#sequine

Not, he wants to say. wary of anything past their cell doors, past the small hallway that's become their unending hell. ❝ Well I'm definitely not staying here with him. ❞ the resident warden asshole, he was almost jealous it was Laura who got to take him down with the sedative. but despite all their planning, HE NEVER ACTUALLY THOUGHT OF WHAT THEY'D DO NEXT — escape [obviously] but it was hard to forget everything officer dickface said in there, not to mention what they saw. . . what he felt. maybe he's worried what they'll find outside, secrets that lurk in this cursed, backwoods, horror show of a town. deep breath as he leads the way out into the main bullpen of the police station, his exhale nearly echoes in the wide, empty cavern of the building.

❝ Guess we should've figured that, right? ❞ pointedly nodding towards the still - quiet air. if this had been a bustling cop shop, someone else would have found them in their cells by now.

i. Looking around the nearest shelves, MAX TRIES TO FIND ANYTHING REMOTELY USEFUL. a sigh of relief as he tosses Laura a flashlight, slipping another into his belt loop. both useful, and a potential weapon -- perfect. given their luck as of late, he can only imagine what's waiting for them behind the next dark corner.

“  i know,  darling,  isn't it just?  ”     glinda's tone and expression reads as joyful.   all of oz is cheering for her,  for her and her good deeds and acts.   she wants to feel good about it,  like it's truly deserved.   because believe me,  it is very much deserved.   according to her.   she wants so badly to be oblivious to the happenings in the land and just enjoy it.   which has worked for the most part when it came to her rise to power.   but still she can feel some sort of nagging feeling that it's all wrong.   since elphaba had left,  she's had a witch shaped hole in her heart missing,  and the fact that she's still on the loose as the force would say,  makes glinda feel powerless despite it all.   she didn't want her throne to be built off of lies,  and taking her best friend down.   yet here's where she is.   she'd made this bed so now she had to lie in it,  simple as that.

a celebration through oz      for her.   the story of her braverism being told throughout the land.   she'd finally made it.   and with the help of morrible,  she was also now engaged.   things were finally falling into place for her.   THE BUBBLE TRANSPORT WAS JUST AN ADDED BONUS.   as she turns to look at fiyero,  a glimpse of false hope twinkling behind her eyes.     “  don't you think so?  ”

the air was thick with stink— sweat, rust, and something older. something feral. hatred simmering like broth on a forgotten stove. the bunks stood like rusted ribs, three tiers high, holding bodies in the shape of sleep. fists beneath pillows. eyes squeezed shut like that meant anything. and then— kore. upright. still. not sleeping. not pretending. a statue left uncovered in a room full of ghosts too scared to touch her. no blanket. no blinking. just watching. her gaze was the only thing moving. slow. precise. knife-sharp. she’d been silent long enough to make people forget she had a mouth. she was waiting. waiting for the line. the one that opened things. peeled them back. and dae-ho — poor, shivering, soft-centered dae-ho — he gave it to her like a gift wrapped in guilt. i can’t live with any more secrets, he said. like that was enough. like that meant something. no confession. just posturing. the kind of words people use when they want the knife without the cut. forgiveness without the bleeding. kore heard it and breathed in like it was smoke.

⋆˙⟡ @sequine, ‥ DAE-HO ⤑ prophesied: “        i can’t live with any more secrets.        ” / always accepting !

and then— she unfolded. a whisper of motion. the cot released her like it knew better than to hold. no sound but the suggestion of gravity. she didn’t glance. didn’t nod. the room shifted around her the way prey shifts when it smells the wind change. she moved. unhurried. across the floor like a tide that knows where every stone lives. kneeling by dae-ho’s bunk. a shadow, a thought, a face half-formed under the mattress. smile? maybe. maybe not. just the shimmer of teeth in a too-quiet room. “        then don’t,        ” she murmured. not soft. not cruel. just— a suggestion. like the ones gods make before storms. “        i like secrets,        ” she continued. tone: idle. casual. curious the way fire is curious about paper. “        little rot pockets. necessary. perfect. you never know what kind of fruit someone is until it splits open.        ” her eyes were lit now. with what? not mercy. “        you, dae-ho? you’re hiding fear.        ” a whisper. but it landed like a verdict. and the room tilted. the word lingered. hung in the stale air like something already dead. fear. sticky. honest. loud. “        not very well, either,        ” she said, and shrugged like it was helpful. and it was, in the way maps are helpful to the lost just before they drown. there was no disgust. no heat. just the clinical reverence of a child pulling wings off something that used to fly.

