#he sorta

𝐀𝐍 𝐔𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐒 was paying the fetts a visit. gone was the california sunshine, replaced by frustrated coils of dark white and steel blue. with the circular barrier of the archipelago broken, the muertes’ weather was free to roam the pacific. but with freedom came loss. in search of a familiar face, aerial torrents searched for a familiar face. who better than the family who called the deadly gems home for decades.

      the clouds’ rumbles shook the windows as their tears played a rhythm on the glass meant for nublar. if only her remains were not beyond their reach at the bottom of the costa rican sea.

      jango spared the swirling temper a cursory glance as he opened a matte cabinet. inside were three shelves full of mugs. the corner of his mouth twitched as he regarded the absurd collection. in truth, jango never felt old looking in the mirror, but when he stood at the mercy of various sizes, shapes, colors, and vacation destinations, he felt his age creep on his shoulders.

      he selected a vessel. baby pink on the inside with a creamy white exterior. the handle curved like a swan’s neck, painted to match the interior. the end of a mermaid’s tail flared playfully where the handle met the bottom of the cup. seafoam green waves frozen mid-splash surrounded the flippers, gradient ripples painted around it blended the miniature sculpt into the rest of the body.

      there were other sirens at play on the body proper. chasing dolphins, lounging on rocks in a lagoon, teasing pirates by stealing their treasure, carrying the glittering trinkets down, down, down where air-breathing men couldn’t reach. it’d been ailyn’s favorite for spiced hot cocoa before she decided she was too old for mermaids.

      memories of his first granddaughter with her cup that she needed both hands to wield replayed behind a slip of a smile as he ladeled the contents of a stock pot into seashell-colored well.

i felt something loosen in me that shouldn't have loosened . — @nodunkiing / dark & angsty

      jango placed the cup in front of the girl seated at the small table that served as a cozy rendezvous inside the kitchen. steam wafted off chunks of jammy guayaba floating atop the golden liquid. he returned to the cabinet to select another to serve himself with much less ceremony.

      ❝ i wish there was a way to tighten it back up, miss holloway, but it's a scar. ❞ jango joined her at the table, taking a sip of the thin, syrupy drink. bits of fruit bouncing against his upper lip. outside, the rain swelled to an aggravated prestissimo. ❝ at first, you aware of it. the change. rough, textured. it’s all you think about. but give it time, and it settles. then one day, you won’t remember what life was like before it. ❞

      it wasn’t fair. holloway was just one of a growing slew of kids affected by ingen and their hubris. chiefest among them was his own son. alive thanks to the company’s ingenious indiscretion, yet robbed of childhood free of bloodshed. his boy knew how to hold a gun before he ever learned to spell his own name.

      golden tea sluiced the dry taste on the back of his tongue. a knot roughly descended from where it was lodged in his throat. jango told himself it was a clump of seeds despite its bitter similarity to guilt.