@banisheed replied to your post “[pm] Where are you screaming? I am asking so I can...”:
[pm] My screams are radiant with confidence. That they demand attention is only because they are so lovely to be deafened by. Have you? Who is unleashing these terrible, pathetic wails then? The wind? Moose is a terrible cover story.
[pm] Your screams are loose and saggy because they emerge from a loose and saggy orifice. My screams are robust and powerful, like the enduring vertebrae and ribs of a whalefall.
@banisheed replied to your post “Darling, you've dropped your, as you would say,...”:
[pm] What else does it mean when you so valiantly charge in—unprompted, unasked for—to defend a woman who should, by your own logic, be able to fight her own battles? It betrays a lack of respect, darling. You clearly think Regan is incapable. I have not always hated Regan. Once upon a time, I was quite fond of her. Oh no. Sorry. I'm thinking of that mop I sometimes mistake her for. [...] How was your W-Day?
[pm] Unprompted? That was so prompted That was the most prompted prompt I've ever
That makes sense in the same way 2 plus 2 is 5.
Just cause she can handle things on her own doesn't mean she should all the time. She's handled more than a person should be capable of It doesn't mean I gotta twiddle my thumbs while someone's calling her crazy. She's not alone anym. And she's telling the truth, we both know this! She's being insulted for telling the truth! He left me on read anyway, as he should've done with Regan if he couldn't handle her.
I know exactly what kinda mop you're talking about, actually. I had the broom in that set. When she I had to give it away, it was too sad to be around, but I understand the fondness.
I asked first.
@banisheed replied to your post “What food can I wake you up at 3am for?”:
[User has noted that Eve has a boyfriend. Prime stabbing target! Thanks Eve!]
[user gets a linkedin style notification that her posts are getting lots of impressions today, which makes her feel very perceived, but leaves it up anyway]
PARTIES: @banisheed; @appalachiannightmare
TIMING: Late April
LOCATION: Hazel's Cabin
SUMMARY: Hazel comes home to find an intruder in her home. Oh wait...that's just Siobhan!
WARNINGS: Unsanitary tw (just to be safe)
Sleeping on the ground had done terrible things to Siobhan’s back; a fact she thought nearly impossible considering the other terrible things done to her back. How much terror could one back take? Evidently, an endless well of trauma. She groaned and hissed and stumbled around the forest, clutching the nearest tree trucks. Pressing her hand into the rough bark provided enough distraction from her pain for her to take another step and again and again until she found a cabin of dark, rotting wood. The door needed some negotiation of the smashing and kicking variety; the thunk, thunk, thunk of SIobhan’s heel raining down on the door knob. It wasn’t breaking and entering if the place was abandoned, she told herself. Not that she cared. What was another crime to a criminal? Add it to her crime tab, she was good for it. All Siobhan wanted was a place to sit and she’d like for that place to be something other than dirt.
There were drawings. There were pillows and blankets. There was color. “Fuck,” Siobhan groaned. For the first time in her life, she hadn't even meant to commit a crime. Oh well. She went to the fridge first: vegetables were shoved into her mouth, containers were opened and sniffed and tossed aside. She took a bite out of a chunk of cheese, smiling at her half-moon teeth marks in an otherwise untouched block. It wasn’t even a type of cheese she liked; it was the fae in her, she thought—she saw something good and she wanted to ruin it. If someone didn’t know that a fae had torn through their house, then she was doing it wrong. The why of it all wasn’t her concern—frankly, she didn’t want to think about it. Frankly, when you walk into an empty cabin, you make it home. Frankly, if she didn’t, how would this person know that they were an insignificant speck and she—a beautiful, cheese-eating banshee—were the superior? Siobhan spat the cheese out into the sink.
She bounced around the cabin, throwing her body into every seat, making sure that nothing was in the place it ought to be. She tried to enjoy it, certainly her back was thankful, but everywhere she looked all she could see was how much someone lived here; how much someone clearly enjoyed living here. It turned every surface into a rock.
When she found the bedroom, she hoped to be done with it; throw a lamp around and go back to her idiotic tents. Instead she stood at the threshold, staring at the empty bed. She crawled on top and curled into a ball, laying her head down slowly on the pillow. Just five minutes, she thought. Her pink lips parted and the soft, contented sounds of sleep escaped her.
