#anincoherentrambler

[d-d-disgusting]

(Just going back through my tag for Lenny @anincoherentrambler and I found what is possibly the most magical line ever written for me, ever. Lenny was dragging an unresponsive Vince and

“She learned how awkward it is to try and move someone as thin and tall as Vincent - it was like nudging a wet noodle to the drain in your sink. “

[d-d-disgusting]

Lenny is looking at him. It's almost easy to miss, what with her being submerged in a blanket and all. But if he just focused on that one dark little patch he'd surely see her eyes peering back. Is it a test of some kind? Is it just something to do by altering his sensitive instincts? Does she actually want something? :|

@anincoherentrambler That pair of eyes gazing out from the messy bundle of blanket might not be the easiest thing to see, but Vincent is well enough accustomed to noticing staring. ..

He can't at all recognize what she might want though. Most things, she'd be fine to do on her own, and in this morning silence, he can imagine most things he could offer would be waved off in irritation.

It's silence that thickens the air, and would feel like a crime to break, so he simply crawls up onto the mattress beside her and folds himself up as small as possible, tucking his limbs up under him as best as he can.

He doesn't interact with her.

He doesn't even look at her.

He just waits, sharing this space with her until either she decides to rise, or until his need to do more makes it impossible to keep still any longer.

[d-d-disgusting]

Something I really love about my muse? She puts live rabbits in ovens while staring beanstalks dead on. ;)

Come into my inbox and tell me something about/something you love about your muse! I’ll answer with a related thought about mine)

Sorry, Rambler!! I can't write you a proper response to this ask, Vincent's still just growling since that last one about the rabbit, he's just ~growling~ and he won't stop??

kidding, something I enjoy about my muse is that being a hungry (mostly) carnivore takes him a surprising number of places.

[d-d-disgusting]

anincoherentrambler

GARBAGE GIRL AND TRASH CAN (VOICE) ARE HERE TO RUIN YOUR LIVES.

(If I use Vince as a decoy maybe I can sneak up behind those two and shove them directly into a volcano)

[d-d-disgusting]

anincoherentrambler

*slides lenny in* hello~~~~

(THE SUMMONING WAS SUCCESSFUL. )

[paramounticebound]

“Pain is weakness leaving the body."

Send “Pain is weakness leaving the body” and I will randomly generate how your muse will find mine || 15 - BURNED. || @anincoherentrambler​

Flesh never changes. 

Sure, it can rot and it can age and it can fall away, but the consistency of it tends to remain. While scents vary from one human to another, it all smells the same when it melts. Something sickly sweet, permeating the nostrils into the brain, into the mouth, sinking into the tongue. It’s a sweet, sweet rot that takes days to stop haunting the bones of its host. Khan finds that his own skin isn’t much different. 

He hardly remembers how it happened, just hours ago. Something about living in the darkest parts of the world create the darkest parts of people. A Molotov cocktail isn’t the greatest way to make friends. Either way, the ones who had maimed him were long gone in their own ways now: the blood on his clothes never seemed to belong to him. 

The stigma of ritual candles is preferred– but maybe he’s just insane. Maybe he finally snapped. The VOICE never asked that of him, and he wouldn’t have offered in the first place (that’s Lenny’s sickness, he thinks, it’s not contagious yet.) In any case, he’s still picking bits of fabric away from the scorched wound of his forearm when she enters the room. Even in the dim lighting, the charred, stinging pain is clear, an ugly backdrop against the pale digits that tend to it. 

     “Did you read that off of a t-shirt, Lenny?”

[d-d-disgusting]

"Vincent." Lenny called softly from where she laid upon the couch, arms outstretched in no direction in particular. "Come here." Yet with those two words a single finger is pointed his way, beckoning him to close the distance.

So attuned to the sound of her voice, Vincent perks up the instant she speaks, turning back over his shoulder, away from the pile of bones scattered over the floor. He’s been picking them over and organizing for her to use in her work.

Funny he understands each little piece and its place.

“Mm? What-what is it?” He answers with an unusual calmness, pulling himself up to hang on and peer inquisitively over the back of the couch.  She’s in a better mood than usual, it sounds.  

[depthdescendant-blog]

@anincoherentrambler didn’t like for a starter but always gets one when i log onto blogs anyway 

The city was throwing Artys off of their usual standard of a ‘hunt’. Lights and sounds and open sky all demanding the Crawlers attention. It wasn’t hard to get lost in the city, but on the Surface it wasn’t hard to get lost anywhere, so they refused to panic and stuck to the dark  back-alleys instead.   They’d spotted the stranger a while back, and the smell of something so inhuman had sparked their interest. They trail behind her, following the scent they couldn’t quite name, their senses filtering out other scents to hone in their target . Artys hasn’t smelt something like this for a while. They weren’t hungry, just curious -  she didn’t look anything like them, but it was better than making attempts to avoid humans. Even if she looked like one on the outside.