ℳ𝘐𝘚𝘚 𝘈𝘔𝘌𝘙𝘐𝘊𝘈𝘕𝘈

a blindspot. if a flimsy, fleeting one. he sets down his bottle, lights a cigarette, finds a pillar to support his weight. breathes deep. allows himself to look her up and down. " y'look nice. "

then she rounds her pillar the way a child does— slow, one palm flat on the curve, weight all slanted out. birdie can't read kit's mind, but she knows that boy well enough. she knows he's thinking of this privacy as a blind spot, as a way to hide from his mama and ( secondarily ) everybody else's mama. and birdie, arguably the better student, is thinking of it in similar terms. well. the same term, applied differently: BLINDSPOT. 𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙽. A SUBJECT ABOUT WHICH YOU ARE IGNORANT OR PREJUDICED AND FAIL TO EXERCISE GOOD JUDGMENT. so she turns. away. comes around the mountain the way the girl in the song does, going and going and never getting anywhere. it's only at the far side of the pillar, when there's a whole white marble world between them, that she pauses and leans back. the column is hard and sun-warm, almost comforting; like resting the back of her head against somebody else's. birdie lifts her gaze up— onto the speckled ceiling, the clear sky. "y'look like you're too big for your jacket." she smiles, if only a little. the view is far too obstructed to look at kit from this position, which is half- or whole- of the-point, but her head still turns over her shoulder as though she might. could. on the ground next to her his shadow stretches as long as he does, creeping past the castle rampart. one arm curls backward where she can't see, her hand extending into open air before spreading the palm open, a five-fingered blink of morse code.

⎯⎯               feels  like  this  is  the  first  time  today  she's  found  herself  at  a  standstill  in  all  sense  of  the  word  .  to  the  naked  eye  ,  she  looks  pristine  ,  not  a  wrinkle  on  her  dress  or  a  hair  out  of  place  despite  the  fact  that  today  has  bore  such  a  harsh  weight  on  her  shoulders  .  everything  had  to  be  perfect  ,  the  silverware  ,  the  linens  ,  each  menu  item  thoughtfully  curated  to  reflect  the  kind  of  indisputable  prestige  the  quill  name  carried  ⸺  an  unmistakable  image  she  had  been  entrusted  to  uphold  on  one  of  their  most  special  of  days  .  "  sorry  ,  i'll  be  back  in  just  a  second  .  .  .  i  was  just  stepping  out  for  some  air  ,  "  assumes  the  steps  behind  her  are  those  of  one  of  her  staff  ,  whom  she'd  asked  to  bring  any  issues  to  her  attention  discreetly  ,  and  to  take  care  of  them  just  the  same  .  tightness  in  her  chest  just  barely  loosens  its  grip  when  she  turns  to  find  that  the  person  behind  her  wasn't  the  bearer  of  bad  news  she'd  been  awaiting  ever  since  she  woke  this  morning  .  "  oh  ,  thank  god  .  .  .  "  relief  in  her  voice  is  audible  ,  shoulders  dropping  just  as  features  soften  .  "  i  think  by  the  end  of  the  tonight  i'll  have  sprouted  enough  grey  hairs  to  qualify  for  an  early  bird  special  at  the  diner  ,  "  teases  ,  though  sure  her  mirror  will  show  it's  rooted  in  truth  .  "  did  you  just  come  from  inside  ?  do  the  happy  couple  seem  .  .  .  happy  ?  "     ( accepting ) 

"darlin'," birdie stands in the precise-middle of the open french doors, a geographical ability allotted almost exclusively to those of her particularly kind: women who grew up in debutante balls and coming-outs, who are used to being stood in the center of a grand entrance. "i have seen you do all kinds of wonders," she strides forward to take amara's elbows in her palms. it is in itself it's very own short, though no less meaningful, kind of wedding march. "but let's leave miracles to the big man, huh?" her hands wind round the delicate jut of bones. it'll take more than a beautiful wedding to make two people happy. birdie should know. "breathe for me, sweetheart."

she'd   been   used   to   stares   all   her   life   .   and   with   best   friend   in   tow   ,   it   came   naturally   .   the   two   of   them   plastered   with   signs  lately that   said   '   feel   sorry   for   me   '   or   maybe   '   don't   feel   sorry   for   me   '   .   neither   of   which   they   asked   for   .   reaches   above   her   head   towards   the   open   windowsill   and   flicks   ashes   before   bringing   cigarette   back   between   her   lips   ,   dragging   smoke   into   her   lungs   and   letting   it   sit   there   .   one   ...   two   ...   three   seconds   until   she   can't   hold   it   any   longer   ,   letting   it   create   a   cloud   ,   "you'd   think   they'd   be   scared   enough   to   leave   us   alone   then   ."   she   balances   the   stick   to   the   corner   of   her   mouth   ,   lifting   her   half-finished   glass   of   merlot   and   clinking   it   to   hers   filled   with   champagne   ,   "may   they   find   their   happily   ever   after   and   leave   us   out   of   it   ."   though   femme   would   be   a   liar   if   she   said   she   didn't   think   she'd   want   the   glass   shoe   to   fit   one   day   ,   a   day   that'll   never   come   .   knows   it   ,   accepted   it   a   long   time   ago   .   should   have   remembered   that   ,   too   ,   before   saying   '   i   do   '   .   lip   purses   ,   "how   early   do   you   think   is   acceptable   to   leave   --   eight   o'clock   ,   nine   ?"

