all_the_gifts | (no subject)

Melanie stays in the woods, because she doesn't know what else to do. Nothing else is safe.

If Darrow has Hungries, she hasn't seen or smelled them. There probably aren't any -- otherwise, Sara wouldn't have been so surprised by her. And she would have been scared of her sooner, when it would have done her more good.

She keeps thinking about how scared Sara looked. She keeps thinking of how stupid it was to think this might just be a dream, or that she might not hurt people here.

Because she doesn't know how she got to Darrow, she can't figure out how to get back to London. She steers clear of houses, but she does try taking sudden, deliberate steps between two tree trunks, or into sunny clearings, to see if that will knock everything sideways again. It doesn't.

She keeps the mask on all the time, despite her solitude, because she doesn't want to take even the smallest chance of another outbreak. What if someone surprises her? It doesn't seem likely, but it could happen. She'll take it off when she needs to hunt, but that's all.

It feels strange to be taking such care with herself. Like a step backwards. But what she did in London made sense. In many ways, it was already done. Darrow isn't broken down like London, though, and there are people here who weren't born to this. Just because she finished it doesn't mean she wants to start it.

If that's what Darrow wanted her to do, it wouldn't have given her the mask in the first place.

The good news is that there are plenty of animals she can hunt in the woods. And as accustomed as she is to shelter and company, as much as she likes those things, she knows she can live without them. So she keeps on the move, staying as far from the city and its people as she can, killing time until she knows she has to hunt.

Hunting is something she puts off for as long as she can. The only time she lets her guard down is right after she's eaten, when she can't help it. It worries her to think that someone might come across her during that little stretch when she isn't paying attention, but there's not much she can do about it except hunt away from people and try to get her mask back on before she dozes off. At least if someone does find her, they'll find her when she's not hungry. It'll make it easier to get away without hurting them.

She means to hunt at night, to make it even less likely that anyone will find her, but she's never hunted in the woods before, and it's hard. There are more places for animals to run to, and fewer places where she might corner them. None of them are slow city creatures; they see her and they run, and they know how to run through forests better than she does.

By the time morning breaks, Melanie's getting desperate. She's made her way up a mountain, where there are some open slopes that have been cleared of trees. It's on one of these that she finally manages to catch a rabbit. Her hunger is bad enough that it's all she can do to make it to the treeline before crouching and tearing into her prize, finally, finally. Earlier, she had the presence of mind to slide her mask up her arm, where she wouldn't lose it; now, she doesn't remember to put it back on. She just slumps slowly to the ground, blood all down her front, the hunger reassuring her that she's all right, that nothing can harm her, that she has everything she needs and is perfectly safe.

She can rest.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Newt is out exploring the mountain today, a chance to see more of it and to escape for a bit the sweltering heat that seems fairly steady a trend in Darrow's recent weather patterns. He's left his suitcase at home, if only because he doesn't anticipate being out here too long. He's gathering some plants and herbs to add to his supply in his work shop, not wanting to run out in case of an emergency. In Darrow, said emergency could happen abruptly at any moment, so he always wants to be prepared.

He weaves his way between trees, keeping an eye out for any interesting creatures he might happen across during his venture.

He pauses when he reaches the very edge of the treeline, arrested by the sight of a young girl resting on the ground, some sort of mask on her arm and covered in blood. Alarmed, and trying not to show it, he abruptly abandons collecting herbs for the moment and makes his way over to the girl.

"Hello?" He calls out, walking slowly over to her so as not to startle her. "Are you all alone out here?"

A voice pulls her out of her doze, one with a more familiar accent than Sara's. Melanie blinks her eyes back into focus, half-expecting to see someone she recognizes, even though the voice doesn't sound like any of her teachers or the soldiers she knew. Instead, she finds a strange man in strange clothes staring down at her. He looks at her like Sara did, worried for all the wrong reasons, and Melanie sits up with a start.

She's not hungry. It's back in its box, sleeping, and she knows this is the safest she's likely to be. But she can still smell how human he is, under the host of other, strange, animal-like scents. She should have hidden herself better.

"Yes, sir. But I'm okay." She knows she doesn't look okay, and she self-consciously rubs her arm over her chin. The blood's had too much time to dry, and it barely makes a difference.

