St. Peter's Asylum discussion

The pool is off from the asylum itself. It's actually set out back on land owned by those who own the asylum, with a small concrete pathway leading those to and from the asylum and pool. Around the pool itself is a large dome-like structure, making the pool accesable during summer and winter. With the panes a heavy-duty plastic-like material, the dome is like a greenhouse as much on the outside as it is on the inside, where the air is hot and muggy. The pool is then a wonderful relief from the hot air around it. The pool itself has clear, glassy water that can be easily visible all the way to the bottom near the shalliw end that starts at a mere three feet deep. It goes further still, taking a large dip towards the middle of the pool. It ends at eight feet deep, where the water is a dark blue were the bottom cannot be seen. Around the pool is a four foot wide, concrete walkway where signs advising people to walk, not run and ___ feet deep marking placed at aporopriate places on the edge of the pool in bright red, black letters. At the back of the dome wall is a long, white table where you can place your towel or other things you might have brought. Further along the backway are small table and chair setups for people to sit if they don't want to swim.

RP here.

Sounds of heavy splashing cane from the pool, and if anyone were to look out of alarm, they would relax when they found that it was only a nurse. By the looks of the pale skin and black hair, it would be assumed that the nurse was Drake, and they would be right. He wasn't the greatest swimmer in the world -not by far- but swimming in the cool, glassy water of the pool was good for him, and since there was no punching bag around at the asylum, the better alternative was to swim in the pool. And after the week he'd had, he could use some sort of exercise to blow off steam. It was lap twenty, far better than the nurse was intended. He decided that that was a good place to stop and rest the burning in his arms and legs. He pulled up and out of the pool, sitting on the edge while his feet dangled in the cool water. He gave himself a shake to rid himself of the heavy water droplets and to get his long, soaked hair that was flopped carelessly over his eyes out of his face.

((All right, just a little writer-to-writer criticism: we ought to have more description on the pool. How deep does the water go? Is there a lifeguard on duty? Are there tables and chairs for those who don't want to swim but sit or sunbathe? And why is it domed? If you ask me, a padlocked gate [guards and nurses would have access to the code] and a fence would work just as well.))

The loud splashes of the nurse swimming laps were, of course, lost on Harper. Dressed in a pair of modest shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, she looked as if she had been by the waterside for a while: and she had. Very early that morning she had clocked in at the asylum, and almost immediately had asked a guard to accompany her to the pool. One of the kinder had obliged, and the deaf volunteer had been sitting by the pool ever since, her nose buried in a book. A black and purple backpack sat at her feet, full almost to bursting with books and school supplies, all of which she had brought from home. She'd been keeping her promise to Sera, and had checked out multiple books on psychosis and PTSD from the asylum's library. Now she sat with her notebook open on her knees, scribbling furiously, jotting down random bits and pieces of information that she thought could apply to Carlos Rivera. Indeed, she'd even brought over the Hispanic boy's file (it sat closed on the table behind her now, having been read over several times.) So far, she was having a very interesting study day.

Drake saw the other person from across the way. He didn't recognize the other girl, but by the looks of her (and was that a file she had?) she was a nurse like himself. Picking up any opportunity he could to be social -socialization was important to keeping all his marbles-, the goth boy hopped to his feet, even if it was dangerous, and walked over to the girl, grabbing a nearby towel and rubbing it against his disaster of a hair. Seeing a chair nearby, Drake almost timidly took a seat. He didn't want to appear rude or cocky in any way to the girl, but wanted to get her attention all the same. She seemed completely lost in her own world. Drake figured that she was reading a great novel. With a friendly smirk, the goth waved his hand at the girl.

And Harper, who wasn't about to look up, didn't notice the boy as he approached her, or his smile, or his wave. Her head was bent down, and she was skimming over the brief passage she'd found that might actually be relevant to Carlos's case. Post-traumatic stress disorder, apparently, did have the ability to induce psychosis, and flashbacks, and disorientation, along with various other side effects. She jolted this down in her notebook, pouted a little at the result (the page was looking rather blank--the result of very little information having been recorded about the actual symptoms of the boy's episodes) and it didn't look like much to work with. With an irritated sigh that she herself could not hear, the deaf girl closed the book with a snap and began to read over her notes.

