Night's Omen

Prompt List

• Luck
• Writing
• Music (http://angdar.com/nightsomen/index.php?topic=1533.msg32741#msg32741)
• Magic
• Spell (http://angdar.com/nightsomen/index.php?topic=1533.msg32743#msg32743)
• Spring
• Family (http://angdar.com/nightsomen/index.php?topic=1533.msg32759#msg32759)
• Hidden
• Edge
• Iron

Dawn was impressed by her psychotherapist's house. Because he had been staying away from the guild, Chadwick had been doing house calls out of his sitting room - it was fine, because he was both more than capable of defending his home, and because he was picky about the clients he saw in his own space. Anyone he thought might be harder to handle he saw at an office downtown that he went to once a week. Personally, he felt their private files were safer in his safe, anyways. Dawn, of course, didn't know any of this, but she was happy not to be in a stuffy office. He had left her alone in the room for a moment, a room he'd called "the sitting room". Dawn only nodded; she had one, too. A room with no electronics, just some choice chairs and a bookshelf or plants or something. In his case, it was a large antique bookcase that stood against the wall behind the old desk. Everything in the room was old, actually, now that she looked.

She could hear him in another room on the phone. It was fine, though, she was early anyways. There had been no point in sitting in her house and staring at the white wall until it was actually time to go, and so she'd gotten dressed and headed over. She figured if nothing else, she could sit in a waiting room or whatever. Chad hadn't actually told her to stay in that room necessarily, and though Dawn didn't make a habit of wandering around the homes of strange, large men, she felt maybe in this massive establishment, peeking in a room or two wouldn't hurt.

As she walked down the hall, the flats she wore made no noise against the wooden floor. She came upon a room that was open concept at the end of the hall, with no door. She took that as an invitation, and proceeded. It had high ceilings like the office area did, but this time it was less scholarly and more... Open? Inviting? It looked strangely empty, like it was a room meant to be filled with people. Some kind of gathering area? It was surrounded by windows letting in a healthy amount of light, and it had soft-backed chairs 'round small tables. There were plants everywhere. At the far end of the room was a piano, and she made a beeline for it. Unable to help herself, she sat down at the bench and gently raised the lid, setting it back as quietly as possible. She'd only play softly, she told herself. Only for a few seconds.

Unfortunately, when she placed her fingers on the keys, she felt a shiver run up through her arm. Goosebumps raised on the exposed skin that stuck out of the lazily pushed up grey sweatshirt sleeves. Dawn always wore grey. It was not on purpose, she just felt the colour went well with her complexion. In truth, it was on purpose, at least in the back of that human-and-fae brain of hers. Grey was how she felt; it was how she saw the world. There was no depth to anything, only shade and light, no colours. The colours that she did see were dull and faded, almost as though they were imaginary, as if one stared at a black and white picture for too long and their eyes played tricks. But, when she sang, when she played music, or when she wrote - when she used her talent in any form, really, she felt that spark. That something. She felt like she could see colours again - like she was in The Giver.

She warmed up by playing something as quietly as she could, and with every press of the key, it was as though the room had a slice of colour through it, like the sound was some sort of carrying device to remove the fog from her environment. Was the piano enchanted, or was it Dawn's blood, awakening, singing? It was hard to tell; Dawn wouldn't know, either way, as she had no idea about what she was, the power she possessed, or why she was feeling so drained and tired all the time - why she felt so hopeless and, well, grey. Her fingers fell into familiar patterns as she played, the sound still quiet, but beginning to grow as the song continued.

Down the hall, Chad was still on the phone, talking to Gareth about something that he suddenly didn't care to argue about any further. He could hear the piano being plucked softly from where he stood, and raised an eyebrow. "Hey man - listen, wherever for dinner, it's fine, I don't care. No, I really don't. Just not Thai. No, that's not me NOT not caring, that's me giving you one limitation. You don't even like Thai, why would you argue about it? You know what, I'm not doing this. My patient is playing the piano," he added.

"She's bloody what?" Gareth choked.

"Yeah, she's in the conservatory," he added.

