#8flesh

[wellfell]

 when you first watch the tape , nothing gives you a hint of death nor an angry ghost that'll be waiting for seven days to kill you . she wonders how he found out it's real , or that it's actually killed . he pins her to the door that he slams shut , a familiar action of their reckless , hungry days before she's squeezed a cursed tape between them and ruined his life ; his seven days long life , when did he even watch it ? akina doesn't have to ask , nor hear him to know what's gotten him so angry . there's a greatness in their anger , something that looks beautiful when it burns . she used to stare at the candles until her eyes burned , used to burn the books she'd study after every grade because she liked watching the flames . she stares at him , her eyes don't burn , her lips slowly tug in a faint smile ; * look who's stopped hiding behind a cute face . akina stands against the door and waits for his threats , for a knife in her guts or pressed under her chin ( bluffs ─ if you wanna kill someone you simply do it without talking to them ) . when nothing comes , she shifts slightly , tilts her head and lowers her eyelids to stare at his lips . ❛ this is what i was seeing from the start . . . ❜ ' you people-watch , you like studying people , akina ' . it's not about his violence , it's how skillfully he hides it ; what do you have to hide from your lover ? is she really his lover ? ❛ you won't kill me . because you think i know how to save you . ❜ a knowing smile . his grip hurt her arms , she doesn't move an inch . akina mori is filled with deaths of other people , people she was believing she could save . her saviour complex was drowned in darkness after the ghost took her sister . she gives him a crooked smirk and lets him tighten his grip if he wanted ; ❛ how many days are left ? ❜

 @8flesh        pinned against the wall.    ;     accepting

[wellfell]

 mint gum tastes dull between white teeth , toying with it rather than chewing it . her employer wasn't really a skilled tailor but she paid her well . thin body clad in crimson and jeans , lipstick matching with the small tank top , akina likes the stares of rich people whenever they went to their houses to size them up . the old tailor had many friends , akina didn't know why she chose her over the more presentable people she could have working for her . sewing tape held from one of the man's shoulder to other , traversing a rather long distance and earning akina's brief interest . which shows in the way feline-like eyes flick up to glance at his face ; it forces a crooked smirk bloom on plump lips . the tailor was talking on the phone , akina writes down the size on the notebook while lazily chewing on mint gum . ❛ wonder if there'll be enough cloth for those wide shoulders , sir . ❜ rather cliché . tip of pencil is what she uses to scratch her temple with before moving back to their costumer . tape is measuring up his arm length now , eyes focused on her work , but she allows long finders to brush along his knuckles . ❛ you work out ? ❜

  —  @8flesh   /   closed starter.

[absensia-archived]

LIKE THE DRIPPING OF A POWERFUL ADHESIVE OVER UNEVEN FRAGMENTS, THE FAMILIAR HAZE OF BOREDOM SETTLED ON THE BRAIN. THE RUSH OF CAFFEINE COULD DO NOT A THING TO BEAT IT BACK. USELESS TO PEEL IT OFF THE MENINGES. YET THIS BOREDOM IS WHAT KEPT HER TOGETHER LEST SHE FALL APART JUST LIKE THE DISMEMBERED FELLOW IN THE TRUNK. THE PIECES OF MIND HELD TIGHT BY HER NEED FOR SOMETHING SHARPER THAN WEATHER TALK, REPEATED INSTRUCTIONS, AND ANOTHER LUMPY GRAVE...

The agent alighted upon her partner as an object of interest. That is, A SPECIMEN RIPE FOR DISSECTION. As he kept his eyes on the road, she kept her eyes on him, eyes like twin, perfectly round vanity mirrors, kept in a pitch - dark room. They would showed him only what he wanted to see, should he gander a glance her way and find her in the midst of her observation. It was what lay behind the glassy black mirror that she strove to keep hidden from him: he'd have to dig for it, but once his hands were well and dirtied, he'd find a piece of the truth.

A SEED OF CONTEMPT IN THE DARK SOIL, WITH A LITTLE BEIGE ROOT STRETCHING FURTHER EACH DAY, NOURISHED BY THE ENDLESS SLEW OF HOW AM I DOING'S, DID I TAKE TOO LONG'S, AND WHY SHOULD I QUESTION HIM'S... OR ANYTHING FOR THAT MATTER.

