Everything Changes

Elliot Ricker / 25 / Fluid Everything changes, no sense in trying to stay the same.

[conflicticn]

sungrown:

☼  •  —    ❝  please,  ❞  he says as he tugs at the double doors at the west entrance of the cheyenne country club, the word coming a bit breathlessly as he struggles to close them against the howling wind and the snow  —  oh stars, there’s so much  s n o w  —  just toppling in through parted cherry panes in spite of his best efforts. and for all that topher can appreciate their aesthetic  —  and he can, they’re gorgeous and they let in so much beautiful, natural light  in the afternoon —  this is the second winter and the second blizzard he’s experienced with this particular set of french doors and he can say with absolute certainty that they are the worst. (  they’ll be gone by spring, he’s already decided. he’d sooner build a pair to replace them than endure another year with these. ) the icy wind breaks for a fraction of a second and he stumbles back on the slick hardwood when the doors suddenly slam shut. that he actually manages to keep his footing on the icy floor instead of slipping and falling on his ass is a small miracle, and the several long seconds that follow before he turns around are just as much spent appreciating that blessing as they are trying to catch his breath. a grin pulls out the dimples in wind-bitten rose-stained cheeks as his gaze lands on the other snow-covered survivor.  ❝  make yourself at home. i can get y’some dry clothes if you’d like, maybe a towel.  ❞  he tugs a damp wool hoodie over his head and shakes the ice out of his curls.  ❝  an’ there’s  been a fire burnin’ in the lounge all day if y’wanna warm up. ❞

Elliot had never been so cold in her life. Nor had she meant to be anywhere near the Country Club, but life did have funny way of pulling her towards Topher in times of need. She’d been hauling herself to the desert, her bike roaring up freeway but as soon as she hit the sights of city limits the icy grip of Cheyenne seemed to want to pull her back. The road was nothing but a sheet of ice, one lean deeper than the next and she’d end up half Ricker and half guardrail, she could feel it; they’d be intertwined and she’d be frozen til’ some adventurous anyone found her melted in the spring. She just wanted to see Vegas, to bury herself in the hopefully still scorching sands of Nevada and feel warm again. Elliot had survived the last winter by finding a cozy spot with a cozy someone, but as with change there was good and there was bad in all of it. It seemed as though her whole world changed daily and in the bone-chilling trek back into Cheyenne she wondered if she’d ever be happy again. To really feel happy, to smile honestly and not with snake-like glee at the idea of outdoing someone, wrangling whatever she needed from them and leaving them high and dry and herself alone again. She must have been frozen right down to the core of her, her brain stuck in the same cold rhythm til she finally made it back to signs of life. Which other life would her natural compass find but Topher? Paul probably, but where there was a Topher, there was a Paul. Her bike barely made it inside and she was sure that she left herself somewhere on the highway, a body to be excavated in the future like an iced someone from the caves of Everest. “I don’t n-n-need anythin’” She wanted to hug him but she couldn’t, all she could do was attempt to focus on her lacking ability not to shake in front of him. Black hair was slicked with ice and her calm snowy skin was angry, every red and blue vein trying to find heat, trying to enliven the lanky moving stalagmite she had become. 

[conflicticn]

ufobcy:

alix gently r o c k e d his head back ; eyes rolling up at her return. in all truth, elliot was intriguing — and perhaps that was because she had a COURAGE he l a c k e d. but on instinct? jealousy ; he REBELLED. the snarky brunette was normally DEFINABLE… ten times MORE to adults. but with her? it was ridiculous. ❛ then i’m gonna take that route. ❜ he said c h e e k i l y after a beat, rocking his head back down.

a p a t h y, perhaps the hardest role to play in the world for someone who CARED on a daily basis… that being said, the p l a y f u l look he held on his face ; a hinting smile saying he was a l r e a d y leaning towards the ‘ like me ’ route… but only JUST. well… clichély, alix outstretched his arm, o p e n i n g his hand for her to shake. they could be ‘ friends ’… he’d still keep his eye on her… but they could be friends.

“You take that route then, bud, and I’ll catch you when you come round.” Elliot said with ease, wondering if it’d been within the week or within this little hangout. It wasn’t that she knew Alix deeper than his name, she just couldn’t bring herself to be any less confident in how these situations usually panned out. Her green eyes surveyed the hand offered for a beat before taking hold and shaking it firmly, reassurance she supposed. “More of a hugger, but it’ll do.” The taller of the two shrugged, smirking as always, warmed by the whole interaction. It wasn’t every day that Elliot was reminded of what humanness felt like. Before the outbreak her bike would rip up and down roads, there was no option to stop, but also no strand in her DNA that compelled her to help the elderly cross roads. She was the dangerous force that made others want to help, the screeching engine that wouldn’t stop, even when faced with a zimmer frame accompanied by a hobbling pruned someone who’d seen far more years than Elliot ever intended to. It wasn’t that she run them down, she’d avoid them, but others didn’t care for that. They weren’t bothered by the idea that she may be heartless, but what truly bothered them, whether it was known to them or not, was that Elliot wasn’t quite sure how to be as full-hearted as most others; not anymore. Seeing bad and deeming bad is easy, but Elliot is no easy case to judge. She had been hurt too deeply and made the personal choice to let go of the care that pricked her incessantly like a full-fisted grasp of a cactus. It was too overwhelming and too irritating to consider keeping a hold of. Her heart was dumbed down in the process, kept for herself and for her own happiness, she content in the knowledge that others would find happiness in others and she in herself.   

