bliss lane
@theartofmadeline
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
titsay
Cosmic Funnies
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
almost home
Fai_Ryy
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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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Cosimo Galluzzi
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Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
ellievsbear
macklin celebrini has autism
hello vonnie
todays bird
Mike Driver
No title available
seen from United States
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seen from United States
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@eintraums
a writing blog for multiple muses from a variety of canon and original sources, by byleth (they / them, 21+) . mutuals only, iconless, private and heavily plot-based. formerly known as @stelegy.
⠀ ᴵ carrd. ᴵᴵ prompts. ᴵᴵᴵ blogroll.
the phantom of the opera.
prompts taken from gaston leroux's 1911 novel the phantom of the opera as translated by david coward. typical gothic horror content warnings apply. edit to your discretion.
oh, yes! he existed all right, a creature of flesh and blood.
pish! you lot see ghosts everywhere.
i swore i wouldn't say anything!
we must cut him down.
you're the one who looks as if you're about to faint. what's wrong with you?
since you seem set on not recognising me, i would like to say something to you in private. it's very important.
i would like to be alone. i'm feeling very tense this evening.
how can you say that? i sing only for you!
tonight i gave you my soul and i am dead.
you have a beautiful soul, my dear, and i thank you for it.
i know you're in here. why are you hiding?
but what on earth were those people laughing at?
i no longer know who i am when i sing.
love me? have you taken leave of your senses?
say it! say it again! say everything you heard!
can't you see this is killing me?
he won't get away from me this time.
you're lying. you don't love me. you've never loved me.
you said you would forgive me.
i'm ready. it's you who are late, not i.
i did not expect to see you back so soon.
don't listen to him, darling, you mustn't listen.
then promise you'll never leave me again.
you have no right to try to control my actions and i would be glad if you would not try to do so in future.
i think you know that if i meddle in matters which doubtless do not concern me, i only mean well.
why did you stand, looking, as if you were hearing choirs of angels?
is the mystery then so very terrible?
we may never see each other again.
and is that what's made you look so happy?
we shall never marry, as you well know.
it will make us happy, and harm no one.
i have the honour to ask for your hand in marriage.
it's nothing. i swear it's nothing.
never! i forbid you to go down there!
i didn't say that. who told you such a thing?
let's run away, tonight.
it's awful, to be always afraid like this. even here, where we are absolutely safe.
when she said that, i realised i loved you.
don't be afraid. you are in no danger.
don't go! you must hear the rest of it here.
does he love you that much?
and afterwards, i will be free to go?
it's not easy, to make someone love you in a tomb.
we must seize our opportunities whenever they arise.
we must get used to everything in this life, even eternity.
look at me. you wanted to see?
are you satisfied? i make a handsome specimen, don't i?
during those hours, i wasn't sure you loved me.
you made me act like a coward.
does being in love mean being miserable?
a ghost that bleeds is a poor sort of phantom.
thanks to you, we are a laughing stock.
i'll find a way of stopping you.
make sure no one sees you as you go.
you intend to fight a duel?
follow me and do exactly as i do.
and your trick damned well near killed me.
you're a villain!
i prefer to forget all that.
but you know i never keep my word. i only swear when i want to fool stupid people.
you're afraid of me, but i'm not a bad man.
if you loved me, i would be as gentle as a lamb and you could to with me whatever you wanted.
why are you crying? you know i hate it when you cry.
you gave me all the joy the world can offer.
let it be my wedding present to you both.
i know you love the boy, don't cry.
i'm not ready to die just yet, but the time will come soon.
take me to the opera.
the evening had not been what she had expected. that was, as she had been finding, a theme where the count was concerned. the piano's music filled the hall with its primary purpose to give people something to do with their hands and encouraged social negotiations across all rooms of the hall. elizabeth always came prepared for the performance of a ball, delighted even, to partake in knowing new and old individuals — verifying what conclusions were drawn from their last meeting. it was to say, she enjoyed being proven right.
