tearing it all at its seams

...We all lie beneath her light... Independent Red from Transistor. ▼ AU and OC friendly.

[canemamisit]

//closed starter for @redshines

[Luna had been walking for a few hours, now. Aimless wandering, really, resting now and again with the Transistor and its residents tucked safely beneath her. But she was on the move currently, the handle held firmly with her tail as it dragged along the ground.]

[She didn’t quite have a goal in mind. As it stands, she was the only moving being in all of Cloudbank now - something Breach had been quick to point out. The trio had thus dubbed Luna the “Dog Lord of the Empty Kingdom”.]

[Whatever that meant. Luna was just happy that it seemed to amuse them.]

[Eventually, though, this comes to an end - Luna finds a backdoor. But she isn’t able to enter it. So she does what any dog might - paw and scratch at it till it opens, of course!]

[But instead of properly opening, there’s a spark. A twist in the very fabric of the surrounding area - and all of a sudden Luna and her Transistor aren’t in Kansas anymore the same Cloudbank as before. And Luna can tell! She’s quick to curl up on top of the Transistor, whining and shaking despite the inhabitant’s attempts to calm her.]

[Just where has she ended up…?]

[redshines]

The Spine’s presence hangs over her shoulders like a tangible burden, present in every tap of her shoes and dazed crimson thrum of the sword in her arms.

“Are we... there yet?” Her constant companion seems relatively coherent, for now.

The cool light of the Backdoor shines up ahead as a gentle contrast to the harsh, orange glare that heralds another murderous attempt. It yields to her touch after a moment’s resistance.

Stepping through, Red makes a beeline for the gnarled tree and props the Transistor against it, even as the man inside gives a quiet groan of relief. “Oh, that’s much better... thanks for the break.”

In her haste, though, she doesn’t realize something else is has come in at roughly the same moment as her. At least, not until a fearful whine is audible over the gentle waves. The singer spins on the spot to focus on the Process behind her as her trapped lover makes a wordless noise of shock.

A gasp catches itself in her throat and dies once it reaches the air. That looks like Luna. A terrified and confused Luna, to be sure, and sitting on... another Transistor?

Red kneels slowly, knees pressing indents into the sand. She stretches out one hand toward the pup.

[redshines]

- Aerie -

[breaching-lutalica-blog]

“Ah,” he comments softly when Red makes her presence known–by immediately tending to his wounds. He…probably should have done that at some point, huh? But he didn’t really have the heart to, not after the series of events that occurred because of it. Still, he makes no effort to avoid her ministrations.

“Oh, you know–Wolfram? Kid in class 5E? Ended up in the hospital for falling off the balcony of his apartment?”

He continues after her answer, regardless of what it is.

“That’s the story I told him to say. The truth is that some bullies from 7th grade started messing with him for whatever reason but I wasn’t going to stand for it. But I didn’t want the Administrators getting involved, so I dealt with it my own way.”

[redshines]

She does know of Wolfram, yes, and a quick nod of her head bears witness as she continues tending to him.

The knowledge that he dealt with the matter on the sly draws a tilt of her brows, eyes cutting across to scan his face for a moment. “Is there any chance he’ll wind up in the hospital again? With the lack of Administrator involvement, I mean. And do you think they’ll stop at that?”

Seventh grade bullies could mean trouble for the rest of the class. If they can be convinced to leave the local academy and start a new, fresh life at an academy in Sunset...

Well, it could take more than herself. Depending on how well those other kids have learned their lesson.

[redshines]

(A little thing for @askmeinthecountry, since I noticed Sybil was in distress)

Clouds fall over the Country, like most days that pass down the endless line of solitude. They say that everyone finds their way into the Country eventually, but Red’s never been able to walk quite far enough to see unfamiliar figures on the horizon.

In the city, their prayers for rain took the form of countless votes that churned through Cloudbank invisibly and manifested in slate-grey masses turned violet in the sunset. The city chose its gift to them, through them, and they welcomed it or dealt with it by turns.

Here, as she walks toward Sybil’s house with her shawl pulled tight around her shoulders, the overcast sky skulks along like a half-baked question of whether mud and dampness should be granted to the sixteen inhabitants of their slice of land.

Still, the wheat grows. Even after a month (by her estimate) of no rain, the wheat is as golden as ever. The Country regenerates itself behind their backs, except for the inhabited area they have to change themselves.

Settling on the stoop for the socialite’s back door, Red crosses her arms. By the sound echoing through the wooden house, Sybil’s worked herself into a fine fury. Faint garbled echoes send a cold stiffness to her spine--even traces of the Process bring an instinctive reaction out of the singer.

