Not a Normal Day


brynn_icon.gif owain_icon.gif squeaks_icon.gif

Scene Title Not a Normal Day
Synopsis Owain finally runs into a friendly face — and ends up having a breakdown as a result.
Date May 26, 2018

The Lair (or that place where the Lighthouse Kids are residing)

It's in Elmhurst, next door to Caspian's place.

The common room in the large building that Caspian has basically given over to the LHK to do things with is on the second floor. Lance still has his apartment — the Kids are still waffling a little on actually moving in — but they spend a lot of time in the building and Brynn has begun to make the common area her own personal drawing space, using the walls themselves as a canvas. She still prefers using charcoals and chalks and paints for a great many things, but for the wall art that she's working on, she's using her power and a fingertip to draw what's in her head. She's apparently been looking at abstract art, because although the scene itself is mundane the colors she's using to for the wall are brilliant and unlikely ones.

Her attention is entirely on the wall in front of her. Despite all the years of training on situational awareness, there are times when she's oblivious to her surroundings. It's one of the reasons she chooses only places that she feels safe to draw like this.

On a normal day, Owain would be drawn to the beautiful artwork upon walking into the common room — and the person doing the artwork. He's always been extremely respectful to Brynn, but he's also bad at concealing how much he likes her — despite his habit of turning into Captain Awkward the minute she walks into a room. On a normal day, Owain makes sure he looks as well groomed as he possibly can, so as to always put his best face forward for that beautiful girl he's had his eye on.

Today, however, is not a normal day.

It's almost as if Owain doesn't notice Brynn there when he walks in, looking very much like someone who just randomly hiked a good 12 miles last night, smashed a playground and then punch it, fell asleep for a few hours in a church pew, then walked another 8 miles to get back here. Which is to say, he is dirty and disheveled, with bits of playground mulch still stuck in his messy hair. It's been cool enough that he doesn't smell bad, at least. The worst part isn't his disheveled appearance, though — it's his hands. Splinters are still stuck in his skin, and one of his knuckles is pretty badly split from a poorly placed punch on crumpled metal — both hands are covered in dried blood from the wounds, which have long since stopped bleeding, at least.

The sullen teenager skulks in, a dark look on his face as he unceremoniously throws his backpack onto the table that he so frequently uses to do his homework. He all but flings himself into his seat, unzipping the bag and pulling out his homework. Then, ignoring the fact that one of the splits on his hand is starting to ooze a bit due to the action, he sets to doing his homework, all with a dark, deeply upset look on his face.

He can at least try to not let the truth destroy his life as he knows it.

Well, it would take a completely blind and deaf person to miss his entrance. Brynn's gray eyes flicker briefly sideways as if expecting one of the boys and immediate she goes back to drawing… and then it hits her what she just saw. And she whips around, concern immediately etching itself across her face. Taking in the sight of him, her hands are already flying. Owain, what happened?? Are you okay? She whips around him, retrieving the large first-aid bag that the kids have begun to stash here, and hustles back to the table. Are your hands the worst of it? Brynn demands, not even giving him the chance to sign in return as she gently moves to take one of his hands in hers and inspect the damage.

For a moment, Owain forgets himself, only briefly looking up to catch the sign, before his eyes turn back down to the textbook as he simply, gruffly signs, I'm fine. As Brynn retrieves the first aid kit, however, he remembers his manners — and who he is talking to. Shit. Don't take your anger out on the girl of your dreams, idiot.

His expression softens a bit as she takes his hand, soothing the anger far better than anyone else could with her kindness. His hand is in pretty awful shape — he punched old, weather-worn wood chips pretty hard, followed by punching a crumpled metal structure. One of his knuckles is split to the point where stitches might be in order. I'm okay. I did it to myself, he replies when he is able, apparently not feeling the pain in his hands — or if he is, he's not showing it.

I'm fine is not an answer Brynn accepts. Considering their pasts, that shouldn't be a shock to him. I'm fine can mean anything from it's just a scratch to half my ribs are broken. And in his case, well… it's not as simple as a scratch, but not as bad as broken ribs. There are a lot of splinters, though.

