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.*･｡. EFF IT! .*･｡.
————PILOT
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001.
CALM YOUR TITS, AGGIE.
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   Sonny had a horrid auntie called Agatha.

   She was awful. A real stuck up asshole. Safe to say, Sonny had a strong dislike towards the woman — she always called her Sondra, even though she knew that Sonny hated it when people used her full name, and she had a habit of picking out her niece's flaws.

   Sondra, dear, you're much too thin!

   You have no breasts for that swimsuit, Sondra!

   Sondra! Do it better, Sondra! Sondra— and she would go on, on and on, like Sonny actually cared.

   No one liked her — not even her father did, and she was his own sister — and every time she visited the Outer Banks from the mainland, it was all one big torrential fuck up. A hate-fest, if it were. And Sonny would be the first to appoint herself the captain of said hate-fest. Leader of the Auntie Agatha's a massive fucking bitch! committee.

   Why did Agatha even visit, anymore? Did she not realise she wasn't wanted, around?

   She wasn't welcome!

   She would always show up with no warning, dampen their spirits, and blast their feelings about like debris. Aunt Agatha's lifestyle was that of a Kook, through and through, and perhaps one of the worst. With all that money and a husband that left on business trips, which were actually just fuck-fests with their neighbour's too-young girlfriend, no wonder Agatha's life was the poster woman for Kook Wife.

She was a storm of a woman, and so, when the most recent hurricane was named Agatha, Sonny wasn't all that surprised. In fact, she laughed like a damn manic. Because it was pretty fucking fitting, wasn't it?

"Jeez, Agatha..." Sonny muttered, stepping outside with a frown on her lips.

She looked around, hands on her hips.

"Couldn't calm ya tits, huh?" She quipped and turned to look at her mother with raised brows, "Reminds me of that other Agatha we know—"

"Sonny," her mom tutted.

Ignoring the small reprimand, because her mother got the reference without any explanation which made her as guilty as Sonny for making it, she continued to peer either way down the street as she stood between the gates to their home. It was as expected for a hurricane — pretty damaged, much like the last one. Trash was tossed about, garages were ruined, and the numbers of roofing tiles on the floor instead of actual roofs couldn't have been a good thing. Hurricane Agatha had definitely stopped by, and she had done one hell of a number on them. Just like her crazy fucking Aunt.

Sonny briefly wondered how the Cut was looking. Likely terribly, considering the sorrowful state of Kook—landia.

Their houses were less enforced than the ones in Kook territory, so she didn't doubt the hurricane proved worse for them. They'd got the worse end of the stick — she could feel it in her gut. But Sonny knew that no one down their neck of the woods would be bothered by it; they never really cared for how south side were dealing on a good day, let alone with the repercussions of Agatha.

   No one cared about the south side.

   That was fact.

   Being a Kook meant being self-involved. None of them gave a flying shit about the Cut, probably never would. They only cared when it came to having workers for their businesses, or people that could fix their houses. South siders would be fixing Figure 8 houses before their own.

That was the way it had been, for as long as Sonny could really remember. People of the south side were different — the lower end of their social divide, which was all a bunch of bullshit to Sonny, but nevertheless an unspoken rule they were expected to follow like cattle.

Sonny never understood it. Well she understood it, but that didn't meant it made sense. Everything was about money these days; if you had no money, you were a no one. You didn't matter. That was why most of the kids living in the Cut would never amount to anything, which sounded cruel, but it was true, and pretty fucking shit. All of them knew it, though. Kooks got the opportunities because they had the money and the privilege. The white kids, especially; who didn't even know how well they actually had it. Or they did and took full advantage.

   Those ones were the worst.

Instinctively, her eyes travelled left, following the street up and right, as far as they could go. If you kept going in that direction, not that you'd want to, you'd end up at Tanneyhill, the Cameron's Estate.

"Ew!"

How apt.

Brows furrowed, Sonny watched her father flick his hand. She rolled her eyes when she spotted the gum wrapper stuck to his palm, "You're pathetic."

He frowned defensively, "You're pathetic!"

"Mature," Sonny snickered.

"Mature," he mocked in a squeaky tone, trying to bat the wrapper away. It didn't budge. "Help me!"

"Nah, I'm good."

"You little—"

"Ed!" Her mother scolded as she marched over, tucking a piece of tarp under her arm. She snatched the wrapper and tossed it aside, uncaring. "See? Easy."

"Easy," Sony mocked.

Ed stuck out his tongue at her.

"Such a child," the woman rolled her eyes, pointing her finger at Sonny, "Both of you."