When it came, every day was the same...

Despite the creeping fight-or-flight response that curls her hands into small fists, she tries to relax against the wall of the small house. Her shawl rustles with each turn of her head to glance around the never-ending scenery.

[redshines]

- Aerie -

[redshines]

breaching-lutalica:

“I will.”

He stays put even after she leaves, watching her go. When she looks over his shoulder to spot him, he gives her a grin and a wave.

It’ll be the last time she sees him for a week.

When she does, it’ll be in Goldwalk. He’s sitting by the edge of a fountain, looking even more beat-up than last time, and this time it’s fresh, as if he’d just now finished bleeding from the cut on his lip and could barely see out of one of his eyes. In contrast, however, a single dove, void of any imperfections or injuries, perches on his forearm, unfazed by any movements he might make while he feeds her little nibbles of shared food; she even lets him pet her on the beak or feet.

Red’s presence goes unnoticed, for now.

There’s no need to be jealous that he’s bonded with the bird; after all, it seems to be taken care of, and that’s what matters. However, concern clouds her gaze as it roams over the strange boy. Rapidly-swelling eye, cut on the lip, raw knuckles.... a dark streak on his pants legs, new scuffs on the tips of his shoes. It’s not hard to glean clues from his appearance.

She has a handkerchief in one pocket of her sensible trousers, and it’s the work of a moment to stroll to the fountain and dip the cloth in the clean water. Wringing it out, she settles on the dry rim and offers the damp edge toward his knee.

“Hey.” Her low voice makes the bird rustle slightly in apprehension, but she doesn’t move again. “It looks like you had a tousle. Did someone give you trouble?” Not that she’d ask, on another occasion, but violence is a rarity in Cloudbank.

[redshines]

- Aerie -

[redshines]

breaching-lutalica:

Relegated. He smirks. She has an awfully big vocabulary for someone so young, but it’s not like it’s a word he doesn’t know–he spends a lot of his time listening, observing, studying grown-ups and their conversations. It’s one thing to know words, but it takes a strong mind to actually use those words.

Even though he’s a few inches shorter than her, he bows his head down as if he were being knighted with the feather, which stands out with stark contrast to his dark hair.

“You’re right,” he says simply, looking back up at her with a genuine expression. He turns his head to look at the birds that have since found a stable, drama-free place to land. Flying away? Maybe he’d prefer to swim away, but if he didn’t have a choice, he’d be pretty content with flight. “Think I’ll skip classes today.” She’s not in his class, after all, and if he can’t hang out with her, he might as well hang out with her flighted friends and get to know them better, right? He turns back to her, grinning widely. “Exploring the city is way more fun than listening to lecture.”Especially since he’d have the goal of trying to find some place where he can obtain birdseed.

It’s not hard to see his train of thought, with such an open face. It’s such a change from the usual students, happy to go to school and learn what they want to be. Who would give up going to school and finding something to be talented at?

“Say hello to them for me,” is all she murmurs before flashing a smile and turning toward the entrance. It goes against her usual eagerness to learn about the city, but part of her wants to explore with this strange boy.

Perhaps on one of her weekends she’ll take a stroll around Highrise and Sunset to see if she can find him again, but her duty calls for now. The girl heads into the entryway with only a backward glance to find her temporary bird friend.

[redshines]

- Aerie -

[redshines]

breaching-lutalica:

“It took a lot of hard work to get them to trust you…”

And here he is, reaping the fruits of her labor. It feels unfair. Yet she says that he has the hang of it, like there’s some sort of inherent talent that gives him the ability to become a bird’s glorified perch and feeder. His position of power is only fleeting, as their new flock escapes when new humans make their presence known.

The dark-skinned kid gives the others in the distance a deeply thoughtful look, almost as if he’s upset or angry, but the reality is that he has a naturally pouty neutral face. He does genuinely have something on his mind, though, and he debates whether or not to share it with her.

He decides against it–for now–and leans over to pick up the stray feathers that the doves had left behind. A few moments later, he’s handing her a small handful of variously sized feathers.

“Here,” he says, that pouty look disappearing when he gives her a smile. “You looked so cool next to them.”

Even the unexpected interruption doesn’t seem to faze the girl. She gives the other kids a short and neutral glances, finishes stretching, and shrugs. Then her attention snaps back to the boy next to her, picking up the feathers.