When he pulls his hands back to sign, Brynn frown and scolds, Are you out of your mind? Getting mad is one thing — messing up your hands to this level is just stupidity. Her hands are gentle though, as she retrieves the hand that's worst and pulls out tape, tweezers, and gauze. She can't stitch it, but maybe a little super glue will work. If not, she'll make him go see Miss Megan. She's seen the nurse around and she knows that the woman who took care of all of them on Pollepel will help Owain.

Despite her scolding, it's almost as if Owain is finally letting himself relax for the first time in a good 18 hours or so. Owain watches her with a peculiar look on his face; beneath the surface, despite this momentary distraction, the anger still rolls. He was told to tell the truth…so how do you face down the girl of your dreams and tell her that your father was the reason that the home you all lived in was destroyed? How do you tell her that your father might have been one of the reasons for the war in the first place — and that he probably did it because he valued your life over hers?

Bird-girl said that the truth would set him free. But he doesn't feel free.

As much as he can with one hand, he signs, I had…a lot to be mad about. I'm sorry for being rude. At the very least, being around Brynn helps to bring his rational side out. He can't let this destroy his life. Unfortunately, the rational side also brings up the sad side, and his eyes begin to glisten just a little bit.

He's definitely not okay.

Brynn rolls her eyes; signs to him, You know I can read lips — stop trying to do that with one hand; and then makes him keep his worse hand flat on the table so she see to start picking at splinters. But the sadness — the bone-deep sadness mixed with rage — is hard to miss when you're practically nose to nose. There's a flicker of uncertainty in her gray eyes as she sets the tweezers down without touching his hand with them, her expression easing back to worry from annoyed-with-boys. What happened? she asks again.

All it really takes is her asking to tip the scale. Suddenly, tears spring from Owain's brown eyes, the young man dipping his head down and clenching his teeth. He's glad Brynn can't hear the strangled sob that he lets out, despite his attempts to keep it all together. The poor girl has the unfortunate burden of being the first friendly and trustworthy face he's seen since he found out. His left hand, the less injured of the two, raises up, blood-caked fingers tangling themselves in his hair.

And it takes him a moment to recover enough to even talk about what's going on to have him this upset. When he does finally compose himself enough to speak, it's only just barely. "I just…I just found out that my father isn't the man I thought he was," He throws some sign in there out of habit, still ignoring the pain in his hands. Or maybe he's relishing it. "Everything about my life is a lie."

The tears come again, and his head dips back down, as if he's trying to hide his emotions from Brynn, despite the fact that he's having a breakdown right in front of her.

Brynn's startled by the instant breaking, but she reaches out to cradle the boy's cheek in her hand. When he sucks in the breath to tell her what's happened, she doesn't really understand exactly what he's talking about, obviously. But sympathy for him is clear. She moves her chair closer to him and leans over to hug him tightly. She can't really say or do anything that will make him feel better, but … sometimes, that hug, that silent permission to just cry and let it all out, is more than enough. At least when Lance or Joe give it to her. Owain's hurt is making her heart ache, though. Tears for him slip down her cheeks.

He's never been one to cry in front of people, but this…this is different. The metallokinetic takes that permission quite readily, all but melting into her arms. He crushes his face against her shoulder, and he just…cries. He cried alone, but there's something different about crying while someone holds you. It's more therapeutic. The deaf girl can feel the vibrations of his voice as he sobs against her. Slowly, a bit reluctantly, his arms encircle her, and he just…holds her as if she's a rock, steadying him in the raging storm going on inside.

It takes a bit, but he finally calms, pulling away reluctantly and wiping his face on the back of his arm. "I'm sorry," he says and signs at the same time, before returning his hand to the table. Tears still leak from his eyes, but he seems to have found some source of calm in there now that he's shared some of his anguish with another human who cares about him.

Brynn shakes her head, putting her hand out to stop his from signing the apology. Her free hand wipes her own tears away. She squeezes his hand and then releases it, since it's the only way she can speak to him. What can I do? It's as simple as it gets — he needs something, she will do it. He is one of Us.

"I…" He sniffs once, wiping his face against his arm again. "You're already doing it." A weak smile is offered. "My hands hurt…could you help me clean them up?" He doesn't really want to get into too much detail right now. Not yet. He's not ready to do what the Bird Lady told him to do. He'll do it, but…not yet. He doesn't want people to hate him yet. Because while his father's sins are not his, and some people will recognize that, still others will hate him simply for being the offspring of such a despicable person. For being raised by a traitor to his own kind.

