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Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Aug 4, 2011 7:12:59 GMT -5
The apartment was unlike anything that she was used to, Rowena thought as she opened the door and flicked on the light. It sputtered once in pure testament to the fact that the place was falling apart, the living room drab with peeling walls and a lack of proper decoration. The windows were grimy and allowed very little natural light to filter into the apartment, what little butter-yellow sun that did peek through appearing diluted and pathetic. The teenager hovered uncertainly on the threshold. She really shouldn't have been feeling so reluctant, for this was home now.
Doesn't feel much like home... She found herself thinking back to her childhood, of what she used to associate 'home' with before everything went wrong. The scent of chocolate chip cookies came to mind, making her gut twist and her stomach curl. She hated cookies. They reminded her of mother and father and how her parents had totally abandoned she and her siblings when they started to go down the wrong paths.
"Well, they can just fuck righ' off then anyways..."
The bitter words were mumbled and accented brilliantly with very British vocal tones, her English accent truly standing out. She was only very new to this foreign land, and the place hadn't really given her a good feel yet. Her accent only set her even further apart from the others than she already felt. She didn't know whether she should be dreading or looking forward to the first day at their new school, finally coming to terms with the supposed 'powers' of whose existence she'd been ignoring up until now. People would treat them different. She wasn't that stupid, she was expecting odd treatment.
Rowena just didn't know if she cared.
A long and drawn out sigh fluttered past her lips, glossed in a bright pink today. She threw her bag unceremoniously onto the living room floor, having nowhere else to really place it. They had no furniture at the moment and she hadn't even seen the apartment until now. Nor had her siblings, but she figured they'd be arriving soon. "Just hope they don't forget the fuckin' address," she remarked to herself, shaking her head. Wouldn't that be something?
Inspection of the small bathroom made her lip curl for a moment in disgust, it was grimy and there was a hole in the ceiling, but she was able to quickly lose interest. It wasn't like the bathrooms in seedy Brit bars she'd been in had been any better. Worse, some of them. She'd deal with this. Damn it, she wished she had her fix. Long nails scratched at her forearm momentarily in discomfort, scraping along the scars of needlemarks and a few faint and fading bruises. Everything would be so much easier with the drugs. But no, no. She'd promised herself that this one little meeting with her siblings in their new... no, she couldn't see this place as home. In their new apartment, then. This meeting in their new apartment would be conducted with full sobriety.
Had the glass of beer she'd downed before coming here counted? Rowena sure hoped not, else she'd broken the pact already.
The bedroom was tiny, and she knew immediately this would be an issue. The closet was hardly enough for her clothes, what would they do about Altair's? Guess we'll need to fucking compromise. Perfect. Even the thought was sarcastic. This was shaping up to be a great life already. Striding back into the living room, the blond huffed and folded her arms, leaning against the chipped-paint wall and sliding down to the worn carpet below. "This place blows," she concluded, and began her wait for the others.
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 4, 2011 8:06:35 GMT -5
This was bullshit.
All of this. Every single part of her life now was just pure, unfiltered, smelly bullshit. She hated Canada. They were full of weird-ass pussies who didn’t take her seriously because of her accent. And if a kick to the groin was needed to prove just how much respect she deserved, that was fine by her. She looked up at the apartment building, sneering a bit. This was the crappy part of town, of course. And standing in her jeans, heels, and cropped t-shirt, she knew she deserved better. Her sisters deserved better. ”I swear to god, I’m going to buy a gun,” she muttered under her breath, ruffling up her blond hair. Taking the cigarette from her mouth, she wondered how much one costed. Then she remembered about the powers she’d now be honing and grinned. That made her somewhat better—burning the fuck out of people? That sounded nice.
Altair decided she should at least go up. But she really didn’t want to. Wondering if her sisters were already there, she took another minute of glaring at the offending building before dropping the cigarette and crushing it beneath her heel. Christ, did she hate Canada. She made her way up to what she’d soon have to be living in. Well, it was better than the godforsaken apartments they were hopping between. But whatever. The only bags she had (and by bags, she meant plastic shopping bags) were filled with clothes and makeup and other girlish toiletries that she really couldn’t live without. A lot went into her appearance. If she didn’t look good, how would she make money? It had always been like that, all her life. She got by on her looks, and so she need to keep them up.
Her first words upon entering the door described her mood perfectly: “Fuck this shit.” No, no, fucking no. This is not what she liked. It was dirty and ugly and she should not have to live in these conditions. Hands on her hips, she looked at Rowena who apparently figured the only place to sit would be against the wall. But Altair couldn’t sit down, she was far too antsy and angry and sober because she agreed to this bullshit deal.