But he was not yet a ( grave ) digger. For now, he was only a driver. And Charlotte was only a little tired, wasn't she? Just a little worn down, what with the late hour and the inhospitably cold air and the dullness of a repeat job. Coffee - warmed lips stretched into a half - apologetic, half - amused smile for him to peek at should he require some kind of assurance from the blonde. " That's true, " she conceded. " They wouldn't give weatherman credentials to just anybody, right? [ Surely, they wouldn't just award the guy who looked the most attractive, the most friendly in a smartly tailored suit with a camera - ready smile. ] " It's not like the weatherman is ever wrong. It's not like you should probably learn to question a so - called professional or two every once in a while. Doesn't have to be the weatherman. How about the smiley blonde in her passenger seat? No, no, never mind her. . .

The night should run perfect. In return for his proclamation, Charlotte offered him a confident little nod of her head and widened her smile as he turned on the radio. A few seconds into the song, she reached over and spun the volume knob until the bass of the music could be felt shaking the frame of the car. Whatever the song was, he clearly recognized it. Charlotte, on the other hand, had no idea. Still, she made a show of her tapping her foot along in time to the rhythm. Her face was close enough to the window that she could hardly see herself. But she could see Daehyun. She watched him carefully as he drove, curious to see what fleeting emotions and thoughts she could catch flit across his concerned face, his focused gaze. She was curious to see what her apparent comfort in his presence would spark; would he be relieved? would he be glad or happy? did he care at all? WAS HE TRULY AS CLUELESS AS HE'S PROGRAMMED HIMSELF TO BE?

Plainly, she knew couldn't trust the man, except for, evidently, given the gradual shift of scenery from cityscape to hilly nothingness, getting them to some forsaken spit of land in the middle of nowhere. BUT FORSAKEN WAS THE WRONG WORD. Someone did own this land and that was exactly the point. A name, some dirt, and now... a body to add to that land. Possessions were funny like that.

WHAT BELONGS TO YOU WILL ALWAYS RETURN TO YOU. MAYBE JUST NOT IN THE FORM YOU'D IMAGINE,

" Park down in that ditch, " she told him as they arrived. " We'll move the body out piece by piece, but this way no one will see us. " / @8flesh, CONTINUED FROM HERE.

[absensia-archived]

A PARTY OF BODIES SAT AT THE LONG KITCHEN TABLE. SOME STARED UP AT THE CEILING AS IF IN IMPATIENT EXASPERATION. OTHERS APPEARED TO DOZE. THIS HADN'T BEEN THEIR DOING. THEY'D ONLY THE BAD LUCK TO ARRIVE AT THE FÊTE AN HOUR OR SO TOO LATE. DON'T FORGET YOUR GIFT BAGS, YOUR PARTY FAVOURS! A MESS TO MAKE SENSE OF AND IMMINENT POLICE SIRENS IN THREE, TWO, ONE...

Charlotte sat atop the marble kitchen countertop on one of the few spots that did not have blood spatter speckled across the monochromatic surface. She made sure not to move about too much as she spread the government papers she'd rustled up from one of the bedside table drawers upstairs. Birth certificates, insurance documents, health records, all splayed open across her lap and balanced on her outstretched legs. Her legs only just long enough to reach the edge of the heavy oak table where the corpses sat, STILL OOZING. From what she could tell from the papers, none of the people before them matched the papers in her hands. None of them were who the two of them were expecting to be in this house.

@8flesh / MAKING SENSE OF IT ALL TAKES A WHOLE LOTTA CONCENTRATION.

Tricks and falsities abound, the vessel's head hummed with the activity of pulsating logical circuits. Mistaken identities was a common riddle to this agent of chaos; she, an enigma of the same kind. But this was a different BEAST altogether. One which had not yet swallowed the two of them whole, but instead, still hunted them. Their scent ( a singular albeit maddening blend, she was sure ) on its nose, tongue, mind, or wherever it was these sort of creature contained their bloodlust. The bandits had traced a possible lead on clearing their muddied names to this address. A lawyer and a doctor, and it was odd how often these two often came together, and their two adult children. They'd been witnesses to the man whose scent still remained invisible.

And now, it seemed they were invisible themselves. Charlotte looked up from the papers at the sound of his voice. Here, another curious case: THE CASE OF HER ODD PARTNER. He was turned away from her, standing amidst the scene of the crime with what she was sure was something of a dumbfounded expression. It was a brief and subtle motion, but she did flicker her gaze up - down, observing her partner - in - fiasco with a cool irony. Amused, was the way her lips quirked, then.