Here he is, being nice to her once more. Even once the reason he came over has flown away. Her hand stretches out to collect the feathers, turning them over to catch the light. “I’d hate to be relegated to being the Bird Girl,” she jokes quietly before tucking them into a pocket. Still, she drags out two feathers. One goes in the buttonhole of her sensible grey jacket, and the other she tucks behind the boy’s ear.

“On the other hand, feathers suit you. You look like you wouldn’t mind flying away.” It’s a temptation to stuff her hands in her pockets, but one’s filled with feathers and the other’s got itchy breadcrumbs. Folding her arms turns out to be less confusing. “Ready for classes?”

[redshines]

- Aerie -

[redshines]

breaching-lutalica:

Respect! He has a ton of respect to give out. Everyone should be treated respectfully until they prove that they actually deserve to be treated like dirt.

The stranger listens to her explanation carefully, quietly, then gives her a surprised look when she holds out the bird treats. This girl carries bird seed in her pockets? How cool! Their classmates might make fun of her if they found out, though…

“No way,” he says, in response to her dismissive comment about it being fun. “Spending time with animals is always fun.”

Bandaged hands reach out to accept her offer, but he’s stiff and awkward–due to having no experience with handling birds. “What do I do?”

“Depends on what you want them to do,” she answered with absolute childish certainty. “Keep it in your hands if you want them to perch there, or on your shoulders if you think you can stay still. They’re wild birds, though, and they don’t like to be petted.”

Someone who kept their hands bandaged like that would have trouble writing, she thought. Stiff wraps could protect the hands, but make bending fingers in a writing position all day an arduous process. Still, she made no comment. He had his reasons, of course.

The feed dropped into his cupped hands as she opened hers, and the birds rustled on her shoulders. Pale beaks bobbed with beady eyes turning to examine the boy. New perch? More food? This had to be investigated. They inspected him carefully, all eyes trained on him, just like the bold girl beneath their wings. Azure eyes scrutinized him from scruffy hair to scuffed shoes.

[breaching-lutalica-blog]

Keeping them on his hands sounds like the better idea–it makes it easier to watch them, read how they’re feeling. Not being able to pet them is, admittedly, a little disappointing–but the fact that he gets to hold a wild bird makes up for it.

His hands are ready to support their tiny little claws, holding his hand steady to give them a solid perch. When he opens his hand, there’s a chaotic flutter of wings as a few of the girl’s buddies join him; he closes his eyes lest he be smacked in the face with a stray wing, but he stands firm nonetheless.

“This is so cool,” he comments with no small amount of awe in his voice after they’ve settled on him. Thanks to the bandages he’s unphased by the pecking at birdseed, watching them contentedly and listening to their cooing. He’s seemingly unphased by her staring.

“The sound they make is nice. Calming.”

[redshines]

Her lips twitched before she nodded. “It’s hard to stay still when you want to move. But knowing they trust you... it gives you a sense of perspective.” Her gaze flickered to the right, attracted by one of her avian friends. This dove seemed to almost glow in the light from the nearest lamp, feathers free from dirt or grime. One dark eye peered at her, unafraid, then it cocked its head.

Something about the boy put her both off-kilter and at ease, as if she’d suddenly reclined a chair and lay there in it, breathless and comfortable. “You really have the hang of this, don’t you?” The slow murmur tickles the feathers, and the ruffled dove coos into her ear.

A shout from behind them makes both girl and birds startle. A few boys race toward the school with shouts of laughter, each trying to best the others. With an almighty shove all of the birds take off for the sky. Only a few iridescent feathers floating down and the discarded crumbs in the boy’s hands tell of their presence.

The girl winces before stretching out her arms briefly, rotating them then lowering with a sigh.

[redshines]

- Aerie -

[redshines]

breaching-lutalica:

Respect! He has a ton of respect to give out. Everyone should be treated respectfully until they prove that they actually deserve to be treated like dirt.

The stranger listens to her explanation carefully, quietly, then gives her a surprised look when she holds out the bird treats. This girl carries bird seed in her pockets? How cool! Their classmates might make fun of her if they found out, though…

“No way,” he says, in response to her dismissive comment about it being fun. “Spending time with animals is always fun.”

Bandaged hands reach out to accept her offer, but he’s stiff and awkward–due to having no experience with handling birds. “What do I do?”

“Depends on what you want them to do,” she answered with absolute childish certainty. “Keep it in your hands if you want them to perch there, or on your shoulders if you think you can stay still. They’re wild birds, though, and they don’t like to be petted.”

