#fshbnz

deathless sentence starters.

@fshbnz whispered :   Men die. It’s practically what they’re for.

"DID YOUR FATHER TELL YOU THAT?" I loved my own father once, she might have said. But it is as you say: MEN DIE. There was no point hoarding that which was no longer hers. She raises the topic of the child's father to educate. And, to her mind, all lessons learned well and all lessons worth learning hurt for the act. YOUR PRECIOUS FATHER WILL DIE AND ROT, AND AFTER THAT YOU'LL SOON LEARN THERE IS NOT A MAN ALIVE WHO IS WORTH HIS OWN LIFE. " MEN ARE WOLVES and they will eat you raw if you do not eat them first. "         SHE IS INTRUSIVELY OBSESSED. Her safety is relative to a manthing, her rage is relevant to their disrespect, her pleasure to their suffering. THIS IS GOOD ADVICE CHILD : LEVIED TO YOU ON BEHALF OF THE ONE EYED MAN. Her large hand taps the underside of Jinx's chin, tilting their face up to look at her humongous head, her large eyes.

“ Hm ? “

Peering towards other as a flourish brings spear to rest , Shenhe offers uncertain tilt of head , paired with doubtful narrowing of eyes . Only a fool would call the display pretty , strewn corpses lining space between the two , as if form of path to follow . A path to further destruction , one she assumes most would run from .

Instead , they stand . Stare . How irritating .

“ A fate you , too , will meet if you come any closer . “ Sincere or bluff , even she has not yet decided : temper may be building , but for now , it is managed . “ I do not need your help . “

@fshbnz​ said:  ❛ -- What would'a do if I just went... ❜ doesn't a picking motion, imaginative feathers. ❛ .... pluck, pluck, pluck? ❜   (  unprompted.  )

     The last time she’d dealt with humans trying to steal her feathers, she’d been much younger and more naïve. An idealist on her own for the first time, believing fully that she could change the world with just words and fool’s hope. A bit of her late father’s influence, she supposes.

     The world had taught her otherwise very fast. That, and the fact that apparently her peoples’ feathers fetch a high price on black markets. Magical essence, and apparently they make pretty decorations for the clothes of rich folk in overseas nations.

     Xayah snaps a hand out, catching Jinx by the wrist, clawed fingers digging into her skin. Her gold eyes meet Jinx’s pink ones, and she holds the stare as hard as she can. Then her gaze flicks down to the hand, and back up.

@fshbnz​   //   Pokes at 'VI' tattoo, continues to do so until acknlowedged.

jinx’s nails are sharp and dig into vi’s skin with every poke, which makes it hard to ignore. she reaches up and takes jinx’s wrist, not really holding it away from her face but just holding it as she meets jinx’s eyes.

@fshbnz

“fuck. you.” vi spits. her body trembles.

vi has stopped straining. she can undo handcuffs in a heartbeat—you learn things during your black years—but jinx knows how to tie a knot too far from vi’s hands. the wind whistles overhead, but inside there is a hollow sound, the flickering of candles and the whistling of silco’s breath and the scrape of the chair as caitlyn squirms against her bonds and the cruel tap, tap of jinx’s shoes.

with her shimmer-haze eyes and the charcoal of her veins stretching down her cheeks, jinx looks nothing like powder. powder had baby fat, soft sharp eyes, a smile that didn’t split her face in two. jinx is uncanny, unworldly now, inhabiting her body in a way that vi has never seen her. she looks desolate. 

@fshbnz​ liked for a starter.

"i shouldn't have left," vi is murmuring against her sibling's hair. one hand presses powder closer, as though to let go by a fraction of an inch would be to lose them again, and completely. and vi needs powder to know that she's real. "everything i heard about the lanes—about shimmer—about silco—from that fucking cell, i kept holding out that i'd hear your name."

all around the sky is still blue, acrid with the smell of the flare. it smells like home, like chases in the dark and jaunts topside and back and small bodies huddling close during a miserable winter. but all these things are memories, all these things are dead, and powder—jinx, as some would call her—is so real a wrong word could break them. and they'd called vi back.