Sonny's nose scrunched up. Personally, she didn't think she was childish at all. Not like the other Kook kids, at least, who usually acted like they'd stopped progressing aged six, mostly because they never really needed to grow up.

Everything was handed to them, immaturity and all. Kids from south side actually had to hunt for opportunities, kinda like that Heyward kid, who she heard wanted a scholarship on the main land. According to her parents he was smart, but his only chance of actually amounting to anything was acing an interview to get his college fees paid for, which was something Sonny didn't have to worry about — and not just because she didn't really intend to jet off to college. If she had wanted to go, she could've. Her parents were able to afford it. Instead, Sonny was wasting a luxury, one kids like Heyward would keel over and die for.

    "Honey?"

   Her mother's voice disrupted her thoughts.

    "See if you've got service," she told her, "Maybe go ask at the neighbours, too."

   Sonny fought back a groan.

   Lips pursed, she slipped her phone out from her pocket. It was a long shot, but she was quietly hoping there would be full bars at the top of the screen. She would even take one or two, anything that meant she didn't have to go knocking on doors around the neighbourhood.

   But, unluckily for her, there was nothing.

   No service, just the few messages Sonny hadn't bothered to open before the hurricane. They were all from the same guy, anyway. Well, expect for one, but she didn't feel like replying; she didn't even know how they had her number.

    "Anything?"

   She sent her mom a tight smile.

    "Well..." Sonny drawled, earning a skeptical stare as she tried to come up with a good lie. She locked her screen and then wiggled her phone, "No battery."

    "I told you to charge it before the storm," the woman let a sigh pass, shaking her head.

   Sonny shrugged. Her mother tutted, muttering under her breath, but she didn't have to ask around so she would take it. The last thing she wanted to do was pay a visit to the people she couldn't stand. Because while Sonny may have been Kook worthy and lived on Kook territory, it didn't make her one. Hell, Sonny wasn't even close! Never felt like a Kook, never would. Didn't act much like a Kook, either. Everybody in Figure 8 knew it.

   Because Sonny wasn't even Kook by bloodline. She wasn't genetically Kook engineered.

   Actually, Sonny was just a foster kid.

It was textbook, really: surrendered to social services by a windowed father unfit to look after her. He was ill, unsure he would get better, and wanted her to be in safe hands for the foreseeable. Just in case. Admirable, she supposed, in a way.

Well, once he actually stuck with his treatment. At first, he didn't even try. Medication made him feel worse. It wasn't until Sonny turned seven and was taken in by the Penbrook's that he pushed through. Saw how happy she was; how much he would miss if he didn't try. And now, he was good; in the all clear for six years.

   Those years had gone by quickly, but Sonny saw him bi-monthly, unless he was travelling. She'd never felt ill towards him for giving her over. It was probably the greatest thing he had ever done for her, and she considered herself quite lucky since most adoptions were accompanied by trauma. Social services had taught her as much. There was some trauma for Sonny — getting tossed into care and fostered by a white family could do numbers on a kid — but, for the most part, she was doing alright. With two dads and a mother she knew loved her silly. Never deprived of her real father or her real heritage. It was okay.

    "I still think you should go ask—"

   Sonny mentally cursed. Less okay.

   Her mother was too much of a people person, even if the neighbours drove her just as insane. After all, the Penbrook's were a nice family, proper Kooks, but not slimy. Sonny always thought herself lucky to have ended up with them — they'd given her a childhood most kids would envy. Had they not, it would have ended up differently for her.

   She would be exactly like those south side kids.

Then again, it wasn't as if Sonny wasn't like south side kids. She did everything they did, just with money in her pocket. It was who Sonny was: never been a Kook at heart. She didn't like most of them, either. Kook life didn't sit well with her. It was stuck up and scummy. And if there was one girl who didn't like scummy, it was—

"Sonny!"

Topper Thornton. The only exception.

Sometimes.

   Okay, time to rewind:

The Thornton family were close neighbours with the Penbrook's. It went way back, before Sonny was around and when Kook—landia was thriving. When she did eventually make her entrance, Sonny grew up with Topper. They were close as kids. Really close. Just how their parents had hoped. Even now, while Topper wasn't acting a total ass around Rafe Cameron, he was the only person she dared call a friend.

   Did that still make him her best, by default?

   Probably did, didn't it? Fucking hell, it did.

"You have service, yet?" Sonny cut to the chase, pocketing her phone. She watched him check his own as he approached the fence that parted their properties.

He shook his head, "Nothing."

She sighed, disappointed, but nodded. On the bright side, she didn't have to ask anyone else.

