Dec 5, 2024
@mctcrcity from this post got grótti by skáld
"until the ships sank down below, where the sea goes down into a maelstrom."
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@mctcrcity from this post got grótti by skáld
"until the ships sank down below, where the sea goes down into a maelstrom."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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"i'lI be here until i die. give me ten minutes, tops." @mctcrcity / fraggle rock
" That bad, is it? " —— and gods, could he be one that one familiar with these crowds could clock as trouble: some scruffy, scarred warrior, clearly not local: uncouth and poorly mannered, with a mouth on him that sounds like it comes straight out of the barracks.
But: he's just mostly tired, minding his own business, and keeping half an an eye on the rowdier patrons as he's on his second drink of the night. " They usually like this or somethin' got 'em wound up? "
incoming case . . . do you . . . believe in ghosts?
'dude, of course. that's, like . . . my whole thing,' well, not his whole thing. other monsters were involved, too. but he had to believe in ghosts. he's seen plenty of them to know that they were real. and plenty of them have thrown him haphazardly against the nearest wall to prove their existence to him. his back hurts just thinking about it, but he ignores the feeling as he gives his attention back to fallon. 'i kinda have an entire youtube channel about it. it's super cringe, but people seem t'like it, so,' finley shrugs a shoulder. 'i believe in all of it,' @mctcrcity.
his stomach's been grumbling for the better part of an hour and hueg don't do well running on empty. case-in-point : he pats his pockets for his wallet, or at least for some spare change – enough for a hot dog on the corner ( or three ). or maybe a pie. he hums, drowning out the gurgle in his tummy – and then he curses.
no wallet and maybe only a buck fifty in change. another hum, this one in discontent, as he scans the passersby on the sidewalk. a couple of minutes and a sleight of hand check later sees hugo with a hot dog in each hand as he turns and bumps right into the pocket he'd just picked.
@mctcrcity said : “you bastard.”
❝ me, bastard? ❞ hugo splutters, pointing to his chest. a scoff. he hasn't even done nothin’! like, barely. i mean, what's a couple'uh bucks outta someone else's pocket? he's gotta eat, don't he. and then he jabs a hot dog at her, ❝ you, asshole, pal. ❞ oh yeah, hueg, good comeback – that’s sure to simultaneously win her over and shake her off your tail.
[ 18 ] fallon discovers joey terrified of a small bug.
Shrill Miss Piggy voice: "Fallon!!! Don’t mess with it! That's how Spider-Man got got!" He's squatting in the big silver kitchen sink like an overwatered grow-a-boyfriend novelty gift.
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that was you, right? you did that?
zora figured that it was a matter of time before fallon had caught on to something genuinely unusual about them. there was the hint of light that was present within the planetarium, but there was some plausible deniability that could be waved off there.
this, not so much.
someone had been been genuinely agitating to z and fallon while they were out for a walk. it's only in passing this individual that z is able to lightly send a little jolt out enough to get the person to stumble back - sincerely surprised and disoriented by whatever he must have just felt.
z doesn't even really acknowledge what had happened until they got a few blocks away from the would be annoyance and fallon brings it up.
"ah. yeah. it's a little charge that i can uh.. do sometimes. i don't often do it because i have to be real subtle about it to get away with it casually. but it has its uses."
@mctcrcity
[x]
"real.. real. honestly. i've definitely had periods where adrift.. really is the best word to describe that feeling. is this something that's been going on with you for a while or a more recent phenomenon?"
" i'm not normal. not anymore. " @ joey
Joey has been sat watching the washer run for the last two and a half hours. Two full cycles. This is round three. Dmitri's dirty laundry could fill a car trunk. Would, if Joey had a car. He took the bus. Four basket hampers raw-dogging the germ congealed air of public transportation (the defiler here being Dmitri's soiled laundry, not the bus air, Joey's nose can attest). Dmitri is a chaotic planner. Leaves things like this to pile up–literally. Executive dysfunction is putting it mildly. Boss has the mind of a criminally insane convict who agrees to be his own legal counsel. That, but applied to life at large. God help them if they ever get caught. Explaining away the blood stains has been an experimental trial-and-error. Wrestler to bar fight to mortician to, eventually, Macbeth. Just 'Macbeth'. No one argues with Shakespeare. Mostly because no one knows what the fuck he's saying.
Joey watches the blood drain from the all whites load like cherry syrup from a slushie cup. That comparison isn't irrelevant. He thought of it load one. Walked a block down from the laundromat and bought a red slushie. The machine stirs just like his straw does as he's trying to get those last corn-syrupy sips.
"Hey. Me neither." Crackle-slurp. His shoulder bumps hers. "It all comes out in the wash. Right?"
Fallon seems like she could use a cheer up. Or a slushie. But he's fresh out of bills and Dmitri isn't paying him much. What he does have: "You know, they always ask 'who wears the pants in the relationship', but I gotta say, I think the more telling thing is the underwear. Get a load of these." He plucks freshly dried purple briefs more holes than cloth from the basket next to him. Eyebrow wiggle. "Eeeh?"