i don't think i ordered a crazy person delivery?

who: svetlana, open to owen, and possibly others in his house?
when: nightfall
where: owen's house

Svetlana could not help but think about what a weird day she was having as she rapped her sore, swollen knuckles against the wood of Owen's front door, shivering like a maniac, trying not to look up at the overwhelming expanse of sky she'd had to brave her way past.

The weirdness was not so much with what was going on in the outside world - but her head was feeling kind of funny and fuzzy and wrong, like it had on the night she'd sent that message to Adam. She'd eaten breakfast which she had made herself (Alright. A bowl of cereal and fruit with a double chocolate bar chaser was hardly culinary genius, but fuck it), and then she'd spewed up like half of it. Then she'd curled up in a ball on the floor and stared at the wall for two hours trying not to think about evil doctors and dead babies and how unbelieveably fucked up she was. Hooray! And then, she had slept a little bit, and when she woke up she felt...wrong. Empty. She picked at some of the junk food she'd nabbed from the kitchen halfheartedly, but she felt an odd littl niggle in the back of her mind. She was thinking about the last time she had stolen food. From the hermit with the beard who thought she was a ghost. She had slen from someone so helpless - alright, it had been to facilitate her own survival, but something deep within Svetlana knew that it was wrong. Everyone was fair game if they were a threat, if they could defend themselves, if they were strong or dangerous, but not people like that. Not flustered, scared crazy people who were too fucking stupid to know that they had to put up a front. To protect themselves.

So she thought about Owen. That boy was stupid, too. He'd taken an obvious lunatic into his inner sanctum. He'd just seemed so frightened of everything. She'd sent him a message this morning - don't be a victim. Don't don't don't. It's the worst thing you can be. And all he'd asked was how she was doing. Such a fucking idiot. He probably deserved a knife to the throat, if he was going to be so dumb. Urgh! Svetlana rubbed her head (still feeling the remnants of bloodied scabby flesh, thanks a bunch, Everett) and decided that she would repay the universe for her previous thievery. She snatched up her stolen foodstuffs, dumped them into a pillowcase, bundled herself up in too much clothing and headed out. Just her and her red beanie versus the outside world, where it was cold, and too big, and full of awful people. She walked most of the way with her eyes screwed up tight. Shivering. Panicing at the slightest noise. At least it was dark - dark made it easier - and she was sure she would recognise his house.

So finally when she arrived she was a wreck. She wanted to be indoors. Too much cold and air and space and fear out here. This was what she got for trying to be good. Fuck fuck fuck. What if he didn't answer, what if it was someone else? She just felt thankful that she'd stuffed a pair of scissors into her pocket as a last minute precaution.

Oh, fuck

 - .

Owen had been playing guitar downstairs in the living room. It had comforted him a little, really. he wasn't playing loudly, just plucking out notes and stretching his fingers. He'd tugged his gloves off early on, holding the pick between scarred fingers and trying to reach all the notes. He wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that he -had- a guitar now, or why he'd thought that playing it near where Jeremy used to sleep would help him in some way, but his stomach was twisting at the thought of moving.

The knock on the door drew him out of it anyway, so he put the guitar down on the table and set about getting his gloves back on. He lay the instrument down on the couch, pushing himself up and wandering over, not even bothering to look out the window to the side before opening the door. Self preservation instincts belatedly decided to remind him that hey, there could've been an axe murderer on the other side of the door, but no. It was that girl from before. Svetlana, her journal had said and he felt like, again, he'd been socked in the gut. She just looked so much like...

Yeah, time to stop thinking about that.

"Uh, hi?"

 - .

Svet stopped holding her breath as soon as she recognised the face behind the door, and immediately ferreted past him and into the (relative) safety of indoors. Then she gave Owen an almost chiding look. Why would he have opened the door? Something was obviously not right in his head. She tutted softly, and thrust the pillowcase of foodstuffs at him. It contained a bag of oatmeals, two tins of macaroni cheese, a couple of oranges and a box of crackers. Yeah yeah, hardly the delights of the culinary world, but fuck it - it was food. And that was the point. She was trying to balance off her previous theft from Ben with a rather bizare act of kindness. Maybe then that horrible fuzzy feeling of guilt would go away, and she could get back to doing what she did best - surviving.

 - .

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, because she'd shouldered her way in everywhere -else-. Blinking and holding onto the pillow case as it was thrust at him, he was almost afraid to peer inside. He closed the door behind her, strangely comforted by the way she just headed through, mostly confident.

"Good evening?" he asked, heading back over towards the couch. As strange as it was, this house made him feel a little safer. Although he did still find himself clambering out the window and onto the roof at odd hours of the night so he could get OUT of it, which probably wasn't a smart thing when there was snow about, but still. "Did you want a cup of tea or something?"

It never hurt to be polite. Besides, his mum said tea fixed everything. And as much as he missed his family, he did still crave cups of tea occasionally.

 - .

She wrinkled her nose at the offer of tea, and shook her head. Hadn't he been paying attention? She was dangerous. Why had he let her in? Exasperated, she jabbed a finger at the pillowcase with a childlike aggression. Open your present.

Wow. She regretted this. She didn't even know if other people lived with him. She was being stupid, too. It was almost fucking contagious. She stared at him with a sulky intensity. He kind of reminded her of the little boys who got forced into dance classes by overbearing mothers, the ones who were clumsy on purpose, as if the more they fell over and got their feet muddled the more likely it was she'd just let them go home. That was how pathetic he was. She clenched her jaw, annoyed, but more at herself than him.

 - .

Blinking and looking down at the pillowcase in his hand, Owen tilted his head before going to do as he was told. Bracing the top of the pillowcase in his hands he tugged the top apart, peering in. His expression immediately went quizzical, he looked back up at her, brow furrowed.

"For me? Seriously?"

She looked agitated, and possibly angry at him but from what he'd gathered, she was angry with everyone. So he wasn't feeling as worried as he possibly should be.Instead, a slow smile spread across his face as he closed the top of the pillow case. "Thank you."

 - .

Svetlana looked at him smile and bit her lip. She felt twitchy and weird - she rubbed her arms with tense, nervous energy and finally withdrew her glare from his face and looked around the room. Don't get used to it was what she wanted him to understand. She wouldn't do this anymore. She wouldn't look after people.

She didn't really know what she was doing, but she wasn't ready to go outside just yet. She sat slowly on the floor with her back against the sofa, pulling her knees to her chest, resting her face on them, and sighed. It was good to be indoors.