pris, donald and the case of the 'can too's ][ a log

[Guest]

the weather seemed to be on her side for a little while, lots of snow burying everything more than people were used to everything being buried, and school was closed. but eventually the snow mountains were taken care of and donald made pris return to school this week.  during the whole of the week she had been very quiet, both at school and in donald's room.  luckily donald had a lot of night shifts, so he didn't have to deal with quiet pris pulling down the mood of his room at the inn.  and luckily lumie was there to watch pris at school, to make sure that quiet pris got through things okay.  today lumie tried to convince pris that maybe they could make a giant sculpture out of the lingering snow, but she turned him down with a shake of her head.  when he asked why not, she shrugged.  when he asked if she was mad at him, she shook her head.  so at least lumie had that consolation that it wasn't him, and he let her head up the inn's stairs alone.  she went into donald's room, not her room next door.  she hadn't really been in that room besides to 'save' a pile of her clothes from that closet.  inside donald's room, she shut the door.  once she shut the door, she shed her shoes.  once she shed her shoes, she plopped down on the floor next to them.  once she plopped down, she shed her shoulder bag.  once she shed the bag, she pulled out her sketchbook and colors.  once she had them ready, she started to draw.  this was the week that was pris, and through most of it she went through the motions without a word.

Being that Donald had been working alot of night shifts lately. that meant that he he was asleep now,lightly though, he'd been woken up a couple of times from the running about of the people of the inn, to the knock of the housekeeping service. he hadnt slept much. and when the door clicked open adn then shut donald started talking as he sat up." I told you, you can clean the room... oh, prissy. hi! how was school?"

"there were things with numbers."  one might presume that donald was the parent in pris' life, when that answer sounded much like the typical teenage half-hearted attempt to say something to placate the questioning and well-meaning parent who'd asked about school.  for pris it wasn't half-hearted, however.  it actually took a lot of effort for her to think of something suitable to reply to donald, and he was the only person in her life that she'd even bother going through that much effort for.  the fact of the matter was, besides the traffic pattern of where she had to be from class period to class period and which desk she had to sit in from class to class, pris had checked out entirely from school and spent the entire day either staring off a silent victim of some of the questions that repeated in her mind, or her attention was on her near-constant artmaking.  most of the teachers didn't care about this change in behavior, and in fact some where glad for it.  pris was quiet, she was occupied, and the eccentric girl had so many doctor's notes in her file that most of the teachers who did have a problem gave up fighting that fight by the end of last year.  before during and after her answer to donald she remained on the floor, her head bowed and hair over her face as her eyes were directed down at the pace her fingers were smudging colors over.

"Things with numbers? that... sounds thrilling." Said donald with a bit of chipper in his voice, maybe trying to perk her up, crawling over to the edge of the bed and plopping down on the corner,  reaching over to scratch her head." and he let his head hang down over the corner. "How're you feeling prissy?"

"i don't know.  i wasn't paying attention."  if nothing else, at least pris was honest?  despite his chipper pris was answering in the same tone of voice that she'd used with her first answer, a distant, flat tone.  she didn't even purr when donald scratched the top of her head, which was most unlike her.  while there were breaks in the behavior, this was pris for the past two weeks.  morose and mostly quiet, constantly putting all of her attention on her sketchbook if her eyes were glassed over with some far-away inner journey.  she had just started the drawing in her lap, so there wasn't much to decipher beyond a series of lines.  she huffed softly at his second question, mumbling back.  "that's a doctor question.  bad duck."  and of course, because it was a doctor question asking her to articulate her feelings - which she was very bad at feeling, much less articulating - pris didn't answer him.

"It's only a doctor question if I'm being a doctor prissy...but I'm not being a doctor... I just want to know how you're feeling... so I can be a good duck and help you feel better... So, by not asking. I'm being a bad duck." he still scratched at the top of her head though, because that tended to help her sometimes.

