seen from India
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[A selfie of Evie, wearing the buckyball earrings she got for her birthday. She’s cupping one with one hand to show it off a bit better and is grinning broadly. She’s standing in front of a chalkboard with some haphazard lecture notes about the definition of life written out behind her.]
Thank you for the birthday gift, @pomoprometheus! They’re great! :)
30. irrational fears
“oh, so many. heights, bugs, dentists--” clea ticks them off their fingers, and the receptionist nods pointedly at the intake form between them. right. they take it, and take a seat, fingers drumming along the chair-back. clowns, obviously. the clipboard quivers on their bouncing knee. needles. eye contact with authority figures⁀--fuck. the pen falls through their hand--strangers, sometimes--and it takes a humiliating minute of fumbling to pick it back up. blood? it’s cool, though; they’re cool. they reckon the paperwork is the best part. styrofoam. lots of room to get creative.
42. attempted murder
The various traps hidden among piles of garbage have stolen two of his handlers already; #018 on the stairs, #134 in the bathroom. Caspian is more frustrated than afraid, Theseus in a labyrinth of trash that he wanders with increasing frustration.
A misstep on his way to the window releases the crossbow. The bolt misses his head by a mere inch, grazing his visor with a rush of air that leaves him breathless. Somewhere, he’s sure there must be a dead woman laughing.
3. A secret wish or desire.
“I dinnae want a group that wants me as a member.”
“First of all, fuck you,” WarDog says. “Second, it’s symbolic. The Hounds can protect you. Don’t start, Munro. Even you needthat sometimes.”
And Moire is tempted: the way anold wound aches when she wanders Beacon Boulevard, eyes feasting on small knotsof friends with their faces laughing close together; when she walks distantfrom people in the Park, young and old bound in their togetherness, how anypatch of grass they claim is theirs for a moment.
“Ye dinnae know me.”
Eventually, War Dog stopsasking.
45. the monsters under their bed
Quinn grows up around monsters.
The Manor Madame is a monster; strict and unforgiving. The men that come and go are monsters; slimy hands and dirty mouths. Even Mama can be monstrous; a sharp hand across the back of impish Quinn’s thigh.
There are no monsters under the bed; no children's haunts. The Manor protects them as they protect it. There is safety under there, within that deep dark. A face and hands and toothy smile that reach and leave splinters in soft skin. A voice that sings and applauds and comforts.
5. Someone or something they must pretend to like.
5. Someone or something they must pretend to like.
The smoke feels like it's sticking to him, coating his throat and lungs with a thick layer of tar and grime. Worst, it'll stay in his mouth and burry into his clothes and skin until he's able to leave this unpleasant bar. Then he can scrub out every part of his mouth and wash his clothes again and again until they return to smelling like cheap detergent.
But for now there's work to be done and business to attend; this conversation's far from finished. He grins as he takes another cigarette when offered, letting the man light it for him.
17. washing up along the shore
The Black Glass Lake was the furthest Jackie was willing to venture into the Park; it made a nice landmark to turn around and usher the dogs back towards the clinic.
Atlas was more excited than normal to be on a walk, straining at the end of his rope and forcing Jackie to keep a tight grip on his end of the leash or start running. Beano too seemed antsy, and when the lake came into view Jackie immediately saw why. There were fish everywhere, beached and dead, along the muddy banks, their colors emblazoned against the dull brown.
None of them were freshwater, none could be native, sucked through a portal that somewhere led right out into the Atlantic, if only Jackie would dive deep enough.
pomoprometheus replied to your post: You should not eat your friends under the...
your words…
@faireclairevoire Your boytoy is struggling through a valiant attempt at a burn. If we cheer on him, perhaps he will find within himself the strength to light up a moderate flame.
