#awibstarter

“You really thought those shoes went with that top?” She tilted her head to the side trying to get a better look. There wasn’t judgement in her voice, merely curiosity. 

Liam tried to hold in a laugh, watching the drunken patron spill his beer, lips shut tight against the noise. “Man-- some people are just unlucky.”

                                  ❛  i don’t have the slightest CLUE what i’m doing here.....  ❜

Early evening thunderstorms weren’t enough to put a dent in Felicia’s plans. More to the point, they weren’t enough to keep her from getting any sleep. She always slept better during thunderstorms. It was unfortunate that she wasn’t exactly heading to bed at this hour.  Warm rain had long since soaked into her clothes, drenching her hair and dampening her curls. She had been exploring New Orleans proper for several hours already and had only just made it back to Bourbon Street where she hoped to find a bar where she could drink a little whiskey and dry off.  It seemed like the only one open was one called “The Claw.” Hoping beyond hope that the air conditioning wasn’t set to freezing, she stepped through the doors and took a seat at the bar.  “Whiskey and Coke. Bushmills, if you have it, thanks.” She spoke softly, an old habit from Boston and Chicago. She liked to listen to people talk, see what kind of supernatural weirdness was at hand and whether or not she could be of service killing it. Outside of her own ulterior motives for being in New Orleans, Felicia wanted to make a little cash while she was here, just in case things didn’t pan out the way she expected them to.

                                      ❛  ———— you look like SHIT.  ❜

      times of TRAGEDY inevitably bring one of two things: the best, or the worst in you. it’s in the midst of chaos, black & white morals dissolve into colors; & hers? god, how they burn feverishly, BLAZING. red-hot, spirit-scorching flames theaten to engulf her whole, that shield of  ( f i r e ) meant not for war but protection, those red roses that bloom inside cracked rib cages have grown wild, untamed; thorns now dig into ivory flesh, it stings but you won’t hear her cries. so search beyond these GATES & dig through the vines, put your bruised knuckles & calloused fingers to work & you’ll find--- the light, it radiates from her core bright as a beacon. “ i wish there was MORE i could do to help. ” lithe fingers squeeze her bandaged wrist, dark hues corrupting alabaster complexion; COMPASSION’S battle wound. honeyed gaze clouded with festering worry, digits search for comfort in the familiarity of ebony fur & purring of her faithful companion.