—
Hazel’s shift at the Video Vault had been the same old thing. Hardly any customers, because who actually rented movies from video stores anymore? But the owner, Hubert, had managed to squeeze his latest line of products, he had got swindled into by a sneaky fae, into the action movies section. A line of exercise equipment called the Ass Master 3000 that was supposed to give you the glutes of your favorite Hollywood movie star with a picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger on it from his body building days a hundred years ago. Someone Hazel had to Google which killed all of 5 minutes of her time. And gave the pixies entertainment for hours. So when her shift finally ended, and it was Zoe’s turn to take on the monotony, Hazel rushed out of there like a bat out of hell ready to get to her secluded little paradise in the woods.
However, as she rolled up on her Rebel, put the bike in park, and climbed the stairs to her home, she was greeted by something suspicious, “What the hell…” Her heartbeat had quickened to a moderate pace. Had she been found by her family? Or had someone found out what she was and came looking for her? She wasn’t quite sure, and while every instinct had told her to turn and run, she refused. This is my home. I found it, and it’s mine, dammit.
As she slowly entered the log cabin, Hazel let her eyes scan the area, but before she went any further, she grabbed the baseball bat she kept near the front door and positioned it so she would be ready for anything that hopefully didn’t result in the bloodthirsty wolf side of her coming out.
The cabin was small, but seeing everything rummaged through including the cheese she had saved up for a week to purchase, sent a sharp wave over her thin form, “Noooo, not my Boar’s Head 43% Lower Sodium Provolone Cheese! What kinda monster would do this?!” The exclamation was whispered loudly with a strong southern drawl. Followed by a long sigh of defeat, before she continued to move on. A twinge of rage spiking over the cheese, but thankfully quickly subsiding.
It wasn’t long until Hazel had reached the bedroom where the sounds of snores carried through the remainder of the house. And the fear and annoyance that had once gripped her tightly was finally starting to ease up at the sight of an older woman curled up on her bed asleep. Dropping the bat from its raised position and relaxing her shoulders, she let out a loud sigh and rolled her eyes, “Hey! HEY! Oldielocks! Wake up!” With the bat raised again, she pushed the end of it into the woman’s curled up form trying to nudge her awake, “This ain’t no damn Best Western! Getcha ass up!”
—
Wind exhaled through tendrils of reedy grass; the peat bog breathed. Floating patches of mud swayed with the rippling water beneath; the peat bog breathed with Siobhan and the Irish sun above warmed her long wings. Out here, scents dance in the currents of the air; you catch manure, or wet soil, or sweet pollen, one after the other or woven into the understanding of home. But Siobhan couldn’t smell anything. Behind her, her great-great grandmother’s voice buzzed in her ears. She spun around but couldn’t find her. “Mam?” she called to her. This ain’t no damn Best Western, she said. Why had her accent changed? The bog pushed her shoulder. The sky darkened. She could smell, after all. There was lavender and clove and plant stems and wood. Her consciousness melded with reality. “No, no, no,” she whimpered, but it was too late. Siobhan Dolan was awake.
“Insolent…” She groaned, swatting the bat away. Her knuckles smacked against the wood. “Violence!” she hissed, pushing herself up. “And in my home!” She clutched her hand to her chest, cradling the non-existent wound. “Oldie…” Her brain was catching up, her eyes were a little slower. She blinked. “Spoken by a child, no less. Why have you attacked me so viciously?” She held her hand up; her knuckles were slightly pink. Siobhan rose to her feet, she smoothed the wrinkles in her shirt with her hand. “I believe the rule of finder’s keepers applies here.” She huffed. ”More importantly: has no one taught you that it’s rude to wake a sleeping woman?”
—
It had taken long enough, but Oldielocks and her three chin hairs had arisen from her peaceful slumber in the bed that Hazel rarely slept in. It was like watching her granny come to life after dozing off in the recliner during an episode of Wheel of Fortune. Snoring, grogginess, and the like, “I swear, Lady, if you drooled on my pillow…” She pulled the bat back after the woman had barely grazed her knuckles on it shaking her head. If you keep testing me, you’re gonna see a lot of unwanted violence that I can’t control. “One, I barely touched you. Two, this is my house with my belongin’s that you have so casually disrespected. Like my Boar’s Head 43% Lower Sodium Provolone Cheese.” The more frustrated she became, the more southern she sounded. Until she suddenly paused remembering stories from back home.
