#lenore huerta.

[malachileclair]

DATE & TIME: February 15TH, 4:00AM LOCATION: Lenny’s Sleeper TRIGGER WARNINGS: Blood later TAG: @llenore

If you looked at him now, how sad would he appear in your eyes if you stared long enough? Does he look shriveled, leaning against the wall of the last of the sleeper car walls, does he mix into the ashes across his clothes? We don't call this hunger, we call it starvation now. We call it a throat, and a pair of lungs, and the small gods and kings he acts like live in them are still present, but clawing too, but turning into teeth. It doesn't show across his features, he can control that much, he can hold himself tall, he can a body like rooms were built around them. But what does that mean of eyes? What does that mean of voices? And in the silence of the sleeper cars, blood of Shanghai runs thin.

It feels wrong to be here, but we’ll think of this later. It’s wrong, instead he just feels it. Something new. Something like peeled skin, and no more steps he can take. (And somehow he thinks of her on a night like this, when the hallways smell of phantom smoke, and he thinks of her are hungry in a way he can’t look like predator. Compare him more to prey, to his own body, to his own fangs. He doesn’t want to say she’s safe yet, because he’s not used to the words, but he remembers her hands holding his cheeks still. He’s still here, when no place has felt safe for any of them.)

He says when he sees her shadow near the doorway, before he can see her clearly, “Were you asleep?” He didn’t knock, so he only waited there, waiting until she maybe felt him there, seems the kind of person who would, who’d notice.

[anoracle]

DATE & TIME: February 21ST, 5:30AM LOCATION: Lenny’s Room TAG: @llenore

When she stops dreaming of a person, she assumes they've died. A simple logic, she will no longer share their dreams, have visions of their future. But this doesn't mean she doesn't have her own dreams sometimes, when they slip in. Arturo's memory in her thoughts, the image of him carrying her from the cot into the bed, taking her place on the floor; him telling stories and she knows it's a dream because she'll imagine the three of them all among stars, she'll dream that when the campfire fades that she'll open her palms and stars emerge from her skin. But this wasn't like that. This was blue and grey, a glimmer of it. This was a truck and a bus ride and a young boy beside him. This was a woman beside them, a ghost, a dream. This was his dream.

And when she wakes, the world still dark and cold and shivering, berating herself for falling asleep at all in the black, a hand on her chest, feeling the winds of Germany. There's no way to feel. Nothing to describe the way of a chest when you can't breathe. When there's tears on her cheeks when she sits up - telling herself it's one of her dreams because it's the only thing that makes sense, but why the boy she doesn't recognize. 

A cocktail of the impossible mixed with impossible hope and impossible fear and impossible pain because the remembers the tired of his face, haunting the back of her mind. After a breath, she turns to the girl beside her, sharing blankets, not trying to wake up, but she speaks, afraid to turn to look at her, afraid to think anything at all, not if she's wrong, not if she's right, just bewilderment, just static. "I had a dream," wipe at tears she already forgot about, "I think - I think, I'm, I don't know. I had a dream of your father," and then, as the confirmation that it wasn't her dream, "Do you know a boy named Elias?"

[malachileclair]

DATE & TIME: February 8TH, 8:30PM LOCATION: Big Top, Performance TAG: @llenore

The world is dark here on the balcony of the Big Top, the lights cast only on the cast below him. Few people but the crew are behind him, the burn of the lights, the blare of the music, drumming beats into hearts, needing to step with it because it becomes a part of the stage. He watches the opening act, leaning slightly against the railing, hands lost to air, suit fitting comfortably on skin, fitted and tailored, like history in it, the way he moves, last worn in Vegas. His tall shoulders fitting it well.

But his gaze isn't down, but up, but across, acrobats and hoops and lights, recognizing a familiar frame well, eyes that keeps steady. And all there is for the length of a moment, he won't be able to say how long, won't be able to describe anything of the show below them except try for a memory of practices he doesn't see so often. 

There's a flash of pink and sequins and a rope, partially circled around a waist coming across the edge of the balcony secured days ago. And all there is, is him catching the end of the rope when she's already there sitting where the spotlight can't reach her any longer, doesn't speak to her, when audience can still see, because music is too loud in their ears, and she's not close enough yet, but he makes his way there. Easy steps, leaning in close to her ear, because of necessity, but how close he does lean isn't as much as he'll say it was, "How long until you need to swing back?"

[malachileclair]

"slurred words" for lenny bc I Know What I'm About Son

Send “slurred words” to hear my muse describe yours whilst ridiculously drunk. 

“I didn't think you could be attracted to someone watching them eat tweleve Hot Pockets in a row. You can. She must think to be alive everyone you introduce yourself to must remember you, you them - one's enough. Remembered by one's enough. I’d like to see her swim, not as a selkie. Do you think you could drown in a person?”

