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heather mason | silent hill

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Who: Cybil Bennett and Cheryl/Heather Mason
Where: a coffee shop in Violet City
When: Saturday the 12, sometime after Heather and the gang arrive
Summary: Cybil has been looking for a little girl. And that little girl is here and...a good decade older. And doesn't have black hair anymore either. And is running around calling herself Heather...it's time to play catch up.
Rating: G
Log:
It didn't take Cybil long to find the coffee shop Cheryl had been talking about. After resting for a bit in a nice, warm Pokemon Center, she had decided to do some scoping out of the local shops and buildings to kill time before it was time for the two of them to meet up an exchange words.

Before, Cybil had been mildly enthused to meet the little girl who had been giving her father so much trouble in that frighteningly empty town. But now...she was hesitant. The girl had introduced herself as the notorious Cheryl, but people around here...at least that Phoenix fellow, went around calling her Heather. A nickname, apparently, but where on earth would one get 'Heather' from 'Cheryl'? Unless...she had a middle name and preferred to be called by it.

Or...it had something to do with that cult. But alas, Cybil was out of the loop, and thus was going to look for answers in the not-so-little little girl Harry had been searching for.

Heather would find Harry's cop-buddy sitting alone at a small booth in the coffee shop (both Pokemon in their respective Pokeballs), nursing a hot cup of Joe in front of her while gazing out the window. She looked right at home, comfortable and calm, but stern at the same time, patiently waiting.

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When she had last talked to the person she'd come to this city to meet, she had mentioned that she'd probably need a bit of sleep before she was ready to even walk down the street, much less hold a coherent conversation with someone important.

But after the haggard trio of travelers had dragged their sorry rears into town and crashed in their respective hotel rooms, Heather found herself as awake as if someone had a gun pointed at her.

She'd expected to be a little nervous-- even very nervous, but the sheer volume of the stomach-butterflies she was getting went sort of beyond the plain old I've-got-a-math-exam-and-I-didn't-study-for-it-HALP type of anxiety that most people might get over something like this. Pacing didn't help much. Neither did pulling a pillow over her head. Quite the contrary, all that did was wake Cujo up and convince him that it was Trainer's Face Has Mysteriously Disappeared and Now it is Up to Me to Find It time, which was about as restful as it sounded.

Finally? She'd given the hell up. It was almost time to go, anyway.

So maybe fifteen minutes after Cybil had arrived at the coffee shop, a tired-looking teen comes shouldering her way in through the door. Whether it's the cold, windy weather outside or just the light, she looks a little bit pale and drawn. It's the girl who claims to be Cheryl, all right-- though who could've predicted that bitty little girl would have grown up into a lanky scruffball like this?

It didn't take her long to spot the police officer, and when she did, she swallowed.

Okay. You can do this, Mason. You'll regret it if you don't, remember? Just act normal. It's not like this is going off the high dive or something.

But as she approached the table, hitching her bags strap up a little more securely over her shoulder, she couldn't help but wonder... what the hell WERE you supposed to say to someone you'd never met but had been told stories about for a fair bit of your childhood?

"... Hey, uh-- ... this seat taken?"

... Well, that works, I guess.

Edited 2011-02-13 06:45 (UTC)

Cybil turns her focus of attention away from the window and towards the voice, recognizing the lanky blonde almost immediately. Thank god for those video posts, or else Cybil would have a pretty tough time believing that this was the girl who had run off all those years ago. She didn't even fit Harry's description anymore.

But, she was willing to swallow her skepticism for a moment and offer the teenager a smile, motioning to the seat in front of her. "It's all yours."

Her cup of coffee was almost done after those fifteen minutes of waiting, but it was still warm in her hand as some silence passed between the two of them. Cybil really just wanted to take everything in an assess the situation. Unlike Heather, she did not feel nervous, though there was a slight feeling of loss as she looked the girl over. If she was who she said she is, the fact that all those years go by kind of gave Cybil a good kick in the head about the future. Her future. And what would become of her after that town.

Assuming she made it out of there alive.

She keeps the benign look of her face. "So, should I call you Cheryl, or Heather?" It was a genuine question, but underneath her questioning tone you can somewhat sense her, well, cynicism. But she was keeping a kind voice. She liked kids, she liked teens. She grew up in foster homes after both her parents were shot, so she understood how tough it was for a teen...with or without parents. Sure she could be a bit of a hardass, but that was mostly towards other adults.

Yep, little Cheryl was all grown up now, and not quite the cutie pie she was when she was seven. But hey, at least she didn't have pierced everything and tattoos all over the place, right?

