Many Puzzles Fall Apart
It's been raining a lot lately.
No. Seriously. A lot. Like, a lot even for good ol' Wherford. Lyla can see shapes on her window out of the freaking raindrops.
Why yes she is bored. A little angsty too. Yeah, she could go outside... her hair's curly enough even without the humidity... but most of the villagers prefer anything but as it is. Avoidance... silence. It's real... depressing. She kinda wishes Lucha would pop up out of nowhere... but he lives all the way across town. Yeah, if lights are on in nearby houses and they see him passing through, sure, he could make it down here.
But he's... he is a derp.
She could go.
Thunder crackles in the distance.
No. Too moody for it.
Maybe... maybe she should go see if anyone else is less moody... like... like Nibbles! Nibbles doesn't act like the moody type... right? Right? She's too bubbly for it, always spurting happy nonsense and jumping around Camofrog, following him around... giving Lyla weird looks when she sits near him... taking him away from everyone else...
and there was that crying voice from inside his house, that one time... mnnng...
Maybe Camofrog's out. He likes the rain, right? Maybe he walks to Nibbles's or something. He could. His oddly soft and murky body wouldn't take much of a hit from the splatter splatter of rain—though maybe his lotion would. Gosh, how much of it does he use per day here? Maybe a little bit whenever he needs it, but then thinking about the water that might wash it—wait. He's an amphibian. Everything she just said is invalid.
Thuk. Head against the window.
It's lonely. That's what it is. Moody cuz she's lonely—cuz everyone else is all... moody or whatever. Being pent up. Stuck around here. She doesn't wanna just sit up, all snug by the cold, hard window, smile and laugh with her reflection—why can't she work up the heart to go pester anyone else? Seriously! Anyone!
Maybe she's scared. A little bit. Because of their reactions to something as small as a sudden new villager—well. He does have his own thing going on. But still...
Oh... Lyla doesn't like it. Doesn't like it at all! But she can't just go running around or Freya will kill her... Pester Curlos? Nah. He hates the rain. Says he tries to hibernate through it mostly. Deli's around... but he's probably wasted on food and laziness too. Pbb. Frita's...
Nibbles, right? Check on Nibbles?
Oh, come on, Lyla. Stop being so nervous... She pokes at her stomach, which isn't making noise but a very knotty tie in her chest. Hurts. Ow. Hmnn. She slumps over it, head again bonking against that stubborn window.
Sucks in her cheeks. Why think about it so much, anyways? She was never much of a thinker. Almost failed all of her classes in high school... and did fail quite a few anyways. Psh... there's no way she'd ever get into college—or get into anything at all. Jobs... she really didn't feel like taking that plunge. Tried living off the streets, off the trains... well. She made it through four years. That's... that's pretty impressive. She thinks it's her greatest accomplishment, being alive this long.
Gently the pale girl—jacketed and cold in her boots and her pants—leads up to the front door, gently peels the way outward. Sniffles at an icy blast, keeps going, around...
Whatever, whatever, she mumbles to herself. Stuffs the hoodie of the jacket over her flushed face. She gets the feeling a lot of the people here were like her in some way, or somehow managed to get stuck. Freya and Camofrog—they'd probably ace college, get crazy good jobs. Though Freya's more on the wild side of things—rock star over lawyer; and then Camo's a peaceful dude, not so much for the big anything.
Somehow they fit in anyways.
Do they like it here? Are they happy they plopped their homes in Wherford? N-No. Seriously. D-Do they smile when they look up at the rainy skies... are they happy with a constant Halloween, gloominess eternal, very few peeks of a real sunrise—and when those even happen... oh, those branches!
Those branches...
She shuffles over to the side of her house, where a small peach tree chose to reside. Scrabbles at the trunk for some while, eventually manages to get up onto a couple branches. Scoots over to the very edge of what she really, really hopes is a sturdy one—stuffs her fingers over the edge of her house's roof...
Do they? Do they like it here? Are they happy they live here?
She's going to go mad—she's going to go mad. These thoughts are eating her alive.
Do they smile every day? Has their joy begun to slip away? Or is it worth it?
Or is it only a slow fade... away... away from all kinds of things...
Slumped, defeated, heart in her head, Lyla settles herself on the rather new shingles helping make up her roof. While not the most comfortable thing in the world, they'll rather do. Her hood's getting a little soaked... she fingers at it, shrugs, shakes her head, sends some droplets flying.
Curls up toward the middle, where it all comes together. It eases her sore back. Sore legs.
Sore heart, sore head.
