DETERRENT - Apply Fic

25

At the beginning of the eighth week, Rhiannon Rose is happy to see the rain go. The following three weeks flow together like water, hazy and misty like her reflection in a puddle. She is tired of not seeing fire.

They have bonfires twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays. The itch is not the same though. Benji seals all of the lighters and any tool he can think of and puts them somewhere she cannot find, despite her attempts to tear apart the house. She dismembers her arm during the nineth week to pull out a magnifying glass, which she uses to set small fires on the nights where permission isn't given. She burns the dried leaves and husks in the shed. Surely, Benji will notice they are gone, and surely he won't give a damn.

Rhiannon Rose otherwise tries to keep herself busy. Anyone who needs her help, gets it. Trouble with the irrigation system? She's less than happy to offer her services but more than willing. Flirtations thrown her way, she sends them right back, smirking lips and smooth words.

It's awful. She cannot wait to return to Neo Elysium, to become Hestia once more. If Serment is right, and there is a Hell for those who do not fear God, she is more than happy to banish herself to such a place. Where heat and fire reign supreme, Rhiannon Rose lives. She is little else if not a phoenix.

At one of the bonfires, Norbu tells a story about a town of ghosts gone up in flames. Rhiannon Rose feels heat pool in the deepest recesses of her soul. Yes, surely there is a Hell. She will do what she can so as not to beg the devil to let her in.

~~~

At the beginning of the eighth week, Cosmia is assigned along with Rhiannon Rose and Calath to sort out the irrigation system. Benji appoints Cosmia as the lead on the project, offering her any tools she might need, and as much time as it will take.

Rhiannon Rose is surprisingly more invested than Cosmia expected. Perhaps she is happy to be rid of the rougher weed-picking duties. Cosmia herself is relieved. The three rise at the same time as the others, so that they can touch the metal pipes before they are ablaze under the mid-day heat.

By the ninth week, Cosmia gets up early to set up tarps, protecting their skin from the sun's harsh rays. It is starting to cool down, and Cosmia's skin is already the darkest it has ever been. The lines that slice her body are harsh, exacting.

It is hard to catch Benji. He is often chatting to the new farm workers. They are assigned the hard labour that she was forced to do for weeks and weeks. When he isn't there, he is locked up in his office on the second story of his home. On her breaks, Cosmia stands at the bottom of the stairs, listening to see if he is coming down.

When he is washing dishes in the kitchen after a bonfire at the end of the tenth week, Cosmia hops up onto the countertop and peers at him.

"You leave a lot," she says.

He shrugs, "I've got a lot of things to do."

"Like?" she asks.

In her hands, she holds a wet towel. Her hands were sticky from the slice of cherry pie she shared with Gale, and though the residue is gone the smell lingers. Sweet, not just cherries but nutmeg, perfume her clothes. It is better than the smell of the bonfire, of burnt wood, that she'll certainly smell in the morning.

Benji looks at Cosmia and sighs, "it's a family thing, you know."

Cosmia thinks of the photos on the living room wall. Two younger sisters. Mae Mullins, the girl with something wrong with her who might be married soon, according to the Greens. Emma Mullins, the one who could never say no to a party, allegedly.