#crow verse

[hokeoutsider]

“Crow Verse”   T-Marie Nolan...Ebay Outsider-Art Auction...June 29-July 6              Acrylic Painting on Wood...10 3/4″x 8″x 3/8″...

https://www.ebay.com/sch/metrolux6/m.html?item=265212927942&rt=nc&_trksid=p2047675.l2562

[punksundcadarchive]

Brandon was wandering through the streets, literally in the street in a few of the less populated ones. Because why the hell not? It’s not like anyone could ACTUALLY stop him. Though he did tend to reign himself back when it came to most of humanity. That was until some drugged out idiot had tried to knife him for his wallet. 

It hadn’t ended well for the mugger.

@eric--dravcn

[trickster-shi]

This is the most I’ve written all week and it’s midnight-thirty and I should really have gone to bed an hour ago, but I like how this came out.  Takes place in my original Witches of Texas story (aka Crow Verse).

Skin

Her skin was littered with the scars of old hunts, a living tapestry of near-misses and fights. There were tattoos, too. Swirls of ink stretched across her skin in words, in images, in symbols, and even a few strange marks, like the fingerprints, that never washed away.

"You've got stories," Penny Jack said, the first time they met. He put emphasis on 'stories', gave it a weight Fred wasn't used to hearing. Almost a warning, she'd wager.

Fred had looked him in the eye and said, "Yes," in that tone that was more challenge than agreement. Anyone bearing Marks had to cover them up in polite social gatherings, or when passing through coven-towns, or at trading posts where the surrounding company might want to steal themselves a magician.

Fred hated that, but she found out long ago that while some people were greedy down to their bones, greed was not bullet proof. So she cut the sleeves off of her shirt and bared the tattoos and the scars, especially the lightning one that wound down her left shoulder all the way to her fingertips. And she stared down the sideways glances and the whispers. Cowards looked away or made a fuss, but there was always someone who had a spark of recognition, or maybe something like hope, and Fred would stand straighter to let them see, let them know:

Magic chose her once, and she'd be damned if she let ignorant people try to erase that from her story, or stamp it out of someone else's.

"That one looks interesting." Penny Jack had tapped the faint fingerprints inked onto the inside of her wrist. They looked like dust or grime, but no amount of washing could scrub them away. "Tell me that story, and I'll tell you one of mine."

"How many stories do you have?"

Penny Jack's face crinkled in a large grin and magic swirled around him, too. Fred caught sight of it inching up under his skin, unfurling the barest traces of ink like creatures breaching the surface of dark water.

"Enough to fill the night sky," he said, and it wasn't a fact so much as a promise.

Fred grinned, all teeth and wildness.

"There was an angry spirit trapped in bottle," Fred began, and let the story loose.

[trickster-shi]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5qBzNJ24_8A)