Slipping the bag off her shoulder, she dropped it onto the seat ahead of her and scooted it in before slipping into the booth, herself. Flagging down one of the waitresses in order to avoid that brief silence becoming too awkward, she ordered a cup for herself. Admittedly, caffeine probably wasn't the best idea when she was already a little bit jittery, but seriously, screw logic right now.

At the question, her mouth tugged into its usual crooked grin, holding juuust an edge of sheepishness.

"Uh-- either's fine, actually, though people might give you a few weird looks for 'Cheryl', I guess." Letting her back sag a little against the back of the booth, she rubbed the back of her neck. "I, uh... haven't actually told many people here my real name."

She was pretty sure that Otacon and Kaito were the only people she'd shared it with... She hadn't even told James, though he'd undoubtedly put two and two together on account of her confessing to being the daughter Harry had kept talking about during his too-brief time in Johto.

"I guess I should tell you what that's all about, huh?"

Like many teens, Heather had an almost uncanny ability to pick up on suspicion in the voice of an adult-- she could hear it lurking under the curiosity and general kindness like a polite but still slightly-menacing crocodile. Normally that would set her on the defensive immediately, but ... she could understand why it was there. After all, Cybil had nothing to go on but Heather's word, and her word wasn't exactly concrete proof. Especially when the situation would sound pretty suspicious to anybody who didn't know the full story.

So her tone was just a little apologetic, and it was genuine.

Cybil finishes her coffee as the blond sitting across from her talks, and slides the cup to her side, interlocking her fingers as she listens. She's trying her best to look as not-imposing as possible, aware of how wary some people are of cops but...considering she was wearing her uniform after finally finding a place to wash it, it was kind of difficult to come across as a simple listener.

So Cheryl hadn't told many people her real name. Cybil wondered if it was out of some kind of habit, or if it was because she didn't like her real name. Some kids do that, going around creating nicknames they wish they were named. But again, she was mentally weighing all her options and while something as simple as a name shouldn't bother her...

Well, there was nothing simple about a name. It was your identity. To have more than one was suspicious. But she wasn't exactly doubtful that this teenager sitting before her was who she said she was. In fact, she was...as certain as she could be without any logical explanation. This girl knew a lot about Silent Hill and Harry Mason, even before Cybil mentioned the whole of it.

The benign look grows warmer, a bit more genuine. Cybil nods, and motions with her hands for Heather to continue. "I'm all ears.

There was a reason that Heather had asked Douglas to call her by her real name-- the one her father had given her-- after it all. ... Not that he ever ... y'know, DID, but there you go.

However, there was also a reason she'd introduced herself to people here as Heather, and she'd... well, she'd be explaining that.

Clearing her throat a little, she thatched her fingers together on the table in front of her, rounding her shoulders into a slouch, as though it might quell some of that nervousness if she sat like she was totally comfortable.

"Okay, here goes. See, uh... after everything that happened... y'know, there, Dad... took me back to Portland and just tried to go back to living a normal life. ... As normal as life can BE after that."

Sometimes she wondered just how her father had coped. She knew from his final letters to her, of course, but she didn't have any actual memories of those first few years, reborn. In the end, it was flat-out left up to her imagination how hard it must have been. How much he must have struggled.

"It was fine for a few years, but... someone in that cult found out where we lived, and..."

Sucking her lips inwards, she made a face and curled her fingers like claws in the universal I'M A TOTAL CREEPER gesture.

Cybil was relatively good at reading people, and despite Heather's attempts at appearing not-so nervous, she could still sense that something was off. But again, she kept a calm, simple expression, and let the girl handle explaining everything herself.

She was still left in the dark about what exactly had been happening over at Silent Hill, but she was knowledgeable enough to know that something rotten was afoot, and even though Harry seemingly...trusted what that possibly doped-up cult woman was saying, Cybil sensed something off. A part of her still thought that all that fog, and the strange creatures looming in the shadows were both a trick of the light and some kind of freak storm. Even if Harry insisted on this dream world being real.

At the gesture Heather made, Cybil couldn't help but laugh, a light one as though to relieve herself of this strange tension building up in her chest as Heather spoke. "So I'm assuming you moved after that...and that's an explanation for the change in name."

Of course, she really had yet to understand why this cult had a fascination with Cheryl, but nevertheless, she was surprised that after getting out of there, Harry didn't do the name change thing sooner. There was something just so off about that whole place and their cult.

