most ( men ) would assume that fleur has no business creeping around this late at night. the devil’s hours . a foolish assumption to be sure . and second, her hot-tempered right hand accompanies her . he’s like a shadow. when she moves, he moves. it’s a beautiful and familiar tandem. fleur && zeta stand around the same height as she walks on heels ; though , noticeable sounds that should be following her steps do not. quiet as a cat the pair of them.
moreover, most would assume that neither fleur or zeta should be lurking the aisles of the Go To The Corner shop. which means neither of them should have been able to catch abel hunched . fleur raises a hand && zeta knows that means to yield . both stop.
now -- it’d be difficult to describe what he’s hearing. what both of them are hearing. z feels fleur curl a manicured hand around his arm. feels the stinging prick of her nails digging into his sleeve . it’s familiar. it’s comforting, sort of. comfortable in that it sends something slithering up their throats . fleur and zeta just look humanoid. it’s all too easy to forget they’re not human. have never been. will never be. at the same time , without talking or even thinking both of them have gotten onto their haunches , spine sticking out against the fabric of their clothing . taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap. old dead ones rattle around , bang into their ribs.
neither of them react in a negative manner to the fact that abel’s hunched over a Pit and his jaw seems to be opened wider than a jaw could ever go. something slithering about. it’d sound ominous to different people. or real people.
but fleur and zeta hear it as it is: it’s a lullaby.
@deadpanisms.