"Well, unless you moved your 1400 pound piano on your own, yes, I assumed that's where she'd have gone," came his dry reply.

The music got louder, and Chad furrowed his brow. He could feel magic. "I gotta go," he said suddenly, and just hung up on Gareth. To be fair, he'd already told him he was getting off the phone. He dropped it into the pocket of his jacket (suit jacket; he was still a professional), and began to head towards the room she was in. He was hurrying, but quiet about it. He didn't attempt to conceal his presence with magic, though. He didn't consider Dawn a threat still, even with his arm hairs standing on end at the feel of some sort of magic in the air that was not his own.

Back at the piano, Dawn had lost her reservations about playing quietly, and simply played as she wanted. She had been singing, too, and her voice matched the volume of the music. "Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back," she belted. "Hey! Wait! I've got a new complaint!"

Holy shit, Chad thought. He recognized the song, but he didn't suppose he'd ever heard a piano version of any Nirvana track before. The feeling of magic was strong as fuck from where he was standing too, but he couldn't tell if it was coming from the music, like some sort of siren song, or if it was just coming from Dawn, and this was how she sort of warmed herself up. He also didn't know the feel of the magic - what its origins where, what she was. She felt human, so what was it? Was she like Autumn, with some sort of bonus gift? Hard to tell.

  Dawn realized he was there, abruptly stopping. She stood up, careful not to push the bench across the floor and damage it, and held her hands up at her sides, almost like she was showing him she wasn't a threat. "Sorry, sorry!" she said. "I just - I have one at home, and you were on the phone, so - Listen, I'm sorry," she said again. "It's a complete invasion of privacy to go through your house."

It was hard to believe that the creature he'd just seen singing, her voice of smoke and that charm and her being somehow radiant, was now just a girl with dull hair and vocal fry from smoking too much, apologizing and fearful. No, there was something else going on here. "It's fine, Dawn, really. Your sister told me you played. I'm not upset, at all. Play anytime you'd like before or after a session, I don't mind," he said, coaxing her towards him. He held an arm out. "Should we go get started?"

"Uh, yeah, of course," she muttered, slinking past him. She wasn't convinced. "Wait, my sister? You remember her?" she asked, turning around as she walked, then turning back so she didn't trip over one of his random tall vases in the hall stuffed with weird crystal plants. She got back to the sitting room, observing again the old couch. "What is this, French?" she asked nobody in particular, eyeing the style of wood. She sat down, then looked expectantly at Chad.

"Yes, of course I do," he replied, making a face that plainly suggested he wasn't the typical asshole guy he seemed to be portrayed as. Was it just that he was tall and good looking and wealthy? People were so judgmental. "Wren. She actually talked about you quite a bit, on our first and only date. She's quite devoted to you, if I recall." he added. "Did she tell you to call me, or did you find the card yourself?"

Dawn couldn't tell if that was his way of asking if Wren still talked about him or not, but the truth was Wren definitely had not told her to call him. Dawn found the card in a jacket she had stolen from her sister with zero intention of returning, and then promptly spilled a margarita on herself. It was only when she went to wash it that she checked the pockets and found it. "No, I found your card in some of her stuff," she said, and that was the truth. "I didn't know she talked about me to other people, though." She didn't know how to feel about that.

"It's something siblings do," he informed her. He observed that Dawn was like the sibling who, if you knew her, you wouldn't know her sister. She acted like she wasn't used to having someone around her, and not in the way that people didn't like crowds. It was more like a feeling he got; like to Dawn, she was the only person in the room. It wasn't through some arrogance, either, it was just that something was pressing her to push her attention so far inward that nothing and nobody else mattered. Being a psychologist and a Triste was honestly good shit.

"Oh," she said dumbly. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'm here, now."

"Yes," he said, sighing. "You are. Now, can you start by telling me - when's the last time you felt what you'd call normal?"

