viciousgrace. ( carrie. )
@snakereign sent : “am i making you uncomfortable?” (wildcard bc i want to write with all ur ladies anyway)
PROMPTS & MEMES / ALWAYS ACCEPTING
THE QUESTION TAKES CARRIE BY SURPRISE. It’s not one she’s used to being asked, at least not sincerely; there’s only ever been one other boy who’s asked her the same, and he’s dead. Skull cracked by the same bucket that drenched her in blood. “No,” she says quietly, daintily shaking her head. After prom, after Chris Hargensen, after her mother, there really isn’t much else to make her uncomfortable. On the contrary, she feels free. For the first time in her life, unchained from the trap that was her life in Chamberlain, Maine. Unfettered, unrestrained. Powerful.
“It’s my first time here,” Carrie continues, voice still shaky but slowly steadying itself. “I’m from America.” That, she thinks, should be explanation enough. She is well aware of how she comes across – mousy, nervous, naturally ill at ease. As if her skin is two sizes bigger than her bones ( it’s the guilt that’s taking up space, the guilt and the shame that accompanies the power. She hasn’t been able to shake it off yet ). It never once occurred to her that she will one day find herself across the pond, but she’s here now, thanks to the friends she’s found after her escape, half-dead and bleeding and still wearing her self-sewn dress.
“Carrie,” she introduces herself, extending a slender hand. It always pays to be polite. “I take it that you live around these parts?”
The boy dipped his chin in acknowledgement ; he’d picked up on her accent quite quickly --- and the trembling voice he’d assumed was caused by nerves. Nerves Tom also assumed he hadn’t actually caused. After all, he’d done nothing that could possibly warrant an influx of nerves. As a matter of fact, his question was meant to have the opposite effect ; ease her tenseness. “I can tell.” His smile was gentle, with only a hint of teeth. As if they were sharing a joke only the two of them would get. “It’s the accent. It makes you stand out like a sore thumb.”
“Tom.” He took her hand in his. His fingers were longer than hers but his palm was just as slender, the boy idly noticed. “I was born here, unfortunately.” He released her hand just a moment later than what would have been appropriate. As if he were reluctant to let go. “And it’s my home, still. May I ask what brings you to these shores?”
janainaart
stormborns
blakekathryn
annaxmalina