Someone who kept their hands bandaged like that would have trouble writing, she thought. Stiff wraps could protect the hands, but make bending fingers in a writing position all day an arduous process. Still, she made no comment. He had his reasons, of course.

The feed dropped into his cupped hands as she opened hers, and the birds rustled on her shoulders. Pale beaks bobbed with beady eyes turning to examine the boy. New perch? More food? This had to be investigated. They inspected him carefully, all eyes trained on him, just like the bold girl beneath their wings. Azure eyes scrutinized him from scruffy hair to scuffed shoes.

[redshines]

- Aerie -

- for @breaching-lutalica to stumble upon -

When she was little, she’d sprinkle birdseed on her shoulders.

It wasn’t the smartest idea for a young teenager, but she’d done it since she was seven. She’d sit very still, resting her back against the iron bars next to the bench, and wait for them to come.

Cloudbank’s white doves were rare, feeding on small scraps and migrating through the city in a set rotation, but she knew the pattern by now. For the next fifteen days they’d hang around Sunset District and perch on lampposts to rustle their wings at stray pedestrians.

When the faint flutters brushed her cheekbones and ruffled her hair tied back in a braid she’d slowly rise to her feet. It was an odd balancing trick; she’d walk to the group lessons in a slow and purposeful shamble, head level, eyes straight, listening to the burbling birds swelling with importance. Part of her never dared glance over at them, lest the sharp prickle of tiny claws dig in or worse, loosen to let the doves fly away.

Her shoes scraped over the concrete toward the schoolgrounds, too preoccupied in her balance to notice anyone else for now.

[breaching-lutalica-blog]

He’d seen her before, but not like this.

They were members of different classes, so they’d only passed each other by, not a word spoken; she’d caught his eyes as someone who stood out naturally among those who tried so hard to stand out. Alas, the circumstances never yielded even so much as a greeting–until today.

So here comes a scrappy-looking, dark-skinned kid covered in bandages, scrapes, and dark bruises. If he were bleeding at all, he’d look like he’d just come out of a fight, but not today. Not yet, anyway. Despite the disregard he appears to have for his own well-being, he approaches the girl with doves on her shoulders carefully, as to avoid scaring off her feathered friends.

“Hey, Red,” he greets quietly, calmly; he doesn’t know her name, but he thinks the nickname suits. “How’d you get those guys to hang out with you?”

[redshines]

The nickname was both familiar and not... a half-remembered syllable with consonants that pricked her ears. At least he approached from the front, she thought, so she wouldn’t have to turn and risk them flying off.

Something about his caution and thoughtfulness made her give him her full attention. She wouldn’t have thought it of his ilk to be so... respectful.

“Years of birdseed,” she murmured, then raised her voice over the soft cooing. “And remembering when they’re around. It’s more fun than it looks, since they like to wait around here until I come back.” Digging in one pocket of her jacket, made a little grimy from its contents, she pulled out more crumbs and seeds clenched in her fist. The birds on her shoulders perked up at the motion. “Want to try?”

[redshines]

- Aerie -

- for @breaching-lutalica to stumble upon -

When she was little, she’d sprinkle birdseed on her shoulders.

It wasn’t the smartest idea for a young teenager, but she’d done it since she was seven. She’d sit very still, resting her back against the iron bars next to the bench, and wait for them to come.

Cloudbank’s white doves were rare, feeding on small scraps and migrating through the city in a set rotation, but she knew the pattern by now. For the next fifteen days they’d hang around Sunset District and perch on lampposts to rustle their wings at stray pedestrians.

When the faint flutters brushed her cheekbones and ruffled her hair tied back in a braid she’d slowly rise to her feet. It was an odd balancing trick; she’d walk to the group lessons in a slow and purposeful shamble, head level, eyes straight, listening to the burbling birds swelling with importance. Part of her never dared glance over at them, lest the sharp prickle of tiny claws dig in or worse, loosen to let the doves fly away.

Her shoes scraped over the concrete toward the schoolgrounds, too preoccupied in her balance to notice anyone else for now.

[bvclairv]

[redshines]

bvclairv:

harvest

[crushinu-deactivated20180426]

[redshines]

crushinu:

♤

[aseaofquotes]

Helen Oyeyemi, Boy, Snow, Bird

[aseaofquotes]

Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping 

[witchtower-blog]

—margaret atwood

[quoted-books]

Painting is the silence of thought and the music of sight.

Orhan Pamuk, My Name is Red (via quoted-books)

[aseaofquotes]

[aseaofquotes]

Iris Murdoch, Under the Net