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st_ackeddeckDate: April 3, 2019
Feelings were hard. Feelings were even harder when they flared up as bright, hot, and volatile as the fireballs Emma could have at her fingertips. And that was nothing compared to how hard they were when you felt Everyfuckingthing around you, the way Jag could.
[Here | rating (pg) | status (completed) | feeeeeeeeels]
Feelings were hard. Feelings were even harder when they flared up as bright, hot, and volatile as the fireballs Emma could have at her fingertips. And that was nothing compared to how hard they were when you felt Everyfuckingthing around you, the way Jag could.
[Here | rating (pg) | status (completed) | feeeeeeeeels]
st_rummerDate: April 1, 2019
It's not the first time Coby's woken up on the first of April to a big surprise, but this time he's not the only one thrown for a loop. Losing his wings is one thing, but Jag and Curnen in a vicious cycle of reflected empathy is a whole other level.
[Here | rating (pg) | status (completed) | ]
It's not the first time Coby's woken up on the first of April to a big surprise, but this time he's not the only one thrown for a loop. Losing his wings is one thing, but Jag and Curnen in a vicious cycle of reflected empathy is a whole other level.
[Here | rating (pg) | status (completed) | ]
GP: April Fools!
Apr. 1st, 2019 01:22 pmst_ackeddeckIt didn't take any sort of precognitive abilities to predict some kind of shenanigans on the first of April. Many of the people stuck in the bubble world of the Madonna Inn were from times and places where April Fools' Day pranks were normal, expected... (in many cases) minor annoyances. And then there were the residents who remembered the strange egg hunt from a year ago, and the sometimes confusing explanations of the two holidays falling on the same day and how that related.
Also, life at the inn could be interminable. After a while, people started hoping for some kind of strangeness to happen, just to break up the monotony of being trapped in a kitschy no-snow globe.
So, no. You didn't have to be a mutant fortune teller to expect some kind of joke being pulled. But Emma was, and even she had no idea what was coming, other than it was going to be frustrating and topsy-turny, and the visions she'd been getting from the tarot – and way more reversals than was usual or healthy in her experience – were even less clear than usual.
She definitely didn't foresee waking up without the powers that were as much a part of her as her heart. Or just as suddenly having powers she had no idea how to control. But she did, and she had*, and she was far from the only one. The same thing was happening to people all around the inn.
(*Not to worry. The singe marks should be gone in a day or so. Right?)
[Powers swap GP! Tag in. Tag around. It's a time for out and about at the inn coping (or not) with powers gained (or lost).]
Also, life at the inn could be interminable. After a while, people started hoping for some kind of strangeness to happen, just to break up the monotony of being trapped in a kitschy no-snow globe.
So, no. You didn't have to be a mutant fortune teller to expect some kind of joke being pulled. But Emma was, and even she had no idea what was coming, other than it was going to be frustrating and topsy-turny, and the visions she'd been getting from the tarot – and way more reversals than was usual or healthy in her experience – were even less clear than usual.
She definitely didn't foresee waking up without the powers that were as much a part of her as her heart. Or just as suddenly having powers she had no idea how to control. But she did, and she had*, and she was far from the only one. The same thing was happening to people all around the inn.
(*Not to worry. The singe marks should be gone in a day or so. Right?)
[Powers swap GP! Tag in. Tag around. It's a time for out and about at the inn coping (or not) with powers gained (or lost).]
[text to everyone] AMA
Mar. 26th, 2019 05:06 pmst_rummerI'm bored.
You're probably bored too. And if you aren't right this minute, wait an hour. Maybe a day.
So I thought, why not use these magic messaging journals for something that will help fill the time instead of stuff that saves one of the few things we already have too much of?
ASK ME ANYTHING
For those of you not from a time and world similar to mine, AMAs are a whole thing, but it's pretty self-explanatory. You ask questions. I answer them. Obviously questions about me, or things I have a chance of knowing or forming an answer are best, but if you want to ask me the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow, go for it.
You're probably bored too. And if you aren't right this minute, wait an hour. Maybe a day.
So I thought, why not use these magic messaging journals for something that will help fill the time instead of stuff that saves one of the few things we already have too much of?
