plantfood | (no subject)

It's only Hal with him on the beach today; the other dogs tend to stick close to Sam and Sam is with Lucy, but Hal, somehow, she's become his dog. He never knew her previous owner, knows only that he and River were close, and that, at least, makes him think that, whoever he was, he must have been a good guy. But he doesn't know what he was like, doesn't know what it is about him that makes Hal want to stay by his side most of the time, but he finds he doesn't mind. Before the island he was certainly not a dog person, preferring the company of his small cat, but things change.

The island changes things.

It's early evening, the sun is still at least a half hour from dipping behind the trees and Mathias doesn't want to move from this spot. He's gone for a dive, his scuba equipment is sitting on the sand beside him and he's still dripping, but he makes no move to reach for his towel. Sometimes, he knows, awful things happen to the people here. They lose their loved ones and people die, the island isn't a safe haven from that, but at this moment, he's happy to be here. He's happy to be alive.

There are plants in the hut he shares with Lucy and Sam, only two, one in the main room and one in his bedroom, but they're there. Even a few months ago he might have had trouble sleeping with them there, but no longer. Back home, he's dead. Acceptance of that has been a long time coming, but he thinks it's finally here. He's dead. Henrich is dead. Stacy is dead.

But not now and not here.

Smiling faintly, he reaches over and strokes Hal's fur, then lifts his hand to wave to the figure coming down the beach toward him.

Threaded | Flat

It hasn't been an easy road back to normalcy. After twenty-odd years of living that same small life in the backwater down of Bon Temps, the past two years have been something else entirely, and there are days when Sookie thinks that it's understandable that she can't seem to get her bearings straight. Her whole life's been one of waitressing, of hearing thoughts where there should only be silence, and climbing under the covers when it all gets to be too much. She's a simple girl, and life was supposed to follow accordingly. Maybe she'd get married, have kids, live that standard life, but she had no problem with that. She never wanted to shine beyond the limits of that small town.

In the end, she hadn't been given the choice.

Whatever remnants of her old life Sookie was able to cling to after vampires came out of the coffin, the island's torn from her hands entirely. Sometimes, she doesn't mind. There's something exhilarating about being that child again, being shown multiple roads and not being forced down every single one. Having everyone tell her that there are things that she can accomplish, let no one give her any other impression. It's been grand, and she's learned, and she's lived in a way that she thought out of her reach years ago.

But she's a country girl, it seems, and sometimes all that she wants is that little house by the wetlands, that lawn that always ended up being a pain to mow, the old and rickety rocking chairs sitting on the porch. Sometimes it's all she can dream of, sitting there and letting the sun soak into her cheeks. The island prevents that, thrumming a low spin of tension into her stomach, always afraid of people leaving, or people arriving, or their whole world being turned on its side as a result of things she can get her mind around.

The people, though, she could get used to that. Things with Mitchell aren't perfect, and Sookie suspects that they may never be. Along with dreams of that white picket fence, so have notions of a true and painless love completely vanished. But she's in a decent enough of a place, and when she sees Mathias smiling in her direction, she can only hope that he is, too.

"Hey there, handsome," she greets, hands stuffed in the pockets of the light blue cotton cardigan she has on, a bright sunflowered dress worn underneath.