"Are the communists behind this?"
"No."
"So our government lied?"
"Our government is behind this!"
Did Scarlett think she would be involved in a huge...
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""It is not despair, for despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. We do not." ― J.R.R. Tolkien ｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡* ∞*⍋⋆*❅｡
In the Mayfield trailer, Scarlett had taken a damp towel and washed the caked blood and dirt off her face and hands. Afterwards, Robin, Steve and Eddie took turns in the bathroom after her to freshen up a little whilst the nurse in training returned to the living room with a bowl of water and a clean towel. The woman carefully rubbed down Nancy's hands and face, trying not to disturb the rattled girl any more than necessary. Some of them had managed to catch some sleep after the previous night's events, but not all of them, and certainly not for long. The adrenaline ran high.
Meanwhile, Blake had taken up the task of getting some food. She had plundered Eddie, Max, and her kitchen and returned with half a cold pepperoni pizza, a roll of digestive cookies, two apples, and Pop-Tarts. "Max, can I use your toaster?" She asked, holding up the box of treats, the younger redhead shook her head absently.
"It's broken."
Blake cursed internally before saying she'd be right back and crossing the grass to her own trailer. Her uncles were nowhere to be found, and Blake wondered where they were. Perhaps they were keeping the police away from the trailer park. Or maybe they were getting their tyres fixed, Blake reminded herself to pay for the damages. Were it not for her, her uncles would be far away from Hawkins, with intact tyres.
Inside, Blake entered the kitchen and tore open the box, digging out two Pop-Tarts, which she plopped into the toaster. "Fucking-" she grumbled, pushing the treats down a second time, only for them to jump up again.
"Are you losing a fight with a toaster?" Blake turned around, cheeks turning red as she spotted Robin. It probably wasn't appropriate to look at a good friend who had grime and blood on their clothes and looked like they'd been through hell and feel hot. In her defence, there was a dishevelled charm to Robin. Robin approached, and Blake turned back to the toaster.
"No, it's-" she pushed down the lever again, only for the tarts to pop up again. "Fine!" She slammed the lever down again to no avail. Her grippy hands reached out to pick up the toaster and use it as a weapon against Vecna or a demogorgon.
However, Blake's hands never made their way to the toaster as Robin's long fingers curled around Blake's wrists. "Calm down," Robin chuckled. "The toaster didn't do anything." She nudged Blake's hands aside and gently worked the toaster down, and it stuck.
Blake narrowed her eyes at the machine. "That was personal." She glared at the thing, and silently vowed to smash it.
"Yeah, the toaster definitely has it out for you," Robin mused, nodding seriously. She glanced over to Blake, indulging herself. Robin could have died without ever telling Blake the truth. Without ever getting an answer. And that perhaps was more terrifying than telling Blake the truth.