Perhaps this woman wasn’t a woman at all, but a hag who had come to haunt her. Frustration shifting to one of nervousness, Hazel slowly started to back up; her knuckles blanching from the grip on the bat, “You ain’t one of them hags are you? Come here to steal my soul or somethin’...cause if you are, accordin’ to my family back home, the devil’s already beatcha to that one.” She continued to back up, until she could feel her back against the frame of the door; her eyes never leaving the stranger.
—
“Your pillow would be so lucky to receive my drool.” Reflexively, Siobhan wiped her lip. “Ugh, the cheese.” Siobhan clutched her stomach; still sore and still healing from where Emilio had the gall to stab her after she urged him to stab her. Highly disrespectful, she thought. “43% lower sodium—fates, why do you have all of that memorized? Look, it wasn’t even good cheese. I did you a favor.” It tasted like stinky paper, which was probably the fault of the 43% lower sodium. Great for blood pressure, terrible for the tongue.
What was never great for blood pressure was being called a hag, though. Siobhan's face turned red. “You insolent…” She snarled at her, ready to lunge when the stitches on her side twinged and her back was struck through with a sudden bolt of pain. Siobhan was rooted in place, fighting the pain away from her features. “What’s the devil got to do with—No, I don’t want your petulant soul, you brainless cowgirl.” Siobhan sighed, the girl was backing away but it had nothing to do with her. Which was also highly disrespectful; if one was going to be afraid of something, it ought to be her not a half-remembered anecdote about a fae hag. “I—get back here. I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t care what demon claims your soul.” She paused. “Though it’s clearly not one that knows how to pick a good cheese.”
—
“You stay back, you devil woman! I’m gonna have to burn that pillow after you’re banished from my home to get your demon drool off of it, before it eats a hole through my bed!” Hazel gripped the bat tighter, letting out a low, deep growl from the animal that lived inside of her. It wasn’t quite edging to come out, knowing more about threats than Hazel did herself, but her devil was waiting for just the right moment to show its face. That is until Hazel noticed the stranger flinch in pain. And in that instant, she seemed to loosen her grip again, the threat slowly dissipating. “What’s wrong with you? Why ain’t you movin’?”
Hazel didn’t like seeing people in pain, even if they did intrude into her privacy. And the automatic instinct to care started to kick in, “You hurt or somethin’?” She narrowed her dark brown eyes suspiciously forgetting all about the past two seconds when this hag woman felt more like a threat. If she needed help, Hazel would reluctantly give it to her as long as it got her out of the small, log cabin sooner.
Finally, sitting the bat down in the corner by the door, she slowly inched forward, “If you so much as touch one hair on my head, I’ll let my devil rip your arms off and use ‘em as chew toys. Now, tell me. What’s wrong with you, so I can get your stinky ass outta my bed.” Hazel finally stopped near the edge of the bed and crossed her arms waiting for the woman to say something.
—
There were several things Siobhan hated: humans, humans talking to her, laundry (doing it), laundry (when it hadn’t been done), and being asked what was wrong with her. It was worse when there was actually something wrong with her. “I’m fine,” Siobhan said through clenched teeth. She reached for her lower back, as if the presence of her hand pressed there would soothe her. She thought the girl would leave it there, Siobhan was suddenly ready to leave.
There was concern. Why was there concern? Siobhan’s skin itched, her muscles were still seized in pain. She wanted to move and couldn’t. “My…” Siobhan cut herself off with a groan. She flushed, full of self-directed frustration. “Back,” she whispered. She knew what it sounded like: the girl had called her a hag, after all that nonsense about the devil. It printed a very particular, embarrassing picture.
“Just help me to the bloody door.” Siobhan held out her arm, hoping to steady herself on the girl.
—
Hazel felt the tiniest bit sorry for the woman. Pain had never much been an issue for the twenty-three year old thanks to the creature living inside of her. Something she never fully understood, but chose to run with it. It’s why she had earned the nickname “Mayday” while playing soccer; because of how unstoppable she was barreling through her opponents, but clearly this woman was in pain. It was heavily evident in her voice, and the last thing Hazel wanted to do was make that pain worse.