There's some blur running amok out there. High contrast from the drab gray. Really easy to see, easy to hear too—plip plap plap plap plap plip plip plip. Lyla doesn't really notice it: she's got her arms all wrapped up along themselves, her cheeks puffy, eyes a bit red on the edges. Busy staring at her freaking kneecaps, covered in a soft jean fabric—skinny jeans again—and this now splattered in raindrops.
Feeling it all around her... seeing it consume her... Rain makes Lyla sad. Makes her want to cry sad. Shrivel up and sob until her heart can do none but wail...
She's not sad that she ended up in Wherford. She rather likes it here, dummy she is.
The others—the others... she's scared for them... wants to... wants to...
"hey."
It's too quiet and goes unnoticed.
The pink blob by Lyla's roof bristles, yells, "HEY!"
That attracts some attention. Slowly the brunette shifts, registers the lovely pink wolf just beneath her. Freya's all wet too, even with the pink parasol she's got in hand—lined in black and flouncy white, no less. Lolita? That seems like a thing Freya'd be into.
Why the heck is she thinking about lolita? What? What about... what about... sorrow...
Ulg... curse her stupid memory, curse her idiocy, curse her...
"...yla... Lyla! Oh, stop giving your knees that look; I'm the one you should be talking to, not them!" She turns back again, gives Freya a very disdainful look, and shifts from where the wolf lies, further along the roof.
"Lyla—what are you—!" Oh. Oh. She's... making space on there for her to go on. Okay then. Guess they won't go inside where it's safe and warm. Whatever. Fine. Freya takes her sweet time clambering up the peach tree, slowly waddles over to her friend. Lyla's got this glum little pout on her face, cheeky puffy, eyes stained.
Oh... Freya's voice goes soft. "Lyla... you poor thing. Goodness, what's wrong?" Eyes dulling, she turns away, glares at the sky. "It... really doesn't... a gloomy Lyla doesn't... Oh, why?" In the short time she's gotten to know this strange girl, she's met all kinds of little pieces of her inside... and really. The gloomy girl, crumpled up and tossed away like some sort of trash... it's depressing.
So then the brunette tosses all of that sopping sadness right into Freya's face. "Because you guys... you're all... you're all!"
It explodes on impact.
"Sad. You're all sad. I think. And..."
She doesn't like that, does she? Well... goodness.
The innocence in her gaze really clashes with the shadow the rain gives to her, the tone that those little splashes rattle upon her... like tiny, tiny chinks in Lyla's armor. As everyone has their armor, their cover, their attempt at hiding the soft, vulnerable spots within...
Although... Lyla never does a good job at using it, does she? No... not really. She lets herself be hit.
Freya... Freya doesn't want to be hit... she doesn't want others to be hit, wants to make it all safe... all safe...
Oh... she nearly says it aloud, then; Lyla, what are we going to do with you?
She might as well. Might as well try something. Obviously this poor thing is sniveling just beside her...
All those tears from the sky on her face...
It's... it's not pathetic. Maybe it should be, but it's not. It makes her feel awful. Like everything is more of her fault than it already... ullhh...
"Hey. Lyla." One step at a time, one step at a time. Gently the wolf takes one of Lyla's cold, small hands in her paw. Works at a smile. A small one. Doesn't have to be everything... just something. "I'll... start telling you a little about this place... so, after listening, please don't worry about us so much." Maybe it's her who's pathetic, looking over poor Lyla like a lost puppy. But those big, blue eyes... wide and lost, so very lost and cold... oh, she can't take it.
Small breath. Lyla's very attentive now: back erect, face cooling, creased. "I know that... you haven't been here that long... so it looks like..." Bigger breath. "Looks like we're mad, we're upset... we're a lot of things. And... I want you to know that, while nothing is perfect..." Big breath. "It could always be worse. And we know each other, don't we? So please... please don't cry over something so..." Big, big breath. "Small."
"Unh..?" She rubs at her round nose, wipes at her snotty tears. Freya pulls a handkerchief and hands it to the girl, who makes quick work of it.
I'm sorry, Lyla.
The words on the very tip of her tongue.
"It's okay..." Great, big sigh. "Don't worry too much about it. Seeing you all ruffled is... kind of wrong. Heh. Don't think of it too much. Don't think so much—you only get upset when you do that. You never have been a big thinker, have you..?"
Lyla giggles. Freya sighs a silent breath, a silent prayer of relief. "No, I haven't been. You probably know that by now... eheheh. Um..." Cheeks red, she squishes them together between her fingers and mumbles, "Thank youuuuu..."
"Don't... mention it."
She takes back the handkerchief, stuffs it in her other pocket subconsciously.
A sudden great, bright bolt of lightning shiiiiiings right up against Lyla's house, nearly searing Freya, oh very close to Freya, and then all is silent again.
They go back inside soon after.