Apr 29, 2015
♞ “ Are you waiting? Are you wishing? Are you wanting all that she can't give? ”
♞ “ Are you hurting? Are you healing? Are you hoping for a life to live? ”
seen from Germany
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Egypt
seen from Netherlands
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
♞ “ Are you waiting? Are you wishing? Are you wanting all that she can't give? ”
♞ “ Are you hurting? Are you healing? Are you hoping for a life to live? ”
♜ “I caught the bird to be my friend. But it kept trying to fly away.”
♜ “So I cut off its wings with some scissors. Wanna see?”
♟ “It isn’t very often that a woman comes to the scene, is it?” She swept her ponytail back over her shoulder. Her head tilted. “I only ever see men out here. Men and Katz. But--” The girl fixed her dull eyes on the corpse at her feet. The smallest of smirks tugged at her lip. “Katz is gone now, so I suppose it’s just me.”
♞ “If I had done it, I’d have claimed ‘whimsy’.” He shouldn’t be smiling at a crime scene. Shouldn’t be putting out ‘what if’ scenarios and volunteering himself as the supposed killer. But God, the Chesapeake Ripper’s work was beautiful--he couldn't help but imagine doing it with his own hands. “Like painting a rainbow inside of an iris.”
♞ "My New Years resolution is to kill a man.”
♞ "Tell me, is it difficult to have no spine?”
♞ "You must do an awful lot of bending.”
♞ To say Foma Vsevolod was unenthusiastic about Christmas would be an understatement. The absolute lack of holiday cheer was so profound in his very existence that it sometimes felt like it sapped the energy out of the world around him. Like if he tried hard enough, he could rub the color right off of a Christmas tree and turn the whole room to monochrome.
♞ You couldn't tell that from looking at him, though. In fact, Foma looked to be the picture of Christmas cheer in all but his face. He was clad in a sweater that looked very suspiciously like it could have been removed from a Christmas tree that morning--green, long-fibered fabric stuck out in all directions, and stitched-on lights wound around the middle with jingle bells and iron-on patches made to look like candy canes. A stereotypical Santa hat was perched atop his sour face, and contemptuous eyes stared out beneath the white trim like thorns at the base of a snowy hill. Even his shoes went with the ensemble--green with red soles and white laces, like something you'd find in the bottom of a bargain bin.
♞ "Why are you staring at me?"
♞ He knows the answer. Of course he does. But part of the fun in wearing this is seeing people stare--in seeing how they try to excuse the staring without pissing him off. It's almost like a game, at this point. He has to do something to take his mind off of Christmas, after all. Even if it's masking his absolute hatred for the holiday by looking like Santa's overenthusiastic head elf.
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♞ "Would I be considered 'unfit for the FBI' if I felt something other than disgust and horror when I work? Because I have not met anybody who doesn't look at least a little impressed at a crime scene. I am just the only one who's honest."