Numb Heartstrings: A FC/UC Background Short

Synodic
Lagom
Susurrus
Russet Reisdence

Humanoid Era
xxxx, X.X.

Marguerite slowly ran a few fingers through her hair and cringed right after. Her long, chocolate-colored tresses had been cut short a few days after they had arrived at her new home; the long waves reverted into a quick, sharp bob which fell just a few inches below her chin.

When it happened, she had little to no reaction. Her mother expected fits and cold glares with scathing comments left and right, but she merely accepted it and moved on. For the next couple of days, it took nearly all of the Russets to get accustomed to Marguerite’s new hair.

There she was, two weeks fresh from the haircut, and Marguerite realized how things were being for her. From the moment she had moved to the moment at the present. Marguerite’s curls were gone, Marguerite’s warm, tan-to-brown bedroom walls had been replaced with an odd orange which at first had hurt her eyes. The lights were off almost all the time.

When she looked out her window from her past home at Elan, Marguerite would poke her head back inside due to the intense heat, even during the night. It cooled during the end of the year, but she was accustomed to the all-around heat so much that her first step into Susurrus sent her back into the car.

Susurrus was ridiculously cold.

Gone were Elan’s warm lands and overjoyed people; gone was the warm aura the people oozed. All of it was packed up in a box and left behind in the attic upstairs; this was her home now. As much as Marguerite refused to admit it, Susurrus was her – their ­– new home.

And it was cold.

That was the part she hated the most: the cold.

Cold made her seek the warmth which was present in their previous home; cold reminded her of drinking warm coffee with Althea while waiting for Skylar to arrive back in her favorite shop. Cold reminded her of hot baths and the near-black night sky; the same sky which she would climb the roof for and watch until dawn. Cold reminded Marguerite of what she didn’t have.

Cold reminded Marguerite that discomfort could be everywhere – literally – as she sat on the bed, shivering a little despite the heater being on and set a little higher than it normally was.

As childish as it seemed, Marguerite Russet hated her new ‘home’.

* * * * *

She mailed her letter to Skylar.

The twosome had promised to commuicate with the means of written word instead of talking over tablets – perhaps it was sentimental value, but exchanging letters reminded the twosome of their chilhood.

Their houses right next to each other, Marguerite and Skylar devised a simple system so that they could exchange notes written on paper. It involved a box, incredibly thick rope, and the help of their parents.

Skylar would reel in the box, put the paper inside, and push it back to Marguerite’s window with the help of a long stick. Marguerite would open her window, take the box and its contents…and the rest was history.

When the Russets were packing up, Skylar came around and told Marguerite that they would ‘split’ the device. Marguerite agreed; she took the rope that Skylar provided and Skylar would take the box Marguerite had decorated as a child.

The very same rope, a simple mix of green and orange-brown, decorated Marguerite’s room. It hung over her bed, draped across the walls. Clipped to the different loose threads of the rope were pictures. Pictures of Marguerite, pictures of Althea, pictures of Skylar – pictures of home.

Marguerite found herself wondering if Skylar still had the box.

With the letter mailed and nothing else left to do, Marguerite went back inside her house and climbed up the stairs.

The cold draft entered with her.

At that point, she was already used to it.

* * * * *

Synodic
Ether
Humanoid Era
xxxx, X.X.

It doesn’t feel right, she decided.

Theiara sat up at once, unable to comprehed the mix of feelings which was taking place in her system. Theiara ran a hand through her hair, unable to explain – even to herself – what was going on with her.

One feeling in particular got to her.

Theiara felt that she was losing connectio with Aster. And it was weird – the two practically saw each other day by day. There was no chance that they would begin to drift apart.

Unless…

“Unless something’s happening to my Worldly,” she said slowly. “Gods – what’s happening to you, Marguerite?” Theiara asked herself, soon sitting up and eventually leaving her room.

The other strange feeling was there.

It felt – it felt as if she had to leave.

She didn’t have to, she knew. Theiara had no reason to leave. Her life there was already stable. She had everything she needed.

But for some reason, Theiara thought of leaving – just for a few days – just to reconnect with herself. She closed her eyes. To reconnect with Marguerite and find out what exactly is going on with her. Even if I haven’t established anything with her yet. Even if I haven’t come to know her face-to-face.

They always said that this happened, especially if the Worldly was facing some kind of emotional crisis…

And an emotional crisis often, if not always, had a negative effect on the Humanoid.

With that realization, her eyes snapped open and Theiara raced up the steps, sprinting back to her room and ripping a bag out of her cabinet. Thoughts raced as she pulled whichever clothes she could find into the bag, cursing and feeling her thoughts go hundreds of miles an hour.

“I’ll tell Aster,” she heard herself say, “Just for a few days and then I’ll come back. I will come back,” she repeated, as if attempting to make herself believe that she, indded would come back home for the sole purpose of assuring herself that things had gone swell and that Marguerite was okay.

A horrible gut feeling resurfaced and she swallowed nervously, bustling around. She tied her hair messily, switched clothes quickly and slid on her own personal bracelet – an accessory made of winding ropes and bound by a single orange bead. Teal glitters seemed to make it shine.

Within fifteen minutes, she was out.

Aster was easy to find. The blonde was merely sitting on a bench by her own rome, reading. Her green eyes looked up and she beamed immediately upon seeing Theiara – but the very same beam dimmed upon seeing the Humanoid with a packed bag. “Ara? Where are you going?”

“Remember what the Elders said?” Asterious’ blonde brows furrowed, “That if the Worldly suffered an emotional crisis, something could happen to the Humanoid?”

“I do – oh,” the papers fell to the ground and Asterious stood, a hand slapping over her mouth, “Ara, is that–”

“It is,” Theiara confirmed. “I need to… I need to recollect. Connect somehow. Connect more. You get it, right?” Asterious nodded quickly, taking the other’s hands into her own and squeezing.

“Of course I do – take all the time you need, I’ll be the one to notify the others about it,” she rambled, and Theiara shot her a thankful look.

“I’ll be back soon, okay? I need to do this for Marguerite.”

“Okay…” Astra let go of Theiara’s hands, “Wait – Ara?”

The retreating female paused to look at Asterious.

“Don’t let them get you.”