PrincessofHeart
Keeper of a jar of hearts.
~3 Weeks Ago~
Bluebird, I gotta go.
Go? Go where?
Away. It's better if you don't know. But...I've done it. I don't have to ever worry again.
Gale, what are you talking about?
I screwed over one of these bastards you hate and I'm leaving. I promise, I'll try to contact you in a few years.
YEARS?! Gale, what the fuck? Come over, we can fix this.
There's no fixing this, Parrish. They don't know I have a sister. I'm on the ferry headed across the river now. This number is no good after this conversation. I love you, Parrish. Take care of yourself.
Gale! Gale, call me right now!
Gale!
Message undeliverable.
Parrish Blue Fairfax, a woman named for a color named for an artist, looked down at her phone and realized that Gale, for all intents and purposes, was gone.
~Present Day~
Bluebird Botanicals was a rather posh store to be in the crummier part of the city. Despite the bars on the windows and the gate that closed over the front door, it was a pretty little store that had flowers painted on the glass of the windows and delicate displays of her products in the windows. The people who lived in the area had first thought it would be too expensive for them, but it turned out all of her products were just in their price range.
There had been skeptics, those who thought her soaps and shampoos could not possibly work. Yet skin problems cleared up without any other products, thinning hair was thick and beautiful. Men who were losing their hair seemed to be growing more, and anyone with arthritis using her lotions seemed to be having less days with pain. It was the common consensus that Bluebird Botanicals was a hidden gem and they feared it being gentrified like other parts of the city.
It was also a common consensus that Parrish Blue Fairfax was a witch. They just did not talk about it.
Parrish herself loved her little shop. It was nice to see people in the neighborhood who thought they would never have anything like her items come in and be delighted to see that five dollars bought them shampoo and conditioner, or soap and lotion, and not the small bottles, either. They were given what they needed, and she had a cute little shop where she was her own boss and made her own money. It was really something Parrish had hoped for ever since she had discovered her gifts.
She opened at ten in the morning, but closed after eight, because she knew that her customers often had to work odd hours. She also kept the shop open six days a week, closing not on Sundays, when they had time off, but Wednesdays. It was part of her mission to help those in the less privileged parts of the city. That she was able to make a difference, as small as it was, helped Parrish feel happier, especially as it seemed that Gale was gone. Her older brother had always had problems staying out of trouble, but it seemed worse this time. He had never left her alone before.
When the clock hit eight, she closed the front gate and locked the door, turning the CLOSED sign, turning off most of the lights. She went into the back room and did the books, depositing the money into the hidden floor safe, and then she went upstairs, the second floor of the building made into the apartment she lived in. Parrish locked her front door and reached up, pulling the pins out of her hair that kept her chestnut hair in a bun, letting the waves fall down her back and shoulders as she went into the kitchen and looked listlessly into the fridge.
Common sense told her to eat something, but she would rather just sit in front of the television and pretend like she did not worry herself sick over her brother every night. Walking over to the couch, she sat down, not even going up to the greenhouse on the roof to make more product. That would keep her busy all day Wednesday anyway. Instead, she turned on the TV and lied down, half listening to it until she fell asleep.
What woke her was a knock on the door. Parrish sleepily got up from the couch, smoothing her long maxi skirt and the thin strapped shirt she was wearing with it, and approached the door before stopping. There was something wrong there. The knock came again, and without answering, she walked backward until she got to the steps that went to the upper level of the apartment, taking the steps two at a time. Into her room, she closed the door and locked it, stepping into a pair of flats before she headed for the window next to the fire escape.
Her plan was good, but so were the men who had come for her. One of them was waiting on the fire escape, and he grabbed for her as she leaned out the window. Parrish skittered backward, and turned to run for her bedroom door as the door downstairs was being kicked in. The problem with not having neighbors was that nobody was going to hear the commotion as she tore the bedroom door open and move to the steps, only to have that way cut off by men in black as well.
The one from her fire escape was behind her, and as the ones in front of her grabbed her, he clamped a hand over her mouth. She did not even see the autoinjector, she just felt it pressed against her neck, the needle pressing into her skin. Whatever they put into her system rushed through it, and she slowly stopped her writhing and fighting and went limp. It was all a practiced run in getting her out of there then and into the van that was waiting outside.
Parrish was unconscious when she was taken down by the river, to one of the massive, privately owned warehouses that sat down there, owned by people that nobody ever saw. She was also still out of it as she was set onto a stool in front of a heavy water pipe. Her wrists were zip tied above her head to the pipe, her shoes taken so that her ankles were tied to the rungs of the stool. A blindfold was put in place, and she was then left to wake on her own. In the office of the warehouse, Emerson Poole looked down at his phone, and glanced at his superior.
"They've acquired Fairfax's sister. She's still drugged, but she should wake from it soon enough, it wasn't enough of a dose to keep her down."
