WIDOWER, MAY I?
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â written by mimz. ( PST, any pronouns, 22. )
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WIDOWER, MAY I?
about & connections.  bio.  full app.  playlist.  playlist (b-side).
â written by mimz. ( PST, any pronouns, 22. )

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zjlarkâ
âĄ
It was only a matter of time before the confines of EEL became insufficient for Lark, and the other more than likely restless members of the Odyssey gang. Sheâd grown accustomed to a life of constant movementâ a lifestyle that left little opportunity to be alone with oneâs thoughts. Needless to say, an entire week in Eel became practically unbearable. Thereâd been only so many people she could pickpocket without drawing too much attention to herselfâ and she was at the precipice of discovering such limits.
Never mind the fact that sheâd formally been banned from THE ATLANTIS, an unexpected occurrence that left her with significantly fewer ways to occupy herself as they awaited their next job. Theyâd settled on hanging out behind RAVENâS REST, a poorly rolled cigarette between her fingersâ muttering something unimportant beneath her breath.
She needs not to look up to know the person thatâs joined her. Perhaps sheâd grown accustomed to the pacing of their footstepsâ perhaps it had more to do with them being one of the few people who could approach her without a proper greeting. Regardlessâ sheâd recognized who it wasâ and his more than likely reasoning for being there. She exhales deeply, not bothering to disguise her already budding irritation. At least heâd spared her for the first week.
âIâll give some credit where itâs due. I know youâve just been itchinâ to get that off your chest,â Lark retorts, her words oozing with sarcasm. âIt mustâve taken a significant amount of discipline for you to not immediately tell me everything thatâs wrong with me.â Her words were a tad bit more sensitive than sheâd intended. It was true that this was WIDOWERâs way of being helpful, but that didnât make her hate proving him right any less. If theyâd approached her right after the robberyâ like she knew he truly wanted toâ she mightâve told him to fuck off immediately. But the week served to dull her obstinance significantly. âTrust me, I more than know that now,â they assure Widower between gritted teeth. Iâve always known that. âThe tips, Iâm may be willing to accept. Only maybe.â For now. Sheâd been too exhausted to put up a fight. âThe lecturing? Could do without.â She understands that this is perhaps his own convoluted way of showing he caresâ but it still annoyed Lark to no end. âYou would think we werenât damn near the same age with the way you like to scold me.â
She draws the cigarette to her lips before it burns out completely. âYou would benefit from sharpening up your bamboozling abilities. It would make you sound less like a crabby old person.âÂ
âź
Sometimes, engaging with Lark feels more like a bit than anything else. A two-man comedy act (or whatever) scripted by the Martyr (or whoever) and performed in perpetuity (or until one of them dies, at least).Â
Widower doesnât think Lark would appreciate being asked if she feels like she has any control over her life.
âYou make it sound like you did everything wrong,â they say instead. âYou didnât die on the train, at least.â It sounds mocking, but Widower means it as a genuine complimentânot everyone would have lived the train heist. Not everyone did, technically. It had been a genuinely difficult fight; even the more adept fighters of the group, Widower included, hadnât made it through unscathed.Â
At Larkâs assent, Widower nods. See? Theyâre learning how to communicate with her. They donât comment on the lecturing thing. That really wasnât a lecture. Still, the defense is reflexive: âWe ainât gonna stay near the same age if one of us dies.âÂ
With that charming rejoinder, Widower watches Lark smoke. Once again, thereâs a joke here: crabby geezer is probably better than the usual epithets attached to Widowerâs name. However, making this joke would imply that Widower both knows and dislikes the rumors that hound them, which is simply untrue. As entities neither tangible nor present, rumors were out of the realm of Widowerâs concerns. They shrug. âOatmeal thinks Iâm cool.âÂ
Robin Ekiss, from âThe Bones of August,â in The Mansion of Happiness
@oldhalo    FEB. 5TH, 2349       // on the outskirts of eel.
âSo,â Widower says, mild as the weather, âthat train, huh?â
Hereâs a fun fact: the heist had been Widowerâs first time on a train. (To them, the railway had always been closer to beast than machine. They heard a story, once, about how giant worms dragged their bodies across the ground, gorging canyons in their wake. Thereâs a metaphor there, maybe a hubris joke. Someone more loquacious probably wouldâve been able to tease it out.)
As far as theyâre concerned, the heist will also be Widowerâs last time on a train. They didnât particularly like how enclosed the space was, how it made the animal-sense in them go fight or flight! They particularly didnât like how the aforementioned enclosed space meant that fight was the only optionâthey could fight, yes, but they liked having options. The gang had been backed into a corner the entire heist; sure, it ended well enough, but it was a messy fight. Widower didnât do messy fights, as a general prerogative. âI didnât realize they moved so fast.â
Frankly, Widower isnât totally sure why they sought out Old Halo. Itâs partially curiosityâOld Halo wasnât one of the people entangled in the clusterfuck on the roof, and Widower wants to know what was going on in the other compartments of the trainâand maybe something like concern, for much the same reason. Camaraderie, if they let themself believe in the concept. They arenât about to introspect on the issue, however, and instead turn their full attention toward the advisor.