ASK ME ANYTHING
For those of you not from a time and world similar to mine, AMAs are a whole thing, but it's pretty self-explanatory. You ask questions. I answer them. Obviously questions about me, or things I have a chance of knowing or forming an answer are best, but if you want to ask me the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow, go for it.
[EP] As the crow moon flies
Mar. 20th, 2019 04:51 pmst_oneswidowCurnen could not rightly have said what had changed from one night to the next, but at this, the official turn of the season and the full moon shining bright overhead she knew. She knew deep in the core of her being. Slipping out of her room into the night, she relished the feeling of the wind caressing her face and lifted her arms to the sky. Her head tipped back and she sang to the stars.
Oh time makes men grow sad
And rivers change their ways
But the night wind and her riders
Will ever stay the same
In a blink between one moment and the next, she was gone from the ground.
The now familiar harmonica still hung about her neck, it's magic unused as she shot into the sky on shimmering butterfly wings. This was the feeling she had craved for so long, like finally being able to run full tilt after decades of limping. She was flying, and it was all her, and she sang her elation to the black in harmony with the night wind.
Dizzy and almost uncertain in her joy, she did land from time to time wherever she could find a perch. Perhaps it was wrong. Perhaps she was making it up and she really was limited. But then she shot right back up again, whenever she damn well pleased.
She could do this all night.
Oh time makes men grow sad
And rivers change their ways
But the night wind and her riders
Will ever stay the same
In a blink between one moment and the next, she was gone from the ground.
The now familiar harmonica still hung about her neck, it's magic unused as she shot into the sky on shimmering butterfly wings. This was the feeling she had craved for so long, like finally being able to run full tilt after decades of limping. She was flying, and it was all her, and she sang her elation to the black in harmony with the night wind.
Dizzy and almost uncertain in her joy, she did land from time to time wherever she could find a perch. Perhaps it was wrong. Perhaps she was making it up and she really was limited. But then she shot right back up again, whenever she damn well pleased.
She could do this all night.
st_artandstokeDate: December 1-2, 2018
It's Emma and Jag's first innversary, and neither one of them is the best at dealing with it.
[Here | rating (pg) | status (completed) | warning for feeeeels]
It's Emma and Jag's first innversary, and neither one of them is the best at dealing with it.
[Here | rating (pg) | status (completed) | warning for feeeeels]
text to everyone
Mar. 5th, 2019 03:48 pmst_ackeddeckLaissez les bon temps roulez!
~*~*~
Because I'm me, I tend to celebrate with food. Both crêpes and American-style pancakes will be available for breakfast, lunch, and dinner (and there is batter resting in the walk-in cooler, if you want to make your own the rest of the day).
More importantly, there will be bugnes this afternoon and evening, because it's not Mardi Gras without bugnes, if you ask me.
st_ackeddeckDate: 23 december 2018
The Hermit, in the guise of a once and future (?) flatmate gave Emma a glimpse of three Christmases that might have been, or rather, were for Jag and her other self. Things she wouldn't have gone looking for in the cards, but when the opportunity arose, she had to know.
"If you know me," at least a version of her who was, according to Sunny and Jag both, so very close to herself, "you know I can't turn down an invitation like that. Needing to see is...," she trailed off, waving a hand at the cards spread in front of her.
"Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm meant to see it, from what the cards were saying when you showed up."
[Here | rating (pg) | status (completed) | no warnings I can think of]
The Hermit, in the guise of a once and future (?) flatmate gave Emma a glimpse of three Christmases that might have been, or rather, were for Jag and her other self. Things she wouldn't have gone looking for in the cards, but when the opportunity arose, she had to know.
"If you know me," at least a version of her who was, according to Sunny and Jag both, so very close to herself, "you know I can't turn down an invitation like that. Needing to see is...," she trailed off, waving a hand at the cards spread in front of her.
"Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm meant to see it, from what the cards were saying when you showed up."
[Here | rating (pg) | status (completed) | no warnings I can think of]
[EP] A wisp of a thing
Dec. 28th, 2018 10:20 amst_oneswidowSeven days and seven nights. That was how long he'd been running her down.
