emma phillips.

       he gnaws against his cheek, a futile effort, because really, no brilliant idea has ever come from bothered gums. he’d suggest a trip, but it seems like a cop-out, a last resort only for when they’ve exhausted all the fun that black springs has to offer. ‘   you’re talking like a defeatist, emma.    ’ a poignant tinge laces his retort, downturned lips accompanying the thought that the last time he broke a rule was when he forgot to bring his own shopping back to the grocery store and had to get a paper one. a deep breath realigns his posture, forcing himself to persevere with the impenetrable positive attitude. ‘   okay, say we are the most interesting people here. heck, we might even rank pretty high up in the whole town. i mean, that immediately makes us eligible to like, i don’t know, start a band. or a business. or a protest. the possibilities are endless !   ’

     his impulse control had never been  GOOD,  but under the usual circumstances  –  there was a buffer of common sense   (   however fleeting.   )   and alcohol dismantled it. piece by piece, mikhail lost good judgment and gained compulsion to act on every whim. it’s a miracle he keeps his balance for as long as he does, and another wonder he lands on the grass below safely. he gestures for emma to  FOLLOW  his lead  –  giving her the audience he himself demanded, and he steps back.   “   you know what they call people like you, ems?   ”   he starts, arms folded above his chest.   “   BULLIES.   ”   melodrama at its finest, but had mickey been known for anything else, perhaps that would’ve been the contents of his dialogue.   “   yeah, that’s what you are.   ”   a dig, albeit childish, made in hopes of juvenile provocation, and as pre - school teacher, emma of all should be equipped to handle it.   “   just a big, mean––   ”   a she slips then, and instinctively, despite inebriation, mickey steps  FORWARD  –  catching her as she meets the ground, being as sturdy as he can.   “   ––… bully.   ”

    context barely keeps her  AMUSEMENT  in check, the sight of a folded thumb and a weak stance the catalysts to a growing smile. she needed to take it  SERIOUSLY   –   despite a buzz, and despite the comedic attributes of the situation.   “   hold your thumb like that and you’ll break it.   ”   she warns.   “   here.   ”   emma’s hand is grabbed, odette unclenching the first and re - doing it according to script.   “    turn to the side,   ”   she instructs, circling the brunette.  “   left hip in front of the right, one foot in front of the other.   ”    and with hands on her friend’s hips, she twists them for her. closeness goes ignored in favor of the  LESSSON,  odette herself not particularly bothered. regaining her grip of emma’s wrist, she continues.   “   you wanna punch with these two, okay.   ”   she points to the middle of her first, the knuckles of her index and middle fingers.   “   bend your wrist down, too. packs it better.   ”   there’s no need for the vocal tutorial, really, not with odette altering emma’s every move, but she continues   –   skimming over the part where a linear wrist had the possibility of breaking, as well.   “   don’t go straight on,  CURVE  it   –   and aim for the soft spots. nose, jaw, chin, temple…   ”   beat.   “   bend and tuck.   ”   final adjustments of moving her arms closer to her chest made, and odette steps away.   “   then you swing. quick, full force.   ”   standing in front of her now, she admires her handiwork. not half bad, but far from perfect.   “   GO AHEAD.   ”

     satisfied with her contribution, odette falls back against the dining chair. she might not be the  GO-TO  for advice on the romantic, the platonic, the financial, and the list goes on and on and on… but this–THE VIOLENT–she had down to a T. never much for sports, odette’s physicality was directly derived from outrunning lifted tourists and the occasional officer  (  more than occasional.  )  she didn’t go to soccer practices and she didn’t take lessons in ballet, she was a product of her environment  –  the bad, the good, but ultimately the violence benefited her in more ways than kicking a ball around ever could. she laughs, at the image of emma fighting anyone–as most did odette in her youth, scrawny and built like a pole–but it wasn’t so funny in the context it could be given, so she rises from her chair.  “  stand up,  ”  she orders, late-night dinner forgotten, and greasy hands wiped against jeans.  “  and make a fist.  ”

       there are only scrapbook snippets of his time spent at church, years and years ago. it’s uneventful, memories of relentlessly FIDGETING with the cuffs of too-tight sleeves and an abundance of stolen gazes in the midst of prayer to make sure he was reacting right. how to attend church is not taught in schools, and he had found it easier to learn how to ride a bike. ‘   except at christmas time. i’m pretty sure they sing carols then.   ’ he notes, although really it’s a guess, he just thinks it makes sense. ‘   huh. three hours ? maybe there’s something in the shed and she’s trying to WARN US.   ’ katherine’s subjected to his fictions time and time again, traits tacked onto her like pinning a tail on a donkey. today, she plays the role of ignored hero, who knows what tomorrow could bring. he tips the dregs of beer settled at the bottom of his empty glass, the drudgery of he bar infecting him with a short sigh, one that’s stifled before it can reach emma completely. ‘   if you do, teach me. i’ve always wanted to know how to crochet.   ’ he says, though the accompanying smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘   well this, as the kids say, is killing my vibe. i love us, but the fact that we’re the most INTERESTING people here right now is not a good sign.   ’