and the count had proven her wrong on all accounts.
here he was, in his friendly manner and welcoming disposition, still stood in front of her after a dance as though the music ending had not occurred to him as a reason to leave. it was then that @eintraums said, ❛ i've enjoyed this better than any other dance i've been to before. ❜
❛ have you? ❜ it came out before she had quite decided to say it, her own pleasant surprise put to words. the music shifted to something slower. the room continued its usual business, the careful negotiations of proximity and conversation. elizabeth found herself stood precisely there in her curiosity. ❛ I wonder what made the difference. ❜
london’s mercurial temperament and cosmopolitan whims bore him. that is not to say that the whirlwind in itself offers no excitement ; indeed, it is for the feverish liveliness of its court that parisians to partake of its delights. but here, pemberly ! ( it reminds him almost of marseilles. ) there is a subtle gleam of grace this far into country no city could reproduce. he finds it in the rich tones of the earth that comprise even their finest ballroom. her eyes are the colour of the walls, her skin of the light effusing off the chandeliers.
almost ungentlemanlike, he laughs at her own precocious wonder. ❛❛ the answer to that is simple, miss bennet. you are yourself tonight. ❜❜ a subtle tension strings the muscles of each guest. no doubt the illustrious count of monte cristo would have had better company, but he asks for no better with her. ❛❛ a gathering such as this one requires the use of faces. we don masks to hide our own intentions, lighten or dull our gestures to the taste of our companions. we are much more severe with those of austere mien, gentle and soft - spoken with sensitive crowds. it grows tiresome, does it not ? you perform this for as long as i have, among many more courts, and one grows weary of its artificiality. ❜❜ he smiles, gains back his footing from where she had charmed him so cleanly that it caught him off his guard. the bingleys certainly have sharp eyes. ❛❛ i come to pemberly seeking sincerity ; i am pleased to find it in you and your family. ❜❜
ʻNO WOMAN SHOULD BE MADE TO FEAR THAT SHE WAS NOT ENOUGH.ʼ ↪ dialogue from the priory of the orange tree by samantha shannon. ⁽ᵖᵃʳᵗ ⁰¹/??⁾ change pronouns/gendered terms as needed.
you know how i loathe the summer here.
i would break my fast. good morrow.
you're plainly a fool, and i have no interest in befriending fools.
you can be very wise, my friend.
as you decree, your majesty.
you look radiant.
there are shadows under your eyes.
my soul is touched.
come forth and face your enemy of old, or watch your city burn.
you have been forced to join me in my exile, and i've been poor company.
if i should hear of any whispers, i will bring them to your door.
i have no love for your queen. in fact, i roundly despise her.
you presume too much. far too much.
i am not yet recovered enough from seeing a corpse by my bed to discuss its use for childing.
i know we planned to go together, and perhaps you will hate me for the rest of our lives, but it is better this way.
you took him somewhere safe. what happens now is up to him.
trust me. you can do nothing here but die.
i strongly dislike visitors at this hour. or any hour.
you show an innocent face to the court, but i believe you have another one.
all the world is a cage in a young girl's eyes.
sleep has eluded me of late.
what do you think of his eyes?
they will hail us as legends one day.
you stand on equal ground with whatever i am.
now i know your secret, and it reeks far worse than mine.
i see what's in your heart. it's the same as what's in mine. ambition.
i have no interest in why you are here.
you seem devout. i suggest you pray.
you dare judge me for seeking help elsewhere?
her pride would never allow her to ask for aid.
did the bells wake you?
i shall not speak another word.
do you have any notion of what they do to outsiders here?
she may be sick in love, as young maids often are.
i don't think i'm at all well, you know.
you are a witch. you practice sorcery. i saw it.
you know why this is happening. everyone tried to warn you.
here. i will give you the rest if you behave.
you don't really believe in talk of alchemy and sorcery.
only a soulless husk could hate poetry.
i've always rather fancied an adventure.
all stories grow from a seed of truth. they are knowledge after figuration.