Bullshit.
Everything was bullshit.
“Syria’s not here then?” she pointed out the obvious, tone terse with ever-present anger. She needed a beer, or her meds, or something to make this apartment look better. Deciding to take a lookaround even though she knew she wouldn’t like what she would fine, she wriggled her nose upon finding the one room. With one closet. ”This is not going to work,” she stated matter-of-factly. Altair liked to make her displeasure with a situation known. She walked back out into the main, bare room and crossed her arms. "No."
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Post by thingone on Aug 4, 2011 8:18:48 GMT -5
 Right now she wanted to screw the lid off of her bottle of pills more than anything. It would be simple for her to pull the container out of the pocket of her skirt(it was a safety measure for her to keep the pills close by at all times). To pop two of the pills in her mouth would leave her floating off into a state of nirvana. Happiness wasn't even something that she could achieve lately, to be delivered into nirvana would be pure bliss for Syria. Canada wasn't her home and it clearly showed in the way that she refused to adapt to the situation that life had thrust her into. Rowena had gotten herself negatively tangled with the law enforcement and as a response the triplets had to scrounge up their savings and fly over to Canada. She would have taken the same course of action five times over. If it were for Rowena's sake then she would gladly deliver herself through hell. Lately the hadn't been as intricate as the past but in the end Syria would always stand behind Rowena to offer her support.
School was going to be a complete different story, something that made a face come from Syria. Rowena and Altair had a complete disregard for schoolwork and the attention that they should have paid to their grades. Did Syria even remotely care about her grades anymore? With the fall from her position in the modelling industry Syria found there was much that she actually cared about anymore. Certainly she didn't have any thought on how she could properly take care of herself. The only reason that she appeared to even be slightly presentable was the facade she created. No longer did it ever feel like pretending was something she had to work out. Acting like she was completely okay came naturally to her, Syria didn't even have to focus on trying to keep her smile beaming on her face or the bounciness in her step. As long it appeared like Syria was in a content enough state then the other two sisters seemed to draw strength from her. They were taking strength that Syria didn't even know she had. Technically they were sort of robbing her, not that she would ever think to protest.
"I can practically hear 'I am in poverty' screaming from every inch of this complex..." Her single duffel bag was slung over her shoulder, the weight of her clothes causing her shoulder to sink down. Syria was frail enough, her load of clothes stuffed into her bag was just making it more difficult for her to maneuver. On her heels Syria precariously made her way though the shoddy halls, scared that if she placed her foot wrong it might crash through a soft spot in the floor. The apartment number was memorized, she just didn't want to believe it was true when she reached the torn and tattered door. She let out a whine when a simple twist of the knob didn't cause the door to open. That was how doors were supposed to work. "Damn door, defying the laws of...doordom..." She was senselessly speaking, meaning that pills were in dire need. Her thought process told her that sense a budge wouldn't open the door then maybe a kick wood. Standing on one heel, her other leg raised and her foot went crashing thought the door, quiet literally. Syria cringed at her mistake, pulling her leg out of the hole and managing to open the door with a rough shove. "Someone broke the door..." she murmured, looking at her sisters with a cheeky smile.
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Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Aug 4, 2011 8:59:25 GMT -5
Rowena glanced up from her place against the wall as the door opened, dull blue gaze unfocused for a moment. A few blinks later found her staring toward the familiar figure of her sister, Altair seeming just as displeased with their new housing arrangements as Rowena herself was. "Don't imagine it would be a very good fuck," she said dryly, glaring around the apartment with clear disapproval. Why did they always end up in the shittiest of shitholes? There were a lot of things Rowena didn't give a damn about, and life was usually one of them. That was usually on account of being drugged up, however, and she was completely and totally sober right now. Something which was still bothering her.
Scratch, scratch, scratch. Nails were at her arms again, clawing open a couple of the needlemarks and leaving small pinpricks of red up her once beautiful skin. She'd been pretty before all of this, but now she just looked all sorts of battered and washed out. Rowena knew this, but her usual combating came in the form of more drugs, more drinking, more sex to supply her drugs and drinking. Her sisters didn't even know how bad it got sometimes.
"No."
The single syllable was drab and uninvolved, her tone just as dull as her expression had been. The smell of smoke clung to her older triplet, the familiar scent making her crave nicotine as well as her usual drug fix. The clawing at her arms became more insistent. Why did it have to be so fucking itchy? The itch was the worst. If it wasn't her physical skin that felt like it was crawling, there was an itch for heroin or nicotine instead. Or booze. She loved her booze.