Brynn's smile is gentle and she nods. She reaches out to take the worse of the two again, setting it flat on the table, and picks up the tweezers to start very carefully and as gently as possible removing splinters from his hand. It's going to sting like mad when they clean them up, but they can't even start that part til the splinters are out.

While Owain is very, very sad right now, he is also pretty much madly in love with Brynn, though despite how obvious it is, it would probably take the Spanish Inquisition to get him to readily admit as much. To his credit, he only flinches a little bit as she picks the splinters out — he's much too busy watching her with an adoring expression etched into his slightly dirty features.

She's so good.

The son of a traitor, who has lived a plush life thank to his father's betrayal, really doesn't deserve someone this good.

Oblivious is the appropriate word for Brynn. Completely and utterly oblivious. As she pulls slivers from his hands, the silence draws out. She seems comfortable with it … but then again, she can't hear it. After a few minutes of pulling small shards of wood from his skin, she finally sets the tweezers down. The whisper of her movements, the 'tink' as she sets the metal tweezers on the wooden table, these sounds are a bit magnified because they're the only ones. There's a pensive moue of her lips and her brows pull down over her nose a bit as she studies the one knuckle and considers whether superglue and butterfly bandages will be enough. And perhaps considers too how big a stink he'll put up if she tries to drag him off to Nurse Young. Boys are such big babies sometimes.

In the end, she picks up the alcohol and cotton ball to clean up his hand without bringing the topic up. She does look up to hold them in his view, letting him figure out on his own that this is going to sting like a bastard.

Only to find him watching her so closely. She goes very still under his regard, a flicker of uncertainty flitting across her face. She doesn't know what he's looking so hard at, and she seems a little… worried? … that something's wrong.

When she looks up to see him watching her like that, he flushes slightly, his gaze sliding off to the side as his cheeks tinge pink, even under the dirt smudged on them from his roll in the mulch, followed by his fitful slumber in a church pew. He's a hot mess right now; he really should just let her clean him up and do what she needs to do to fix his hands.

But with that rolling sea of emotions comes a bit of a foolish impulsiveness that emboldens him where normally he would just oafishly laugh and leave her be. If she'll allow it, he gently places his left hand over her right, a gentle brush of the fingertips over the back of her hand. "You are…so beautiful."

Brynn blinks, the blush giving her the cue that … no, she's not imagining it. The situation got a little taut there. She doesn't pull away from him, though she does jump just a bit when he puts his hand over hers. She just doesn't seem to quite know what to do about it, either. The scarlet flush that climbs her neck and into her face from a heartbeat that accelerated suddenly is about the only thing that happens. And well… she's always pretty much speechless, so the fact that she has no idea what to say is perhaps not quite as evident as it might be.

Blushing, Owain looks away briefly. Oh god, he's going to scare her off, isn't he? But that boldness is still there, and he figures, he's already halfway there, so why not just go all out? Either he'll ruin everything and lose her like he probably deserves, or something will go good for him for once. At least, until she finds out what his father did. He's pretty sure a lot of people are going to stop liking him once he lets go of that info.

That won't stop him from doing it, just…not yet.

If she lets him, he reaches out to gently move her hair away from her eyes — though only if she doesn't flinch away. It takes what feels, to Owain, like an eternity to force the words out of his mouth: "May…may I please kiss you?" His cheeks flush bright red as he asks, his head dipping slightly as though he expects to be admonished for his boldness.

Brynn's eyes go very wide, and she looks a little … nervous. And more than a little embarrassed. Who gets to be 19 years old and never been kissed? This girl, that's who! She grew up with a bunch of siblings and little outside contact in rural Canada during and following a freakin' WAR. There's a moment where she opens her mouth as if to answer him verbally, but it's more just surprise. Hesitantly she nods, still looking just a little uncertain — all those thoughts of what's this going to be like? Will it be gross? Does my breath stink? How do you do this??! are racing around in her head, creating a disjointed series of uncomfortable moments.

She said yes.

For just a moment, all of the bad stuff goes away, and Owain's heart jumps up into his throat. If he were alone right now, Owain would probably do a very embarrassing dance of pure joy, involving elaborate ballet-style leaps and jubilant hand waving, and maybe more than a little bit of joyful screaming.

