2019-05-31 - Possums Are A Moral Dichotomy

It was mid afternoon. A little humid, and there were gray clouds hanging heavy in the air. Likely to rain soon. No surprise. It was always raining, at least once a day. That's what Isolde had learned at least, in the few days she'd been here. She was sitting on the side of the stone bridge. Legs hanging over the edge facing the water. Likely a precarious spot, but Isolde didn't seem to care, or particularly notice. Humming softly to herself, a nonsense song. She was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans that were naturally torn and ripped. A red t-shirt that had faded to pink and an oversized men's flannel on top of that. Her hair was wild - like it hadn't been brushed in a hot minute...because it probably hadn't.

"Y'know, you'd be surprised how warm that water is."

The voice comes light and airy, a British midlands accent being most notable as the owner of the words leans her arms against the edge of the bridge, joining in to look out over the water. Her dark hair falls slightly across her face, looking either slightly frazzled from the humidity, or from a lack of treatment following what seems to be a recent dye job. That is to say, it's dark at the roots. The rest? A far lighter brown, magenta highlights in different shades streaking down to where it ends just below her shoulder. The two women are somewhat mirror-imaged in attire. Where Isolde is Red and plaid, Melissa is Blue and denim, although her shirt sleeves extend out past her hands, little holes cut in them for her thumbs to peek through. There's no eye contact made as the teenager of the two leans forward, obviously contemplating how far she could hock a loogie into the pond below. "You look like you've been run through the ringer."

Isolde cants her head to the side as she listens to the voice. Blinking a bit. Pausing in her humming and peering at the girl. "The water is warm. The sun is out. It'll be cold soon enoughthough." A little shrug and she reached out to try and touch the woman's hair. Wanting to inspect a lock of the highlights. "That's a pretty color." Then, if having been allowed to touch it - will just as quickly let it go. " Her attention turned back towards the water and the humming continued. On the word Ringer she started - barely audible - "Ring around the rosie, pockets full a posies..." Humming the rest of the tune and it trailed off. "Haven't we all? Run right through like pasta through a...pasta maker." Head turning so she could look at the girl again.

"Lovely to to look at, lovely to hold, if you break me, consider me sold." Melissa replies, tilting her head away from the outreaching hand, even going so far as to slide along the bridge a little to do so. When the soft singing starts, the teen turns her head to watch, a mixture of expressions flashing over her face. Confusion. Interest. Enjoyment, and finally, barely subdued excitement. She leaves her leaning pose against the wall to start applauding, even. It might be to appreciate the song, or it could just be becau-

"Oh, oh my lovely. They really went and did a number on you! I mean..." She even leans in a little, peering and squinting over Isolde's features. "Holy shit. Would you just look at you!"

Isolde seems disappointed that she can't touch the hair, but doesn't comment or make a fuss. Instead those wild blue eyes stay fixated on the teenager intently. Brow furrowed, suspicious. "You're a bad thing." Muttered. Bad because she could feel it...just a little. Something was off. Maybe a familiar sort of off. And anything to do with the Veil was bad to Isolde. "What do you want?" Any interest she'd had in the girl seems to vanish. Replaced by something a little more dejected. She started to tug lightly at one of her sleeves, silently murmuring to herself. Maybe counting?

"Are you pissing off the locals, Mels?"

Just what Isolde needs. Another voice. This one half-muffled by an ice-lolly stick that's crammed into one corner of his mouth as Carver dutifully checks the screen of his phone, walking over the bridge from the opposite side. As usual, he's suited and boo-Shoe'ted, tie hanging as loose as ever, coat done up with a single button despite the slightly humid air.

Yes, it's done hell with his hair, too, sticking in every which way it can muster right now. "C'mon, you monster. They've got enough troubles without you tormenting them. Just because they're stuck outside, doesn't mean you've gotta rub it in." He's even offering out an arm to what, for all intents and purposes, straight-up seems to be a ghost.

Isolde isn't even noticed. Like, seriously. His eyes never alight on her even for a second. That might be a little unsettling.

For what it's worth, Isolde doesn't turn her head to look towards the new voice either. "Inside, Outside. Upside down, right side up." Mumbled and she stopped her sleeve tugging to rub at her eyes. "You should get rid of the bad thing." Directed towards Carver presumably. Quick as a whip, as if having some sort of 'ah ha!' moment, Isolde turns about face on the bridge. How the hell she didn't fall is anyone's guess. But she managed it! Nails practically digging in to the stone it seemed, to keep balanced.

Those wild eyes pinned on Carver now. Seeing him or maybe looking through him at something else entirely. "Bad things infect everything they touch." A brief look to Melissa again. "Suck all the good up like a leech." She hops down from the side of the bridge to stand on it, tugging a bit at her hair. Like it's a nervous tick.

Carver honestly seems pretty content to keep walking, ignoring the ramblings that come from somewhere behind him as he passes Isolde by.

And then they both turn to look at each other. At roughly the same time. By all rights, their arms linked, Melissa should have been sent skittering somewhere over the wall of the bridge and into the pond, but instead; She's gone. Nowhere to be seen. 'Rid of the bad thing' indeed.

