#sordidery.

[ichtgod]

awareness comes in short, quick bursts. he’s wet. it’s raining. dirt turns to mud, sloughs off him in clumps. his head hurts. why is he covered in dirt? where is he? he isn’t sure how he got here, but he’s standing up, so he must have been walking. he’s in someone’s yard, muddy boots leaving tracks in the manicured grass. and — there’s a girl here, staring at him. lightning in the sky, then thunder, and he flinches.

he coughs, tries to speak. the inside of his mouth tastes like dried blood and dirt. nothing comes out. jd touches a hand to his throat, as if checking it’s still intact. when he looks at the girl again, it’s with panic masquerading as fury. what the fuck did she do to him?

@sordidery, plotted.

[drunivers]

JR : THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU AND NASSAU WERE THROUGH.

CV : GOT WORRIED YOU TWO WOULD BE LOST WITHOUT ME. GLAD TO SEE I WAS WRONG ABOUT THAT.

[hellsputina]

@sordidery ft luna snow: everyone knowing your name isn't always a blessing.

"poor baby. is it hard to be a superstar?" illyana's tone drips mocking -- the fond kind, the kind she teases with. but it's not always easy to tell. she sticks her hand out to ruffle luna's black and white hair, mouth tugged up into a confident smirk. "what is it today, snowflake? too many fan letters? does your hand hurt from all the autographs?"

she likes luna, she does -- she's both pretty and useful, and she's fun to be around, all things considered. she likes the little gasp luna does sometimes, when she's in danger and illyana appears out of nowhere to block the hits with her soulsword. makes her feel cool, protective. like a fairytale knight. and she's ... sweet. but illyana doesn't do sweet. doesn't really know how.

"or -- let me guess," she continues, because none have ever said that the queen of limbo is merciful. "you have a stalker. no, two stalkers! and you need a badass, sexy bodyguard."

[drunivers]

the pain in the metal boot is what wakes you. there must be sand or debris in it, and they rub raw your irritated skin. a sharp inhale, too loud for the stillness of the maroon prison.

@sordidery: YOU CAN GO BACK TO SLEEP. IT’S SAFE.

the rough grain of flint’s voice is familiar by now. still weak from starvation, the formidable man looks tired, his eyes sunken. he looks almost like he wishes to give up, which is, of course, antithetical to the captain flint you know. it’s unnerving.

“i’ve slept enough.” had he been awake the entire time? the idea of flint watching over you as you and the other men slept, with those lightless eyes makes something in your stomach twist. reminds you of those days you’d slept on his window-seat, when you were first healing. the fear in your stomach when you thought he’d figured out your lie about the urca gold. at least, you’d figured at the time , he’d wake you up before he slit your throat. he seemed the type.

there’s something liberating about no longer having to fear that lie unraveling. you shift on the rough ground, and the movement hurts everything in your aching body: the thinness of flesh and muscle over bone. you must look pathetic, squirming like a worm on a hook, and you find yourself glaring up at flint in warning, daring him to say something about it.

“no, i need to think.” you need to plan, you need to get out of this. there is always a way out. dehydration has gotten to your mind at last. you’d been dreaming of sharks with rolling green eyes.

you find your gaze drifting to flint again. in the dim light, his severe features look carved, wooden as a masthead figure.

you wonder what sharks dream of.

[drunivers]

plotted with @sordidery

yvaine's sitting on the bed because it's closest to the round ship's window, looking out at the sky beyond. she can barely see her sister stars through all the fog and mist. humanity had seemed so marvelous when she was up in the sky, a moving symphony of wonderful parts. the perpetual underdogs: stealing fire, inventing tools, using them to build communities and sanctuaries and beautiful castles. her favorite human creation had been the stained glass window, the way it colored her light when she shone through it.

but yvaine has changed her mind now that she’s down here on earth. she was a deluded, silly little star, but she knows the truth now. humans are the worst of earth's creations. and in the earthly competition of who is the most small-minded, pigheaded, selfish, cruel allegedly-evolved ape of them all, tristan thorn is currently in an impressive lead, sailing past a witch, a ship’s worth of pirates, and their (surprisingly somewhat decent) captain to take the number one spot on yvaine’s shitlist.

when he re-enters their cabin, likely fresh from dueling practice or some other swashbuckling nonsense, she deliberately doesn’t turn to look at him, instead glowering fiercely out the window. tristan has long hair now, which is — it’s just confusing, to yvaine, since that isn’t how he looked when she first saw him. she knows human forms can change. it’s just different seeing up close.

currently, yvaine is making use of something called the silent treatment -- ignoring tristan whenever possible. if she has to be miserable on this ship (in this world, on this travel to a small, stupid little town to be gifted to some small and stupid little bride) the least she can do is make sure he's miserable as well. she clears her throat pointedly, so that he's aware that she's aware that he's here, and so that he knows she's ignoring him.

