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@last1out
open;
[text; to all contacts and a few accidental numbers] yo. empty house. lots of funyuns. nice supply. who wants to party?
[text} kid, how did you get this number?
[text; unknown] who the hell is this?
[text] babe, if you don't know, i'm not sure i should tell you.
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"Ah, and here we are at last. I had wondered when you be about to call on meâŚI had thought it would be much sooner than this."
"Oh, Varys, Iâm just checking in. After all, thereâs not a lot you could do for me in your official capacity. But boy howdy, you and my sibling ought to compare notes. I think youâd probably get along like a house on fire."
And for all that men here call her the Stranger, her smile is familiar, and warm, like coming home.Â
He eyed the women curiously, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. At first glance, he had thought her one of his little birds, come to sing a new song to himâbut no. Though known to him, he could think of no name for her face, no instance in which they had met.
âSafe one, tucked away in the depths of his mind. Cold, shaken. Bleeding much more profusely than many of the fully grown men he had known, and would come to know. Pale, alone. Vision filling with inky black tendrils in the cold night air, the slums of Myr. He had seen her face then, even past the curling darkness of his vision. "N-n-nnâ" Not today.
"I seeâI am honored by your visit then, my lady. I must admit to some small embarrassment on my part; your face is known to me, but your name is lost."
She smiles, blacker than night ever was. And warmer. And so sharp.
"You can't lose what you never had, doll. You call me Stranger, here, but I know you're more familiar with me than most." She laughs a little, a curiously bright sound, welcoming. "Don't worry, though, this is just a social call."
open;
[text; to all contacts and a few accidental numbers] yo. empty house. lots of funyuns. nice supply. who wants to party?
[text} kid, how did you get this number?
[text; unknown] who the hell is this?
[text] babe, if you don't know, i don't think i ought to tell you.
An alleyway.
A body.
Her.
"Hello."
struggleforsainthood reblogged your post and added:
[text; unknown] who the hell is this?
[text; unknown] o sweetheart. if you don't know, i'm not sure that i should tell you.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The high desert, walking away from a place where vultures circle, prim under her umbrella.
"And what is someone like you doing in a place like this?"
open;
[text; to all contacts and a few accidental numbers] yo. empty house. lots of funyuns. nice supply. who wants to party?
[text} kid, how did you get this number?
((I've been away forever. Play with me if you like. No pressure, y'all.))
A bench in Millennium Park, Chicago, watching the glass towers and the fountains, idly feeding the pigeons with a stale bagel. She looks up at you, and smiles.
"Hey. There's room on this bench. Have a seat."
((I tried to sleep, really. I might manage it soon.))
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"So, typical Wednesday, then?" She smirked back, rolling her eyes, not unkindly. "You are one of the few people I know that would describe losing a limb as âso cool.â Never change, Wade. Never change."
He gave her a weird look and shook his head. âWho wouldnât think it was cool? I mean, unless youâre not into having to fish your arm out of a pile of monster intestines and all.â
She laughed, a clear, sweet sound. "In my experience? People really generally aren't into that. By a very wide margin."
((oh, to hell with it. I'm going to bed.))
"Ah, and here we are at last. I had wondered when you be about to call on meâŚI had thought it would be much sooner than this."
"Oh, Varys, I'm just checking in. After all, there's not a lot you could do for me in your official capacity. But boy howdy, you and my sibling ought to compare notes. I think you'd probably get along like a house on fire."
And for all that men here call her the Stranger, her smile is familiar, and warm, like coming home.Â
News flash honey, you can't die
"Then why should I value life?"
Because it's fun. And it's awesome. And there are things like blueberry pancakes and Disney movies and roller-coasters and coffee.
hangover || closed with notgoodenoughforodin
"Why..."
Well, really, why is this sun? For a start, it is too damn bright. Did she drop off somewhere close to a white dwarf? And for another, why is she regaining consciousness? She's pretty sure she hasn't actually slept since, well, since before Destruction took off, her schedule being what it is. (The once-every-hundred-years days don't count, not really.) But this feels a little less like 'waking up' so much as 'coming to.'
And why in all the hells does her head hurt so bad?
This is a bed.
She's in a bed.
She isn't alone in this bed.
Slowly, with great and terrible reluctance, she turns her head to the side-- and doesn't that hurt way more than it should?
And, really, of all the people this could have happened with, Loki? Really? There's worse people, maybe-- the Morningstar comes to mind, or maybe John Constantine-- but it's hard to think of many. It's hard to think, with this evil headache.
It's not actually possible for Death to be more pale than she already is. Instead she pulls the pillow over her head, making a little moaning noise, and finally manages:
"What. Happened?"
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send me a 'â' and I'll tell you something I like about you
open
 The air hangs heavy over the ground in Southeastern Virginia, the heat-haze laced with the rasping song of cicadas. Ash Tree Lane is one of those strange rural almost-suburbs where the neighbors are a good half-mile to a mile apart. And on the porch of 137 Ash Tree Lane, there sits a girl-- a woman-- well. Something resembling that, anyway, stark monochrome in this haze of green and gold, skin pale like bone, or perhaps milk, paler than the peeling once-white paint on the walls behind her. She's fiddling with the tuning on a ukulele, idly swaying the porch swing back and forth, a rhythm like the tides. There's a beer sweating on the end table beside her, and five more of a six-pack by her feet.
She looks up, at the sound of footsteps on gravel, and smiles a wide, warm smile. "Well, then. Fancy meeting you here."