Dawn wasn't good about locking the door to her penthouse apartment. It was a nice place - really nice, actually - the building had enough security that she wasn't too worried. Shaun, her neighbor, sometimes stopped by to hang out and chat, unwind after work. Since she'd been feeling a lot better lately, she'd been actually having company. It was completely innocent, his visits, but she had to admit, it was nice to have a guy around sometimes. Speaking of, Wren and her new beau were coming for dinner that upcoming weekend, and Dawn would need to go grocery shopping.

She wasn't worried about any of that now, though. She sat at her piano, glass of something on the small bar cart next to her. It was sweating as it sat, untouched but for perhaps a sip or two. She found she wasn't so much a drinker anymore these days - also a byproduct of feeling more herself. Wren even commented that she seemed different. Brighter, somehow. She'd told Chad that she didn't think she needed therapy anymore, and she felt confident saying that. She'd been going to him steadily for several months, and whatever he'd said to her in those sessions had seemed to get her back on track. She was grateful, but also there was a little regret that she wouldn't be seeing him any further. Still, probably not better to have lingering thoughts about your therapist. She didn't want to be accused of transference - that was the right term, wasn't it? She definitely didn't feel that way. In fact, if anything, opening up to someone made it less likely that she'd ever see them that way, as she'd found when she'd attempted to reconnect at a low point with her high school sweetheart. Des. She smiled a little to herself as she thought about him, pen dancing across a sheet of blank paper as she wrote a paragraph of nonsense. It wasn't actually nonsense; Dawn was gearing up for her next book, but she just had thoughts that didn't seem to be coherent enough to work with at the moment, and so it was common for her to dump random bits and pieces out. She had a method.

She stopped writing after a while, and moved on to actually playing her piano. She didn't know what she would even play, much with writing, and just breathed in and let the universe tell her what to do. Slowly, she began playing Rhiannon - oddly, not her favourite Stevie Nicks song. It was Wren's though. Maybe she'd play it for her one day, when she felt all the way adjusted. Her music was personal to her, and she didn't often play for others. Chad had let her play at his house, but he never lingered, which she appreciated. He could see it did something for her, and he'd only asked her about it once or twice, but he'd left it alone. Of course, Dawn didn't know it was because Chad had done his research on exactly Dawn and Wren were derived from. He'd never told her any of this, either, so Dawn and Wren both still had no idea they came from a long line of Fae commonly referred to as Muses. Unfortunately for him, it said nothing about the Luck Fae thrown in there, too, so while he could figure out their talents bringing them gratification and energy, he was completely blind to the rest. It did explain why both of them were so talented, though. Wren sang like an angel, and she could draw and paint with little effort, while Dawn obviously could sing, as well as pick up most instruments with ease. Wren couldn't write, and Dawn couldn't paint, so that's where they differed.

At any rate, she was playing and singing, feeling some feeling inside of herself, like - like she was complete, somehow. She was so rapt in her task that when something moved into her field of vision, she actually missed her keys, creating an awful sound, and jerked her hands away from the ivory like she'd been stung. "Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed, pressing one hand to her chest. Boy, that adrenaline came fast.

"I did knock," Chad said. He looked sympathetic for scaring her, but she could still see a smile working its way onto his face. "I guess you didn't hear me. Your door was open. You should really lock that, you know," he advised, still at the edge of where the carpet began in the spacious living room. "Lots of crazies out there."

"Yeah," Dawn said. "I'm one of them. And so are you!" she laughed. "Pretty brave to just walk in." She gestured to the couch, motioning for him to sit. "Be careful, I've got shit everywhere," she said apologetically. She was more than a little embarrassed about the mess, which she knew existed but hadn't really planned on showing to anyone.

"No, it's fine, I was totally unannounced,"  he said, picking his way over papers strewn out across the floor. "What is all this? Rejected ideas?" he asked, settling down onto the soft white couch. Man. That thing was comfortable. And he thought he had a nice place? The living room boasted massive windows that looked out over the city, which was lit up like a Christmas tree. Still, it wasn't that view he was taking in, watching as Dawn got up from the bench.