you have a quick tongue as well as light feet.
not all dreams should be pursued, especially not dreams conceived on the featherbed of love.
he must have escaped while the sentinels were distracted.
how does his royal highness mean to forge such an alliance?
i have had precious little entertainment in this place.
i come to give you warning.
better a mouse than some louder beast.
this is not courteous speech. who are you?
i am no green child to believe what i am told without proof.
i do not fear you. your threats have as much weight as smoke.
they say he was in love with her.
my word, but you are a lucky wretch.
fear will make you fight.
this may be too bold, but you seem not to be in high spirits today.
i have no desire to condemn him to death.
do you think me a halfwit?
oh, do shut up.
this mission may not seem survivable, but you never know. we may return from it as princes of the world.
we must do to our enemies what they would do to us.
fire has no power over me.
something is afoot.
you had better start praying for salvation.
i possess sufficient wit to dress myself.
spare me from baseless gossip.
flattered as i am, i seem to remember you are already wed.
stop involving yourself in matters that could undo you.
it will be a pleasure to fight against a warrior of your skill.
i have an interest in survival. i recommend you nurture one, too.
you have been a loyal servant at court.
i would sooner plunge my sword into my own heart than see thy blood water the earth.
i hope all goes as you desire.
i am unworthy of her love, but love her i do. it hurts my soul.
may i ask your name, since i have you to thank for sheltering me?
pray continue.
if her majesty was displeased, i am sorry for it.
remember, no matter how far you travel, i will always be your friend.
he is comely enough.
i doubt he liked her overmuch.
a risk is needful if we are to know the truth.
no duty comes above our service to the crown.
your plot is heresy.
i beseech you, do not expose our transgression.
he should speak to you with more respect.
you know a secret of mine. we are bound by a vow of silence.
wherever i am, i am with you.
you're not in love, then.
i pray she understands. that she forgives me.
this is a mission of the utmost importance.
i will not hear of him.
i took the same oath.
we ought to speak about our… situation.
how are you always so wise?
i know you are mocking me, sir.
please don't tell anyone, or i shall be ruined.
i meant no such insult.
apologies. a poor choice of words.
as i said, i have no interest in your mission.
i confess my mind has been elsewhere.
i have been too forgiving.
she is someone for whom i would die a thousand times, whose name i cannot tell. someone who is the light in my life, the breath in my breast.
what an honour it is to be received once more at your court.
i will always keep you safe.
we have tarried here for long enough.
let us pray that, someday, she weds someone with a backbone.
i shall not involve you any further.
that is the problem with stories. the truth in them cannot be weighed.
i see through your mask. i see what's in your heart.
your pardon, my lady. it was a jest.
i thought i heard you talking. have we met?
they find the inquisitor in a hollow room like a ribcage. the vaults are finger - like spindles that meet with geometric precision at the centre of the ceiling. its whole purpose is to force an occupant to look upwards, because it is merely pedestrian otherwise. emptied of unnecessary furniture and sparsely decorated with the frugality of an acolyte, it does not even belong to the inquisitor. the chambers of these churches, small as they may seem to be, are labyrinths to the untrained eye where they stretch for metres underground. here is a guest that does not need to burden themselves with memory of their paths.
she had previously sent for a companion on this expedition and @atlastatlast ( as nineteen ) is an unusual one. the lady has informed her they had already died, animated and reanimated by magics other religions might have considered sacrilegious, blasphemous. ( there are no such words in the order ; only what is meant to be followed, and what must be culled. ) they look a stranger from vague imaginations, in their heavy clothes and obscured face. i don’t think i’m ( … ) particularly well - suited to the ( … ) role of knight. a rasp of a voice ! she schools herself into composure in a refusal to give away even a modicum of discomfort. after all, they had taken pains to answer a summons. and a spy is, above the many things they learn, courteous.
she bows, but it does not lighten the harshness of her tone. ❛❛ i ask that you spare me your humilities or deprecations. if you are what i have sought, then the lady of mirrors must have guided me to you in her great wisdom, and therefore your skill is worth trusting. ❜❜ her eyes attempt to find theirs, but she is met with difficulty instead. she is looking for a gaze that she cannot see but that sees her.