Carlos Rivera
PTSD, psychosis
Causes: flashbacks? Memory overload? (talk to Sera abt. history)
Symptoms: ??? Violent, inconsolable
Lasts: ???
Recurring often. Talk to Carlos? (with guard nearby)

Drake watched the girl, confusion slowly clouding over his face. The girl couldn't have been ignoring him, could she? Maybe she was just too preoccupied in her work to notice him. Still, he found it odd (and a bit insulting) that she hadn't looked up from hearing the chair scrape against the concrete floor when he moved to sit down. Now determined to get the girl's attention -he expected it to be much easier now that she wasn't reading- Drake tapped his fingers gently on the papers before her, waving and smiling again.

Harper bit back a startled cry, notes and textbook alike nearly flying out of her hands as she jumped nearly a mile high. Her head snapped up, eyes wide and sharply accusatory, as if she were asking the boy what business he had scaring her like that. One hand was clapped over her things so that they wouldn't fall, and the other reached behind her, searching for her phone. She brought it out in front of her, tried to control the startled look that had claimed her features and typed: Jesus Christ, you scared me! I didn't see you there. What's up?

Drake's eyes widened slightly in surprise to the young girl's reaction. His cheeks gained a light pink color when he realized that he had nearly given the girl a heart attack. His eyebrows furrowed together further when he read the message on her phone. She couldn't speak, what was that about? He figured it had something to do with why she hadn't noticed him beforehand, but he hadn't quite figured out why yet. A mute? Possibly. "I'm so sorry!" He said hurriedly, the on his cheeks only growing at his embarrassment for scaring the girl. "I didn't realize you uhh... Uh..." Realization dawned on him, and the pink turned into a bright red. "Do you understand me?"

Harper grinned a little, full lips parting to expose the tips of her teeth in a smile of amusement. She nodded, pointed to herself, then at the book, and finally touched two fingers gently to Drake's moving lips. Just in case the implication wasn't all that obvious, she typed it out: I read lips. Have since I was seven or eight. I'm deaf--that's why I didn't look when you were doing whatever you were doing. A slight shrug came as she displayed the message, as if to add a sort of apology to it. She gave him time to read the words, then cleared the screen and typed again. My name is Harper, by the way. Did you need something?

The fingers touched Drake's moving lips, and he stopped them for a moment, not exactly sure how to react. He was able to shake it off quickly with the distraction of having to read her message. Her message only made Drake feel even worse about himself, and his blush darken. "Oh!" He exclaimed, hitting the palm of his hand against his forehead as if to say, How stupid am I? He looked at her, slowly shaking his head in disbelief. "Yeah, I'm sorry, I didn't even think about that! I didn't realize, I'm sorry." He stopped again, pausing to read the message, his eyes sliding across the screen with ease again. "Hi, Harper. I'm Drake. And no, I just thought that I could talk with you? I got bored over the by my lonesome self." He jutted his thumb behind him to where the puddle of water showed where he had been sitting after his swim.

Harper brightened immediately, and let out a laugh that she herself could not here. Sure, she typed, and grinned. Today was supposed to be a study day for me, but whatever. You're a nurse, right? Maybe you could help me out. The books were closed and shoved gently aside, and the deaf girl patted the now-clear spot beside her, scooting over to give Drake a little more room. She tapped her notes with the end of her pencil and gave a little frown, as if to ask Drake if he knew the boy whose name was written on the page. Perhaps an actual member of the staff would know more about Carlos and his odd condition--the books certainly weren't helping all that much.

