knowthyexits | (no subject)

Entry tags:

ageswitch,
cook

(no subject)

She wakes up.

There's more to it than that, but she wakes and she doesn't know where she is, doesn't hear her father shuffling around in the room below and she doesn't know why there are weapons under her bed or why her wrist is in a sling when she feels just fine. She curls up her fingers to test it, but they work, and when she sits up, her clothes fall off her frame slightly.

It's too hot outside. California is warm, but it shouldn't be this warm. Her first instinct is that she's late for her shift and that the dog isn't coming, not even when she whistles. For the first time since she's woken up, Sarah is beginning to panic. She takes in deep breaths and tries to get her footing about her, the dark sweatpants falling until she yanks them up by the hem. Nothing is familiar, not a single thing.

"Dad?" she calls out tentatively, hitching up the sleeve of her tank top as she opens the front door to the blazing sun in front of her. She winces and keeps walking, wearing nothing but her pajamas and in her bare feet. "Dad?" she calls out again, slightly more worried than before. "Max? Dad?" Sarah stops when she gets to a fork in the road, staring cluelessly out between them and running a hand through her messy hair.

She doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know where she is or where she's supposed to go.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There is some fucked up shit going on. This is nothing new, especially not for Cook's life, but this is a new brand of fucked up shit. He hasn't been up that long, hasn't had time to enjoy the misery of everyone else's changes as much as he'd want, but the day's long and the rumor is this shit lasts for days. He thinks he remembers that anyway, from the snippets of conversations when he first showed up.

Whatever. Anything to distract him from the shambles of his own life.

He's whistling as he walks down the boardwalk, eyes bright and wide, ears perked, ready to pick up the first note of discord in their tropical paradise and laugh at it. He honestly doesn't expect that first note heard to be the plaintive call of a girl no more than his age. It takes Cook a second to get a good look at her face and adjust for, well, magic, but he doesn't pause his walk to gawk, just looks casually.

"You alright there, Sarah?" he asks. He could be wrong; if he is he'll take it full on the chin.

Sarah's been taught by her father that she shouldn't trust people too readily. He doesn't trust anyone but his brothers in arms and Sarah thinks that if he had her way, she wouldn't get to talk to anyone -- especially boys. Still, she's slightly on guard when a strange boy knows her name and she's never seen him before. "Who are you?" she demands, trying to force some toughness into her tone. "I'm armed!" she lies. "If you're some kind of sicko."

How else would he know her name?

He stops dead still in his tracks and yanks his hands from his pockets to demonstrate, with open palms forward, that he isn't armed. This isn't what he had in mind by taking it on the chin. But Sarah's fucking dangerous and he has to respect that, whether she's a MILF or a teen.

"I'm Cook," he says, pretty fucking calmly and yes he is proud of himself for that. "You know me." For a dizzying, stomach-lurching second, this feels like a conversation he has already had once before with another girl. "Just 'cause the island's being a bitch doesn't mean you have to go all frigid on me, too."

Sarah eyes him suspiciously, fumbling through the pockets of her pajamas as if she's going to find something there, but there's nothing. All she has is the terrifying realization that she doesn't know where she is, she's probably going to miss her shift, and she doesn't know if she should trust him. She tries to ignore the uncomfortable sensation of standing there in her worst clothes in front of an attractive guy.

She wrings out the t-shirt and tries to determine whether he's lying or not. "What's my last name, then?" she demands, avoiding eye contact.

Watching her fidget like that, Cook begins to think that maybe there's more to this island mischief than he first thought. A couple of people screeching that they've got tits instead of dick does not line up with Sarah not knowing who the fuck he is. It's unnerving as hell, but he keeps a calm face.

"Depends," he answers. "You've got two, last I checked. One for the every day and one for when people are trying to kill ya."

She's got both hands in the hem of her shirt, twisting it up beyond recognition and stepping back in hesitant steps, almost tripping as she tries to get back. "Why would anyone try to kill me, I don't understand, I don't..." Her back hits the rail of the boardwalk and the shock of it is as good as a bucket of cold water, making her go shock-still. "Cook?" she says, echoing a name she's sure she's never said before. "I don't know where I am, I don't understand any of this. You said you know me? Do I trust you?"

Fuck.

He should run away right now. Just turn and run and let someone else deal with this. The fucking palm trees are better equipped to deal with this shit than Cook is right now. But despite the good solid logic supporting running away and the base self-interest supporting protecting himself, Cook feels something drag at his chest when he looks at her.

"Much as anybody, I'd wager." Taking slow steps towards her so as not to startle her, Cook starts to drop his hands. "I'll try to help you out, alright? Maybe we can go find you some better clothes, answer some questions. But you gotta promise me something, alright?"

"What do I have to promise you?" she asks, staring at his hands instead of at his face for fear that she'll flush and he'll be able to see right through her. She has the feeling she's going to do it, agree to whatever it is he says, but there's always the outside chance he'll surprise her.

"You gotta chose to trust me yourself," he says. He's closer now, close enough he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to, but he doesn't just yet. "Don't take my word on it. That's no good. You'll be fine either way, with or without me, so it needs to be your decision. Trust me and talk to me and I'll be able to help you."

She clasps hold of her elbow with her palm, holding on tightly as she tries to decide whether he's telling the truth and whether she should trust him. She scans the surrounding area with trepidation, not sure where she is and understanding that she's not going to get answers on her own.

Finally, based on some innate instinct screaming at her to trust him, she reaches out a hand to him, letting the next step be his. "I trust you. I'm not sure why, how come, or where it's coming from, but I do."

All he needed was the three words. They're bad enough, flood his veins with warmth and weigh his shoulders down with the heavy press of responsibility. The others just add to it, make it worse and choke him.

It takes a moment for him to find his voice again after he has taken her hand, threaded their fingers together securely. "Alright," he starts, and pauses to clear his throat. "I dunno why but.. you've forgotten a lot of stuff. You know me. You've been here a while. This is an island called Tabula Rasa. And it's got... I dunno, I guess you've gotta call it magic or something fucked up like it. And it's made you younger than you were and made you forget."

"How old am I normally?" She's not sure she wants to know, but she's blurted out the question before she can stop herself, clenching onto his hand tightly, not exactly a death-grip, but it's no casual stroll either.

Cook rolls his eyes skyward thoughtfully as he tries to puzzle that out -- and prays that Sarah isn't one of those women who's going to kick him in the balls later if he guesses too high.

"Younger than 40, older than 30?" he guesses. "Can't say it's come up in conversation."

She nods, mostly because it's the only thing she can do as she tries to process this information. It's scary and it's too much. "I'm just supposed to be waiting tables today," she admits, giving him a look that says she's barely coping with all of this. "Dad's supposed to pick me up after, I...I'm on a desert island," she states incredulously. "This is the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me."

Cook squeezes her hand and chooses not to point out that she was attacked by a machine man a couple of weeks ago. Cook himself is still trying to come to grips with that.

"We're all in the same boat, babe," he says, voice easy and calm. "Well, waking up younger and forgetting things, you've got me beat. But once upon a time, each of us was opening our eyes to this place for the first time. We've all done it. You've done it before. You'll be okay."

She breathes out and forces a smile on her lips, trying to paint the best of a bad situation, as if that's going to help. "So, I've walked this walk before. I guess I don't have to work. And my Dad's not around. So what do people do with all their time?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only