#suhspiria

❝   oh, okay. ice-cold. got it. ouch.   ❞ dramatics flair, with a hand to her chest and a minuscule scrunch of her nose. look at her eyes and see she isn't really hurt at all. if she pokes the bear and it bites back.. at least it does something. this lone sense of purgatory is agonizing. * that's what this is, isn't it? lauralee would know, but it isn't like she can ask her. all she has is shauna shipman and jackie might be scathing right down to the hollowness of her bones but at least she has somebody. in the cold dark end it isn't so bad to have your best friend. but hasn't she suffered enough? (they've all suffered!) this can't be some form of divine ruination. it's a sick joke is what it is, dying in the damn snow alone. can't even die peacefully out here. what a sham! ❝   that's low even for your standards, shauna. besides— if i'm just a ghost who can't talk, why are you answering me?   ❞ jackie shrugs loosely as if to say: that sounds more like a you a problem. ❝   i guess it's the least you can do, though, since y'know, i'm only here for you.   ❞ lifting her eyes, she meets shauna's with a dissolving stare. ❝   or because of you. semantics or whatever.   ❞

❝   do you ever go home?   ❞ olivia quips, leaning in the threshold of saren's office, one hip propped against the doorway. there's a soft twine to her lips. her words drip in subtle mirth, if only because of their irony. when was the last time she really went home? even in the comfort of her own house, she hasn't learned how to shed the skin of lieutenant benson. it's a lesson in grace. in her hands, she holds two coffees. while she hoped saren would've called it quits for the night there was a part of her that knew hadn't. they'd always been cut from the same cloth. ❝   figured you could use one of these. and to get the hell out of this office.   ❞ it's not even night anymore. the sun is beginning to shine in tiny pockets through the clouds. time had a habit of slipping away.

she isn't the one with the power here though. at least not any kind of power that makes up for anything in these walls. it's what makes tess slide into one of the chairs, kick a leg up and only press it against her other knee instead of right across the table top. this was a mutually beneficial transaction. she's gotta show some respect. ❝   you went outta your way to set up this meeting. now you're askin' me crap like this— must be real good.   ❞ tries to remove the breathe of anticipation from her words. never letting anyone see you sweat is one thing, but you can't let 'em know they've got you too roped in either. it's a fine line. let your toes hang over too much and you're a goner. oh, she's always been a sucker for toying it.

❝   that so, eh?   ❞ her brows lift with a single nod of her head. betting on a losing horse was never a good way to go into anything but bea doesn't say that. she's learned all too well that goodness in here isn't an asset. not for her. it was just a key to corrupt her. maybe she should've hid it from herself better. ❝   gonna tell me what changed your mind or just gonna leave a woman guessing?   ❞

“ detective — ” apology dies on lips before it can leave, phone screen dying to dimness as it falls to side, stepping after chloe. he hates to leave, realizes the work they do is important — important to her, & therefore, important to him. but more pressing issues beckon, & he cannot leave it to wait. it burns, knowing someone is tampering with that which he considers his: hell's kingdom abandoned, heaven's gates closed.

there are few things about earth that make her stay here more bearable — liquor, the sex & violence humans love, the promise that they'll go back to hell eventually, & lucifer's doctor, linda. she leans onto elbows, knees spread a little, tilting her head. watching linda in contemplation, almost fascination, hands loosely twined together.

eleanor looks over at the door, having just heard it open and then close. she sees her sister there, and a sad smile comes over her. ❝ i wasn't sure if you'd actually come. ❞