#mistresscffear

which washington are we talking about because washington state and washington dc are very different climates

i mean you should be fine either way if you pack like regular t-shirts/sweatshirts/pants and a coat and umbrella and a pair of shorts JUST IN CASE ?? 

oh frick that’s right, it’s washington dc lmao

“----A CUP of coffee? A bribe?”  He nearly chuckles at that insinuation,  though perhaps holds more truth than what he makes it to be.  The two cups are set on the small table between them,  sliding wool coat off his shoulders and tucking it on the back of the empty chair before taking a seat.     “So, you’re saying Peet’s is enough to bribe you,  Becky.”  

“She stuck her head in the oven once.”  It’s out of nowhere, really.  He does this sometimes.  He picks up where they left off in a conversation they’ve never actually had before.  “Marla, I mean.”  Really, what other way is there to bring it up though?  Tommy only ever wants to talk about her when he’s in a mood.  Because it’s an uncomfortable topic.  But he has to talk about it to someone.  Has to talk to Becky about it at some point.  That’s just who they are to each other, isn’t it?  

“Did I ever tell you that before?”  

   “You know, I had this exquisite monologue planned, but you...”

    An October’s evening welcomes a dreary rain that showers the city and sends its inhabitants scuttling for cover in the safety of their homes. Those that do occupy the streets pass by under the protection of umbrellas and in their haste to escape the precipitation, their eyes gloss over the silhouette of a figure standing silently in the alleyway only partially protected from the rain but remaining perfectly still regardless. Through the holes of an expressionless white mask the figure watches the people passing by with disinterest. This has been a constant state of being for him.

    Ever since he’d taken the life of dear sister Laurie, the Myers bloodline has since run dry save for himself. Without any immediate family to concentrate himself in, Michael fosters now a lack of purpose. However, even without a target the insatiable dark desires remain, leaving him to dwell upon his old tricks. Dwell, lurk, stalk. It’s all the same. He always finds someone new to play with.

Rebecca Albright is, and will remain until the end of the Scarecrow’s days, the Mistress of Fear first and foremost because of the manner with which her careful, cruel words could eviscerate him as easily as a baby draws breath. Sometimes, it a good sort of gutting – feels the way pumpkins sound when you’re scraping the gorp out of the inside with a metal spoon, taking away pieces of the hard flesh by incident. Most of the time, however, this skeletal old man cannot decipher the ways she makes him feel. Good and bad are so intertwined within him, you see, that he can seldom tell the difference anymore.

That’s why she’s perfect for him. Poison that tastes sweet like vanilla and settles in the chambers of his heart to fester.

    “REBECCA ‘LIGHTYEARS AWAY FROM ALRIGHT’ ALBRIGHT, IS THAT YOU?!”

  She’s yelling. From the top of her lungs, she’s yelling and it’s everything she needs today.