A new set of summer clothes and a lovely day here in this iteration of Midnight City. A lovely place if I do say so myself. I’m just enjoying the atmosphere - and seemingly ruining it for everyone without taste. Which is to say, many of the lackluster presences on this and other planets. And you, darling, I am sure am infinitely busy and infinitely tired, balancing this and that, arranging that and this… and throughout it all somehow maintaining regal poise and standing. And of course, a stoic, hard exterior, and a secretive smile.

Such a shame for them. I suppose there will always be those who would sooner turn their eyes to the bare desert sun than give an inch to the embrace of the evening, won’t there. Nothing to be done but leave them to their impending blindness. It warms my heart to know you’re well, at least.

itz great to see you too!!!!!!!! z:D

id say i hope youre alright but youre you so that might actually be sorta patronizzzing

I appreciate the concern. Regardless of my abilities, I’m still simply a troll.

…You are a good friend, you know. I can’t- That is the thing about it. I cannot move forward without her consent. It complicates things so very much. Ah, I see you, and it’s so strange, I remember how badly I missed your company. We should have tea again, soon. Are you well?

I try to be, in the very least.

I know both how she is feeling and how you are. It’s difficult to watch someone struggle. But I also understand the fear and hesitation that comes with living under Scratch’s influence. I was his creature, once, too.

We should. It’s been far too long since we last kept company. I apologize for my absence. Circumstances conspire to keep me in the field.

Why? Why are we all just standing here and letting it happen when we all damn well know we could get Snowman away from Scratch?

It would be exceptionally difficult to plan any meaningful rescue as it relates to an omniscient opponent. And meaningfully injuring a timeline compliant Scrath would only lead to... it is very high risk, and the odds of making things worse for her are astronomical.

But... it could be done.

Hosting, no. I can on/y assume, however, that it’s a simi/ar matter to speaking to them. Even attuned as I am to the Void, I still get a powerfu/ migrane from engaging with the i//ogic surrounding the denizens of the Outermost Ring every time I go to them for insight. Puzz/es he/p ground the mind in our more mundane rea/ity’s /ogic.

One, I don’t recommend it, I’ve been working with one for ages and I still get sore and generally unwell after the fact.

30 minutes of pi/ates fo//owed by a Sudoku. That's the minimum of course, might want to add some time if it was a big one and you forgot to /imber up before hand.

Reflected in the mirror, right as you prepare to step into a ruby red evening gown—you have a date tonight, after all. But the sight of it stops you in your tracks. It’s merely a tattoo, of which you have many; a delicate, lacelike shape that sits on your left hip as unobtrusively as it can.

Somehow too similar and completely unlike the man you got it for.

Your fingers find the thin black lines on their own, and in that moment, you can smell rain on the pavement, cigarette smoke and bitter cold. Blood and expensive wine sit in equal parts on your tongue, phantoms of what they were when you experienced them in truth and too vivid all the same.

Your hands tremble as you finally manage to zip yourself up, shaken by the sudden memory. You haven’t seen him since...

Since. Right. Your eartips grow warm, and you shake your head, smoothing out the front of your dress. It’s been some time since then, you remind yourself, it shouldn’t effect you so. Especially not right before you head out with someone else. Steeling yourself, you settle at your vanity, spreading out your tools as you try to look presentable for the night.

It’s a relief, at least, that you no longer live in that apartment. You know it would be rife with ghosts of scenes that once played out there; you can picture it now, haunted by the memories of fake ray guns, of wartime triage and figures huddled together by the fire after a night in the snow. Of curling up in the same bed, too wholly exhausted and battered to do anything but sleep. Of liquid gold that refused to come out of clothing for weeks afterward, no matter what she used to wash it.

You close your eyes, a moment, and breathe deeply, before opening them and tying your hair back, artfully winding it around itself.

KKFH .FUCK this mmade me laugh