#astowsway

the world is askew on itself and she can’t seem to find her way through this tilted parody of earth. every step she takes is unsure, uncoordinated, and her whole body is on fire. from her cheeks, to her chest, to her arms. 

she had already stumbled more than once, simply attempting to walk down this straight hall. if she stumbles again, she is convinced she will injure herself--whether it be a limb or her own fragile pride. so she does what she thinks is safest. she plops herself against the wall, a half gone bottle of whiskey in her hands and cursing the identical appearances of the Promethean’s halls. perhaps she would be better off just sleeping where she sat. there was no hope of finding her bed in her state. but then her savior comes with in the form of her roomate.

“i’m so glad you found your way here,” came the greeting as the other woman entered the space. an invitation had been put forth, as proper etiquette dictated, and an invitation had been answered. mrs. winifred hastings invites the woman once known as katja sørenson to mid-morning tea and conversation in the wardroom. of course, tea was never just tea. on the grand table meant for officers and only the richest, winnie made sure the whiskey also sat, innocent and ready to be touched. 

“katja hardly seems to fit you now. what might i call you?” a question that might define or strangle, offered with a teacup set in a nearby spot. “or rather --- who do you choose to be today?”  

jonathan’s mother always spoke of luck as something tangible. it was what happened when the kindness someone gave to the world was returned; it was what led her to meet her husband, to have such wondrous children ( her words, certainly; not his own ). jonathan believed luck was something different: it was a series of coincidences, aligning in such a brilliant way that humans looked at it and felt nothing short of amazement. and today, it appeared, was his lucky day --- for who was standing in the common mess area but the very person he had tried, and failed, to reach out to for the past several days? the crowd seemed to part for them and them alone, and jonathan waved his arm, deciding to be bold in his move. 

♣fahra: katja lov, avoid having skirts raised ok? that was scary, i thought it was a ghost

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► fahra: mon coeur, you need to starting hiding these sex toys better, i don’t want to even imagine what i would say if the children accidentally found them. also, please tell ettienne to stop buying drones, i can see someone losing an eye. this someone being etienne.

fahra: WRONG CHAT, SORRY

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☺ fahra: do you want me to do your hair later this evening? your hair is so soft and silky

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They stare each other down, one apex predator leveling another. Katja has the slight upper hand, knife to her throat. But Violet can exact revenge just as quick, the tip of her dagger pressed where the other’s heart is. The silence drags on for minutes or hours or years. Until Katja breaks it. Despite the bad blood, I’ll have none of it on my carpet.

“I agree. Why kill each other when we can be unlikely allies? Neither one of us wants the suspicion. Perhaps a deal will benefit us both.” And yet, her blade stays and will stay until the one on her throat is removed. “On the count of three, we pull away.”