[conflicticn]

coolhcnds:

the motorcycle had purred its way into hunter’s perception before the its rider had killed the motor. long a hermit, any out of the ordinary sound could rouse her from a light sleep. today, however, she’d been up for hours looking for pineapple weed in the area surrounding her cabin. at the vehicle’s silent approach, the archer slipped off into the foliage in order to obscure herself from view only to discover–as she drew her bow at the target–that the rider was known to her. grateful for the prospect of company, hunter tossed the bow back over her shoulder and placed the arrow in her thigh quiver before greeting elliot with a genuine–if not apprehensive–smile. “straight and to the point; it’s certainly refreshin’.” she chuckled, appreciative of the request, but dubious about its veracity. she knew full well that elliot had made her way around the united states since the outbreak and figured she could find vegas if the destination was her goal. “vegas is east of here. you bring your own compass with or need to borrow one’a mine?”

“Well I figured I’d start with that and if you didn’t put an arrow in my skull on sight, maybe we could hang out.” Hunter was hard to read and Elliot didn’t think of herself as any kind of expert on the human emotional spectrum. Those two things meant that rolling into her territory was nothing short of taking her life into her hands. Visiting her was a rush and the artist couldn’t have said that about most that were still surviving in Cheyenne. They’d all made neat little lives for themselves and it bored Elliot no end. Hunter’s idea of living was intriguing to her, the off-grid experience and fending entirely for herself. Naturally, the fact that she was the most attractive hermit to be found hiding in Cheyenne was another reason for Elliot stopping by. Elliot could have found Vegas on her own, taking a little time to map with a compass but she was in need of company and she figured it was the best place for her. “I’m thinkin’ of heading there sometime soon, see what it’s like now.” 

[conflicticn]

ufobcy:

the young brunette paused… before NODDING and looking o f f to the side. she was RIGHT, he WOULDN’T… though that’s not to say he wouldn’t LIE and tell her he WOULD if given the c h a n c e. vision s w e p t back over to elliot — soft lift of his b r o w s at her request. hadn’t really expected THAT one. was there s o m e t h i n g in it for her? after a beat, alixandor couldn’t help but f u r r o w his brows in thought… and look back to her, inquisitively. ❛ …okay. if you answer one question: why is it only either friend or enemy with you? ❜ maybe he’d picked up the wrong VIBE around her… but from what he’d noticed, she either l i k e d or HATED you. there was n o in between.

“Shoot.” Elliot slouched as she waited for the question. She wasn’t quite sure what the boy would be interested to know about her, but she was willing and open to his investigation. What a strange question, not odd, just strange in the fact that it had never been asked of her before. Elliot was grey, she didn’t live as one or the other, people however, tended to want to understand her and either enjoyed that they didn’t or were entirely frustrated by her. “That’s not on me, little man. People either really like me or really hate me, usually more positive than negative. It’s not easy to be apathetic about me. You can go that route if you want to try it out but you’ll end up on one side or the other.” 

[conflicticn]

With a hand raised she walked towards the vaguely familiar cabin, her other placed between the handlebars of her bike, right hip taking the brunt of its weight. Elliot was clever she knew better than to leave her engine humming. It would have been foolish and she would have deserved the arrow or blade that flew her way for arriving unannounced. She was still imposing but there was only so much thought Elliot could offer when thinking about other people. “I’m looking to get to Vegas and I thought who better to ask than just about the only person around this place who looks like they’ve actually used a compass before.” Her voice echoed around the clearing, waiting for that pretty and usually stolid face to emerge. Elliot had used a compass before, a map too and even the pair in conjunction to get around, but where was the fun in marking out the potential trail by herself? Hunter was a strange little thing, the epitome of solitude and self-sufficiency, so naturally, with that in mind, she found herself compelled to drop in and disturb the serenity the other had found.  