Now close enough to the bed, Hazel reached out her hand to offer the older woman a way to her feet. It was like taking care of her Granny all over again. Which she hadn’t minded. Her Granny just wasn’t as much of an elderly Karen as this woman had been, “Maybe you should go get that checked out and all. Ain’t doin’ you know good sleepin’ in strangers beds, Oldielocks. Next person might not be so kind. Supposin’ I should introduce myself though. Name’s Hazel. I’d shake yer hand and all, but I don’t want you to fall.”
She gently put an arm around the woman ready to assist her to the front door. And at this point, all Hazel wanted to do was get her on her way, so she could clean up the mess the stranger made in her home.
—
Siobhan’s face burned. She was red, and angry, and thankful for the help, which she had no choice but to take. Her pain eased as she leaned on the girl. She grumbled instead of answering. This wasn’t because of the damn bed, but she couldn’t tell the kid that. As they moved through the cabin, the carnage was obvious; Siobhan’s face burned hotter. To have done all this, to have been caught, and to need the girl’s help after it all was an insult. Despite everything, Siobhan was still unused to personal embarrassments. It was a terrible thing to chew on, like that cheese had been. “Siobhan,” she said. “My name. The pleasure is all yours; congratulations on meeting me. Don’t start cheering now or else we’ll be here all day.”
With the entrance in sight, Siobhan stopped walking. “Well, what a great time we had together, Hazelnut! Please let me go so I can hobble home—which I have. I have a home. Big. Large. Massive. Many rooms.” She sighed, unable to look at Hazel. She was a good kid, with bad taste in cheese, and Siobhan couldn’t face her or what she’d done to her house. “You really like this place, don’t you?” she whispered. “I could tell, from the way it…” Siobhan shook her head. “I could tell.”
—
“Why would I…” Hazel rolled her eyes at the woman’s pompous remarks as she assisted her along. “You know what? Never mind. It’s good to finally put a name to a face. Well at least for you anyways, cause I was quite content with callin’ you Oldielocks. Your three chin hairs got names too? Cause if not, I’m sure I can think of some. Like Curly, Dr. Grey, and Windblown.” Hazel continued to walk Siobhan forwards, her front door in sight. Just a few more steps, and she could shove her on out the door. Not that she would actually shove the elderly. But the thought did amuse her.
“I bet your many rooms and massive house will be a welcome sight to my tiny run-down shack.” Hazel loved her home. It had been the first place she had felt safe and whole, since her life had been uprooted by the tragedy back in Tennessee. It had been nearly a decade where she had actually felt settled, so coming home to find a complete stranger in her house had been a shock to the system, but considering this woman was being assisted to the front door and not carried out in a body bag, Hazel had made big strides in controlling her devil, “And yeah, I do…” She had kind of felt bad for insulting Siobhan, but she was afraid to let her guard down completely, “It’s…the first place I felt safe in a long time…Well until today…” She sighed as she leaned forward and managed to open the front door all while keeping Siobhan upright, “You gonna be able to make it to your mansion alone or do you need help?”
—
She was retracting all of her thoughts: Hazel was a terrible child, mean down to her bones, and she deserved much worse than what Siobhan had graciously given. She wished that she’d eaten all of the cheese, that’d teach Hazel a lesson. Siobhan was red. “I don’t have three– Stop calling me that.” She shook Hazel off, huffing as she went to the door.
“Well, feel unsafe now.” Siobhan grumbled, tugging her clothes straight. “I wish you and your hovel and your demon-devil-whatever-it-is ill luck. I’m cursing you. With my…powers. My….” Siobhan closed her eyes. She had to prepare herself to say it. “My…hag powers.” It hurt worse than anything else; it hurt like calling herself ugly, calling herself weak, admitting truths she didn’t like. Siobhan shivered. The lie went down easily—Siobhan never had much of a problem with the physical aspects of one—but confirming Hazel’s stupidity coated her tongue with a bitterness. “I’ll be in my mansion if you decide to apologize.” She turned and stomped away, believing with the strength of her annoyance and the weight of her arrogance that there really was a mansion; there really was a home.
She went back to her tents and, unable to find the tent she slept in, she laid down on a pile of chewed up socks.
