the fruit flies know something i don’t; they’re the last priests of a dying faith, and they’re waiting for me to leak.
hana sayoc ( the facade ), for @tidepoint !
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@frontrose
the fruit flies know something i don’t; they’re the last priests of a dying faith, and they’re waiting for me to leak.
hana sayoc ( the facade ), for @tidepoint !
setting: a tree near the oceanfront
tommy sets down a bouquet of lilies next to the other flowers that are gathered for the mizu waiter, whose body was found on the beach. “i think sadie's right, you know... it's definitely weird this happened that night.”
lines are always being drawn and crossed in lethe. mentioning teddy— a hard no, but evidently necessary. agreeing with sadie— a petulant no. a combination of both? hana audibly groans, massaging at her temples as if hearing nails on a chalkboard. “ugh. ew, tommy.” she complains. selfishly hates that her party of the summer had been sullied by whatever warped reality they'd surely stumbled into between entering and exiting lethe club doors. “why wait for the summer if they were just going to text about it?” inquisitive and baiting. eager to know how the party had ended for someone else. “… did you see anything weird?”
she can feel her eyes rolling into the back of her skull, half of her still wanting to press the other girl for what she believed to be such an obvious lie. sadie couldn't help it, stubborn like an old dog set in her ways most of the time. and yet she relents, not even bothering to give hana's phone screen a glance before she's pulling out her own to show her the text. it's unceremoniously plopped onto the table between them, though her eyes stay fixed on hana, curious to study her face. "sure seems like you missed a lot that night. and i thought party hosts were supposed to be attentive."
retort seems to die in her throat, too busy reading those words like it was the first time. white looks good on you. of all the implications, her stomach churns at that in particular. her party theme spelled out across teddy's keyboard. shame it won’t hide the stains. another flip of her insides, a sideways glance to sadie. targeted, is what she feels. would she know about what happened to rue? about the way hana had turned to action over comfort— once she realized it hadn't come from her guests, of course— scrubbing at crimson red until someone had urged her to stop. “that's so fucked up.” she finally says, observation of the century. “who got his phone? i mean— you know he wouldn't go to a party without it. i think…” sentence trails off as the phone in her hand buzzes to life. unable to stop her own curiosity, she glances down— heart sinks when it's teddy's name in their groupchat. stops reading then, drops the phone on the bartop with her hands in floating in the air. a perfect picture of surrender, even when her own phone buzzes in it's spot. “what the fuck.”
location : freya's apartment time : approx. 2:39PM open to : @frontrose !
❛ i don’t want to talk about sadie, or that stupid text message, or that party — no offense, han, i know you worked hard on it. ❜ subtlety, try as she might, is lost on her : she has always been too brash, too abrasive, too crude. it rears its ugly head now, even in the quiet moments, and she winces, sheepish with the smile she tosses in her best friend’s direction. she means well, because of course she does, but freya doesn’t wish to dwell on what she cannot change. theodore is dead. someone killed him. someone is apparently intent on making sure they pay the price for the crime. two truths and a lie : she thinks they’re all being dramatic. a series of coincidences and cruel jokes seem easier to accept than the alternative. ( i know what you did last summer ! ) ❛ i want to talk about you — we haven’t caught up in forever. i need all the good gossip, you know ? what’s the state of the union on your love life ? i have to live vicariously through someone somehow. ❜
frustrations seep through compliments, but she can't find it in herself to pout — a small touch of approval, but it's reassurance from freya nonetheless. “okay, okay… no sadie, perfect. no elusive text, great. no party… i guess can deal.” as she runs through the list, manicured nails draw check marks into the air. as far as hana was concerned, this was some elaborate prank. would sooner believe teddy found a way home from the afterlife than believe someone knew— anyone that would tell, at least. at the next question, she debates crafting some spring fairytale. but so much seems to crumble around the edges these days. with so much of lethe crossing the boundary into her real life, it's better to play it safe. she waves her hand dismissively, “you do not want to live through me in that department. trust.” “how about you?” she asks, tries not to seem to excited when she does it. the opportunity to be clued in on all the details of freya's life she feels starved of presents itself. hana leans a little closer, nudging the other's shoulders. “busy girl, hm?” a dramatized sigh pairs with a pout, “getting too busy for me.”
Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to John Middleton Murry
I stole your word. The word you used to use all the time. I say it now. I slip it into sentences and laugh to myself. It’s a little inside joke. It reminds me of you every time. You were so pompous. I still think it’s funny how a single word can remind you of an entire person. That should fill me with fear. As long as I remember that word, I’ll remember you. But it doesn’t. I say the word, I remember you, and I don’t care.
Sue Zhao // An Ode to Moving On
closed starter for : @frontrose
things were out to get him , rei was sure of it . there must've been a curse along his bloodline , solely set out to grab him by the horns and shake him until there was nothing beyond tattered edges . if he was to guess , it was definitely his fathers side of the family , his grandmother had always eyed him with resentment that only a person with the intent to hex and ruin rei's life could protude . his parents ditching him in favor to his brother , zak . . . teddy . all of it a cruel joke that simmered down to the polaroid crumbled in his back pocket . rei had yet to take another look at it since the night of the party , didn't dare to . because what if he was still there , in taunting resemblance of a dead man walking . “ for someone so sneaky , you're real shit at this , y'know . . . ” now facing hana dead on , hands shoved into his jacket . striking words so casually blown into the wind that it was hardly meant as offense .
curiosity may have killed the cat, but perhaps it was only bad luck not quite the comforting thought it should be, given her track record in the realm of luck. still, she can't fight the call to loom a bit closer to rei, as if proximity will give way to whatever information lies in his brain. whether it be what she owes him or whatever he's been told by freya-- that's a thought. are they supposed to meet? her eyes scan the area, just as she's caught red-handed. “i'm not sneaky.” hana quips, contradicting the very slinky approach she had taken to peering around his shoulder. feeling as if she's being seen right through, arms fold across her chest for an added barrier as she straightens up. “you're the one that's always lurking in every shadow lethe's got to offer. what are you doing?”
✦ ⌢ closed for the hothead - @miloshq.
hears him before she sees him. as the sound of milos' voice drifts closer, hana finds herself bracing for another bloody display. there's a breath of relief as he rounds the corner, perfectly fine as far as her eyes can tell. for someone who has spent so many summers dodging him, fearful of being called on her bluff, she has the urge to approach. ( & hana's never been known to deny herself of any whim. ) steps carry her closer before she even calculates the next sentence, leaving her standing in front of him with a silent pause. “um ” she begins, never one to let silence sit. “can we talk? … about the party.”
✦ ⌢ closed for the townie - @saltbreak.
nose wrinkles when sadie sits across from her. onlookers are left to decide if it is an exaggerated display of distaste or a nervous tick. "are you going to show me the text or not?" inquiry delivered with an accusatory tone. she opens her own texts, filled with unanswered notifications to make herself feel important really makes a show of her screen. “i was so busy at the party. maybe i missed it.”
surfboard slung beneath his arm, a streak of teal against a rinsed-out sky. salt threads through zakaria's hair, stings the nick at his temple, settles in the hollow where pulse flutters beneath skin. he counts them without meaning to— the body keeps score. " didn't ask. " board spears the earth beside hana. nothing to negotiate, only presence. he folds down to her level, joints snapping like a jackknife. one heel digs in the grit; the other restless. in his palm a small bag folded like contraband. teddy’s, once. traded across summers until neither could say whose. inside: crumbled green, rolling papers soft as seaweed flattened beneath the weight of his lighter. " party turn out like you pictured, hana? " a cast line, not a conversation. his gaze stays on the tiny architecture forming in his palm, thumb pressing one stubborn edge flat— " headcount come out clean? "
“didn't ask,” she parrots the words back to him, tone high-pitched and entirely incorrect. a mockery. whatever quip she had lined up dies in her throat. the irritability takes a sideline when the board burrows next to her, flinching at the swift movement. his next words— she isn't stupid, they're gauged to incite. clean. she wants to laugh. she might have. does he know what happened when the lights came on? did zakaria somehow lay witness her exit from the venue, covered in something a lot like blood? it's a baited hook & hana cannot fight the instinct to bite. “it went perfect.” finally, eyes turn to her new guest. she scrutinizes every detail of his features. could he call her bluff? would he? “i think of all lethe was there. did you go to the afters?”
HE'S STILL SHAKING THE SEA from his shoulders when he makes it up the cliffs, skin kissed raw by wind, his hair stiff with salt. the boat’s docked below, bobbing quiet in the cove, but kieran’s legs haven’t stopped swaying with the rhythm of it yet. it’s a routine now, coming up here after a sail. something about the bluffs makes the world feel smaller & the sky closer. but he doesn’t expect to see her. he slows down as hana comes into view, and he hesitates, lingering in the space between a choice. “this is a public spot,” he says, his voice low and clipped, but not unkind. he doesn't leave, instead moving to stand a few feet away. “did you come up here to forget or remember?”
