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Julia Thorpe spends a good portion of her life alone. She remains, after her parents pass and her sister can't bear to stay, on that hunk of rock in the middle of nowhere for years. The seagulls make for terrible company, but most days she doesn't mind it. It isn't all that bad, honestly, she's always been the independent sort, sharp, good with her hands. She's good at being alone, used to it. An unfortunate side effect of that is that she remains a mostly blank canvas. Untouched by others, untethered.
She has her marks from her family of course, her one constant ever since she was a baby. Clover and cinquefoil on the back of her neck from her parents, protection and maternal love that's only slightly faded since their deaths. She wears her hair up most days, so she can get glimpses of yellow and green as she passes by the mirror. Her sister left a spray of baby's breath on her ankle with chubby toddler's hands, innocence and eternal love still vibrant even now. They're the only marks she has, and though she'd been much too young to remember receiving them she cherishes them all the same.
When Amelia comes to call there's a moment, after she's got a new job, a new name, a new life, where she reaches out a hand to shake. Her palm is covered with ivy, endurance and faithfulness, and when Julia - Alvina grips it the sensation is alien. Under the pressure of her really incredibly strong grip there's a warmth and a prickling, like pins and needles, and she watches with wide eyes as blue morning glories twist around her wrist. Trust, respect, and mortality. How fitting. Amelia turns their still joined hands to see them clearer, then the other way to show off the myrtle flowers which are bright against the back of her own hand, twined at the edges with the ivy. In terms of confirmation that she's doing the right thing, Alvina supposes she really couldn't hope for anything better. Prosperity and partnership. A hell of a good omen.
"Well, seems that settles it then! Shall we?" Amelia's voice is warm, and she squeezes Alvina's hand just once before dropping it and motioning towards the door. "We've got a flight to catch."
The first time she meets the man she's apparently going to be working with for the rest of her life, Alvina isn't sure what to think. He cuts an odd figure, tall and sharp, and maybe in a different life he may have even been intimidating. As it is, the dopey smile on his face makes that impossible. That and the fact he currently seems to be failing spectacularly at gluing a vase back together. He's standing over his desk, hunched at an odd angle with one hand attempting to hold the perilously assembled pieces in place as the glue dries. She's so confused by the scene that she barely registers Amelia patting her on the shoulder as she leaves.
"Ah, our newest recruit! Charmed to meet you, absolutely charmed."
In the moment he looks up from his work to grin at her, a large jagged piece topples from the bits he's attempting to hold and cracks into two smaller pieces on the desk. His head swivels around instantly, and he flutters his free hand over the mess as if not sure what to do with it.
"Jiminy crickets!"
She snorts in response, and moves from the doorway into the room proper, stepping over bits of clutter. As she gets closer she can see that his forearms are covered with splashes of color, so faded that they're unidentifiable. Barely there hints of purple and green and peach, none of them even remotely recent. There's a moment where her brow furrows, but then he drops another piece and she hurries forward, confusion forgotten. He doesn't turn until she's right beside him, seemingly surprised, and she spots the one visible vibrant mark on his body. Covering the front of his throat, just above his collar, are bright yellow morning glories. She has a suspicion about where those came from, maybe she'll even get the story someday. But not today.
For now, she rolls up her sleeves and helps hold the assembled pieces together, careful to avoid his hand. It's a bit of an awkward position, but she's never had particularly delicate sensibilities and somehow she doubts he does either. There's an awkward moment where he doesn't move, but eventually he clears his throat and removes himself from her space, reaching for a piece with one hand and the glue with the other.
"Try not to glue my hands to the vase, yeah?"
It happens maybe ten minutes later, he's careful but not nearly careful enough, and the closer they get to finishing the faster he works, seemingly losing patience with the task. When he goes to glue the first piece of the lip his forearm brushes, just lightly, against hers and that same warmth blooms over her arm. She's more prepared this time and manages to avoid going full deer in headlights as the daffodils begin to take shape. Respect and new beginnings. (In a few months time she'll ponder on their other meanings, uncertain love, return my affection, but in that moment, so early on, they don't cross her mind.)
"Well isn't that lovely!"
He's moved away, twisting his arm to admire the light red carnations on the back. Fascination and distinction. (Not to mention subtle affection and affirmation.) His face lights up with absolute, childlike delight, and Alvina isn't sure if she's ever seen anyone look so happy. It endears him to her almost immediately, and she can't help but smile too, giddy with the high of it. When he's looked his fill he turns back to her, beaming, and sweeps both of her hands up in one of his with an exaggerated bow.
"You'll have to forgive me, I'm afraid I've been terribly rude. I haven't even asked your name!"
"It's - It's Alvina, pleasure to meet you..."
