DEAR READER
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Discoholic 🪩
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NASA
Sade Olutola
Misplaced Lens Cap
Stranger Things
Three Goblin Art
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Product Placement
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
YOU ARE THE REASON
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Claire Keane
occasionally subtle
h
Janaina Medeiros
we're not kids anymore.
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@alana-murphy
[pm] 36 people died at the ball hosted at the Babineaux Manor, several others critical injured but those with minor abrasions have been discharged. An investigation is underway currently. There was also arson.
[pm] Oh god. That is big. There’s going to be so many funerals! But why is there an investigation? If something killed 36 people, wouldn’t it be pretty obvious what who did it?
Is the world really that worse off with a few less vermin? Honestly. It really is horrible how callous people are when it comes to littering. That’s a shame to hear the effects are so visible and people still aren’t doing much.
You know, I’ve been looking for a cause for my next event, something that hasn’t been done to death, maybe take on a new charity. I’m rather fond of the ones I support, don’t mistake me, but they’ve had plenty of it by now. Maybe I could look to set up a fund to keep our beaches clean. Barring enough participation and support, of course. I’d assume I’d have yours.
You could actually do that? Of course you’d have my support! My name’s Alana, by the way, in case you needed it for any official charity form. Or, um, however they work. Alana Murphy.
Have you got like a designated time for clean up? I wouldn’t mind giving you an extra hand or two.
I’m thinking maybe next week? I want to get to work before tourist season hits, because as soon as they show up, it’ll be hopeless. Oh, and thank you! That seriously means a lot to me.
Leaving to Chicago really couldn’t have happened at a worser time than this. I left Ashkent to stop thinking about it but now all I can do is think about it.
[pm] Um, do you think you could fill me in on what happened? I missed the latest disaster, but it seems like a big one. I’m a little nervous to find out, honestly.
Um, not to be that guy, but I’m still finding leftover six-pack rings from St. Patrick’s Day on the beach.
I’m not trying to say that people should drop what they’re doing to help clean up, but this is the third time I’ve gotten myself found something tangled in them. That’s all.
Ink Under Skin || Alana & Nigel
“Course I am.” The answer was automatic. Nigel cocked an eyebrow at her, vaguely wondering why she even felt the need to ask. “Said that I was gonna stay, didn’t I?”
They had made just the loose agreement online and it was by no means a binding contract, but there was no reason to break it now. He didn’t exactly have anywhere else to be for the rest of the day. Plus, he had to make sure that the tattoo was done right. There was no better place to be to ensure that. In his time, he had watched the application of at least a few dozen tattoos. It used to be tradition for exorcists to get them done in pairs or groups. That way they would all have the exact same ink on their skin, marking them as part of something bigger.
Nigel had only had his old mentor there with him when the needle met his skin again and again. He had never really been the hand holding type. Although that was fine, because… strictly speaking, Nigel wasn’t either. However, if Alana needed him to be, he could make an exception, just this once. There was no reason for her to be anymore uncomfortable than she likely would be just getting the tattoo.
“Should talk to keep your mind off it,” he said, eyes flicking past her, watching at the tattoo artist settled into place on his little stool on Alana’s other side. “You can talk about anything you want. I ain’t picky.”
On her other side, the tattoo artist set to work and Nigel casually offered Alana his hand. If he told her to take it, he was fairly sure that stubborn streak of hers will kick in. But if there was no offer in the first place, she likely wouldn’t have asked. Alana wasn’t the type to ask for help where it wasn’t already given for whatever reason. Nigel couldn’t quite understand why. It would make things so much easier if she just said what she wanted. But then again, so few people ever seemed to do that. No, they all preferred beating around the goddamn bush, waiting for someone to put together the pieces to figure out what they really wanted.
At least Alana was worth taking the time to try to figure out what she was getting at with her little hesitations here and the double meaning of her words there. Nigel had never been the best at reading people, but he was fairly sure he was at least starting to get the hang of figuring out how Alana worked.
“Thank you.” Her hand gripped his tightly, like a life preserver, and it was all she could do to keep her knee from bouncing up and down in agitation. It was a soothing instinct, but one that would royally mess up her tattoo. Talking would help. Nigel told her to talk, to do something that would take her mind off the pain, but she could barely think of anything to say. There was always just animalistic shrieking if all else failed, but Alana doubted anyone in the parlor would appreciate it, her included. “I-... I-...”
Forming articulate sentences became difficult when one’s heart had taken up residence in their throat. Alana’s eyes fixated on the man with the needle, and she just then realized that she’d never asked him his name. Would it be inappropriate to ask him now? She thought better of it. Maybe he hadn’t realized she’d been inadvertently rude, and if she brought it up he might get revenge on her by making the tattooing process as painful as possible. Was that ethical? Certainly it wasn’t illegal, but was there some kind of tattoo etiquette she shouldn’t studied before coming here?
Alana wanted this. No one was forcing her to do this, but even after all the discussion of what she would get and where, the gravity of the situation still refused to sink in. That was, until the needle actually came into contact with her skin. Alana had expected a burning sensation, or maybe the jolt one might feel when they accidentally stuck themselves with a pin, but the feeling was a closer match to someone taking a razor blade and slowly dragging it down her hipbone. And it happened over and over and over again, until Alana was forced to crush her lower lip between her teeth.