❛❛ i apologise if i unnerve you. dedication to my work lends me a serious air, at times. and the assassination of a target, however many times one performs it, cannot be so easily dismissed. the body is yours to do as you wish, of course. it is what you requested and i shall respect it. we will leave at your discretion, and you may ask of me anything at all. ❜❜
he's finally home …
she was more often than not, parallel to his insolence. born with less dignity than an ordinary yet honourable man, it was thus made possible that he should find his seat in proximity to her still body. that patchwork of woven threads & puppet limbs, a tipped over snow hat slouching long a long nose, and the curtain of lapis blue hair that acts as a door to her face— resolutely closed, of course, barring no entry to his impertinent eyes to assauge if she was yet awake. no amount of stomping into the small room had roused her. pressing her name into the air and walls hadn’t so as much made her flinch. with his ever suspicious mind, apparently, he had begun to suspect the deception. he devises then a new plan : there is a lone seat, which he takes up quietly, and takes stock of the smattering of papers and books she hordes to herself.
of particular interest to him is the language he has humiliated repeatedly. glintstone sorcery, facets of which he understood only in thanks to sellen’s study & patience. it was then that he felt the air shift beside him, the way one sighed just before a greeting or, a reprimand. his eyes, squinting, hold attentively to the paper, but it was his hand that slid beneath, grabbing a hold of the leg of her chair, and promptly dragging her close. the corner of his mouth twitches with mild triumph.
❛ oh, she speaks. ❜ his face turns to her with the same noise and shine that belonged to a curved sword in the light. smouldering stare to her quiet, cold denial of him. her hand floats near, & her fingertip comes to rest against his forehead. one flick and he might be gone for good. two and he might take her with him. slowly, his fingertips curl around her wrist, and pull it down. ❛ would that you could, my lady. yet we share a particular affliction. ❜ curiosity, unconfined by flesh and strings. days prior, he had found seluvis kneeling in death, gazing high above as if in shame or fear of his failed service. or perhaps, his failed scheme. ❛ well then? ❜ he begins to let go of her. yet his eyes refuse to leave her half-hidden face. ❛ are you so woefully harmed by me? ❜
though she may be detached from physical sensation, recollections of them are still relayed to her through an impossible distance, as if feeling for stones at the bottom of a shallow river and trying to recall a mountain from them. a smattering of anger still accompanies her compliance, but it is not the fault of the doll. these little acts of dominance and disobedience from him stir the slow wrath of her fragile temper. ( ah, so perhaps she is no better than this golden order. the two fingers choose only strong puppets ; when they cut off their strings, it is still a show of strength. ) her spirit shimmers lazily and hits the light that clings to him like a scent. the result is the faintest glimmer of beauty, morning dew at the very apotheosis of daybreak.
the queen of caria was always meant to rule alone, but her happiest days were incomplete without her companions. so thus began her terrible habit of collecting them as she grew older, into the infancy of her godhood, into even its defiance. still, she drags them with her and still, she holds them to her, even if they cut the strings on their own. seluvis had simply been too much like her. ❛❛ harmed ? i am harmed by nothing. ❜❜ she tilts the doll’s head forward until its joints shift and click into place. three eyes gaze back at him. ❛❛ this has naught to do with thee. i’ve simply a patience for schemers and liars no longer. never will i allow them to make a fool of me again. ❜❜
at her sudden rawness, the thinnest of hairline cracks creep along the woodwork of her sternum. ❛❛ shall i dismiss thee too ? am i to be forever alone in bearing my burden ? ❜❜ in her vulnerability, she spews more useless sentiment than she ought to. it is revolting, unbecoming for a pilgrim along the dark path. yet she lets the passion sway her, only a little, until she begins to miss the feeling of her limbs, her hands, and wishes for something so she too may grab his wrist in retaliation. ❛❛ i command thee, answer. ❜❜
@eintraums morgana la fey to the doorman : thank you, for your strength. it means a lot to me.