"i don't want to go to school.  i want to stay here."  want wasn't quite the same thing as mood, but it was the closest pris could get to articulating how she felt.  she even changed the sentence to insert the word feel, to see if that worked better.  "i don't feel like school.  sending me to school is being a bad duck."  her fingers paused on the page, showing that pris was willing to stop her artmaking to have a conversation with him, even if she didn't look up.  the problem was, only a few seconds went by before pris didn't like how still she was.  so she closed her fingers so that only her thumb was sticking out, and she proceeded to start coloring it with the alizarin crimson she had in her hand, like she had a mind to color her whole thumb red.  her head titled slightly in response to his scratching and a very long sigh came from her.  at least around donald she felt safe enough to sigh her feelings.  most people didn't even get that.

"I know you don't want to go to school. I know its probably been hard, but you really do have to go Prissy, " or have someone  home school you, but donald himself wasn't qualified to do that, nor did he have the time to offer her a proper education. "What do you feel like if you don't feel like school?"

pris made a very big snarl face when he told her that she had to go to school.  she shoved her sketchbook off her lap in a protesting push, and threw alizarin crimson away with a careless toss over her shoulder.  it was the kind of behavior she used to act out with at her doctor's all the time.  making sure her doctor knew that the things he said, the questions he asked, and the demands he made of her had consequences.  at least with donald the consequences were smaller.  so far.  with her artmaking supplies out of reach, she flopped down on his floor, mostly rolled over on her stomach though she pulled her legs upward in an echo of a fetal position.  smushing her cheek against the floor.  "staying here.  right here.  i can make sure your things stay folded while you're gone.  and keep the bed warm so that it's ready for your nap when you get home.  i can't do those things if i'm at school."  pris was obviously trying to paint it as a win-win situation.

Donald slid more off the bed so that he could reach her better on the floor, petting her hair back and out of her face so he could see it." I would like that a great deal... I mean whats better then having all of my clothes folded? I think I'd like a Prissy with a high school diploma too.. and I think Prissy would like a high school diploma as well."

pris hair was a color mess.  whatever she'd used to dye her hair that light golden blonde was washing its way out.  underneath the strands were either black, the color that was most often in her hair, or a light brown, the color that it was naturally.  she didn't seem to care that she had three-tone hair, which wasn't normal for pris who usually paid such compulsive attention to her appearance.  even what she wore today was a mish mosh of things she'd had on all week.  how pris dressed and fixed herself up wasn't just for vanity, it was a doctor-taught fixation that was supposed to help her with mirrors and her illness.  the fact that she hadn't been paying attention to herself, well, no wonder she was staring off in lala land so much during class.  her vision was probably warping, and god knows what she was seeing within the classroom walls.  pris was being careless, and she was being careless because the deeper she let herself sink out of her driver's seat, the less she had to deal with her feelings - the more she was disassociated from them.  pris had never been able to deal well with her feelings, even when she was a young girl.  "having me fold them.  only me.  no one else folds my duck's clothes."  with her face uncovered, pris was looking at donald with melancholy in her eyes and features.  her tone that same distant and flat mumble.  "a high school diploma isn't going to fold duck's clothes."

"well I can fold my own clothes too, while you're at school, because you can't just fold clothes your entire life. You'd get bored... are you hungry prissy?" Donald's tone was trying very hard to sound normal and not concerned, which is what he was, as pris was behaving extraordinarily strange these past few days.

"i can too!"  at least she broke her morose flat tone.  if she were standing up she would have stomped her foot there, but because she was laying on the floor she smacked it angrily twice with her hand to help make her point.  "that's what the people-vultures at the mall do!  they swoop over the tables of shirts and they glare at you while they're folding all the ones you touched and they report you to the bigger people-vultures who are on the other end of their radios..."  pris was talking about the headsets the employees wore to talk to each other in certain clothing stores.  she ended her outburst with a very large huff, and proceeded to roll over to lay flat on her stomach mushing her face in her arms.  "no."  whenever food was mentioned, the answer lately had been no.

"Yes, but those people aren't happy folding clothes... because they don't have high school diplomas..." Donald said softly, adjusting his laying so that he could give her side a little tickling pinch." You cant keep refusing to eat prissy."

[. . .to be continued. . .]