Yes, she thought to herself. It sure does, and you just broke mine. He spoke his piece as if he were proposing the idea rather than taking it up himself. As if he were bringing it to her attention that one of them was going to have make sense of all this, that one of them should focus and apply "a whole lotta concentration" to figure this out before the police came and the crime scene would be lost forever. One of them. Not him, though. But that was fine. More than fine, actually. Charlotte didn't mind one bit if it meant that she'd still have him to run with. She looked back down at her papers and smiled at the bolded word peeking out from one corner of a file.

INSURANCE.

" I KNOW, " she groaned, dragging the latter word out as if she, too, were quite exhausted at the prospect of having to apply herself to the daunting problem at hand. " But we'd better think quick. I think I can already hear the sirens. Right? Those are definitely sirens. They're probably blowing every red light to get here. Just look at all the bullet casings. Must've sounded like a goddamn fireworks show had malfunctioned inside this house. "

[n0vembrs-a]

@8flesh ... random dialogue. there’s nothing reassuring about what you just said.

well, there was only so lightly she could put it. the friend of thy enemy ain't much of an ally, right? they'll be fine along this opposite direction — well, they'll be fine either way; but one of these option is faster, cleaner, easier on the eyes... in the long run especially. the circumstance speaks for itself, really. life has carved her grudge after grudge, not even all necessarily her own, and it makes for a good memory: she never forgets a face, nor does she pick petty battles. and certainly not off the clock. sometimes she finds herself wishing there were more joy in that feeling of recognition instead of the liminal spot it must take while she reviews her mental checklist, but SOMETIMES, when she does not need even that, she laughs — alongside the world and its small, small size.

november opts for the scenic route about as often as the alternative, not too far off course. if he wants to veer off, there's no doubt that he has the chance. she loves to wonder whether he'll take it. ( ...GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCE, of course. ) of all the hatchets and whatnot, buried or otherwise, the one in the wake of their dust all-too-fresh makes even the smile left on her face look acidic. it doesn't quite match her voice, its offhandedness making the concern seem less than trivial.

“ eh, well, it’s like running into an ex. they don’t wanna see me any more than i wanna see them, really. i mean, hopefully — even if they did, it wouldn’t be my problem. ” : NOT FOR TOO LONG. if she had a real worry in the world, maybe she'd treat it as such, but the world is too small, life too short, etc. as with most things she sets her mind on, whatever needs to get done will get done.

[wellfell]

 WELL THAT'S ONE WAY TO CATCH AKINA'S ATTENTION ; definitely effective if she says so herself . midnight black locks spread over his lap , head resting on his lap as she stares at the screen of the television playing something not more interesting than his hand that's wandering over her throat first . touching the expanse of her pale neck , curling around it for a few seconds and making her shift . arching slightly and pretending not to pay attention to the sensation , to not remind him her chest was sensitive and she liked the way he brushed tips of his fingers over her collarbones .

  ❜ pinch . / @8flesh

 he doesn't like this movie , then again akina hasn't seen him like something enough to sit through it until it ended . and whenever he got bored , he found something else to toy with ; and in this case , it seemed it was her . his wicked fingers press on pale flesh , inch lower and lower until he's cupping the roundness of her breast . there's no need to wear a bra when they were together , it seems he wasn't patient enough with the clips and tended to tear it apart rather than undoing the underwear . a lesson she learned the hard way after losing her favorite lace bra .

 HIS TOUCH GETS BOLD , fondling with her chest as akina breathes in . her hand mindlessly toying with a few strands of her silky locks on her shoulder . no , she tells herself , don't be fooled just because he wants to be an ass and don't let you watch this movi ───

 ❛ ah ── ❜ it sounds like a moan rather than a noise of complaint really . when he pinches her already hardened nipple through her tank top , sending a wave of pleasure to lower parts . she frowns , finally looking up at him with a glare as her hand curls around his wrist in a tight grip ; no it doesn't shove his hand away , but brings it up to her mouth to take his index finger between her teeth and bite it . hard . though she does soothe the pain by wrapping her full lips around his digit and gently sucking on it . ❛ mm . . . you little rascal . ❜ she mumbles around his finger with a growing grin , before lowering his hand back where it was . ❛ do it again . ❜

[saintvampe]

