#stageset

action reactions // accepting // @stage-set sent . . . (SEND A SYMBOL FOR MY MUSE’S REACTION TO YOURS: ✗ bringing them alcohol. from the ten-eyed man, because he's got some of the GUUD stuff.. like absinthe... and doesn't mind sharing)

considering how many years eddie has spent drinking his liver away, he has developed a mighty tolerance toward it. so when his sparkling blue eyes caught sight of absinthe, he knows he has met his match.

❝ oh ! this is PERFECT ! ❞ he chimes, already scrambling for glasses to pour the alcoholic beverage into. ❝ this is DEFINITELY going to kill all & any stress i have ! ❞ perhaps some people might've been more wary when taking alcohol from someone like the ten - eyed man. but not riddler, never riddler.

Harry wasn't quite sure what their new pal could eat or should eat, so they thought steering clear of any sort of meat would be the smart option. Even if he could, they felt serving him any kind of beef would just be wrong. Instead, they opted for something quick and easy: a caprese salad and some chopped strawberries in sugar.

"Here we go!" They chirp, setting the dishes down and gently portioning them both out some. "I hope you enjoy this. I wasn't sure what you'd like, but I tried my best. We've got a yummy salad here and then some sweet berries here! Eat to your liking, okay?" She gives Asterion a loving pat on the head before sitting down at the table herself and beginning to stab at her salad.

she remembers it mostly. slightly. sometimes, it’s rough to remember after a few shots to the head. she’s got flashes, ended up in the wrong bar around the wrong throng of sleazebags, proved that she was clearly the most capable one in the room. she’d left a pocketful of cash on the bar and staggered out.

and here she is. but she was beginning to feel like any more steps were inevitable for unconsciousness. if she took another inch forward she would’ve dove headfirst into the snow. the cold bites around her. her eyes float up, exhausted and vague. she gestures with an open, visible flourish to her left ear.

“bad hearing. ask that again one more time so i can watch you talk. can’t really hear okay.”

she leans in patiently. scarlet clings in muddy patches to her brow, gone clayish brown, stuck from where it’s dripped to her scabbing temple. the right side of her face is deep mauve, a galaxy of cobalt exploding beneath her right eye. it’ll blacken in no time.

From: Serge de Diaghileff's Ballet Russe : with Adolf Bolm, Lydia Lopokova, Waslav Nijinsky, Flore Revalles and other famous dancers : three weeks in New York, a tour of America, October, 1916, to February, 1917. New York : Metropolitan Musical Bureau, 1916

some stuff i did while i was dead.