#cainxmasters

[levisbaine-blog]

time: 1 August, 9:00pm location: 14th Street, Union Square Station      ( @cainxmasters​ )

The MTA officer was watching him, he knew it.

Sure, she wasn’t looking at him. She was mid-conversation with some angry old tourist, looking about as exhausted and annoyed as Levi felt these days, and usually it was the kind of opportunity he would’ve taken to slip his way through and under the turnstile to catch the train on the other side without using up any of the precious change he had left on his metro card, but not today. No. He could feel it. She was watching him.

And for once, he didn’t have any spare change on his metro card. He hadn’t exactly been rationing it off, lately, trekking up and down the island to various bars trying to find someone to buy him a few drinks or take him home so he could ignore everything that was happening -- after all, Zachary hadn’t answered his phone in days and now the news was saying he’d disappeared, probably fucked off somewhere where none of this would be his problem -- and earlier this afternoon the turnstile up at 34th had declined to let him through for insufficient funds. 

And the one day he needed it, the MTA officer was watching him. 

     “Any spare change?” he asked a man in a suit who bumped past him on the stairs, hoping he’d be in enough of a hurry to take pity, but no such luck. 

He looked around for a target likely to help him out -- old woman, nah, mother with a toddler, no way, girl on a date, probably not -- until his eyes landed on--

     “Cain!” he called, surprised to see him here, but definitely not willing to let the opportunity slide. “Hey, what’s up? Fancy seeing you here, huh?”

[ginandturpentine]

lucifer, pythius

pythius: answered

lucifer: what are you most proud of?

There’s obvious answers to this and less obvious answers, but not all of them are true, and not all of them make sense, and Phoebe is picky about who gets which ones. 

“You know, it’s-- it’s funny, the kind of stuff that sticks with you, you know? One of the things I’m really proud of... it’s not even finishing school. But moving to New York and making it this long, that was a big deal. Um. I’m proud that I... saved my mother’s loom. Yeah.”

She takes a deep breath before letting the rest out all in a rush. “When my dad sold the house, her studio goes with-- that’s part of it, and so you can’t pack up a kiln, you can’t pack up a garden, but that loom takes up real estate, so it’s not like you can stick it in a deposit box at the bank, you know? And it’s not like I could ship it to fuckin’ Louisiana or goddamn Okie. So I hired these guys, with this moving van, and they hauled it up these stairs to my damn walk-up, and I slept with that sucker in my apartment for about three weeks before I had enough saved up to hire new guys to move it to this storage unit, and I’m still paying for that sucker, because it’s mine, and it was my mother’s, and damned if I’m giving it to the fucking Goodwill.”

[ginandturpentine]

Ouroboros || Phoebe & Cain

Phoebe had never been to PDT before, even after a decade-plus on the Lower East Side, so when her phone’s GPS had directed her to a hot dog joint (complete with a light-up 3D “Eat Me” sign hanging over the awning), she’d been ready for a prank. But the Crif Dogs staff had steered her towards a pay phone, where they took her name down; and then the booth that the phone had been in turned out to be a door; and once Phoebe was led through it, Please Don’t Tell finally came into view, a private, themed speakeasy with framed rules of etiquette resting on the bar, emblazoned with a bright red snake eating itself.

She was definitely impressed. It wasn’t something she liked to admit to easily, but the commitment to aesthetic and atmosphere alone would’ve won Phoebe over, even if she'd walked in off the street. On a date, with these kind of drinks and food available, it was even more undeniable-- and she was struggling to decide whether or not to let herself be charmed by it all in advance, before even finding Cain.

But Phoebe'd barely flicked through the glossy menu before spotting a familiar face out of her peripheral vision. She grinned and raised her arm straight in the air, light glinting off the metal at her wrist to try and catch his eye. "Hey there, stranger. Aren't you full of surprises?" Once he was closer, Phoebe angled the menu his way, and pointed at the bar logo, adding, "You didn't mention Esau was a model."

[ginandturpentine]

munch, gauguin

MUNCH : what is your medium in art? is that medium your first love?

Phoebe’s medium is… a long story, and that’s part of the problem. Her first love as an art medium was less weaving and more watching her mother work the loom, and knowing what the things she was making represented. If she had to put it into words, she’d struggle to phrase it as the purity of the act of creation itself, but once she decided on it she’d never say so, because it sounds too goddamn pretentious.