"Generators'll kick in, soon." Her (foster) father walked to the two teenagers, swinging an arm around Sonny's shoulders. She rolled her eyes, but he merely sent Topper a grin. "How's things, kid? Your backyard as beat up as ours? It looks like my sister came to visit."

    "Ed!" Her mother reprimanded in the distance.

   Sonny snorted.

   Topper smiled, eyes flitting between her and her father. He nodded, "Yeah, pretty bad, Mr Penbrook."

Even after all these years, Topper still called him that. It made Sonny wanted to punch him in the mouth real hard. It made his general asshole—ish—ness even more asshole—ish, and she could never stand it. Topper Thornton was such an ugly Kook, sometimes.

"Tell your mom we'll be over to help," Ed offered.

"She'll appreciate that," Topper thanked him with a nod, "I'll let her know."

Sonny scrunched her nose, but ultimately kept her mouth shut. Her parents were too generous and she had never really liked Topper's mother. She was very rich, and very conceited, and all she did was take, like an emotional kleptomaniac: take, take, take. As long as it got her more money and more prestige. But Sonny's parents were givers. Always had been; it was a whole lotta give, give, give. Sonny knew this first hand, they had given her a home after all. And love. Unconditionally, even if she got up to no good. She wasn't sure she deserved it all the time. It made her feel funny.

They were givers to the community, too. One of the only Kook families who didn't look down on the south side — the Penbrook's were well-respected on both halves of the divide, which was good for several reasons.

"We got lucky," her mother appeared beside them, a trash bag of debris in hand, "Imagine the state of the south side! I think we should head there later, Ed."

Pigs would fly before anyone else helped the south side.

   They all knew that.

   On instinct, Topper's nose stuck up.

"Rafe, Kelce and I were gonna go fishing. It'll be sick after the storm," he explained when her parents had left, chatting about their plan of attack to help as many people as possible. "You wanna come? Mom said we can take the boat. We won't be out there for long."

Sonny shot him a blank look.

Was he stupid? He knew she didn't like Rafe Cameron. Not a single bit. Kelce wasn't so bad, but Rafe was a nasty piece of work. Total worthless shit.

"I don't like fishing," or Rafe, she deadpanned.

"I know," Topper nodded.

"So why'd ya ask?"

"Thought it'd be nice of me to offer, Sons."

Sonny shrugged, "Should've known better, then."

Topper rolled his eyes, unfazed by her attitude, knowing it was useless to try and change her mind. He had known Sonny for years, and he knew her well enough to know it was a shitty idea to try and force her to do things. Sometimes he managed to get her to go to parties, but rarely anything with his other friends. She had been very clear about disliking them.

"Such a fucking recluse," he muttered and ignored the glare she sent him, hearing his words. They were pretty true. "Later, Sonny."

    "Don't drown."

   Or do.

    "I'll try not to."

   Dammit!

Sending him a tight-lipped smile, Sonny watched him jog back across his lawn, and step through his front door. When he was out of sight, she span on her heel and did the same.

She passed her parents, and her father snickered knowingly.

"You off fishing, sweetheart?"

"Yup."

————

Sonny never liked fishing with Topper.

   Partially because he always wanted to take Rafe and Kelce, but mainly because his idea of fishing was sailing around the open water that circled Figure 8's country club — literally the worst place to fish on the whole island.

Anyone smart knew the best place was the marsh. That was where fish clustered after a storm.

Not many people fished in the marsh, seeing as it was south side filth in their eyes, and Sonny was glad. It meant she could snatch a set of keys from the old boat shop by the harbour and take the HMS LIBERTY for a spin. Of course, her family had a boat of their own, but she didn't like taking it out on the marsh — she preferred to take something a little more lowkey and the LIBERTY was just that: an old but gold motor boat, that quite literally no one had ever bought from Tim Jones' old and shitty shop.

   He must have known that Sonny was borrowing it by now, since she always conveniently popped in every time the boat vanished and again when it was safely returned. He'd stopped reporting it after a while and never really bothered anymore. Well, she assumed so. If he was then he had yet to say anything to her. Perhaps Tim knew all along.

   Maybe he knew it was in good hands.

   Either way, Tim Jones had smiled at her when she popped into the shop shortly after leaving her home.

    "Penbrook," he greeted.

    "Jones," she nodded, smiling tightly.

   She might have been shocked he was still open for business after the hurricane had she not known better. He never closed up shop. Maybe because it was his livelihood, maybe for those from the south side who had the same idea as Sonny.

   Regardless, Sonny snatched the keys as she always did, gave him a wave, then sailed onto the marsh.