he lets go of her. only just lingering, bridging their fingers, sliding the hand back into his pocket. he puts rocks crystal to lips, nods back at sherry. " y'just pick up groupies everywhere you go, huh ? "

"thought she was yours." she keeps her sunglasses on anyway, the way she was taught as a little girl at her first funeral. monty wasn't open casket, unlike this. unlike being forced to look kit in the face in a room full of people. "figured she must've had one of those— bobble heads a'you on her desk." from behind her lenses birdie avoids his eyes, following sherry's exit instead. she's tempted to call the woman back and ask what prompted her to lead him over. she's just as irrationally compelled to ask kit why he followed. instead she raises her own flute, drinks. her shoulders are back and square the like top of a picture frame. that leaves in the center, inadvisably, one particular organ. "shoulda stuck with elizabeth." you should know how not to give it away.

could   you   get   high   off   of   nicotine   ?   femme   leans   back   ,   ass   pressed   to   the   cool   surface   of   the   bathroom   counter   ,   heels   kicked   off   to   the   corner   somewhere   with   the   window   opened   at   the   top   to   lead   the   smoke   out   .   when   the   door   swings   shut   ,   laughter   bellows   past   her   mouth   ,   "it's   the   eyes   ,   chica   ,   and   it   was   definitely   yours   ."   wiggles   her   fingers   in   her   face   ,   mimicking   earlier   stance   all   of   five   seconds   ago   when   the   door   swung   shot   ,   leaving   them   both   in   their   conjoined   solitude   .   "or   maybe   it   was   me   .   they   don't   want   the   bad   luck   of   a   divorcee   ."

"mmh."     her eyes skim the counter.   "definitely us, than."     she mutters,   tapping along the shaft of her flute absently.     the half-pearls of her nails chime against the glass like so many miniature wedding bells. alarm bells. whatever.     "we're barely an hour in,   and i've already had three people take my arm like i was gonna need escortin' past the damn guest book."     poor unfortunate birdie, say the looks,   who never made it to the altar.     poor wicked frankie, speaks the posture,   who drove right through it and left the arch in pieces.     dryly, birdie raises a brow.     "guess she might be onto something.     we're like the witches of briarwick at this thing."     cursed, damned, doomed.     she lifts the flute to her mouth, then pauses.     on second thought—     "cheers,"     to that.

 “   old   fuck   gettin’   married   ,   ”   he   muttered   into   the   rim   of   his   champagne   flute   before   taking   a   slow   sip.   “   viagra   prescriptions   probably   spiked   clean   through   the   roof   in   briar   bend   this   week.   ”   he   scoffed   under   his   breath   ,   shaking   his   head   as   if   the   whole   affair   personally   offended   him.   then   he   turned   slightly   ,   catching   someone   beside   him   in   his   peripheral.   “   oh   ,   c’mon   ,   ”   beau   drawled   ,   one   brow   lifting   as   a   crooked   grin   pulled   at   his   mouth.   “   don’t   look   at   me   like   that.   we’re   all   thinkin’   the   same   thing.   ”

"beau langford."     if there's one thing a southern woman can do,    it's reprimand a southern man.      "shame on you for lumpin' me in with your crude   —   and cynical   —   outlook."     if there's one thing the daughter of an olivier-award winning actress   ( with nothing better to do than bring her melodramatics to the family parlor rather than the theatre stage )   can do,   it's lean into a performance.     she makes an affected face that resembles something like my heavens,   which is either a remark on a remark,   or the fact that she looks a little bit like an angel with her hair pinned up like that.     "this is a wedding, bobo. you can take that skepticism and tuck it in with your shirt. show a little regard for our lovely couple." all that sugar in her voice,   and there's a beat.   a pause for it to settle.   stir in.   birdie takes a sip of her drink;   something to make the bullshit go down easier.     "'sides—"   finally, birdie loops a hand through the crook of beau's elbow and winds her voice,   hushed and coy,   into his ear as she steers them into motion.     "—i was thinkin' the premium on life insurance policies."

ATONEMENT 2007, dir. Joe Wright

Kylie Minogue

Sharp Objects (2018) dir. Jean-Marc Vallée

A Virgin Among the Living Dead (1973) | dir. Jesús Franco

Sophie Mackintosh, excerpt from Cursed Bread

yeah, but you’re ruthless when it comes to the people you love. you’d do anything for them. your brother. your friends … me.

Feels more like five years ago.