Or at least, that was how long the calendar would say he'd been doing it, but Curnen wasn't so sure anymore. He had been in the inn, performing on his banjo for the inhabitants and making the strings of that fucking thing ring like the bells of Christian heaven. Just to taunt her. Just to show that in this new form, he could sing just as powerfully as ever. He had taken her back in time to show her his indomitable will, over her, over her mother, over the whole of the valley. He had been in her room, in her bed, so she couldn't sleep but in stolen snatches of rest in the trees. And even when she'd managed that, he had been singing in her dreams. She could not shake his haint. He would break her. He would kill her.
She could remember no more songs. She couldn't remember her own name. She remembered only the fear and the hate and the pain and the panic and the power as he opened his mouth to sing her dying dirge.
But when Rockhouse got to the end of "Pretty Polly," nothing had happened.
Father and daughter watched each other across the grass, the former faltering for the first time, the latter nearly naked in her tattered dress and snarl of long black hair, eyes huge and staring and mad.
She sprinted. She lunged. She tore his throat with her teeth and laughed in his face as his blood ran all down her chin, her breasts, her stomach. Had it been any other part of him touching her there, she would have wailed and buckled under the horror of it, but she could bear the copper salt heat of blood just fine. Hell, she stayed close and let it spurt all over her.
As the blood burbled out of his gaping throat and the haint faded, Curnen laughed so hard she screamed. She screamed so hard she howled, baying up at the waning moon. Only the banjo was left behind, Rockhouse's favorite six-string banjo. She brought it down hard against the ground, and the dying smash of the frame and twang of popped strings created a crashing harmony to her howling. Even when the body was smashed she continued swinging the broken neck like a bludgeon, daring him to come back. She laughed and screamed and howled and danced.
Sometimes there were no songs.
Or at least, that was how long the calendar would say he'd been doing it, but Curnen wasn't so sure anymore. He had been in the inn, performing on his banjo for the inhabitants and making the strings of that fucking thing ring like the bells of Christian heaven. Just to taunt her. Just to show that in this new form, he could sing just as powerfully as ever. He had taken her back in time to show her his indomitable will, over her, over her mother, over the whole of the valley. He had been in her room, in her bed, so she couldn't sleep but in stolen snatches of rest in the trees. And even when she'd managed that, he had been singing in her dreams. She could not shake his haint. He would break her. He would kill her.
She could remember no more songs. She couldn't remember her own name. She remembered only the fear and the hate and the pain and the panic and the power as he opened his mouth to sing her dying dirge.
But when Rockhouse got to the end of "Pretty Polly," nothing had happened.
Father and daughter watched each other across the grass, the former faltering for the first time, the latter nearly naked in her tattered dress and snarl of long black hair, eyes huge and staring and mad.
She sprinted. She lunged. She tore his throat with her teeth and laughed in his face as his blood ran all down her chin, her breasts, her stomach. Had it been any other part of him touching her there, she would have wailed and buckled under the horror of it, but she could bear the copper salt heat of blood just fine. Hell, she stayed close and let it spurt all over her.
As the blood burbled out of his gaping throat and the haint faded, Curnen laughed so hard she screamed. She screamed so hard she howled, baying up at the waning moon. Only the banjo was left behind, Rockhouse's favorite six-string banjo. She brought it down hard against the ground, and the dying smash of the frame and twang of popped strings created a crashing harmony to her howling. Even when the body was smashed she continued swinging the broken neck like a bludgeon, daring him to come back. She laughed and screamed and howled and danced.
Sometimes there were no songs.
st_rummerDate: August 1, 2018
Coby had been stable way longer than he expected before finally showing signs of fraying over the past few months, and sometimes the only way out was through. But when he hit rock bottom and lost himself completely, he wasn't the one hurt most. Luckily he had Jag and Curnen to come back to.
[Here | rating (pg-13) | status (completed) | dissociative episode, mild drug use]
Coby had been stable way longer than he expected before finally showing signs of fraying over the past few months, and sometimes the only way out was through. But when he hit rock bottom and lost himself completely, he wasn't the one hurt most. Luckily he had Jag and Curnen to come back to.