" ah ah, miss la fey- it would seem i hardly hold a candle to the likes of you. " hardly a chide, despite his choice of words and the slight wag of gloved finger, before it resumed it's post behind the lower back. how impressive was the power that had waltzed it's way through the baroness doors; a potent shift in already supernatural air. the doorman was thoroughly delighted; it found guests of the same sort truly entertaining, enchanting. for her to be complimenting his own will; brought the smallest of smiles.
" but- should you feel the need to shed your burdens; i will provide all of the strength i can muster. " velvet promise, words swung low like tempting pendulum and it's towering stature relaxed in such a way to appear less consuming. less unsettling. bright blues shimmered, the god held nothing but honesty at it's chest. " it's the least i could do, please, do allow me to continue to bear the weight. "
heed the call of thy a humble servant, guardian of many - doors ! though she remembers that worship only so little as of late ; in her memory, its visage shifts and sighs with the fragility of her own mind, its inability to grapple what she once beheld. she had heard of the baroness through rumour and scrying alone, but gazing upon its majesty amongst the bustle of new york city’s metropolitan elegance, she now understands. here, at least, is a familiar presence. ( not a familiar face. )
she hikes the collar of her mink coat up to cover her smile as he guides her through the hotel, scoffing at its words, its brazenly warm humility. ❛❛ please. you have done more than enough in guiding me this far. if there is anything i am able to do for you, my friend … well, it is what i am here for. ❜❜ her eyes glide across the staircases, soft carpets, elegant chandeliers, the regency and regality. ❛❛ yours is a beautiful city. you have made this space into a comfort ; i am pleased. ❜❜
while i do have my issues with the 2024 monte cristo movie, pierre niney in the lead was not one of them. he is, i think, the only actor to successfully convey the scale of transformation edmond goes through in order to get to the cold machiavellianism of the count.
not that she's an actual faceclaim or what, but i do appreciate how phoebe walker in seklusyon embodies the kind of unsettling and stern creepiness that i try to give mòrag
🙪 @nightorne : continued.
the mists have an appetite of their own. in the years that they have been both servant and jailer, he still cannot predict the measure of their strange hunger. perhaps it’s a symbiosis ; barovia is a stomach and he is meant to digest what they swallow. here then is a god’s signpost, but the signpost of a dark one. not those pompous braggarts of garish lathander or of riotous pelor. here is something the shadowfell knows as a daughter. look, the night clings to her like a shawl.
a feast is set for a party that will not come. if not a morsel, then she must be a messenger. or another pawn of the dark powers and their tricks. lest this is another dream, the subconscious making another desperate play for a creature howling at his own loneliness. he pours himself another bottle of … wine, stares at her from over the rim and the far stretch of the table.
❛❛ an emissary, perhaps not. but if it is a test, dark cleric, it is a poor one indeed to have put you unexpectedly into my path. i am many things to many holy men ; all of them are hateful, but none of them are wrong. ❜❜ it is not a threat or a boast, but it carries the hesitation of a cautionary tale all the same. despite himself, he smiles and his sharp teeth betray his nature, as does the clawed, elegant hand he extends to her for a chair. ❛❛ if you will not eat, you will at least sit and keep me company, yes ? tell me of this she - goddess of yours, and why she would test you so cruelly. ❜❜
» BETWEEN TWO FIRES. sentence prompts pulled from christopher buehlman’s novel, between two fires. mature themes ahead. change as you see fit, ser.
i feared you, but now i pity your suffering.
if death means to take you, he may do it here as easily as on the road. he is already in this house.
you may not be wicked, but i’m wicked enough for both of us.
i don’t care if you shit yourself. you don’t deserve any better.
balls to that. i’ll swear if i please.
that’s not forgiveness, it’s justice. and wretched justice at that.
