#exposiition

[darliingdearestdead]

“Make room on the dance floor, cause I’m full of shrimp and I need to lay down.”

BEATRICE SMILES — it is soft and fond and she twirls, skirts fanning the other dancers apart as if they were fire spreading to its kindling. She reaches for Lemony, leading him as gracefully as his stomach will allow until they stand, toe-to-toe, at the center of the floor.       ❝ Though I suspect I know the answer, wouldn’t you rather blend in with our fellow dancers, darling? Lying in the middle of a dance floor seems rather… conspicuous. ❞

[thatsecondsalemboy-a]

@exposiition | starter call | accepting

“Sir, may I help you with your things?”

Alright, so admittedly, becoming a concierge hadn’t been where he’d envisioned his life going. But then again, what else was an orphan (twice over, his mind reminded him) going to do with their life? Finally he’d gotten used to the hotel’s organisational system, although he still had significant trouble distinguishing one manager from the other, especially with their refusal to answer the question.

[beatricebaticeer-blog]

      her fingers worry a frayed edge of the sleeve of her cardigan, restless. listless. who knew surviving a fire would lead to such terrible conversations? one she doesn’t want to have, but it seems all the more pressing now that matters are beginning to turn for the worst around them. the world is going to hell, her children are caught up in a war they never should have been caught up in. and she can no longer keep all her secrets. 

      “i have something i need to give you.”

@exposiition

[beatricebaticeer-blog]

⛓ yikes

send ⛓️ to find my muse bloody, bruised and restrained

     beatrice is very careful in her line of work, but even she can only outrun villains for so long. it’s painful to know she’s gotten caught - she can’t decide if the emotional damage to her pride or the physical damage to her body is worse at this point. the woman with hair but no beard and the man with a beard but no hair have been unkind in their treatment of the baudelaire matriarch now that they have their hands on her. chained up like a common criminal in a cell barely large enough to hold her. her wrists are bound with lengths of chain she can’t quite unravel and quite honestly, she’s seen better days. many, in fact.

   shifting with a wince, she tries to find an escape. it’s what she’s been doing since she’d been dumped here and left to rot. there must be some escape - but for hours or days or however long it has been have yielded her nothing. no ideas with which to master a grand escape. her body is aching and she does what she can to keep wounds from opening up again. there’s dried blood along her face, beneath her nails – stars does it hurt. 

    it’s the noise that catches her attention, however. she leans forward against the bars to strain to hear. one set of footsteps. have they returned to finish her off? she thinks perhaps it might be preferable. but no - the stride isn’t right. and there’s only one. she holds her breath, waiting, staring, watching —

  —-she nearly collapses in tears of relief. 

         “lemony!”

[alfunccot]

‘am i making you uncomfortable?’

@exposiition

“What?–” he asks, distracted from his thoughts. “Oh, no, it’s not that. Though your typewriter is too noisy, do you really have to bring it everywhere?”  Apart from being resourceful and well-read, almost every volunteer can also be characterized by the ability to get lost in their own mind sometimes. And Olaf is no different, though for him thinking too much rarely means anything good. “Kit has been acting weird lately. Did she mention anything? Is she suddenly losing interest in me?”

[alfunccot]

‘stop pretending life doesn’t terrify you.’

“Life terrifies everyone”, Olaf scowls. He used to know exactly what to expect from life, he used to know the way he wanted it to be, hoping it would stay like that forever. But forever is an unrealistic expectation, for it, like a chance of winning a lottery, rarely occurs. Coming to believe that the world is unjust and cruel is the easiest way to follow – the way he’s chosen since that fateful night. 

“It doesn’t mean I’m going to become a crybaby”.  

[beatricebaticeer-blog]

‘don’t touch me.’

soft angst starters.

      she ignores him, and she keeps her hands firmly in his. one of them, at least. the other moves to lift the delicate golden mask from her face.

   “lemony - it’s me, i swear it.” she’s knelt in front of him, the red and orange and gold of her dress a pool of figurative fire around her. another party. another bold attempt at finding him. and it’s paid off - if only he truly will see her. a phoenix, quite literally, rising from the ashes in front of him. her eyes burn and she tightens her hand in his. 

       “lemony please.” she half begs, and the tears come before she can stop them. “—–please.”

[sniickets-blog]

‘ the headlight spirits, they lead me down the styx, so black it shines. ’

MITSKI’S “BURY ME AT MAKEOUT CREEK” STARTERS ( ACCEPTING )

         ‘   you’ve  always  been  quite  the  poet ,  lemony .   ’     she  says  it  gently ,  teasingly ,  though  truth  be  told  she  is  always  somewhat  WORRIED  for  her  younger  brother .   she  misses  their  childhood ,  when  he  was  small  enough  for  her  to  wrap  up  in  her  arms ,  small  enough  for  her  to  protect  from  monsters  in  the  dark .   but  it  has  been  many  years  since  those  days ;  kit  is  by  far  the  shortest  of  her  siblings ,  and  has  been  since  lemony  reached  his  teen  years .   still ,  she  remains  his  older  sister ,  and  she  still  feels  as  though  it  is  her  DUTY  to  protect  him .      ‘  tell  me  what’s  troubling  you .   ’