Chapter Text
It’s not until she’s most of the way to Oakhurst that Pearl’s confidence fizzles, and she wonders if leaving so hastily was truly the right thing.
A seaside manor, overlooking fjords carved by harsh waves and harsher winds. It’s not the fanciest building in Sunnyside, nor even the oldest, yet townsfolk have always considered it with a strange aura, a couple feet of berth around the front gates.
It’s a black stain on Pearl’s memory, sharp as it is. Falling roof tiles, crumbling foundations, a cellar close to being exposed by the ocean. Her family, locked inside.
Surrounded by a black forest, no one ever questioned the howling that plagued her family’s land. She wonders if they will now, who will find them, who will slay them.
A better monster hunter than she, for certain. The sword she buried in the backyard burned her hands with the knowledge of what she couldn’t do.
So, it only took two weeks before Pearl started feeling guilt and regret. Before she started seeing her family’s faces, human, flashing in her mind. Another two days before she started to hear snarling in the woods surrounding, howls, and the snap of large teeth.
Today, the third day, there’s a palpable change in the air. The humidity is thicker, though she’s further inland, and a permanent smell of campfire that burns her nose. Green grass, wet with morning dew, wilts beneath her feet, and Pearl does not look to see if it springs back up.
Oakhurst. She’s near, she can taste it, or perhaps it’s just the thickness of the fog. Either way, an energy she’s recently lacked fuels the next hour’s journey, and Pearl does not stop until she stumbles across the first thing that isn’t a tree.
It’s a sort of monument, or perhaps overly ornate lantern. Gray stone and andesite, supporting four pillars topped by lights. Curiously, and not just because there’s a path leading to it, Pearl ascends the peculiarly polished steps and finds the center drops straight down about ten feet.
Curious, she thinks, and doesn’t spare much more thought before scaling down the narrow shaft.
Her feet land in water with a soft splash, and Pearl finds herself face-to-face with a long, dark, tunnel.
An echo of her mother, scolding a younger Pearl for never thinking before diving headfirst into trouble, bounces around the stone walls as she steps forward.
There’s enough sunlight filtering down that, once her eyes adjust, she can see just fine. Walking slowly, the walls are decrepit with age, decorated with piles of rubble and an occasional skull. Really, it’s quite ominous, and almost looks like a sort of tomb.
Pearl walks deeper, and is soon greeted by a chest placed upon a pedestal. It’s almost impossible to see this far from the entrance, and Pearl does herself the courtesy of a brief check for some sort of traps before opening the box. Then, she shoves her hand inside, and feels around for goodies.
It’s full of spiderwebs, dust, and a singular book. Pulling it out, Pearl almost chucks it back in when there’s no title or author inscribed on the cover, when her eye catches a small gleam along the spine. Turning it just so, another gleam, and it becomes very clear very quickly that this book has some sort of enchantment placed upon it.
Pearl is about to, quite eagerly, open the book, when a voice echoes down the tunnel and nearly causes her to drop it.
“Hello?” it calls. Masculine, cautious, young. Accent similar to Pearl’s, but a bit more posh. She stuffs the book into her satchel, then calls back.
“Hello?”
“Oh!” it exclaims, and there’s the sound of someone tripping, and soft cursing,
Pearl begins making her way back to the entrance, rueing her lack of weapon, and eyes the long-dead torches on the wall as she creeps. “Everythin’ alright?”
“I- yes- I- oh this is just great, my only good pants… Sorry, are you- are you down there?”
She chuckles quietly, the feeling that this person could pose a threat fading fast, “Yep! I’m comin’ back up, now. Who are you?”
“Ah-” they clear their throat, “Jack. Jack V- uh, just Jack. And you?”
“Well just Jack, I’m Pearl. Say, could you give me a hand near the edge?”
She begins climbing back up, the sunlight a bit harsh on her darkness-adjusted eyes, when a head of brown hair pokes over the edge, offering some shade.
“Of course!” he responds, a kind smile adorning features bagged with so much exhaustion Pearl immediately feels a pang of sympathy.
She’s hauled up easily, and after brushing off her knees, rises to thank the stranger. Extending a hand, she smiles with closed lips. “Thanks, and nice to meet you.”