i can’t sleep. i’m too… agitated.
i’m sorry. i’m nervous. you know i talk when i’m nervous.
what a pain in the ass you are!
everyone lies at confession. around the edges, at least.
let us speak of something happier.
we don’t want to start liking you and have you up and die on us.
i suspect more than i know.
your joking is pleasant, but it doesn’t hide the hole in you.
when was the last time you had wine? and i mean good wine.
but i can suffer. god wants suffering now.
i think he liked being bad as long as it was for pretend.
help yourself. something bad goes on here at night.
if it made you smile, it’s not completely useless.
we all fall short of perfection.
that’s the beauty of being nude in a river; you’re nobody. you’re anybody you want to be.
i do what i say. which is why i don’t say much.
those big cities are tombs, and they’re hungry.
i’ll look after your soul. as for the body, that’s in god’s hands.
if anything knocks, don’t open.
you only have one task, and that is to live. see that you do it.
so you drink the fruit of your brother’s damnation.
the plague doesn’t care about nice.
i just… don’t want anybody’s eyes on me. if i have to do things to survive.
heavenly treasures and earthly ones are not the same.
please help us. in the name of mercy, i beg you.
if devils hide in beer, is that why you drink so much wine?
let us be loving with each other. there’s so little love anywhere.
many who ask for justice are sorry to get it, and so shall it be with you.
you know what we’ve come to do now, don’t you?
do you believe in luck, my lady?
🙪 @whatsout ( from éowyn to aragorn ) : sacred high romance, receiver helps sender put on a piece of clothing or jewellery.
sunrise once meant comfort to the people of gondor, but instead of being heralded by fresh faces and new beginnings, it arrives in sombre ceremony, crawling across the horizon to perform its duty. the war - scarred of minas tirith saw only recalled dull slumber through the days that followed, while their healers saw none at all. what he could lend of his hands had worked them tirelessly until they had turned raw and calloused. it had been worth it, however, to save what he could, and to put at peace those he could not.
he will depart with them again to check the pelennor fields for more of their dead, to put at peace the families of the city, if peace could be offered at all. already from the windows of the houses of healing he could see small clusters of soldiers sifting their way across the fallen. they are collecting what they can, like funerary carrion birds.
but he feels her behind him, a warm spot in the dawn dark. she had been the best to recover of the wounded he oversaw. perhaps it is the spirit of her uncle that lives on in her now that had given her such strength, or the vengeance of her cousin who could not live to see his own promises through. he turns ; slivers of daybreak latch desperately onto strands of her gold hair, becoming something of a lamp he could see her face with. she cradles in her wounded arms the woolen cloak that had also acted as her blanket in her sickbed. he could not smother the determination within her then, he is foolish to think he can do so now. it is difficult for him to take a full breath, he is so terrified, terrified. he has already lost so much, and so has she. there is no poetry to make more palatable a feeling like that.
he takes the cloak gently from her ; his hands scrape with difficulty over its texture, as if they are still accustoming themselves to soft fabrics after too long a time apart from them. his knuckles tenderly brush the bruises that purple her skin and it unfurls with a muted susurrus. the length of his arms reach behind her head and he fastens the cloak over her shoulders, pulling it closed at her breastbone. as if he had been tending to her wounds, his eyes follow every gesture that he makes and … why do his fingers linger where the latch is ? he is mesmerised by the tenacity of the skin at her neck, still unwounded, unblemished. a bare column of flesh. for a moment, his fortitude falters and he is shockingly, sickeningly dizzy with an emotion like fear, not wholly fear.
❛❛ i am sorry that i must leave you again, daughter of rohan. ❜❜ his words are chosen carefully ; he can only offer to her the best. he looks into her eyes and picks out the grey against green, the colour of her strength. even now. ❛❛ you shall hate me for sparing you another valiant death among the host of the west, but i am willing to endure such hatred. you cannot die. your bravery is what saved your people. it is what must sustain them here while they mend their wounds. stay here, and be brave for them. ❜❜ his gaze leans closer still, until he can feel the scent of morning effuse gently off her face. ❛❛ promise me, my lady. ❜❜
i'm so not gonna lie to y'all. i kind of am starting to hate arcane?
