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Marian just turned seven when Mum is put in the hospital.
She wondered if it was her fault. She had asked Jesse this, but he just got a weird look on his face and seemed confused.
"What do you mean, Mari?" He had said, brow furrowing. He glanced up at Dad, who was walking further ahead, apparently not noticing his children had stopped moving.
"Jus' some stuff Mum said. She was all tired." Marian didn't really understand what Mum was saying exactly. But she didn't sound particularly happy when talking about her daughter. But maybe she had just been annoyed that she needed to clean Marian's dress again.
Jesse knelt to her level.
"Not your fault, alright? Mum got sick, cause sometimes people do," Jesse said, lightly. "People say stuff they don't mean when they're aren't well- Mum didn't mean whatever she said."
Marian huffed. "Said I need to stop gettin' all dirty when I go outside. S'not my fault that's where dirt is," She pulls a face. "Not bein' a lady or somethin'..."
Jesse laughed. "Furthest thing from a lady, you are! You'd run with wolves if you could!" He poked her cheek.
Marian jerked her head. "Want a pet wolf. It can eat the stupid people next door."
"Yeah... no. We've already got a hairy, smelly family member in the house. We don't need another," Jesse glanced up at their Dad's head disappearing from view. He picked Marian up. "C'mon, let's get you home- see if there's anythin' for dinner."
"The wolf could eat dad. Be our new dad." Marian muses, fiddling with Jesse's shirt collar.
"We aren't getting a wolf, Marian."
She pouts.
---
Marian was eleven when they put Mum in the ground.
The funeral- albeit not much of one- is over and done with relatively quickly. Dad never informed anyone, and Marian and Jesse did not know any family outside their parents. Did their grandparents know their daughter was dead?
Marian shifted uncomfortably in a dress that was slightly over-sized on her. It wasn't hers. Jesse worked himself into a panic when he realised Marian had nothing to wear at a funeral and had wondered if it would be morally right to make his little sister wear their dead parent's clothes, until his girlfriend, Callie, had loaned one of her dresses. Marian was trying very hard not to get it dirty.
It was early afternoon. Whilst their dad went to the nearest bar, the siblings had dragged themselves to a nearby park. Jesse didn't seem to want to go back to the house just yet. Marian just felt sullen. She sensed her brother eyeing her.
"You're holdin' up well." He observed.
"You're not?"
"Mmm. I'm worried the family don't know. Wish I could've tried to contact them."
"Dad never reach out an' they didn't bother reachin' out, either. S'not your fault- it's theirs."
Jesse stared at her. "Okay, one- that's a dark take from an eleven year old. And two- when you'd get deep?"
She shrugs. "When you weren't lookin', I guess," She scrunches the fabric of the dress in her hands. "Family's shit."
"Language." Jesse said, automatically.
"That's the bit you're gonna pay attention to? Not that our family is actually fucked up?"
Jesse twinged. "Stop- stop talkin' like him. Things are... things are all screwed up, yeah- but we'll be alright. You're a hardy girl, Marian."
Marian rolled her eyes. "Sure."
They sit in silence for a moment, watching the local children play. Jesse then cleared his throat.
"I meant to ask you," Jesse lowered his voice, as if someone were to eavesdrop. "Has anyone... been to the house? Recently, I mean."
Marian frowned. "Dunno... I stay in my room. Or go outside," She paused. "Actually..."
"What?"
"Some bloke shows up for Dad. Dunno who he is. Dressed weird." She wrinkled her nose.
"S'probably a drinkin' buddy of dad's or somethin'."
"Hmm. He looked kinda business-y."
Jesse seemed strangely pleased by this. "Really?"
"Yeah... why's that good?"
"Might be authorities keepin' an eye on you."
Marian didn't feel like that's who the man was. "Maybe he was."
There was an uneasy silence. Eventually, Jesse rummaged through his pockets.
"Wanna buy some doughnuts?"
Marian smiled for the first time in a while, uneasy feelings fading. "Yeah."
---
Carmen is sixteen when she stops being Marian and removes her like dead skin.
---
Carmen is eighteen when she meets Vincent Shergold, after living on the streets for two years.
It was a rough first meeting. Currently, she was stitching up a nasty wound after a man- barely one- tried to get little too much. A former seamstress, now homeless, had taught her how to stitch.
She had learnt much from the homeless. Survival, mostly. Also how to drink herself til she could no longer feel anything. She didn't have much alcohol right now and she really wished she had some.
Still. She would not scream. Carmen was making hissing sounds under her breath and her eyes were streaming. Nothing louder.
"Are you alright, love?" A man's voice had said.