( @coolhcnds )

[conflicticn]

It would be a struggle to get back up, brittle bones aching, crying out for any bit of food she might find. Raiders were usually so difficult to deal with, but two days without food left her feeling rather unimpressive in the heat of battle. It had been torturous but she’d won, two versus one half. She was propped up against a decrepit building, enough pressure would probably see it crumble down around her. It seemed like it was a corner store once, but there was not glass in the windows and the shelves had been cleared years ago, dust had remained unmoved. The cold was biting and she probably should have sat inside, but when the last man was felled she couldn’t bring herself to move further than one or two steps before falling. Alone she didn’t mind appearing so weak, but with company, she stiffened. Her gun raised, welcoming the footsteps. “Lookin’ pretty soft for a raider. You here to kill me or be killed, darlin’? Because only one of those two will be happening, unless you have a third option.”

( @comeupdaisies )

[conflicticn]

switchblcdes:

nadja shrugged at the comment passively, swirling her drink in her glass. both sex and romance required something extra for nadja–requirements that few people learned if not making an unwelcome pass at her. it wasn’t that she was entirely OPPOSED to the idea of passionate trysts, but rather that since big two relationships had ended so poorly ( and for having had such a deplorable example of human relationships in her own parents ) that nadja didn’t see the point in wasting her energies. THAT and the fact that nadja truly hadn’t met someone that sparked any interest ( even before the outbreak, her interest was a rare find ). there was no explaining it. even to rosario nadja couldn’t lay out her criterion for either temporary and long term interests. the dead were EASY; crack a skull, sever a spinal cord and there was the comfort in its finality. people, despite their clean, intact, LIVING skin, were messy. unless they were patrons of los abuelos, nadja was happy to avoid them entirely.

“the boys too–” nadja smirked, relighting a cigarette that gone out from the sloshing of her drink. “–but no one listens to them.” stretching her arms behind her head, nadja moved like a lazy cat who’d sat too many hours in the sun. a knowing grin came over her face at the obvious devaluing of cheyenne’s LOOSER LIPS. “I like to know what I can hold over on motherfuckers.” she shrugged, flicking the ashes of her cigarette into a cowboy hat shaped ashtray with the inscription ‘the equality state,’ which nadja had kept in good humor–curious as to what would’ve possessed someone to bestow such a state nickname on WYOMING of all places. “it’s good to listen. sometimes that shit is a fuckton more valuable than the shit people try to pass off for a beer or two to us.” in truth, gossip was as important in post-apocalyptic cheyenne, wyoming as nadja had imagined it was in the prime of any old west ghost town. “people are always the same.” nadja agreed with a sincere weight in her tone, inhaling deeply from the cigarette. “we’re fuckin’ predictable.” she shrugged.

There were moments where Elliot considered the idea that she only had energy for other people. She was a piece, a physical piece of art to be shared, scrutinized, misunderstood and appreciated. What was Elliot Ricker without other people? What was art without people? The question is one in the same. The slow crawl to camps, midnight trips after failing to rid the brisk cold from her bones, all stores depleted, running on nothing but how her frozen body had yet to recognize the direness of its condition. All it took was one face, one set of eyes and she was renewed. An audience member and she was ringleader, main act and the questionably exotic animals of her own chaotically magic circus. It was never about who they were, names and birthdays and other minor factoids never staying with her. Faces didn’t leave her and the attention was coveted, it had always been that simple. Her romantic inclinations reaching as far as a bed she could claim for a night, and a body in close proximity to hers made her feel less strange. An interactive piece, art which needs touch and immediacy to captivate. Touch the art, it wills you to. 

“Valuable here, I don’t know if it does much for me.” She likes to hold things over other’s heads, but gossip doesn’t garner her much when she has nothing to give. Her snake body like a noose around eyes that can’t help themselves. It’s what she wants, but in a world of nothing but survival, everything is leverage. “Are we?” Her tone doesn’t say everything that she’s thinking, the idea that their pairing was dissimilar, perhaps Elliot feeling as though she offered slightly more than the average. She did, no thought otherwise, nothing so pedestrian. Thus her eyes move over Nadja, she doesn’t wish to stare or even worse be charged with oogling by a woman who would be more than happy to uproot her from their comfortable back and forth. Elliot’s eyes aren’t disrespectful at their core, just driven by beauty and selfish in its company. She and Nadja are not the same, they don’t feel the same, nor is there an overarching sameness that sits with them. The conversation is too meta to idly chat about the weather or what life used to look like; that’s too predictable. “You predictable?” Elliot wants to note that she doesn’t think so, naturally confused by anyone who refutes her flirtatious streak; a true anomaly. 