"No, no - it's how I write, actually," she said, taking a deep breath. "I, uh, I get ideas that sometimes don't seem to fit with the overall plan? Specific conversations that would be had, scenes that would be set, sometimes just a deep description of a setting itself. So, I write them all out on individual pieces, and then I put them all on the floor, and I try to chronologically order them. Then I'll number them and put them here, in this," she said. She approached him, then stopped at the coffee table in front of him and leaned down to pat a big white binder. She looked up at him. "As I write, I reach in here and try to work them in. If I can't, they stay in here and wait for the next book."

She smiled up at him, straightening out and pushing some of her highlighted hair out of her face. It was mostly up, but strands had escaped, as they tended to do when she played on the piano with any sort of conviction. "It's weird, right? But, it gets me paid."

He could tell she was a little shy about explaining the method to her madness, and he shook his head. "No, it's not weird. Each writer has their own specific way of doing things. At least you aren't locking yourself in a desolate cabin somewhere in the mountains or something," he laughed.

"True," she acknowledged. "Can I get you anything?" she asked, jerking her thumb to the drink cart as she turned slightly. She paused, though, her brain processing the situation. "Is this a social call, or a professional one?" A polite way of asking why the fuck he was in her apartment, really.

Chad shifted on the couch, sitting up more. It was hard to do; he had practically melted into it. "Well, it's not professional. As I recall, you did break up with me," he reminded her.

"Ouch," Dawn said. "The verbiage! I didn't break up with you, I just said that your services had been rendered and thanked you for your work. Trust me, I've been dumped by therapists before you - that was a clean break." She forgot about the offered drink and sat down in the chair next to the couch, one that was angled specifically to face the center of the room. She drew her knee up, as she often did, and leaned on it, studying him. "So, a social call, then? Are you that bored?"

Chad hesitated, but not enough that Dawn noticed it. He'd had this conversation with himself, actually, repeatedly, and with Gareth, and with Autumn. Gareth, of course, accused him of just being trapped in a Fae spell of some kind, but Autumn was a little more receptive to the idea that not everyone was out to fucking take advantage of him - despite some of the more terrible things that had happened to him (some still recent enough to give him troublesome dreams). She cited his relationship with Alexis as one of the more positive experiences with Fae, of course, until Gareth had taken the phone from her and in no uncertain terms told Chad, again, exactly what he fucking thought about that, too. In the end, it had not been as productive as he had hoped, but it also told him the truth that he'd be the only one to make the decision, regardless of how many different opinions he got to broaden his perspectives on it.

"No, not bored. I, uh, wanted to drop by and ask you something," he said.

Dawn stared at him. "Are you gonna ask me on a date? Because, dude, you dated my sister," she reminded him.

Oh, no, this was already a fucking trainwreck. "No!" he said defensively. "And it was only one date! Why do I have to keep reminding people that? It was like a year ago, we've both moved on."

"So, you're not here to ask me on a date, then?" she asked, squinting a little and tilting her head.

"Well, yes," he sputtered.

"So you are, or you aren't?" she needled. She was enjoying watching him get so off guard. It was funny, for a man who was so fucking composed and put together, and had what looked like such a perfect life, he sure was a little ball of problems. Dawn, though, could heavily relate to that. "Chad, Chad," she said, stopping whatever exposition he was giving her. "I'm fucking with you. I'd love to."

"It's fine, really, I understa - wait, what?"

"How could I say no? You came all the way over here to ask me like a proper gentleman. You could have just texted me a dick pic - which, don't, but I mean - Okay, my only question is, like, isn't that kind of a thing?"

"What, dick pics?" Chad asked, still a little off-balance.

"No," she said, swatting at him. "You were my therapist. Isn't that kind of problematic? Or against your code or oath or whatever you guys have?"

"Ah, that," he said, nodding. "Trust me, I've considered it. But, I haven't seen you in several months in that capacity, and honestly, you were one of my easier clients in terms of baggage." He held a hand up before she could start, and he knew she would because he'd already seen her mouth open and her take in a breath. "Not to minimize your problems, my point is, you fall on the pretty normal side of the spectrum. I deal with a lot worse on a daily basis."

