night waiting for day

[yavazquez-blog]

DATE & TIME: February 20th, 11:30pm LOCATION: A Bar in Paris CLOSED WITH: @jinnianzhen

The nerves have accompanied Yara all through the night. The woman has yet to comprehend how she’s supposed to act when she’s not behind the curtains. It’s something you get used to – belonging in the shadows, away from the prying eyes. Her cryptid form, the swan she calls herself is a star, attracting people’s eyes based solely on the beauty of its appearance. Yara doesn’t shine as brightly, has never allowed the self confidence that oozes in her other form to come out when she’s merely human. It’s not to say that the veterinarian doesn’t see herself as beautiful, because the woman’s gone through a long enough journey to find comfort in both her forms – but it’s just the belief that her human one is not quite as interesting, quite as alluring. And yet she’s expected to lure people in without even opening her mouth. To blend with the walls but to still make others stop and admire her.

It’s a different environment now, but instead of the nerves Yara had let out through the duration of the evening, it’s sheer tension. Less because of the circumstances, more so because of the company. She has barely exchanged a few words with the man for a while now. Whereas he had been the first man she laid down with in a while, Nian Zhen is no longer an active part of her life unless Yara is tending to his cryptid form in the monthly visits. It’s less resentment and more embarrassment that curses through her body whenever she’s in his presence – shame for her reaction upon the breaking of the arrangement they had, shame for her inability to keep her feelings at bay. But still there is a bitterness that accompanies her stare whenever he walks past her, the inner belief that Yara deserved more than she got.

When Yara had left the room after the voting of yes, she had anticipated being left alone to drink in a bar. The woman had even brought a book with her, something small but that she could focus on as she nursed glass after glass – enough so to keep her mind out of the reckless decision they had collectively made, but less than what’s needed to make Yara incapable of thinking. But of course he is there, having just taken a seat by her side. She’s not looking directly at him, keeping her gaze fixed on the page she’s been pretending to read for the past five minutes. Yara doesn’t even know if he’s noticed her, but at one point she slams the book closed and moves her glare towards him. “What are you doing here?”

[yavazquez-blog]

anoracle‌:

DATE & TIME: February 20TH, 9:30AM LOCATION: The Louvre  TAG: @yavazquez

It was an hour of sleep total, but enough. Somehow it’s usually enough, for eyes to close and find themselves somewhere else, for minds to not be in her control, for something to always be awake, always reaching, and she doesn’t know if it’s yearning amidst being a cryptid. A yearning for life that isn’t her own, for anything else, even it’s pain shared, even if it’s a prophecy. A wish for any glimpse of life, perhaps, amidst everything else that must be felt. Last night’s was something drenched in red, and when she watches the woman before her it’s with tired eyes, but far too awake, eyes that observe, like dream come to life, like guilt too, for a prying mind that she can’t close, no choice but to feel it with her. Wake up and wonder if this body is her hand, if these are her’s or Yara’s hands. She watches them as the older of the two fills in Emme’s eyebrows for her, when the last of the mirrors are taken by someone else, so the two of them must help each other. And she doesn’t know how to say thank you more than she has before, so she just lets out, “I can do your eye shadow next, if you want me too.”

The dream still filters through her mind, lingering somewhere behind her eyes, in her throat, like finding home. She knows the feeling of it. And it’s a question too that forces it to linger, something she doesn’t know how to say either, something that stays still. Wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t close to a need, even as it feels like a violation, somehow, it always does. But such feelings go far from Yara, to mothers and old shame for the uncontrollable. That it must be uncontrollable. “Have you known another oracle?” She remembers tarot cards, and tugs, false illusions. “I mean, just from all your studies, or what you learn in school - I never know what you learn,” she tries to make more than about a dream.

Life at the Menagerie has always been a life behind the curtains. As much as she is expected to allow others to be awed by her cryptid form, the beautiful white swan that has been a part of her for as long as she can remember, Yara neither yearns nor expects to be put in front of the public for anything else. Performance arts, that’s something the woman had never found an interest in. It would imply being drawn to the arts, to spectacle and to be seeing seen, and Yara has always been more inclined to the opposite. Books, studies, keeping to herself – that’s what she’s always cared about. She can understand others preference for the spotlight, but it’s definitely not what she wants for herself. So this, the event at the Louvre, being turned into art to be exposed not in their cryptid form, but as the human being they all are, is nerve wracking. There’s not a single part of Yara’s body who hasn’t gone through the shaking process from the moment the information was shared with all the cryptids, anxiety crawling under her skin and making her wonder, above all else, if she’s even mildly capable of entertainment.

At least she had Emme. The younger’s offer and availability to help her get ready proves to be more than just simple aid. It’s the crutches Yara needed to lean on, at least for a couple of hours, before she can go outside and do what’s expected of her, what she’s contractually obliged to do. “Would you, sweetheart? Do you think blue would be good? Or should we go with silver?” She asks, putting down the pencils and taking a seat on the chair for the girl to be able to better reach her. The girl’s presence is comforting, perhaps due to how long they have known each other. From the minute Yara had joined, Emme had been one of the ever-present members, always there, always sweet. “Another oracle like you? No, I have not. My grandmother used to read cards, taught me how to, but it was more – I wouldn’t call it a science, but it wasn’t natural. It was just something she learned how to do the same way I did, nothing like what you have,” it no longer hurts, to think about the grandmother she hasn’t seen in years. Yara doesn’t want to think about the fact that she doesn’t even know if she’s alive. “I’m a veterinarian, my main focus when studying cryptids is on anyone who can shift into an animal – any sort of animal.” Brown eyes met the other’s, her head tilted slightly back. “I wouldn’t normally focus on someone like you but it’s just – it’s too fascinating for me to pass on it.”

[yavazquez-blog]

YARA VÁZQUEZ ; THE LOUVRE

Parure of Queen Marie-Amélie.19th century. Sapphires and diamonds.