Talking. Talking would help. Unfortunately, Alana just happened to blurt out the first thing on her mind. “I got another letter from my father this week.”
With all her experience in ballet, Alana assumed she would be tolerant to pain. But this repetitive drilling on her flesh was unbearable, and it was all she could do not to cry out in pain. “He- He wants me to talk to my ‘sister’,” She attempted to put sarcastic quotation marks around “sister” but her hand just hovered in the air like a gnarled claw. “She’s not my real sister.”
There was a better way to explain that, but the pain was too thought-consuming. God, this hurt. Soft ‘ow’s escaped her lips, and her eyes remained closed until the pressure finally eased. When Alana looked down, she was half-expecting to see a giant bloody streak on her hip from her previous minutes of torture. (How many minutes had it been? Thirty? Forty?) But she was shocked to see just a tiny black line on her reddened skin. Permanently.
The nameless tattoo artist applied some sort of jelly to the line, and she sighed in relief. The tiny moment of bliss was brief, however, and then he got right back to work to Alana’s extreme displeasure.
Level Upping || Seamus & Alana
Seamus had had a long day. Nothing exciting had really happened, which was surprising for this town, but paperwork had a way of taking a lot out of him. His eyes hurt and so did his head, but he’d popped some aspirin a bit ago to hopefully take care of that. No, the real problem was the stress he’d built up in his shoulders and neck from all that monotonous work. He needed to relieve it somehow. His first stop was at Coffee Plus, where he got a nice big cup of mint-flavored coffee, mixed in way too much cream and sugar, and savored all that sweetness.
He considered just going home after that, but it was still light out. A nice day. So he just started walking, and after a while he found himself at Quarter. He’d just been in there a few days ago…he had to make sure not to make a habit of this. He couldn’t afford to keep throwing all his money at these machines. But it had a nostalgia to it he couldn’t shake. Him and Finn used to always go to the arcades back in Boston. Finn always went for the more modern games, like Tekken and Mortal Kombat, but Seamus was always going for the retro machines. It was a wonder he hadn’t came into Quarter before just a few days ago, seeing how much he was stopping into Tower Comics around the corner.
As Seamus walked into the arcade, he spotted a situation that might escalate. He still didn’t know if his ability to immediately spot things like this when they happened around him was because he was a cop or just a predisposition. Or both. A girl was up at the front counter, angry about something. From the snippets of the conversation that he caught as he walked by, it sounded like it was an argument over a high score. Soon enough, the woman at the counter seemed to have calmed the girl down, so Seamus headed over to the machine he’d spent most of his last visit on.
Joust.
There was just something quirky about this game. Being a knight riding an ostrich over a pit of lava was somehow more ridiculous and appealing than most of the games in here. So he walked over, pleased to see SDM still holding onto the high score on the game over screen. He popped in a couple quarters and the game started up. His mind wandered as he pressed the button to flap the ostrich’s wings, twerking the joystick to knock the other knights and their feathered mounts right out of the sky. He racked up a lot, but didn’t quite beat his own high score. He started putting his handle in when he heard the sound of a coin being slammed on the plastic counter next to the second player joystick. It scared him, and he jumped slightly. He must have really been in the zone if he hadn’t heard someone approach him.
“I’ve got the next game,” the girl said. It was the same girl that had been arguing about a high score only minutes before. Ah. So it was Joust she was upset about.
“I take it you’re ATY,” Seamus asked, starting the free game he’d won, but his concentration on the conversation got him killed almost instantly…so he stepped back to let her play. He was interested to see this. “All yours.”
Another ‘ATY’ on the scoreboard was bumped down into oblivion. Alana felt her tightly-composed glare ever so slightly twitch. So he wasn’t just lucky. She wasn’t sure if his knack for the game was relieving, because it meant he didn’t just get to the top of the scoreboard out of dumb luck, or threatening for the exact same reason.
She chose the blue side- she was always blue. One of the reasons why she loved joust so much was the color scheme, neon blue and yellow against an otherwise drab world of sickly mustards and grays. Of course, she could always shift into her seal body and get a full-spectrum view of the world, but then there was the whole flippers versus hands dilemma. Most of the other games in the arcade were too confusing for her to play- the frustration of keeping track of which character was hers always outweighed the joy of a game well played.
“Was it that obvious?” she asked, deliberately keeping herself from looking over her shoulder. It was enough of a struggle to keep her voice flippant, Alana was sure that if she glanced back at him she’d end up glaring. In hindsight, it would’ve been better to go for the element of surprise. That look of shock and awe on his face as his high score was topped by a complete stranger would’ve been worth it. Still, the important part of that scenario was still an option.