Instead, that soft look of adoration still etched over his features, he smiles — possibly the only genuine smile he is capable of right now. His left hand lifts, fingertips brushing against her cheek. He's dirty and disheveled, and not nearly as dashing as he would like to be for this moment, but that's not really at the front of his mind right now. There's only her.

After a moment of hesitation, his cheeks bright red, Owain finally makes his move, leaning forward and planting his lips against Brynn's. This isn't his first kiss — he had a girlfriend in high school — but he's still nervous and giddy.

Oh God, what if I do it wrong and he hates it? What if he slobbers on me or I drool or he's gross or—

Yeah, the frantic whirling of thoughts in the deaf teen's head are basically derailed by the feeling of her first kiss, which brings a sudden spike in heart rate. Brynn forgets to breathe until the gentle, coaxing touches of his mouth bring a soft sigh. She follows his lead, the hand holding the cotton ball coming up to rest on his forearm. The other hand is rather trapped with an unopened bottle of rubbing alcohol in it that she's forgotten she was holding.

As a first kiss, it's definitely not terrible! It's not even a bad kiss. It's just that she's so worried about not making a fool of herself, Brynn can't really relax and enjoy the thing either. Her stomach's all in knots, her hand on his arm is trembling, and she has about a million things jumbled up in her head because her brain might be derailed but it still won't shut up!


The single word in Squeaks' voice comes from the hallway that leads to other parts of the house claimed by the LHK. And it couldn't have been timed any better if it had been planned. She's not even looking at the two smooshing lips together when she enters into the room. She's looking at a bag, of the sort you'd probably get produce in, held up to eye level with contents unknown.

Really it's not until she's passed and disappeared briefly into another part of the house, then returned just seconds later that the younger girl catches the unfamiliar face pressed up against Brynn's. One brow shoots way up at that sight. Because what the heck are they doing? It's quickly followed by a scrunching of Squeaks' face like she bit into something sour and icky and she starts for that other part of the house with her head shaking. Nope. Do not want to know.

He most definitely does not hate it. She smells good and she's soft, and it feels quite nice to finally do something about the crush he's had on her since he first laid eyes on her, his thumb tracing gently along her cheekbone as their lips meet. Owain doesn't hold it for too long, however — as Squeaks talks into the produce bag, he reluctantly pulls away, his cheeks suddenly turning a bright crimson red. He's pretty happy with that kiss up until the interruption, at least — hopefully Brynn is too.

Brown eyes turn to peer at Squeaks, and the young man offers a sheepish wave. Hi there, young person, I was just kissing your friend, how are you today?

Brynn blinks when he pulls back, catching her lower lip between her teeth. It's only when he turns his head that she realizes they're not alone anymore. And if he thought she blushed before, it's nothing compared to now. She's nearly purple with the blood rushing to her face. She sits back fast and fumbles the alcohol bottle in her hand as she jumps to her feet. A klutzy moment makes her then topple the chair she was sitting in, and she looks…. utterly mortified. She meets Squeaks' glance as the younger teen looks back with that disgusted look and well… she kind of flees. Leaving the alcohol on the table, she backs up a couple of steps and covers her face — hey, it works for toddlers. If I can't see you, you can't see me, right?

The fumble and clatter draws a look over her shoulder. Squeaks' eyes narrow in that suspicious look that's usually reserved for grown-ups, but this time it's aimed on Owain. She just stares, probably for what feels like a really long time. She's kind of got the power of youngest sibling on her side, even if she's never made claim to that title. Or tried to use those skills.

A look angles over to Brynn next. It's less suspicious after taking in the older girl's beet-red face and efforts at hiding. Your face is red. She signs, while giving Owain another distrusting look. Who is he? Better yet, "Who are you," she asks aloud.

Owain takes the embarrassment a bit better than Brynn does. He gently reaches down with those bloodied hands, picking the chair up and righting it. Then, he's standing, moving over to Brynn and gently placing his not-as-gross hand on her shoulder in an attempt at comforting her — it's about all he can do right now, still red faced as he does so.

At Squeaks' signing and question, Owain smiles sheepishly. "Owain," he replies, reluctant to state his last name — if only because he hates the person who gave it to him. "Sorry about that," he says and signs at the same time — even though signing is surely painful.

He's elated and embarrassed right now, but it's just a distraction from the emotions underneath.