[conflicticn]

ufobcy:

alix can’t help but r o l l his eyes as she drops her shirt, head ROCKING to the right ; and he expelled a s i g h — of COURSE there’s a catch. ❛ promise? ❜ he echoed… rather SARCASTICALLY as a soft chuckle managed to s l i p  out a beat after ; brows perked to follow it, but lids soon drifted SHUT and he n o d d e d in agreement to her terms. ❛ fine. what’s the promise? that i let you charm the pants off of everyone in my camp and keep my mouth shut as you rob us blind? …’cause i don’t know that i can back that 100%. ❜

There was a glimpse, a shimmer of a time that Elliot didn’t tend to remember fondly. This memory, however, this time it was positive. She saw herself, just gracing her adolescent years with knowledge beyond what could have been expected of her. A rigid backbone, open to the new and understanding of the self, rolling eyes at the babies that toddled around in her presence. How silly everyone else was, while she saw and knew all, it was sigh that had reimagined that younger version of herself. Elliot couldn’t stop the smirk that slunk comfortably onto her lips, not noticing it until she recognizing this was less about her ego being stroked and more about Alix’s displeasure with her alternative friendships. “I don’t think that little of you. I know you wouldn’t do it and I like that.” For children’s ears only, the rarity of getting anything sincere out of the wicked lips if Elliot Ricker reserved for them. “I was thinking we could friends, little man. It’s easier than hating me, trust me.” 

[conflicticn]

raessomehell:

and MORE questions began to ensue after the GIFT was given. maybe it was a PLOY of her own, matching the SCHEME of the INTRUDER, or maybe it was KINDNESS and NOSTALGIA playing with Raegan herself. more often than not when her HEARTSTRINGS tug, the girl who USED to be would visit BRIEFLY. MEMORIES had died, though, as many of those who KNEW the INNOCENCE that had become a MARTYR for the FALL of the WORLD around them. that MASK was hidden behind another CIGARETTE found it’s way between COLD fingers. HERS marked with a SIMPLE and HALLOWED star. 

“ i CANNOT draw, ” a simple REMARK. one that was accompanied with a SMILE, a small LAUGH and a SHRUG. they didn’t know that her poor STICK FIGURES suffered from SCOLIOSIS and her LANDSCAPES looked like BLOBS. just that PASSING image brought a SMILE to the once solemn face. if her HAIR hadn’t FALLEN in front of her CHEEKS, one may have seen a HINT of light PINK. but, her face TURNED, casting a CURTAIN of long, CURLED locks between them. the motion DISGUISED by the CIGARETTE being DAINTILY place between BURGUNDY lips and a FINISHED thought of, “SO,  just for YOU. ”

 once AGAIN her hands SLID into her jacket’s POCKET. she began to RUFFLE for her lighter. then, a soft SIGH – this is EXACTLY how her MORNING seemed to be GOING. her hands then PUSHING further into the JACKET, then the back POCKETS, and the FRONT. she whispered, “fuck,” she WHISPERED, her voice JUST LOUD enough for her OWN ears. THOUGH, the blonde LIFTED her head, STRIKING the other with her EYES and a NERVOUS smile. “ the DRAGON outside my TOWER. “ she smiled. “ can i BORROW your LIGHTER?”

“By the looks of things you can and you do, darlin’. Nothing wrong with a little art these days.” Nonchalant, talking as if she hasn’t defaced and refaced every billboard she’s found around Cheyenne. Every spare, dilapidated wall has been her study at one time or another. They offer her moments in time to express herself, she being dull picks one sense, one emotion and allows it space to breathe, being trapped within for so long ferments passion. Elliot extends herself into her art, fingertips forever dipped in every piece, ownership never in question. There is always a lingering thought for the walkers that groan while they wear her pieces, or if that particular section of flesh touched by Elliot’s tattoo gun hangs from them like a kind of anchor, covered in grime, slowing their dragging of limbs. 

Dragon? Outside of her tower? There is a ghost of a laugh that sits in her throat, she plays no role in other’s fairy tales, especially not something so secondary. “More of a Prince Charming.” It hurts to say, pains her, every cell in her body aches saying that word but it’ll change someday. One day she’ll say it without a face in mind, and that day will be a day of new beginning, lonelier but new. Borrow, this woman would not borrow, this vision in front of Elliot could not be left to fumble with a lighter. It was farcical to even think that Elliot would allow such behavior. Naturally, she avidly believed in equality, that women would do whatver they wanted whenever they wanted and no man, woman or anyone would be in a position to stop them. But, in the company of Elliot Ricker, those who pleased her, who quashed her need for artistic inspiration need not lift fingers for fear of injury. Elliot was not the type to see women as more delicate, she treated men just the same, looking at them like clay, gentle and impassioned touches only, they must be kept pristine and posed how they are greatest. 

