date posted: 2023-01-22
summary: Raven walks, gets rained on, and looks at toy ponies. It's maybe not what Koriand'r meant when she suggested Raven go on a walk, but it is what it is.
event: raven weekend 2023
word count: 1,171 words
notes: inspired by the other day when i got lost, walked past a pharmacy with toys in the window, went to my classes, then purposefully got lost again after classes to find the toy pharmacy and then i saw they had my little pony reproductions in stock that i couldn't afford. i also got rained on. i decided to inflict these events on raven in altered circumstances for raven weekend's third day title from future smile by juice=juice
The wind pulled at her cloak as she walked, vision blurred by the droplets sliding off the hood of her cloak. It is too late for her to be out. She should return to the Tower before she worries her friends. It’ll be dark out soon, she knows, she must return. Perhaps this rain is a sign for her to return home, that she should not be out right now, not with her father lingering over her and waiting for her to give an inch.
Raven stares at the sidewalk, feels water in one of her socks, and sighs. She is not made for these things.
Koriand’r advised her to take a walk, to “clear her head” after the stresses of a week of classes. Raven had told her it was unnecessary, that there were bigger, more important things to be done: meditation, attending to her studies, perhaps saving the world, as they do.
Oh, Azar, what if they are called upon now? Raven is in the rain, drenched, her shins aching with every step. She is nowhere near in the physical condition for a mission with the Titans. Her healing is crucial; if she is not there, her friends may be further harmed. She needs to return home. She needs to escape the rain. Her knees are cramping.
Raven looks up. It is pouring and there is a scaffolding across the street, neon pharmacy signage blaring through the shade cast by the scaffold. She inhales, remembers what Koriand’r told her about breaks and calmness. These walks are like meditation, in a way, she supposed, at the time.
She waits at the curb until the light signals for her to walk, looks from both sides for headlights, as she cannot risk injury by vehicle, cannot risk such a burden on the Titans. She heads to the scaffolding; perhaps this will give her time to decide how Koriand’r will judge her if she arrives at the Tower soon.
But she makes it to the scaffolding, takes cover under the flimsy, bolted wood, and considers Koriand’r again, and all she thinks is how unfair of herself, to judge such a close friend that way. She would not wish to disappoint her friend, by arriving home so soon after leaving, but Koriand’r would not judge her. Raven knows these things, now; her friends would never judge her so harshly. Azar help her, she is a terrible friend.
She stares up at the scaffolding, feels raindrops prickling her cloak’s hood as they come through the wood, sees the rain further pelt down from across the street, away from this cover. She decides, rashly, that the pharmacy behind her is far more adequate cover in the meantime, during this harsh weather. Raven turns and opens the door, before she can think about what she needs to be in a pharmacy for.
The sight of tall aisles and bright colors immediately make her still in the doorway. She sees pill bottles in the aisles to her left, but the aisle attached to the wall closest to the door is far brighter, with playground balls in a bin beside her and other toys hung on the walls.
She sucks in a shaky breath, tries to push aside her worries – clear her head, as Koriand’r suggested. She is doing this for Koriand’r and for herself, she remembers.
Raven assumes the toys are meant to placate the children brought in tow with their parents. The feeling is foreign to her – unfamiliar, as always – but she decides she is akin to those children, attempting to placate herself and her worries, drenched and aching and anxious.
If she is like those children, here with no purpose, she decides it is natural for her to gravitate to this toy aisle, obnoxiously bright as it is. She allows herself this as long as it will take for her cloak to dry even a little. She can have this.
She briefly picks up a ball from the bin, feels its coarse texture in her grasp, its weight. She’s seen these playground balls accidentally kicked over park fences, watched as Richard or Victor or sometimes Koriand’r kindly return the ball to the children. Raven didn’t realize how much weight these balls held.
She puts the ball down, walks towards a corner with various assorted gumball machines. The windows of the machines look quite dusty. She only has dollars on her, no coins, as the machines demand, so she turns around, walks further down the aisle, and a pastel-colored section catches her eye.
She walks closer and observes the items hung in rows on the shelf. They each contain colorful, plastic horses. No, not horses; the packages specifically denote that they are ponies. Raven curses herself for the mistake – she should be able to tell the difference, as a Titan, shouldn’t she? Raven is a hero, she should know such crucial details if they become important.
Raven shakes her head. This is an unnecessary line of thought. She further observes the packaged ponies, their bright, shimmering pinks and sunny yellows and mint green tones, hair with bits of what appear to be glittery strands streaked. Their shining hair remind her of Koriand’r. They are quite sweet in appearance.
The pink one – “Lickety-split,” as the packaging states – further reminds her of Koriand’r, with its hair curled and shiny enough that it reflects the pharmacy’s fluorescent lighting. It is quite charming. She removes the package from the rack and squints at the pony more. A price label states that it is five dollars.
She briefly looks away from the pony in her hand, gazes at the floor. Is this fair of her? Her five dollars could be spent on something necessary. She’s in a pharmacy, after all. The Titans perhaps could use more bandages. She’s unsure of how much money she has with her, but it has to be enough to afford bandages. Richard could use them for wrapping bruises after a workout, perhaps? But Raven could heal him, in that instance.
The pony in her hand seems to look back at her from its windowed packaging.
Reluctantly, she walks to the counter, employee appearing bored behind it. She stammers through the affair as she procures money from the wallet kept in her cloak, and, a little unsteadily, exits the store, bag in hand and five dollars less than before.
The rain has lessened to a drizzle. Her cloak is still damp, but no longer dripping as it was before. Raven looks at the bag in her grasp, sees the pony’s sweet face looking towards her again. There’s a little pang in her chest, and she wonders if maybe this is her father’s way of taunting her for such a selfish purchase, if she has just given him the inch he so desires from her so he can take a mile with it.
But she once again looks at the pony and its shining mane and soft face, and feels the pang again, a little gentler.
She walks, content.