His eyes pin to her, watching those nails dig in against the stone as he accepts being stared at the same way someone would stare at a hyena breaking into their bedroom. At least, that's what it sure feels like to him. His gaze goes from foot to head, deep brown eyes widening a little at points before he reaches the bridge of her nose and begins to beam wildly. But just for a second. A split second. And then it's sympathy all the way. "Oh." He sounds remarkably like the ghost that came before. "Oh, pet. Christ." He actually sounds a little heartbroken, all told. "That they do. But she's okay. I promise you. Hates the bad things as much as you."

Isolde was murmuring to herself again, eyes closing briefly as she tried to calm herself a litle. Her eyes open and though there's still a wild sort of look, it's calmed. Just a hair. Her fingers flex and she briefly inspects them. No blood. Good. She hadn't gripped the stones too hard then. Then her gaze is back up on Carver, studying him warily. "Does she?" With Melissa gone, Isolde does seem to relax a little as well but only a little. "I don't know. Can a good thing be inside a bad thing?" Brow furrowed as if she was seriously trying to contemplate it. "Maybe. But it'd be buried deep inside." Was the conclusion she gave herself. "Who are you?" Staring at Carver again.

"Sure they can." Carver agrees with the eventual assessment once Isolde's willing to talk his way again. While she was murmuring, he was finding his smokes and taking a lean up against the wall. It's a little ways down, definitely out of reach. Probably out of 'surprise lunge with a knife' range, too. He might have done this once or twice before. "You can have bad things inside of good things, too, can't you? And sometimes things are just things. Neither one or the other."

He takes a moment to light up the cigarette, exhales a small cloud over the side of the bridge, and smiles. "I'm Allie. You are?"

Isolde turned so she could face Carver better when he's leaned up against the bridge. She doesn't try to move closer to him so that's probably a good thing? "You can!" As if that was a new idea. Bad things being inside good things. Then she frowned again. "But that means the good thing is rotting away from the inside..." Resigned again with an exasperated sigh. "It's hard to find the good things. Like looking for hay in a needle stack." Shaking her head. "Isolde. Izzy." It what was offered for a name. "Things can be things. But not when it comes to people things. Good, bad, inbetween. They are still not-thing things." Whether that made any sense at all was subjective.

"It's nice to meet you Izzy." And you know what? It actually sounds like Carver believes that. Look! There's a smile and everything. Although that might be the nicotine. Depends on how suspicious you are. He takes in most of her... observations? Ramblings? Ideas for a thesis paper that will never happen? in stride, even offering up a slightly thoughtful scratch of his chin when she talks about people things.

"People things are always something, sure." Apparently, Carver is very subjective. He's even nodding. "But if you're finding it hard to find the good things... like, really hard? Sometimes you're mistaking them for bad things. And even if you're not, bad things can do good things. And good things can do bad thing for good reasons!" There's a pause. Just a moment. And a bit of a frown. "The world is very confusing."

Isolde gives a hint of a smile when Carver said it was nice to meet her, but doesn't reciprocate for now. Though, she does appear pleased when he seems to be following her logic. Nodding emphatically at his words. "And then it all gets muddled up and that's how you get the color gray." Her eyes widened a touch. "And that's why it's called Gray Harbor!" A maniacal little giggle. "Because everything's so topsy turvey and the good can't be separated from the bad. It's all lumped together." Isolde rocked on her heels - quite proud of herself for this revelation.

"See! There you go." Carver looks pretty pleased with the revelation, too, flicking off some of the ash from his cigarette onto the wall, then leaning down to blow it away. "Looking at things as 'good' and 'bad' can be a problem! Because if you look at something and think it's just bad, you might miss out on all the good it's doing. Like..." He seems to muse this for a moment, watching the woman's face in small glances as he ponders.

"Like possums."

"Like possums?" Isolde asked, taking a step closer. As if Carver might be able to reveal some major secret. "Possums play dead. So they don't get eaten. Not sure if that always works out though..." Tapping her chin. "What else do possums do?" She looked around briefly, as if maybe expecting a possum to show up. Then looking back at Carver with an expectant sort of curiosity.

Carver's hand drums at the top of the bridge's wall for a moment, a slight brow twitching when Isolde comes that step closer. The cigarette is tapped off again. "Possums also have that reputation for being dirty. And hissy. And wild animals that show up in your bathtub when you least expect it." That last one might have been an exaggeration. Or a very personal story. Hard to tell. "But!" His hand raises, cigarette included. "They eat a ton of deer ticks and help control the spread of Lyme disease."

That makes sense, right?

Isolde turns this information over in her mind. "Like garbage men!" She suddenly concludes. "People look down on that job. Because it's dirty. But if they didn't do their job - there would be trash everywhere!" A grin suddenly on her features. Fleeting as it is. "You're a smart man Mr. Allie." She clapped her hands together and then looked up at the sky, swearing she heard a faint roll of thunder. "I have to walk to board now." Looking back at him. "...Tell the magenta girl I'm sorry I called her a bad thing." Looking rather sincere.

Carver nods, throwing out that little smile as Isolde seems to latch on to the idea. "Like binmen, yeah."

And would you look at that. He doesn't even dismiss her when she calls him a smart man. Instead, he just tucks up his collar at what was totally the sound of thunder and nothing else, and stubs out his cigarette between two fingers, leaving a slight black ashy smear on the tips. She's given a nod that is horribly close to turning into a little bow of the shoulders, and a second smile. "It was nice meeting you, Izzy. You take care of yourself."

And before he too turns to leave, there's a thumbs up in her direction. "And I'll tell her. She won't have minded. Don't you worry."