oh, how could anyone not want to rip it all apart?
oh, how could anyone not love your cold black heart?
______________

One becomes used to silence after a time. Especially if sound never existed in the first place. Freya never got used to it. Every day was a battle to hear, to listen, to become a part of the world she was ripped from. She often considered it possible that had it not been for her gift, she would not be so bitter. Because of her gift, she could understand everything a person said, she could reply perfectly, she could learn a language by opening a book –but she could hear none of it. She dreamed of words, letters, vowels, lips. Freya imagined that to hear a person sing must be the most beautiful sound, surpassing all others. But she would never know.

It was times like these, at the festival of lights, that the world didn’t seem so harsh or cold. She could see the children laughing, scrambling ahead of their parents to this and that dinky ride. Couples her age held hands, whispered in each other’s ears, kissed cotton candy sticky lips. The Ferris wheel glittered like a funhouse halo in the sky, illuminating everyone below in its glittering splendor. It was times like these that Freya could almost hear the quirky faire music, the giggles, the raucous shouting from those who were too excitable to contain themselves.

Freya, as always, was like some iceberg among the lively sea of people. Her arms wrapped loosely around herself, small hands grasping and skinny elbows as she strolled serenely strolled by. She wore a delicate frilled dress of shell pink, the sleeves still too short of the chilled breeze. Freya acclimated to the cold, though, even as it continued to permeate her snow white skin. Her face was bare, her expression remote as her dark eyes passed over everyone and everything.

If she wanted, she could read the conversations –the lips- of those quite a distance from her. If someone were telling a secret she would know it. People made the mistake of talking about her as she passed by, and she always knew about it. Freya always knew, and she knew that she was ultimately underestimated as a person. She was not cold and heartless as people suspected, she was savvy and sharp. And she trusted no one, with good reason too.

A man selling balloons swept by her, his bouquet of bubbling rainbows spilling blocking out the sky above her for a brief moment. An endangered smile tugged upon her pale lips, eyes lighting up with rare glinting stars. Quietly, she edged the man aside and bought a single cheerful cherry red balloon. Clutching it tightly in her child-like hand, she set her eyes to the sky. A sigh reverberated through her mind, though she never actually carried out the action. She was too used to holding it all within herself.

Moments later, Freya released the balloon into the darkening sky, her gaze glued to tiny red beacon until it was nothing more than a memory.

oh, how could anyone not want to rip it all apart?
oh, how could anyone not love your cold black heart?
______________

Freya’s large black eyes blinked owlishly, her head only minutely cocking to the right as Jordan suddenly stepped into her line of vision. His gaze glinted oddly, reminding her vaguely of some knife or maybe the opposite, the sun sparkling off running waters. A cigarette balanced precariously between two slender fingers beside his hip. It smoked slowly, the heady fragrance enticing her senses. She immediately regretted not bringing her own. They relaxed her when the world around her became too tense, all too eerily silent.

“Evening Freya.” Due to Freya’s ability, she could easily read lips, easily understand. It was almost as if she wasn’t deaf. At least, to everyone else. To her, there was a world of difference. There was something, though, an extra addition to her gift. Freya felt the essence of an individual’s voice. Something similar to a voice, but no sound; just feelings, intuitions.

“Enjoying yourself?” Whenever Jordan spoke to her she felt the essence of…stone. What they felt like, what they looked like. Strong, hard, grey; cold in the shade, burning in the sunlight. Stable, reliable…sometimes dangerous. Freya gathered a lot from a person due to her ability. She didn’t know how the deaf did it otherwise. They must be even more lost than her.

When Jordan beamed that crooked smile at her, she had to put all her energy into not recoiling. Her brows lowered, concerned with the sparks his smile caused in her breast. It was almost painful, being in the light of that smile, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. Her pouting frown was brief but pregnant with anxiety. As if to pull herself out of the discomfort, she nimbly nipped the burning cigarette from Jordan’s fingers and took a long grateful drag, her eyes still fixed on the darkly charming boy presented before her.

“As much as one can.” She replied softly, her voice husky from lack of use and too many cigarettes. With a soft smirk that would have been a charming smile had she remembered she could do that, Freya delicately held the cigarette back to his lips, offering it back. For unexplainable reasons, Jordan brought out the more brazen side of Freya, the playful side that may have bloomed had she not endured certain trials throughout her life. Maybe it was his forwardness or the fact that he didn’t treat her like some delicate shell, she didn’t know. On a day like to today, with the lights sparkling and the smell of cotton candy and cigarettes in the air, she didn’t care.

“Enjoying yourself…alone?” Freya questioned, a soft white brow flicking in interest. Jordan was rarely alone, most people knew that. It wasn’t her business, but why on earth would Jordan come up to her to talk? He had to be a bit brave for that reason alone.

oh, how could anyone not want to rip it all apart?
oh, how could anyone not love your cold black heart?
______________

Freya’s eyes narrowed softly at the corners, the pale crow’s feet revealing her immediate suspicion at Jordan’s words. It had once been in Freya’s nature to be trusting, soft; it had been her own personal nurturing of self in which she’d gained suspicion and her icy demeanour. The slim cigarette looked out of place on her childlike face, yet perfectly accentuated the dark hot coals of her wise eyes.