Drake scooted his chair over slightly, peering over the notes, but keeping a respectable distance from the paper. He was still wet and a little bit drippy, and he didn't want the girl's notes. He read the writing carefully, one hand messing with the top of the page, resisting the urge to dog-ear it, which was apparently a habit of his. "Umm I know of Carlos- he's the only Hispanic guy here, right?" Drake nodded to answer his own question, as he was feeling pretty confident about it. "Unfortunately, I don't know him personally. Is this all you know? I'd be more than happy to help." Drake didn't have a patient of his own yet, and if Raven weren't so dependent except for when he was being poisoned, he would have loved to taken over the position of his nurse. Since not, Drake was happy to help out any other nurses he could.

Harper shook her head, and gave a little scowl down at the bare minimum she had been able to scavenge out of the books and the nurses that weren't scared of the poor boy. She typed: It's all I've got, yeah. No one's willing to talk at all about him. Why's that, do you know? Even his file is vague. She nodded back at the manila folder sitting behind them. She hadn't been exaggerating: not even Carlos's file shed much light on his situation. All she knew from it was that he had been to an asylum before St. Peter's, and his symptoms had developed there. There was nothing on the rest of his history besides his birthplace and ethnicity, and she doubted that that had much to do with anything. She couldn't keep the hope out of her eyes as she turned back to Drake. He was a nurse, and a friendly one at that-surely he had to know more.

Drake pursed his lips, looking over the papers again with a careful eye. He didn't know a lot about his home life, but he had heard some things about him- most about his outbursts or near outbursts where nurses had dragged him out of whatever flashback (according to the paler he was reading) he was reliving. He squinted his dark eyes for a moment, then pointed to a segment of writing. It was the note that regarded talking to Sera. He turned to Harper with a raised eyebrow to his fellow nurse. "What about her? Does she have any additional information you could get?" He asked her. If anything, his personal nurse would have the best information available aside from Carlos, who wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone, he was sure.

Harper shook her head, and her fingers went flying. I talked to her a few days ago--that's why I'm doing this research now, to try and find out why his "episodes" are recurring like this. But Sera wouldn't say a thing about his history. She just kind of skirted around the question. And she let out an almost irritated sigh. It was frustrating, the way the entire asylum clammed up about one young boy's story. The patients in the asylum had been through everything, it seemed: rape, murder, psychosis, nightmares, voices in the head, hallucinations, depression, self-harm. Some of them didn't know where they were, or even who they were. What could possibly be so bad about Carlos's story that no one--not even the toughest of patients, who might have actually known something--was willing to talk about it?

"Hmmm." Drake ran a hand through his dark black hair that was still damp as he read through the message quickly. "I like your thought here," he noted, pointing to one of her diagnoses for Carlos. You could practically see the gears in his head turning while he thought, and when he caught a train of thought, he went with it, talking quickly, but trying his best for Harper's sake not to let his lips run together. "PTSD seems very plausible, but that's only if we know if he had any traumatic experiences in his past. We, of course, can't know that unless we get Sera or Carlos to talk. Maybe we could convince Sera, but I doubt it. Instead, maybe you could interview some of the people who he attacked or had episodes with? You could ask them what it was that seemed to trigger them. Create a list, maybe piece things together?" He paused now, curiosity lighting his brown gaze. "If you don't mind me asking, why are you so curious? I mean, he has a personal nurse already, why do you want to get involved?"

Harper shrugged. I'm a volunteer, she typed. That pretty much means I do anything and everything that needs doing, including relieving some of the stressed nurses of duty for a little while. If I can anyway. If they're not liable to slit my throat for it. A quiet, dark chuckle, and her fingers stilled briefly, giving Drake time to read the words before she went on. And have you seen Sera lately? She got the crap beat out of her a few weeks ago--apparently by Carlos himself. If that doesn't qualify as a "stressful situation", then I don't know what does. I feel bad for her, and I want to help out. She nodded to the books. It's why I've been doing all this reading and such.

