↻ Radio silence, Stranger Things

ii. Operation Go!

    

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ⁰2     OPERATION GO!

The crisp autumn leaves shake gently in the breeze on the ever so slightly cold Monday morning. Finlay Lefay would describe this weather as just right. He was never satisfied in the gut-wrenchingly sticky atmosphere the summer weather brought; and yet he wasn't one to particularly enjoy winter either, as his pale skin and naturally colder body didn't mix especially well with the negative temperatures. Autumn was perfect.

     It's early. Well, earlier than usual, which is strange in its own sense. The Lefay family are quite strict on timings — more specifically Bronwyn (the eldest of the six) who is more adamant on being out of the house at the right times, back home according to the scheduled hours — and it has always been that way for as long as Finn can remember.

     There's something different about today.

     Finn is intelligent, most declare that he is beyond average, but even he is clueless as to what it is that has changed the aura so drastically. He can't place his finger on whether it's a good different or a bad different. But it is different all the same. Maybe it's Bronwyn's slightly distant eyes, more distant that usual, and much more passive. The blonde stares vaguely at the road in front of her, turning the wheel in all the right places, but her hazel eyes never once glance up to meet Finn's like they usually did.

     Ringo sits in the passenger seat; that has always been his spot for, well, ever. No one had specifically gifted him that place in the car, he had just declared it his own, and carried on with his life. Finn remembers vividly, on one particular morning, Bailey had jokingly attempted to sit alongside Bronwyn in the front, and had practically been launched across the driveway at full speed, and had fallen in a giggling mess on the concrete. Today, Ringo concentrates on the study book in front of him, Finn can just make out in bold letters the words on his older brother's work book: FOUNDATION CHEMISTRY. Ringo scribbles away, pencil moving aggressively across the answer sheet he has propped on the dashboard, tilting his head back in anger every so often, either when he looses a page, or pokes a hole through the flimsy sheet.

     Victoria sits silently behind Bronwyn, her hands placed delicately in her lap, long hair curling on her shoulder, her long fingers moving over the black fabric of her skirt every once in a while. She keeps her eyes plastered on the road outside her window, eyes moving with the trees as they whiz past. She has the same look in her eyes as she always does; the one that says 'I'm pretty calm, but if you even think about getting to close to me, I swear you will loose both your hands'. Somehow Finn finds it almost endearing, because Vic is his sister, and deep down knows that she would never want to cause him any harm.

     Freddie sits alone in the back, his features ever patient and kind, his chubby cheeks twitching slightly when a song he likes comes on the radio and his curly brown hair bounces along with the bumps in the road. Freddie is a quiet kid as far as Finn knows, the quietest of all the siblings in Finn's opinion, but seemingly one of the kindest. Though only ten years of age, Finn finds that Freddie can be the most mature a lot of the time, and the most prepared to listen to him if he were to come across any problems— aside Bailey of course, who was alway more that keen to help. Freddie's backpack is kept on his lap, it's normal position for most of the journeys to school, with the youngest boy's arms wrapped around the canvas material, keeping it from falling. Freddie seems his usual self, but Finn can never be too sure what is going on in the sweet boy's mind.

     Bailey on the other hand, sits completely lopsided, her head of blonde messy hair resting on Finn's shoulder. It is perhaps the most peaceful he has ever seen her, though he thinks she looks ready to spring up at any given moment, quite similar to a Jack-in-the-Box. Her eyes are closed lightly and her lips part forward into a gentle, relaxed pout. Finn takes a moment to study the slight dusting of freckles, and the harsh, swollen, blue bruises decorating the underneath's of her eyes. He doesn't usually get the opportunity to look at her, as Bailey always seems to be doing something; always moving, always talking. He worries about her often, and he feels this nervous sensation pop into his chest as he sees the largest and most discoloured bruise on her left cheek. He worries about how fast she can run her mouth, and just how much trouble that could land her in. How much trouble it already has. Despite her jokes and laughter and comments, it was clear she doesn't always know when and how to stop.