It was her turn, now, to look hesitant. "So, if we argue, you're not going to bring any of that shit up, are you?"

He gave her a Look. "I don't anticipate us arguing over our first dinner, but assuming that happens, no. I'm a professional, Dawn. And besides, I could call you on other bullshit without dredging up you being mad at your sister for twenty years because she threw your doll in the toilet."

"It wasn't an accident," she insisted, but she was laughing. "Okay, Chad. One date. One. If you don't manage to do whatever the fuck you did on your legendary bad date with my sister, we'll go from there. Does that sound good?"

"Yes, that's a perfectly reasonable demand," he conceded.

"Okay, so, when, then? I've got dinner guests this weekend, meeting with the publisher next week, but I should be free..." she got up and walked past him into the kitchen, where she looked at a calendar on the fridge.

"How about tonight?" he asked, turning around on the couch to look at her through the half-wall that separated them.

"What?" she barked. "I'm in sweatpants," she reminded him.

He shrugged. "So change. We're not going anywhere where you need to wear diamonds to get in, unless you really want to," he offered. He might be called a pretty boy by pretty much everyone, but his tastes were far more down to earth - at least, he thought so.

"I - okay," she said, which honestly surprised the shit out of him, but he'd take a win all the same. "Okay, give me like five minutes." She excused herself and disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom to change. Once she got into her room, she grabbed the first article of clothing she could and screamed into it. What was she thinking? She didn't know, honestly. She was still riding the buzz from before, energized from her musical exploration, and felt like a teenager very suddenly. She went into her closet and grabbed a pair of jeans, slid on some silver sparkly ballet flats that were season appropriate, and then realized that, despite having a very full walk-in closet, she had nothing to wear. She also hadn't done laundry in like two weeks, so she was down to either utilitarian clothing or fancy clothing. She grabbed the first clean thing she found without looking, yanking it by the sleeve off of the hangar and sending the thing snapping back around the closet pole, flying to the floor in a loud clack. Whoops. She pulled it on over the tanktop she wore, then rushed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and fix her face a little.

When she finally came back out, she was significantly more polished, though still nowhere near levels that hit the "fancy" that they were both keen on avoiding. She had thrown on a lipstick for good measure, and the colour was a shade of red that flattered her, truly. "Okay, ready. Where are we eating? I'm starving. I only ate popcorn and pumpkin seeds today."

"Why did you only eat popcorn and pumpk - you know what, don't tell me," he said, holding a hand up. "Keep your secrets. We're going to get Greek food, is that good to you?"

Dawn nodded emphatically. "Dolmadakia is my jam," she informed him. He held his arm out, and she took it, making a joking 'ooh' sound as she did so. "So gentlemanly."

"I do try," he admitted.

When they got to the elevator, he kept looking down at her, enough to where she asked him what he was staring at.

"You're wearing grey," he said, but he was smiling. Maybe Gareth was right, he thought idly. Maybe he was under her spell. He didn't think so, though. Dawn was far too young in her magic to catch him in that.

"Don't judge me! I need to do laundry. It was either this or a Balenciaga top that costs more than a ticket to a Giants game," she said, defending her choices. "Besides, it's my favourite colour."

Chad chuckled, but said nothing, and she leaned into him a little. She hoped this would be an uneventful night, truly. And, since she was feeling so good, luck was back on her side, and the date would be counted as a complete success - as long as one ignored her spilling olives on her sweatshirt, of course.

Can't have it all.

Someone had been knocking on her door for seventeen minutes straight. Dawn knew this, because she watched the clock in her bedroom slowly move, indicating the passage of time, and with it, the persistence of whomever, or whatever was knocking at her door. She had tried to get up, sort of - she didn't really make the effort that was required to lift her body up, at least, not when she felt like this. This, of course, being the muscle relaxers she had taken and chased with a beer or four. She was so tense all the time, she wanted break, and she was getting one.

"Nnnt," she grunted, trying to swing her arms to propel her upper body forward. It ended up just looking like she was attempting to swim on the floor (because that's where she was currently), and so she gave up. The knocking stopped finally, and she closed her eyes, ready to drift back off to sleep and forget about the whole ordeal.