He eyes it warily for a split second, before returning the gesture with a firm shake. “Nice to meet you too. Since there’s nothing else out this way for miles, am I safe to assume you're headed for Oakhurst?”
Stepping around Jack, Pearl surveys the surrounding forest, finding a singular path arching away from where she came. “I am. What are the chances we run into each other then, hm?”
Jack laughs, “Low, I suppose? Do you know which way it is from here?”
She turns back to face him, “I was going to ask you the same thing, but there’s only one path, apart from where I came. So I suppose we could go that way until somethin’ happens?”
With a grimace that says he does not like her lackadaisical attitude towards the issue, Jack follows her into the forest.
They chat idly, giving Pearl time to assess Jack fully. He’s younger than her, she thinks; dressed smart and expensively, despite everything being well-worn. A wool coat, silk tie, sturdy leather boots.
He’s certainly not a peasant, by any means.
Eventually, the edge of a still lake comes into view, cradled in its center a small island with a crumbling tower.
“Well,” Pearl clucks her tongue, “I certainly hope this isn’t Oakhurst.”
Jack frowns, a deep crease between his brows, “Same. Let’s turn around and see- wait- Pearl!”
But Pearl has already bounded forward and began swimming towards the island, the water icy and refreshing. She finds herself bubbling a soft laugh, the cold cutting a sharp edge through the constant fog her head has been recently.
She swims to shore, squeezing some water out of her braids as she watches Jack miserably hop into the water. When he comes up next to her, he lies flat on the rocky beach, chest heaving with the physical exertion.
“You’re insane,” he splutters. Pearl allows herself a hearty laugh.
“You followed.”
“It’s bloody freezing!” he complains, standing to now follow Pearl inside the decrepit tower.
It’s completely empty, save for a fully intact spiral staircase.
“Up?” Jack says, just as miserable as he looks.
“Up!” Pearl responds cheerily, and begins ascending.
Really, it’s a short climb, she doesn’t know why Jack is huffing and puffing so much. She pays it no mind, though, not much interested in focusing on such a small thing once they reach the top.
Upon first glance, and second, even third, it looks like a block of cheese suspended in a glass case. Pearl says as much, and Jack even agrees.
There is something… so unnerving about it, however. Entrancing, in a way she does not like.
Touching it feels like touching glass: cold. Unremarkable.
Inert.
Pearl doesn't know why it feels like this thing is currently powered off, and she doesn’t want to find out.
She turns her back to it, facing Jack to suggest they head down now, when she sees something over his shoulder.
Across the lake, standing next to a tree and looking right at them, is a figure.
Human, skinny. All shades of brown, but lighter than Jack’s. It doesn’t move, even as Pearl knows they meet eyes.
“We’ve got company,” she says, causing Jack to turn around on their own.
“Maybe they know where Oakhurst is?” they suggest, already beginning to head back down to shore, and Pearl wants to scold them for being so trustworthy but- well. She only met him an hour ago, didn’t she?
Cursing her hypocriticalness, she follows, and is surprised when she sees the mysterious stranger crossing the lake on a boat.
Jack waves, “Hey!”
The figure glances over their shoulder, back to the tower for sake of rowing, and acknowledges the greeting with a brief nod. Soon, they beach, and step out of the boat carefully so as to not touch any water.
“Hello,” he greets, voice rather rich and gravely for how boyish he looks. Curly brunet hair is pulled into a messy braid down his back, complimenting brown skin that looks sun-starved. His clothes are simple, a dirty cream shirt with some suspenders and corduroy pants. On his belt is an axe, and he seems to notice Pearl clock it.
“What brings folks like you to the countryside?” he says amicably, though there’s no smile. Pearl isn’t quite sure why he feels so off-putting.
“On our way to Oakhurst,” Jack explains, “I’m Jack, this is Pearl.”
The man’s brows rise into his bangs, “You’ve gone a bit of the wrong way for Oakhurst,” he says, and there’s some kind of acidic tone on the name.
“Could you point us in the right direction? I don’t want to admit to being hopelessly lost, but uhm…” Jack chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Sure, I don’t mind,” the man says, and gestures towards his boat. “Hop in.”
Jack is all too eager to not re-soak his clothes, but Pearl declines with a tight-lipped smile.
“You never told us your name, stranger,” she says, just as he begins turning to settle into the boat.
