The Trolley Problem :: [Day 1 // Lex + Denali]

Denali cackles, dancing circles around Lex as the other girl tries to focus on strapping broken off javelin handles together with a pile of spare shin guards. ("Say cheese!" "Not right now.") The pestering wins her nothing. ("Hey! Don’t be a killjoy!") When the blonde finally looks up, the smile she gives is meant to be appeasing, but it’s the opposite of everything Denali is looking for. ("Urgh! No. Not like that. Make a Lex face!") Sticking the camera directly between her and her project, Lex cracks, dropping her jaw and sticking her tongue alllll the way out, nearly licking Denali’s hand. Maybe on accident. Maybe not. The redhead plops down on the ground and throws an arm around her unlikely ally’s neck. It’s a little too soon after today’s choke hold, but the flash of the wildly clicking camera distracts from the awkwardness of memory. The pictures that fly out at them are much too close up to make for good scrapbooking, but they’re perfect for a Frankenstein style art project.

A masterpiece is born. Utilizing an armored vest as the torso, Denali crafts a pair of papier-mâché heads out of a stack of postcards and some paste improvised from a mixture of quinoa and something that looks as if it’s trying to masquerade as macaroni and cheese — ("This isn’t food." "Absolutely not." "It’s... glue." "Yep." "I can work with that.") — but is clearly made of lies and slander. Photos of their skin are collaged onto the base and the first head is given a pair of star-shaped sunglasses, devil horns made from the blades of hunting knives, the image of Lex’s waggling tongue, and a vape. ("Ta-da! This one is obviously Vepar, but then we also have his pet — drrrrrrrumroll please! — Glamour Kinkmouse!") The second head has blue lips cut from one of the pride flags. One eye is a photo courtesy of Lex, smoldering with a come hither eyebrow raised, while the second is of Denali’s black eye, swollen and winking. He’s crowned with swirls of rhinestone hair and a pair of mouse ears.

Duct taping the gamemaker masthead to the front of the shopping cart land ship Lex has been building takes... several attempts, but eventually it stays. Wearing a matching bedazzled battle jacket, it is declared an honorary member of the team and there are high fives all around. ("This is a Very Good land ship." "Indeed." "But it needs battle drums." "What are battle drums?" "Self-explanatory. Obviously.") Upturned wine jugs are promptly taped to the sides of the ship and pliers are disassembled to be used as drum sticks. By the time the mini project is wrapped up and Lex enlists Denali’s help with putting up the mast for the giant rainbow sail — ("Hey! Hold this for me." "— won’t you please? Oh, great Denali, fearsome queen empress of my heart, mistress of rhinestones, and high priestess of all! I beg your assistance! ...yeah, sure. I can hold a thing.") — there’s already nothing subtle about the situation.

The mast is loaded into the center cart and held in place with massive plastic tote bags weighted with shattered wine jugs and an abundance of pliers. After rigging up a halyard from a scarf, the pride flag sail is finally unfurled and Denali has to grab Lex by the arm to prevent her from immediately hunkering back down into the next project on the land ship’s to do list. ("Stop!" "What?" "Look!" "Look at what?" "It’s a fucking pirate ship, Lex! Made out of shopping carts. We made that! Look how cool it is!") It takes another tug at the blonde’s arm, but once her ego is let loose into a storm of praise then worries about what remains undone are put on pause. They throw their heads back and yell at the sky, unafraid, because in this moment there is nothing to fear in this place, except for the two of them.

There is a point in everyone’s life when they realize they are no longer a child. Each day of youth is spent feeling some kind of small — in size, in ability, in freedom, in feeling — and then, perhaps quite suddenly, the world doesn’t feel so overwhelming anymore. It’s as if an understanding is reached and distances that were overwhelming before become crossable. Monsters no longer hide under the bed or in the closet. Every small thing doesn’t feel like the end of the world.

Today is not that day. In this place the trees rise up like gods and Denali feels not as if the world has grown, but more like she has shrunk. These are not the climbing trees from her yard or the dense woods she has spent years exploring, still discovering new surprises with every excursion. Here the canopy is untouchable. One sky is covered by another and there are no familiar constellations with which to navigate this great unknown. Lex is amazed and obviously fascinated, but Denali feels a little knot of panic in her gut, reminded that she is lost in a strange place that cares nothing for her and cannot be trusted not to simply swallow her alive.