Ready Player 2. That’s what it always said, if you played on the blue side. But the slight irony in regards to her own situation didn’t go unnoticed, and it definitely wasn’t appreciated. Never mind. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was poofing vulture enemies and reaping the virtual spoils. Her movements started to become more instinctual, eyes darting back and forth as she gathered the eggs of her fallen adversaries. This was why Alana played Joust. All her other worries just melted away whenever she was in the middle of a game. There would be twelve buzzards on the next round. And she couldn’t afford not to get the pterodactyl. Bonus points.
By the time she’d lost her last life, Alana’s hands were cramping from toggling the joystick. Her fingers ached, and she wiggled them in order for the to start properly flowing once more. If others knew she played until it caused her pain, they might think it was silly to get obsessed over something as trivial as an arcade game. But they couldn’t possibly be able to understand the rush until they plugged in their own high score and saw it displayed proudly on the top of the scoreboard.
And it looked like all the effort Alana put into that grueling game had payed off. Another “ATY” pushed SDM down a peg from its #2 spot. A beautiful sight, but not good enough. Voice tight, Alana turned to face her opponent, Player #1. “Oh, would you look at that, it looks like I won a free round too!” Her hands were too sore to play right now. She just needed a few minutes break, then the top spot would be hers for sure. “Sorry about your score. You must’ve worked so hard for that. If you want, you can take my turn?”
There was bitterness hiding just beneath her feigned incredulity, but it was better to take the high road for this one. Well, the highest road would’ve been to walk away and let this man enjoy his gaming experience in peace, but competitiveness had already reared its ugly head.
Fish eggs, like caviar? Stuff rich people rave about? Mmm, that sounds like the life, minus working in customer service. Where do you set up shop? I tend to go by the docks so maybe I’ll pay you a visit if you work by there!
I’m by the very entrance to the docks! Do you know Sal’s? That’s where I work. You should definitely swing by, I could give you an employee’s discount. It’s not something I usually do, but never tasting salmon roe is a travesty.
[pm] I’m guessing he deserved more than that?
[pm] He deserved a stern phone call to his mother describing just how disrespectful her son had become. At the very least.
[pm] Was close.
Could always have done it elsewhere. Didn’t think you did, though. Eat humans. Probably would’ve eaten Nigel. Maybe. Not sure he would taste good, though. Don’t know how to judge this. Uncomfortable.
Alana, you’ve never told me what you are. Other than an Alana.
[pm] Bastian, Nigel is covered in ink. Why would I put my digestive system through that? I mean, I suppose he could always be skinned but there’s also the problem of me actually caring about him. ...Yeah. This is really uncomfortable to think about.
I didn’t? I could’ve sworn I did! You never even questioned why I come home sopping wet or why I never take pictures of myself. I just... assumed. I’m sorry.
Wow, that’s so cool! My fathers took me and my sister to see Swan Lake at the Boston Ballet once and I was incredibly entranced.
This is true, but sometimes they examine places even within the United States. I guess you don’t here about those ones as much because it’s more exciting to hear about those that are out of the country.
It’s such a great story, right? Every time I see it it’s different, but I haven’t been able to go for a while now. There’s a desperate lack of ballet in Ashkent.
Are you on an, um, a “dig” right now? Is that the proper term, dig? I just have no idea if there’s any dinosaur bones in this town, but I actually wouldn’t be surprised sorry if that’s a stupid question.
[pm] Will help you check if you want. Think your paranoia is rubbing on me. Rubbing off me?
No. Does that mean you don’t? There always seems to be fish in the house, some in jars. Thought some of it could be human, never checked. Wouldn’t know how to check. Maybe Regan would have a test to tell
[pm] Yes, please? And it’s rubbing off on me. I don’t think you can rub on someone. Well, uh, technically you can, but probably definitely not in this instance.
I don’t! I don’t have the best opinion of humans in the world, but I don’t want them served on a platter either! The fish are just pickling. If I dragged a dead body back to the cabin, cut it up into strps, and put it into little jars I’m quite certain you’d notice.
Oh, something certainly happens. Let’s leave it at that.
You’re really going to make me look it up myself? Because I’m not just going to sit here with my curiosity piqued and do nothing.
[pm] Oh. Shit. Did you beat anyone with a pool cue?
[pm] Unfortunately, no. In hindsight, I wish I would’ve done a little more damage than giving a jerk a few cuts on his face.
No, I’ve never tried any of them! Or heard of them actually… So do you eat the fish too or just prepare it to sell?
They’re, um, fish eggs and fancy clams in layman’s terms. That might help? Oh, I eat tons of it. I don’t particularly like working in customer service, but my job gives me a discount on seafood so it’s almost worth it.
What type of dance?
I love studying about different animals. I’m a paleontologist, actually! I like going for runs, hanging out with my sister, reading, and baking. I’m also a fan of swimming, though I don’t do it nearly as much as I wish I did.
Ballet. Mostly classical.
A paleontologist, really? I thought paleontologists were out of the country on expeditions, or something. Not that I don’t believe you! It’s just sort of surprising.
What's the worst thing about being a fucking seal?
Not having thumbs.
Constantly deleting questions like these from my inbox. I assume, if I was a fucking seal, that the worst thing would be getting stuck in those six-pack rings. There’s still dozens of them leftover from St. Patrick’s Day
I should really give my blog a new title.
