(2015-09-24) Full Circle
Full Circle
Summary: Quinton found a journal months ago. And now he finds the owner
Date: 9.24.2015
Related: Scouting Mission

LaPlaya Lane

Nine houses are spread out down and around this little cul-de-sac road. The yards that were once lovely and well manicured are now overgrown with weeds, that choke out what was once green grass. Beyond the houses at the end is a white sandy beach and the lake.

It's mid-morning. The Lake Ventura neighborhoods are peaceful and quiet. At the end of the LaPlaya cul-de-sac is a set of docks, devoid of any boats, but not devoid of life. The teenage Dax sits crosslegged at the end of one, a notebook folded open on a knee. There is a group of ducks floating nearby and she tosses some of her crumbled granola bar out to them giving them incentive to hang about so she can get back to sketching them.

Quinton's not had the most productive day, but 2 plashes down, 4 to go. His backpack is stuffed as he carefully walks down the street. The ducks and girl aren't hard to miss so he veers in her direction. he's not actually met her, but has seen her enough times to know. He keeps his voice low as he greets her, making sure to shuffle his feet so she can hear him approach…hopefully. "Hey…I'm searching houses…Just so i don't…startle…" If she looks ups nd doesn't try to shoot him, he'll offer her a small smile, but doesn't more close enough to be threatening. He hopes.

The pencil in the girl's hand moves across the page as she draws the preliminary outlines of the ducks in front of her. Were if not for his purposeful footsteps she would probably have been unaware of his approach. She is a bit focused but not enough to not notice that. Glancing up from her drawing Dax looks around and then at Quinton as he explains his presence "Oh hi?" it seems more a question than a greeting. She looks to the houses behind him and then back "Having any luck?"

Quinton's nose wrinkles slightly, "some peaches…toys…nothing else."A soft chuckle, "No 'How to defeat aliens' manual yet." he stops a safe distance away but tilts his head, "Draw a lot?" He's not close enough to connect the drawing to the journal yet. "Can I.." He motions to an end of another dock. Close enough to talk, but not next to her. He's almost treating her like he did Piper, unsure what the girl's gone through. But he can guess enough of it to know it's bad.

"Chapter One - How to Indentify An Alien." Dax replies in cynical fashion "It'd be a best seller." when he asks about her drawing she glances down at her sketch pad then back up "That and write bad poetry." awful drively teenage stuff, her other journal was full of it along with her summaries of the days events and all the drawings of people, places and things. She's much better at the drawing than the poetry. She shrug, gesturing to the same area that he did "Still a free country." yup all teenager. Some things just don't change.

Quinton snorts at the joke. If only. The backpack is shrugged off and he sits, letting his get dangle, as long s they don't get wet. Who wants to walk in wet shoes? "No such…thing." Bad poetry. Well, there's not good poetry, but not bad. All poets have to go through teenage drivel before they can get the good stuff out. Something clicks and he glances back at her, considering before he lets it go. That coincidence would just be too unlikely. So he turns and unzips his bag to dig out one of the vans of peaches. Lunch of champions.

Dax looks at Quinton slightly confused. Having never spoken to him she isn't used to or familiar with his disjointed way of speaking "No such thing as what? Bad poetry or free country?" she can see how the second is true. They are all being held prisoner by the alien threat. "Did you want to see?" she gestures to the notebook. She's been drawing for years and it seems as soon as someone finds out she does they want to look at what she can do and see how good she is or whatever. She's to young though to be tired of it just yet. Give it another few years…if they live that long.

Quinton focuses on the can in his hand, careful to not break the ring off or cut himself, "Bad poetry…it all…leads to…something." He glances up and offers a soft smile, "Sure…" The can is set next to his bag and he'll start to stand up and work his way over to her to take the book.

"The garbage can?" you know balled up wads of paper strewn across the floor because the three point shot into the can was missed. She offers him the notebook. She has been prolofic in the drawing as least. There are a few poems and some journal entries, but nothing private. She may have another notebook for that. There is a hand drawn map of the camp, sketches of animals, plants and the people of Camp Hope, faces at least. So much emotion in those faces, like she captured them in times when they thought not one was looking. Sterness, Caring, Joy, Sadness, Puzzlement, Bravado…etc "No judgment, this isn't an art show."

Quinton smiles again, "Been there…" He means it sympathetically. he really has. Especially as of late. He misses being able to use a computer to write. "No…judging..promise." Sitting down next to her, he opens the book. He blinks and frowns slightly as he pages through. "We…found a camp..west… Had been attacked by soldiers…I found a journal…" This looks awfully the same…the style of drawing is almost the same, but it's the poetry, no matter how untrained or 'bad'…His pale eyes dart up, "Were you….there?"

He says it but she doesn't believe it. She was cynical before and everything that has happened has only made it worse. Dax frowns as he frowns "It's not that bad." she states, taking the frown as a call on her work instead of the recognition it was. Though when he brings up the refugee camp her brows furrow and she starts to look a bit suspicious "There are probably lots of camps out there." she goes to take her journal back then pauses "Wait…attacked by soldiers…" she gives a shake of her head "that isn't right." sounds like she is saying she was.

The journal is given back, and he nods softly, "The only survivor said it was soldiers…they took the children and then…shot them all…" He's worried, unsure if he should be telling her this. But he's already started, there's no real turning back. "The journal has a ..name…" he's not going to offer it, if it'll be too much for her to hear though.

"That can't be right. The soldiers took us out of there because it was going to be attacked by the Others." now the teen seems agitated, but not distressed "It was the Others not soldiers." but now she isn't sure, her tone suggests it. Someone is lying to her and she isn't sure which one it is. The man in front of her or the officers that supposedly rescued her from the camp.

Quinton's lips press together watching her. "Soldiers have attacked us a few time…I'm sorry." He looks down at his now empty hands in his lap, "I can…give you the book..it's in my tent." Even if they've never talked, Quin's a known packrat.

Now she is really confused, but his words are alarming enough to make that fade fast. Her brain starts putting the totally wrong things together. If they are being attacked that means they must be aliens…and if they are aliens…well something really weird is going on. She scrambles to her feet and instinctly reaches for her gun at her hip. A life saved though, she doesn't have one. Because of who she is and where she came from she hasn't been allowed to have one. Lucky Quinton remains bullet free for another day! "Stay away from me." she begins to back away slowly to wary now to take her eyes of the scary, scary poet.

Quinton's eyes widen, and at her motion(He recognizes it) his hands fly up defensively, "Whoa!" yes, that will convoke her he's not a threat! He'd scoot away, but the only place for him to go is the water, and as thought before, wet shoes are not on his list for things to do today. "I…didn't…" He's confused too, unsure why she's seeing him as a threat suddenly.

The teen continues to back away, moving faster as she gets further back. "You're all Teds!" Dax exclaims then she turns on her heel to run as fast and as far as she can.

Quinton's eyes widen more. A ted? "No! We're…not!" If his mind was more clear he might be able to stop her, but his broken speech probably doesn't help any. She's moving way too fast for him to catch ever, anyway, so he sighs, getting his things and makes his way back to camp. Sonny's not going to be pleased with this. At all.

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