a hopeless romantic | r.s

Chapter Nine

When Lane awoke, the first thing she noticed was that she wasn't outside. That alone was almost enough to send her into a blind panic.

Imagine her surprise when she quickly discovered that she was bound to a chair.

And as if that hadn't already been bad enough, she then realized that she was also back inside the Refuge.

Her day just kept getting better and better.

"Good ta see yer awake."

She snapped her gaze towards the door, already on edge, and snarled when she recognized Oscar and Morris. Hadn't she already ended that chapter of her life? "Is dere a reason Ise he-ah, in tha Refuge, stuck in dis chair? And wit you two, no less."

Each brother stood on either side of the dark, doorless frame, and Lane mentally remarked that she'd never seen them look so orderly in her life. "Ya ain't he-ah fa us ta toy wit," Morris growled, although the way he said it certainly sounded like that's what he wished to be doing.

"Give it a minute or two," Lane muttered sarcastically, gazing warily at the empty chair that was placed before her. "Ise sure I'll wear ya down enough ta get a couple 'a hits in by den."

"No need," A new voice spoke, clear and feminine, and Lane watched carefully as Frisks slowly emerged from the dark doorway, putting her hands on the chair that was placed in front of Lane. "Like he said, ya ain't he-ah fa dem."

"Frisks," Lane said flatly. "Ta what do I owe dis pleasure?"

"Oh," Frisks began, laughing hysterically, "ya have no idea, Lane. Where ta even start?"

Lane clenched her jaw, glowering at the girl. Only a week had passed since Smalls had been proclaimed dead- she'd been in the room when Jack had come back to the theater where Spot had been questioning her, face drained of colour, and had told them the news.

That had effectively ended her questioning, thankfully. Half of the questions Spot had just had to ask her were things that she hadn't even told Finch. Even Trek, for that matter. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. Especially the moments when she refused to answer, and they'd spent the next few moments in awkward silence.

"Was it you?" Lane demanded. "Did ya kill dat goil?"

Frisks sighed, looking far too casual for someone who was number one on her 'Lane's Bad Side' list. "Maybe we should start wit tha part where we-"

"Maybe we should start wit tha part where ya turned all those Refuge kids inta a buncha blind little revenge-seek-ah's!" Lane bit out, impatiently cutting her off.

Frisks waved her away halfheartedly, tapping her lip, staring at her in smug contemplation. "Impatient as ev-ah, I see. Ise surprised ya didn't try ta get out yet. Where's yer knives? Ya used ta be handy wit those things."

"Well, I didn't exactly plan on gettin' kidnapped anytime soon, wit tha Refuge bein' gone fa good," Lane growled, shifting around in her seat, trying to break free from the ropes that held her down. "I hope ya don't plan on keepin' me he-ah fa much long-ah. Ya think I don't have anythin' bett-ah ta do wit me time?"

"Ya won't leave dat chair until I say ya can," Frisks suddenly snapped, temper suddenly lost.

Lane, not having the energy to deal with whatever Frisks had planned, sighed deeply. Her tongue felt heavy with the musty air. "And why won't I?"

"'Cause we got rid 'a Brock." Frisks crossed her arms, watching as Lane's eyes narrowed. She had known it was them, but Frisks confirming it made it all too real. "And, unfortunately fa you, yer little newsboy was tha foist ta find him."