He pauses, a brief rigidity taking over his body, before smoothing over as he looks back to Pearl.
“Owen,” he answers, more gravelly than before. As if he hadn’t spoken at all in some time.
“Pleasure,” she says, and walks into the water to begin swimming to shore.
She makes it there before them, already wringing out her hair and clothes. They jump from the boat, Jack like a newborn fawn, and Owen like he’s trying to not look like a newborn fawn. He points them further into the forest, and they begin the trek.
“We should get there before nightfall this way,” he says. “Not too long a walk.”
“Is there somethin’ to be worried about out here after night?” Pearl asks, and Owen shoots her an indecipherable look.
“Just… the undead, I suppose. A creeper or two. My axe isn’t really meant for fighting, so I’d rather not risk it.”
“Not meant for fighting?” she replies, not too alarmed by mention of the undead, though Jack is spluttering beside her. “It’s rather sharp lookin’.”
Owen snorts, and places a hand on the iron head. “I’m a lumberjack,” he says, “wood isn’t cut with dull blades.”
“Sorry, are we going to ignore that there’s undead crawling around here?” Jack squeaks, only to be ignored by their companions.
“A lumberjack? You live around here, then?”
She can’t see his face, but the short pause before Owen answers is heavy, and Pearl finds herself curiouser and curiouser by the second.
“Been in Oakhurst my whole life,” he says, and then does not elaborate further.
The rest of the hike is silent, save for the rustling of forest creatures, a bird’s call, and Jack’s heavy footsteps.
Pearl learned how to walk quietly before she learned to talk, used to a family with heightened hearing. Even in her sturdy boots, she makes barely a crunch against the overgrown path.
Owen, surprisingly, is a quiet walker, too. Every foot placed with intention. Pearl is a bit impressed at his careful footsteps, every unsnapped twig and unsquashed flower.
The forest eventually breaks, revealing a clearing that stretches far as the eye can see. The sun hangs heavy above, illuminating everything with a midmorning light. Curling down a shallow incline and into a sunflower field, the path eventually meets what looks like the ruins of a small town.
And ruins… means ruins. A wooden wall that looks ancient is falling apart, here and there revealing the outline of houses. The only somewhat-intact building is a tower in the center of town, and even that looks unstable.
At Pearl’s side, Owen is staring at the rubble with pursed lips, brow furrowed. She notes his fists are clenched, too.
“Is this it?” Jack asks, sounding a bit panicked, and Owen seems to re-find himself.
“I admit I was away for a few years,” he says tightly, then starts walking again.
A cold feeling of dismay slithers into Pearl’s chest as her and Jack follow, who looks just as desolate as she feels. Oakhurst was supposed to be the perfect escape- a town no one had heard of where she’d hopefully be able to stay for a while. Rebuild herself.
Stepping over the threshold into town, it’s clear no one has been here in a very, very, long time. What’s more, now that they’re this close, it’s easy to tell all the remnants of town are charred, as though swept up in some raging fire.
Owen surveys the wreckage with that same tight-lipped grimace, and is just turning to Pearl and Jack to seemingly say something, when voices float over the ruins.
“-hand me your vegetables, I’ll get ‘em planted.”
Raising a brow, Pearl glances between her companions, in differing states of surprise. Jack seems thrilled that there’s more people- Owen is doing a bad job of hiding a downright murderous expression.
“That sounds promising,” she says, breaking his trance, and doesn’t wait for them to catch up as she heads towards the sound.
In the center of town, just hidden behind the crumbling tower from where they had entered, is a sizeable group of rather mismatched characters. They’re all sort of talking at once in different, smaller subsections, though once in a while ones will break off to chat with someone from a different gathering.
Pearl is opening her mouth to make her presence known, when someone notices her, and alerts the rest of the group.
“Ooh, more new people!! Do guys live here??” they ask enthusiastically, russet hair and large black glasses.
Shaking her head, Pearl juts a thumb over her shoulder to where she knows Owen is standing. “He does.”
They descend upon him like vultures, scaring the poor man out of his brooding expression like he forgot people could see him. After a minute, he manages to raise his voice over the flock and speak.
“I don’t- I haven’t been home in quite some time,” he grits out, hands extended like he’s going to start pushing them away if needed, “I worked around here when I was a boy. It was a long time ago now.”
They deflate immediately, and disperse.
