Routine Five:
I
She wakes in her bed in the morning light, with sweat-soaked skin, and harsh breathing, and she still hears the whispers.
Hears the clock, chiming once.
Twice.
Thrice.
And four times.
She shatters in a completely different way. And when her mother comes to her bedroom, face pinched and judgemental, Chrissy loses it. Because all of the worst come from her Mother and it's her fault that He breaks her and chose her to be prey.
"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" She spits, she howls like a wounded animal because she is one.
Her mother tries to hit her- tries to make her small and more fragile than she already is. But Chrissy is afraid and finished with this. She fights back for the first time. They tumble off of Chirssy's bed. They , her hands are around her mother's neck. She hadn't realized. Hadn't known that she is so much stronger than her mother. Cheerleading, gymnastics, and ballet have made Chrissy so much stronger than her. If only she had known before, if only she had realized that her power was all mental. She squeezes her fingers, squeezes until her mother stops struggling. Until the light drains out of her like it has been drained out of Chrissy so many times.
It's the first time He speaks to her.
Not at her.
But to her.
When she kills her mother. Because He finds that… Interesting. She was supposed to be a sacrifice, prey. But she kills her mother in Routine Five, and that reads more predator, and He likes that. Because He's alone in His world of Rot and Red.
"Chrissy… Chrissy, what did it feel like to get rid of her?"
Her chest heaves.
"Like nothing at all. Who are you?" she demands, "You're the one that has been stalking me in my mind. Who are you?!"
She can feel Him, in her head, like how He actually looks like but a sensation somehow. And than she sees Him, suddenly, the world shifting and muted into rot and red. It's still her bedroom, but its… Wrong. Covered in the rot and red of His world. She breathes. He's standing in front of her, head tilted just slightly. He's like a snake, she thinks, a snake, holding back and assessing. Swaying slightly. His eyes, blue, almost purple in the light of His world… His prison. He wants to escape, open the gates- so this must be a prison. She watches with disgust as the vines in the world of rot and red move with his every breathe. A slither of limbs. It's- it's a part of Him. Or He's a part of it.
His surprise is sour on her tongue, as she stares at His mutilated, strangely grown face. It's like a corpse, but also like some sort of fungi has grown over a corpse that suddenly decided it could move. His emotions she can feel them.
She can feel Him just as He can feel her.
But the emotions they feel… Off. Muted, almost, perhaps disconnected in comparison to Chrissy's own, but she wonders if that's how He feels them all the time or because she is feeling so numb herself.
"Hello," his voice is deep, and measured, and his eyes are fixed on her.
She shudders. Shoves and rolls off her Mother's corpse. If she had been less hysterical, maybe some of her would have felt more horrified that she had murdered her own mother. She just feels… Numb.
Like nothing at all.
Chrissy feels nothing, now that she has killed her.
Blood drips out of her nose. And He is writhing in her mind. Not making spiders, not making the clock chime… Just there. And in front of her.
"Why are doing this? Why do you need me to open the gates- Who are you?!"
He doesn't answer. He only stares, limbs twisting and curling in his surprise… His delight? So she starts to cry, big heaving tears. He won't answer her. She feels his interest wane, his surprise goes sour. He doesn't want tears. Doesn't want to see fragile. He wants more then that, He wants- He wants another predator.
He thought her killing her mother meant He had found someone like Him.
I don't want to break again.
Blood drips down Chrissy's nose. She feels it, the vines, and limbs, start to rise. Ready to strike at His word. She Motions, hands on hips in buckets, feet apart. Facial, game face, fierce, teeth bared.
His interest picks back up. Her heart thunders.
He wants fierce. He wants predator. They were the Hakwins Tigers, and she was the Cheer Captain. She knew how to snarl like the best of them. She can sell it. She can.
"My name is Henry, Henry Creel, Christine Cunningham," he says after a moment.
She breathes. Facial kept determingly on. He's not attacking, this Henry Creel. She's selling it.
She holds back more sobs.
"You need to kill me to open the… The Gates. To- To escape. From- From this? This world of rot and red?"
He blinks. And- and Henry Creel smiles. Its the most horrifying thing she's seen.
"And here I thought you were just a sad little paper shaker queen. But you got some thoughts in your head, a little off but close enough… Well, more thoughts then how fat you are and how you are afraid of your mommy," his eyes go to her mother's corpse, his face shifted, and he smiled again, "But I guess not so afraid of her after all. How did it feel to kill her?"
She trembles. But she keeps her feet planeted, chest heaving. Her hands still curled in buckets.
"Like nothing at all," she said, honest.
She had to sell it. She had sell it.
He huffed.
"You sure like to bash ears, Christine."
She froze.
"You really think I wouldn't notice? Trying to distract me? Get me interested?"
She wasn't selling it.
"You- You why are you making me- making me do this again and again?"
He blinks. Confusion is a sickly taste coming from Henry. He stares at her.
"Do what again and again?"
He's like everyone else. He's taking it from the top. He doesn't know.
"Oh," she whispers, laughing slightly, "You don't- You don't know."
He tries to understand, tries to take that knowledge from her as he's plucked her mother's behavior. Tries to learn why she's laughing at him. Chrissy laughs again. And… And she pushes back.
He flinches again.
He takes a step back. Limbs slithering back in a curious shake.
And… And Chrissy knows he can't see what has been happening. He won't learn about the Routines. She won't let him. Blood seeps out of her nose. Chrissy laughs again.
"Ain't that a bite," Henry says, with a sigh, "Well. If you don't want to play nice, Christine, I guess I won't either. Come on snake, let's rattle."
He strikes hard and quick this time. Predators can recognize when their prey might bite back, and he breaks her before she can.
She tries, tries to keep him away. She didn't sell it, she's not a predator. She's Chinadoll Chrissy, Cheerleader Humpty Dumpty, and not even all the King's men can put her together again.
AN:
SOOO. Henry Creel was twelve in 1959.
IMA GIVE THE BOY SOME 50S SLANG AND YA'LL HAVE TO LET ME HAVE THIS. Yeah I know he was thrust into the lab like nearly immediately, but the boy had twelve years of hearing slang that never evolved beyond 1959.
Glossary of terms I've used so far:
50s:
ain't that a bite: that's too bad
bash ears: talk too much
paper shaker: cheerleader
queen: popular girl
Come on snake, let's rattle: An invitation to dance or to fight.
Cheerleading:
Buckets: hands in a fist as if you were holding a bucket, usually associated in 'motions', l, k, ect. Basically the way your fist is supposed to be when you are making letters in cheer routines.
Facials: Expressions
Routine: A continuous show of talent in the squad by use of cheers, chants and dance steps.
Sell It: A term used when facials or attitude is exaggerated to make the cheer, motion or dance step have more appeal.