#blissflower

@blissflower​ SAID:    did you know that the bliss comes in liquid, powder and gas form? that while the flowers are enough to make you dizzy and see cougars and circling you where you stand, being anywhere close to breathing the powder that comes from them could make you lose your mind for a week?

that faith, without even meaning to, really, could accidentally brush your shoulder on the street and leave just a little bit of powder, a little residue, to make you see stars?

that faith, if she really meant to cause harm, could leave a small sachet in his pocket while she snuck by? just enough to help him with the come-down.

did you know? i bet you never would've!    ✠   send a MESSAGE?

He feels somebody touch him. Glancing backward, he catches a glimpse of a pretty girl disappearing into the crowded streets, and wonders if — or maybe hopes — it was her. The substance on his shoulder goes unnoticed, even as he breathes it in.

There’s a new weight in his pocket. Or perhaps he just wants a cigarette. He reaches in, feels something unfamiliar there, and furrows his brow. The sachet is pulled out, examined. Hawk knows enough about drugs to know that’s what this is, though he isn’t sure what it is. He quickly veers into the nearest alley, ducking behind a Whole Foods dumpster to get a better look at it. 

His first instinct is to test it, but suspicion quickly takes hold. This was planted on him. He doesn’t know the motive behind that. The sachet is put back into his pocket. This was that girl, he decides, apropos of absolutely nothing. It had to be. He turns back onto the main thoroughfare and runs in the direction he last saw her.

the bunker is dark. and... surprisingly quiet. bliss seems to flood in through each crack in the walls, and the ominous green glow funnels into each room behind the crates of supplies and faith's own kit. (hairbrushes. maps. there's a thin counter of what she has to assume is bliss itself, crushed and... yeah. fuck. this is bad.)

"i have to." (there's a bullet still lodged in the side of her thigh — or there was last time she checked. faith seems far too real this time, far too present for it to be just a mirage, and the further into the lion's maw abby gets, the worse she looks. the dress doesn't fit. sunken cheeks seem to take over each crack in her face, but — this could just be the bliss. fuck this stuff. all it does is chip away at the last remaining full part of her. i have to go i have to go i have to go i have to go.)

"you need to let me go, faith." it takes every ounce of strength to pull herself up from the cot in the corner, and when she tests her weight on the leg, it trembles slightly from under her.

faith tends to her angels like they're pets. along the fields, they work, tirelessly, hungrily. the sun is beginning to set, and there's a chill that warrants the smoking heat from the camp fire, but faith wanders, barefoot, but they heel to her. she is in control. (the bliss is a crazy fucking thing; abby wakes up in the mountains on the side of the road more often than not, groggy, head pounding and light.)

"they're already dead." it's factual, for the most part; the bliss has rotted their brains, and the cloudy not-there glare in their eyes is all that stares back. but faith doesn't want anyone to die — she wants them to work until their knuckles are shot, farm until the exhaustion balances out the blissed-out rage. they will make this world, whatever it entails, and faith will reap what they sow. (she's starting to get it a little more; faith is not a victim of the seeds, but the plant that binds them all together. the roots, coiling, all-encompassing. faith is as big a fucking problem as the father himself.)

the bliss is a haze; an unwanted hug. there's a pinpoint in the far-off distance she tries to focus on, but it sways in her eyesight and has the budding start of making her feel sick. (faith does this more often than not now — she counters destruction with bliss, tells her there's a place for her, strokes the side of her cheek and gently blows a smattering of bliss into each corner of her brain. they talk, one to one, about salvation and hope, remorse, guilt, overcoming the hurt you've caused and making amends. they talk, and for a moment, she listens. really listens.)

she's not sure that faith is ever there. two bare feet, a tattered dress that abby's not even sure fits her properly. (the closer she gets, two hands either side of her cheeks, and abby can see the way it hangs off her collars. faith is a jarring image of whatthefuckery and a nauseating spin of the goddamn horizon.)

"are you leaving? are you here?" this is what she doesn't understand; faith lets her go. every time she plucks her from one corner of the map and leads her to another, it pulls two days from her and she wakes up elsewhere. where the fuck are you, faith? (bunker, that one conscious crevice of her brain tells her. she's not here. she's in her bunker. the world is going to fucking end in all-out war. more heights, more guns, more ammo.)

"jesus, i'm losing my fucking mind." but she reaches, stupidly, like a tamed goddamn animal, to the mirage in front of her. she hears her giggle, hears her shhh and then —