Of course, then her phone rang.

"Fuuuuuuuuuck," Dawn moaned, voice breathy as she tilted her head back. Thank god she'd gotten thick pile for her carpeted rooms. She had a sneaking suspicion she'd be laying on the floors a lot, either by chemical influence or out of sheer panic or depression, and so she'd had them designed accordingly. Smart girl. Not so smart, though, because her phone was on the bed above her, and the ringtone was LOUD. It was fucking with her zen, and she was starting to sober up just enough to muster feelings about it. And, of course, the first feelings that were solid were negative ones - mostly anger, and despite being dulled by the medication, it would still be sharp.

She rolled to her stomach, drawing her knees and arms in like some sort of inch worm, and reached out, her right hand slapping the bed as it did so. She fisted the sheet in her hand, confident she would not pull it down with her, and used it as a tether to help herself up. She didn't stand all the way up, though, rather her upper half was leaned on the bed while she stood, like a Tetris piece. She held the phone in her hand, watching as the ringing stopped. She frowned. Was she high, or was this not a number in her contacts? She was about to toss the phone further up the bed and lay down in that exact spot it had been, but it started to ring again.

"Hello?" she asked, voice thick with what a listener would believe to be sleep. She had no idea what time it was - actual time. Despite looking at the clock for seventeen minutes straight, she'd never bothered to notice the hour hand. She knew it was light, but not too light. Dawn, or perhaps dusk. It was a mystery.

"Dawn? Hey, did I wake you up? Sorry, it's like five here - I didn't think you'd go to bed so early."

"Where is here?" Dawn asked.

"California. Los Angeles. You know that," he said. "Anyways, I was planning to come through next week to see some of my family. Do you want to get together?"

Dawn was busy trying to do timezone math in her head, now thoroughly confused. She settled for dusk and left it alone. The fact that it was slightly darker in the room was also an indicator, but Dawn was too high to really put that together. "Who is this?" she asked, irritation creeping back into her as she realized that she was hungry and therefore would have to move. If she'd have stayed asleep, she wouldn't be hungry right now, and she wouldn't have to go to the kitchen.

There was a stunned pause on the other end. "Dawn it -it's Des," he said, obviously feeling some type of way.

"OH," Dawn said. Ah, now it all made sense. Los Angeles. Phonecalls. Visitations. "OH, Des! My bad, I forgot to block your number on this line, too," she explained. "Sorry, I'll do that now."

"Wait, Daw-"

And she pressed the end call button, then navigated the menu to block whatever number he was calling from. She didn't want to talk to him, and now that whole exchange killed her buzz. She got up, ambling through her apartment in the dark, feet shuffling like a zombie as she made her way to her kitchen. She stood for a while in front of the open door of the fridge, bathed in the artificial light. She felt like a moth to a bug zapper, and sort of mentally checked out, staring, transfixed, at the bulb.

The knob of her front door jiggled, and then turned, with Wren practically bursting in behind her. Instead of being surprised, Dawn turned, one hand on door of the freezer now, but not yet opening it. "Hey," she said. She noticed that Wren looked mad - seething, actually, but she was too stoned to really bother asking why. Honestly, she didn't care. She opened the freezer, only to have it shut right in her face by way of her sister's hand slapping it closed.

"O-kay," Dawn muttered, backing away from her. She turned to the counter and grabbed a massive bag of Doritos. She ripped it open and began to eat them one by one, still standing in uncomfortable silence with her sister. "Why are you wet?" she asked, only having just noticed.

"Oh, funny you should ask," Wren snapped. "Guess you missed the dozens of calls and texts I sent, and you sure didn't fucking want to answer the door, either."

Dawn just stared at her, eating the chips, eyes wide as she now took some entertainment value from her sister's anger. Wren was soaking, and she could hear the sound her shoes made when she moved. She tried not to laugh, and hid her face in the bag for a moment before she did so. "Okay?" she said again, waving a chip around in her hand to indicate that she had no idea what the fucking problem was, still. "So you're mad and you're wet and you're here?"

