#riteofrobin

[𝓢]he's completely different. In the place of his pearly whites lay her razor-sharp fangs made to cut through anything─ Flesh, SKIN, Bone. SHE COULD SWALLOW YOU WHOLE– with one big gulp.

❝ I do..? ❞ Don't be fooled. She knows exactly what she's doing, especially when she steps closer, & you feel a slight graze of her heeled wedges across your own ankles. SURE, THE JEANS SOFTEN THE BLOW, but you can still sense the danger. ❝ Remind me. ❞ Jennifer tilts her head, and though it is dim in the little corner they've found at a dying college party, she still manages to let the light hit her lips at the perfect angle─ a cherry-flavoured sheen shines bright. ❝ What do I feel like, hm? ❞

WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT? i have gone ahead and made a mess of things again. not that anyone is surprised, at this point. i feel as though the entire town expects it from me. my neighbors, co-workers, town council, etc. they tell me that my ideas are too far-fetched and unachievable. i’ve been told over and over to squash the hopes that i do have to make greater strides. what about you? do you think it’s better to water down my vision and conform? there are times that this place makes me feel as though i am a witch, ready to be burned at the stake if i step one foot out of line. my deepest apologies for the melancholia and confliction within this letter. typically, i would have such wondrous things to say to you! as of late, however, things have been rather gloomy around here. still yet! i look towards brighter days. i hope that you are doing well, @riteofrobin. i think of you and wish nothing but the best for you.

@riteofrobin's TIM:     "THEY WERE ONTO SOMETHING,   THOSE GREEKS."     [ACCEPTING]

          THEY SIT ON THE FLOOR WITH THEIR LEGS CROSSED BENEATH THEM,          tim leaning semi - comfortably against the wall of exposed brick while alice is leaned forward,   most of her weight resting on her arms stretched out in front of her.   a book lays open in between her hands with annotations scribbled besides the blocky paragraphs of epic texts,   notes as well as corrections of the translation from ancient greek alike.   it is not the only book between them,   of course,   all around them are tomes  &  scripts,   some opened  &  clearly read while others have been shoved aside  &  discarded.   add the number of stacked cups of empty tea  &  crumbs of lembas bread littering every other surface  &  one gets a sight so often spotted throughout the university of cambridge.   thus no one pays them any mind as they talk in quick,   hushed whispers.     "you yearn for this,   then?"     alice asks with a lilt of humor to her words.   her voice bright  &  amused if not maliciously so.   the secret is:     she thoroughly enjoys those small discussions with tim,   some more heated than others but nevertheless lacking the gravity of those led with other postdocs.   they do not carry the weight of future plans,   study goals,   dissertation results or the advantages  &  disadvantages of magic use in modern medicine———     they are lighthearted  &  god forbid,   fun.   an aspect they are all quite direly lacking in between papers to write  &  pentagrams to draw.   when she laughs then     (STILL HIDDEN BEHIND HER HAND LEST OTHERS MIGHT DARE TO TAKE THIS MOMENT FROM HER)     the chalk smudging her fingers leaves a couple of blots on her cheeks,   giving her a rather lopsided clown make up.   in her current state     (LACKING SLEEP  &  HIGH ON BLACK TEA'S CAFFEINE)     she certainly would have found this hilarious too.     "a dramatic  &  formative yet ultimately pointless voyage home to your wife?   only for still being confused with oedipus half the time?"

It was hard to hear him over the blaring alarms, the crack of gunfire, and the unmistakable sound of tactical boots hitting asphalt, but the words landed all the same.

JUST  A  KID.  couldn’t  be  much  older  than  eighteen,  maybe  nineteen  &  a  day.  even  under  moody  cast   of  night,  there’s  something  familiar  about  his  face.  GIVE  HER  A  MINUTE,  she’ll  place  it  to  a  name  when  the  street  stops  spinning.  actor  ?  maybe  a  model  …  ?                             “  you’re  one  of  the  wayne  boys,  right  ?  ”                      shoulder  presses  to  the  cool  relief  of  brick,  manicured  nails  digging  haplessly  through  bruised, battered,  &  beloved  bag.                       “  i  think  we  might  have  done  something  with  you  a  couple  months  back.  the  magazine  i’m  at,  i  mean.  or  maybe  your  brother  …  ?  ”                   she  flickers  on  her  lighter.  the  blaze  is  small,  a  little  pathetic  against  city  night,  but  enough  to  illuminate  what  dim  street  lights  do  not  —  the  faint  tilt  of  tipsy,  well  meaning  smile.                     “  does  your  dad  send  you  out  for  good  deeds  at  night  or  what.  ”