Oh, Harry. Apparently the bad thing about being a writer was seeing archetypes in everything. In stories, it paid to listen to cryptic old women when they appeared out of nowhere and dropped mysterious clues on your head. ... Apparently, it hadn't occurred to him that it was equally possible for said cryptic old women to be just as familiar with the trope as he probably was and to use that to be an enormous troll.

"Yeah, pretty much... We moved out of Portland and Dad dyed my hair and let me pick a different name. I chose Heather because... actually, I don't even remember why I chose it. I guess I just thought it sounded pretty."

Harry, of course, had failed spectacularly at referring to her by the new name instead of 'Cheryl' half the time, but thankfully he hadn't ever slipped up in public.

"I don't know if we were ever under some kinda Witness Protection thing or if Dad just... made it all work out by himself, but... ever since then, that's how it was."

The waitress returned and set down the mug that Heather had ordered upon arrival-- the teen took it and gave the waitress a strained smile in thanks before curling her fingers around the handle and bringing it up to let the steam bathe her face.

"So... yeah. That's why most people know me as Heather. ... When I got here, my first thought was that... somehow those freaks were behind it, so I just... decided to play it safe and use the second name. 'Course, it's a bit late to correct people now, so..."

She shrugged apologetically to the cop.

"Sorry if that was confusing..."

When the waitress came by to drop off Cheryl's drink, Cybil was too engrossed to ask for another. And she wouldn't have bothered anyway. One cup was enough, and it wasn't like she strained herself much after arriving. Sure, the storm and cold had gotten to her, but she had calmed down and warmed up, and didn't want too much caffeine in her system.

A Witness Protection program didn't sound too far-fetched considering the circumstances. If the cult really was as fixated on Cheryl as was let on to be, it was probably the best decision Harry could have done for both him and his daughter.

Those poor Masons can't catch a break, can they?

She waves Heather's apologies away, shaking her head. "No need. I'll admit, it definitely threw me off, but after your explanation it at least makes better sense than it did before."

It was still one of the tallest tales Cybil's ever been forced to believe, but considering where she was now...her cynicism was beginning to wear a little thin.

The booth creaks a bit as Cybil leans back, crossing her legs underneath the table. "I'm really just relieved to hear the two of you made it out of there alive. Your father made it a really bad habit of just...practically disappearing into thin air, as did you."

Even when all that weird stuff wasn't happening in Silent Hill, getting lost in a place like that wasn't the best thing.

Even 'fixated' was pretty much an understatement. And the obsession only got worse over the years as her own original generation had been brought up being told she, the missing Alessa, was essentially their messiah.

Heather's smile got a little more relaxed, her shoulders a little less tense. The first hurdle was crossed, then. It had taken her months to get that far with her own father when he had been here, and by the time she had, it was too late.

"Yeah, we made it out in more or less one piece." A different 'one piece' than before for her, but hey, she didn't need to be going into that right now. She was already asking Cybil to swallow a hell of a lot. "I mean, I won't lie, that place ... hung over us, but ..."

Kicking one leg a little, she reached across the table for the little jar by the window that had all the packets of sugar, plucking a small wad of them out between two fingers. She shot Cybil another one of those crooked grins as she did so.

"Sorry again for the wild goose chase... I guess the apple didn't fall too far from the tree. Dad always was good at that."

Well, maybe not before Silent Hill, but it sure did seem like he'd learned a little lesson from all those 'now you see me, now you don't' shenanigans when it came to evading the cult later on. Pulling disappearing acts was a handy thing to stay sharp at when there was a group of diehard fanatics after your kid. That incident back in the early nineties had just been a little too close for comfort.

"Anyway... I've been here almost a year now and haven't seen any culties rear their ugly heads, so... you can call me Cheryl, if you want. I can tell other people it's a middle name or something if they get weirded out and ask about it."

Had Heather gone and attempted to explain the fact that Harry entered Silent Hill with a 7-year-old and left with a newborn, she would have put her money down on the table, slid her sunglasses on, and leave without a word. Okay, maybe not ditch poor Heather to that extreme, but yeah, she probably wouldn't have believed anything farther than what Heather just said. Harry left Silent Hill with Cheryl Mason safely. That's all she needed to know.

Hell, she wasn't even going to ask about herself.

"Almost too good."

Again, she waves the apology away, crossing her arms as she gets comfortable. "So long as the two of you got out safe and sound, the chase was worth it." But at what cost? From the sound of it, they got out safe and sound...only to be hunted down by other crazy cult members. It was too bizarre. Hopefully, if she made it out there alive, she'd never have to deal with that town and its drug-fueled enthusiasts ever again.

There's a nod. "Whichever you prefer. I wouldn't want to confuse your friends, though it might be hard shaking the name Cheryl." After all, the name's practically been embedded into her psyche.