[Here | rating (pg-13) | status (completed) | dissociative episode, mild drug use]
[GP] SNOW DAY
Dec. 15th, 2018 06:39 amst_ratagemThor and Loki got an early start, because there was a lot to do. Almost two weeks to the day since their first small-but-successful experiment with snow, Loki was confident that he'd improved enough for a bigger experiment. Still snow, because Thor wanted it and it did seem like a decent way to try something big-ish without causing Loki unnecessary grief with the other residents. (It was an arrival day, so there would perhaps be some grief with any new arrivals, but that was entirely acceptable.)
It was before dawn when they went out into the grounds. Thor called up clouds and loaded them with water so they hung low and heavy, covering the sky so that the sun, when it rose, wouldn't ruin the event. Loki took his frost giant shape and staff (now very familiar to his hand) and concentrated on dropping the temperature. Just around the Inn and grounds, but that was enough to be serious effort.
When the snow first started, the flakes were big and wet, and melted as soon as they hit the ground, which was still on the warm side. As they melted, they cooled the ground. After an hour or so, the flakes were smaller and more powdery - real snow, not glorified slush - and they were starting to stick to the ground.
By mid-morning, the Inn and grounds were covered with a thick layer of snow, and it continued to fall.
***
Meanwhile, indoors and inspired by the snow, Hurley and Xavin decided to try and make cookies. Cooking together was fun, since neither of them exactly knew what they were doing apart from 'follow the recipe', but since the point was 'try to make cookies' they ended up with a lot of cookies. Sugar cookies, gingerbread, all kinds.
There was no way they'd be able to eat all of them.
Instead, they loaded them onto trays and hauled them to the cafe, then brought out various frostings and candies for decorating. This had been completely intentional. Completely.
It was before dawn when they went out into the grounds. Thor called up clouds and loaded them with water so they hung low and heavy, covering the sky so that the sun, when it rose, wouldn't ruin the event. Loki took his frost giant shape and staff (now very familiar to his hand) and concentrated on dropping the temperature. Just around the Inn and grounds, but that was enough to be serious effort.
When the snow first started, the flakes were big and wet, and melted as soon as they hit the ground, which was still on the warm side. As they melted, they cooled the ground. After an hour or so, the flakes were smaller and more powdery - real snow, not glorified slush - and they were starting to stick to the ground.
By mid-morning, the Inn and grounds were covered with a thick layer of snow, and it continued to fall.
***
Meanwhile, indoors and inspired by the snow, Hurley and Xavin decided to try and make cookies. Cooking together was fun, since neither of them exactly knew what they were doing apart from 'follow the recipe', but since the point was 'try to make cookies' they ended up with a lot of cookies. Sugar cookies, gingerbread, all kinds.
There was no way they'd be able to eat all of them.
Instead, they loaded them onto trays and hauled them to the cafe, then brought out various frostings and candies for decorating. This had been completely intentional. Completely.
Tags:
- alec mcdowell,
- annie may parker,
- bo dennis,
- bradley baker,
- bucky barnes,
- buffy summers,
- caroline forbes,
- clarice fong,
- coby ward,
- curnen overbay,
- dean winchester,
- gartrett corbie,
- hugo "hurley" reyes,
- jack o'neill,
- jag,
- jane doe,
- killian jones,
- liz parker,
- loki,
- makoto kimura,
- maria deluca,
- marie-ange colbert,
- mary winchester,
- mia,
- miguel rivera,
- mildmay foxe,
- moana,
- molly carpenter,
- ned leeds,
- ororo munroe,
- peter parker,
- peter quill,
- snow white,
- sunny nwazue,
- the doctor,
- thor odinson,
- tony stark,
- tyrone johnson,
- valkyrie,
- vex'ahlia,
- xavin
Water Explosion Experiments (OTA)
Nov. 12th, 2018 10:09 pmst_hotflashesOut on a patch a grass, far enough away from the Inn to be safe, but close enough so she wouldn't get any surprises - hopefully - from wildlife that might like her for a snack, Liz had set up an experiment. There were several large containers, some glass, other plastic, all with water inside of them and spaced out from one another. She had a big bag of salt and a small portable stove that she had, with the help of Alec and his strength, enclosed to create more of an oven. She wore gloves, had an apron on, and she had safety goggles on too. She sat near the oven waiting for the salt to melt - the temperature it needed to get to was high.
