⊱ ░ 𝖲𝖢𝖮𝖴𝖳 ₍ ? ₎ a cemetery at dusk, cicadas screaming.
the cemetery sat on the edge of town that prominently fed into land upon land of woods ━━ where old headstones sat scattered beneath aged oaks draped in moss. BY THE TIME DUSK ROLLED AROUND, THE AIR OF IT TURNED THICK ENOUGH TO DRINK... which is exactly what the pair were doing with the six pack he'd dragged out with them. leland sat cross legged atop a cracked concrete family plot that had probably belonged to someone important once; ( but now, it served as a table of sorts. ) ❛❛ y'know, ❜❜ he starts, fingers blindly picking at the label of his bottle now half hanging off. ❛❛ i don't think this is what church folks mean when they talk about vistin' meemaw. ❜❜
there's the hint of a grin hidden beneath the blanket of dark when he says it [ ... ] but he lets his gaze wander over the rows of graves that eventually begin to disappear into deepening shadows. HE'D GROWN UP AROUND THIS PLACE. it didn't frighten him; it didn't wig him out or give him whatever heebie jeebie bullshit pussies liked to say when the sun started going down after a hard days work. he knew some of the names carved into stone from both stories and funerals attended ━━ he used to cut through here on his way home from school as a kid. ( it never bothered him, ) but it also wasn't his first choice to get drunk in.
CICADAS SWELLED LOUDER IN THE DISTANCE━ and somewhere even deeper in the trees, something rustled. he'll only spare it a brief thought, a brief glance, before turning back to @morb1dgrl as he lifts the bottle hanging from his fingers by its glass neck for another drink. ( his own neck falls back with it, ) before the toe of his boot pushes the clinking case closer toward her. ❛❛ the fuck you always hangin' out here for anyway? y'can't even listen t'music without someone callin' the cops. ❜❜
