the connection of one soul to another.

Friends. Real friends. Not forced, or fake, not like what the town pushes on them. ] It does here, at home [ she manages through teeth that grind together, fangs on display ] but -- that guy. Tyler. [ She's been able to pay attention. ] When it...it didn't...make sense. [ Another jerk toward Damon, teeth still clenched. ] For him -- to have control. He did.

[ Every full moon spent in Wayward Pines has come with her desperately not wanting to hurt anyone, several minutes into her shift. Her wants aren't controlled. Not really. Blue eyes meet Damon's again. ] He was stronger. Than. [ A breath, eyes returning to brown, face still fully shifted, body noticeably tense. ] Me. [ A long pause, softer snarls sounding from her. ] But. I want to be. Stronger.

He did.

[ He doesn't snarl. He answers. He listens. ]

You didn't know him, so don't pretend you know how strong he was. [ A slip-up that indicates what he'd experienced, what he'd done but not the point of the moment as he continues.

He even steps forward.] You're strong, Malia. Strong enough not to maul me, [ Another step ] strong enough not to make me put you down. [ He looks her in the eye, square to her center now. ]

[ A slip-up that doesn't register with her while she's internally torn between fighting what is so natural for a werecoyote and wanting desperately to overcome it.

Damon draws closer. Malia has a moment of wishing she could just, cement herself to the floor. That confidence he has in her, that threat. She snarls at the threat, eyes going blue once more, hands in fists before she realizes she isn't striking out at him.

She's no stranger to lashing out at friends, Stiles, when they annoy her. But she'd never hurt them. Damon's her friend, and. He has a family there. Family.

Her eyes open, the lycanthrope features washing away to leave a girl with a perspiring face, hair damp. She swallows, eyes wider than usual, full of an array of emotion, arms going lax as she stares into Damon's eyes. ]

It worked. It actually. Worked. [ She blinks, looking down over her clothes. Least destructive full moon she's ever had. ] Because I care enough to want control. I don't wanna hurt you, Damon. Or anyone you care about. [ That desire is enough. More than enough to extend out for the security of the town at large, too. ] And I -- I don't wanna kill anyone. [ Been there. Done that. She wants to be in control, utterly. ]

[ He nods, very minimally. He smiles, pushing hair out of her sweaty face.

Retrieving his key, he undoes one manacle, before moving to the other. ] Never thought you did. [ He holds the key out for her, dangling it. ]

[ Smiling back takes effort, physical and emotional exertion weighing on her. Yet, she manages one, following Damon's movements, eyes widening all the more as considers whether he should be taking the shackles off or not.

But she's good. She can do this. Malia's always been confident. Today's not the day she'll stop being so.

She takes the key, clasping it into her palm, unlocking it, the collar at her neck, letting it all tumble and bang onto the ground. ] Really? But you don't know everything about me. Before, not really that long ago considering how old I am, I didn't care if people got hurt. [ She's not like that now. At all. Obviously.

That bag of donuts hasn't gotten a glance from her again, but she's definitely hungry. ]

Neither did I. [ Retrieving the donuts now, holding the bag out. ] We're similar, you and I.

[ She steps out a little, a bit farther away from the wall. Her brows lift as she reaches to take a donut. ] Oh yeah? Maybe that's why neither of us backed down from each other, then. [ A bite, chew, and swallow. ] I'm glad we didn't.

[Clary has a collection of sodas in her arms when she walks from the store. If she's going to keep living like this she should probably work out or she's going to start getting fat. It is with relative ease that she's fallen into like at Wayward Pines. It isn't perfect. Nightmares keep her up late and her sketchbook is almost filled to it's brim with her uncertainty. All she has is the comfort that she isn't alone in the matter.

She doesn't talk about it.

However that doesn't mean she can't find comfort in those around her. Each day seems to bleed into the next as routines and habits resurface. It's monotonous and Clary is beginning to feel restless.

She knows the girl from school. They share more than a few classes together but that doesn't mean they speak a lot. School is it's own odd social area and it contains traits, much like a small town, where everyone is in everyone else's business without necessarily talking to each other. It's the comment that makes Clary stop next to the girl, staring up at the imagine. She's seen it around but this is the first time she's noticed the new post.]

Maybe it's dangerous because he's smarter than they thought. If they can't catch him? Or they're just freaking out and they want everyone else to freak out too. [Clary is just guessing.]

Scaring people for no reason isn't right. [ Having stared at the poster for several more seconds in disapproval, Malia finally looks over, spotting the sodas the other girl carries.

