[open] I loved your eyes, but I won't miss them...

[Meredith]

... because they don't believe these lies that I tell myself.

One of these things is not like the others.
One of these things just doesn't belong.

That "thing" was Meredith Monroe, leader of the prefects, posed with her legs crossed on an old wooden chair in a secluded room of the West Tower. Her light locks, violet eyes, pale skin, and 5'8" stature made her a difficult figure not to notice, as evidenced by the Battlefront members who peered through the door frame in confusion, only to slink away with eyes downcast as soon as the prefect leader shot a glare. 

At that moment, though, the onlookers could have an eye-full of Meredith, whose appearances were becoming increasingly scarce, if they so pleased. All of her attention was focused on the unlucky Battlefront member who had volunteered to be at her assistance that day--probably a newer member hoping to prove something to Calista by being helpful to her sister, not that Meredith had asked for any details on her guinea pig of the day. She needed a target for practicing, and the well-protected West Tower was ideal to minimize casualties. She would have had one of her prefects do the job, only it was suspicious enough having one in the Tower.

The nervous electric manipulator fidgeted as Meredith focused on power suppression. She honed all her thoughts in on sucking away the student's abilities, leaving him temporarily virtually powerless. Taking a deep breath, she turned her palm up out of habit and wiggled a few fingers, like some sort of Hail Mary Hocus Pocus gesture to increase her probability of success, before whispering, "Now."

The second-rate electric manipulator closed his eyes, and suddenly, the room seemed to pulse with energy. The light bulbs in the hanging chandelier glowed brightly and menacingly while the whole chandelier shook, until the light bulbs crumbled, and the whole contraption toppled to the floor, giving just enough warning for the battlefront member to scream and tumble to safety. His eyes widened in horror, clearly shocked at the newly broadened capacity she had temporarily given his powers.

Meredith buried her face in her palm and forced back tears.

 "I'll, uh, pay for that," the student offered. She laughed through the frustration.

"It's not your fault. Sorry I almost killed you. You can go," she replied briefly. 

"Uh, Miss Monroe? M-M-M-Meredith?"

"What?" Normally, her responses would have been warmer, but her patience had been worn thin that day by her own incompetence at controlling her own powers. She was supposed to be the famous, all-powerful Meredith Monroe. What would they do when they figured out that she was just Mer, the weaker Monroe twin, whose leader of a counterpart was already decaying in the ground?

"Y-Your hands," the student informed her.

"Huh?" Meredith looked at her pale hands and realized that in her frustration and seething, she had triggered cell death from her fingers, down her wrists, all the way to her elbows, leaving jagged bloody trails. The sight aggravated her even further. Cell manipulation was supposed to be the ability she could control.

"It's fine, I'm fine. Please go," she dismissed, quickly patching up the cuts with her ability and hastily wiping the blood on her white dress. The student looked on with disgust for a moment, then realized what was best for him and scurried out of the room. Once again, Meredith was alone, and the place was silent.

"Damn it!" Something seemed to possess the prefect to stand up and throw her tiny, pale, ineffectual fist into the stone wall with all her might. The wall shrugged apathetically, though her fist was left bruised and quite possibly cracked. She groaned and slunk to the floor.

[Julian Mercer]

you better, you bet

i don't really mind
how much you love me
a little is alright
when you say come over
and spend the night tonight

The students were assembled outside of the room containing Meredith, staring, as if they might have seen a ghost.

"Go check on her... She's the prefect leader," one of the girls nudged an older male by her side.

"You go see." The boy objected with a definitive shake of his head.

"Have you guys seen my bag? I left it in here. We need the key to show this kid around," Julian's guide quizzed, rummaging through a disorganized closet.

Julian moved silently past them, knocking lightly on the door the electric manipulator had closed, before letting himself into the room.

"Hey... Are you-" Jude's question was automatic, but when his blue eyes settled on Meredith, his expression faltered. She was bleeding, with shattered glass littering the floor near a chandelier. Jude pushed the door closed behind him before approaching Meredith.

"Are you okay?" Julian began again, the slightest bit less automated this time as the sixteen year old knelt down beside Meredith.

NOTES | woah it's been ages!

ulla

[Meredith]

Meredith's head and back were still pressed against the stone wall, her eyes closed to shut out the judgment of any passing students, peering past the door that Mer's guinea pig of the day had neglected to close. The woman was so tired of trying to be the dignified beacon of strength that the school had come to expect. A part of her wanted to walk right into the heavily trafficked courtyard and shout, "Here I am! Watch me unravel." It would have been so much easier than her current routine: stuffing all her emotions into a bottle, locked away but certain to explode at any moment, announcing to the island that their leader, their protector, was a weakling and a fraud.

With her self-pity up and her guard down, it was not the most opportune moment for a stranger to approach her and ask an innocent question.

"Do I look okay?" she retorted unkindly, squeezing her eyes shut and savoring it, knowing that in about a moment, she would have to open them and resume being a polite human. When she finally opened them and took a look at the person kneeling beside her, Meredith's face dropped. It really was a stranger: not a prefect she had recruited or approved, not a battlefront member she had studied. No, this student in front of her had nothing to do with the war. She knew because his face did not register even a vague recollection in the leader's mind, and more importantly, he did not know better than to wander into the war zone that was the West Tower.

"You can't be here," she added suddenly. Never mind that she was the prefect commander and that to some, it would seem she really wasn't supposed to be there. That was a technicality. She was, in a way, an honorary Battlefront member and a family member of Calista's, earning a reluctant, begrudging ceasefire from the militant guerilla group which was otherwise not so kind to its intruders. Not waiting for a response, she walked toward the door to shut it.