Vivamus, Moriendum est (Rorschach x oc)

10. I Walk the Line of this Poor Heart of Mine

Mary's P.O.V.

Voices filled the kitchen downstairs. I heard them as I traversed down the stairs. 

Soft rays of light filtered into the windows of the living room. A nice perk of being so high up I suppose. Not many other buildings to block out your light. 

The voices cut out abruptly as I came into the room and my presence was noted. 

Geraldine sat perched at the counter on one of our stools. She clutched a mug close to her.

Irene stood in the kitchen. Her face in a slight grimace. Irene swatted at the smoke emitting from the woman standing next to her. My mother, Bernice O'Hannigan. She made drags on a short cigarette. Making Irene highly uncomfortable. She hated smoking and usually those who partook in the activity.

Bernice was a slender woman. Slightly shorter than Irene, though no less intimidating. Irene commanded respect and awe at her beauty. Bernice may had been beautiful. A long time ago. Years of hard labor on a farm did that to you. She commanded fear rather than respect.

Her and Geraldine looked the most a like in the family. Everyone said so. I guess it was true. Bernice was just older and with a bit more wear and tear. She didn't care as much for appearances as Geraldine. The two of them had brown hair a little darker than mine. Though Geraldine liked to insist (almost to a comical degree) that she was a blonde.

Bernice's hair was thinner and straighter despite the color being identical to Geraldine's. Her hair had become lighter as it was becoming streaked with silver. Her skin was permanently tanned from years in the sun. Wrinkled and rough. Her slender form came from her smoking and abuse of alcohol. Giving her a mildly sickly appearance. Despite the years of hard labor. Though she was much stronger than she looked.

She had dark hazel eyes that glittered nearly all the time. Though she wasn't one to coddle she wasn't cruel either. Though her eyes always seemed to have a hint of malice to them.

"Ah, there she is. Hairs soaked. Look like a weasel." Bernice greeted. She gave a raspy laugh before taking another drag of her cigarette.

Irene frowned slightly and awkwardly shuffled away. Bernice seemed not to notice.

"It's the new style." I grumbled. That earned another rasp of laughter.

"I don't believe that. Otherwise Ger would have her hair like that right now too."

I smirked discreetly at the nick name. Geraldine offered no reaction.

"Yes, well we don't have time to dry her hair. It'd take forever." Irene murmured rushing about gathering suitcases at the door and such. She gave the occasional glance back in my mother's direction. Knowing her I was willing to bet she was agonizing over the ash she imagined was piling onto the floor from Bernice's cigarette.

"Why not ask her to cut it? Save everyone the trouble."

"That's her choice." Irene sighed continuing to look busy tiding the place.

"My mother would have cut it off without askin'." Bernice chuckled.

"So would have mine." Irene murmured disinterested in the conversation.

"I know. She doin' it fer that boy o' hers? Where's he at? Fine young man he is. Funny but fine." Bernice rambled.

Irene straightened and gave Bernice a glare. They seemed to exchange a silent discussion with their eyes. Bernice seemed to have a touch of a realization that she'd done something wrong. Though she nodded solemnly at Irene.

I had an inkling what that was about. Though I chose to feign ignorance. It gave an excuse to acknowledge Walter's absence. To go along with the charade that other people cared besides me.