Brynn starts to sign something and then aborts the move, instead choosing to scrawl on the wall next to her, He's one of us. Lighthouse Kid. And then she erases it just as simply. Although her face remains red, she points Owain back to the table. It's going to hurt, she tells him, not quite looking at him or Squeaks, and then she opens the bottle of alcohol to clean up his hands before putting super glue and steri-strips on the one she'd already begun cleaning up.

She peeps at Squeaks, still clearly embarrassed, and gestures the younger teen to come over and take a look. Because Squeaks might need to know how to close up a gash without stitches someday, if she doesn't already.

"You're filthy." Squeaks would know filthy, too. She used to always be that way. Not so much now. She eyes Owain for a long few seconds more. There's just a bit of hesitation, like maybe she should go and find Lance or Joe. Just in case. But then Brynn indicates the stranger is a Lighthouse kid also. So she puts that idea on the back burner. For now.

"Sorry for what?" Squeaks steps over to see what Brynn is doing, face scrunching a little again. This time it's more sympathetic. Rubbing alcohol stings.

"I don't know," he replies to the younger girl, shrugging. "I probably apologize too much."

Like a little lost puppy, Owain returns to the table as directed, his cheeks still bright red. A nod of confirmation is offered to Brynn then; after a moment, he reaches down, pulling his belt off. This is folded in half, and placed between his teeth, so he doesn't chip a tooth or something. He already know it's going to hurt, and is ready for it.

Though he's bracing himself, he still can't help but look at Brynn with that stupid look of pure adoration.

She waits until he decides he's ready — the belt is probably overkill, but it really is going to sting. Brynn wets the cotton and as gently as possible cleans out the debris from the minor cuts and the deeper gash. Then she gives Owain time to breath out and his hand time to dry before using gentle fingers to pinch the gash closed, using a swab to super glue it, and then taping it with a pretty fair hand. Cuts, scrapes, sprains, things like that she and the other Kids have all learned how to manage. Though as she sets the first aid items down, she signs, I'm not sure the glue will hold, so don't move your fingers a bunch. If it splits, you're gonna need a couple stitches. Nurse Young, from the Ferry, she's up at Elmhurst… and I know she has street clinics you can go to, if you don't want to go up there.

"Why are you filthy?" Squeaks' head tilts as she watches Brynn work, then lifts that gaze to the older girl as she speaks, continuing yet to pick up on sign language. It's coming along, really. Being around it so much definitely gives her an advantage to learning it. But as Brynn explains stuff about doctors, the younger girl lifts a hand to poke a finger lightly against Brynn's cheek, then asks, Why is your face red?

The belt is a bit overkill, but it also keeps Owain from yelling. Because man does that hurt, especially after he went a few hours without even bothering to clean out the wounds. With the aftereffects of the splinters, the teenager can't help but let out a pained groan, biting down and going a little bit red.

Then it's over, and she's gluing the bad splits shut and taping him up. He drops the belt, breathing as she does so, and then nodding to her explanation on what to do if the glue doesn't hold. "I promise, I'll go get stitched up if it doesn't hold." He doesn't sign for right now — that alone would probably rip open his knuckles, and he'd like to not have to go to the doctors just yet.

Finally, he glances to Squeaks, idly touching the tape over his knuckles, before promptly putting his hands in his lap. "Because I've walked about twenty miles since last night, and I slept in an abandoned church."

Brynn's gaze flickers across Owain's face briefly, but she's distracted by Squeaks' poking at her face. She rolls her eyes at the younger girl but doesn't sign a response right now — instead, she picks up the tweezers and motions for Owain to put his other hand on the table so she can mess with the splinters there.

The younger girl only waits so long for an answer before turning her attention somewhere else. Owain gets another eyeballing, one side squinty while the other not so much. "That's a long way." She passes another look between the two, the other squinting more than the first. "I'm going to tell Joe you're here."

Ugh, there is indeed still another hand to be fixed. With a faint sigh that Brynn thankfully can't hear, he places his left hand on the table. At the very least, this one is much easier, and it's only really his right hand that's going to need stitches. And this time, Owain isn't having a mental breakdown while she's trying to fix his hand. That's a good thing, at least.

When she sets to picking the splinters out, the teen can't really help that look of adoration — in between flinches, of course.

