"You know...that is not the brain of the fungus." He murmurs, slow but sure, matter-of-factly. His foot gently taps on the tip of the shroom poking through the forest floor, the man being ever so careful not to destroy the dear thing.

"That only produces spores. Purely for reproductive measures." Spindly fingers point at the ground beneath their feat, carving out a path with a twist of his wrist. "Underneath...there are channels. Filaments—" It had scoured Victor's brain for this information, for these words that were not its own. "in order to communicate with one another...and to connect to even the trees and the brush that grows...throughout the entire forest."

He could be an intellectual. Or perhaps just a strange man with a very specific interest. Either way, he seems very at home here, under the canopy, in the damp earth.

"What do you think they talk about?" He knows all too well what the talk about. "What do you think they share?" Spores are nearly microscopic. They're in the air now. Hundreds of them. Blowing with every gentle breeze.

💖 DEPENDS ON THE VIBES! 💖

Still Accepting!

𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎

Squints. "I asked for constructive criticism, not to hear about your downstairs problems, hm."

Also, she's offended that he calls it a costume— it's lingerie and it's worth more than his trailer and his life. "I'm not wasting Coco de Mer on you. You're just going to have to use your imagination, hm."

The next words out of his mouth do make her so called nice face contort into a scowl. "I'm not a fucking SUV mom, you horse-lipped piece of shit. I've endeared myself to you because I don't actually associate with pathetic, mouth-breathing wet wipes to get a little bit of help and I get lip? From you? A man who looks like something an ass would spit up before keeling over dead? You? You think you have any right to—"

Send 🌨 for our muses to get trapped in a snowstorm together. // @wornclean

Yeah, it's a shitty motel and Elijah didn't pay her to come help him clean it. Hell, Elijah hadn't paid her to do anything at all. All he'd done is known the weather forecast and recognized someone like himself-- though maybe a little more down on her luck since she'd been staying in her car and he'd had enough to buy a room.

He'd invited her to stay, two beds in the room, nothing shady, and for good or for worse, she'd agreed.

When he wakes up, Elijah feels the chill in the air. The old furnace system the motel had was still rattling away, it was just struggling to keep up. Alongside that, he could hear the wind just howling outside. The window was too frosted to see out of, so he goes to the door to open it and take a peek to see what the outside world looks like.

He's met with white.

White that falls inward, dousing his shoes in cold, frosty wetness and makes him jerk back in surprise.