A small town girl is caught between dead-end jobs. A high-profile, successful man becomes wheelchair bound following an accident. The man decides his life is not worth living until the girl is hired for six months to be his new caretaker.
talk to me about john and peggy baby-sitting Philip Hamilton. And how do Ham and Eliza react when they lose their baby?
Reminder, this is broTP John and Peggy.
I’ve gotten notes from Chelsea, and apparently Alex and Eliza live in a studio apartment when they first have Philip. Peggy comments that the apartment is already basically a baby cage, why do they even need a sitter in the first place. Alex tells her to shut up and watch his stupid kid as he attempts to untangle Philip from the drapes.
The Hamiltons don’t have a TV. Eliza claims it’s bad for Philip. Alex claims he’s not interested in anything on TV these days. John concurs. Peggy calls him a dumb liar and tells him they’re watching New Girl on her laptop. When he tries to insist they can’t drink on the job, she calls him a dumb babyface. He figures drinking probably wouldn’t make much of a difference at this point. Midway through their debate over whether or not Peggy’s a Nick or a Coach, they realize they don’t see Philip anywhere.
John runs over to the window and looks out. Peggy looks under couch cushions, under the bed, in kitchen cabinets, in the bathroom. She walks done the hall looking for him. When she comes back John’s still at the window. She’s angry for a second, he’s not helping and it’s her damn nephew, and then she remembers his little brother. She goes over, tries to tell him it’s not his fault, that Philip’s fine, that the window’s shut tight, that everything’s ok, but he’s not really hearing her. Then they hear a faint rattling noise from one of the dresser drawers.
They have no idea how he managed to shut himself in there, or how he got Eliza’s engagement ring in his mouth. John bursts into full-body sobs as soon as he sees him and then so does Philip, though that could have just been because Peggy took away the ring. He won’t let go of Philip for the rest of the night, and they fall asleep all cuddled up, watching New Girl.
When Alex and Eliza get home, Eliza asks them why the neighbors heard Peggy walking up and down the hall, calling for Philip. They’re furious, call them irresponsible and selfish and immature. John takes it all with his good Southern rich boy face- which frankly only makes Eliza angrier, because she’s a Schuyler and recognizes that from a mile away. Peggy would be getting irritated at her sister talking down to her again, she’s heard the stories, it’s not like Eliza’s been kept Philip on a tight leash herself, but she’s just struck by the fact that Alex very clearly does not know why this might have been terrifying for John. And her brother-in-law is a selfish ass, but she knows he looks out for the people he loves. And she knows he wouldn’t forget something like that. Peggy realizes she’s probably the only person John’s told about his little brother.
She invites herself over to John’s place after they leave. Hails them a cab. He doesn’t speak the entire ride back, and collapses on the couch as soon as they step in the door. She recognizes that hollow tiredness that comes from long crying sessions and guilt, and she can sense the draining weight of grief there, even if she’s never had to deal with that one. So she turns on New Girl, and they fall asleep all cuddled up.
There is a motorcycle leaning at a gravelled pull-off spot along the highway. It’s the first thing I notice as I am *suddenly here,* flung out of bright light into a postcard vignette. Motorbike: dusty black, low-slung and old. Mountains. The smell of pine. The road.
I swing my leg across the bike and kick it to life. The highway runs up, into pine forested peaks and I follow.
In the light that washed over me as I shifted from the place [where I had been before], there had been for a bare instant a voice, a knowing. You must go to the Shrine of the Waters, it had said. Go to the Shrine of the Waters and be washed clean.
The [cop] who questioned me had told me that I stank of blood. I don’t think he meant it literally, but rather that it clung to me in a miasmatic cloud. Most of it was mine (ha!), but it didn’t matter. It meant that certain people, certain things could smell it, could track the sorcerous scent as a shark follows shed blood across leagues of open sea.
The pines that lined the road cut the bright midday sun with bands of stark shadow, the highway flashing whiteblack whiteblack white as I climbed. There was no one else, only the sound of my engine echoing from the forested hills, a few clouds in a clear and ringing sky.
At the top of the knob the road ended at a small stone-paved lot in a dappled clearing. Nearby was a single small building clad in mossy cedar that looked the way I imagined a Russian country bathhouse would look, though I had never before visited a Banya in the waking world or here.
I parked my bike and approached the structure. My legs were stiff and the new-healed flesh from my grazing bullet wounds pulled, still tender. (If [my assailants] had been shooting to kill they would have done, I thought. They must not have meant to kill me but they *certainly* wanted me and the skin I wore. I still didn’t know why, or who. But I know I smell of blood).
Warm cederwood, the petrichor of forest. On the far side of the open building, the sound of bubbling water. A set of wooden planked steps led down to a courtyard where a spring burbled forth from smooth stones, into a clear pool. Near the riffle of water there was a single stone column topped by the bronze bust of an ancient stag. I touched my fingers to my forehead and inclined in a slight bow. ‘Hail unto thee, Guardian of the Shrine of the Waters.’ I spoke barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the serenity of the boreal clearing.
I dipped my hands in the water, and it was cool enough but not shocking cold. I sat down on the smooth stones and pulled off my scuffed and dusty boots, then the rest of my clothing, folding it all neatly beside the water’s edge. Then there was only me, in this Hame pale and slim and marred by new-healed scars, with spidery runes crawling along my forearms (elhaz-elhaz-elhaz, life and death like the signs that in a foreign land, in a foreign time were marked upon the graves).
I lowered myself into the water, hissing at the sudden shock of cold. Cold water purifies, I thought. Cold and clean like the water given to the dead.
I sat there up to my chest in the spring pool, leaning back against the smooth, sun warmed stones, for a long time. I just sat, and didn’t think of anything, neither past nor future nor trouble, until my body grew hazy and dissolute, the runes on my arms fading almost to nothing. ‘No,’ I thought. 'I like this form, I want to keep it’ and then I steadied and grew solid once again.
Thus was I washed clean in the Shrine of the Waters, clean of the smell of blood, and before I departed I left offerings at the base of the stone pillar for the great stag of the forest with moss-grown horns, the ancient spirit who watches over this place.
So now I’ve got a mini build up, and whatnot, please feel free to hit up my Stephie’s bio. There are a few tweaks and twists to make her fit in with the krp & DC rp universes. I haven’t changed too much but you know. ANYWAY… Like for a starter?
Edited sidenote: aim is spoiler.sk if you want to plot/lit IC interactions!
If you hmu with a message and you are polite and nice, I will obviously answer to your message, but on the other hand, if you’re only messaging me to tell me something gross or sexual I won’t answer back x