   She wasn't out there long before it got warm, leaving her in a bikini top and shorts. Fishing was the last thing on her mind as she sailed under the sun and basked in the heat. She wasn't sure how the weather could change that drastically over night, but she chose not to question it. After all, it was the one thing she liked about her home. Sure, the OBX could get boring and repetitive in Figure 8, but it felt like glory on earth out on the marsh. Quiet and hot. Just how Sonny liked it.

   Thank god it was summer.

   No school, no responsibilities. Sonny could go out on the marsh and sunbathe and smoke all day — or until Topper called to ask where she was. Summer made it worth it, even with all the shitty Tourons.

   Sonny was good at school, but she preferred the freedom. She felt trapped if she was indoors for too long, surrounded by people. Independent was a fitting word, though Topper would preferred recluse. Her parents called her a wallflower but as she grew up, Sonny wasn't so sure. It wasn't like she was shy, or she was insecure. She'd just rather be alone. A free spirit, I only need my own company kinda chick. No one really got that. If she was honest, neither did she. Sonny just wanted to venture; to surf and smoke: to not rely on her family's money. Sonny wanted to live!

   And if the world perceived her as spacey and lonesome as she sat alone and watched the fire burn, who cared? At least she wasn't roasting marshmallows and singing Kumbaya.

Fishing was long forgotten by noon.

   She floated easily along the water, watching the sky from beneath her shades.

It was perfect — until she was thrown off the boat when grabbing a beer, that is. Sonny wasn't sure what happened. She just hit the water with a splash.

    "Fuck," she broke the surface, spluttering.

   She treaded water for a while, pushing the wet hair strands from her face. The stupid boat hit something, she decided. A sandbar maybe, if Agatha changed the channel.

   Sucking in a breath, she ducked back under water, just to make sure she hadn't hit anything of concern. It wasn't her boat, so the last thing she needed was a Titanic situation on her hands— right? That was why she forced her eyes to try and adjust to the grubby water. They followed the bottom of the marsh, widening when they found something that definitely shouldn't have been there.

   Holy shit.

   What the hell was a Grady-White boat like that doing at the bottom of the marsh?

   Sonny drifted back up, taking a breath as she went back to the LIBERTY before it drifted far. She was back on the boat in minutes, where she scraped her hair into a ponytail, using her hip to turn the boat around while her hands were busy. She wanted to head back. Check it out a little. Checking out a sunken boat was a given when you were Sonny Penbrook, and there might've been something on it. Something that suggested who it had belonged to. Maybe something shinier.

   She'd report it, unless she found something cool... if she found something cool, then she'd probably pocket it, then report the boat.

   That wasn't so bad, was it?

   After tossing in the anchor, watching it sink to the sea floor, she kicked off her sodden shorts. They were ruined but Sonny cared more for diving back into the marsh. It was probably a stupid idea to go down and check it out without scuba gear, but she didn't plan on taking long. She only wanted to have a quick look.

   Getting to the bottom was the easy part.

   Looking around was more difficult, with the lack of air and the murky water, but it was good enough to show her how little was down there. The boat was pretty barren. She didn't really recognise it, either. There was nothing she could spot that would tell her who it had belonged to, or anything worthy of taking for herself.

   She was about to head back up when a glint caught her eye. Sonny swam towards it, hands fumbling to yank the keys out of the ignition. After looping the split ring on her finger, she made for the surface and hauled herself over the side of the boat, where she thumbed the metal and turned it over in her palm. She squinted, pulling it close to her face, and observed the plastic key ring attached to it. It was water logged, text smudged, but Sonny just about managed to make out what was written:

SUMMER WINDS MOTEL
229

   SUMMER WINDS?

    "People actually go there...?" Sonny muttered, her brows cinched together.

   Maybe they were still staying there? Whoever owned this boat, that is. Sonny could return the keys, tell them that she found their boat if they were looking for it. Reporting it to the Coastguards would probably take longer than talking to the owner directly, considering how many people would be reporting their own issues. Not to mention SUMMER WINDS wasn't very far from where she was. Sonny doubted it would take long.

   As she pulled herself up to a stand, Sonny twirled the keys around her finger and gave them another looking. It was only the one key, so it had to have been for the motel room they had occupied. There was always chance they weren't there anymore, but Sonny thought that she might as well give it a—

    "Watch this!"

   The keys slipped from her hand.

    "Shit!"

   Sonny watched them fall and disappear into the marsh, her face twisted in horror.

    "Stop! You're getting beer in my hair!"

   Sonny's eyes narrowed on a familiar boat.

   HMS POGUE.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

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