Drake looked at the message, and then had to reread it with a wider gaze. Sera had been beat? He honestly had't seen her around for a while, and hadn't heard anything about her being attacked by her own patient. The goth nurse felt himself becoming impressed with the other nurse, Sera. She had been this poor guy's nurse, he had attacked her -savagely, too, by the sounds of it- and he still wanted to be his nurse? Drake decided that the girl was very brave and began to take a liking to the nurse he'd never met. "Understood," he said with a small nod. "Well, I have nothing better to do now that Raven's out of the infirmary, so I'd be happy to help you if you would be willing to let me."

Sure. And Harper nodded again, smiling widely. Anything you could do would help. Maybe we can do some research separately, and then go see if we've come up with any of the same information?

((I'm sorry, I've got to call a fade. My teeth are killing me. Do you mind?))

[No problem. Fade.]

Drake nodded enthusiastically at the deaf girl with a small smile in place. "Yup, I'd be glad to!"

The water was dark and cool, but Rebecca Merchant had no real intentions of swimming, though she had her bathing suit on underneath her shorts if she decided to change her mind. Instead, she was sitting on the very edge of the deep pool, her feet dangling in the cold water and it felt like heaven on her feet. Today, the potential murderer didn't have much on her mind, but she was just enjoying the day. She looked rather relaxed, too. Her hair was piled up into a high ponytail and she was sitting with her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands as she watched her feet swirl around in the water beneath her.

Riley had never been one to hesitate before hopping into a pool, and today was absolutely no exception. In a matter of seconds, the brunette entered, tossed off her dress to reveal the bathing suit underneath, and made a leap into the cold water. Her splash was delicate, much like her, and only reached about a foot of radius. After a few seconds under the water, the brunette peeked up, pushing her hair back with a wide smile in Rebecca's direction. "Oh, helo, Rebecca. I didn't see you there." It was quite obvious that Riley was in a rather good mood, be it demonstrated by her large smile or the happiness radiating from her.

[My bad.]

Rebecca looked up from the mesmerizing motions her foot was making in the water. A smile came over her face now when she recognized the Welsh girl swimming before her. "Oh, hi, Riley," Rebecca replied with a little wave. She almost didn't recognize the other girl, already forgetting their conversation at the peach tree a few days ago. "How are you today?" She asked brightly, making small talk as she contemplated a swim herself.

Carlos usually wasn't the type of person who could readily be seen around the pool. He wasn't a fantastic swimmer, he hated wearing a swimsuit because it meant all of his scars were completely visible to everyone, and he had the frustrating habit of not keeping track of where the pool was as he walked around, leading to more accidental falls than he could appreciate. But it seemed he was here now, and a loud, impulsive swear followed by a great splash! hailed another one of these unfortunate falls, and a second later the Hispanic boy came up, sputtering and coughing out Spanish obscenities along with several lungfuls of water (he'd been in the middle of talking to himself before he'd fallen in--it figured.) Why did this stupid pool hate him so much? It made absolutely zero sense to everyone but the pool.

There was another smaller splash as the tan figure of Juana dove into the pool after her friend. She had been lucky, she thought, to have just arrived to take a nice swim so she could contemplate about Raven's character and her encounter with him in the basement. She had hardly just walked through the doors when she saw Carlos and before she could offer him a little wave, she saw him go down into the water. The young Hispanic dropped everything she had and jumped in without a second thought. With the stinging from the chlorine in her eyes, it made it hard for Juana to see, but she managed to grab one of Carlos's arms and wrap one of her arms around his waist. She started to try and pull him towards the side of the pool, though she felt water start to fill up in her mouth and down her throat.

"Estoy bien!" Carlos gasped, finally regaining control of his arms and beginning to tread water. He managed to get over to the side a few pain-filled seconds later and slung one arm up and over the side of the pool. He clung there, coughing the last of the water out of him. "Juana, estoy bien. Gracias." One hand darted out, grabbing onto Juana's arm as she floundered in the water and pulling her over to him, to the side. The Hispanic tossed his head, slinging rather than flicking his hair out of the way so that he could better see. Thank God for small favors--he'd had the foresight to wear swimming trunks, as much as he hated them.