Elliot slunk even closer to her, the poor girl stood face to face with a predator and her kind eyes didn’t seem to judge. In their little moment, she was the sun to Elliot’s moon, but Elliot had the distinct feeling that she would burn Rae up instead. Not with the simple flick of her lighter, no, more of a slow burn, repetitive breaking down of walls and foundations and whatever else was left after that. Elliot had the ability to ruin people. The artist stood a half step too close to her muse, allowing herself to be enveloped by that visceral feeling of closeness. To her it is a sensation like no other, the possibility to reach out and to touch arouses everything in her. Her half-moon cigarette hangs from her lips, laying in wait; ladies first. Elliot curves her free hand around the flame she offers to the blonde, inching closer and closer. Hands hover in place as if she’s employed, that this is the one service she provides, sacrificing herself so that beautiful people may relinquish themselves from thoughts of the menial act she has been tasked with. It’s intimate and her eyes don’t move from Rae’s lips. She’s looking at the cigarette with great focus, at least, it could seem that way, but she’s staring through it, blush pink lips distract her. “You can borrow me instead, Rae.” It has to be said lightly, and it is. Jovial, a joke among friends but there is always a hooded nature to her, overtones of flirtation key to getting what she wants from others. 

[conflicticn]

ufobcy:

dark browns narrowed and alix watched elliot c a r e f u l l y. he couldn’t help but be WARY around the girl — for she was too SNEAKY, too CHARMING, too QUICK as she been able to get that carer to give her supplies with just a l o o k. ( quite frankly, it freaked him out. ) he had to keep his guard up. however… as she turned suddenly and flashed her back his way, vision dropped ; the light of the fire hit the artwork like a SPOTLIGHT and it was as though his entire aura shifted. he actually expelled a c h u c k l e. no WAY did she have a unicorn tattoo. his hand raised suddenly to cover his mouth ; eyes shot to the sky, and he shook his head. oh, he was PISSED she made him laugh. how was he supposed to know she had a UNICORN on her. ❛ please tell me why the hell you got a unicorn on you. ❜

There was something about innocence. Elliot was the first to want children to have every opportunity to know and to learn about the world around them, the harsh realities but their unknowing did amaze her. The idea that at one point in everyone’s life they knew nothing, understood nothing of the person who cooed to them as they lay swaddled, unable to do much else. The world in that moment is not a fact, nor even an idea, it just is, around them and they just are, existing. And slowly, drip fed, comes truth after truth and soon they diverge into worlds of choice and morality and the realm of possibility and impossibility becomes more convoluted by the second because humans have the terrible want for complication. Elliot doesn’t want to pull back the curtain, not for any child, they will know when it is their time to know. His childish chuckle reminds her of all of this at once and flows over her like a wave, startling and soothing. What did he know? Had he seen too much already? Yet, the chuckle reassures that there is child life, youth left, will for joy left. “You wanna know?” Elliot drops her shirt back down, a glance over his shoulder, she has him now. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise me something because I’m not giving up a sweet story for nothing.” It’s his hair, the bounce of boyish curl, they remind her of Topher, can’t help but be softer. She’ll be pushed back or he’ll be intrigued, she hasn’t quite figured out what she’d want him to promise. Something fun, something light, perhaps the promise of friendship or at the very least a calming of his vendetta. 

[conflicticn]

 raessomehell:

it wasn’t EASY to IGNORE the first few questions. the tattooed stranger LINGERED nearby while the MUNDANE tasks of  her day started. she’d have so MORE to do later, but giving away where her SUPPLIES hid was NOT on her TO DO list. THOUGH her fancies on a CHILDREN’S story were FAR from deemed IMPORTANT, the joke APPARENTLY meant more to THEM than it did HER. she wanted nothing more than to REMIND them of the EXACT tale, but their MEETING would then be cut SHORT by a DEATH of the other – and PERHAPS the blonde ENJOYED the company more than she’d ADMIT. so, INSTEAD her mouth remained SHUT and her only ANSWERS were small SOUNDS of agreement and a NOD. 

then, the INEVITABLE came. can i bum a cigarette. the DAMN things were EQUIVALENT to GOLD these days. THOUGH, it was a SHAME that MONEY didn’t TALK anymore. a girl like raegan would be RICH. her motions STOPPED and she GAZED, her head CANTING to one side, ADMIRING where they question had COME from. a DEEP breath filled her CHEST, her LONG lashes BATTING while her mind RATTLED if it was the HELP she needed, or the BANTER between them. “ SURE, “ she BLURTED rather ABRUPTLY, almost as if she was NERVOUS to approach. after CAREFULLY laying the blanket aside, rae SLIPPED her hand into her jacket to RETRIEVE the black and white WORN box. THIN fingers pulling a SINGLE, hand rolled cigarette, DECORATED with nothing but a HAND DRAWN crescent moon where she’d PLACE her DELICATE fingers and OFFERED IT. 

Holding aces. It’s the only feasible reason, why there’s a dryness to the meager nod she receives. She is on uneven ground, or at the very least it doesn’t feel as easy as it should be. This doesn’t disappoint, it excites. Elliot doesn’t live to be challenged, but pressure makes diamonds. The only stress she allows herself to feel is that of making her charming words match up to the flawless exterior she offers others. It wouldn’t be an easy feat for most, difficult to live up to the beauty and handsome that meets and blends her jawline. This woman has to have something, there’s something in chains and Elliot can feel it. Sharks have blood and pigs have truffles, Elliot Ricker can sniff out deceit and possible gain. A liar knows when being lied to, not the most impressive talent. And gain, well, everyone has something she wants these days. Elliot would gain from this Rae of the bleached golden sun. Not a matter of what or how, only when. 

