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Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
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Cassidy must have looked like a fucking demon to George. She leaned through the doorway, as out of sight as she could possibly be while still looking in, her eyes open and unblinking and focusing completely on this boy. It could be any boy, really, but as long as she focused on him, he'd stay exactly the same as he was now. He wouldn't suddenly be blond wouldn't have a gun wouldn't shoot Maria wouldn't know her name wouldn't make her give in.

He backed away slowly. Good. Good boy. Keep it up. Go away now, boy. Go away and don't ever ever be someone else. Keep going. Get the fuck out. Keep going. Be the same harmless boy.

He left.

Cassie shivered and looked at Maria now. She was safe. She'd be safe. Unless she changed. But that wouldn't happen, would it? He wanted her, not to be her. Would he or wouldn't he? Would he or wouldn't he?

Better keep an eye on her anyway.

Maria got up, cheery as a Churchill, not even bothered at all. She talked to Duncan, dead Duncan, about weapons, lots of weapons, like a sharpened stick. Her sharpened stick?!

Cassie blinked. Her heart skipped. Still Maria. With Duncan's stick. Good. Her stick was safe. She listened, heard the need to leave. Okay. Leave Duncan, dead Duncan, still alive to her Duncan.

He ain't going nowhere.

She shuddered and clasped her javelin tightly. It had to be Duncan now. Had to be the third musketeer. Can't kill a stick, can you Winston?

"Back for him later. Course. 'sgo." She walked with Maria into the distance. Far away.

((Cassidy Wakemore continued elsewhere))
Edited by Solitair, Feb 4 2011, 02:17 AM.
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