Holocene

Eden Project 
#1
It was getting late! Octavia was aware of how low the sun was sinking, casting darkness through the dome and illuminating everything in a silver light instead. The butterflies had found places to nestle for the evening, and the few lingering patrons were starting toward the exit. Octavia was closing tonight, so it was just here and a few other employees milling about, checking things over, making sure nothing had been damaged. In her own secret routine, Octavia was wandering on the edges of the paths, running the tips of her fingers along the fronds and leaves and bark of trees. It was invisible process, and no one would be able to tell she was utilizing her beloved ability unless they took a closer look at her vibrant green eyes, which she kept mostly shut. Usually, she was pretty good about keeping her ears sharp for any oncoming patrons or coworkers, but she was actually humming some Bon Iver song she listened to on the way to work this morning. A mistake, since she ended up bumping right into somebody.

@Ophelia Taylor
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#2
 It was getting late. Not really by her personal standards, but late enough that she started to feel the steady rhythmic ticking of the clock. Late enough that soon her chances of feeding for the night would start to dwindle and she would have to decide between the drunk and homeless or hunger. The problem was that she was pushing her luck as of late, running on fumes to the point where going without for another night was enough to make her otherwise dead insides tense.

 The problem was that she was coasting a no man's land. Too many people dawdling about to eat peacefully, not enough to herd a stray from the flock and make a meal of it. Subtly she pressed her fingers to her middle from the inside of her pocket, watched the toes of her shoes as she focused on avoiding the uneven stones in the pathway. The other issue of course was the smell, the sense of blood that was a cut among the norm - stronger ans stronger by the minute and worse when she walked briskly.

 She'd blame her hunger for it, the oblivious way she ended up shouldering into another woman, nearly stumbling in the process and looking up with an almost snarl. "Careful."
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#3
Oh, jeez!

“Ah!” Octavia squeaked as she stumbled from the impact. Her hand snapped away from the frond she’d been stroking, but she could do nothing with the lingering vibrant emerald in her eyes as she looked up to the bristly woman. Wide and accentuated by arched brows, she blinked in bewilderment for a moment before collecting herself. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there.” A bright smile?
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#4
 A less hungry and caught off version of herself would probably apologize in turn. In the very least, she would try to soften the girl to her presence - whether naturally or through suggestion, but both of those were shelved for the time being. Instead, she pressed her nails into her palms and focused on the mounting tension that she carried, watched the girls eyes and glanced to the plant she had been touching seconds prior.

"What're you doing to it?" Her own eyes paled, honed in on any sign of potential deception.
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#5
She was still bristled and tense, and it set a small discomfort rolling down Octavia's spine. Usually he apologies were genuine enough to soft even the most agitated of peoples' tempers. Not this one. Instead, a question was asked, and Octavia looked from the woman to the plant. "Oh, um." She said, scrambling for something to tell her. "Just checking on it. Making sure no pests have eaten at it." Noooot entirely the truth, but not a lie. Helping it grow and stay healthy was basically checking on it. Just a more advanced version of it.
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#6
 She stood her ground but started to sway, a somewhat rhythmic rocking back and forth as she exhaled slowly and looked from the plant to the psychic and back again. "That's a unique gift." Calling a spade a spade, she ran her tongue over her teeth compulsively, moved her jaw in the process and checked for any difference there.

Go.

 Despite a long history of near-misses and lackluster progeny's, she had a fairly loud and well-spoken voice where survival impulse was concerned. It sang then, tried to urge her to step aside and down the pathway towards home. "Can you do anything else?" The peculiarity of the conversation, the lack of tact, it was missed on her as she unfurled her fingers when it felt like her nails might grow enough to pierce straight through her palms.
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#7
Octavia's brows stitched. How... how did she know? The curly haired woman took a half step back from the strange lady, eyeing how she seemed to be struggling with... something. Her clenched fists, the tension in her voice. "I- I just. I just take care of the plants, ma'am." She assured her. "Are you okay?" She definitely didn't look okay.
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#8
 She wasn't okay - she was definitely not okay. She could tell it from how her muscles burned and how she could have sworn she could hear the subtle grinding of her jaw as it wore thin. A quick test of pressing her nails to her thighs confirmed what she already knew, they were sharp, sharper than they should have been.

 Her eyes kept that same icy pale shade of silver, stark as she rocked a bit on her heels and tried to convince herself to come down from the impending attack. "Sure." There was a strained grit there, almost a grow as she closed in further and held her breath, tried to avoid more of the scent of her than necessary. "If you're going to pawn that off, in the future you should work on your subtly."
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#9
This woman... did not seem well. She was rocking and gritting her teeth and speaking with a poison in her voice that sent a chill down Octavia's spine. "I think we're closing soon, ma'am." Octavia said with a bat of her eye and her jaw locking. If the woman was on some sort of drug, she wasn't welcome here. "I could direct you to the exit, if you'd like." Octavia offered as she moved to step to the side and back a bit, more toward the middle of the pathway.
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#10
 Soon, but not yet. They'd be closing soon. But that wasn't good enough, that didn't make it safe to drag her off to the side and into the dirt. And if she waited for them to close, well ... she knew better than to play with that particular brand of fire. The idea of the girl staying close enough to smell, just out of proverbial reach, that was enough to make her sneer, keeping her eyes trained on the ground as she quickly folded her arms and tucked her hands against her sides to hide them out of hyper-vigilance alone.

 "No, leave me alone." Fair warning if she didn't want to get mauled and end up a plaque in the same gardens she tended to. She'd shoulder past her, rough but not violent as she walked brisk enough to border on a run, tried to focus on every little chirp of insect and shuffle of her shoes to avoid the steady tattoo of the psychic's heartbeat just behind her, staving it off, making that uphill climb back to seemingly human through the power of distance alone.
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#11
She was, likely, crazy. Octavia wouldn't attempt to follow her as she left. Her brows did furrow, and she would be a bit jumpier for the rest of the night at the idea of the woman being around every corner. When she got home, she would say a prayer that the lady got some help she needed, but otherwise chock it up to one of those weirdo experiences you sometimes had in life.
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