#event:002

Think sprinkle is an understatement

Like you'd fully know.

Distain was the forefront of Melissa Lin’s expression as pursed lips accompined with an arched brow took in the scene before her, a hum under her breath as she chuckles lightly, although not humurous, instead dripping with the clear hatred for those that she was currently around. The French; her nose wrinkles as she sees a few of the more well known. Of course, it was always fun to see those she called family and friends get to watch the demise of their common enemy. 

But this was not what she’d prepared for, and this didn’t look good; especially for their leader to walk away as the losing man. She was a sore loser, it was a fact.

For god sake Johnathon, she thought as she shook her head, straightening the bottom of her jacket. Maybe if they’d trained her, she could have gone in --- she was vicious but clever, that was the difference that made Melissa Lin the woman that she was. It wasn’t always about being aggressive, it was about outsmarting their opponents, looking for the weak spots and exploting them as much as they could. 

The best thing about human nature was that there was always something they cared for, Melissa had learnt that early on. It was why she was so cold and calculated; because it fitted best for her to rise in the areas she wanted, a woman usually had to work harder to climb a ladder that could often be so fickle. 

‘‘Where is Johnathon?’‘ She grumbles, now complete disinterest had taken over her, looking down at her nails. ‘‘I don’t care what kind of shape he is in, I need to see him and I want to discuss what the hell just happened in that ring...’‘ Her voice trailed off, waving her hand half heartedly in the air. 

‘‘We better not lose again tonight-’‘ She mutters to herself.

Fingertips grazed one treat, then another, trying to find the perfect stocking stuffer for Springsteen. In all honesty, the large dog would eat almost anything Sage offered him - including tissues accidentally left on a tabletop. So to place so much effort into choosing between chicken and gravy flavored or sweet potato seemed to be a moot point, but besides her sister who was brave enough to accompany her on this task, Springsteen was all she really had and she always went out of her way to spoil him rotten. Finally, she sighed and picked up both oversized dog biscuits before moving onto the bagged treats, the scarf wrapped around her neck paired with the winter coat she donned causing an uncomfortable warmth to build around her body and while a few minutes ago she found comfort in the heated reprieve of the booth, she now found herself longing for the winter chill just outside. “Thanks for tagging along tonight, Ash,” Sage began, turning to glance at her sister before eyeing the dog treats again. “I know I haven’t been around much. Between my shifts at the bar and Christmas shopping... things have been chaotic, to say the least. And I think I’m coming down with something? I don’t know, it’s probably just allergies. You know how they like to show up at the most inconvenient times.” She let out a soft laugh and shook her head, picking up a bag of barley treats before handing them to the employee at the makeshift counter-table. 

CHAPTER II: CONCLUSION

DATE/TIME: 09/12 AM 5:05 LOCATION: Houndstitch Church

He is among the many who watch as faith burns this hour before dawn, yet another callous outsider indifferent to the brilliance of the flame and the aftermath it might bring forth, here for one thing and one thing alone: a good show. What other reason can there be for waking so early? To bear witness to disaster? No. To enjoy the dramatics of an unfolding downfall that will ask nothing of the present spectators except their rapt attention.

How many more skeletons will be added to the mausoleum under the city by day’s end—the one with an unknowable family name carved into cracking marble, impossibly old and clumsy in how syllables sit on the tongue—where the roots of a forest long since made skeletal are reaching through the ceiling and walls. Not enough, that much he knows for certain even without counting empty coffins. 

it will never be enough to fill the void left behind from being left behind. how quickly they all abandoned what once was for the promise of a newer, shinier tomorrow.

tell me, do the dead still ache?

Sirens wail, distant still but closing in steady, the final layer to a symphony-in-composition, and he takes his cue to melt back into the shadows, a feat made laughably easy by the demons dancing on hallowed hollowed grounds. There’s someone he needs to see.

“Come on, what is taking them so long to move?”

Patience is a virtue they say, and virtue is a grace. Unfortunately, he’s always been a graceless thing crawling, so waiting has never come easy, especially when it matters most. Time at the Dollhouse, learning to sneak out and about behind security’s turned back, has taught him better in two years than nineteen years of existence had prior to his fall, but it remains a struggle to ignore that itch urging him to run.

“They were supposed to change shifts a minute ago, why aren’t they clearing out?“ he shifts where they’re hiding, tucked into the corner behind a large potted fern. It’s a bulky piece of plain ceramic that looks like it’s barely containing the greenery over-spilling from the top, and easily big enough to conceal two small figures looking to avoid notice. “I swear if they don’t start—oh! Finally!”

The little side-street that the Dollhouse back door opens up into stands blissfully empty—only for a few seconds at most, just until the next guard makes his way over, but it is a window of opportunity he won’t let slip. Grabbing Klara by the hand, he practically yanks her down the stairs and around the corner.

“Let’s go!”

There is a familiarity to these twisted alleyways they race through that he doesn’t want to think about, a reality following too closely on the heels of that revelation: Under is slowly becoming his new home. He hasn’t given up on the surface world yet.