“I’d be seriously worried if anyone was living in a place like this, anyhow,” one says. Pearl fixes him with a curious gaze, unable to help comparing his fashion to that of portraits from her great-great-great grandparents. Something about him reminds her of Owen, as well, though she can’t quite say what.
Another stranger, greying hair and dressed like a doctor, nods. “Me too. Nothing about this place is suited for medical procedures.”
“And thank god for that,” says someone else, “you were going to try and do surgery on me for a sprained ankle!!”
Him and the doctor promptly start arguing, a couple other people joining in with their piece. Pearl looks about them all and seriously considers continuing west until she hits the damn ocean.
Until someone approaches, hand extended to shake. A round face is perfectly framed by curls of bright orange hair, and upon looking up, Pearl finds herself the sole focus of emerald green eyes.
“Cleo,” they say, giving Pearl a good firm shake. “I suppose you’re like the rest of us, then, only just coming into town today?”
With a toothless smile, Pearl nods. “Pearl- and yeah. We’re only later than the rest of you, I suppose, because me and Jack got sidetracked by a tower of sorts. That’s where we-” she motions where Owen had been standing, now vanished, “-well. That’s where we picked up Owen. Now we’re here!”
Cleo hums, releases Pearl’s hand to rest their own on their hip. “I passed some ruins on my way in, as well. Had one of those strange glass things, like that.”
Following the direction Cleo is looking, Pearl sets her gaze upon another block of cheese suspended in glass.
“Odd,” she murmurs, “our tower had one as well.”
“Odd indeed,” Cleo agrees.
There’s a lot of introductions after that, and each one leaves Pearl curiouser than the last. A man who claims his tongue was cursed by a witch, a person dead-set on finding a mystical creature called “bigfoot,” and a butler, to name some of the strangest.
It’s not until she’s properly introducing herself to the last one that Pearl’s hair rises.
“Scott,” he says, mirroring her toothless smile. They grasp each other's hands to shake, and Pearl is surprised at the strength in his grip.
Evidently, Scott is surprised by hers, too, if the brief second of interest that crosses his features is anything to go by.
“Pearl. I overheard you sayin’ you’re a manor lord from a few towns over?”
“Indeed,” he confirms, quickly releasing her hand. “Just wanted to get out, see the world, you know? Gets so boring after a while.”
“I can only imagine,” she hums. “Pleasure meetin’ you, Scott.”
And it’s as he mocks a bow, says “The pleasure was all mine,” and begins saunteering away that Pearl realizes what it is that reminds her of Owen. A sharpness of the gaze, a stillness in the body.
She decides, for now, to chalk it up to some strange quirk of people from this part of the countryside.
It’s as she’s finishing that thought that an unnatural sort of chill runs down and over her skin, almost like being dunked with a bucket of lukewarm water, and turning around finds Pearl staring at a small group of people huddled inside the tower ruins. Between them all is that glass case- no longer holding that soft and washed-out yellow, but now a saturated and slightly glowing orange.
There’s instant clamoring and shouting, loud enough Pearl’s ears actually begin to ring. Through it all, she catches snippets of conversation.
“What on earth was that?!”
“I don’t know we just- sat next to it and it started glowing?”
“I felt a strong rush of- almost like a warmth?”
“It does feel… safe, if that makes any sense.”
“Should we really be messing with things like that?”
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation…”
Pearl squeezes her eyes shut, the ringing refusing to cease, and is about to try and find somewhere quieter to escape, when it suddenly just. Stops.
A fuzzy, almost spiky sort of feeling she hadn't realized was there quickly recedes, as well, and Pearl looks up to see everyone has already moved on from the beacon. Now they’re pulling together simple tools, and others are heading out of town.
But that thing. Almost like a heartbeat that’s not her own, she can feel it pulsing even from twenty feet away. It doesn’t feel safe, per se, but it doesn't feel dangerous either. Like it’s trying to ward off something, and recognizes she’s not it.
Pearl squashes that line of thought immediately, willing the Doctor’s calming voice of “there’s an explanation for everything” to soothe her mounting anxiety. It’s probably just an electricity source- what’s it’s doing all the way out here in the middle of nowhere is a question, yet not a question Pearl really cares to answer.
