Heid is minced but fingers drifted against the greasy keyboard between drags of an ikea pencil, gnawing til teeth touch the graphite, til her lips glow grey
because Poppy Elkins is on-the-fucking-line.
What does she know about it?
And what does She know about it?
Somebody to Love plays tinny from the ipod of the woman an aisle over in the rickety train but Gibson hears each maw, each syllable–
[ Lara has entered The Playground ]
‘Excuse me madame but you’re kicking my–’
Her long frame rises rapid, to a
degree that she has to duck the
overhead compartment
to threaten the geriatric.
[ Lara has left The Playground ]
‘GIT TAE FOCK AND
SIMMER DOWN AFORE
AH MAKE Y’PAL
MEAN DO YOU KNOW’
And so on, and so forth
having to have her pencil
taken away by an attendant.
Make-shift shank and a half.
The man is gone.
[ Lara has entered The Playground ]
Lara: you gonna wipe up that hurricane of piss you threw in my face last week?
There used to be solace here,
and then Poppy bought a laptop.
and then Poppy met Lara.
( though met is a loose term. )
[ P.E. has entered The Playground ]
Take a good look at those pixels, girl.
Good Lord,
take a look at those angry pixels.
[ P.E. has changed their status to Away ]
She opens the window as quickly as she shuts the laptop-– a near simultaneous movement which can only be spurned by quiet panic. The same quiet panic that shakes up her fingers, that makes retrieving and lighting a smoke a painfully conscious task.
[ P.E. has changed their status to Online ]
Be weary when you’re webchatting Ares herself.
It’s an ancient proverb, surely.
P.E. : Interesting take on it.
P.E. : I figured you needed some publicity.
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