Flames And Blades

Chapter Twelve: Sweater Weather

I wake up, still in the car with a blanket or jacket on me. One that smells of old spice and books. I immediately wish to keep it, almost ask where its form, but refuse to open my eyes; the sun is blazing through the windows and I don't like it one bit. The boys are having a conversation anyways, and I want to eavesdrop without blowing my cover. Even though I have no clue what they're talking about, or, more closely related, who.

"What are we going to do with her? She clearly doesn't know what's going on, hasn't accepted it fully at least, and almost got herself killed last night."

"We don't even know what's going on completely. And she is more than capable of protecting herself given the right surge of anger."

"Yes, but we still need a game plan. And food."

I do indeed agree with food, but want to know who they are talking about, I continue to lay still, unmoved and with deep breaths, pretending to be asleep. The boys keep driving on, not a pause in the conversation.

"Okay, first stop a diner, Luce told me her favourite place and suckered the waiter into telling us her usual. Then back to camp and I think I know how to get through to her."

Warrison hits a speed bump a bit too fast before Adam can respond, with enough force for me to smack my head of the window with a very audible thwack! One that I am not at all thankful for. "Man, I can't break this car too. Take it easy, either for my skulls sake or the cars longevity, please." I mumble. Still very tired and nuzzle my head further into the jacket.

With this, I can feel them smiling at each other. Followed by the clicking and swishing of someone leaving the car. Then, even more silence. I close my eyes, in a little mount Olympus made of just me, myself and I. The perfect personal cloud.

Only opening them to smell of food, my favourite. And Warrison staring at me. Adam too by the looks of it. Both in such a way that seems controlled, concerned and amused,

I want to ask the both of them why, but find myself stopping at how someone got me food. Poutine and grilled cheese, coming from the smell and familiar lumpage of the bag it came in.

"Food! Food is good!" I practically lunged at the bag like a child. Arms outstretched, being halted by the seat belt. At this, Warrison and Adam smile with huge grins spreading across their faces. They look at each other and burst out into a gentle laughter of sorts.

And, for a moment, all I wanted to do was smack them.

But when Warrison gets in the car, and hands me the bag, bantering with Adam, we eat and drive as if it was just a regular family occurrence. Once everyone has finished, Adam and Warrison explain themselves.

"So, Indi, we have to tell you something serious." Warrison starts.

"Yeah, so does everyone, apparently using my weakness of food to make me listen. Not groovy dude." The food, jacket and overdose of sleep have made me a little drunk.

"Well, she's most definitely high." Adam whispers, smirking when I kick the back of his seat.

"Am not," I murmur.

"Your spacing in between syllables declares otherwise," Adam laughs even harder, and tosses his water bottle over to me.

"Okay, children, serious conversation time now." Warrison, sounding fatherly as ever.

"Dude you're harshing my mellow. Not Bodacious of you to serious talk a lady after food." Not a clue where the new vintage slang of mine came to play, but still agreeing with myself. He should lighten up a bit, let go of the weight that's taking over his under eye circles and forever tensing his shoulders.