#folkangel

         ‘ you changed your nest. ’ obvious a transition as it is from the last time their paths crossed, she has fun making like it requires skills of deduction to figure this out. (olive had been in town a while back, caught the lightning bolts by lucky, lucky chance.) ‘ it looks sharp. ’

Standing next to Edith isn’t exactly making Midge feel overdressed, but she definitely feels flashy and much too pink. That’s largely her dress’s fault – fuchsia is the colour of the summer, after all, and anyone who’s even heard of Edith knows her penchant for simple, neutral colours. Midge flattens out her skirt a little nervously. This is rare for her, but Edith Walls is a big name in the way Lenny Bruce is a big name, only Edith’s never bailed Midge out of prison or vice versa, so she can’t lean on that familiarity.

His suit is second-hand and a little ill-fitting on him; it didn’t seem like the right time for dress blues, anyway, considering Edith’s penchant towards anti-war sentiment. Snafu feels underdressed and out of place and doesn’t recognise anyone else here except her. He bought a bottle of wine because he thinks that’s what you’re supposed to do but he’s holding it low, hidden. It’s cheap.

Maybe he’s come into this too negatively. There’s a bare percentage of white people here and none of them are looking at him like they don’t know why he’s here. But it makes him feel better if he singles himself out.

game night sentence starters | accepting

Snafu does better where it’s warm.

The skin on the back of his neck is prickling in the cold. He has his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket – too thin for northern climes, but he doesn’t own anything thicker – and his shoulders hunched in where they’re usually pulled back. It makes him look smaller.

He looks at Edith sidelong. They’re walking side-by-side in a could-be-anything sort of way, and occasionally like the second hands on two imperfect clocks their legs will fall into rhythm, moving at the same time for a step or five before they fall out again. She looks more comfortable in this weather, but then it’s not unusual for her. Her bones have been growing this way her whole life; it makes sense.

Edith is talking about lamb shanks. Red wine and rosemary. He could eat.

     “Hostin’?” He inclines his chin a little. You host a party; you host a people, plural. He can’t imagine her inviting him because she thinks he’ll make a nice addition to the table. Maybe she wants him to bring Sledge, who’s bashful and complementary and actually appreciates her music in a way that Snafu can’t, because he can say nice things without sneering. Maybe she has thirty seats at her table and only twenty-nine guests and she wants things to be nice and even.

He whistles. “You really hit the bigtime, huh, Edie. Hostin’ dinners now.” The first time he met her she’d seemed pathetic in a way that he’d only known himself to be. It was a point of familiarity, of understanding. Now it’s like there’s a wedge between them, or more accurately like it’s been there all along, and it’s only now that he’s noticed it. It’d make his lips twist into a scowl if he wasn’t smirking at her. “Lamb shanks. Real fancy. Why you want me there, you need someone keepin’ you humble?”

maniac / accepting !

@folkangel

     there is nothing calculated about henry nichols beside the one thing: his effort to minimize his range of effect, to shrink himself smaller than he is. he is not one to want to come off as large or looming, to be the vision of something or someone that could cause another living being terror. and so, he sits across from edith, eyeing her warmly, and looking humorously drawn into himself.

     “    is that so ?    “   henry asks, and though the words would be rife with challenge on somebody else’s tongue, henry’s tone portrays it as nothing else other than gentle curiosity. he considers himself a man that is incredibly sheltered. much of his life and time has been dedicated to looking over his siblings. it leaves little room for soul searching or world traveling. when it’s edith walls telling him this, henry thinks he ought to believe it for the truth. when he shares a smile, it is very small. a very untimely crackling flame of a thing that fizzles out quickly.