l'appel du vide

Tagged by: @sparkles-and-swords (big dumb nerd)

TAGGING: no one

TASTES: Well aged wine.  Sweat on the upper lip.  Swallowing smoke.  Decadent sweets.  Dark chocolate and ripe strawberries.  Vanilla ice cream.  Dark whiskey.  Ice clinging to the taste of the liquid it was cooling.  Sweet and sour candies.

SMELLS: A busy kitchen.  A lit hearth fireplace.  Artificial fire.  Spit on skin.  Shampoo lingering even after the hair has dried.  Vinegar.  Rubbing alcohol on a wound.  Fresh laundry.  Old books.  Hickory smoke.

SIGHTS: Big sweaters.  Hands clutching cups and mugs.  Tea leaves.  Bookshelves.  Tousled sheets.  Glasses still not worn.  Hands clutched tightly.  Thick coats of nail polish.  Bare feet in the grass.  Wide, open pastures under a stormy sky.  A flock of sheep.  Loose clothing draping over small frames.

OUTFITS: Warm hoodies.  Short skirts and dresses.  Outfits out of time; corsets, petticoats.  Pressed slacks.  Shined shoes.

SOUNDS: Fire crackling.  The turning of an old page.  Paper burning.  Stitches ripping.  Exhales caught in their throats on the way out.  Lightning crackling.  Energy humming ominously in the air.  An easy sigh.  Quiet, dark laughter.  Whispered words and secrets.

“Hm?” Anita glanced up, her snow gear making it impossible to get a good look at the stranger. “No! I’m fine! I’m tiptop!” She placed her hands on her hips, beaming in pride. No one needed to know she was lost, she was on an adventure so it was OK (at least until she has to get home because she has a curfew). “Are you lost?”

m-for-magic

 {   ❖   }  In no way, shape, or form, was it ideal conditions for a hit.  The sun was blaring (as the sun was like to do, since the bombs fell), there was a decent, strong breeze blowing all sorts of dust and rocks across Wraith’s field of sight, and to make matters worse, the mark hadn’t yet made an appearance.

 {   ❖   }  Wraith’s client had been so kind as to supply him with a note of where the target would go and when, leaving it up to him when to intercept and take the hit.  He had found an abandoned building with enough walls to hide in, but it was barely above the ground, and Wraith couldn’t get a clear shot without being seen from that distance.  When the mark wasn’t traveling he was in cities, towns, places with people.  Not only would a ghoul probably stick out among those smoothskins, but it would be impossible to get a shot in without being targeted himself.

 {   ❖   }  Unfortunately, he’d have to make due.  He watched the road carefully for his mark, glancing down every so often at the paper.  It told him that the target would be traveling with a ghoul, that the client didn’t care what happened to the ghoul.  It seemed likely that the ghoul would lose a friend, but at least Wraith would let him walk.

 {   ❖   }  It took hours for his target to finally make an appearance, and it almost felt like longer for him to get into an ideal position.  It was simply a matter of raising Wraith’s rifle, lining up the cross hairs, and f--

 {   ❖   }  ❝ Fuck!! ❞ 

{   ❖   }  It was cold.  Far too cold for Wraith to actually enjoy being outside, and far too cold, he thought, for children to be wandering out in the snow.  There were other people about, of course, but none of them seemed attached to the pink-haired girl beside him.  As willingly as he avoided any other person, Wraith had an unfortunate soft spot for children. 

 {   ❖   }  ❝ Listen, ❞ Wraith started, pronouncing the word with all the articulation of a man without a tongue.  ❝ This is my room, ❞ he continued.  His words slurred together like the way whiskey might slosh about in a moving mug.  He had obviously drank more than his fair share of those this evening.

❝ & you are now of my existence ❝ you’re part of that which still remains ❞ 

                                  ❝ & you’re lingering like fingered strings 

i’m going to make a promo for this blog and then i’m actually 

going

to

The silence was broken almost suddenly.  Typically, they sat quietly in the same room.  When Seth didn’t want to talk, Wraith wouldn’t force him.  Seth, hunched over his pay-as-you-go phone, curled over the armrest of a well-loved chair, and Wraith, usually with a book, sometimes with something else interesting.

Wraith couldn’t read when it was noisy, and he had gotten a lot of reading done recently.

The homunculus looked up from his book, trying to read the redhead’s face.  Seth’s expression was blank, as was the new norm, and that was worrying.

“Are you alright?” he pressed.  He didn’t mean physically.

Seth gave a small shrug, humming an ‘I’unno’.  His thumbs tapped more keys on his phone, before he gave an actual answer.  “It was too loud.  I forgot where I was.”