#gilda.

gilda's originally from mississippi, but she tells folks she's from new orleans, where she lived for ten years after escaping slavery as a teenager. the home soil sewed in her clothes for protection (vampire thing) is from there. her accent, though, is more mississippi than new orleans. she never hides it, instead she has modernized it as time goes by.

murdock's from east texas, "tyler adjacent." although he's the man of a thousand voices, his natural southern twang is rather thick, especially if he's around other southerners. or watched a bunch of westerns lately—he says he never misses a tv western. probably religiously watched the first eight seasons of dallas.

she doesn't turn around to see whoever entered the dressing room—could be any of the women she sings with, or a hairdresser. her eyes catch them in the mirror, though, and she's startled to see a not wholly familiar face.

she's caught him mid-dinner. her brows arch, passively entertained.

with the slightest of a louisiana drawl, “ hey, there, “ her voice comes from above xeno. she thought about speaking through their minds, but knew that would scare the young man. it made her uncomfortable, too. she always preferred speaking like real people do, anyway. (she does delight in the secret conversations her and anthony are allowed to have. but he’s like her, and neither of them are fully human. not anymore. they haven’t been for centuries.) 

she settles down across from him, her eyes and smile loose. anthony and sorel are around here somewhere. she searches out for them, and finds them both in animated chatter with julian. already planning for some fantastical excursion to some faraway destination. exactly how she wanted it to be. opening night had been a success, and so had her joining julian to her family. 

a tree grows in brooklyn.

as if cued, anthony arrives with the bottle for refills. he's large, imposing, dark hair neat and slick with pomade. his skin smells like aftershave and cologne. he tops their drinks off, and takes away their empty plates. sorel once told her anthony served every meal as if it were the last supper. it's endearing.

gilda watches him, affectionate, before turning to edith.

the hungry tide.

"oh, but i do." her smile's a little lax, a little hazed around the edges. comfortable, not concerned with any act. "you used your handsome wiles to get this for me. oughta show my appreciation."

it isn't often she gets one over anthony. she hasn't felt him in her head for a couple days. she could keep this secret away from him until they reunited. she imagines the reverance in his broad palms when he receives the poetry volume, knowing it came from her and a friend thoughtfully considering him.

his old words come to her then, spoken to her over a hundred years since. one takes on others as family and continually reshapes that meaning. but you do not break blood ties. we may not wish to live together at all times, but we will always be with each other. seon has been good to them. she wonders if he would like to be one of theirs. there would still be the loyalty to the one who made him, but she is almost childishly hopeful in wishing it.

worlds intersecting always thrilled her.