She trails off, leaving him plenty of room to give his own name, but he simply shakes both of her hands simultaneously in an odd almost handshake and bounces in place. When he lets her go, he returns to inspecting his arm, tracing the shapes of the petals wistfully with his other hand.
"You'll fit right in, Alvina, I'm sure of it."
Behind them, now without her support, the vase crumbles back into countless pieces and she can't help but groan. Despite working on it even longer than she had, he doesn't seem bothered.
Kozlowski comes next, a little longer into her employment. For the first couple weeks she only sees glimpses of him, distant glances as he accepts a corpse delivery, the tail of his lab coat going around a corner, faint whiffs of formaldehyde. It's a little discomforting at first, when she's still getting her footing, but once she's properly settled it quickly becomes just another aspect of the job.
She's eating lunch in her office one day, too buried in paperwork to take a real break, when he just sort of... shows up. One second she's filling out the closing paperwork for the quadruplets they'd knocked off in a quadruple homicide last week, the next he's looming silently over her desk. And so she puts her pen down and looks up at him, meeting eyes that seem to look right through her.
"Can I help you?"
That gets her a sharp smile, quite literally, his incisors look like they might very well be dangerous. He narrows his eyes at her for a moment through his glasses and she meets his gaze with cool composure. She knows her place here now and isn't one to be intimidated, regardless of whatever weird thing he's clearly got going on. He seems to find whatever he was looking for, because he stops squinting and holds a hand out flat.
"Your arm."
Now it's her turn to inspect him, and after a moment of consideration she sticks out her arm. He takes in the daffodils that have taken over her forearm then waves her away.
"Other arm."
She sticks out her other arm and he clasps one large hand around it, up by her elbow above the morning glories wrapping her wrist. There's no trace of surprise this time, considering her other two coworkers she'd rather come to expect it. After the moment of warmth he removes his hand, leaving two large red and white protea blossoms in its place. Transformation and unity. He inspects his palm clinically, taking in the small grouping of orange hollyhock flowers. Ambition and success.
"You should come down to visit sometime, we'd be happy to have you."
And with that he sweeps out of her office, off to whatever he does when there's not a case to work on. She isn't entirely sure that she wants to know. She is sure that the "we" he mentions is in reference to him and whatever motley crew of corpses currently inhabit the lower level.
With Joey and Salvatore the marks serve as a proud reminder that her judgement is excellent. She's always known, of course, but the reassurance is nice nonetheless. Joey is first, almost immediate in fact. As he and Salvatore are dragging Tony's limp body into the corridor his shoulder, exposed by his tank top, bumps against her own and she sends a triumphant smirk towards a certain someone as the snapdragons materialize. Strength and protection, excellent qualities to have around the office. Not that she or Amelia need much help protecting themselves. He could certainly use it though.
Joey stands, mouth gaping as he comically double takes between the small blue speedwell flowers on his shoulder and her. Alvina takes them in smugly, loyalty and protection, they'll protect each other then. Perfect. She let's him sputter, mostly because it's entertaining, but after a moment quickly shoos the two of them out the door. The amount of blood Tony's leaving on the floor is starting to get a little out of hand.
The rest of the day as she shows them around the office properly, fills out their hiring on paperwork, and explains their duties, she can feel Salvatore's eyes on her. Even more so than Joey who's watching with rapt attention bar brief moments of gleefully checking his shoulder as if to make sure they're still there. When they start whispering in rapid Italian every time she turns her back, she finally gives in, rolling her eyes and turning back to them.
"Well come on then, get it over with," she orders, turning so her unmarked shoulder, the one above Kozlowski's mark, is facing them.
Salvatore hesitates, but only momentarily, before he awkwardly nudges her with his forearm. The spray of daisies that blossom take her by surprise, she hadn't quite been expecting innocence and simplicity given well... everything about him. It's a nice surprise though, and she smiles at the fern leaves that unfurl on his arm. Sincerity and shelter. They're home here. Like they were always meant to be.
Some nights, Alvina sits in front of the mirror for hours, taking in the vibrant colors that have overtaken her arms, craning to see her faded clover and cinquefoil. It's strange to think that not long ago she'd been so blank, and now she can't picture herself without her strange little collection, the connections that tie together their mismatched band. For all their faults and eccentricities, they're hers and she's theirs just the same. She's reminded of that every time she sees her marks on them and theirs on each other. Her perfect crooked little family.
And whenever that old loneliness creeps in, cold tendrils in the back of her head, there's a tangible physical reminder that, while she may be a lot of things, she is never truly alone. And if she wears sleeveless blouses more often, and pauses in front of every reflective surface, well, who can really blame her. She's allowed a little sentimentality.
The distinction between the old and new is stark, and, frankly, she can't imagine ever going back. Julia Thorpe might have spent most of her life alone, but Alvina Wright spends every second of hers surrounded by love, just like she'd always deserved.