She's coming in from school, still carrying her bookbag, when she realizes what's happened. Not that her door is normally locked; she must have done it accidentally on her way out. Though, maybe it was never locked, and Marcus is playing her. Effy scoffs, lips curling in disgust. Does he honestly think he can waltz in, no problem, and get his sticky fingers on her things? Yes, obviously. That's one of her favorite books, too, not that she's touched it recently.
"Great. Trying to play father figure? It's not going to work," she says, beelining for the kitchen, past the living room (and him), to drop her bag onto one of the chairs. She doesn't have time for this, she would rather be somewhere else right now. She had only come home to drop things off, but apparently, that plan is completely out the door, along with her locks. She'll have to call someone about that, but she won't for a long time.
She opens the refrigerator to pull out some mango juice and grabs a glass from the dish rack, waiting for Marcus to, predictably, follow her.
"Trying? Now, I resent that. I've been a father for forty years, give or take. Got some good practice in." Capital-F Father. Avoiding the question. Hands in his pockets, he follows her, just like she expects him to, after putting down the book in question.
The mango juice is severely depleted. "Good stuff, that. You planning on looking me in the eye at some point?"
She rolls her eyes in an exaggerated manner as she sits down at the table, pouring herself a glass. She doesn't bother getting Marcus a glass, he's a big boy, he can get one himself. She's not pressing on the father subject anymore, she doesn't want to know what his parenting skills are like honestly.
With a sigh, she meets his eyes defiantly. She's given her mother this exact-same look, on more than one occasion. She's too smart for her mother, as far as she knows, anyway. Her mum knows more about her than she lets on. "What do you want?" she asks, bringing the cup to her lips for a sip.
That frank glare is met with raised eyebrows. Marcus has stared down the very forces of hell, and knows fine well it's nothing compared to the ire of a teenager. Effy's got a good impenetrable stare, and it makes him glad even while it frustrates him.
When she moves away from the counter, Marcus starts filling the kettle. Back turned, he says, "Can't just drop in for a chat? Been a little while. I wanted to know how you are."
When the kettle is on, he sits down opposite her, scraping chair legs along the floor. With one hand he tugs at the beads on his wrist. There are stick and poke tattoos on his hands. "I don't know how much you remember. How much you figured out. About what happened last year."
Last year: Charlotte Eze, tied to the bottom bunk of a children's bunk bed, calling Marcus a blasphemer in Aramaic. Bad stuff. It took him a whole month before the demon finally screamed and left. Early on in the process had he managed to snag conversations with a few people from Charlotte's school: Effy had been one of them, after Charlotte (quiet, sweet Charlotte) had erupted in a fit of violence during class and gone for Effy with her nails.
Effy hates talking about her emotions, or her own problems, or anything that has to do with letting others into her heart. She knows that he hasn't only come in to just 'chat' or see how she's doing. He's not that type of guy, as far as she's concerned -- does he want something? As he moves around the small kitchen, she watches him, or rather, stares him down. The tattoos she notices -- and likes -- but she doesn't say a word about them.
"I know what happened," she taps her glass with her fingertips, "I was there. That girl had a fit," and though she has no scars to tell the tale, she remembers it all too clearly. Bad things happen around her, and to her. It isn't new, although having bad experiences like that in college is never a fun time for anyone.
"Something was really wrong with her, wasn't there?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
c: hope this is works for you bb
"Great. Trying to play father figure? It's not going to work," she says, beelining for the kitchen, past the living room (and him), to drop her bag onto one of the chairs. She doesn't have time for this, she would rather be somewhere else right now. She had only come home to drop things off, but apparently, that plan is completely out the door, along with her locks. She'll have to call someone about that, but she won't for a long time.
She opens the refrigerator to pull out some mango juice and grabs a glass from the dish rack, waiting for Marcus to, predictably, follow her.
ahhh perfection
The mango juice is severely depleted. "Good stuff, that. You planning on looking me in the eye at some point?"
no subject
With a sigh, she meets his eyes defiantly. She's given her mother this exact-same look, on more than one occasion. She's too smart for her mother, as far as she knows, anyway. Her mum knows more about her than she lets on. "What do you want?" she asks, bringing the cup to her lips for a sip.
no subject
When she moves away from the counter, Marcus starts filling the kettle. Back turned, he says, "Can't just drop in for a chat? Been a little while. I wanted to know how you are."
When the kettle is on, he sits down opposite her, scraping chair legs along the floor. With one hand he tugs at the beads on his wrist. There are stick and poke tattoos on his hands. "I don't know how much you remember. How much you figured out. About what happened last year."
Last year: Charlotte Eze, tied to the bottom bunk of a children's bunk bed, calling Marcus a blasphemer in Aramaic. Bad stuff. It took him a whole month before the demon finally screamed and left. Early on in the process had he managed to snag conversations with a few people from Charlotte's school: Effy had been one of them, after Charlotte (quiet, sweet Charlotte) had erupted in a fit of violence during class and gone for Effy with her nails.
no subject
"I know what happened," she taps her glass with her fingertips, "I was there. That girl had a fit," and though she has no scars to tell the tale, she remembers it all too clearly. Bad things happen around her, and to her. It isn't new, although having bad experiences like that in college is never a fun time for anyone.
"Something was really wrong with her, wasn't there?"