Yeah, thankfully, Heather wasn't that crazy. She had told even fewer people about that little detail than she had about her real name. Not James, not Kaito, not Rise, not Phoenix... Only one person knew, and that was just because she'd let it slip that she knew what it was like to die. Even the most willing to suspend disbelief would usually throw the towel in when the person they were talking to claimed to have past lives.

So, thankfully, she was not planning on informing Cybil about any more than she had to.

"We were walkin' and talkin', so all's well that ends well, right?" Obviously feeling a lot more at-home now than when she first walked in the door, she tore the tabs off of the packets she'd just grabbed and began the process of turning her coffee from 'coffee' to 'sugar water with some coffee in it'. Her slightly-joking grin seemed a little less anxious. "Apart from the therapy bills, I mean."

Brushing the empty sugar packets to the side, she finally took a decent sip of her coffee. Call her a wuss, but she couldn't stand taking it black.

"Heh, don't worry about it. At worst, the friends who don't know will probably just think you're bad at remembering names if you slip." Rubbing the back of her head, she turned to look out the window for a second or two. "Honestly, when all that stuff in Silent Hill was over, I asked people to start calling me Cheryl again, but... I'd just been using 'Heather' so long, it stuck."

... Well, in other words, she'd asked Douglas and he really DID suck at remembering her real name, and since he was more or less the only friend she had emerged from that ordeal with, the whole 'call me Cheryl' thing never really caught on. She never much had the heart to correct him after awhile.

Cybil tries not to smile at Heather's more comfortable attitude, and despite her joking demeanor, she withheld from laughing at her crack at therapy bills. Of course, she was only human and there was some humour in her face as she watched the blond empty the sugar packets into her drink.

"I'm almost too good at remembering names." Cybil taps the table with one of her fingers, leaning in a bit forward now. Her expression is light, and she's obviously in with the joking attitude. She tended to warm up towards kids more-so than adults, even if she was only vaguely aware of Heather's slight delinquent nature (if that video feed from Goldenrod said anything about her personality). But she understood, having been passed along from foster home to foster home she had been exposed to kids who had it rough. And even though Heather had a great father supporting her (she was still unaware of Harry's death) she understood certain situations could leave kids with some coarse personalities.

"I don't want your friends thinking I'm another one of those dumb, doughnut-munching cops you see on television."

One thing that Heather would never deny, no matter how hard she'd made things for Harry during her less-than-respectable years, was that he'd been an incredible father. They'd had their ups and downs and their fights, but she'd had what a lot of kids didn't. ... What Cybil likely didn't with all those foster homes, as a matter of fact.

Yet, she'd still turned out rough around the edges. Sometimes it just happened. Not even the best parent in the world could protect their child from everything-- although Harry had gone above and beyond the call of duty when it came to that. The odds had just been stacked against them, was all.

In any case, Heather was grinning now, broadly. She waved a hand, dismissively. "Nah, I'll tell them you're one of the cool ones. They know that when I say something's okay, it's gotta be legit." Especially if she was saying it about a cop.

Of course, most of the motley crew that made up the pool of people who could be referred to as 'Heather's friends' were a lot more respectful of the law than she was (apart from one or two significant examples...), so Cybil would likely find no trouble with most of them. ... Key word being 'most'.

"'Sides, I'm pretty sure Dad wouldn't have made friends with your average dumb, donut-munching cop."

Those had been the kinds of cops she'd seen wanting to question him about the 'murder' back when she was barely old enough to start going to kindergarten. Needless to say, if she'd had the vocabulary back then, she'd have called them 'assholes'-- but being only five or so at the time, 'bad guys' had sufficed.

That had been the first of several reasons over the years that Heather had started to get disillusioned with the whole concept of the police force.

Cybil was still unaware of Heather's default feelings about cops, though she was starting to get inklings of her usual attitude. But that wasn't anything strange, most kids, especially teens who are a little rough around the edges, never really had any positive feelings towards cops.

It was a tough job when the hours weren't slow (Brahms and the surrounding area were usually relatively quiet compared to what's seen on those buddy-cop television shows), and someone had to do it. Luckily, Cybil liked thinking that she did things better than well. Not that she was conceited, but she was pretty damn proud of her badge and the ability to help people.

She raises an eyebrow at Heather's statement about her father. She's not sure of Harry's ability of picking alliances and friends (c'mon, he was believing everything that Dahlia woman fed him), but nevertheless she smiles.