[Guest]

"i can too!"  this time her tone had a high-pitched whine tugging at the words, because donald was tickle-pinching.  she squirmed in jerky motions on the floor, rolling back onto her side with another very large huff that was just like the last one.  back on her side she could put her big green eyes on donald and his tickle-pinchers, and make sure he didn't sic them on her again.  she was giving him squinty-eyes, but it was a squint without anger or suspicion.  the squinty-eyes and the rest of her expression spoke more to the general dissatisfaction and  unhappiness he'd been feeling ever since that night in the newport news cemetery.  "i can.  no no no no no no no.  see.  no.  you eat.  i'll watch.  i'll watch and fold your shirts for practice."

"Pris, if you dont eat you'll get sick, and I'll be really very distraught. and then i wont be able to eat. which would make me sick. and then well, we'd both be sick,and that would be bad for everyone...."Donald was speaking as he always did, trying to speak in logic circles that would leave her without wiggle room in her silly teenage logic circles that she was constantly able to find." I don't have any shirts that need folding, we did them all the other day."

well he'd done it.  his shirts were folded and he'd stolen her wiggle room.  this didn't leave pris with a lot of options.  she squinted her eyes even more at him, so that he'd barely be able to see the green.  then she said only, "huff."  she would have to rely on the only argument she had left - keeping his bed warm for when he needed it for a nap.  from the floor, she slithered her way to the side of his bed and ducked under any blankets that where hanging off the side of it, so that when she crawled up on the bed she would be covered up in a mound of softness.  from underneath the blanket coverings, she named the only thing she would consider eating right now.  "potatoes."  of course.

"I knew it! which is why I got you this!" Donald rolled over to the other side of his bed, and opened the drawer to his night stand, from which he pulled a container of potato salad, and he knew it was the kind she liked because she'd liked it last time. it was even still cool from when he bought it at the deli. With the salad in his possession he rolled back over next to the large mound of blankies. and pulled them down to see prissy." here you are. nice potatoes for prissy."

when he moved the mound of blankets, a whine came from pris that could rival a dog whistle in pitch, and the sound lasted as long as she had air in her lungs to fuel it.  she wanted to make absolutely certain that her most precious duck knew how cross she was with being uncovered.  out of protest, pris didn't even sit up when he set the potatoes down in front of her on the mattress.  instead she would eat them just as she was, which was laying on her side in a quasi-fetal position that was very similar to how she'd situated herself on the floor a moment ago.  with the fork she speared a single potato-saladed potato and ate it, before spearing another single potato-saladed potato, and so on.  at this rate it would take her a solid hour to eat the whole bowl, but at least she was making an effort.

"Ow, and thank you for making sure my super human hearing still worked." a small bit of mirth in donald's voice, when he got nice and situated next to her, watching her eat for a moment." how do they taste? as good as usual?"

"boom."  that's who pris thought of when she thought of super human hearing.  she certainly wasn't asking for thor, though.  she and thor did not have the best relationship.  pris was eating her potatoes like clockwork, one bit by one bit.  when donald sat on the bed next to her, she shifted her position enough that she could rest her head on his thigh.  after that, she closed her eyes for a minute.  long enough that one had to wonder if the girl was planning on taking a nap right then and there.  but she answered his question, finally, with a simple. "uh huh."  just like her first answer about school, while one might think that was a parental-placater answer for pris she actually put a lot of effort into that 'uh huh'.  to make sure donald didn't feel badly about the potatoes.  the potatoes were fine.  it wasn't their fault or donald's that she didn't feel well lately.

When she rest her head on his thigh. he lowered a hand to pet at her head, giving her head a few little scratchies."Have you drawn anything nice lately at school?" he knew she drew a lot while she was at school, and since she wouldn't talk about how she was feeling, he was going to try a different angle.