She’s in love with the idea of things meaning something, and between hopping from outlet to outlet as a kid (found materials, until the garage filled up; massive surrealist Rodin-inspired papier-mâché figures of angels wrapped around trees, until the neighbors complained; oil pastel murals that smeared on the walls and left shadow stains under the replacement wallpaper that never fully faded) and struggling to find her niche in school (animation was too tedious, and would never leave her in charge of her own work; photography felt claustrophobic in comparison to three dimensional works; painting was expensive), Phoebe decided on a cluster of things to specialize in.

Phoebe can work a loom almost in her sleep, “like riding a bicycle.” She doesn’t use a bead loom too often in her jewelry work, but when the money’s there to spare for findings, stones, and metal, that reminds her of everything she’d wanted wheel-sculpting to be (she could never get the balance and speed right at once). She dabbles in hand-building with clay and printmaking as well. Phoebe’s never thought about venturing into acting– too much of other people’s words to have to find the spirit in– but adores cinematography, choreography, sewing and set design and props and costumes, and the way they can perform, to tell a story with art while creating more… and (most recently) used to work as a creative director and sometimes-consultant for some far off-off-Broadway theatre and dance groups in the city.

When (if) her fire ever comes back, Phoebe doesn’t know if she’ll be able to pick up where she left off, though, and that scares her more than she’ll admit.

~

GAUGUIN : what is one thing that reminds you of childhood?

The smell of wood dust and good red clay and linoleum shavings from heavy-handed carved block prints in her mother’s studio space. When her hair gets too long. Running her hands through a closet full of colorful sequined things. Good wool yarn. Purple glitter eyeliner. Brass buttons on men’s suit jackets and the smell of the Swishers habit Phoebe’s father never broke.

Needing to be free to be right and needing to be free to be wrong and feeling trapped– Phoebe’s early and mid teens were what teachers called “troubled” and school guidance called “worrying” and she called “spirited.” Fistfights and their aftermath. Bullshit grief counseling packets. Friendly’s ice cream.

[ginandturpentine]

[ Text Message ] || Phoebe & Cain

[Unknown Number] : Hey there 🐍 Sugar Cane 🐍

[Unknown Number] : ...just checking in to make sure you're not dead in the back of the Orpheum or smth.

[Unknown Number] : also to schedule that date with your snake but I can't do that if you're dead.

[ginandturpentine]

☼ ♡

☼ - appearance headcanon

Outside of the clothes she wore to her mother’s funeral, Phoebeused to be hard-pressed to find any black clothing in her closet, and actually didn’t have enough to make an all-black outfit at any given time.

But after her father got sick and sold their house, Phoebe’s put what was left of her mother’s clothes, all her own pow-wow regalia, and most of the clothing she made for herself in storage (her “morgue,” full of all her dead projects– she hasn’t visited it since she set it up, and hasn’t told anyone about its existence); and since picking up her bartending job, more of her technicolor wardrobe and makeup has found its way into boxes in the corner of her apartment living room to stay out of the way, with more blacks, greys, and neutrals in her closet than there ever were before.

The main exception to the trend is Phoebe’s earring collection. She forgot to pack them when she got her storage unit set up, and now she just can’t bring herself to head to the storage unit office across town just for jewelry.

♡ - romantic headcanon

Phoebe is a closet romantic who tries very hard to compensate for it, considering it a sort of weakness of resolve if she let herself get a crush– she doesn’t want to be in a romantic relationship right now, or have to address any deep feelings in general, even though she’s lonely and it would be a comfort. It’s just a slippery slope from there to having to address the rest of her hot mess of an emotional life, and Phoebe is trying to avoid that at all costs.

She still tends to love hard when she does love someone, platonically, family-wise, or romantically, but tempering it with cynicism’s a self-defense move– so there aren’t many people around who’ve ever actually heard Phoebe say “I love you.”

[textsfrombaphomet-blog]

2:00 pm

baphomet: haven't heard from esau lately 🐍

cain: ... he's a snake? How the fuck do you expect to hear from him?

baphomet: dunno. you could like send me a pic of him every once in a while or smth

cain: Why?

baphomet: bc he's my m8

cain: He's a SNAKE.

baphomet: u never hear how baphomet has a thing with snakes?

cain: No?

baphomet: maybe u should do ur research m8 😒

[textsfrombaphomet-blog]

8:00 am

baphomet: when's ur birthday?

cain: Why?

baphomet: ur my m8 i wanna send u a present 😁

cain: I don't like the sound of that...

baphomet: WHEN'S UR BIRTHDAY?

cain: Not until November, jeez.

baphomet: hmm well i can't wait that long it's too gud

baphomet: keep ur eyes out for a ~package~ 👀

cain: Oh god.