Perhaps she’d been through too much in life to be pulled in by such a line –or perhaps she’d been given similar compliments in the past by the men she’d lain with and knew to be weary of them. What was all the more likely, though, was Freya’s unnatural protection against Jordan. Or, not to place too fine a point on it, Jordan’s ability. Though she was completely unaware of what devious manipulations he could weave through heavy molasses stares and a sweet honeyed voice, it was likely that because she couldn’t hear him, she was at least partially immune to him. She felt the pull, no doubt, but attested that to the most basic human attraction. Maybe there was a niggling in the back of her mind, a questioning as to why she could feel so heady, unearthly, when in his presence at times, but she tended to chalk that up to charm –that was, if she even bothered to give it a thought. The most important thing was, of course, that Freya seemed to be able to hear him for what he was at times. It was as if he was behind a door and she was the only one that could peer through the tiny keyhole and truly see him. If she’d known this information, she would have been able to attest at least one good thing to her disability. But she was quite naïve about it all, so caught up in her own world.

With a dismissive stare that was characteristic of the frosty Freya, she took one last puff of the still whole cigarette and flicked it to the ground, crushing it deftly with a brown-booted heel. Crossing her arms in front of her thin body in an unconscious sign of separation, Freya met Jordan’s eyes once more, her stare guarded, as if she was specifically waiting for him to work his magic once more so that she could impede its mission with stronger volition. “I’m about as alluring as rock, I think.” She informed him with her own brand of quiet self deprecating humour. Freya couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a full conversation with someone other than a family member, so cloistered had she become. She was not a nosy person by nature, and she felt no urge to ask him personal questions or wedge herself into Jordan’s business.

Some hint of a smile tugged darkly on her pale pink lips, “Is there anything you want, Jordan? Do you need me to buy you some cotton candy or something? Maybe a ride on the Ferris wheel?” There was about as much natural humour in her voice as could be reflexively mustered. Freya spent most of her time in observation, learning about others rather than engaging them. One thing she’d most commonly observed was that Jordan Davenport always wanted something from someone. He walked around with pure intent in his eyes.

oh, how could anyone not want to rip it all apart?
oh, how could anyone not love your cold black heart?
______________

"Freya, is it really so difficult to believe that I may find you incredibly alluring?" Jordan asked, his eyes sparkling with intention. She would have laughed had it had been in her to do so. Her lips quirked with dark humour as she wondered what he sounded like when he was really laying on the BS. People –especially people she knew- did not compliment her, especially not in such a charming manner. They were all far too young to be charming, though she would give it to Jordan that he seemed especially ahead of his years. Sometimes she felt a bit older than she could handle as well. Though Jordan seemed to be dealing with his adulthood quite well; unusually well. There was no innate awkwardness in him, something Freya considered she would always have. He was smooth –too smooth. She briefly imagined what it would be like to take him down a notch. Oh well, it wasn’t her business, now was it?

“I don’t think anything of you…in particular. Don’t worry.” She told him rather blatantly. Freya was certain she was of no consequence to Jordan, and so why should she admit she thought of him from time to time? There was no reasoning to that. Uncomfortable with where the direction of the conversation was going –she disliked talking about herself to a strong degree, and even when she found someone she was attracted to, she had always opted to go right for the physical rather than put herself through the fake seduction.

Her attention, like Jordan’s, was caught by several heritage children walking by. Their status was clear, as was their confidence. Freya’s status was indeed written all over her as well, but for all different reasons. Her perfect posture, her haughty gaze, her icy demeanour –these were not products of severe heritage upbringing. These were her defences against the outside world and those who were cruel enough to attempt to take a chunk out of her. The more horrible you seemed, the less likely were people to approach. She knew all of those children's names –they wouldn’t have known her from any other person. Freya had long ago convinced herself she was fine with that.

Jordan cocked a brow and directed his gaze towards her once more, though Freya got the distinct feeling his mind could be somewhere else. "Though I have to admit that I'm surprised to find you here alone." Her pale brows rose nearly to her hairline in surprise. Before she could contain it, she snorted a laugh. It was brief, short, and breathless.

Shaking her head unconsciously, she dragged her eyes away from Jordan’s and angled her chin to gaze up at the languidly turning Ferris wheel. “What would I have to flaunt? I have nothing.” She replied dully, after a moment’s silence. Freya never felt the need to fill the silence in a conversation –there was no way to go about it. “My parents are in charge of the pomp and circumstance. I don’t…I don’t have an interest in what they do. Or what anyone else does. It’s all politics.” Her tongue flicked across her chapped lips delicately. Freya’s black gaze met Jordan’s once more. “You seem to like politics though…” She noted quietly.