the petting was enough to make pris close her eyes again.  while he wouldn't see it outwardly, the gesture brought a quiet to her thoughts and eyes that was a lot more balanced than how she felt when she wasn't around donald or in his room.  this was probably why she wanted to stay with him or at the very least in his room, rather than venturing outside where things warped.  after a few moments, she sighed.  she didn't say anything though.  pris just moved her bowl of potatoes out of the way so she could roll forward, reaching off the side of the bed to grab her abandoned sketchbook.  when she rolled back over to her spot, she plunked the sketchpad on donald's lap so that he could look for himself.  then, she placed her head back on his thigh, moved her bowl of potatoes over, and continued eating something so that he could be happy and not get sick.  if donald looked through the sketchbook, he'd find nearly the entire thing centered around two figures.  while the figures had varying levels of detail depending on the style and method of her artmaking, the proportions between the two figures was always exactly the same, as was the gender.  the larger figure was the male, and the smaller the female.  while the circumstances were different in every drawing, they were always separated in some fashion whether by something concrete and realistic like a chasm in one drawing, or by what looked like putrid smoke or bile in another.  from what details the various drawings had, donald would be able to recognize the man as officer donnelley.  there was enough details to know that the smaller female was not pris.  it was donnelley's daughter, pris' once-upon-a-time daughter amanda.

Donald didn't say anything while he read through her sketchbook. turning the pages in silence , wheels turning in his own head, drawing the various conclusions of his own."Is this girl his daughter?"

pris nodded against his leg.  that single question was enough to make her not really want food anymore.  her stomach churned, and she shifted as she felt it knot.  the bowl of potatoes and the fork were placed away from her, and more in front of him.  she figured donald would put it back where he got it.  now that she wasn't eating she could really relax the weight of her head against his leg, and pris closed her eyes.  a hand reached downward, feeling around until she felt the corner of a blanket, which she proceeded to tug up over herself up to her chin.  in each drawing, the focus of amanda donnelley was on her father and the fact that she could not get to him.  in many there was simply a sense of desperation, anger, fear or so on.  in others the girl was trying to get to him in vain.  in a few others, while it was clearly amanda that was drawn the manner of her clothes and sometimes even her hair was very much like pris, as was the girl's expression and body posture.  as if pris felt that amanda was going to 'turn into' her, because her daddy was killed just like pris' own father had died.  the fact amanda had lost her father because pris wanted to visit her own in the cemetery was the central cause for pris' melancholy desire to go nowhere and simply stay with the one person she felt safest with - her duck.

He took the hint and picked up the potatoes, which where placed on his night stand. hand going back to petting her hair."My good friend Tony is making sure that she and mrs donnelley are going to be alright..." if that helped at all, Donald had called in that favor the day they got back, when pris was asleep. of course there was another task that needed doing, but he wasn't going to mention to pris that Thor was going to strong arm Benjamin for the officers souls.

[. . .to be continued . . .]

[Guest]

pris was quiet as donald pet her hair.  his leg was warm, and under the blanket was warm, and her mind was feeling much more still than it had all day when she was at school.  she didn't have to watch donald look through her drawings, she knew what each depicted because they were all images that had passed through her mind ever since the night at the cemetery.  drawing the pictures had been her attempt to get the thoughts out of her mind, but it hadn't worked.  either the same pictures happened again or different ones took their place.  she rubbed her cheek against his leg making a soft little whine sound.  she didn't open her eyes even when she asked her question.  "was daddy donnelley supposed to die?"

That was a hard question. loaded in several ways, but Pris wasn't a small child he needed to pad information for so his first thought was the answer she got. "No, he didn't... his life was stolen away..." he continued to pet her hair, scratching on her scalp a bit. taking a slow deep breath. Donald maybe felt as if it was partly his fault, the officer only died because donald had been taunting Benjamin.

pris didn't seem surprised by the answer.  it was the answer she suspected to be true already, the scenes of her drawings depicted that.  what donald was thinking to himself, he wasn't the only one who felt guilty.  her drawings showed that, too.  but for the first time since they'd come home from the cemetery she said it aloud.  "if i hadn't gone to visit daddy it wouldn't have happened.  daddy donnelley wouldn't have been stolen."  it was the closest pris was going to come to talking about her feelings.  she spoke what was on her mind through facts.  or at least what she thought were facts, dots connected by her compulsive, eccentrically logical mind.  curled against donald, she was very much still under the blankets and her eyes didn't open not even for a second.  as if she was trying to convince herself that she was sleeping.