After some time, she took a long pair of tongs and pulled out a red hot cup. Carefully she walked over to the first basin of water and poured the liquid salt into it. The water exploded and she jumped back a little, then she laughed.
After some time, she took a long pair of tongs and pulled out a red hot cup. Carefully she walked over to the first basin of water and poured the liquid salt into it. The water exploded and she jumped back a little, then she laughed.
Sunnydale Halloween part 2
Oct. 31st, 2018 06:22 pmst_accatoBuffy had seen the box of costumes appear in the inn but she just assumed that it was for the party. Just like with Ethan, her 'Slayer sense' didn't tingle at all. If it had, she so wouldn't have chosen the blow up centaur outfit but she'd thought it was funny. The joke was on her apparently.
~*~*~*~
Out in the area by the stables, a blonde centaur stood, completely confused at being solo without her herd. Her hooves pawed at the ground in nervous energy, before she began to explore the landscape. Maybe she would find her family and friends.
[Note: Buffy looks like this]
~*~*~*~
Out in the area by the stables, a blonde centaur stood, completely confused at being solo without her herd. Her hooves pawed at the ground in nervous energy, before she began to explore the landscape. Maybe she would find her family and friends.
[Note: Buffy looks like this]
[EP] Change and desperation
Oct. 27th, 2018 12:00 amst_oneswidowBeing a woman and not a First Daughter, Curnen knew nothing of the men's mysteries of her community. She did not know the words of the Silent Sons, "Silence is more musical than any song." But when Kash disappeared from her life, he who had given her songs back to her... she could think of no better way to mourn. What song was there? He had not been her love, but he had been more than her friend. And her utter fucking joy at not having to keep an eye out for Zahra, at being able to move freely in their small space again, made everything even more confusing. So when out and about, for weeks there had been no singing. No playing. No whistling, no humming, no dancing, not so much as idle tapping on a table. She did not forbid herself to speak, but it was rare, if she wasn't spoken to first.
In public at least. In the privacy of her room she threw herself into a project she had been cobbling for some months now, but this it seemed was the final push she needed to see it through. She told Coby, when she realized she really needed a man's voice for the last piece, but even he was not privy to the whole of the project.
No one would have known until the flyers went up a few days before she planned to do it. "Thirteen Tales of Change and Desperation" they promised. Not quite horror stories, but a story hour for the time of year. She had never performed a whole set by herself at the inn before. Kash would have told her to be brave. If it was time. If she was ready. And now, she really thought she was.
Saturday night, Curnen put on her good dress (and still no shoes) and played for the dinner crowd. She didn't expect everyone--or even anyone--to deliberately come and stay through the whole thing. Indeed, she tried not to pay attention to that, the comings and goings of faces. She sang for the audience she had. Between songs she flirted, she charmed, she teased, and she taught, explaining what pieces were and where they had come from.
Beginning with a song that could sound perfectly innocent if not for the unease infused through the arrangement and her voice, Curnen progressed through a series of tragedies and murder ballads. At the seventh and center piece she set her guitar aside and sang unaccompanied, and this was the first admission after a kind. Though she did not think anyone in the audience had the language. She explained neither before nor after what the words meant.
The center of this labyrinth wasn't the heart, though. They proceeded there next. These four songs were chosen not just for their nature, but also because each one them touched on something of Curnen's life--her curse, her losses, her trials. For anyone who had not heard the story from her already there was nothing to make it obvious. But there was something there in the increasing wildness of her eyes, in the edge in her voice. In the way she swapped a guitar for a bodhran when she came to the heart of it.
"I know least one of y'all's impatiently wondering, 'Curnen, honey, what's the worst story you know? Just tell us that and get it over with.' All right." And she told them. And she didn't die in the telling.
The twelfth song was a break, to dispel some of that dark energy. At the thirteenth she had Coby join her on guitar while she drummed, and the two of them passed "The Ballad of Tam Lin" back and forth between them.
She could not say what compelled her toward the end, when she took up the words of the fairy queen in her mouth. By now, she had done a handful of things that no ordinary girl could or should be able to do, but no one had been able to pin down and put a word to what she was. She told them as best she could now, in the way the room went colder, in the way her eyes went black from end to end, in the way her voice crashed like bells and broken glass, in the ghost of glamour wings (for still, still her own eluded her) for just those verses to show the queen's icy rage.