🙪 @tyrran : continued.
noxus does not do anything by halves ; that is where it differs from demacia, a country basking in its own complacency and lies of justice and dignity. but the effort is undoubtedly valiant. perhaps they will hear tale of this protector in the delverhold —— or even as far as uwendale —— and cry out against their shelter. the northern territories possess only fledgeling loyalty, but it is to be expected. what is subjugation without its thorns ?
too belatedly he realises he has brought an anomaly to the immortal bastion ; it has fought against and caged worse. because noxus is a tenacious and united front ; that is where it differs from ionia, a land uneasy with its magics, too divided to stand even on two feet. he inclines his head, less to bow and more to shift his expression into something tolerable enough to pass as a dismissive gesture. still his voice rings with the cadence of a general, even though he holds no loyalty to him. ❛❛ you are not a noxian soldier, and i command of you nothing. after all, you will continue to do exactly as you please, in service to the people of naljaäg, with or without my orders. ❜❜ he steps down, at first uneasy in his footing, then he steps again until he is able to establish an easy cadence down the dais. the pain in his right leg creeps up then dampers down with the sway, like the ebb and flow of a constant tide. ❛❛ i did not summon you to make a mockery of the deaths of my men, nor to insist like a petulant child that you cease your efforts. i am not so foolish as that. ❜❜
something inside him — is eager and hungry, ready to lap up the first spill of blood. but he keeps his left hand tucked behind his back, assisted by the shadow of his long overcoat.
then raven wings flutter like whispers on the wind. an ideal made manifest, organic matter disintegrates into light. then something darker, colder, on the far side of the world … she reaches for ice that will not bruise her skin. waiting, for the inevitable. ❛❛ do you know what you are, vannaspar ? ❜❜ there is too much to know, too much, and he stops at the first sensation of the overwhelming weight. their sides do not brush. ❛❛ you will not find your answers in merely protecting innocent lives. ❜❜
around her the wind whips cold and unsteady, indifferent to her minuscule lapses of judgement on her balance and posture. she kneels beneath the cover of a water cooler atop an abandoned roof deck. from her vantage point, she peers through her binoculars and tries to sift through the garish lights and visual sound to find the hatch entrance she was tipped off months ago. it is still there, unlatched and open. the district attorney’s men were so quick to betray him. was she too surrounded by liars like that, smiling and spouting platitudes one moment, accepting bribes for her downfall the next ? if she had been … if her mother was still —
a silent, soft thud. her coat billows around her restlessly like a curtain. she had hoped it would have been a dark colour sufficient enough to help her blend into the shadows, even if @veilmotel ( as felicia ) renders it pointless, quickly plucking her singular figure from the skyline and right into her playful, bemused attention. no rest for the wicked, right ?
❛❛ no rest for you then, maybe. ❜❜ her mother had not been wicked, but she did not have to resort to wicked measures. would she have been ashamed to raise such a striking bird of prey when she wanted a dove ? she lowers her binoculars and passes them onto the burglar, who is making herself comfortably languid at their vantage point. perhaps it’s intuition, or just the strength of superstition and paranoia, but already she feels uneasy next to her, as if misfortune would collapse its full weight on the whole operation if she wasn’t ready for it. hopefully something must counterbalance it then, and nothing will happen to the briefcase of documents they needed to steal. ❛❛ we’ll do this quietly. no one should know we’ve been in and out. ❜❜ that’s why i picked you, she thinks. her footsteps are still a little clumsy on balcony railings and over stairs, under cover. but she’s been through worse humiliations, and she can certainly swallow a bit of pride when it comes to comparing herself to a professional. as much as the thief’s amusement burns her nape. ❛❛ you’ll need to show me how we get in. no tricks this time. ❜❜