Juana spat the rest of the water from her mouth with a grimace. "De nada," she told him, running a hand over her face and back to get the hair out of her face that was sticking to her face (she hadn't had time to pull it up off of her face). She pushed herself from the side to sit on the edge of the pool with her toes just out of the water's reach. "I'm glad you're okay," she said with a shaky smile on her lips. The emergency necessary rescue had given the young Hispanic an adrenaline rush, causing her hands to shake a little and her internal body to go haywire. "How did you fall in?" She asked Carlos. "Puedes nadar?"

"Sí." Carlos nodded. "I can, I just don't like to--plus the water kind of had me at a disadvantage a minute ago. I swear, I have to stare right at where I'm putting my feet around this stupid pool or else I fall in and half-drown. It's why I never come here." Well, that and everybody asks about the scars, he thought with an internal grimace. Thankfully, he was now facing the golden-eyed girl, and the few scars he did have on his chest would be hard to see considering the water blurred the image. Besides, he highly doubted she would even want to stare at his chest, let alone comment on what she saw there. "But thanks for jumping in and preforming a rescate de emergencia, mi amiga. I like having the ability to do things like breathe."

She nodded in sympathy. "De nada." She could see how such an accident could have occurred with him and the pool. "Ah. Lo siento, amigo. But if you hate swimming so much, then why would you come here? Just looking for exercise?" It seemed like a reasonable explanation to her, as she swimming wasn't her favorite activity, either, but swimming gave her something to do, kept her slightly in shape, and it usually wasn't filled with patients, so it was a great place to think. It seemed that Carlos hadn't had many intentions of swimming despite his swimming trunks, so she wondered if he had also come to think and if so, she couldn't help but wonder what about.

A little grin parted his lips. "I suppose," he said with a shrug. "Even though I don't really need it. The pool, though, it's nice place to think, you know? When you want quiet. They"--he turned his head and nodded at the guards, for once not bothering to sneer at them--"don't really like it when there are a bunch of people in here at one time, so you're pretty much guaranteed at least a little bit of alone time." He turned back to her, head tilted curiously. "What about you? Did you come to think or did you want to swim?" Honestly, the golden-eyed Hispanic didn't strike him as the athletic type. Certainly the sort who didn't like to sit still, but not the sort to be incredibly enthusiastic about actually doing sports.

Juana shrugged, looking over at the guards with a polite wave. She was slightly irritated that they hadn't tried to rescue her friend. After all, he wasn't dangerous, and he had obviously needed the help, but she kept all that off of her expression and settled for a polite smile. She turned her attention back to the younger Hispanic boy, her lips twitching up into a real smile. "A little bit of both, actually." Her suspicions had been right, and she was still curious to see what had been going through Carlos's head. "I decided swimming wasn't going to kill me, plus when my body is off doing something else like swimming, my mind has its time to think over things."

"What kinds of things?" Carlos asked with a raise of his eyebrows. He wondered for a moment--just a moment--if he could have been on the older Hispanic's mind, but quickly shook the thought away. They'd agreed to trust each other, and Juana was gradually working towards becoming more open; if she had thoughts about him, bad ones especially, she would share them. She was rather opinionated, after all. So what had been on the golden-eyed girl's mind? She didn't look like it was anything pressing--but of course, she was still a stellar actress and he wasn't a mind-reader, even if he was god at seeing through deceptions. But Juana wasn't being deceptive right now, just amiable--and this, he himself was left wondering.

Juana didn't blush, but she thought for a moment that she would. She didn't like admitting that she had the large Indian in her head in case someone could get the wrong idea and although she didn't see Carlos as one to make assumptions, she didn't like it all the same. "That Raven person? The one that harasses all the other patients?" She knew there was no need to ask; everyone knew who Raven was for better or for worse. "I saw him in the basement yesterday and I think I made him mad. He was definitely offended when he left." She wasn't exactly worried about Raven, more like curious to see what he would do. If he did end up going after her, she could easily get her revenge on him and make sure he would leave her alone, but first she had to think of something in case anything did turn up with his name on it.