As she finally pulls herself from her head, Pearl is surprised to see Oakhurst completely empty. Just beyond the walls are the small moving forms of people, chopping trees and digging up dirt; though before going to join them, Pearl enjoys a moment alone.
Oakhurst, when devoid of people, is a quiet place, in the way it seems to absorb any and all sound like a sponge. Even now, with the sun still high in the sky, a thick fog obscures anything more than 100 feet away, and makes the clearing feel a bit like a snowglobe.
Pearl inhales a long, deep breath, that ever-present smell of campfire even stronger here in the center of town. Beneath it is wet earth, decay, and something older.
She shakes, a dog-like habit she never could squash, and follows everyone into the forest.
By the time Pearl makes it back to Oakhurst, a couple of houses are now sporting support beams, clear places for windows and doors, and even a floor or two. From the looks of it, most people have already decided where to settle down, as well.
Hauling a log on one shoulder, she inches a bit further into town, completely at a loss for where to go- when she spots Cleo.
Bustling away in one of the bigger plots, they’re currently on top of one of the walls, evening out their height with a nice spruce wood.
“Hey!” Pearl calls, setting down the log just as she walks in. Cleo looks up, a smudge of dirt on their face, and blinks.
“Hello,” they respond. “Can I help you?”
“Want to shack up together?” Pearl asks, right to the point, and can admit the brief millisecond of shock that crosses Cleo’s features is a bit amusing.
To Pearl’s shock, they agree.
“Why not. Could you get more logs like that?”
“Yeah, ‘course!” she immediately responds, and hustles back out the town to collect some of the wood she left behind.
She’s not alone, interestingly, Owen is nearby cutting down a tree, as well. As he severs the last bit of log, the whole spruce finally comes tumbling down, and he wipes at his brow with one arm.
It’s there that Pearl notices, for the first time, the dirty bandages wrapped around both hands, all the way up to his forearms. There’s no blood, not fresh, anyways, just an aged yellowing and some actual dirt, by the looks of it.
Owen eventually notices her staring and glances over, one brow raised in question. Pearl smiles.
“Owen! Hey, do ya think you could help me haul a couple’a logs back into town?”
He glances at her haphazard pile, then back to her, then back to the pile, before sighing and closing his eyes briefly. When he reopens them, they seem a bit dull.
“Sure, Pearl. I’ve got some rope we can use to pull the large ones.”
She claps her hands together, “Great! Tell me what I can do.”
They spend the better part of half an hour nailing in the ropes, stacking the smaller logs onto Owen’s sled he’s pulled out of nowhere, and then dragging them all into town.
When they arrive at Cleo’s doorstep, Pearl would daresay she looks pleased.
“Well,” she says, standing from where she’d been working to put her hands on her hips. “This’ll be enough, I think. It’s a nice dark color, matches the walls well.”
Owen, without a word, begins walking away, and Pearl calls after him with a quick “Thank you!” before turning back to Cleo.
She hums, then finds herself saying, “I think it’d make a good floor.”
Cleo raises a brow, “Then we might have no roof tonight. What if it rains?”
“Then we’ll be wet,” Pearl says, climbing into the house with her mind already made up, “but we won’t be muddy. That’s what’s important.”
Not moving to argue, but clearly peeved, Cleo goes back to patching up the walls, and leaves Pearl to her devices.
What comes of it is a lovely dark oak floor, clacky under the shoes and undeniably mud proof. Cleo climbs down from the wall to inspect, and gives the floor a nice tap with her shoe.
“Solid, at least,” she says. Pearl hums.
“‘Course it is. I even bet I've got enough time to get started on the roof.”
Seemingly pleased by this, Cleo sits on the floor and begins tying together the pieces for an axe. “I might go searching for some animals and seeds, then,” she says, “there’s about fourteen of us now–we’ll need a steady source of food.”
“Fourteen?” Pearl coughs. “Blimey. Not sure I can keep track of that many people.”
With a chuckle, Cleo finishes the axe and hooks it onto her belt. “I was thinking of starting a journal, to be honest. Write down everyone’s names and any relevant information.”
Pearl snorts, and elects to watch Cleo bustle between a rickety stove and even ricketier work bench as she leans against the wall, “Maybe write down all their weaknesses, too. So for example you’d have ‘Page 1: Martyn. Definitely lying about being a noble, weak to undercooked food.”
