- “What does it LOOK LIKE I’m doing?” Fiery response to a turned back. Felicia was jamming a half crumpled blouse into a large, designer bag. “I’m leaving. You’ve got what - FOUR HUNDRED degrees and telepathy, and you couldn’t figure that out on your own?” Everything feels HOT. The room. Her skin. Her thoughts an angry flurry of unkind things. The ceiling feels like its shrinking. FUCK. She needed some fresh air. “I should’ve known you would do this. You ALWAYS do this.” Do what, Felicia? Try to help? The blonde stopped jamming things into her bag and had half a mind to swing it against the record player. Instead, the feline stilled, spine stiff. “I’m not something you can just fix, Charles.”
/ @genotypiic, plotted starter