The eyebrows rose just a little higher. "¿En serio?" he asked her, and for once didn't smile. He wasn't entirely concerned about anything Juana could have done to offend Raven--as he'd told Domonic in the park, it wasn't easy to make him angry--but that didn't mean that he was thrilled that the golden-eyed girl was on the sadist's radar. He'd heard horror stories about the Indian jus as often as he heard them about himself, and he by no means wanted Juana's name to be spoken with sympathetic shakes of the head and quiet murmurs of 'poor girl.' He knew the older Hispanic could take care of herself, but he was still just a bit concerned. Still, he could wait and hear the story. Maybe it wasn't anything that wouldn't defuse on its own. "What'd you do?"

She thought back, although she knew exactly what had happened, she had to figure out how she wanted to word her story. Hackles had raised when Raven had, in her opinion, jumped to conclusions about her relationship with Carlos and she had been rather hostile (hostile for Juana) in return. "I went down to the basement to get some reading in, and he was down there, so I decided to be polite and introduce myself, and he did likewise." She hadn't been polite just to be polite, and she was sure they both knew it. She has been sizing the Indian up, he just hadn't been aware of it at first. "He wanted to tell me about how dangerous it is to trust people and then he further wanted to tell me that love and compassion were just as dangerous. He mentioned something about you, and I told him that any relationship, serious or not, with any other patient was none of his business and basically to keep his nose out of my business. He didn't become really offended until I told him he was just another patient, so I didn't have to tell him anything." She stopped, tucking her wet locks behind one ear and looking at Carlos with open curiosity. What would his reaction be? Whatever it was, Juana thought it would give her a better insight on Carlos's personality and his opinion of her as well. She hoped he wouldn't become angry at her or the situation.

"Offense," Carlos mused. He frowned a little, both at the use of the word and the news that indeed, things hadn't gone over very smoothly with the two. "Are you sure that's the word you want? Raven doesn't really get offended, Juana. You haven't bene here long so you probably don't know that, but it's true. He either gets angry, or he gets amused. If he didn't look like he wanted to rip your throat out when he left, he wasn't upset with you. He just thinks you're funny. Which, in case you misunderstand me, is not a good thing. People who Raven considers amusing tend to become his playthings." He supposed there was a worse fate than being toyed with, but around here, it was a generally dreaded concept. He tilted his head at Juana, and for once, there was little to read in his eyes save concern. "Be careful," he advised. "Play it safe. And if he gives you any trouble, come talk to me about it. Raven and I aren't amigos at all, but he doesn't hate me, and I think with a bit of persuasion I could convince him to leave you alone." Never mind what would happen to him because of that--he didn't want his newfound friend to be hurt, or worse, broken. Not when he was finally succeeding in bringing her out of het shell. Still, the young Hispanic didn't want to get too involved yet; Juana was independent. If she wanted his help, she would ask for it. Or at least accept his offer now.

The golden-eyed girl smiled a little. Carlos's reaction had been what she had suspected, and to her delight, further showed that the younger Hispanic wanted to be a true friend and help her. She knew she probably wouldn't need any help, but his gesture was much appreciated, and even though he didn't know it, it helped Juana put more trust into him. "Gracias, amigo, but I don't think I would need any help, though if I do, you'll be the first to know." She didn't want to downright shoot him down, and he was right; she hadn't been here very long and didn't know Raven very well. His games were different than her own. "And yes, I do think I offended him or upset him. He told me watch my back and that he wasn't finished with me." She shrugged it off, hoping that her friend would do the same.

((Raven: I wouldn't have been smiling if I'd been angry, Juana.))