She almost says, I don't need help, but that would be a lie. It's just that he doesn't look any more likely to give her the help she needs than Sara.

She hopes Sara is okay.

She speaks with a familiar accent, which only further endears her to Newt. He doesn't try to come closer; not just yet. He won't approach her without asking her permission, first. He doesn't want to overwhelm or frighten the girl. She tells him she's okay, but Newt very much doubts it, considering she's alone in the woods, covered in drying blood.

"Are your parents around?" He ventures to ask. He can't imagine they would be, or she wouldn't be left alone the way she is currently. Still, he figures it can't hurt to ask.

"If not, is there someone I can call for you?" He asks. "How can I help?"

He's not about to leave a young girl alone to fend for herself in the woods.

"I don't have parents." She must have, once, but she wouldn't remember them. The nearest thing she probably has to a mother is Miss Justineau, and she's not here. Melanie feels a pang of regret at that -- not just because she misses her, but because she knows how much Miss Justineau would like it here. No Hungries. No Breakdown. Melanie never knew a world like this, but Miss Justineau remembers.

Melanie shifts a little when he asks if there's anyone he can call. The only person she's met is Sara, and Sara won't want to see her. Even if she does, what would be the use? If Melanie is going to be around anyone, it needs to be someone who's willing and able to keep her from hurting people. Sara might, especially now, but Melanie isn't certain that she would. Nor does she think Sara should have to. Melanie isn't her responsibility just because she met her first.

She gives the man a searching look. If he really wants to know how to help, she'll tell him, but she doesn't have high hopes that he'll take her seriously.

"I'm not safe," she says flatly. "My world has a kind of fungus called ophiocordyceps unilateralis that infected everyone, including me. If I get too close to people, I might bite them and infect them, too. I could give it to everyone." It wouldn't be the first time. "I need someone to lock me up so everyone else can be safe from me."

But she doesn't think he will, and there's a frustrated, almost petulant edge to her tone, as if he's already refused her.

"No parents? I'm sorry," Newt says, voice soft with empathy. So she must be placed within the Children's Home here in Darrow, he thinks. Perhaps she's merely run away, unhappy with her living arrangements.

Of course, that notion is dispelled moments later, when she explains her situation; her infection. He studies her, taking in the sight of the drying blood on her face as he contemplates what she's just told him.

"This fungus," he says, guessing. "It causes you to bite people? To feed on people?"

His heart breaks at the way she emphasizes needing to be locked up for the safety of other people. No child should have to know that sort of pain, he thinks. He thinks of Credence, then, and the young girl in Sudan; how he wishes he could have done more to help them. Perhaps this is a chance to help someone else, he thinks. He's not about to waste it.

"You could stay with me," he offers without any hesitation. "I have magic, you see, and I could use it to help you, if you'd like."

Melanie isn't used to people apologizing to her. It's not something that happens, and she doesn't know the words she's supposed to say in response. Especially now, because she doesn't think he would be telling her sorry if he knew what had happened to her parents. To her mother. She lifts her shoulders in a slow, uncertain shrug.

"It... wants to," she says. "But I haven't done it here, yet. This is rabbit." She indicates the blood all down her front. "But nothing smells as good as people. That's what the fungus wants. It's how it spreads." It's uncomfortable, talking about it like a separate thing when it's part of her. It's not quite lying, but it feels close. Except Melanie doesn't want to hurt people, and she definitely doesn't want to cause another outbreak.

She can believe that Darrow is someplace entirely outside her own world. That isn't hard; it's proven every second. But someone just saying they have magic is a little harder to swallow, and Melanie's brow furrows. "Magic?" she repeats, as if to make sure she hasn't misheard him. "That's just in stories."

Newt listens to the young girl, watching as she speaks, explaining her situation. He's reminded, again, of Obscurials, the way she talks of the fungus with a mind of its own. Just like those witches and wizards struggling against the results of their repressed magic, she struggles with the fungus inside of her, he thinks.

He's even more determined to help, now.

"So you feed on animals to sate the fungus," he repeats. "What about raw meat? Would that help at all? You wouldn't have to fend for yourself, then."

He manages a smile at how she describes magic. "Not just stories," he tells her. "At least, not where I come from." He pulls out his wand and makes blossoms burst from the end of it, holding the bouquet out for her to inspect, if she likes.

