#ivar 002

"Tiger boy," she nods as her shoulders, caped with ivy and vines that's a little too real to have come from some pop-up costume shop, "You've found your way to me, but our fuzzy little son's not here." a pout.

She doesn't stop dancing, nor does the man behind her, laying his filthy hands clasped across her belly. He sups on her neck with a scruffy chin and pursed lips. In an hour he won't know his own name. By sunup he'll be dirt, withered and sapped dry; she's decided this already.''

"No carnival on Halloween?" She asks as if she's practiced with the holiday, as if she's lived a few dozen of them in her life.