TITLE: Never Uninvited
DISCLAIMER: I don't own TAPV.
NOTES: GAH. I love this comic so much. I can't even begin. Spoilers up until chapter 14.
In her dreams, there's a locked room and a fresh body on the ground. She thinks she knows who it is but she can't be sure. It's too dark, and she's been wrong before. For a while, she waits before she picks herself up and walks. Closer. Quieter. The harder she breathes, the more gunpowder she smells. Familiar.
She quells the fear back down, keeps it back in her stomach. It's an arm's distance length before she says lowly, "Wake up."
Nothing.
A little louder then. "I said, wake up. I know you're not asleep." For good measure, her foot pokes the shoulder firmly. Something wet and warm sticks to the skin. Petunia doesn't even have to look to know it's blood.
It's still too dark and not good enough, so she bends down and leans close. It feels like a cold bucket of water over her head when she sees. She remembers: the blond man from before. The man who wanted to die. Her first kill.
Oh. So it wasn't Elijah.
Summer in Melbourne is frustratingly suffocating that even Todd seems to be more prickled. But that can't be the reason why he pans out at random intervals, eyes glazed over and lost, name barked out thrice before he snaps back. It must be the stuffy air, she thinks (hopes). England must be quite different from here.
Petunia mentions it to Cyril once. "Have you ever been to England, Mr. Cyril?"
He turns and swipes a fast look at her with a daring smile. He seemed out of it lately too. "I've been all over the world and back, sweetheart."
"Must have been quite an adventure," she wonders aloud, a little bit envious. Elijah used to tell her about the pirates and knights and kings, the things that were so beyond little Perth. So beyond their own little world, where she believed Elijah and Meredith would stay forever. She never would've imagined herself chasing those two down here.
Cyril studies her curiously, one hand tucked under his chin, the other free hand absently tracing circles on her little breakfast table. He seems to be debating something internally before he speaks. "It's lonely when you're going alone. I would've taken you with me."
"Would you really?"
"Just as long as you didn't bring pumpkin head."
"I'm sorry, Petunia. Just bear with this for now." Todd Allison looks like he would rather dissect his own liver than make small talk with any of the assembly members or be anywhere near this assembly for that matter. Instead, they stand off to the side, where Petunia occasionally sips her wine glass and Todd Allison glares at anyone who looked like they were remotely heading their direction.
"It's nothing! It's a fine party," she says offhandedly beneath her glass rim, studying the guests. There was no one recognizable, only nameless faces. They were the kind of tired faces that she saw the first time she came to Melbourne. Both men and women in monotony, heading quickly to destinations, while Petunia forever wandered lost and alone. The city is big after all, and no one has time for lonely, lost girls.
He scoffs but otherwise, does not make a snide remark. They stay like that, together and alone, for halfway through the evening until a lanky, leering man introduces himself, not faltered whatsoever by Todd's disdainful look.
"Enjoying the party, Allison?"
"I'm having the time of my life," he deadpans. "Now if you'll excuse us — "
The man quickly shifts his attention towards Petunia, as if he just noticed her standing there. "Who's your pretty, little date, Allison? Locke and I were just talking about your new girlfriend here." He smirks unpleasantly at her, "I believe I met you at Parliament House, no? Before your friend assaulted me."
Her mouth runs dry, so her next sentence turns into a squeak. She suddenly wishes Hana was here because she'd certainly get that haughty twist in her mouth before wiping his smug smirk off and shoving him away. But Petunia knows better than to pick a fight in polite company. Although it is not her best forte, she lies, "I don't think we've met before, s-sir."
"Rosseau, are you drunk?"
Rosseau blatantly ignore him and continues, "I never got your name, miss. What's your relation to Todd Allison? Why were you at Parliament?"
"E-excuse me?" She takes a step back to keep her distance from this increasingly frustrated man.
"Why were you at Parliament? You're a spy to the Violet investigation, aren't you?" He's hissing now, to avoid a commotion with the other partygoers.
"What on Earth? Do you even hear yourself? She's got nothing to do with it!" Todd cries out, trying to make sense of the situation. Except Rosseau doesn't let up. In fact, he looks more infuriated.
"Piss off, Allison. We need to know how much she knows or — "
"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" Clancy looks less than amused with the bickering corner. "I suggest you all behave yourselves. Some of the higher ranks are here and yet, you all are making an embarrassment of our department." He turns particularly to Rosseau. "You. I've been looking for you. Bentham is covering for you right now but I don't for how long. He gets particularly nervous talking to the Prime Minister. Hurry over there."
With a sharp nudge and dangerous glare (from Clancy), Rosseau pulls himself away and reluctantly retreats back to the social circle once again. Petunia lets out a breath of relief. Todd, however, looks like he's at the end of his rope. "...the hell is wrong with him?"