Speechless and then quick to speak. Perfectly inconsistent. It’s what Elliot needs, the wavering change of another who is not in control. It reaffirms her tight grip on the reins, steering them left and right at a whim. There is a batting of eyelashes and Elliot loses her breath. She thinks about refusing the cigarette, for health reasons, the loss of the wind in her lung to a beauty that Cheyenne’s greyness could never even understand. She resets, says nothing, a jaw clench and she is sound again. Elliot can’t help but feel for this girl, wondering why she hasn’t thrown her out of the quaint little camp, or at the very least why she didn’t throw the cigarette at her, leaving distance. The worst thing that Elliot Ricker can be is close, striking distance. Her strides towards this prize of a woman aren’t quick, she doesn’t waste an opportunity. Long legs take slower strides, more time for her eyes to find every inch of skin available to her, it enlivens her. Elliot hesitates in taking, her fingers are too dextrous to snatch, it’s fluid with a pause for a glance from green to blue, glinting. It’s a good roll, a great roll and... “Do you draw? Or were you holdin’ on to this one for me?” The cigarette sits between her middle and index, moon side out and pointing towards its maker. “Rae of sunshine...” And the moon is flicked expertly and pointed back towards Elliot’s chest. “What does that make me?” 

[conflicticn]

It had been an evening of regalement. This and that and the in between, the important, the less important and the utterly benign. There was something about the loop of his locks or perhaps the joints that nestled themselves so comfortably between her lips that loosened her, words came fast and she didn’t stop them. It was one thing that she had something to say but the want to actually say them at all was purely due to the energy that Topher offered her. The sharing, however, was done, she’d named every time she’d nearly died since their last meeting, an AA meeting for Cheyenne’s infamous adrenaline addict. Her head lay in his lap, her body naturally moving closer and closer the more she smoked. Green eyes watched his chin and soft dimples and watched a thought circle her. “I know we all have to go sometime... I get it, I do. If you go before me, will you stay?” She doesn’t know what she means, her clouded mind only knows that she’d be lost without him. “I mean I don’t know what happens after, but I really do think you’re going find out that you’re the spirit of father earth or something. Think you could like haunt me, or well, what’s the opposite? Preferably the opposite. Guardian angel kinda stuff.” 

( @sungrcwn )

[conflicticn]

raessomehell:

the blonde SIGHED, ashing the CIGARETTE before taking another DRAG. the ROLLED white paper found it’s way BETWEEN  her middle and index finger, falling from her LIPS  in a cloud so smoke. before she began to ANSWER the question at hand, her eyebrows ROSE, the smirk LIFTING on one side. a long leg RELAXED, POPPING  her hip out on one side. “ don’t you KNOW the story? ” she TEASED back at them, doing her BEST to keep her THOUGHTS where they NEEDED to be. her GUT told her that levi would be back ANY minute and there her eyes needed to STAY in her head. so, after another LONG drag, to occupy her HABIT, she finished her EXPLANATION. “ well for ONE you’re making me GUESS your name. he came PROMISING  this and that and when his name was GUESSED  she got a BLESSING – “ she smirk played wider in a sense of CHALLENGE. “ so where’s my PRIZE? ”

she was only HALF sarcastic, she knew that playing with FIRE would get her BURNED, but it was more THRILL than she’d seen in RECENT days. thin eyebrows remained lifted. she smoked AGAIN, dragging the CHERRY end of the ROLLED  tobacco against a tree before REACHING  over to pick up one of the GLASS bottles from the ground, DISPOSING of it with the others with a quickly ABANDONED thought. there was NO TIME between her QUESTION and the motion – DIVERTING her attention again QUICKLY after with the AWKARD folding of a HEAVY blanket.

“I know the story.” Vaguely, a haze of morals, an implicit and faraway tale of woe for children to take what they possibly could from it. What sense did it make to scaremonger children with realms of dastardly fantasy? Reality was frightening enough. Though perhaps that was just Elliot’s experience. She had a life that she understood and at every turn, someone with more years than sense wished to snatched the little happiness she’d found away. Elliot had become strict in the idea that she was not wrong, never wrong, that no one would be allowed to tell her she was wrong again. It was what allowed the apathy to set in, disregard for others and their pointless views, irrelevant to her. “The lady wants a prize from old Stiltsky? Didn’t the girl in that story get a king or something?” It’s hazy, but what else did women ever want in those stories? Their own personal freedom and liberties? No. Wealth beyond anything to fund their own dreams? Nope. A husband to tend to? Yes, every other time. “Guess it depends on what you’re looking for, darlin’. King or a queen? I’m pretty flexible either way.” 