She's seen her before, probably at school. If they share a class, Malia doesn't remember her: yet, she is the have her face pointed down into a book, over a paper, to try to understand what the hell's being discussed, though, so her attention span for other students isn't very good.

Her brows lift before she goes on. ] He looks pretty harmless. Some people look that way and aren't but if we ran into him, I bet he wouldn't be a huge threat.

[ Girl, why do you have so many sodas? Are you struggling carrying them? Malia's gaze peels down to them again. ] You like soda a lot, huh? [ Blunt. ]

[Clary looks over at the poster and then lifts her shoulders in an awkward shrug. He doesn't seem that scary to her either but then Clary has been thinking of a lot of scary stuff recently. A scruffy looking janitor doesn't seem like very much.]

Yeah, I don't know. He doesn't look scary. [She chews her bottom lip for a few moments in thought.] I wonder where he's hiding. Town isn't that big.

[He is clearly very talented.]

[ If she doesn't need help with the sodas, that's fine, Malia shrugs about it. Mostly to herself.

Back to the poster, though, she nods with Clary's comments. ]

If I was gonna hide somewhere, it'd be the woods. No one seems to want to go out there. [ A beat. ] You think it's really as dangerous out there as they make it seem?

[Clary looks over at Malia, considering her question. She honestly hadn't noticed that she offered to help with the soda's. She had a tendency to zone out at inopportune moments.]

Not really. I think people are afraid of what they don't know or can't understand. Like why you're afraid of the dark as a kid. You don't know if something is there. [That's how she sees the woods.] We can't see what's in the woods, so it can be a scary place.

I sometimes go there to draw. Not very far into the woods. [She doesn't want to get lost.] But it helps me think.

[The small black kitten just peers up with bright yellow eyes and mews in response, as if he understood (he does). Stopping the grooming for the moment, he trots after her again before plopping his ass down on the road to stare up at her properly. His tail is bent in the middle but it swishes with interest.]

[ Her brows furrow as she stares at that tail as if its affronted her. ] Don't you have somewhere to go? A house? A...box, or something. [ She waves a hand toward it, trying to get the kitten to shoo. ] Go on!

Not all cats live in boxes. Well, I did as a kitten but that's a different story.

[He doesn't really mind that she can't hear him. The limitations of only being able to speak to the dead should be annoying but he's just glad he could speak to any at all.

That said, he should really answer Malia. With a dip and raise of his little head, he mews again, loudly]

[ F r o w n. Malia gives the kitten a look of exasperated disapproval, saying nothing for several seconds. ] What? Are you hungry or somethin'? [ Like that's a good reason why an animal would make such noises, right? ]

[ It's the ones like Malia who Rogue cares about most. The ones who seem lost, even if they don't see it themselves. There's no purpose to school for them, no dream or passion to keep them focused each day. Often everything seems pointless, and in the town of Wayward Pines, she doesn't fault for them at all. But she's still looking out for them, taking note of which ones need her help most, and who among them might actually accept it. It's what she's always done, and as much as it hurts her to be in a school again, of all places, she can only see this as being her own purpose in life now.

Surprise colors her expression when Malia approaches. Of all her students, Marie wouldn't have guessed it would be Malia asking questions like these. Perhaps it's a good thing, though, and about time, too. ]

Don't you think it's important to understand where we've come from? [ It's asked with genuine curiosity as Marie moves around to the front of her desk, hopping up on the edge that's been left clear of clutter for just this reason. ] To learn from those successes and mistakes while we move forward?

Edited (noticed a typo i just had to fix) 2017-05-21 16:08 (UTC)

[ When your constant goal in life is still largely to survive, what room is there for passion?

She stares over when her question starts to be answered, having no expectations. Her face starts to twist up (does she? probably not), eyes following Marie when she sits down on her desk. When presented with the reasoning behind why she may consider such a thing as important, though, her gaze turns insightful, a little wide-eyed. ] Uh...maybe. But what if what we learn about in certain history lessons isn't what we feel like we've come from? I mean, none of it lines up with my life at all. [ That's why it's history, Malia. ] You think all history's important for everyone to learn? ... Because of seeing peoples' mistakes? So we don't repeat 'em?

I don't think it'd work that way for everyone. Most people would just ignore it and make mistakes anyway. [ Always so positive. ]

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I'm rootless

a kingdom without a king with no sense of belonging for a root, for a leaf, for a branch, for a tree

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Outside of French's

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couldn't resist when I read this.

glad you didn't!!

:D

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but there's somebody that reminded them of me . . .

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