Carmen lifted her head from her handiwork. "The fuck do you think?" She snarled.
The man had the decency to look sheepish. "Ah, yes, well... I suppose so. But you look like you need help."
Carmen eyed him up. Lanky, facial hair was questionable. Nothing interesting. Carmen preferred the interesting.
However, he did not appear bad. Two years being on the streets had helped Carmen differentiate good from the bad. He seemed genuine enough. If Carmen wasn't half-starved and bleeding out, she may had backed off.
Her stubbornness didn't stretch that far.
"You gotta place?"
"Close by."
"Lots of food?"
"Well stocked."
"Fine," She stuck her bloodied hand out. "Help me up."
He took it. They were silent as he helped her hobble back to his place.
"Do you have a name?" The man said, softly.
"Ma- uhm. Carmen. Just Carmen."
The man gave no indication he picked up on her stumble.
"A lovely name! I'm Vincent Shergold, just so you know."
"That's uhh..." Carmen winced at her people skills. "An interesting name..."
Vincent snorted. "You can say it's pompous, most do."
They're quiet for the rest of the way.
Vincent's place is not an expensive mansion. It's a flat above a pawn shop. Old, dusty antiques littered the shelves. In the flat, Carmen sensed Vincent was decently well-off. Not rich, but comfortable.
He provided her medical supplies, a hefty amount of food and a clean bed.
"Stay as long as you need."
She didn't stay long.
---
She spent the next seven years drifting throughout England. She met all kinds of people, all varying levels of interest. She was so easily bored.
She made sure to visit her mother and tell her what she had been up to. Avoids her childhood home. And often broke into Vincent's flat to raid his cupboards. Or for the lonely nights. They were both in love with the fact they were not in love with eachother. The said lonely nights could be counted on one hand, as Carmen never really craved them much anyway. She would rather drink heavily.
Their relationship, in the seven years, was more akin to we've-seen-the-worst-of-eachother-and-we-trust-eachother-to-an-extent. Whatever that could be defined as.
Or rather, Vincent has seen Carmen at her worst. And Carmen doesn't love that levity he has. Still. He had a roof and Carmen will work something to death if she needed to. And he was the closest to a friend she has ever had. Not that list was very long in the first place.
Regardless, she has a key to his place. She refuses to use it much to his frustration.
---
Carmen is twenty-five and somehow everything is simultaneously the best and worst time of her life.
She hasn't gone to see Vincent since working for Hardy. He doesn't have much use for her right now. But he might again, in the future.
Companionship is another thing she has acquired. A weird bunch, she fits in just fine.
Falling in love was not part of her life goals- did she really have any, though? But, alas, that's now a part of her life. She feels pretty good about it.
And yet. Her skin feels like it's being constantly pricked. A harsh buzz at the back of her head. It won't leave her alone.
Carmen stretched on the park bench. It was well past midnight but, she needed some air.
Maybe she had been denying everything for too long. She never liked dealing with emotions or her problems. Unless it could be dealt with physically- a brawl, a drink- she pushed it deep down and hoped for the best.
Clearly, she hadn't thought that through at all.
What did The Stranger even want from her? Some all-powered demonic entity, yet it set its sights on her- some lowly alcoholic. She was interested in his interest initially- even a little fearful. Now she found The Stranger to be the biggest pain in her ass.
She should talk to Jesse about this. Everything was still raw and delicate between them. But she was the one who made that it way. Was this all her fault? She wasn't ready to unpack that bit just yet.
What would she even say to Jesse about this?
Hey, so do you remember the conversation we had, like, fourteen years ago, after Mum's funeral? When I mentioned a Strange Man had visited? Call me crazy but I think that means my life may have been fucked from the start.
Maybe Jesse shouldn't be a part of this. He has a family. Carmen was a bloody knuckled cynic, but she wouldn't do that.
Visit Mum?
Well, she was due to. She even bought her flowers from a nice florist now. Talking to the gravestone helped organise her thoughts to an extent, but Carmen doubted that a one-sided conversation was going to help.
Should she... visit Dad?
Ugh. Was he even alive? Carmen usually hoped he wasn't. Right now she wanted some damn answers from the bastard.
Thanks for bringing the fucking Stranger into my life. And for what? I really didn't matter, did I? I'm just like you and I hate it- fucking hate it.
She reminded herself she wasn't alone anymore.
A bitter laugh escaped Carmen's lips. Everybody was having problems right now. She didn't want to throw more shit into the fire. But, of course, she knew when not to be stubborn.
She stood up. Time to go back.
Carmen hoped she didn't have a dream tonight.