#fangmother

[thatrudeengineer]

[ RP ] - A Child of Storm and Fire

@fangmother

There was a boy. Barely a child. Swinging a sword and slaying monsters and man alike in the name of a God Altynai didn't believe in or care for.

And even less now, if this Lord truly was sending such a small child to battle. Who would ever think this proper? Who would ever think it good?

She had watched the child for a long time, her heart aching at the sight of it, for she too had a boy of her own. And she could never imagine sending her own flesh and blood into battle like this.

She worried. She watched, and she worried about the child. And as she watched, she also came to the conclusion that this child might not be a child at all. That it might be other. Other, like she was. Other than the people sending it into battle.

It didn't change anything of her worry, but it slowly got her acting.

One day, she prepared a pot of stew she carefully packed upon her back, and took her young child's hand after making him carry the plates and cutlery. And then she and her child took off.

She knew where the mysterious child had set down its bivouac, and so there she headed, with the confidence and determination only a mother could have. She had seen the child. So gaunt and thin, something she couldn't bear to keep on seeing.

And so she came to the camp, despite the sword, the blood, the violence. She came, and she bowed, her own boy hiding behind her skirts as was his habits.

"Child," she greeted. "Would you join us on a meal tonight? I brought stew. Warm and hearty. It will keep you strong in your unique challenges," she offered and she waited with unwavering calm and patience.

[miidnighters-a]

@fangmother | may live to regret this

"I have a bone to pick with you, Ms. Gersten."

Bella has hands on hips, but truly she looks too much like a pampered housecat in her pretty pastels to really present much of a threat.

She has, however, pulled out the surname. There's a laundry list of things that could have prompted this, but a 400 year old poker face isn't giving anything away.

[soulmissed]

@fangmother: please don’t worry. god has told me it will be all right.

memes, accepting

he’s lying facedown upon the fractured, sunlit asphalt. his bloodied cheek was cool, cold. microscopic blessing within the flurry of agony. gangling arms huddle toward stomach.

backpack had tumbled somewhere nearby – wrestled, lobbed in mayhem of brawl.

i have fought the good fight. i have finished the race. i have kept the faith.

someone emerges like a smoke signal. “ rainer? ” drawling, tugboat mumble. (she could be hallucination. she could be dream.) strong possibility. ninety percent confident he took punches to the head.

“ i’ve been prayin’ with your rosary. ” rose petal rosary clicks and clacks between his fingers. an exhausted puff of laughter. part relief, part delirium. “ – ! ”

[striigon]

SENDER slips something into RECEIVER'S pocket. (GUN)

do something // @fangmother

MATIJA ISN’T HERE as muscle. Rainer’s got quite enough muscle of her own, if she’s not offended by him saying it. No, he’s here as translator - someone to help avoid misunderstandings with the pack of Croatians she’s attempting to haggle for information with. He didn’t ask questions on the way to this warehouse, as it’s ultimately not his business. It’s just something to do, to help an acquaintance (friend?) out.

THE SITUATION IS perhaps deteriorating though. His exceptional hearing means he can pick up on how they whisper to each other about just killing them both and washing their hands of the whole thing, which he in turn whispers to Rainer, thinking perhaps she might find it funny? When he reaches into his pocket to retrieve his cigarettes, her hand slips in there instead, and he knows the weight of a gun when he feels it. Cigarettes return once he’s lit one for himself and he feels the cold metal confirm what he already knows. A glance is offered to her; he doesn’t need one of these, he’s more than enough weapon himself, without counting the rather wicked Bowie knife stashed on the back of his belt. He appreciates the gesture, at least.

“TELL ME WHEN,” he grunts, because he’s assuming the if is out the window at this point.

[escapeintonight]

@fangmother

"seattle must be your home turf, then, with that complexion. or, rather -- lack of it."

[narrativeworshiped]

@fangmother heard something loud

It's just the wind.

Wind that's getting louder and louder and louder until it's painful and impossible to hear yourself think. And then it gets just a little louder still.

The building above Rainer is ripped off its foundation and tossed around into splinters in the tornado that leaves only the storm cellar in tact.

About an hour later a woman with dark brown hair and startled green eyes is pounding on the cellar door. Her voice is shaken but strong enough to carry.

"hello? is there anybody down there?"

[mxldito]

Cont. from here with @fangmother

Coyote scratched at the door with overgrown fingernails and meowed. "That's vampire-phobic and you should feel bad!" They were sincerely trying to be polite for once, but they probably shouldn't have expected anything else from Rainer. If she was that curious, she could've just asked!

"No, that shit don't work on me! That's some shit that only some of the old heads gotta deal with." Shaking their head and rolling their eyes. Some adhered to old human mythology, they knew a few who did. Luckily they weren't scared of running water or something silly like that, though their smell would suggest otherwise.

Finally, she'd relented but rather than immediately scuttling in, they squinted at her. "I hope this moment haunts you as long as you live. You hurt my feelings. . ." They cackled as they walked past her. "It's been a while since I got into somebody's place through the front door!"

[kxllerblond]

❛ what are you talking about, i don't give a fuck? why would you say that to me? i give like a huge fuck. ❜

❝-—Oh. ❞ he doesn't even mind the sudden interruption, easy letting his rambling fizzle out; he'd already more or less put a stop to it himself with ending it in such a way. ❝ I mean not to sound like I'm fishing for validation and consoling but most people don't. I'd rather just acknowledge that openly than have them assume they're being subtle about it. ❞ Clark was a petty creature at heart, after all.

❝ I mean it's nothing fancy to give a fuck about. More of a chuckle, maybe a disgruntle 'mmm'. ❞ the topic in question, which had been brought up at random, being that of the chaotic downfall of the only licensed Garfield restaurant and its equally chaotic owner-—previous owner.

❝ Just kind of proves that people with way too much money typically suck and also that nostalgia is a double-edged sword. Do you settle for simply missing a childhood comic strip character and for the memories you made or do you let your inability to leave the past in the past see to it that character is twisted into some bastardized creature of greed used to sell shitty pizzas and cheap bullshit? ❞

He fell silent and then sighed. ❝ Do you think god is kind because he made it to where I can't haunt and torment anyone with weed-induced rambles or do you think he's cruel because I just say shit regardless? ❞