And Carlos did, because he could see in her eyes that she wanted him to. He shrugged. "What else, then?" he asked, and took a brief dive underwater, surfacing a few feet away. His clinging arm had been growing tired--more importantly, the conversation had been trailing off, and the last thing he wanted was for Juana's gaze to wander and catch on any of the scars. They weren't many, but they were still there. Still noticeable. "You want to just swim around or something? Or do you want to talk some more? I'd be fine with either."

The girl held up one finger to ask for a moment as she pulled up her hair to get it out of her face. She then slid into the pool with impressive grace, making her way to Carlos in a slow butterfly stroke. When she did finally come up beside him, she was offering him a grin that was partially from her relief that he hadn't pressed her about her encounter with Raven. "I did say I'd come here to swim, ¿si? You helped me think it out, so it's time for a swim." She started to swim around Carlos in a large circle, glancing around the pool and finally resting on the young Hispanic again with a raised eyebrow. "To make this more interesting--I'm not really interested in swimming laps anymore-- shall we see who can hold their breathe the longest?" Something different, she decided, and then another opportunity to spend time with her new friend.

Carlos grinned, and laughed. He hadn't expected such a nonsensical request from the stern, unshakable Hispanic, and her little challenge now delighted him. "Sure," he told her, "if you want, but I should warn you that you're just about to go up against a master." He'd held his breath for most of the 180 seconds he'd been hanging upside down from the peach tree, as Cleo could now attest to. He turned, treading water, so that he faced Juana. "A la cuenta de tres," he told her. "¿Listo?"

Juana chuckled at him, not exactly sure that he was serious or not. She decided that she would find out. She knew she wasn't much of a swimmer and so her ability to hold her breathe was not that strong, but she knew that wasn't the point. The point was spending more time with a friend and if she spent more time with him, then that was better to keep her promise and attempt to completely trust him. "Si," she replied with a little nod as she let herself sink just a little until the water touched her chin. "Uno... Dos... Tres!" A large smile and the Hispanic girl was gone underneath the water.

Carlos, too, allowed himself to go under, taking a deep breath beforehand and gently closing both eyes. When he wasn't looking at his surroundings, it was quite a bit easier to concentrate on not doing instinctive things--breathing, for instance. In his head, he began to count the seconds. He was curious to know how long Juana could hold out. Uno, dos, tres, cueatro, cinco...

Juana kept her eyes open, despite how much it hurt her eyes. If things got so bad, she could always let some tears slip out to get rid of the sting. She wanted to see Carlos's expressions underwater, but it was harder than she thought and eventually she had to close her eyes or she felt her eyes would melt out of her skull. She didn't last too long, though she thought it was fairly impressive for her. It took her about half a minute, maybe more until the burning in her lungs (which had started to show up about fifteen seconds in) was unbearable. If they hadn't been so close to the surface, Juana wouldn't have made it even that long. She poked her head up through the water, slightly red in the face, and gasping for air.

Her fellow Hispanic felt the disturbances in the water as she popped up for air, and Carlos actually grinned (careful, of course, not to open his mouth and swallow water.) He allowed himself another minute to Juana's thirty seconds--was he showing off? No, not in his mind, because he could have gone on for much longer--and then resurfaced himself, taking in as much oxygen as possible in one breath because it was a relief to finally have air in his lungs again. "You have weak lungs," he teased, panting and grinning at Juana with boyish triumph. "You obviously didn't spend your playground time running around screaming for no reason like I did."

Juana chuckled, starting to feel the difficulty it was to tread water after having to hold your breathe. "I don't think my lungs are weak," she retorted with a large smile that showed nearly all of her teeth. "I think the problem is that you have superhuman lungs." She took in another deep gulp of air, looking at Carlos incredulously. "I doubt you got those lungs from running around the playground. How did they get so strong, really?" She made a gesture for Carlos to follow her and swam towards the nearest side again so she could fully regain her breathe.