Then she was herself again, and the song ended. Curnen grinned. "Happy Halloween. Tip your waitress." And it took everything in her not to stumble away from the stage. Bliss would have killed her, and Curnen was terrified and defiant all at once, but also lighter for it. She had not said the word 'fairy.' But she had shown them. Maybe they'd be fine. Maybe they'd stone her. Only way to find out was talk to anybody with a thing to say.
In public at least. In the privacy of her room she threw herself into a project she had been cobbling for some months now, but this it seemed was the final push she needed to see it through. She told Coby, when she realized she really needed a man's voice for the last piece, but even he was not privy to the whole of the project.
No one would have known until the flyers went up a few days before she planned to do it. "Thirteen Tales of Change and Desperation" they promised. Not quite horror stories, but a story hour for the time of year. She had never performed a whole set by herself at the inn before. Kash would have told her to be brave. If it was time. If she was ready. And now, she really thought she was.
Saturday night, Curnen put on her good dress (and still no shoes) and played for the dinner crowd. She didn't expect everyone--or even anyone--to deliberately come and stay through the whole thing. Indeed, she tried not to pay attention to that, the comings and goings of faces. She sang for the audience she had. Between songs she flirted, she charmed, she teased, and she taught, explaining what pieces were and where they had come from.
Beginning with a song that could sound perfectly innocent if not for the unease infused through the arrangement and her voice, Curnen progressed through a series of tragedies and murder ballads. At the seventh and center piece she set her guitar aside and sang unaccompanied, and this was the first admission after a kind. Though she did not think anyone in the audience had the language. She explained neither before nor after what the words meant.
The center of this labyrinth wasn't the heart, though. They proceeded there next. These four songs were chosen not just for their nature, but also because each one them touched on something of Curnen's life--her curse, her losses, her trials. For anyone who had not heard the story from her already there was nothing to make it obvious. But there was something there in the increasing wildness of her eyes, in the edge in her voice. In the way she swapped a guitar for a bodhran when she came to the heart of it.
"I know least one of y'all's impatiently wondering, 'Curnen, honey, what's the worst story you know? Just tell us that and get it over with.' All right." And she told them. And she didn't die in the telling.
The twelfth song was a break, to dispel some of that dark energy. At the thirteenth she had Coby join her on guitar while she drummed, and the two of them passed "The Ballad of Tam Lin" back and forth between them.
She could not say what compelled her toward the end, when she took up the words of the fairy queen in her mouth. By now, she had done a handful of things that no ordinary girl could or should be able to do, but no one had been able to pin down and put a word to what she was. She told them as best she could now, in the way the room went colder, in the way her eyes went black from end to end, in the way her voice crashed like bells and broken glass, in the ghost of glamour wings (for still, still her own eluded her) for just those verses to show the queen's icy rage.
Then she was herself again, and the song ended. Curnen grinned. "Happy Halloween. Tip your waitress." And it took everything in her not to stumble away from the stage. Bliss would have killed her, and Curnen was terrified and defiant all at once, but also lighter for it. She had not said the word 'fairy.' But she had shown them. Maybe they'd be fine. Maybe they'd stone her. Only way to find out was talk to anybody with a thing to say.
Vax and Jag
Sep. 28th, 2018 10:58 pmst_artandstokeVax notices that Jag's been off, and tries to offer some support.
( Different people deal with things in different ways. The smiles and the diversions, the over-organizers and the ones that keep trying their damnedest to break things- )
( Different people deal with things in different ways. The smiles and the diversions, the over-organizers and the ones that keep trying their damnedest to break things- )
[EP] The eye of the storm
Oct. 9th, 2018 01:19 pmst_arkcrowblackAnybody coming to find out what all the noise in the lobby had been about would find a girl sitting on the floor with a cat in her lap, bloodied hands stroking over its black fur.