"No, thats not true, Officer Donnelley would have been taken eventually. That was part of his job. To protect, or die doing it..." donald's petting of her head didn't stop ether, just slow constant pettings. coupled with a scratch every now and then. "If you ask me, I don't think that he regretted dying trying to protect. Officer Donnelley deserves a seat in Valhalla." not that he expected Pris to know what that means, but hell she could ask couldn't she?

"why would he want to die protecting me.  mandy was mean to me.  and he thought i needed medicine.  they both think i deserve a room with pillows for walls.  no one protected my gran in her room with pillows for walls.  no one protected my daddy from the rope.  they just whispered.  all the time.  and that's what people at school do now.  they don't say things to me because lumie's there but i still hear them whisper."  it was the first time since she came home from school that pris' voice broke out of that flat, distant tone and became anything but.  her voice was angry and her face looked ugly with anger too.  "do people deserve seats when they whispered about people?  where's my daddy sitting?  what about my gran?  does anyone care about them or do the other stones just whisper behind their backs?"  no wonder pris wasn't saying very much.  the things that were knocking around in her addled brain were complex thoughts that didn't lead to any peace of mind, or even any real answers.  they were the kind of thoughts that caused spirals, and pris had been spiraling on them for nearly two weeks now.

Well Donald certainly had not known all of that. otherwise he wouldn't have said that bit about valhalla."I... I don't know Pris.. People do things that they think will make them feel better when they're afraid...I think Officer Donnelley wants to protect you because he cared. because he's afraid for you." donald looked remorseful, in his words, eyes watching hers. "You're father and your grandmother found their peace prissy. The tombstones do not whisper. they sit silent. only waiting to show their story. I'd like to think that they both house seats in the halls... "

"why is he afraid for me?  did he look at me and see teeth?  there are no teeth.  and i don't have birds living in my eye sockets.  and i don't have an empty chest.  i don't know what i have.  when i look into the mirror i don't see me unless i'm getting dressed or changing my hair and if i'm doing those things i just see me doing that i don't see what's inside.  is what's inside scary?  are you afraid of me?  is dommy afraid of me and that's why he left again?  i don't DO anything and people are afraid.  and then i do SOMETHING like the day with mister math and people are afraid.  it's not fair.  and you're making me go back there."  pris sat up, kicking the blankets of her legs and getting out of the bed.  "at least in a room with pillows for walls there aren't any eyes looking at me like i'm wrong."  she snatched up her sketchbook, clutching it to her chest.  "i talked to daddy.  i saw into his stone and he said things.  don't tell me he was silent.  he wasn't."  pris glared at donald, with a look on her face like she was daring him to be like all the rest of them - her doctor included - and tell her that she didn't 'really' speak to her father.  she knew she did.

"Prissy, I didn't mean to say that he was afraid of you. I meant he feared for you...you where a pretty young girl out in a graveyard all by yourself. He didn't know you where talking to your father." donald housed one of the deities of the norse pantheon he couldn't say anything about wether or not she talked to her father. "I'm not afraid of you, and neither is dommy. Dommy went to work so that he could provide a good life for you." Donald could cut open a human body and know exactly how to fix whatever was wrong. but when it came to a teenage girl he was at a bit of a loss right now. and he trailed off for a moment." I see you Pris... no matter what you're doing... and nothing you do will ever make me afraid of you."

"i was with my daddy."  grumbled reluctantly to refute donald's clarification.  daddy donnelley knew her father, there was no reason for him to be afraid that pris was with him.  pris huffed very emphatically and loudly when donald added that bit about dommy.  she was a girl who needed a lot of attention in order to feel safe so the fact that she had a brother that spent most of his days out of town wasn't helping her, at all.  dommy was gone so much of the time that pris was starting to forget how to feel safe with him, how to feel comfortable.  she didn't want to talk about him, and she was sorry that she brought him up.  when donald said he saw her pris bowed her head, biting her lower lip that wanted to tremble. what he said caused too many feelings, and none of them were easy for her to talk about. so she talked about something else.  "but for me," she countered as she stepped closer to the bed.  "you're afraid for me?  just like daddy donnelley is?"

