in the Lights

Send in a word for a drabble of our muses based on it.

Sonder: The realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.

Opia: The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

Monachopsis: The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.

Énouement: The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

Vellichor: The strange wistfulness of used bookshops.

Rubatosis: The unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.

Kenopsia: The eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.

Mauerbauertraurigkeit: The inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like.

Jouska: A hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head.

Chrysalism: The amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.

Vemödalen: The frustration of photographic something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist.

Anecdoche: A conversation in which everyone is talking, but nobody is listening

Ellipsism: A sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out.

Kuebiko: A state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence.

Lachesism: The desire to be struck by disaster – to survive a plane crash, or to lose everything in a fire.

Exulansis: The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it.

Adronitis: Frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone.

Rückkehrunruhe: The feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness.

Nodus Tollens: The realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore.

Onism: The frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time.

Liberosis: The desire to care less about things.

Altschmerz: Weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had – the same boring flaws and anxieties that you’ve been gnawing on for years.

1: Which is worse, failing or never trying?

2: Are you doing what you believe in, or are you settling for what you are doing?

3: If happiness was the national currency, what kind of work would make you rich?

4: Are you more worried about doing things right, or doing the right things?

5: If you could offer a newborn child only one piece of advice, what would it be?

6: Would you break the law to save a loved one?

7: Are you holding onto something you need to let go of?

8: Do you push the elevator button more than once?  Do you really believe it makes the elevator faster?

9: Have you been the kind of friend you want as a friend?

10: If you just won a million dollars, would you quit your job?

11: If we learn from our mistakes, why are we always so afraid to make a mistake?

12: What would you do differently if you knew nobody would judge you?

13: What do you love?  Have any of your recent actions openly expressed this love?

14: If you were stranded on a desert island, what three items would you want to have with you?

“Elesa love!” Charles her manager had waved her down as she was walking towards the building. Lifting a hand in the air she waved to her manager with a smile on her face. “Charles darling.” Once she reached her they embraced in a hug. 

Pulling away the raven haired girl cocked her head to the side. “So why did you call me here? Especially this early.” It was roughly seven in the morning to which the female was up at this time anyways, so it really wasn’t… early. Charles let out a hearty laugh. “I have a job for you.”

He was very vague on his words as the blue eyed girl crossed her arms over her small chest waiting for him to finish. “It isn’t one for modeling, it’s for acting.” Charles had a bright smile on his face as Elesa gave a slight skeptical look. “I haven’t acted in awhile, you know this.”

Company morale shot straight through the roof the moment news spread that art house succeeded in acquiring a collaborative contract with her. On that night, it was all Jans could do not to plant his head between his knees and drink his career to an end as his colleagues exploded in celebration and broke out the drinks.

✧ ♕ –

   “excuse me.” though a proper mannerism, his tone laces with impatience. it’s far too insensitive to be directed at her, and surely, his attitude slip is only a foolish mistake. the discourteous insert belongs to someone who looks tense despite the live classical band that plays nerves just as well as violin strings. 

     “excusez-moi!” mikaela corrects him.               tongue sharp, her words are like icicles. 

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The silence on his end is prompt, but the knit between his brows speaks on his behalf. If semantic accuracy is truly as valued in Kalos as is apparent, why badger an Unovan to excel in it?

“I stand corrected. Excusez-moi.”

The question is a self-induced curveball. He’s among men and women who have known the taste of silver spoons growing up, most of whom  behave as though even their privilege is wearing out like week-old fads. Born onto the fast lane, thriving on it; the only mystery that remains unsolved is how Miss Mikaela Parker can tread across it with such composure, practically speaking, on a pair of dainty-looking heels. Her upbringing is surely to thank for the admirable control.

[ ♘ ] — The collision amounts to a silence, a rather uncomfortable one, just as she picks herself up from the ground, next to a hill of broken glass and shattered ice. It seems a few shards have cut into her, too, but it doesn’t exactly matter when the face she sees before her is someone she remembers. Not remember; someone she could never forget even if she wanted to. Her fingers wipe against the red liquid above her knees — bringing them to her lips to lick the blood off her fingertips.

Right then and there she steadies her ground, staring straight at him. She can tell that he’s recollecting his thoughts, the same way he always did, with the look in his eyes that held a void; a black hole that would suck your soul in if you stared too long. And she thinks she’s stared too long.

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She acknowledges him with a certain stride. It almost feels as though the vacuum, formed over years of estrangement, had been filled by her with a spontaneity. The occasional encounters through the television screen or the magazines she’d flicked through, those which happened to contain a feature of him, must have done the heavy-lifting for the both of them. Clearly, the girl — woman, as she was now indubitably worthy — had long since seen plenty of him. But the question remains: is it plenty, or enough?

As she brushes past him with a cool melody to her voice, Jans suddenly doesn’t want to envision the remainder of the gory details. Can barely make out the pounding of the loudspeakers over the unflurried whisking of straw broom against wooden floor, either. Quintessential Astryd; bringing a feather duster to her ever-fortified barricades, mounted about as high as a fortress. Not that he is one to talk. Is it more fatal to decipher her mindset based off of a few sparing words? Or would most of his hardship be derived from second guessing his less-than-stellar public reputation?

and she's so fine, she thinks she's so damn fine. she might be fine, but she ain't worth a second of your time. you're as fake as the moans you make, and you're as weak as the hearts you break.

✧ ♕ –

   it’s not to walk on the heels, nor on the toes. posture is crucial, poise vital. her tongue taps against her palette and the back of her teeth, pronunciation sharp and precise. “reservation for two? mikaela parker.” she twirls a chunk of snowy blonde hair, cleverly revealing the diamond pendant he bought for her –or perhaps it is a gift from the man she split a la mode with at restaurant le yeah two weekends ago. it must have not been important, seeing as it didn’t even make it into the tabloids. but this particular gentleman could perhaps–if the age gape is somehow disregarded–be the one… for her parents, of course, not her. 

These were Kalosians he was humoring with his presence - a populace notorious for being scrupulous, and sort of kind, granted certain conditions are fulfilled. Their gazes say it all, and, frankly, he is better off remaining impervious to their impressions, his glad default, instead of looking for a place with less almighty pricks gathered in one place. His sportsmanship is peerless, of course; while he isn’t about to give anyone the pleasure of seeing him walk out, Le Wow isn’t his stomping grounds to be messing with. He cares little for his surroundings,

--- but to be perfectly honest, the restaurant’s poor taste in classical music sorely let every single one of its three pompous stars down.

Blue in Green, composed by Bill Evans and played by Miles Davis, from his album “Kind of Blue”.