Trying to avoid scratching further, she reached up a hand and messed with the back of her white-blonde hair in frustration. "No, s'not," she agreed with a roll of her blue eyes. "But it's gonna have to work, innit? We don't have another fuckin' choice." It was a shitty apartment in a shitty complex in an even shittier part of town, but it was all they had. All they could afford. She made a hell of a lot more than she'd allow her siblings to believe, but she felt too guilty about the fact that she spent most of it on her drug fix to admit it.
Some may have jumped as a foot quite literally kicked its way through the door, but Rowena merely stood up and called loudly, "Congratulations Syria, you've broke the fuckin' door before we've even had a chance to use it..." Another roll of her baby blues as she watched her sister pull her foot back and enter the apartment. All the same, even though the girl was causing problems with the apartment within minutes of arriving at it, there was genuine affection in her tone as she said, "Was wonderin' if you'd got lost or somethin'."
Tossing out her blonde locks yet again, the teenager shifted impatiently from side to side. She was always restless when she didn't have her drug fix, always antsy. You could generally tell when Rowena was sober due to her actions and reactions, and right now she was more sober than she'd ever cared to be. "Guess we'd better start callin' this shithole 'home' then... ugh." Clear distaste was shown in her expression as she made a face akin to someone who'd tasted something sour on her tongue. "Still think we coulda got a better fuckin' deal n'this back in England, but wha'ever." It wasn't worth the money and she didn't want to live here, but just as she'd said... they didn't have a choice. Damn it, why did this suck?
Not to mention the fact they had the Academy to worry about. "M'still not sold on this fuckin' school thing," she spat, expressing this hatred aloud. "Fuckin' sophomores, he says. Grade bloody ten. I think it's fuckin' ridiculous." She didn't want to be that twenty-one year old highschool student, but the way things were shaping up...
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 4, 2011 9:33:05 GMT -5
Shaking her head, Altair felt her fingers inch toward the carton of smokes in her back pocket. Glancing at Rowena and deciding not to pull them out, she said with a dry tone, ”Stop scratching yourself, you’ll get blotchy.” No, she wasn’t scolding her sister because she might tear her skin off—it was just unattractive. But Altair knew the reason she was itching, and wasn’t about to smack Rowena’s hands away.
Altair groaned, knowing how right Rowena was an not wanting to admit it. ”I’m still gonna bitch about it,” she pointed out, her voice low and rumbling. She wanted to be the provider—after all, she was the eldest, and therefore should be the breadwinner, but shiny things and clothes distracted her from what was important. Not to mention the drugs.
Watching the foot kick through the door, Altair snorted. Rowena stood up to accuse Syria, and the eldest shook her head. ”Place is looking better already.” She gave in and fished out the fags, wishing she was skilled enough with her powers to snap her fingers and light up as she listened to Rowena question the youngest of the three. She just did it the old-fashioned way with a lighter, having to flick it a few times before the flame kicked up. I’m a fucking Fire elemental, I should be able to light up whenever the fuck I want. Hey, she was still sober, even though she’d really like to be flying high. And she was pretty sure the other two preferred her when she was somewhat more mellow—but still ready for a fight.
Rowena was looking much the same, fidgeting all over the place. For some reason the expression ‘ants in pants’ came to mind, and this is what sobriety did to her head. ”Like hell I’m calling this home.” Propping her elbow up with her hand, she took another look around, matching Rowena’s grimace. Not much to see at all. ”Well, this is Canada, Rowena, home of the fucking moose and maple goddamn syrup.” She wrinkled her nose, letting out a breath made visible with smoke. The girl was right, though—they probably could have gotten much better back in what used to be their home. But now the law was up their asses, and this was the best they could do. Altair felt fucking pathetic.
Altair shared the same feelings as Rowena when it came to school. She was never good with it, hated sitting down and being forced to read a goddamn textbook she was never going to even remember. ”Necessary evil, it is,” she said with a mocking tone, meant to imitate the scouts. Returning to her normal tone of voice, she grumbled, ”They can take their necessary evil and shove it up their asses, I’m gonna torch the fucking place once they teach me how.” Flicking the ash to the floor (whatever she did to the apartment wouldn’t even matter) she turned her blue gaze to Syria’s matching one, waiting to hear what she would say about the whole tenth grade thing, even though the triplets were all in the same boat with this—it sucked balls.
