#apollo. ic.

[locustlace]

OPEN. / "there's no curse."

apollo stands at the cliff edge overlooking the beach. he's transfixed by the waves - no storm, but the wind is playing with them today in a way that has inspired in him a certain bella swan lean.

(he has not been hallucinating any vampires, solely auditory or otherwise).

"i mean. i don't fucking believe in curses," he continues. "do you believe in curses? you don't believe in curses."

the waves are calling.

"if there was a curse, i mean. there would be fucking scientific data and shit. on the curse. i bet some cunt in my family totally went in for that shit, had their fucking researchers go digging through the fucking, the like, the." he waves a hand. "the metaphysical fucking muck, and there's nothing, and there's no fucking curse, i mean, that should be fucking obvious to anyone with a working brain. do you ever watch wrestling?"

[locustlace]

closed for @smalltragedy. / he doesn't get it. he is slightly tipsy at most, and had half expected drink to knock some semblance of understanding into him, but none of this seems particularly noteworthy to him. perhaps it's that lydia is poor. apollo engages in a very brief fantasy of the two of them as some sort of rags to riches love story. she is beautiful, and he is beautiful (and what else is there? nothing, of course).

they walk onto the floor of the restaurant and are suddenly surrounded by old rich cunts that apollo does not really want to be speaking to at all. he remembers, now, why he'd been so desperate for a plus one. how he'd thanked god when he'd seen lydia at the top of his contact list. he turns to smile at her. leans down, murmurs into her ear: "we're pearls surrounded by fossils. jesus fucking christ."