(EDITED: 10/11/21)

After taking about two days to think over what she can do she has come to a decision. She doesn't have to stay in this place any longer if this works, though she'll have to find someone that would be willing to help her—though that'd probably be difficult since she's treated everyone like dirt since before she can even remember. Moments of kindness would bud now and then, but overall she was terrible to everyone that she came across.

Be brave. James' encouragement was enough to push to get the plan together and to put it into action.

What'll I need? Extra clothes, maybe a few expensive dresses to sell for money... some of the money from my piggy bank... Sammy... flashlight? Food's a good idea, too. I think this is good, she thinks as she stuffs items into her backpack, using a technique that Margaret had shown her when Pacifica told her a little of her plan. She rolls up her clothes and stacks them neatly inside and even puts in a blanket this way along with her flashlight and teddy bear, Sammy, and she places the money in the front pocket of the backpack. Alright, I think I'm ready... wearing jeans and tennis shoes and my hoodie's in my backpack... Just gotta do it now.

She takes a deep breath and pokes her head out to see if the coast is clear. She sneaks through her house and goes out and hides the backpack in a secret compartment that she found when she was five and used to hide things that she liked that her parents hadn't approved of.

She goes back inside and glances around her as she walks. If she wants to leave she'll have to directly defy her parents as she did that night, but this time the results will end with something she'd once feared, but now looks forward to...kind of. Sort of… Maybe not.

"Pacifica? What're you doing out of your room?" Her mother demands, her eyes narrowing.

This is it, she thinks with a gulp and steels herself. "I-I'm not gonna do what you want anymore... I'm... I'm gonna be nice to people and spend time with the townsfolk and I'm gonna wear comfortable clothes from now on."

Her mother's eyes flicker to Preston whose face had grown dark.

Her father narrows his eyes. "What did you say, young lady?"

"Y-you heard me!"

"Pacifica Elis Northwest, you will obey us," he says as he pulls out the bell and shakes it.

It takes everything in her to disobey the orders of her parents, but she manages to— literally—put her foot down. "No!"

The silence that blankets the air around them makes her heartbeat easier to hear in her hears and she begins to tremble when she notices his grip on the bell tighten. Before she knows it she's on the ground and the sound of the bell is erratic as it slams into her over and over again. She tries her best not to sob, but a few slip out as she tries to defend herself against her father. She's vaguely aware of her mother screaming and trying her best to drag him off of her, but he's so far gone that she is not positive that this has happened.

"Get out. You are no longer a Northwest—"

"Preston—"

"Silence! I will hear nothing of it! Get out of this house," her father orders.

Pacifica pushes herself to stand despite how much her body hurts. While her father had only ever been physical the one time, it had only been a single blow to the cheek. This time… this time whatever held him back from whatever violent urges he had had snapped out of existence.

Still, despite her new injuries she manages to walk out of the mansion and through the gates. She grabs her backpack and pulls out her jacket from the backpack and throws it on before walking in a random direction. The Northwest Mansion is a bit farther out so she has to trek through the woods for a while before she gets to town.

Keep going, you've gotta get to some sort of civilization before you pass out, she tells herself after fifteen minutes of trekking through the woods. God, head.

It hasn't stopped pounding the entire time she's walked. She's pretty sure it's not supposed to last this long.

She's glad that she put on her jacket because the breeze seems colder than she's ever known it to be this early in September. She doesn't know why her body feels this cold, but it does and it makes her worry a little about herself. Was she supposed to be this cold?

It could have been anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours before she makes it to the junkyard. She recalls hearing that Old Man McGucket lives here, but she doesn't have the strength to go on so she sits near the entrance and promises herself to keep moving after she gets a bit of rest.

Just a nap, she promises herself as she closes her eyes.

Pacifica cracks open her eyes and finds herself in a raggedy looking room and she notices Old Man McGucket (because it could be no one else with that atrocious scarecrow hat and ugly overalls) making something on the stove. She sits up- or at least tries. Her head swims and she ends up on her back once again and letting out a pitiful moan.

McGucket turns and rushes over with a glass of water- clear, clean water she's surprised to say- and helps support her with a hand on her back. "Here, drink this."

As soon as she starts drinking the water she finds herself downing one-third of the glass despite herself and McGucket has to move the cup to stop because "it's not good to drink so much at once" or something like that. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was until that moment. She needs more.

"More, please," she begs.

"Sorry, darlin', but I reckon that wouldn't be a good idea," he says, a surprising amount of sanity leaking through. For a moment she wonders where he's from because she's only ever known of a few families with such a thick southern accent. "I'll give ya some more later. For now it's chow time!"

He puts some sort of stew into a chipped bowl and places a spoon in it and hands it over to her. She's been used to eating nothing, but the best of things, but after not eating for a day and a half she's ready to eat just about anything. She tries to sit up again, but fails to do so, so McGucket places the bowl on the makeshift table beside the couch and adjusts the pillows to have her sit up. When her hands shake as she scoops up a spoonful of soup, he gently takes the spoon from her and begins feeding her. She's astonished at the amount of care that he takes to make sure she gets every morsel of food into her system and that the food was actually better than half of the things that she was forced to eat while residing with her parents. Maybe peasants had more than just tacos that were good.

"Thank you," she whispers meekly.

"Saw ya outside the yard last night and I couldn't leave ya stranded out there. Hope ya don't mind, but I patched up your arms and legs and head. I ended up having to put bandages over yer shirt, but I think it'll be fine for a little while," he says, as if informing her of all of this just to assure her that she will be alright.

"Y-you didn't have to do all of that," she stutters, not bothering to look at him because of the shame she feels flooding through her. She'd treated him terribly as well, though in her defense, that was mostly brought on by fear of his wild antics and behavior. It's impossible to forget a giant robot setting fire to the town even if that happened when she was four. "I mean... after the way I treated you... you have every right to leave me for dead."

He seems to take a moment to really contemplate that. "Well... I reckon that's how your folks and all them rich folk see it, but... sometimes the right thing to do is to help someone that's trespassed against you. 'Sides, ya look like ya got dragged round a rodeo by a bunch of hornswagglers. It ain't no good ta leave a kid out on the streets- 'specially a young lady."

When one got past the weird way his voice sounds and the general weirdness of him in general, there's a smart man in there with morals and values— more than any Northwest has had, but that isn't saying much.

"You have no idea how much this means to me," she admits, a watery smile forming as tears fill her eyes.

He seems to panic, not quite used to a crying girl. "N-n-now, don't... don't cry on me."

She wipes away the tears and chuckles. "S-sorry."

McGucket grabs a handkerchief- one that looks old and worn, but clean- and she takes it and cleans her face. "Now, little lady... how'd ya end up all the way out here in the middle of the night with so many bruises 'n cuts?"

"I..." She swallows and lowers her gaze. "I got disowned today..."

He stays silent for a while before he manages to say, "I'm sorry to hear that... how's about you stay here for a little while?"

"I'd like that... thank you."

He adjusts her pillows so she's lying down again and gently tucks her in—something that she suspects he's done before since he has had a kid, but by his unsure method hasn't done it in a while—and blows out the lamp. "Give me a shout if ya need anything. And if ya see a raccoon don't worry, it's just my raccoon-wife."

"Duly noted," she replies warily, more than a little taken aback about that last statement.

So maybe he was nice, but he was still weird.

He leaves her to her own devices and she smiles slightly at the kindness of this man. She knows not everyone is going to be like this, but she's grateful for him being there to help her in her time of need. She could probably sell one of her dresses and gift the money to him as payment. After all, the dresses she packed cost more than most people's houses. With that in mind, she drifts off once again.