The Trolley Problem :: [Day 1 // Lex + Denali]
Oct 30, 2018 17:44:43 GMT -5
Post by L△LIA on Oct 30, 2018 17:44:43 GMT -5
It doesn't take as long as expected to convince Lex to untie her and it's fairly obvious that she only agrees due to the suspicion that — sooner or later — Denali would chew through the restraints. There's no need to waste good rope or anything else here and when the dust finally settles between them, they agree ("This parking lot sucks." "Yeah.") that they need to make the Wealth they've won a little more... transportable. While planning hostage situations doesn't seem to rank very high in Lex's skillset, the mechanics of building things certainly does and wherever she draws a blank in the details of their new project, Denali manages to chime in with a creative solution. If only those solutions didn't so often involve papier-mâché and rhinestones. Things started off small as Lex began sorting through the shopping carts, pragmatically divvying up protective armor between herself and her hopes for a human shield. ("It's so ugly." "Fix it then.") Denali's absent judgement for the other girl's ability to find only the most utilitarian of items was answered with a pile of rhinestone jackets being dropped onto her head, sniggering at what was clearly meant as snark. ("Fine! Gimme that. I'll fix yours too." "I'm sure I'll hate it. But whatever. Knock yourself out." Wounds badly mended ("Want a hand with that?" "I have two already." "Ohhh-kay. Have fun with that.") and trust still fragile, Denali regained control of her breathing, but not the situation as a whole. It was easier to revert to the same methods of calming her rage and resentment that helped to settle her following Zion's murder. After being checked into a psychiatric facility all those months ago, many people asked a lot of questions that no one involved in the sessions actually wanted the answers to. ("How do you feel?" "Like someone has been trying to steal my bones while I sleep, twisting their fingers around my ribs and pulling until it wakes me up.") Denali's graphic descriptions of her brother's brain oozing out through his decimated eyeball were enough to have her excused from the group sharing circles. ("That's how they sent him back home too. Just like that. But boxed up like a present.") Left with an excess of alone time, her supervisor realized the situation that landed her there to begin with was repeating. Denali was moved from a private room into shared sleeping quarters and given a tour of the craft room with its jars of finger paints and piles of yarn everywhere. ("Will someone teach me to knit?" "No sharp objects." "There aren’t even paint brushes..." "No sharp objects.") For weeks she would only throw handfuls of paint, screaming as it splattered, until being forcibly removed and scheduled for extra therapy sessions. Each outburst left her a little lighter until she began painting while merely seething in silence. There were days when sitting in the yard painting birds felt so good that nothing was terrible at all. Another girl who had enjoyed cross stitching — before her struggles with depression took her needles away — began sitting next to Denali, painting complex patterns of x's across her paper. One day she explained to Denali what the x's meant. ("There's a bigger picture. You just have to step back.") They painted x's together. They never talked about the reasons they weren’t allowed sewing needles, but began mending nonetheless. When Lex tries to raise her hackles, Denali finds herself digging thread out of medical kits and stitching x's into the jackets she attaches to the armored vests. Some thread is dyed with smashed bits of food. Some thread is dyed with her own blood. Pieces of metal are salvaged from spare bags and pairs of boots so that buckles, zippers, studs, and eyelets can be repurposed. Enough rhinestones are pried free that soon Denali's entire hoard of armor glitters. Her own battle jacket is stitched with leather patches cut from pairs of gloves and embroidered with a rough illustration of a lion, a flurry of knives soaring from its mouth as it roars. It stands atop a mountain of white lumps that seem to resemble skulls from some angles, a scythe jutting out from one of the eye sockets, like the flag of an explorer in a new land. What it lacks in skill, it compensates for with something that feels strangely like... care. Lex's battle jacket tells another story. Hacking the arms of the jacket off with a dull knife, the seams are left raw and untended. A pile of star shaped sunglasses is snapped into something like mock medals of honor, the bright plastic stars attached to the chest and shoulders, clinking with movement. More food and some iodine tablets are crushed up to swirl the fabric with color, emphasizing the words — studded, glittering, and block lettered — across the back: E A T I T ! ("Well, I won't have to waste my breath responding to any more of your whining." "Uh-huh.") Denali rolls her eyes, smirking triumphantly as Lex pulls her new battle jacket on with badly downplayed enthusiasm. Catching sight of her expression, the blonde turns on her heel, forcefully jamming her thumb towards her back. When Denali laughs, there are x's painted in the sound. |