[Guest]

Donald moved so that he was sitting with his feet hanging off the side of the bed and when she asked her question, stepping closer to the bed again. "I am afraid for you, sometimes... like when you don't say anything all day and also refuse to eat for days at a time... but when you eat, and say things it goes away a bit." he spoke true and offered a small nod. fingers laced together in his lap.

pris thought about donald's answer.  after considering it, giving the dots in her mind the time to redraw lines and make new connections, pris seemed to accept his answer as one that was okay.  she nudged herself even closer to the bed, sliding her sketch pad onto the bed to one side.  it didn't matter to her that donald had his hands in his lap and that they were folded so nicely, pris had made her decision and that was to sit down in his lap.  her light weight went plop on top of his lap and folded hands like she was a little rag doll, and she rested her head on his shoulder and heaved a great big sigh.  after that first sigh, there was a pause.  and then a second sigh followed, that was just as large as the first.  after that second sigh, pris picked up her head and she whisper whispered very softly into his ear, "i'll say things and eat if i don't have to go to school."  the discussion had come full circle, back to the initial topic of debate - school.

He moved her a bit so that he could pull his hands from underneath her. and wrapped them around her body giving the girl a tight squeeze. "you can't not go to school prissy... is there any other compromise that we can reach?" a little playful pinch to her side. "because school is important and you have to go."

"HUFF."  that's what pris had to say about compromise.  after that huff, she added a very long, very high-pitched whine which would let him know just how displeased she was, in case he had any doubt about it.  "bad duck."  which is exactly what she said before.  but she was going to up the ante a little bit through repetition.  "bad duck bad duck bad duck bad duck bad duck."  she hoped if she kept repeating it, donald would see the err in this decision and decide that pris had been right all along.  some part of her knew that she could just shoot back with, 'you're not my parent i don't have to listen to you' but the fact of the matter was...she wanted to listen to donald.  he was her most precious duck and what he said was most precious, even if she didn't agree with it.  she felt comfortable and safe with him because she believed very much that he had her best interests in mind.  she pressed her lips together and blew a loud disobedient raspberry before she finally came up with a possible compromise.  "then duck needs to come to school too."

"I may be a bad duck, but that doesn't mean that you get to skip school." and he gave her side a poke, and a bit of a pinch as well.  and then he shook his head."No prissy, I have work, i cant go to school with you... what if Lumie came over and helped you with your homework?"

pris squirmed on his lap, pushing him with protest fingers and adding another shrill little whine to all the other whines she'd let fly tonight.  until her fingers got the bright idea to pinch on the left side of his chest through his shirt.  she knew just where the piercing was, because she had been there the day he got it and it was her that nagged him to get the piercings until he did.  after pinching she gave it a retaliatory yank.  "no.  this is my duck time.  i'm not doing homework during my duck time."  homework would get done when and if it got done, because it wasn't really her issue with going to school.  it was being in the building with all those people, none of whom made her feel safe besides lumie.  she didn't like it.  more than ever she felt like a piece of seaweed being jostled around the building like she was caught in the same set of waves every day. she was getting metaphorically seasick.

"Ow!" and he reached up and gave her spider a yank as well and then narrowed his eyes a bit. and then when he was pleased that his revenge was complete he gave another nod and then spoke up again. "Alright, well since thats not going to work, it looks like you're going to go to school and then talk and eat food too."

pris yowled when he yanked, but at the end of that yowl was a smile.  the very first smile since she'd come home from school, and probably one of a precious few since they'd come back from the cemetery.  she linked her arms around his neck, and nestled his cheek in the warm crook between said neck and his shoulder.  "i love you duck," she murmured with a slur that put the words in her mush-speak.  that was as close as donald was going to get to an agreement go to school, talk and eat.  when it came down to it, pris would hop on one foot and sing the national anthem if he said that's what she had to do to stay here in his room with him.  she'd come very attached to being his roommate, whether he liked having a seventeen-year-old morose little cling-on or not.

[. . .end of log for board! ]

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