#split seams

Lunch with culture, which today is Split seams by Alias424. Also available to cultured readers as @alias424 on this very site.

Split seams starts with a mystery. Maura is ducking under crime tape and feels the slit of her skirt tear. That is mildly odd, but the mystery is that the skirt is whole. Later, her scrub pants start falling off and they keep doing it, or at least it feels like they are.

Clothes do not usually become possessed, and Maura - being logical - devises a test based on a theory that is very illogical. The results point in one predictable direction.

Her inner description of Jane is spot on “Jane is stubborn and so damn confusing that it would be easier to dissect a cadaver blindfolded than to get her to have an actual conversation—and Maura has had quite enough of the innuendo-laced wisecracks from that (oh-to-tempting) mouth.“ and she tries to start a serious conversation with the Queen of Evasion:

'Jane? A word.' 'Freckle.'

Jane bravely attempts to outwit and/or derail Maura from her line of questioning but it’s a fight she is ill equipped for. Outthinking the Boston scum is no problem but the resident genius is an apex predator mind-wise. The struggle is brief but highly amusing.

In contrast to yesterday’s meaty and solid lunch story this is very light and fluffy, like a very high-class pastry. I love it. The 4221 words fly by and Alias424 does her wonderful trick of writing one thing and demonstrating that what’s actually happening (or being said) is a bit deeper and more intense.

@greenmunchkiinn

It was late. With the sun set already beyond the of the city, the only light along the sidewalk came from the flickering lights above. It wasn’t unusual for Tim to find himself heading back to the Manor at such an hour, with unpredictable hours in his schedule, and used to being up all night on night watch, nothing was ever set in stone.

Stifling a yawn as he shifted his bag on his shoulder he hadn’t bothered to change out of the Armani suit he’d worn for the meeting he’d had that evening with a local Hospital about implementing Wayne tech into their new MRI department, knowing he’d probably just throw on his pajamas and sleep the minute he got home anyways, he wasn’t on duty that night - Dick and Damian had it covered.

Though as he rounded the corner that would bring him to the lot he had parked his motorcycle in, he paused, cerulean eyes settling on the figure of someone only a few paces ahead. They seemed young, almost too young to be out so late, but his gaze quickly focused on the reason for the other to stand in the middle of the sidewalk. What looked like grocery bags were held clutched in their hands, though the contents were spilled out at their feet where the plastic had split.

His conscience wouldn’t allow him not to help, bound to his sense of justice even out of the mask. He frowned, running a hand through his hair as he made his way to their side, giving them a small smile as he nodded down to the items at their feet.

I know of a number that never picks up

it rings like most do, but it never picks up

never… picks up.

I’ve called it so much that now,

even

the sound of the ringing seems tired.

Even that little anxiety causing

sound is becoming afraid of me,

putting it back to work.

I know that can’t be it…

I know that,

that thought is crazy, very crazy

because I’m the only thing it has.

I give it purpose,

for the other side

of the phone.

Though we’d probably be

better off,

without our desperation;

The foxes are out

they must be hungry for

neighborhood cats.

Winters a few months away

so they’re not hungry

I don’t want to murder it but, I want to find him a new home.

I don’t think he’s ready for life on the ground so I contemplate his existents