When Yasmeen had gone away, when Sansa had gone away, Snow had managed to get herself out and away from the inn where she could let her noise out without fearing any person, or more importantly, the horses. And both those times, Kash had found her and helped her scrape herself back together. She had come so much to rely on him being there, that at first she hadn't believed it. She'd gone searching, like a child trying to grasp the meaning of dead. She'd wandered all over the grounds, gone to his room, gone to the stables, gone to the clinic, walked miles of paths. It was only then that she'd given up and asked Darryl.
Then she lost her shit.
She howled, threw anything small and breakable that she could lay her hands on, and punched the walls until her knuckles were raw and bleeding.
What was she going to do without him? Kash had always been there for her when she didn't think she could talk to anybody else. He had saved Juno. Who would help her now when any of the animals were injured or sick? Who would hear what she was saying, even when she couldn't say it? He was her friend. Perhaps the best friend she'd ever had.
This was what happened when you trusted people. They just left. They just fucking left.
And she probably would have screamed herself hoarse if it weren't for the feeling of a furry little body slinking around one of her ankles. Of course she wouldn't have been the only one left behind (which was a cruel and unfair thing to think, she was not the only person who loved Kash. She just didn't care right now). She crumpled to her knees and Socks climbed into her lap. After a long moment she began to pet him, no longer the little kitten she'd held out to Kash last Christmas. There was no peace in the silence, but she could not continue to rage with Socks holding her down. The moment he left that place, it would all rise up again. So for now, she sat there in the mess she'd made, staring at nothing, her blood running into his fur.
When Yasmeen had gone away, when Sansa had gone away, Snow had managed to get herself out and away from the inn where she could let her noise out without fearing any person, or more importantly, the horses. And both those times, Kash had found her and helped her scrape herself back together. She had come so much to rely on him being there, that at first she hadn't believed it. She'd gone searching, like a child trying to grasp the meaning of dead. She'd wandered all over the grounds, gone to his room, gone to the stables, gone to the clinic, walked miles of paths. It was only then that she'd given up and asked Darryl.
Then she lost her shit.
She howled, threw anything small and breakable that she could lay her hands on, and punched the walls until her knuckles were raw and bleeding.
What was she going to do without him? Kash had always been there for her when she didn't think she could talk to anybody else. He had saved Juno. Who would help her now when any of the animals were injured or sick? Who would hear what she was saying, even when she couldn't say it? He was her friend. Perhaps the best friend she'd ever had.
This was what happened when you trusted people. They just left. They just fucking left.
And she probably would have screamed herself hoarse if it weren't for the feeling of a furry little body slinking around one of her ankles. Of course she wouldn't have been the only one left behind (which was a cruel and unfair thing to think, she was not the only person who loved Kash. She just didn't care right now). She crumpled to her knees and Socks climbed into her lap. After a long moment she began to pet him, no longer the little kitten she'd held out to Kash last Christmas. There was no peace in the silence, but she could not continue to rage with Socks holding her down. The moment he left that place, it would all rise up again. So for now, she sat there in the mess she'd made, staring at nothing, her blood running into his fur.
European Vacation: Travelers gotta travel
Jun. 25th, 2018 02:50 pmst_artandstokeJag and Em make it to Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer to visit the statue of Sara-la-Kali.
( Is it strange I never think of myself as a tourist, even when we obviously are? )
( Is it strange I never think of myself as a tourist, even when we obviously are? )
European Vacation: A Night in Amsterdam
Jun. 23rd, 2018 07:40 pmst_artandstokeCoby and Jag make the most of Amsterdam, aka get super stoned.
( Want to go have a pint? They said most pubs let you smoke inside. )
( Want to go have a pint? They said most pubs let you smoke inside. )
[EP] Images of broken light
Sep. 11th, 2018 11:43 pmst_artandstoke( They call me on and on )
Now he lowered himself on the grass outside his building with a small wince, pushed his long hair back from his face, and started playing with fire. Not going anywhere with it, not trying to work out a new number, or anything for the show. Just sitting there, and creating abstract whorls of fire in the air, ever-moving curves and shapes that seemed to be chasing each other in front of him.
Now he lowered himself on the grass outside his building with a small wince, pushed his long hair back from his face, and started playing with fire. Not going anywhere with it, not trying to work out a new number, or anything for the show. Just sitting there, and creating abstract whorls of fire in the air, ever-moving curves and shapes that seemed to be chasing each other in front of him.