“If I help you out with that, do you think I could get a smoke? I’m all out.” She’s not, she’s got her own but it’s a reason to be closer. Elliot can’t help her for no reason, it’s too wholesome, far too suspicious. The last thing the artist wants is to be a suspect. Camps are right to look at her with furrowed brows, every step monitored, but this is different. There is an aligning of needs and wants, needing company and wanting beauty. Both stand in front of her on pins made for a ballerina, elegance, and grace personified. “A girl like you shouldn’t be left out here struggling.” Lie, truth, lie, truth, an ever flipping coin, the chance of either high. This time the lady deserved the truth she got, Elliot believing that those who satiated her need to be surrounded by aesthetically pleasing things were not to have to fend for themselves, that surely someone lesser would assist in the tedious parts of survival. Elliot was not lesser, but every now and again she did like to roleplay, giving herself the role of an assistant, momentarily giving her company a glimpse of how majestic it could be to tame her. 

[conflicticn]

raessomehell:

the blonde stayed FOCUSED on the folding, keeping just enough of her turned toward the stranger as she folded them. though her jaw was TIGHT and her heart THUDDING it was nice to have a bit of COMPANY as she went about her DAILY routine. though her eyes CAST down at the motionless in white shirt, SMOOTHING her hand over the worn in screen print before folding it, EVERYTHING else focused on the COMPLIMENTARY banter that was the welcome wagon. a SOFT  sigh left her chest, mostly to hide the FLUTTER that filled inside of her. GORGEOUS was a word she knew, not well, not one she heard OFTEN, so a sigh was her only defense. 

when the shot came back as to what SHE would call them, that is when the true PLAYFUL smile curled at her lips. setting ASIDE the next shirt her STARK pale  hand folded Rae finally turned herself completely to face them, PAUSING for a MOMENT with PARTED lips. it seemed for that time – while BLUE met GREEN, and fell over the figure again – she’d forgotten how to SPEAK, how to BREATHE, how to THINK. Raegan’s tongue darted out over pink lips before words were able to form PROPER thoughts. though, she tilted her head, running the BONED fingers through her LONG locks. “Rumpelstiltskin?” she smiled.

What does it mean to be gorgeous? Not much to most, they talk about what they don’t understand. Offering a label to the science of beauty that makes sense in their mind and is lacklustre on their lips. That’s how Elliot feels, her words will never do as her hands do, never understand quite the same. To draw this woman would be to show her the perceived excellence, to touch her would be something divine. It’s not completely for her, it’s for another to truly experience the idea of an untainted version of adoration. Elliot lives for herself, but at her core is a mixed morality, truths and untruths blend to make her. She is for herself but in being for herself is made unendingly happy by the beauty of others. It’s nothing to do with their personality, no mind is great enough, it is their body, their corporeal presence, the breath and the vitality of them, the pallor of their skin and strands of hair that band together mane-like. There is too much to see but eyes like Elliot see all at once, enveloped in the high of the other, if they have the ability to offer one. 

“Rumpelstiltskin? Do you wanna tell me why?” Elliot was intrigued, mostly because that name seemed to be picked out of a fog through which she could see no connection. She couldn’t think of the last time that creepy children’s tale had been mentioned in her life, but upon further reflection, there was something about it that suited her. Her tongue was wicked and she danced around those who needed her, entrenched them in promises they didn’t agree to. Elliot span golden yarn for the un-agreed to promise of food and a bed. Who needed Elliot’s silver-tongued lies in times like these? No one, probably, but that was no concern of hers. It didn’t matter what they needed, all that mattered was what Elliot needed. “Me personally, I think it’s because me being here is a wish granted.” The artist toys with her lighter, no nerves plague her, rather an exuberant confidence has her giddy, a need to busy her hands to appear collected. 

[conflicticn]

raessomehell:

“good thing i’m not IN Chyenne, huh?” 

the feeling of flesh on flesh JOLTED her heart slightly. if she wasn’t FULLY awake before, she CERTAINLY was now. her heartbeat QUICKENED while, for a SECOND, she froze in the gust of the ICY winds. this whole thing felt so SURREAL – a stranger kneeling beside her, hands busily working next to her own, offering HELP. the concept was FOREIGN to a lady like her. it had ALWAYS been her and Levi, if she wasn’t doing it, he was. they’d FIGURED out this world TOGETHER without the assistance of STRANGERS. at least she didn’t have to ASK for it. though, if her FRIEND decided to ever come HOME she’d have some EXPLAINING to do. while her head TILTED, catching a GLIMPSE of the brunette’s jawline, her mind RECALLED all of the COMMENTS and WARNINGS of STRANGERS in THEIR camp. 

though, the GLIMPSE only lasted a hair LONGER than it should’ve as Raegan’s gaze was PULLED to the flame, taking a moment to WATCH the fire grow before her eyes. the zippo CLICKED shut, and the blonde ALLOWED her body to be WARMED before rising to her feet, a small THANKS was left behind. there were PLENTY of things for her to HANDLE around the site, ANOTHER being the PLUCKING of small line of various BAND t-shirts they’d collected from the years and a few BLANKETS and socks. she began to FOLD them, the CIGARETTE smoking between her LIPS before answering the QUESTION at bay. 