This pulls an actual full-chested laugh out of Cleo, and Pearl decides she quite likes the sound.
“That might just be a good idea, Pearl,” they compliment, throwing a smirk over their shoulder. “Keep this up, I’ll have to stop thinking of you as a useless, posh twat.”
“Oi!” Pearl squawks, and after searching for a brief moment, procures a bushel of wheat to smack over Cleo’s head, who just laughs through the whole affair.
After a sufficient thrashing, Pearl repockets the wheat, grumbling about Cleo’s insult. “That better not be what you write on my page of your journal.”
“What, that you’re a posh twat?” they tease, and when Pearl refuses to acknowledge that with a reply, just laughs again.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Pearl. Now how’s about that roof, hm?”
Dusk rolls around several hours later, bringing with it a thick fog, and the exhaustion of a long day’s work. Pearl secures in the final shingle, then hops down from the roof to admire her handiwork.
It’s not perfect- but it is acceptable. Nice dark tiles that match the dark wooden walls, and will hopefully not produce any leaks if it rains. Idly, she hopes Cleo will be impressed.
Who, speak of the devil, is just now getting back to town with a couple people and animals in tow,.
Pearl follows them towards the center of town, where a small farm has been set up around the crumbling fountain. They place each set of animals into their own pens, where the gates are then firmly latched shut. Apo even shakes one to make sure it won’t be falling down anytime soon.
“Nice work,” the Doctor compliments, emerging from his own house to inspect the animals. Cleo rests her hands on her hips, a contemplative furrow in her brow.
“We’ll need to work on finding more food for them before they can start being slaughtered. Scott found some potatoes in the woods, there’s probably more things ready to be harvested out here.”
Looking just up and behind them, Apo hums in discontent. “We’ll have to wait till tomorrow. Looks like it’s… getting dark.”
She ends the sentence with a slight inflection, almost a question but not, and upon turning her gaze up from the animals, Pearl sees why.
The moon is slowly starting to rise from behind the tree line, large and minutely waxing. While indeed the brightness of the sun is fast fading, what makes everyone stop in their tracks and stare is the fact that the moon is a bright, saturated red.
Almost like the shadow of some large and terrible monster, the bleeding color slowly inches over the walls of Oakhurst, then bathing the interior and everyone outside in a deep crimson.
Pearl clucks her tongue, “Well, that's not ominous.”
A couple more people pop their heads out of their houses, and soon their little group sports almost the entire town.
Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, no doubt due to the sudden chill, Shelby mutters, “That’s freaky, right? Should we be freaked out by this?”
The Doctor seems to be opening his mouth to reply, but is promptly interrupted by Avid, who comes careening into the center of town with a large lump of silver in his hands, Drift following close behind.
“Yes you should!” he announces, and slams the rock onto the ground just by Cleo and Pearl’s house. Then, after struggling to catch his breath for a moment, shoots back up and points at everyone.
“Oakhurst is not normal, and it is time you all saw that!! There are creatures! Monsters amongst us!” He widens his eyes, “Vampires!”
A beat of silence passes, interrupted only by what sounds like someone stifling a laugh, until Drift sighs and grabs Avid’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, guys, he’s really hung up on this-”
“No!” Avid shouts, and wrenches himself away. “You guys need to listen to me. All of our lives are in danger!!”
“Vampires aren’t real, Avid,” Pearl says, speaking aloud what most people appear to be thinking.
“Even if they were,” Scott chimes in, “you don’t look particularly appetizing.”
Pearl hears Cleo whisper a “not helping, Scott,” who she sees out of the corner of her eye just shrug.
“Uh- well- thank you, I think,” Avid stutters, “but that’s not the point! I believe the only reason nothing has descended upon us yet is because of that beacon-” he points to the central tower, “-which, I’m telling you, will eventually not be enough! We cannot protect ourselves if we remain ignorant!!”
“Avid, that’s enough,” the Doctor scolds, “there is nothing in this world that can’t be explained by science.”
“Then how do you explain the moon??” Avid cries.
Biting back a sigh, Legundo gestures at the sky, “You understand the basics of an eclipse, yes? This is just that but on a smaller scale, slightly to the left. Dust particles in the air join up with Oakhurst’s thick fog and create the effect you see now. As for everything else…” he turns towards the rest of town, arms open slightly, “there are no doubt dangerous things in those woods, such as wolves and bears. As we continue to get our bearings here, I would agree with Avid in exercising caution and always being aware of your surroundings.”
