radio_gaga | Recent Entries

Pride has been a whirlwind. Robin feels like she'll be dazed for the next week, overcome by the color and the pride and the total lack of fear that had surrounded them all. It's a spark she's going to carry in her chest for the rest of her life, she thinks. Even if she goes back to Hawkins and forgets everything, she wants to believe she'd hold onto this.

This weekend is kind of the culmination of...a lot of emotions she simultaneously doesn't want to contemplate and wants to dream about forever. A few weeks ago, she told Rue, if obliquely, about her feelings. Since then, she's tried to stay in contact, to act normal. She's still a little scared that Rue is going to realize that this is crazy and that she's crazy, but there's a part of her that's growing ever louder and it tells her that Rue isn't going to run away.

It's what's got her constantly glancing over her shoulder, just in case Rue is here.

Job interviews suck. Hell, even making it to the job interview at all sucks. Robin sort of can't believe it, but after a morning full of less than stellar job interviews, she actually kind of misses Hawkins in 1985. Scoops had been so easy. Show up, prove she had two working braincells to strike together, and wash her hands and she'd gotten hired.

Today is the culmination of turning in so many job applications into some mysterious internet sorting system, having to take multiple choice behavioral tests (Rate if you agree or disagree: If a customer turns out to be a man you've sworn vengeance on, you will not retaliate while clocked in), only a fraction of them called her for an interview.

An even slimmer number of those interviews felt successful and Robin has a bad feeling she's going to end up back where she started, slinging ice cream in the mall. Thoroughly bruised, she lets herself take a break in the food court, morosely nursing a Not-Quite-Orange-Julius while crossing out completed interviews in her planner.

"Maybe," she says, next to the interviews that felt successful. "Definitely not," she says, frowning at the ones she knows she tanked. "Bummer. Bummer. Bummer."

They've known it was coming. Robin's made it clear that on her eighteenth birthday, she'll be out. It doesn't matter that the staff had insisted it was perfectly okay for someone over the age of majority to stay until the end of the school year. It definitely doesn't matter the way some of the less subtle staff members had implied that a woman of freshly eighteen moving in with a man of the same age was the type of endeavor that might land her pregnant in the gutter (the joke was on them, twice over). Robin wanted out. She wanted her own bedroom, her best friend, and even her evil little hamster.

There's not really a big moment of anything. Robin doesn't have much stuff at the Home and the majority of it has already been left at the apartment already. All that's left, on this fine Friday morning, is the duffle bag of clothes she needs to sling over her shoulder. Her phone and wallet grabbed and she's out the door, never to sleep at the Children's Home again.

The only pit stop she makes is near a bakery, grabbing two huge double-chocolate muffins and a pack of birthday candles.

She takes the first bus she catches and lets herself in to Chelsea Cloisters, cheerfully riding up to the fifth floor. "Steeeeve!" Robin calls through the door. Then she knocks smartly with her knuckles. "Steeeve! Guess what day it is!"

"Are you okay?"

Is she okay? In the last twenty-four hours, she's hurtled who knows how far down underground to a Russian base beneath the mall, been drugged out of her mind, watched Alex P. Keaton try to bang his mom, spilled her literal and metaphorical guts, and watched a middle-schooler throw a car with her mind. And now they've just crashed the stolen Toddfather into another car on purpose and she's wondering if this is blunt force trauma because how is any of this real?

No. She is not okay. She's pretty sure this is going to fuck her up for life and the weirdest part is that Steve only barely seems fazed by mini-Carrie.

"Ask me tomorrow," she stumbles out, proud to at least sound kind of quippy about it given the circumstances.

It lasts approximately half a second before she's thrown for yet another loop by the sound of shattering glass as some kind of...something leaps up onto the ceiling. It's huge and toothy and has way too many legs and Robin thinks she's got to be hallucinating. "Oh shit!"

Scrambling to unfasten her seatbelt, Robin leaps gracelessly from the car. In the corner of her eye, she sees a station wagon pulling up and starts to run toward it–and nearly straight into a glass door.

It's suddenly bright and Robin's eyes go wide as she glances around, trying to process. It's daylight. The cars are gone. Through the glass door she almost smacked into, she can see the courtyard of a mall but it's definitely not Starcourt.

"Holy shit," she says again. "I'm in Hell."

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
			1	2	3	4
5	6	7	8	9	10	11
12	13	14	15	16	17	18
19	20	21	22	23	24	25
26	27	28	29	30	31

hey_dingus

Recent Entries

Pull me close, try and understand [Rue, 13 June]

[Rowan]

Move on up, toward your destination [Steve, January 10, 2020]

Sleepwalking into the open palm of the empty sky [August 4]

Profile

July 2020

Syndicate

Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags