prxphcts:
The blonde musician was ill-equipped to be sprung with a request lurking the outskirts of the woods, late-night restless stroll that might incite a pinch of anxiety for his spouse should he neglect to check his phone. He was in dire need of gulping down fresh oxygen, clearing his head of the swirling torrent of stack after stack of stack of unexpected twists and turns, a rollercoaster that never stopped. A part of him clawed to accept the significant lack of family against the juxtaposition of relief that there were less to fret, the ones that provoked the highest degree of concern. Lithe fingers clicked together, flashy silver pieces adorning his tattooed digits brushing up on one another as he treaded closer to the fire. He hovered a fair distance away, considering making a jest about finding an ex-flame next to a whole pile of flames. Smoking was a shit habit for the vocalist, but he was concerned if he might breathe too much of the ravening fire, it might trigger a bout of asthma, agitate the lingering cough that attached from enduring two fires ( a bad case of wrong place, wrong time ). “Ah, shit,” the hapless greeting was brushed off in favor of pondering what she had suggested, leaning back on his heels and tipping his head back, heterochromatic hues rolling toward the treeline and grunting. Storytelling was not his strongest suit, especially when he acknowledged he tended to chalk the folklore of his heritage as a load of bullshit, which could very well land him in the fifth circle of Hell for puerile disrespect ( blame it on cynicism, the same that would also snatch his desire to buy into religion and oscillate frequently. “Uh… kinda dark, but in Brazil, we call werewolves lobisbomem. Not much of a tale, but avo used to scare us lil’ kids tellin’ us that they lurk the fields under the full moon. Said they were souls of slave owners, damned for the shit they did. Eat lil’ kids if they disrespect their parents. Not as scary as Pisadeira, but keeps the kids from goin’ where they’re not fuckin’ supposed to. If they sneak out, they’ll run back screamin’. Kinda involved from Africans that got brought over than our indigenous tribes… but we sure ran with it and kept it alive.”
~*~*~*
“Lobi– lobis-bo-mem,” Leo echoed, sounding it out carefully. “Gotta say, I like the karma of it all. Good thing it’s a Brazilian legend though, because my dad would’ve loved to feed me to a werewolf,” she quipped, grinning at Cy. She set her book aside and scooched down on the log.
“Been a long time,” she noted. They’d been friends when she first moved to town, and something more than that after she was eighteen. It was harmless, it was fun, it was over almost as soon as it started. But that was okay. Leo didn’t want to be tied down, and she didn’t mind quick sparks. She lifted a thin log and poked at the embers at the base of the fire, sending flame and spark and smoke shooting into the air for a second. “Heard you went and got yourself married,” she said, arching a brow. “What’s that like? I can’t even imagine.”


















