Ghosts in Daylight [L.C.]

[Sidra Cotton]

A finger pointed around a shelf of books towards a bleached blonde who looked disappointingly normal. That was the Carnie kid? The one who'd lived and breathed carnival life? She looked so... mundane. So plain. So normal.

“Right, thanks,” Sidra's tone was clipped and cold. Though the word 'thanks' had managed to slip from between her lips there was no real feeling behind it. This had to be a joke of some sort. No self respecting Carnie would dress so... well like the girl was dressed. At least to the seventeen year old goth's mind, carnies always wore their stage gear. They were always “on”. In sort, “they” would look more like Si. Corset over a tank top, shorts with tattered hem over torn fishnets and combat boots. All but the fishnets and the corset had been goodwill finds, but that was beside the point. Sidra felt like she looked the part.

Freak.

It was a word worn with pride and a great deal of rubbing it in people's faces. That was just how she was and had always been. Her younger brother had followed in her footsteps, much to their mother's dismay. A boy. In eyeliner and glitter.

Taking another moment to scrutinize the other girl, Sidra pushed thoughts of home and her family away. As much as she missed them, her siblings most particularly, they were gone. Taken from her as she was taken from them. One way to find out for sure.

One booted foot was placed before the other as Si closed the distance between them. Without any preamble or so much as a “Hi there” she started in with, “They say you're a Carnie.” Doubt was thick on both her face and in her words. No way was the blondie a Carnie. Sidra just wanted verification before she went off and beat the snot out of the kid who'd lead her here.

[L.C. Milliner]

*~~outfit

L.C. normally had a low tolerance for libraries, but when she had been told that ‘Neverwhere’ by Neil Gaimon was in, she had wandered over to check it out, since she had nothing better to do. Gaimon was a favorite writer because he was strange. She didn’t like the stories most girls read, about falling in love and other disgusting things that made her want to gouge her own eyes out (which she was capable of doing). Finding the book, however, was proving annoying. First it wasn’t in, then it was, then it was in juvenile Fiction, then in senior high fiction, then it proved to be adult fiction due to a mistake made by the student library aids. Now that she had it in her hands, she was flipping through it as well as looking for any new books. She was, anyway. Now she had a different problem.

L.C. had learned long ago that, when confronted about being a carnie, it was useless getting worked up over it. There were two types of people when it came to carnies: those who thought they were all rapists and murderers and those who thought the carnival was a beautiful, magical place. She regarded both types with the same look: contempt. They didn’t know anything about carnivals and she often didn’t want to be the one to teach them the truth. The latter were harder to shake, but once a person touched L.C. they found it hard to say ‘no’ to her demand of leaving her alone.

“I used to be.” She said, not bothering to look up. “Before Hammel got me, anyway.” She turned the book she was holding over, skimming the back cover. “Just who is this ‘they’, anyway? I need to talk to ‘they’, ‘they’ certainly talks about me a lot.” Ah, L.C. and her smartass remarks. They never got old.

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[Sidra Cotton]

Used to be? The three words were short, clipped, and full of something that Sidra was accustomed to. Both giving and receiving. Why she was receiving the contempt presently, however, was beyond any scope of imagination she may or may not have. Was not being a Carnie something to be celebrated? Embraced? Enjoyed? This girl, this little blonde standing before her, book in hand didn't seem pleased to have the information known. Words not withstanding.

“Didn't get a name. Didn't want one. They were a means to an end, nothing more.” It was true enough the kid didn't offer, she hadn't asked. They'd merely poked her, physically poked her in the shoulder and said something about her looking like a Carnie Freak. A high compliment to be sure. She'd asked, in turn, what sort of basis for comparison they had and the response had been another kid at the school.

Looking now at said other kid, Sidra couldn't see any semblance of resemblance. None. Except, Sidra's eyes landed on the book, taste in authors it appeared. Assuming the book with the tealish top and the darker bottom depicting two different views. Neverwhere? Huh, who would have thought there'd be someone with some actual literary taste at Hammel.

Removing her eyes from the distraction, Si sought the other girl's. “I can always point him out to you if I see him again and you're around,” a paltry offer, but one none the less. “Anyway,” began the goth again, “You don't look like I'd expect.” Judgmental? Yes. Did she care? Not so much. Sterotypes were around for a reason and there'd been a television series seven or so years ago with a Carnival theme. And the same title with a French flair. In short, the girl standing before her was nothing ilke what Sidra had expected or wanted to see. It was disappointing, but there was potential for absolution should her taste in books and conversation be adequate.

It was fairly lonely being solitary. Nevermind it was self inflicted, but Sidra was bored with it. She wanted her sister, or even her eyeliner stealing brother to be around. The shenanigans they'd gotten into. The mayhem they'd caused as a trio. Now it was just her, a wish she'd wished for many times over. The old adage was true then, be careful what you wish for, for it may just come true.

Stupid jinns.