Carlos followed without complaint, cutting through the water with slow, easy strokes--he might not have liked swimming, but that didn't mean he wasn't good at it. Again he tossed one arm up and over the side, and grinned at his newfound friend. "I'm not kidding," he told her. "When I was a little boy, everything I said I yelled! Like this! For no reason!" He laughed at the end of it, apparently not out of breath at all, and looked Juana up and down with a quick gaze that he hoped didn't appear too scrutinizing. Would she be able to tell that he was withholding some of the truth? Because if he were to tell the whole truth, he'd have to admit that most of the training that had made his lungs so strong had come from holding his breath when he was whipped, or beaten, or both at once at plantation; so that he didn't cry out. Because the brutes had enjoyed it when their captives screamed (some back part of him was sure that the head honcho of the operation had been purposely hiring sadists to administer the punishments they seemed to like it so much) and he, even at ten and eleven and twelve, had had absolutely no desire to please them. At all. And if that meant enduring his own little tortures, well, then..so be it. Anything, anything was better than crying out in the face of pain. That would have meant giving in, giving up. And he had been determined, even as a child, not to do that.

Juana winced at his raised voice and when he was finished, she purposely placed a finger in her ear and shook it as if checking her hearing. "Thank you for that," she replied dryly, though there was a smile on her face to show that any dry humor from her was simply humor. Not only was Juana a good actress, but she was also good at detecting other emotions on the faces of other people, and she could tell that Carlos wasn't telling the whole truth, but she didn't want to press him. She knew there were things that he wouldn't tell her--there were several things that she wouldn't tell him--and that was okay. He wouldn't tell her about his outbursts and what started them, but she figured that in time, they would know all they wanted to know about each other, but not right away. These were things that would take time to get to. "I'm sure all of the other children wanted nothing more than to tackle you and duct tape your mouth."

"Some of them did," Carlos said with a grin. He did a good job of hiding it, but relief had just managed to fill him from the top of his head all the way down to the tips of his toes. Either Juana hadn't noticed his half-truth of she had decided not to comment (and though he would bet his store cookies from Domonic that it was the latter, it was still very considerate of her and he appreciated it.) "They would come up to me, and they would say, 'Stop screaming, Carlos!' and then they'd run off because the foreigner is apparently not worth there time and I probably looked like the type of person who hit people just as often as talked to them." He laughed, as if these words amused him; and they did, for the most part. He could forgive little children for their mistakes--just not anyone over, say, ten. He didn't quite appreciate it anymore when people made those sorts of assumptions. "But you know what I did? I just ran right after them and I yelled 'No!' at the top of my tiny lungs and then I ran off." A grin this time, because personal stories were funny to him. "I was pretty much considered that bane of the playground."

Thinking of a younger Carlos running amuck, energized and yelling reminded Juana of her younger brother. At his young age, he had outran the Hispanic girl many times with his well spent energy, and although the comparison amused her, Juana wasn't sure she could mention her family just yet. It was a hard subject to discuss more so now that she knew her family was frightened of her. "I think if I had been there, I would have simply walked over with something heavy and given a light tap on the head. You'd probably shut up then." She chuckled at the thought, a wide smile tugging at her lips. If she hadn't known Carlos very well, she could very well see herself giving the younger boy a large tap on his head but now that she had befriended him, she wished if such would be the case. Most likely now, Juana would have watched from a distance, laughing at his childish antics.

"Well, then I'd probably wrestle it out of your hands and give you a bop on the head with it. Probably several bops, just for good measure." Carlos grinned at the older Hispanic. "Then I would throw whatever it was away from us so that someone else would trip over it--setting traps was like the most amusing thing six-year-old Carlos Rivera could think of to do--and then I would look back at you, and I would say, 'Mami says you're not supposed to hit people even when you don't like them. That's mean.' That was one of the first things she aspired to teach me, you know. The difference between mean and nice." His grin widened to include many of his teeth--it had been a long time before his mother had finally drilled certain concepts into his head. It had taken him a rather long time before he accepted the fact that he couldn't just hit people who hit him first because that wasn't what sensible young boys did. He had been a feisty child.