The feeling writhes like an infestation and she tries to push it down her arms and out her fingertips, banging on the wine jug drums as if performing an exorcism. Get out! She screeches into the night, banishing some of her own darkness, but pieces stick in her teeth — persistent — whispering that they too are stubborn and willing to wait for opportunity to arrive. It’s easier to ignore her paranoia in the deafening noise of the ship’s movement, pretending herself fearless. It’s when their travels are put on pause to make camp for the night that Denali begins chewing on the inside of her cheek and biting at her nails. Digging around in the remnants of their Wealth, she invents tasks of distraction.

Rolls of bandages and mouse ear headbands are shredded into piles of fluff. Admission tickets to who-knows-what are torn to bits. It’s almost relaxing, but the tension won’t quite leave her shoulders, even after curling up in one of the shopping cart baskets as if it were a cradle or a nest — a safe place that will hold her while her family is too far away for hugs or reassurance. Grabbing a pair of fanny packs, she’s shoving her fluff piles into their new pillowcases just a little too aggressively when Lex makes a play for her attention. "Just wondering, since this affects my plans for the evening — does naked sleepwalking run in your family?"

There’s a yelp as Denali looks up too quickly and hits the back of her head against the cart. "Wha—" A small groan rolls through her chest as her fingers dig through the matted braids of her hair in search of a bump. It’s nothing serious, but it gives her an excuse to ignore the comment as she resituates herself to peer at Lex through the steel grid of the cart. Awkward. Suspicious. Curious.

"Well?" Lex persists, implying some kind of genuine interest in an answer. Maybe it’s a simple joke, but Denali has been through the ringer with psychiatrists asking questions within questions and something about Lex’s speaking habits reminds her of them. It’s a dig, for sure, but a dig still aims for something deeper. After all, few people have the gall to bring Zion up directly with Denali — it’s never a request for an easy, comfortable conversation. "If I'm going to have to spend the night chasing you through the trees, I'd better sleep with my boots on. I'm happy to tie you up again, but something tells me that rope isn't going to hold up to those incisors of yours."

Absently rubbing the bruise where Denali bit her shoulder earlier, the words sound... like she means it, like she would chase Denali through this crazy forest to save the Lyons girl from herself. Even though they’re sitting still, it feels a little like what they’re doing right now. Denali chews on her knuckles, still uncertain as to how to respond. They don’t know each other and it seems stupid to start now, but is there a choice? May all beings be happy and free echoes in her thoughts like a taunt. What she wants is the comfort of a friend in this terrifying place, but friendship comes with a cost here. The thought of killing Lex is already less appetizing than it was this morning. Piling more emotional weight onto the situation would be completely idiotic. "And hey," the serious undertone falls away as Lex’s trademark smirk returns, "if you're planning to strip, you may as well do it now — there's no sense in leaving your armor strewn about the forest."

"Urgh! Stop!" Denali’s eyes practically roll out of her head as she puts the throw in throw pillow, hurling her recent craft project at her smart-mouthed ally. "I’m not gonna be anybody’s bucket list bang! There will be no stripping. There will be no naked moonlit chase scenes. This will not be Yet Another Romantically Charged Alliance. Don’t make me build a plank on this ship just so I can push you off it." There’s a touch of exasperation in her voice, but there’s also laughter that finally shakes loose the tension in her shoulders. "Gonna have to turn your armor into a chastity belt while you sleep. Naked sleepwalking. Ripred."

Relaxing back into her cart, Denali begins embroidering a tiny pirate ship onto one of her poor excuses for a pillow. A forest grows around it, knobby little trees so tall that the canopy extends beyond the canvas. "Zion used to beg me to lock him in the broom closet," she casually volunteers, "I did a few times. He kept getting out. He’d wake up on the front lawn or way out in some random part of town and I’d still be curled up on the hall rug outside the closet, asleep on guard duty, dead to the world with no idea what happened." When Denali glances up, she does a double take, certain she caught sight of a star peeking through the trees above. "Sorry to disappoint."