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Post by thingone on Aug 4, 2011 14:35:56 GMT -5
A hole through the door hadn't been something that she had intending. Her head turned back to view the place her foot had just been pulle from. When leaning in close enough the peeling wallpaper and flickering lights of the hall could be seen through the the whole. She giggled a little bit. Her kick had some serious power behind it. Snapping her back over to her sisters she gave a slight shrug of her shoulder. "It must be made of a flimsy wood," she retorted to Rowena, ignoring her eye roll. Syria let out something akin to a strangled laughter at what Altair had said. "Yes, this shabby place is getting a little character now!" She pounded perky but it was obvious the emotion was hollow.
The bag that was weighing down her shoulder was shrugged off as soon as she took another step into the apartment. A dull dump was head and Syria gave herself a moment to take a slim hand to massage her shoulder. "Felt like my bloody shoulder was going to be torn right off..." she lowly murmured, dropping her hand and giving what she could take in of the apartment a stare of disgust. The dubiousness that she didn't want to express was visible in the way that her stare slid over every grimy part of the apartment. "I almost wish I had gotten lost. I would have been better than this," Syria flatly responded to the almost concerned sounding remark that Rowena had made. She was sure that a spot on a hard bench would have been more homey than this shithole.
Syria felt that reaction towards the apartment was exactly the way that both Rowena and Altair were reacting. The look of revulsion on each of their faces could be replicated in the other two faces of the triplets. Syria leaned forward, catching a sight of the shabby bedroom that seemed to have a bed that could have been compared to a sack full of hay. "Never will this dodgy place be considered my home," Syria hissed out, eyes overflowing with a spicy hatred the longer she continued to glance around the apartment. All of her money that she had earned had been put towards this...place. It wasn't even enough to be considered a beaten down apartment. An amused snort sounded from Syria at the comment about moose and maple syrup. "You can't forget about the avalanches and polar bears," she threw out to them, her heel tapping on the presumably unsafe floor.
Sophomores. That wasn't a word that sounded good coming from Rowena. She spoke with venom as she regarded the academy, even making Syria cringe at her ferocity. Altair's own opinion was thrown in too, both exactly what Syria had predicted. She opened and closed her fists frantically, needing something to occupy her hands. Syria settled with tugging roughly on her whitish blonde looks, making a face when Altair glanced over at her. "It's absolutely brilliant that they believe we need to start back two grades. I feel like I'm a muppet or something." Syria huffed and moved her hands to tug on the hem of her shirt. School hadn't been her strong suit but she had enough smarts to get her throw the shady parts of England. That classified her to be as pretty damn witty.
She was through with hovering by the door, even if she still felt like one misplaced step would leave her crashing into the basement. "I wonder if this bloody place is even certified as safe to live in," Syria wondered out loud, her heels clicking gently on the rough floor. Her skeletal frame was carried out into the kitchen, where she was curious to begin exploring. Slightly shaking hands reached up and she almost gagged when she opened a cabinet to see a hell of a lot of grime built up on the shelves. Syria slammed the cabinet closed, enough force coming from the slam that the hinges actually shook. "All of that bloody grime in there! It could attack us at any moment." She bounded out of the kitchen, repulsed by the thoughts of what else could be lurking in the place they were expected to cook. Could this get any worse? Yeah, it certainly could. Syria would have to wake up to all of this tomorrow.
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Post by ROWENA AUDREY BENNETT on Aug 4, 2011 20:31:20 GMT -5
Rowena merely shot her older sister a glare when she scolded her. "It's a bit fuckin' late for that," she said, but out of pure reflex she dropped her hands to her sides, curling and uncurling her fists as she tried to resist clawing at her arms again. Even though they were all at odds ever since their lives had fallen to pieces, she still didn't like to show signs of weakness or addiction in front of them. It was a bit of a lost cause seeing as how her arms were covered in (now bleeding) pinpricks, but she tried nonetheless. Rocking back and forth on her heels slightly, she had to be constantly moving if she wanted to keep her mind off the unbearable itch. Damn it, why'd she agreed to show up to this place sober?
"Prolly've looked a fat lot better if I was drunk off my fuckin' head, mind you," she said aloud, ever the charming optimist of the group. She didn't count on this place looking wonderful even if she was doped up and in a state of numb bliss. Not even drugs could paint the walls or clean the dirty countertops, after all. "We're all gonna bitch," she agreed tonelessly with her sister, now playing with a strand of her hair. Rowena was constantly fidgety when she was in moods like this, always moving and shifting and trying to keep her mind off things. It never worked. She usually gave in, but she didn't have anything on her person with which to indulge. That was what she got for wearing a dress, she supposed. I'm just a stupid bitch then, ain't I? As the thought was directed only to herself, she recieved no answer.