[L.C. Milliner]

L.C. didn’t bother much with continuing conversation. Instead, she looked up and took note of the girl. The first thought that crossed her mind? ‘This chick looks batshit crazy.’ But nonetheless, it gave her a clear picture of what side of the fence the girl was on: she was carnie crazy. She found her because she wanted to know more about carnivals and thought L.C. would be able to certify her dreams and hopes and wishes that the carnival really was an awe-inspiring place, a freakshow come alive.

Well, that wouldn't be the case, but L.C. was very good at causing disappointment, so she was game for the moment. If she had been busy, she would've turned and walked off. At the present moment, however, she wasn't all that concerned.

“If you were expecting me to look like you, forget it. Very few carnies look like that.” ‘That’ being gothic Lolita dress up dolls. She was probably one of those girls trying to look ‘different’. Honestly, she was already comparing her to Vincent. “So I have a feeling you’re gonna follow me around and ask me questions about my life in the carnival. Right?” L.C. beckoned the girl to follow her as she said it, moving away and turning around the shelves until she found a table. She threw her bag on top of it and leaned back in a chair, noting that the table had four holes in the top. She blinked and snickered as she looked at them, wondering when she had made them. It was a sad, sad, day when a person could look at property damage caused by them and not remember it.

[Blah, short post. Next will be better.][/size]

[Sidra Cotton]

If Sidra had the ability to read minds she would have been very affronted at being compared to a lolita. While she made a good portion of her clothes (the corsets, bustles, and stranger things) she didn't associate herself with their lot. She was goth. Pure and simple. Vampire goth if one wanted to place an absolute lable on it.

As it was, she couldn't read minds and thus wasn't affronted. About that.

“I didn't expect you to look so plain is all,” she shot back brushing a wayward hairfall curl back into it's place. “I don't usually follow people around as a habit of being annoying. I would like to learn more about life in a carnival but I'm sure there are message boards for that just like there are message boards about everything else.” Hazel eyes racked over the girl who'd sat down at the table. Following suit Si settled herself across from the blonde and glanced at the bag.

Nice. Jealous? A little.

“You don't look exactly thrilled to have someone talking to you.” Even if she had indicated for Si to follow. Observations were still observations and as self centered as most teens were, Si was pretty bad herself. This, however, affected her directly. She was bored and wanted someone to talk to. Carnie had sounded like a good opportunity.

“Are you un-thrilled because you miss it?” That, of course, had to be it. No one in their right mind would choose 'mundane' over 'carnivale'. Right mind being those of Sidra's ilk. Which she was seriously beginning to doubt this other girl was.



[Don't worry about it. You write what you can. And it gave me plenty to play off of.]

[L.C. Milliner]

L.C. wasn’t sure how much of the girl she would be able to take before punching her full of holes, but she was going to try. If anything, she would either stomp off to Dr. Neville in a fury or get sent to him in a better mood. Either way, she was going to see Sean very soon. She doubted there would be any other outcome at the rate it was going. “Simple? Please. This is possibly the finest we can dress outside of the shows.” She might as well start destroying the romanticized fantasies about carnivals now rather then later. “Wearing the costumes all the time, like some people think we do, would wear them out. And buying new costumes is a hassle and very, very expensive.”

Sitting at the table, L.C. propped her head on one hand and let the other roam, combing out her hair, brushing off the table, and the like. She snorted at the girl’s assumption about her missing the carnival. “You kidding? I don’t miss it whatsoever. I’d never go back. Not even if you paid me.” She held up a finger so there would be no objections before she finished. “Before you say anything. I’ll lay my family plan out. My Mother? She was a hoop dancer and trapeze artist. My Father, nonexistent. My brother was a clown and helped out with the animals. As for me? I did contortionist tricks. I did what my mother did. I rode horses. I juggled. My Mom was too... busy... to take care of me most of the time and so most days I hung around with an old fortunetelling gypsy from Romania who came over to America after the Holocaust. Most days, I was out stealing food for us to split. So yes, I was part of the process. If you don’t believe me, I can show you a few things.” She still was flexible enough and skinny enough she could twist herself into a pretzel, and, given a couple round things, could juggle up to five objects. As for the hoop and trapeze tricks, well, she didn’t have the materials for that.

Besides, she had promised herself she would never go into a hoop again. Not after the last time.

[Sidra Cotton]

Leaning back in her own chair and crossing thin arms over her chest, Si listened. Did she romanticism the carnival? Absolutely yes. Was she eager to hear what the other girl had to say? Undoubtedly. What was said didn't crush her dreams, it just added a healthy dose of reality.

“I figured there'd be more of a do-it-yourself kind of aspect to the costuming used. Especially since it's expensive. It doesn't cost upwards of $400 to make a quality corset. Or even close to $50 for a good pair of jeans. The equipment can get pretty pricey, but that gets paid off on the first few sales.” This was all said more as a thoughtful missive than anything else. It required no response.

The explanation of what each of her family members did and where she'd stood in the scheme of things was interesting and depressing at the same time. The kind of freedom that it involved was alluring, but not having either mom or dad to talk to? That had been a foreign concept to Sidra until the divorce and her own father's decent into depression. Her mother still tried to keep in touch. Sent care packages with cookies and the like. It wasn't what the teen wanted, but it's what she had. And at least she had a family.