—   𝐌.   |  IN THE WAKE OF DANGER, the senses sharpen themselves to a point.   it is what is required of this job, this position of power that does not always feel as such: she is closer to vulnerability in these situations, where she must prepare her court for its offender, where her prey is not yet caught in her teeth. in the darkness of night, she arms herself with a dagger and her wits, both weapons sturdy as iron and quick to unsheathe themselves at a moment's turn. anticipation is a wet thing to wear, dripping against her shoulders in a way that lacks comfort, that reminds her of what could go wrong. she walks alone in this street and her prey sits a long while away, close enough to be in plain sight. she sees the back of their head and her mouth begins to water. her footsteps begin to quicken against the pavement, eyes set on a target, and then — the sidewalk concrete gives her a throbbing respite. against pavement, she feels the slickness of blood across her temple. against pavement, her skin begins to itch with gnashing violence, veins themselves pulsating to unleash their own defensive strike. she stands to her feet and her eyes focus –– quick, quicker than one would expect. the body is kept snakelike and low to the ground...

it happens again, from another angle, the toppling of her body. this time she allows for mock surprise. when they [ @8flesh ] collide with her once again, she wraps her arms around the figure as tight as she can, drags the opposing body down with her. a grunt from her mouth, then something guttural from her belly. she feels the pressure of a palm against her stomach, a knee sharp in its delivery to her torso. that gnashing violence returns.

HER NEXT ACTIONS ARE QUICK AND PRECISE, or as precise as she can make them: with her assailant's palm delivering rough strikes against her stomach, the Saint ( !, though no longer as holy ) twists as a worm in their grasp. her chin tilts towards the sky –– she sees a flash of a glare, another's face in the dim streetlamp light; the knee returns, twice as hard, and that is enough to spur her into movement. angry, the Vampirish woman locates a covered limb, another's arm against her own. she opens her mouth, fangs sharpened to a point, and bites against flesh and cloth. she thinks: You will not take me down without struggle.

[thefixeraa]

    everything  everywhere  all  at  once  ,     prompts .     (  @8flesh​  ) :                                                          nobody  trusts  their  neighbor  anymore .

“  ahh ,     so  he  speaks , --  ”     she  begins  as  soon  as  he  stir’s  to  consciousness ,     “  and  he  speaks  in  the  language  of   my  people .  ”     sarcasm   ...     a  language  that  only  few  speak ,     and  even  fewer  understand .     it  takes  a  special  kind  of  person  to  be  so  witty ,     not  everyone  can  get  the  tone  across .     or  maybe  it’s  the  jaded  people  of  the  world  that  happen  to  see  life  half - empty     [  or  half - full ?     who  the  fuck  cares ,     it’s  the  same  shit  either  way  you  put  it .  ]     this  sort  of  pessimism  creates  a  fun  outlook  on  things .     it’s  sometimes  hard  not  to  find  humor  in  the  normally  unfunny  things  in  life .     “  i  feel  truly  blessed ,  ”     adding  to  her  words  from  before ,     an  open  palmed  hand  rests  on  her  chest .     FOR  DRAMATIC  EFFECT  OF  COURSE .

it  seems  to  be  that  kind  of  night ,     doesn’t  it  ?     failure  hangs  in  the  air  and  hints  at  future  disappointment .     despite  the  fact  that  the  fixer  is  famously  a  perfectionist --     at  least  when  it  comes  to  her  work ,     her  demeanor  is  somewhat  calm .     calmer  than  what  it  usually  is  when  an  important  job  goes  ass  up .     thankfully  though  she’s  handy  when  it  comes  to  thinking  on  her  feet .     loss  may  not  be  something  that  is  frequent  in  her  line  of  work .     she  may  not  win  at  everything ,     but  what  she  does  know  is  that  complications  are  always  bound  to  happen   ...     one  way  or  another .     in  this  case ,     it  was  very  much  a  complication  to  her  job  than  it  was  to  the  overall  assignment .     hey ,     at  least  it’s  workable  !  

“  you  look  like  shit ,  ”     head  tilts  to  the  side  as  she  is  taking  in  her  partners  state .     NOT  EXACTLY  A  PRETTY  ONE  IS  IT  ?     well  this  work  is  pretty  fucking  messy  anyway .     “  ‘cmon ,  ”     mia’s  empty  hand  reaches  out  towards  him ,     an  offer  for  him  to  grab  hold  of  it .     “  i  wanna  get  outta  here  before  more  of  those  friendly  neighbor’s  of  yours  come  back  with  more  assholes .  ”