⋆ ⋮ nightmare . open

[ALMA.]

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pressing her lips to the bottle of crown, tilting her head back to allow the liquor to rush into her mouth. her mouth was coated, it burned; she had no chaser to follow with it which only made it all shittier. still, she didn't make any move to quit sipping at the drink. sometimes she thought it might be easier to just become an alcoholic. at least then all her emotions would be completely fogged over and she would not have to worry in the slightest bit about this sinking feeling.

alma scrunched her face up and coughed after swallowing, setting the heart-shaped glass down beside her on the ground. she pulled her knees to her chest, letting her head fall back against the wall behind her. eyes trailed to the ceiling and she began to feel the effects that came with the consumption of alcoholic beverages. her head began to feel empty, her vision obscured, and her body feeling both as if it was floating and like it was heavy as bricks. she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to start to drift. to start thinking about what led her up to this point in her life, who had influenced her to take the path that she did.

her family weren't ever important to her life. her dad was absent from her life at the age of eight, her mom took on drinking and began trying to live through alma. force her to dress all sweet, force her to be something she wasn't. to make up for the shit life she had, she wanted to somehow fix it and start over via her daughter. it was a nightmare and it lasted years before alma made her break for it. her mom was the match that lit the flame.

she was not her own person. she was merely a puppet on some strings being passed along to different people when she provided nothing else for them. her mind was not hers. her ideas, her feelings, her actions; they were all influenced by some other person. she wasn't in control. and the only way alma could even feel like she had a lick of control - even though she didn't - was to fake it. to act abrasive, cruel, blunt. tell it like it is and maybe, just maybe, if you get them to fear you they might let her go.

but god knows how long it'll be until she truly feels set free. another gulp of crown to clear her mind of these ideas again. she didn't want to pity herself anymore.

[OLLIE.]

[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]tw mention of drugs.

Wasn't they all puppets?

Enthralled in some misfortune, controlled by something far bigger than themselves? Life wasn't some fairytail, that was for sure. More often than not— it was dark. Really dark. Literally and figuratively. Even Jagger had traumas he wouldn't 'ought to want to revisit, but if one asked him he'd relive them again. Why? Because it made him stronger[I]! Even on his reigns, Jagger managed to take control. An devoted man, whose peers faced far less and still doubted they faith, but he never did! He'd been born with a legacy and he sure as Hell planned on dyin' with one. Abaddon was worth it, after all.

Jagger was never much of a fan of those who wasn't cult born. While Kai saw them as someone he could save, Jagger saw them as someone who was already corrupted by the Outside. Silas proved that, took two years of they time away from them. Kai got more cautious, sure, but he never denied someone they rights. Alma was no different. He ain't know much of Alma, though, ain't ever really care to. Those who mostly kept to themselves and did what they was supposed to were often able to go undetected. Those who were above average, vulnerable, or fake is what often grappled his attention.

And no doubt, was Alma vulnerable. For the first time, he notices her. Drinkin' alone, seemingly lost in her own head. It's been awfully quiet around here since last Mass, and it's somethin' that leaves Jagger evidently uncomfortable. He thrived off the company he kept — both friends and foes — and instead of bein' here, they was mourning elsewhere. It seemed as if everyone was, except for her. He makes his movements subtle as he strolls and placing his back against the wall, he sinks. For a moment, he's immerses himself in the silence, bloodshot eyes focusing heavily on a rubber piece of band that laid on the floor beside him. Was he high? Yes. Did he consume peyote while tending to the crops? Also yes.

He doubts under Isaac's lockdown, anyone was bound to notice.

"This your way of mournin' our dear Messiah's death?" His voice holds halfhearted sarcasm. He doesn't turn to her, only continues to hyper focus on the rubber bands. Since when was they so entertaining?