“well… i'd like for it to be my public spot.” a pettish retort, tone teetering the line of a whine by the end of it. “just for a while longer.” please is left unspoken. who is he to crawl his way into the bluffs, anyways? an outsider granted permission under the guise of love. ( or like, or lust, or whatever they wanted to call it. ) possessiveness overtakes her other emotions then. of what, she can't be sure: her party, that night, her friends, lethe— she wants to lay claim to every inch of it. a steadying breath. whatever beast lay dormant in hana's chest will not emerge just yet. she gestures east, where all that lies ahead of them lies open water. “this way's for forgetting.” then to the opposite direction, where tidepoint looms in the west. she sneaks a glance, as if waiting for something to free fall from it's peak. again. “that's for remembering. try not to look.”
she could bulldoze her way into an agreement. or not say anything at all and just . . . stop. sit. she could stop right here and stand there, more than a good few feet away from hana. it's a big enough distance. they can even both stare out the ocean in silence. it's not a bad idea.
alena doesn't heed the thought. he finds his way next to hana instead, only planting his feet when their elbows are close enough to touch. "last i checked," she starts, "spot's big enough for two." hana's eyes are fixed forward. is it the sky, the sea, or something else she's looking at? he follows her gaze. "could fit the whole group, actually. it's not like you own the whole stretch." like this, it's equal parts a challenge and a probe for permission.
company is company, whether or not it had been invited. she sits and hana's lips press into a thin line. she draws in a deep breath, eyes falling shut. find your peace. ( because the last thing any of them need is an argument from higher ground. ) “all that room and you're right in my bubble.” she pulls her knees to her chest, blatantly not looking at him — a move that is as intentional as it is petulant. the same as it's always been: hana doesn't know how to ask for space, so she grows cold. a puff of air from her mouth, “not like there's the entirety of lethe coast to explore or anything.”
✦ ⌢ open to unlimited replies. ✦ ⌢ @ the bluffs, around 10:00 a.m.
perched atop the bluffs, hana feels as if she can finally breathe. impossibly high above lethe and the ocean, it's as if nothing can touch her here. ( as long as she keeps her eyes forward, far away from the direction of tidepoint. ) coming alone almost promises no need for performance. almost— because she hears the trek of a guest climbing the bluffs. she doesn't turn. eyes ahead, she reminds herself. “spot's taken.”
Satoshi Kon - Perfect Blue (1997)
✦ ⌢ closed for the savior / @saint1ies. ✦ ⌢ @ lethe club, around 9:10 p.m.
brows knit together as her eyes scan the text. she sorts through a mental checklist as she reads— white looks good on you, true. shame it won't hide the stains, indisputable. see you tonight, sent from… who? panic rises in her chest, taking the shape of something dark, ugly, and— no, she won't crack at her own party. a swipe of her fingers: delete message. almost as soon as the button is pressed, she collides with someone in front of her. “sorry–” she begins, looking up to meet the hazel hues of none other than romy ivalu. a pause, to test the waters, “got a stupid text.”
✦ ⌢ closed for the hothead & the genius burnout. ✦ ⌢ @ lethe club, around 11:30 p.m.
the worst part of the night arrives. it's something like an end credits scene. attendees spill out of the club doors, the constant background noise of people dulls to music playing from a distant speaker, and staff appears to begin erasing evidence of all her hard work. a final curtain call, but she didn't even get to take a bow. she rounds to the bar for final calls, ready to usher the remaining through the doors with a dazzling smile. on her way, she stares down at the phone in her hands— at the text— free hand tracing the wall like a guiding friend until she rounds the corner. “oh, milos, you're still…” words fall short as she finally looks up from the screen, failing to restart as she notices crimson splashed across his shirt. brows draw together in confusion, concern, and— oh. rehearsed smile drops from her features at the sight in front of her. rue, cloaked in red. something between a gasp & a shrill shriek leaves her. half a step, a hand that begs to reach out— and a pause. she can't bring herself to move any further. instead, she stares ahead, caught in her stupor. the last time she stepped up, the night ended with a shovel & an unimaginable amount of dirt beneath her nails. “tell me that's not yours.”