Her fingers intertwine as she continues leaning forward against the table. "Speaking of, I heard that your father was here at one point." Her voice is slightly cautious, as though she's somewhat aware of the delicacy of the topic despite Heather's brightened mood. "I take it that people coming and going is of the norm around here?"

It's not hard to get the girl's number on that one-- there wasn't anything particularly special or unique about Heather's distaste for law enforcement, despite the strange circumstances surrounding most of her life. A combination of bad experiences and general teen rage towards The Man made up most of it.

Unsurprisingly, though, the mention of her father did put a slight damper on Heather's enthusiasm. Although the smile doesn't disappear, it does become a little more subdued, and she puts the mug down so that she can run her fingers through the hair on the back of her head.

"Yeah, he was... he was here for a bit. People... do tend to disappear sometimes. ... For the longest I was sure that the disappearances were deaths, but over the past few months, it's been lookin' more and more like they go home when it happens. So..."

She shrugs, grinning again, but it's ... just a little forced.

It's not hard to fool Cybil, and she can easily tell a forced smile when she sees it. She offers Heather a sympathetic look, allowing the girl to see a softer side that the cop rarely lets anyone see, but the fact that the two of them are connected through some strange event gives Cybil the excuse to shirk off her usual hard-ass cop persona.

"With what you've been through with that town, I don't blame you for thinking that." The waitress comes around and refills Cybil's cup, and she takes the newly full cup between her hands thoughtfully.

"So it's possible to go home, huh?" She leans back again, musing with a mug against her lips. She takes a sip. Who knows if she'd want to go back to all that fog. As strange as this place was, there was a sort of innocence that couldn't be achieved back in their universe. Especially with the events going on.

But still, without a gun at her side and the people back at the precinct to talk to, it just doesn't feel right. "Listen, Cheryl..." cue another pause, it's obvious she's gathering her thoughts. "I know we don't know each other that well, and I'm not going to assume you're going to completely trust me. But if you ever wanted to get anything off your chest, I'd be willing to lend an ear."

She knew what it was like feeling completely alone. She knew that feeling all too well after her parents died.

A couple years ago, Heather would have been suspicious of that softness. Any cop who wasn't doing the hardass thing was usually just trying to play buddy-buddy and get you to let your guard down, was what she always thought. But a lot had changed in those years, and this is Cybil Bennett...

"Yeah, pretty sure everybody else thought I was a big debbie downer for awhile 'cause of that..."

Turns out most people didn't like other people going '... Yep they're probably dead' when friends and family disappeared. It was a much more pleasant alternative to believe that they'd somehow 'gone home'. It was fortunate that the 'going home' hypothesis was likely to be the reality.

"According to rumor, it's possible, anyway."

She found herself absent-mindedly reaching for even more sugar packets.

"But it's honestly all a whole lotta speculation and hearsay... I keep hearin' different things. Some people say that they 'went home' when in reality they were just... passed out somewhere for a week, some people disappear entirely and then show back up again in New Bark months later, and like half of them remember everything and the other half apparently don't, some people say they've gone home and others apparently just don't even realize they were gone at all ... All kinds of things float around on the rumor mill. All anybody really knows is that sometimes people come back after they disappear. So they're not dead."

The girl pauses to trail off and take a long drink of her ~~coffee-flavored sugar water~~ coffee-- which is around when Cybil makes her offer.

And naturally Heather's most immediate and charming reaction is to choke on what she's drinking.

It's not even that it shocks her all that much (although she IS surprised to hear it)-- it's that hot beverages have some sort of inherent sentience and like to dive down your windpipe at only the most awkward moments. So, probably looking like a bad sitcom actor overdoing it in a 'I am totally surprised!' scene, Heather hacks hoarsely into her own sleeve for a couple of second, holding the cup precariously in one hand.

"I-- uh--" COUGHGHGKKH. "Uhm... Thanks. Mmmaybe I'll take you up on that." Maybe.

Cybil was a cop, after all... but honestly? Heather wanted to trust her. She really did.

... Only thing for it was just to see where this went.

It couldn't hurt, could it?

Besides... maybe getting to know Cybil would be the next best thing in this strange world to the opportunity that she had completely blown with her father.

Edited 2011-03-25 15:56 (UTC)

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(no subject)

SCREW SLEEPIN', RP IS MORE FUN

IT'S TOO BAD I PASSED OUT AFTER POSTING THIS FFFFFF

LOL IT'S OKAY I DIDN'T ACTUALLY WIND UP LASTING TOO LONG MYSELF

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OH WOW IT'S BEEN LIKE. A MONTH.

BY THE POWER OF GRAYSKULL, I AM BACKTAG-RA.