He seems to be taking it well, which makes her wonder if she's explained it poorly. But when he repeats it back, it seems as if he's got it right. Melanie nods hesitantly. "It synthesizes proteins. Where they come from doesn't matter as much."

Which isn't to say it doesn't matter at all. The hunger has distinct preferences, and raw meat isn't at the top of the list. But it will take what it can get, and as far as Melanie is concerned, not getting hungry -- truly hungry -- is more important than whether she thoroughly enjoys her meals or not.

She's about to insist that she doesn't need someone to bring her meat as much as she needs someone to restrain her, but then he does magic -- real magic! -- and she finds herself gawping, instead. Her nose is as sharp as it ever is, and she can tell he wasn't hiding those flowers up his sleeve or pulling them out of some other hiding spot. They just appeared, out of his... magic wand? An expression of incredulous delight flickers across her features, and she reaches for the bouquet, pulling it close to look it over. It feels as real as it smells. Though she treats it gently, as if it might turn to smoke if she's rough with it, it's solid and almost ordinary-feeling in her hands. They could almost be flowers she picked from some overgrown back garden, except tidier.

She wants to see more magic, but she also doesn't want to get distracted. "How will your magic make me safe?" she asks, nodding towards the city skyline. She's closer to it than she'd like to be, though too far off to smell anyone, at least. "There are lots of people down there. Can you stop me from hurting them?"

"Synthesizes proteins," Newt repeats, both horrified for the girl and fascinated by her condition all at once, though he tries not to show it. "Like a plant?" Only a fungus, and one seemingly in control of a child. He thinks, again, of Obscurials and how much this girl reminds him of those he's tried to help and failed.

"I feed my creatures raw meat," he continues. "I frequent the butcher's shop quite often. I could bring home food for you too."

He smiles when he watches the shifting expressions on her face at the appearance of flowers from his wand, pleased he could surprise, and, hopefully, delight her a bit. He holds out the bouquet to her, encouraging her to take them if she chooses.

"I can, if it comes to that," he nods. "There are restraining spells I can use, as a last resort. Before that, I could apply my magic to help keep the hunger of your fungus at bay. I can block out the overwhelming presence of people pressed in together in the city. I have a variety of spells at my disposal that I use for the creatures I take care of," he explains. "I see no reason why these spells shouldn't be able to help you, too."

Melanie nods. "But plants synthesize sunlight, and I don't think the fungus needs that." They never got any in the bunker, after all, though sometimes plants were brought down during science lessons. Those were exciting classes; none of them had seen plants before.

Melanie fiddles absently with the bouquet, running her fingertips along the edges of leaves or the soft, smooth petals. She can live off raw meat, and if she has to be around people, it's safer for one to bring her food regularly than it would be for her to hunt for herself. But it's most important to take care of everyone else's safety, so if he can't do that, it doesn't matter how often he visits the butcher.

She carefully sets the bouquet aside, then rises to her feet. "Show me. One of the restraining spells, I mean. Please."

"Your fungus does rather sound like a carnivore," Newt observes. He is a little fascinated by this fungus that Melanie describes, he must admit. In the same way he'd been a little bit fascinated by Obscurus' back home. But more than his fascination, he feels horrified that a young girl has to cope with such a parasitic force in her life.

The request catches him a bit off-guard. He blinks for a moment, taking her in. Her face is resolutely serious. And so he nods.

"Alright," he says, much as he is reluctant to do so. He steadies his wand and his arm holding it, pointing it at Melanie.

"Petrificus Totalus," he says as he casts the full body-bind curse at her.

He doesn't refuse. For a second, she thought he might -- feared he might. If he had, she would have had to run, and the more people who know she's out here, the harder it would have been to stay hidden. But he agrees, and lifts his wand, and says a few words in what sounds like Latin.

She feels the spell hit her. Her arms and legs snap together, and she topples back onto the forest floor, as stiff and straight as a wooden plank. She can't move. She can't even try to move. The wanting to move is there, but it's all stuck in her head and can't make it to her limbs. It's a little like when the hunger takes over, except she could still get through, if she tried. She can't get through this. And she has the feeling the hunger couldn't either.

This is better than handcuffs and a mask. It's even better than the wheelchair. She can barely blink, let alone hurt anyone. She can't smile, either, but on the inside, Melanie is delighted.