"A fucking pipe busted in my apartment and drenched all my shit," Wren said, hand on her hip. "I've been trying to get in touch with you for like two hours because I left my key with Dom and I couldn't get in to get some shit from my room here. I tried coming over, but you didn't answer the door, even though I knew you were home," she snapped. "I had to get Dom to let me in to his apartment so I could get my key, which lost me an hour more time. Now I'm late to work. I just needed a fucking change of clothes," she concluded, waving her hands around angrily.

It was Dawn's turn to be animated, waving the chips and mirroring her sister. "Okay? Sorry your pipe burst? Why are you yelling at me? Just go get your fuckin' clothes then, shit," she said. "Fuck, you are killing my vibe." She threw the bag of doritos down and walked out of the kitchen, flopping down on the couch, leaving Wren boiling alone.

"Fine," Wren snarled. She went into the room where she kept her things, yelling about how Dawn had been in there and taking shit without asking, which Dawn ignored. When she came out, Dawn was still on the couch, but she was facing Wren's direction. Wren stalked over to her, bending down to look at her eyes.

"What did you take?" she demanded.

"Uh, my prescription," Dawn replied.

Wren exhaled sharply through her nose. "Sure. And how many prescriptions do you have?"

"Are you gonna make the point sometime, or like.... what's up?" Dawn asked, gesturing as she spoke.

"You need to get your shit together," Wren said, suddenly unwilling to argue. She was already late to work. She backed off of her sister and went for the door, but that had actually pissed Dawn off, and Wren was unaware that she'd sat bolt upright on the couch like a fucking mummy.

"HEY!" Dawn yelled, her voice sharp. Wren could barely see her head over the couch; pretty much only to her nose. Still, she could hear her just fine, and see her eyebrows knitted downward in anger. "My shit is TOGETHER." She swung her legs off the couch and stood up, regrettably woozy as she did so. She used the back of the couch for support, inching around until she was at the back and facing her sister fully.

"Do you see where I fuckin' live, Wren? Do you see the product of having one's shit together? Because the way I see it, you're the one who needs to get it together. You're the one who keeps a room here, not the other way around. Do you know how fuckin' mad I gotta be to yell when I'm on my fuckin tranquility pills?" she screamed.

"Your tranquility pills? You know what, you're just like mom. You're just a depressed piece of shit who refuses to help herself so you eat all these pills and drink all these drinks, and think that if you just sprinkle some fucking fairy dust on it, it will magically fix itself. What are you going to do when you OD, Dawn, huh? Just gonna fucking lay there, clapping your hands until you believe?" Wren snorted. "Fuck you."

"No, fuck you!" Dawn countered. "Get the fuck out!"

Wren responded by throwing her key at Dawn. "Don't worry, I will!" she shouted back. She went for the door, but turned as she hit the handle because of course she did. "Oh, ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE. Des has been trying to call me to get in touch with you. I don't know why the fuck he'd ever want to talk to you after what you did, but I guess he's a simp that way."  This was a testament to Wren's commitment to anger, because she actually liked Des - but in the moment, she didn't like Dawn, and anyone who did was in her targeting path.

"Fuck Des," Dawn spat.

"Yeah, I bet," Wren said, taking one last cheap shot. "You fuck everybody else, may as well do an Around the World tour and start back with him." And with that, she slammed the door behind her.

Dawn stood there for a few moments, breathing heavily as she tried to calm herself down. Shit, she hadn't yelled yelled in a while. Something caught her eye on the floor, and she went to pick it up. "Hey, you forgot your jacket you dumb bitch!" she screamed, opening the door a crack. Wren responded by giving her the middle finger and stepping into the elevator. Dawn pulled her head back inside and shut the door with her hip, examining the stitching. "Guess it's mine now," she concluded.

  She slipped the jacket on over her grey t-shirt, then walked with purpose back to the kitchen, snatching a wine bottle from the chiller. She needed to be tranquil, and so help her god, she was going to use whatever she could to get her there.