Brown eyes turn to Squeaks, and Owain nods. "It was a long way, yeah." The mention of Joe prompts a nod. "If he's here, it'd be…good to see him." At least, until Joe asks what's wrong, because Owain will probably lose it again. In between responding to Squeaks and making puppy eyes at Brynn, it seems like there's something profoundly upset behind those brown eyes of his.

Gray eyes flicker back and forth between the other two while Brynn works. A single brow shoots upward on her forehead and she gives Squeaks a suspicious look. The other girl is gonna run off and tell Joe that Owain's here? Why? Hmmmm. Sisters before misters and don't tell brothers everything are definitely things she's going to have to teach the younger girl. This time around, there are at least no gashes that require superglue. So Brynn makes short work of the clean-up, even the alcohol sting isn't nearly as bad. Or maybe Owain's nerve endings are overloaded — that's possible too. Still, once she puts the stuff away, she signs, Mouse, Caspian left some cookies in the kitchen with your name on them, she tells Squeaks.

There are so many things that Squeaks hasn't yet figured out, or learned, in regards to how things work in families. But at least she's easily distracted by the revelation of cookies. She's only one step toward the hallway she'd first appeared from when she about-faces to go out the other door with a, "Primal." She's a few steps away before she waves to the older teens, Bye! A hop and a skip later and she's gone for cookies.

He's much less vocal about the pain of getting his hand cleaned out this time around, only furrowing his brow when she cleans it all up. Perhaps he's just got a good level of endorphins going through his frame after his right hand. When Brynn effectively sets Squeaks on a better path that doesn't involve blabbing to Joe that she caught the two kissing. He knows how he feels about Jori — it'd probably be much better if that news was broken to him a bit more gently than some kid would present it.

That also effectively leaves Owain alone with Brynn again, which brings that flush to his cheeks again. Being careful not to move his hand too much now that he knows what movement pulls on what, he carefully signs, Thank you.

She didn't send Squeaks away just to keep her from Joe. … Well, maybe a little. Not entirely. Brynn is a little off-kilter by what just happened, as innocent as it was. Jori made fun of them when they'd barely met, and now there's this. It's… ohboy.

She closes up the first aid kit and nods to his thanks. But her gray eyes on him are a little more serious than perhaps a single kiss should require. You don't have to thank me. This is what we do — take care of one another. If you don't want to talk about it yet, it's okay, she offers, her expression soft, a subtle conflict visible. Just… we're here, okay? You don't have to keep it all inside and hurt yourself.

Nibbling one corner of her lip, obviously nervous, she adds shyly, And… thank you. That was nice. The blush definitely tells him she's referring to the kiss this time.

Owain watches the girl thoughtfully, that fond expression still present on his features. The mention of his issues prompt a conflicted look to cross his face, as his memory is jogged back to what brought him here in the first place — what she was cleaning up after, and what somehow bolstered him enough to finally act on a months-long crush. It…It's difficult to talk about yet. My dad lied to me for…pretty much the entire fifteen years I was alive before he…before he died. He keeps tight control over what he says — he doesn't really want to have another breakdown in front of Brynn. One is enough for her to handle for the day.

What he is upset about is a lot, and it's a long story.

When she thanks him for the kiss, the conflict behind those brown eyes soften, and he reaches out, gently catching her hand with his left hand. "It was very nice," he replies — if she will allow it, he lifts her hand, placing a warm kiss on the back of it. "Thank you." Assuming she doesn't pull away, he allows his thumb to trace its way over her knuckles, examining her hand as if trying to commit it to his memory.

She nods slightly at his explanation. It is his story to tell or not tell as he needs to, and it's not as if Brynn's one for talking things out. She has let him know if he needs them, they're here. The rest … well, she doesn't know him like Joe and Lance do, so she's unwilling to pry.

When he kisses her hand, she looks again like she has no idea what to do with that. The quick, bashful grin that slips across her face is obscured a bit when she ducks her head. She squeezes his hand once, and then slips away from the contact. I'm… glad it was okay, she confesses. But she doesn't seem to want to push anything further, either. Taking a couple of steps backward, she puts a little distance and signs, You're welcome to stay here and work on homework. I'm going to keep working on the wall, if you don't mind. If you want drinks or a snack, you know where Cas keeps them. He's been around off and on, so by now he's at least got the lay of the land.

And if she occasionally peeks at him while she's drawing on the wall, well… who knows what kinds of things are transpiring behind the girl's gray eyes?

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