“Rae,” she MENTIONED, “but GORGEOUS works, too,” she added, KEEPING her eyes FOCUSED on her work. “ do you have a NAME? or do I have to GUESS?”

“And where do you think you are, darlin’? Not exactly Vegas, is it?”

There is nothing about Elliot that is unintentional. Art is what allows her to thrive and she sees herself thusly, as a moving piece, a changing piece that is decorated and made for herself and for others to enjoy. The way she held herself was to show her physique, Elliot did not simply just stand in any which way she wished, there was thought there. It was how her art had always worked and she was no different, layers, depth, a world beneath the benign. The fire is forgotten by her company and so Elliot forgets it too, standing once more and watching the vision of punk domesticity play out in front of her. 

Elliot likes the back and forth, the fire hadn’t even started but she’s warmed. It invigorates and reinvigorates everything she looks for in life. The spritely dance between wit and will, the feeling out of a stranger. Elliot is so used to it that it’s a form of sleep action, the memorized movements, some talk, some walk but she by natural instinct flirts with what pleases her. “Gorgeous really does work, doesn’t it?” It gives her eyes reason to pour over Rae once more, she’s never one to miss an opportunity. A selfish act to some, but satiation of her need for beauty was far too pressing to ignore. “I’ve got a name but I want to know what you’d call me.”

[conflicticn]

raessomehell:

the girl’s interest PEAKED and her eyebrow rose at the MENTION of being a TOTAL CATCH for her to gaze upon. Rae could feel her BRIGHT blues dragging themselves over the OTHER’S figure. where the HELL was levi? he’d gone out to clear the traps what seemed like FOREVER ago – yet here she was stepping out of the tent, TOE TO TOE with a STRANGER. they’d been set up here for ONLY a day, THOUGH her first experience in Cheyenne wasn’t one that she’d COMPLAIN about…. also one she’d PROBABLY not mention to levi right away. though, her INITIAL response as she stepped from the tent, pulling the CIGARETTES from her pocket and placing one between her LIPS for a good morning smoke, “ i’m PRETTY SURE i didn’t leave a line out to CATCH anything. ” 

her gaze FELL quickly though, AVOIDING eye contact in the form of BUSY work. pulling a log, then a SECOND from the stack and moving them towards the RING they’d used the night before for their FIRE. now, her attention remained DOWNCAST. surly, the STRANGER would either LEAVE or make themselves at home– but STEALING before someone’s own eyes was a crime punishable by DEATH these days. “ my FRIEND levi is…. ” her voice trailed off, “SOMEWHERE, ” she mentioned his name CASUALLY, knowing there was nothing beyond FRIENDSHIP between them. “ he’ll be back EVENTUALLY. “ her words carried their own WEIGHT while thin, bony hands began to work the the logs into their SPOT, starting to create the NEST of leaves under them.

Elliot’s eyes don’t move. How could they? Elliot did for herself before she did for anyone else, she lived for her own happiness, therefore depriving her eyes of such a beauty would be a most regrettable decision so early on in a new day. Every day was onto itself, this day was focused on finding food, a desperate matter really and Elliot’s waif-like figure did nothing to reassure her otherwise. Distraction helped. Distraction allowed food-less hours to pass easier and what better distraction to find than the angelic face of her company. Elliot smirked at the retort, appreciating anyone with an ability throw her fool-hardy words back at her. Green eyes still can’t be forced to be move, reaching up and down the length of the woman’s legs, truly and unashamedly mystified by them. “I didn’t think there were any people as attractive as me left in Cheyenne. One and only time I’m happy to be wrong.” She’s not wrong, she’s just not right; happy as ever to sit in the grey of the in-between. 

They were alone, a comforting thought to Elliot’s puppeteer mind. Controlling conversation was easy with just one body in front of her, groups toyed with the dynamic. With the winds becoming colder fires became a necessity, Elliot had actually become quite skilled in her ability to make a decent fire, a forced talent. She hunkered down beside the blonde, brushing past her hand intentionally to tousel the leaves into more a tight heap. “They’ll burn better.” No apologies, never any apologies. She pulled out a zippo she’d found a body who would have had little use for it anymore, fittingly adorned with a skull and crossbones. A quick-handed flip of the lid ignited the flame and she tended to the leaves, making a start to the fire in front of them. “Got a name or do I just stick with gorgeous?” 

[conflicticn]