#e003

the vintage silver mask, threaded through curls and tied with a navy ribbon, glints under the delicate light of the castle, reflecting a dull blue light off its surface. the cornflowers and cobalts of the waistcoat tie in to the rest of the outfit, dancing in a way that is the antithesis of the person wearing it. it is to be a night of glamour and disguise...you hope that this will be enough to hide in plain sight.

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éponine had the chance to wash off her face and wake herself up a bit more before meeting the stranger and allowing him to lead her to his preferred spot. it was always nerve wracking to meet new people in this way. most of the men she saw had returned time and time again, but something about this one seemed off. ever since she had begun her lessons with charles, all she could think about was how happy learning made her. it was like she was earning her worth, and she found herself distracting herself during sex by thinking about each letter of the alphabet or something of the sort to pass the time. 

he led her to a dark room which she assumed was his flat, and rough hands spared no time in grabbing her and forcing her clothes off. it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to, and éponine learned that the sooner the better with these things.

he’d all but tore off her coat when something switched in him and a hand went straight to her throat as he slammed her on the wall. it didn’t hurt her too terribly at the time and she knew some men preferred it rough so she just stayed quiet though the worry was obvious in her eyes. his grip tightened though, and there were no other signs of him wanting to pleasure himself with her. eyes widened and she could only think to knee the man which gave her enough time to get out of his grasp but not enough time to escape. 

now angered, the way he grabbed her again made it clear that she was in trouble. the struggle lasted about five minutes but it felt like hours given the injuries he inflicted. her saving grace was the candle she burned him with, and though blood spilled from several deep cuts while her fractured bones and upcoming bruises made it hard to breath, she pushed herself to run. 

There was a soft murmur of bustle throughout the bar. Of course the bar would be popular in Sanctuary — who when faced with the end of the world wouldn’t seek out cotton for the ears, a blindfold for the brain, anything to numb the pounding noise of everything loud and ferocious? There were drunk women clinging to the necks of drunker men, friends sharing lager, and Charlene, sitting in the dark. And what was she doing? Trying to forget?

Charlene could try, but no degree of penance could erase the images from the run. Bodies stacked like cordwood stained her retinae: men with emaciated limbs propped against little skeletons wearing dirty baseball hats. And the flies? Everywhere. Charlene sipped the farmers’ moonshine slowly, letting the clear liquid burn her throat and diffuse into her gut. It was stupid. She wiped her mouth with her wrist. Everything about it was so goddamn stupid. 

The alcohol had long taken effect, and such was evident in the slow realization of a presence behind her. She heard them clear their throat, could practically feel them shifting their weight from one foot to the other. Her gaze dropped to her drink — her second of the night and nearly drained. "You can sit,” she slurred darkly, “I was just leaving.” 

“I need Love Potion Ingredients, help please?”

MBMBAM Episode 03

post-event :: the veneration.

Milo is not a religious man.

It isn't the call of a higher power that finds him tracing an abnormal path up to the chapel of Blue Ivy. It isn't the hope of guidance that draws him to the rack of votive candles near the wall, and it isn't his faith in an omnipotent god that compels him to light the wick.

Milo Foss is not a religious man. He is, however, an educated one.