[drunivers]

@sordidery : i better warn you: i've been practicing a little. /+ lisa for herbert

for some unfathomable reason, daniel hadn’t wanted lisa in the basement laboratory. generally, herbert understands the need for secrecy — understands it more than daniel, judging by the quality and quantity of the harlots he used to bring home — but lisa, unlike most women, has interests beyond dan. there was also the simple fact that she had stumbled on them moving bodies a few times too many to ignore, and recruiting her, for once, had been the more enjoyable alternative to shooting her in the face after she showed up to the house with a pen and a little notebook, wanting to know more about the process.

well, let it never be said that herbert west doesn’t encourage curiosity in the youth.

(“i hope you’re not jealous she’s taking your place, dan,” herbert had said earlier, attempting to conceal that he was hoping for that, very much. “the girl isn’t my partner. it’s an unofficial internship. don’t you want to help the next generation of scientists with our good work?”)

“scalpel down, lizzie,” herbert says now. he’s good-natured, or as close to good-natured as he gets; lisa’s been hinting at some strange body she might need help with.

“you have more to learn about anatomy before you start gracelessly hacking into bodies. come look at this.” it’s an arm, removed from a failed text subject, partially degloved so lisa could see the muscle and ligament inside. “do you remember what this muscle is called?”

[ichtgod]

@sordidery

her pert little mouth, her high, thin voice. lisa says stubbornly, “if that’s not being put out on me or you, it’s gonna have to go.” and gestures towards his smoke. the first one he’s had since coming back from the dead, even fatal injection victims are allowed a last smoke, he wants to argue, but then jd takes in what exactly she’s said and, miracle of miracles, all of a sudden he just doesn’t feel like arguing anymore.

his eyebrows raise, a silent ‘really?’. he takes her hand in his, opens her palm. waits for her to pull her hand away, shove off, play chicken. when she doesn’t, even when given the chance, just looks at him with those big bambi eyes, jd slowly, slowly, puts the cigarette out on the meat of the palm of her hand. wants to see if she’ll flinch. or if for her, it’s … something else.

jd’s mouth ticks up into a grin when he examines the tiny burn. it’s hungry, a little feral. a little closer to human than he’s felt in a while.

[drunivers]

@sordidery: GO REST. I'M NOT ASKING.

the air is dense and humid, even belowdecks. it's as if the sky itself is holding its breath, waiting for a conclusion that feels inevitable. hunger is nothing new to you, not after the life you've lived. but this time the burning in your chest as you glare at flint has nothing to do with starvation.

you're not sure what angers you more: his casual dismissal, or the implicit acknowledgement of your weakness. the crew has been on rationed food and water for the last week, but flint hasn't reduced your rations, and it disgusts you, you getting more than the able-bodied men. you're half convinced it's some kind of mind game, a fuck you on his part. a testament to your uselessness, from the captain who thinks himself better than his crew. the way he sees you wouldn't have bothered you at all, once. but that was another time -- another man, one who could slip into any shape and any story he pleased.

it's not only your days of approaching unannounced that are behind you now. you grit your teeth. does he see how your good leg shakes with weakness, or is it the whiteness of your knuckles as you grip the edge of his desk for stability that gives you away? you're bothered by it -- the way the captain's eyes have flayed you to the bone and found you wanting. "i said i'm fine," you say, only it comes out as a snarl. everything is too still -- in the cabin, on the ship. the look on his face.

you stare at the maps on his desk for something to focus on -- an escape from that piercing, judging gaze. you know you should leave at his dismissal. but something deep within you bares its teeth, and that thing simmering within you sparks anew as you say one of the stupider things you could say in this moment. "we should have taken the fucking pardons."