Bluebird, I gotta go.
Go? Go where?
Away. It's better if you don't know. But...I've done it. I don't have to ever worry again.
Gale, what are you talking about?
I screwed over one of these bastards you hate and I'm leaving. I promise, I'll try to contact you in a few years.
YEARS?! Gale, what the fuck? Come over, we can fix this.
There's no fixing this, Parrish. They don't know I have a sister. I'm on the ferry headed across the river now. This number is no good after this conversation. I love you, Parrish. Take care of yourself.
Gale! Gale, call me right now!
Gale!
Message undeliverable.
Parrish Blue Fairfax, a woman named for a color named for an artist, looked down at her phone and realized that Gale, for all intents and purposes, was gone.
~Present Day~
Bluebird Botanicals was a rather posh store to be in the crummier part of the city. Despite the bars on the windows and the gate that closed over the front door, it was a pretty little store that had flowers painted on the glass of the windows and delicate displays of her products in the windows. The people who lived in the area had first thought it would be too expensive for them, but it turned out all of her products were just in their price range.
There had been skeptics, those who thought her soaps and shampoos could not possibly work. Yet skin problems cleared up without any other products, thinning hair was thick and beautiful. Men who were losing their hair seemed to be growing more, and anyone with arthritis using her lotions seemed to be having less days with pain. It was the common consensus that Bluebird Botanicals was a hidden gem and they feared it being gentrified like other parts of the city.
It was also a common consensus that Parrish Blue Fairfax was a witch. They just did not talk about it.
Parrish herself loved her little shop. It was nice to see people in the neighborhood who thought they would never have anything like her items come in and be delighted to see that five dollars bought them shampoo and conditioner, or soap and lotion, and not the small bottles, either. They were given what they needed, and she had a cute little shop where she was her own boss and made her own money. It was really something Parrish had hoped for ever since she had discovered her gifts.
She opened at ten in the morning, but closed after eight, because she knew that her customers often had to work odd hours. She also kept the shop open six days a week, closing not on Sundays, when they had time off, but Wednesdays. It was part of her mission to help those in the less privileged parts of the city. That she was able to make a difference, as small as it was, helped Parrish feel happier, especially as it seemed that Gale was gone. Her older brother had always had problems staying out of trouble, but it seemed worse this time. He had never left her alone before.
When the clock hit eight, she closed the front gate and locked the door, turning the CLOSED sign, turning off most of the lights. She went into the back room and did the books, depositing the money into the hidden floor safe, and then she went upstairs, the second floor of the building made into the apartment she lived in. Parrish locked her front door and reached up, pulling the pins out of her hair that kept her chestnut hair in a bun, letting the waves fall down her back and shoulders as she went into the kitchen and looked listlessly into the fridge.
Common sense told her to eat something, but she would rather just sit in front of the television and pretend like she did not worry herself sick over her brother every night. Walking over to the couch, she sat down, not even going up to the greenhouse on the roof to make more product. That would keep her busy all day Wednesday anyway. Instead, she turned on the TV and lied down, half listening to it until she fell asleep.
What woke her was a knock on the door. Parrish sleepily got up from the couch, smoothing her long maxi skirt and the thin strapped shirt she was wearing with it, and approached the door before stopping. There was something wrong there. The knock came again, and without answering, she walked backward until she got to the steps that went to the upper level of the apartment, taking the steps two at a time. Into her room, she closed the door and locked it, stepping into a pair of flats before she headed for the window next to the fire escape.
Her plan was good, but so were the men who had come for her. One of them was waiting on the fire escape, and he grabbed for her as she leaned out the window. Parrish skittered backward, and turned to run for her bedroom door as the door downstairs was being kicked in. The problem with not having neighbors was that nobody was going to hear the commotion as she tore the bedroom door open and move to the steps, only to have that way cut off by men in black as well.
The one from her fire escape was behind her, and as the ones in front of her grabbed her, he clamped a hand over her mouth. She did not even see the autoinjector, she just felt it pressed against her neck, the needle pressing into her skin. Whatever they put into her system rushed through it, and she slowly stopped her writhing and fighting and went limp. It was all a practiced run in getting her out of there then and into the van that was waiting outside.
Parrish was unconscious when she was taken down by the river, to one of the massive, privately owned warehouses that sat down there, owned by people that nobody ever saw. She was also still out of it as she was set onto a stool in front of a heavy water pipe. Her wrists were zip tied above her head to the pipe, her shoes taken so that her ankles were tied to the rungs of the stool. A blindfold was put in place, and she was then left to wake on her own. In the office of the warehouse, Emerson Poole looked down at his phone, and glanced at his superior.
"They've acquired Fairfax's sister. She's still drugged, but she should wake from it soon enough, it wasn't enough of a dose to keep her down."
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