[malachileclair]

DATE & TIME: January 25TH, 12:15AM LOCATION: Malachi’s Sleeper Car TAG: @llenore

The train is an unusually quiet place, the hallways a mess of furniture and what's left of torn rooms, leaving Lenore and Malachi enveloped in silence in the space of his sleeper car, her sitting in a chair and him beside her, eyes scanning shoulders and arms where bruises just begin to bloom. An air filled with the ghost of cigarette smoke and last night's whiskey. 

There's a history he doesn’t process in the way he moves except in feeling bare, something of the young boy that stood in front of brothers before men, that learned how to stitch wounds at kitchen tables and under bathroom lights, history in his silence. Exposed in front of her. Different from before, because he can always be a man that doesn't mind finding the time to seek out his words, deliberate things, sentences like a formula, tongue like a small god, space a thing meant to be known. Movements are still deliberate, but something left for fractures, in his face. Search for the man who would eat himself alive for someone, not everyone, not the world. And he's already devoured the pieces left behind.

This isn't that man, but the ghost of him, felt in his hands as they're almost posed as a question if Lenny is fine with him inspecting what the guards left behind on her body when they dragged her away from the crowd. Felt in his hands when he led her away to his sleeper car to look at them, so she's away from crowds when the eyes of the guards weren’t on her.

Calm hands, calm eyes. "Try to keep still for me."

[anoracle]

👀U KNOW!! (rafa/lenny)

send me 👀 for my muse’s reaction to the very first time they saw yours 

lenny huerta: i’m pained thinking about this, the first time she saw lenny she was still terrified of everyone and everything and this was also the first person she really saw and knew close to her age, so u gotta imagine emme’s still present guilt that when she first saw lenny she wanted to run away/thought she was part of every other of her mom’s stories, so when she wants to think of meeting her, it’s when lenny was already helping her out of that shell

rafa morceli: i full support the trend of emme seeing people in visions before she meets them, imagine her having a violent one beforehand, so her first real impression of them is that moment before she sees their face, just their voice in the vision, and first real meeting, she wants to get to know them, is polite, before all pauses hearing them speak and she thinks she’s still in the vision - them being in her head starts then

[anoracle]

'happy' and 'drunk' for lenny!

TEXTS MEME

Send ‘drunk’ to receive a drunk text from my muse.

[ text: hermana 💐 ] hey hi [ text: hermana 💐 ] i love ygou [ text: hermana 💐 ] also tereh's shrimp here[ text: hermana 💐 ] i'm hiding some ni moy bbra rof yowu for later[ text: hermana 💐 ]iit's my eshrimp pockept[ text: hermana 💐 ] can we make cooskie toinght

Send ‘happy’ to receive a happy/excited text from my muse.

[ text: hermana 💐 ] lenlenny[ text: hermana 💐 ] u need to run here [ text: hermana 💐 ] qyick[ text: hermana 💐 ] trash puppy brought in some kittens[ text: hermana 💐 ] we’re mothers again

[anoracle]

DATE & TIME: January 15TH, 8;00PM LOCATION: Bathroom in the Janus Hotel TAG: @llenore​

The bathroom counter is cool against bare legs not yet covered by skirts, Emme saving putting on the dress until she has too, leaving it draped on a hanger on a stall door. The world isn't quiet, but it can seem as such - with the muffled hum of the hotel outside the swinging door, guests already dressed and mingling between each other, members of a band tuning instruments both together and apart. Help create the world seem to be just her and Lenore under the yellow florescents and a smudged mirror, but with no other options of where to get dressed in. There's a quiet, but fond smile she gives to the other, trying to trick herself that the twist of her stomach is a good thing (she can trick herself of so many things, perhaps. To become drunk on hope). (It's the people, it's the unknown, because in some kinder story she would know how to wear dresses and heels and live Cinderella-esque nights would have the promise of something sweet at the end without her having to create softness.) 

There's warmth in the way she looks at Lenore, the kind of comfort built around the first who became a constant in her life, looking to her as she applies makeup to her cheeks. And there still is excitement, something live-wire inside of her that only brings smiles, but that doesn't mean her mind doesn't latch onto Lenore as something to focus on, like all that's worth to see in the world right now is the excitement of the other woman, all she wants to see, see something bright. Stars. (It shouldn't be so easy, for the world to be something seen and unseen, so much seen, but not like this, so what can she catch in her hands - she wants to know. She wants laughter in her chest.)

She doesn't want to break the quiet or knock Lenore off from some train of thought so when knotted hands needing still to move reach for a tube of red lipstick, twisting it in her hands to look at the color, her eyes lead the question if she could try it, but also she doesn’t want to add that she would have to figure out how.