“No need, but thanks for the offer. Contortionists are interesting, but honestly it kinda squick me out.” If anyone from back home had heard her admit to being squicked by something, anything, they'd likely never believe it. Or, never let her live it down. There was just something creepy about the way contortionists moved, though the skill was bound to be useful in some situations.

Even so, Si just couldn't wrap her head around the concept of hating having been in the Carnival. She was the type of girl who, if she thought she'd have been able to get away with it, would have run away to join the circus. There were stories of a friend's uncle who had. He'd loved it though, unlike Ms. Carnie.

“Was there anything you liked about it at all?” What was she conducting an interview?

[L.C. Milliner]

L.C. shook her head at the sentence the girl uttered and waved it off. “We don’t own our costumes. The owner of the carnival does. He basically bought what fit us and what was flashy, and that’s what was worn. Sure, costumes are cheap to make, but we don’t make our own, we buy them. Constantly buying them detracts from profits, and that’s what carnivals are all about, making money.” She flexed her fingers. Despite what people thought, it wasn’t about bringing joy. Carnivals were never about bringing joy. They were about catching poor suckers like flies, reeling them in like spiders, and sucking their wallets dry. After all, that’s why drinks and snacks were so expensive.

“Haha. I can juggle, too. Not just twist myself up. You learn a lot of useless tricks at the carnival. I knew a lady who could keep a hula hoop going for four hours.” She recalled, smiling slightly as she looked back down to the table, back at the holes. She traced them lightly, thinking about her time at Hammel. She loved it here, no matter how much she pretended she didn’t. Every day she’d look back and think about where she would be if she wasn’t at Hammel the idea of a gleaming silver hoop loomed above her. She shuddered slightly and rubbed her right arm as she felt it tense up. There were bad memories associated with that hoop. The stuff of nightmares.

“Magda.” The reply slipped from her mouth before she could even think about it. She had to continue, or else she wouldn’t make any sense. “The gypsy. She was old, but she was the only thing that made sense. I’d sit in her booth and she’d tell me about the psychology she’d use when she would ‘fortune tell’. I also liked helping rig the games. Every carnival rigs their games, just so you know. It’s the money aspect of it.” L.C. smiled at the thought of rigging carnival games. Rubber cementing bottles to a table so they wouldn’t fall, lining goldfish bowls with plastic wrap so the balls would bounce off, she would do that every time they moved and it was fun each time. “The other kids were okay, too. They understood what went on.” She muttered, sinking back in her chair. All carnie kids were similar: sucky family lives. With all the kids she knew that didn’t have Fathers, they could start a club.

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[Sidra Cotton]

Well that sucked all sorts of nastiness. Not actually owning the clothes you wore? Ok, so it was like theatre in a lot of respects. Si had managed to find her way around that by making her own clothes for the most part. Or altering what she found. The only thing she'd ever really had to share was her bedroom for a bit, her toys, and her makeup (when her brother stole it). The conversation was still going, but not turning out at all like Sidra had hoped at the beginning.

Not. At. All.

Shame. But that didn't mean it was a wasted effort.

Following the other girl's eyes to the table, Si blinked. Twice. What the heck happened to the table and why was the blonde tracing it? For no apparent reason at all the hair on the goth's arm started to rise. It was unnerving watching the fingers trace delicate lines around the holes. Almost caressing the table top.

A name, and then a continuation snapped Si out of it and for a moment, she was grateful for everything she'd had. And lost thanks to Hammel.

“Ah, she smiles.” What ever made her feel like she could tease the other girl was quite possibly the folley of youth, but what was said couldn't be unsaid. By her anyway. There was probably someone out there who actually could unsay things. There was just about everything these days. Creepy freaks that they all were.

“It does sound like you had some fun. Maybe not the performance bits, but the fucking with people bits.” At last! Similar ground. “Carnivals are business like everything else I guess. I'm not really surprised the games are rigged. Wonder what happens when people actually go about the process of declaring shenanigans though.”

Back to watching the other girls face and applying some of her own psychology to the situation, Si understood what it meant to have others who knew what it was like. She, her brother, and her sister were very clannish with each other. They could poke fun and screw with each other but if anyone from the “outside” tried it there was hell to pay.

“Mom used to say our house was like a Carnival. What with me being vampire crazy, my brother being...” what was a good way to describe Thad, “nuts, and my sister's main goal in life was to be a fairy princess. Last letter I got from her, she's getting pretty close. There was more glitter in that thing than at a Twilight convention.” Who knew what would happen, the Meta gene tended to run in families which meant that more than likely one, or both, of her siblings would be joining her at Hammel eventually.

"We didn't rig games, but we'd rig other things to make life more interesting. My brother has a nack for getting out of the house no matter how locked up it is. Even in a cast." The memory of her brother sneaking out and spending the night in a park just so he wouldn't have to go home and deal with the 'rents giving him a good old-fashioned talking-to. He'd been bored and wanted to go play pokemon. She was the one who'd found him... and then gone to a party with him. In the great game of Kids vs. Adults. The kids usually won in the end.