A dull brow was raised as her sister spoke of character. "Least it won't be hard to tell people where we live," she muttered. "'Hey, mate, it's the one with the hole in the door. Can't miss it'. Yeah, that'll go down well, m'sure." If it had been anyone else, that might have been passable as a joke to lighten the mood. But this was Rowena, the queen of being serious and taking everything at flat value without humour. She couldn't joke like Altair or be lighthearted like Syria, so she just said everything with no filter. She was being blunt about the comment, for they really could just tell everyone they had a damned hole in the door and be done with it. She was going to hate this place, she knew. Absolutely hate this place.
Just the same as she couldn't crack jokes, it was rather hard to amuse Rowena. She merely frowned as her sisters spoke of apparent stereotypes, wandering over to the window and trying to judge their view. Through streaks of grim she could see a collection of other, just as shabby apartments and the parking lot below. Some view. Sure, their parents hadn't had the best of homes, but a view of the backyard had been better than this. The place had a stench as bad as its look. Rowena could sit for hours and find things to complain about, but what about good things? "There's nothin' good about this dump." She decided this to herself, but spoke it aloud with venom. It was shit. It was shit, but it was home. She still couldn't think of it as home.
A muppet. Yeah, that sounded as bad as she felt. "We'll be the laughing stock of the fuckin' establishment," she said. "They can fuck themselves, then. See how much they laugh when I punch them in the bloody face." She'd never really given a damn about her affinity for electricity, but right now she wished that she could do more than just increase the static content in the air. She didn't even know how to shock anything yet. They'd definitely be the laughing stocks, indeed. "Damn it, I need a fag." Or booze. Or drugs. Or out of here.
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 4, 2011 23:16:11 GMT -5
Everything in this shithole is flimsy, she thought to Syria’s comment, not feeling the need to say it out loud as she was now occupied with flicking at her lighter. Altair let out a barking laugh at Rowena’s comment—all of her laughs sounded like that, they never turned into anything full or humorous. ”Not like the supervisor would give a flying fuck,” she said sardonically. Couldn't give a crap about anything, she bet. Which was just as well, since they didn't need him to be riding their dicks whenever they went about their business.
Half-listening to Syria about getting lost, half-wishing she could just blow this shithole up with her lighter, her thoughts turned morbid until she heard the seething tone of the youngest, and vocally agreed, ”Damn fucking straight.” Not like Altair could stay quiet or pensive for too long, after all. Thinking wasn’t her strongest suit. Even Rowena vocally expressed her hatred for this place. And Altair continued to glare at the wall as if it owed her money.
Fuck the Academy. ”They’re bloody freaks,” she said around the fag, moving her head from side to side and cracking her neck. ”The fuck is with their alliances, too? How am I supposed to tolerate a bunch of fucking tossers just because the Academy said so?”That just blew her away. Apparently everyone hated each other because of this war that just happened, and she couldn’t give less of a damn about it. Well, she was a little disappointed that she’d missed it—war sounded like fun. But these alliances? No way. Apparently she was supposed to be tight with all the other Fire freaks just because some fucking law said so. Altair didn’t like anyone, how the hell was she supposed to be all friendly with these kids? The only people she could stand when sober were her sisters, and she didn’t even know what the fuck was going on with them. All she knew was that they needed to be together no matter what politics said.
As Syria went into the kitchen—or rather kitchenette—Altair passed her cartoon over to Rowena who stated just how much she needed one. ”Keep it. I need to buy a new pack anyway,” she muttered darkly. She didn’t rely on nictine like the middle triplet did, and than god she managed to avoid dependency on one thing.
Deciding they might as well start getting organized, Altair sighed. “Well, we’re gonna need some furniture, that’s for damn sure,” she said, kicking a wall as if to emphasize the fact that this place was empty. Oh, this is the good life. She lifted her head and immediately regretted it for what she saw on the ceiling. Mold. ”Oh fuck no, that is fucking disgusting,” she said. She could be rather cool and calm for about five seconds before she flew off the handle agian. ”I am not a goddamn animal, how the hell do they expect people to live in this shit?” There wasn’t anything nearby that she could throw at something because it was so goddamn empty. ”I bet if I gut the fucking supervisor and string his innards along the ceiling it’d make for some pretty decorating.”
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