#hivebite

Pluto’s jaw juts out, shifting like a tectonic plate. When they move toward Khthonios, their shoulders churn, slow and wave-like. Their sheep are safe--miles away. This gives them comfort and the chance to be unreserved. Their gaze is as slick and sharp as two iced ponds, pupils open like two wine-dark fishing holes.

Pluto speaks softly, gravel-y, it makes their words sound like they’re rumbling:

They’re staring at her--close, very close--and they’re not stopping. It’s not an inviting stare. It’s an enveloping one. You could get claustrophobic under this stare. Dr. Barks doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath. Do you take commissions? The whole lungful of air spurts out through their nose. Do they know? How? And how much? And why haven’t they reported them?

She gives an exaggerated, pointed stare back as though to say this is what you look like.

     Romeo digs the pads of his pointer and middle finger into his own temple and stares across at his French counterpart. He counts the pulses that pound in his head, and closes one eye tightly, staring at it in a new vision that kind of dips and speckles with the migraine he has. He doesn’t really hear what it’s saying to him, but he quickly leans forward and seizes it by its elbow, tugging it close to him.

this is the fourth individual ernie’s had pass in front of the truck stop who has not only spoken french, but has registered on a similarly distorted wavelength. can’t place it, can’t place them, only knows something’s not right. surprise!

         ‘ toto, ’ he says to himself, rocking onto the balls of his feet so that he can clean a window smudge beyond his reach. ‘ i’ve a feeling we’re not in kansas anymore. ’