“But- that’s not- please-” Avid begins, only to be interrupted by Drift as she gently tugs his arm.
“Come on Avid,” she says softly, “I think some sleep would do you good.”
Mouth slightly ajar, he looks frantically between Drift and the rest of town, before deflating and allowing himself to be pulled off, though not before shouting something about leaving that hunk of silver there “for the community.”
Pearl grumbles about it being right next to her house, but otherwise just watches him go.
“Well,” Scott starts, “he’s got a couple of screws loose, dun’he?”
Shelby’s frown deepens, and the Doctor sighs.
“Be nice, Scott. That man has clearly been through some serious trauma.”
“So have I if you want to be technical,” Scott says, “you don’t see me being a lunatic about it, now do you?”
Cleo snorts patronizingly, “Aw, someone drink all your fanciest wine without asking, little lord?”
Upturning his nose and dramatically wiping a fake tear, Scott sniffles, “Why yes, they did, thank you for asking.”
Sighing in exasperation, Cleo just shakes their head and heads back to the house. Slowly, everyone else disperses as well, except for Pearl. She stands rooted in place, mouth downturned in thought.
Pearl knows monsters. She’s seen real creatures of the night up close and personal, even killed a decent number of them. Vampires? That would be an entirely different category of monster, entirely different category of foe.
She shakes off the odd sense of doom, and follows Cleo back home.
Opening the door and stepping inside welcomes Pearl with the smell of cooking food, the soft crackle of their cobbled stove illuminating what some candles don’t. Cleo is stood just in front of the furnace, the hand holding her cleaver waiting patiently against her hip as she watches the meat sizzle.
“Somethin’ smells good,” Pearl says, announcing her entrance as the door clicks shut. Cleo barely looks up, just hums in response.
“Just some pork, got enough for you here as well once it’s done.”
“Aw, thanks Cleo. Anythin’ I can do?”
Finally looking up from the stove, Cleo fixes Pearl with a look of mirth. “Nah, I bet your poor, soft hands are hurting after putting the roof together. I’d say you earned a rest.”
“Wha- soft hands?!” Pearl splutters, “I’ll have you know that they are calloused! Years of blood, sweat, and tears shaped the roughness of these palms!”
Cleo barks a laugh, “Oh, I’m sure. Well if you’ve got so much left in you, my lady, we’ve got plenty more logs that need splitting.”
Pearl, who had her hands palm-up towards Cleo as proof of her claims, slowly lowers them. “Uhm. Well, now that you mention it, maybe I am a bit tired…”
Laughing again, Cleo leans over and pulls the slightly-blackened chops from the furnace, dangling from her cleaver until placed safely onto a wooden plate. They hand one to Pearl, then settle on the floor with their back against the wall.
Pearl mimics, and they sit in companionable silence while waiting for the food to cool.
Their large and empty windows welcome in not just a chilly breeze, but also the red glow of night. Stretching out and over the floorboards between them, leaving Pearl and Cleo in dull shadow.
“So why’d you come to Oakhurst?” Cleo suddenly asks, swallowing a bite of their pork. “Everyone else has pretty… interesting reasons. I’ve been curious about yours.”
Taken off guard, Pearl laughs awkwardly, “Ah- you know. Same as some of the others, just lookin’ for a fresh start.”
By the look on their face, Cleo doesn’t buy it for a second.
“What about you?” Pearl deflects.
“A’ve got family buried here,” she answers immediately, “from a couple generations ago. I want to find their tombs.”
Okay. Ouch. Being honest in hopes Pearl will be too- rude play, frankly.
Pearl considers her food.
“That’s certainly one of the more fascinating stories I’ve heard today,” she half-laughs, trying to hide the guilt bubbling in her lungs. When she looks up, Cleo is just staring at her blankly.
It’s not dissimilar to what Pearl knows of the uncanny valley effect. In this light, Cleo quite nearly looks like a taxidermized human.
“If you need- or want- any help, just ask,” she finishes lamely, and hides behind another bite of food.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Cleo replies softly. Then, they stand, pork eaten and plate empty.
Pearl finds she’s quite lost her appetite.