laughter, like a blade flicked open. no warning. no sheath. just the sound of something sharp catching light. kore. it cracked the air — match-to-strike, bone-to-flint — and the room blinked. twitched. a few heads turned, then snapped back with the discipline of prey. don’t stare. don’t get caught. don’t linger. but she didn’t flinch. kore never flinched. she wore attention like a second skin— tight, deliberate, chosen. she let it cling. “       you think i’m here to deliver the punchline?        ” voice like velvet caught on a nail. sing-song. crooked. almost sweet. almost. “        that’s cute.        ” the waiting room breathed through its teeth. low ceilings like a lid pressed on top of the world. sterile stink of plastic over panic. the lights above? too bright, too honest. they made fear shine in the folds of every face. nobody sat anymore. to sit was to risk sinking. to sit was to admit you’d forgotten how to run. except kore. kore sat like she was waiting for her drink to arrive. perched on the edge of the bench like the whole floor was lava. legs crossed. hands folded. bracelet dangling like a loose thread she wouldn’t pull— but you might.

⋆˙⟡ @sequine, ‥ SE-MI ⤑ prophesied: “        what’s the punchline? you’re here to deliver it, right?      ” / always accepting !

she tilted her head. a dancer mid-curtsy. a wolf mid-laugh. “        i think you want there to be a punchline.        ” she said it to se-mi, like a flirt, like a secret. “   because that’s easier than the alternative, right?        ” maybe this is a setup. a reveal. a twist, ta-da. ( fingers wiggled like a curse being cast by someone who didn’t believe in magic but wanted you to flinch anyway. ) no one laughed. not even the ones who wanted to. “        because if there’s no punchline,        ” softer now. leaning in like a confession with teeth, “        then maybe it’s just cruelty. just mess. ugly, pointless mess.        ” and her smile widened — not menacing, not kind — just a little too calm. the calm of a dollhouse that survived a fire. still standing. still smiling. but something’s wrong in the angles.

natalie / scatorccio — the rain comes in waves, like something unsettled. * LIKE SOMETHING LIKE US. the wind rattles tree branches high above their heads. the forest creaks and groans in its drenched state. even the wildlife has abandoned them -- & natalie doesn't blame them. fucking hell, if she, too, could run for the hills and never look back ... she would too. hand on the throttle. pedal to the metal. the towering evergreens but a blur in her vision. these months a memory quick to fade. but that's a dream for a child, she thinks. the summer grew arms and legs. the winter, teeth and nails. it's only emptied innards, gouged out hearts and bite marks for them now. NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THEM WILL ESCAPE UNSCATHED. least of all by the labyrinthine memory. and that's if they ever escape at all ... and she huffs the thought away, wiping the condensation of sweat and rain from her forehead with the back of her wrist.

" we're going in circles, travis— " calloused hands drop the rifle, letting it fall to the forest floor with a heavy thud. " that tree ... " she declares with the hoarseness of defeat caught in her throat. " i've seen it three fuckin' times & y'know how many times i saw it yesterday ? four. it doesn't matter what way we go. we keep ending up back here. " how long will it take for her to question why? and how much less time will it take for her to defiantly deny what rattles her in a place so deep in her core she doesn't even know what to call it? " we need to take a break before we lose our fucking minds. because that's what we're doing, isn't it? " her head bobs alongside her rhetoric. she isn't seeking an answer. just fire spitted between teeth.