Work Text:
The chair did her back pain no favours, but Ginger paid no attention to it. She sat anxiously biting at the skin around her nails, her eyes flickering between the couples who spun around a few feet in front of her. Her mind was clearly somewhere else. It wasn’t a ‘ballroom’ though, more a social club that must’ve had a themed event for the evening.
Only a few minutes earlier that evening, Ginger was in a much better mood. Brigitte mentioned something about Halloween - Ginger wasn’t fully listening when she heard it. Something about their little red riding hood and big bad wolf costumes from when they were little. It made Ginger reflect about how Halloween was three months ago, but she still thought about it before bed every night. Every night, she thought about her parents. She thought about their old classmates, she thought about how she and her sister would never graduate, she thought about the missing posters that used to say ‘Trina Sinclair’ that would undoubtedly now say ‘Ginger Fitzgerald’ and ‘Brigitte Fitzgerald’. She thought about who would’ve found the puddle of blood under the janitor’s body, she thought about who would clean up the councillor's office. She thought about how ashamed her parents would be if they knew their daughters could only fall asleep at night after kissing each other’s blood-related lips.
The ceilings were much higher here than at their cabin, and a large chandelier hung in the middle. It looked very cheap, given it would only be up for tonight, though she thought it was a nice touch. Beneath it, Ginger saw guests who put in as much effort for the event as the venue did. They dressed neatly, ironed shirts and moderately-expensive dresses. She wondered about what other details they put into their appearance. It was a nicer thing to think about. People seem to put so much effort into being normal before they see themselves as abnormal.
She bounced her leg anxiously on the sticky carpet which must’ve been coated in countless generations of spilt drinks. The few spots with wooden floors didn’t seem much cleaner, but the tapping of high heels and dress shoes to the beat of the symphony was enough to prevent her from caring. Most people were on their feet. A few tables around her were still occupied, but Ginger was the only one by herself. She felt a little lonely, but she didn’t mind so much. The silence in her pointed ears was filled by classical music, and she knew her ‘date’ would arrive soon anyway.
A door opened behind her, and soon she heard her sister’s voice, a little out of breath, “God, you didn’t have to run so quick,” She spoke, panting. Ginger turned her head and chuckled. “Are you alright?” Brigitte asked, her brows furrowed with concern. Ginger only answered with a shrug.
“You?” She asked, and Brigitte copied before taking a seat beside her.
“Why here?”
Ginger took a second to think before answering, “Dunno. I guess it was nearby.” Their lives had undeniably changed since fleeing Bailey Downs, though one feature that remained in this new town was that there was very little to do. The pair of them now looked ahead at the people dancing.
A minute went by without speaking, though Ginger had to build up much courage for her next few words, “Do you ever think about the past?”
Brigitte turned her gaze to her sister again, “All the time… It’s all I think about.”
“It’s nice to watch them,” Ginger almost interrupted, her previous question perhaps being rhetorical, “They seem happy. Carefree.”
Brigitte tried to study the older girl’s facial features for what she might be thinking about. “Well, dancing does that.”
“I wanna feel like that.”
The younger girl thought back to what possibly could’ve set Ginger off before, what she could’ve said that made her run away so abruptly, though she couldn’t come up with anything. “What happened?” She asked softly, but was ignored.
A man, who they assumed must be a member of staff, walked up to their table. “And for the next dance, ladies, we encourage all to the dance floor. Rhythm or no rhythm.” He smiled politely, walking to repeat himself to the people behind them. Brigitte gave a smile in response, which dropped as soon as he’d left. She stood up.
“C’mon, Ginge.” She invited her sister, extending her hand for Ginger to take.
“Dancing isn’t my thing.” Ginger laughed,
“Mine neither, but it’s good to try new things.” She answered, dropping her arm and making her sister chuckle more. She tried to find a space between the other couples who weaved between one another like dead leaves in the cold wind outside.
Ginger followed, the endless movement of the people around her making her ever-so-slightly dizzy. She stood before the shorter girl awkwardly, until Brigitte reached for her hand and took a step. They held onto each other naturally, Ginger’s free hand on Brigitte’s shoulder and Brigitte’s on her hip, though it was only a second before they bumped into each other.
“Are you leading or am I?” Brigitte asked impatiently, joking.
“I have no idea,” Ginger smiled, much more sheepishly than she had before.
Eventually they matched the movements of the couples surrounding them, though the Fitzgeralds were much more uncoordinated and unsure. After a few minutes, Ginger frowned and pulled their bodies flushed together so that she could hide her trembling lip from her sister’s eyes. She turned her head to bury her nose into her brown hair, and inhaled. They slowed down a little, and Ginger pulled away once she could fight the stinging that she felt behind her eyelids and the lump in her throat. She gazed at an elderly pair to the left of them. The wife had the most unburdened expression Ginger thought she’d ever seen, and the husband seemed like there was nothing he’d rather do than dance here, with the woman he loves.
“Do you want to be like that?”
“No.” The brunette turned her head parallel to Gingers, and immediately answered after she saw what her older sister was referring to. She turned her head back to where she was looking before.
“Why not?” Ginger asked with a curious grin that grew, her canines peeking out underneath her top lip.
“Well, they’re nothing like us.” Ginger exhaled at the reassurance of their relationship, and closed her eyes in comfort. “We’d consume each other before we got old.”
“That sounds kinda nice,” Ginger replied quietly, giggling. Though only a moment later she had become just as anxious as she was when they were chatting about nothing in their cabin. She let her eyes follow various people around the room. “I’ve killed so many people, B.”
“I know.” She whispered, taking a moment to consider how to best respond to the statement. “Haven’t I?” She asked, hoping to reassure her.
“Not as many”
“No.”
Brigitte was right. They were nothing like the other people in this room. The more Ginger looked around, the more she realised how great the contrast was between the two of them and everyone else. She didn’t think that any of the people embracing each other were committing incest shamelessly. And she doubted that anyone else in there had been through anything close to what she and her sister had been through. She didn’t mean it in a selfish way. It was hardly likely that any of the eyes she met had seen a stranger’s body drain of blood. None of them knew what it was like to know your victim had died by the sensation of how they stopped writhing between your teeth. Maybe they didn’t belong with other people at all. What was stopping them from grabbing the nearest stranger, digging their teeth into any exposed flesh? Killing for the fun of it? Ginger dug her nails into Brigitte’s sleeve harder as she thought about it. Brigitte was the only one there who was anything like her.
“Can we go home?”
“Yeah.”