"M-maybe he's not feeling too well?" She nervously laughs it off and hopes that Todd doesn't look too much into it. There's a shadow that crosses over his eyes before he blinks back. He smiles and lets her lead him by the elbow and does not talk for the rest of the night.
The body lies on the ground again. There's a stronger smell of blood, and it's not like she's scared. She can almost trace the place where the bullet sank in.
Petunia Elkwood is unafraid but she feels there's a need for an apology somewhere. Knees drawn towards her chest, she struggles to talk to the corpse at her feet. The ground feels cold even though it's a midsummer night. So she gets cold feet, feeling silly and shy. She waits for him to talk instead.
His face is too calm, looks like he could've been sleeping. Because he saw death coming with all its horses, she thinks. He wasn't scared at all.
If people knew she killed him, she would surely be put to death. There wouldn't be any need for a trial or court or jury. Of course not. That is the consequence of murder, after all: hanging. Stupid girl, they might say. You shouldn't have pulled that trigger.
She hides her face in her knees and concentrates on breathing through the fabric of her dress. "I wanted to protect him." There's a taste of rust in her mouth, and her voice cracks unpleasantly, pleadingly. You understand, don't you?
"No, I don't," Elijah's voice echos but that couldn't be right. Her head jerks up immediately, and she dares the body to move, dares it to say something.
It never made a sound.
Since the day she lost her job, Petunia Elkwood fell into this dazed sleep schedule, waking up at sunrise only to fall back asleep and wake up midday. While she was a groggy riser, there was never a day where she wasn't prompt, if not early, to her shift.
Now, she's just tired. The kind of tired where her bones would ache and her bored mind played light tricks if she stood up too fast. To be honest, she would rather stay cooped up in this apartment forever if she could.
"Yo," a wry voice calls out. Petunia peeks under the covers before hiding again. "You've got a hangover?"
"No," she bites out, muffled.
"Oh, that's right. You don't drink." She can hear him move around the apartment, taking slow, purposeful strides before he settles down at her kitchen table and pops out his handy bottle of liquor.
"How did you get in here? You shouldn't make a habit of breaking into people's rooms," she lectures as she pokes her head out to shoot a reprimanding glare. She glances back at her door - still shut and locked.
"The window," Cyril drawls after a quick swig. "Just gotta twist it around and it pops easy." At her frown, he laughs, ridiculous and unguarded. "You're underestimating me again, sweetheart."
"I don't understand why you're here," she tells him quite honestly and decides now would be a good time as any to get out of bed. She checks the clock: a quarter after one. Grabbing the nearest cardigan, she throws it over her thin, blue nighty and goes to boil the water.
"I thought you wanted to go to England," he says offhandedly, studying the dirt underneath his fingernails.
"What?"
"I thought you did, didn't you? I just got my paycheck and figured that we could spend it on the tickets today. It's been awhile since I've been in England anyways."
"You just got back from a job?" Petunia does a quick scan for bruises and cuts but he brushes it off with a quick wave. She has a small hunch. "Since when?"
"Last night."
"...For Todd Allison, right?"
"Yeah," he trails off, looking away. "Got him his spiri-shit thing while you two were at the ballroom. He was supposed to guard anyone from going towards the alcove upstairs. I didn't know he bought you as his date."
His cover, she thinks but dismisses the thought. "You should spend your money on something else, ," she says instead.
"What's wrong with a little vacation every once in awhile?" He smiles wickedly like he's keeping something from her. "I've got to have a partner in crime with me, after all." The thought of dead men flashes through her mind, and she reminds herself that Cyril is dangerous.
"I don't want to leave Melbourne yet." She pours the boiling water into the teacups once the kettle whistles and offers the same Orange Pekoe, which Cyril declines.
"Staying might be a bad idea," he hums. "For someone like you."
Someone like you should understand, Elijah calls out. But that couldn't be right either.
She doesn't answer either of them and instead, finishes the rest of her tea quickly. Cyril watches her rinse out the teacups with a mix of boredom and wariness before he tells her, "I'll give a little piece of advice then. Be careful around Todd Allison." He thanks her for her hospitality and leaves.
"Is Violet going to hurt Todd Allison?"
The dead man still does not talk, does not move but she knows better.
"I'm not going to let that happen, you know!"
Silence. Not a stir. Petunia waits though. She waits for what feels like for hours on end before there's a sick feeling in her gut. It's familiar because it's the same feeling when she was younger: the feeling of helplessness. She has to squat down to steady herself.
The body cranes his neck and finally opens his eyes before telling her in Elijah's voice, "I told you not to follow me to Melbourne."
"Oh Elijah. What have you done?" There was never any hatred to begin with, not like Elijah. That's why she sounds just tired, maybe even concerned. "Elijah, let's go back home."
The blond man takes up Elijah's features, his face stretching to accommodate the wide grin. "Oh Petunia. You have no idea what's to come, do you?"
There's a vague sickness when she wakes up the next morning.