#purses lips

Dexter eyed a corner of the ceiling over the slanted rim of his wine glass, one that'd previously been home to a spider's web before an errant shoe ripped every thread undone. The world simmered around him like a pan on low heat. He was in a strange, morose kind of mood, the sort that often had him angling his wine bottle for a refill only to discover sparse drops. Sonny was just unfortunate enough to enter the room at the right time to hear a slurp so pronounced, anyone would think Dexter was cupping forth a bowl of delicious, piping soup; but no, just more wine, red as a rushing vein. "Sonny," he said the name like he was swallowing a chunk of apple, convoluted and half-consumed. Shifting slightly, legs kicked up onto a dilapidated, makeshift table, he tilted his head from under a thin napkin inexplicably draped across the top of his spiked tufts, scrunching one eye and scrutinising Sonny with the other. His wine glass kept dangerously leaning sideways within his grasp. It was 2 P.M. on a Wednesday. "Ever think 'bout, like... fuckin', impermanence, y'know?" It was easy, sometimes, to bounce thoughts off the black borders of Sonny's brain like a Microsoft screensaver, to know he wouldn't receive a shred of coddling, just cold, hard truth. Dexter respected the way his brain worked. "Like, shit that's jus'... Oop," he noted rather casually as a drop of wine spilled, seeping into the fabric of his pinstripe trousers in delayed time. Dexter stared at it, a moment, stomached the sudden image of a bloody school uniform, then lifted his head, trying to remember his train of thought. Gone. You ever think about shit that's gone? "Yeah, just... What was, er..." trailed off, taking another sip like it'd help. "Fuck. Dunno... Slithered off, somewhere. Eel-like, the fucker. You... Y'want some wine?"

Lana wasn't entirely sure where she'd been for the past twelve hours. Everything had been compacted together like a diamond inside her head, light refracting off of the world in a thousand different rainbow strands, and the edges of her periphery winked with each shard of kaleidoscope whenever she hastened to blink. She was drunk. High, maybe. Both. Neither. Hadn't slept. There was still dirt crusted onto her knees, palms, her lifelines turned a mucky shade of brown. It left a faint, ugly handprint on Jude's trailer door when she slapped against it, once, twice, trying to create a bang loud enough to distract her from the faint chirps of police radios, the lights still flashing from Dylan's cornered off trailer across the park. Whenever anyone tried to reason with her, pin her butterfly wings against the corkboard of reality, she snagged another tear and wonkily fluttered free. Soon she wouldn't be able to fly at all. "Hi," she greeted, all breezy and artificial, as soon as Jude opened the door. Didn't wait for an answer. Pushed her way inside, accidentally clunked a bottle of whiskey against a countertop, didn't even notice the noise. It was the brand Danny liked, Jensen as well. Strange, how their mouths had always tasted the same; fitting, too. "I wanna play Scrabble. Do you, um --," Lana pawed a hair from her cheek, fingertip blurring her red mouth at one border, a tiny little smudge, some half-finished X to mark the treasure on a pirate's map. "Do you have Scrabble? Come on, hop -- hop to it, make like a -- like a bunny, 'cause I -- I wanna play Scrabble."

someone: loves me