#beck-tow

[ricorper-tow-blog]

beck-tow liked your post:Name: “Spark”. To his knowledge, he doesn’t...

/squishes ur face

[ricorper-tow-blog]

/pops in from the shadows. Beck, Haneul, or Remus?

“Computer, start.”

And so it did.

Of course, that was because he hit a button. It had nothing to do with any phenomenal cosmic powers, nor any change of heart. But the thought of it still brought a hazy smile to Remus’s face, illuminated by the aquamarine glow of modern technology.

The shiny, chrome machine still worked--despite all the off-grid nonsense of an island floating in the middle of some time and place most had no access to whatsoever. As fate would have it, though, here he was; coming to the world live from a world that should’ve had its own sci-fi show.

Or at least, its own vlogcast. But perhaps that was why he was here, in his room full of nonsense with a dream in mind and a fire in his chest.

“To your immediate left,” Remus noted, turning the camera attached to the computer ever so slightly in that direction, floppy gray sweater cascading over his bony wrist, “is my poster of a galaxy.” He nodded, satisfied with the test of the image on-screen, and then began to turn the camera the other way--the other way, where Dusek sat, hunched and stiff, over a lit desk, frantically rearranging headlines. “And over yon,” said Remus, a little drier than before, “you’ll see the ant to my grasshopper; my better half, my tw--”

A hand rose to cover the camera. Remus, startled, looked up--apparently unaware of how much closer he’d drifted to Dusek. The fate-child eyed him with a look of plaintive despair and sleepless twitchiness, his thick glasses pushed all the way to the bottom of his nose; askew and dangerously close to falling.

“It’s--could you really not right now?” The faintly Slavic accent clipped the words more curtly than usual. Remus blinked and closed the camcorder with an inaudible snap, apology written in the way his brow was knitting between each sea-hued eye. “I--know your work is important,” Dusek added, hands framing his jumbled mess of an article, “I just--it’s--everything is wrong. I know this happened, I saw it happen, but why can it not--”

This time it was Dusek who paused. Remus had settled a warm hand over his two cold, shaking ones and given it a squeeze. The sudicky glanced up, shoving his spectacles into place--or trying to. With his other hand, having set his playthings aside, Remus carefully pushed Dusek’s glasses into place.

“It’s alright, brother mine,” said Remus quietly. “What can I do to assist?” 

[annarper-tow]

katierper-tow replied to your post:Playing a game with my hyper-particular standards...

not really sure where to find Early Christian Carthage specifically but en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ca… or tekeli.li/onomast…

beck-tow replied to your post:Playing a game with my hyper-particular standards...

infernaldreams.com/name…

Aaa, thank you both!  I’ve got some books I’ve been picking at, too.  Mostly I was just whining. ^^;

[dominic-tow-blog]

beck-tow answered your question:mabel-tow answered: went shopping for mi padre...

isn’t that just dane

that is tru

[quinton-tow]

Rie

Rie:

Ripped apart by hope’s asunder talons,

she scrapes up her dignity 

from the bottom of the box

plasters it over herself

like camouflage, 

and swallowing the moth’s wings of worry

she clings to the shreds of her sanity, 

a shawl of feathery indifference

a shrug of down,

she is layers of the stuff of legend,

peeling back to reveal a new myth

fresh as sea foam,

sharp as a mirror’s edge.

[quinton-tow]

Beck and/or Dane

Beck:

twisted up paper moon boy 

smiling at nothing,

all the empty thoughts that conjure

laughter to lips made for kissing

(ass or other mouths it’s never mattered,

just like you)–

whisper fears of loneliness

like howls to 

a sky split down the middle and running with water,

blood becomes the Milky Way,

Eyes gild like lilies,

gone too soon from where they’re meant to be looking

always turning toward another 

golden

sun

[nan-tow]

12, Beck and Milliano :v

“Here’s a sweater.”

“It’s got monkeys on it.”

“You got a problem with Curious George?”

“Why do you even have this sweater.”

Milliano was smiling, even as the cream-colored item hit him in the face, the little hand-stitched bananas and tiny brown simians cutesy and quickly discarded to the floor. Beck, standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by a sea of clothing, huffed faintly and folded his arms. His freckly face looked so young, then, that Milliano had to remind himself that, at the end of the day, Beck was barely a quarter of the age he was.

A terrifying concept, really, considering how well the rogue was getting to know him.

“You have seriously weird taste in clothing, man,” Beck commented. Milliano chuckled, rubbing his mouth.

“Well, in any case, I think you have enough. Twelve pairs of jeans that probably need to be hemmed--”

“Only because you’re built like a goddamn wall-spider--”

“Five shirts, two jackets, and I’m pretty sure that’s my favorite driving scarf tucked into the back of your pants like a tail--”

“No one uses driving scarves anymore,” Beck pointed out. “It isn’t 1916 anymore. In case you have trouble looking in the rear view mirror.”

“Ha, ha, because I’m a vampire?” Beck lifted a brow.

“Because you can’t see beyond your own swollen head. Or whatever dumb sunglasses you chose to wear that day.” Milliano smirked, hiding it under a bejeweled hand.

“See you tomorrow at 7:00?” he asked. “I’ll send Apex to pick you up.” Beck lifted his chin, in that moment looking a bit prouder and more haughty than before.

Then he opened his mouth.

“I have no faith in the likes of you.” Milliano’s smile slipped away, even as Beck began to pick up his chosen goods and pack them into a little brown suitcase.

He knew Beck hadn’t meant it--but the words did sting.

Like a holy-water hand grenade. 

[nan-tow]

28, Dusek and Remus

“No--no--!”

“Brother mine...”

Remus sighed heavily as Dusek planed his feet and all but grappled with one of the pier’s poles, bright blue eyes petrified. The thin sudicky looked out of place in his fine dark suit and open-throated purple shirt. Remus, in his khaki shorts and v-neck, feet toughened by many days roaming Normandy’s warm white sands, seemed more at home--if somewhat exasperated--than his brother.

“I like my routine,” Dusek blurted, before Remus could even open his mouth.  “It--has a--a structure. A purpose. It--it--”

“Is boring,” Remus agreed, plucking a cotton candy from the nearest vendor with a pleasant smile. Dusek, detaching an arm from the pier long enough to pay the man, frowned stormily. 

“Not the words I would’ve used, ‘brother mine’,” said the fate-child irritably. “Structure is necessary. It...soothes, organizes the mind.” Remus was pulling faces as he stuffed his cheeks with cotton candy. His nose was staining blue and pink by it, and his greenish eyes were bright.

“You worry too much,” decided the more draconic of the two, his face serene. Dusek’s scowl intensified; lightning-like crags of displeasure twisting his face like a rubbery mask. “Come,” Remus reached for Dusek and the sudicky took an instinctive step backwards. “Let’s just--” And another, though this time, he’d run out of boardwalk to step on, and Remus flinched as the ocean opened up with a splash, Dusek’s yelp immediately swallowed by the brine.

“To be fair,” said Remus diplomatically to no one in particular, picking more cotton candy off his cone, “he disrupted himself that time.”