They break off a hunk of their fry bread, hold it out toward Old Halo. âYou, uh, kill anyone? Anyone kill you?â
You can only become invulnerable to all hurt by becoming a monster. â Michael Lipsey

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@zjlark     FEB. 13TH, 2349      // behind the ravenâs rest.
The gang has been laying low in Eel for what, a week? No, longer. Long enough to lick their wounds, certainly. Probably long enough to offload the cargo, though Widower wouldnât actually know; those tasks have always been left to brighter minds. Long enough for the four walls of the inn to start chafing around the edges, as Widowerâs always preferred the transience of camping.
Long enough for tongues to start wagging.
And, okay. Let it be known, first and foremost, that Widower is glad that Larkâs fine. It would be a real waste of talent to lose her like that. (Is that all?) Let it also be known that to this point, Widower has given Lark a wide berth. Theyâre empathetic like that. But Eel is only so big, and Widowerâs temperance only extends so far. Itâs fulfillment of inevitability that he catches them outside Ravenâs Rest and ambles on over.
âFollow-throughâs integral to shot stability,â he opens. Itâs brusque, sure, but if Lark is going to leave or cut him offâand Widower is fairly certain that Lark is going to leave or cut him offâbest the conversation be productive. âYou canât jerk the gun immediately after pulling the trigger. The bulletâll go flyinâ Martyr-knows-where.â Thatâs all he means to say, but he finds himself pressing on. Perhaps Widower is more affected by his restlessness than he thought. âYou canât always just bamboozle âem and hope for the best.â They tip their chin at Lark. Butter wouldnât melt in their mouth. âYou see what I mean now, yeah?â
houses and bodies they all rot the same
eastcfedenâ:
Offence by the switch from you could do it to maybe immediately springs up inside of Cain but because itâs the Widower heâs talking to, he wonât actually get all that mad about it. He just canât. âYou lot really gotta start giving me more credit. Mentioned this to Gull earlier, said Iâd better not die. I love grabbing the Reaper by the throat but, come on, thisââ he says, his hand flicking upwards,â this is nothing. This is childâs play. Not a maybe. Itâs a yes,â he concludes, very sure of himself. Rightly soâclimbing the Wheel is at the bottom of the dangerous things Iâve done in my lifetime list. Not a doubt in Cainâs mind that heâll be fine.
âWell, I can always climb twice. First for the bet, second time to enjoy it,â Cain suggestsâit probably makes him sound insane. Nobody wants to climb it once, let alone twice and nobody wants Cain specifically to do it, it seems. But he aims to displease so as stupid of an idea it may be, why not climb it twice. Get some exercise. âNow that youâve mentioned it, maybe I should climb it tomorrow morning, just before sunrise. Now that would make for a nice view, I guess.âÂ
âMoneyâs fine. The betâs just for fun,â Cain chuckles. Truth be told, he could bet a hundred, two hundred if he wanted to without batting an eye. He isnât kidding when he says that itâs for fun. Thatâs all that this is. âSo, am I right thinking that youâre not interested in the bet? Iâm climbing this thing either way.â
âź
Widower blinks, a slight quirk of the brow the only thing betraying their disbelief. Itâs not doubt as much as itâs . . . bafflement? Despite hearing Cainâs logic, the manâs motivation is a mystery. Once, they understand. But surely, thereâs only so much novelty in repetition?
( A flash of sense-memory Widower isnât quick enough to stopâthe owner of the general store in Poplar Grove kept a cat. It was an unpleasant, ornery thing, perpetually restless and only emboldened by the existence of concepts like âchastisementâ and âpunishmentâ and âdeath.â You can see its eyes when you look at Cain, canât you, Widower?
No, Widower canât. This isnât Poplar Grove and Cain isnât a cat. Perhaps a monkey, from the way heâs talking, but that town is a lifetime away. Out of mind, out of mind. )
âThatâs kinda stupid,â they say. âNot the climbing it three times thingââ though it is, to be fair, ââbut why would you do the money round before casing the joint?â Widower shakes their head, faux-chiding. âAinât you a professional?â Thereâs a joke about the train heist they could make here, Widower thinks. Maybe later.
To Cainâs last question, they shake their head. âNah,â they say, âIâm not a sucker.â They are a fool, though, so they continue: âIâll climb it with you, though.â They tilt their head at Cain. âJust for fun.â
eastcfedenâ:
at THE WHEEL / feb 4th / open
The thing looks like itâs about to fall apart and thatâs probably why Cain is so drawn to it. He takes it as a personal challenge, the fact that the wheelâs still standing and heâs definitely willing to see if it can do with a little shakeâthe view from up there must be something, right? His hand grips the bottom of the ladder and when he lets go of it, thereâs rust on his fingers, the brown residue melting into his skin. Cain reaches for the gloves he keeps in his back pocketâshould be easier to climb like thisâand then someone approaches him as he puts them on.
âGonna take it for a little spin,â he says as he looks up, eyes squintingâand the left one hurts from the blackeye the engineman gave him yesterday, now all dark and purple around his socketâhe canât really see the top from where heâs standing right now, just the insidesâmetal rods coming out of everywhere, paint peeling, rusty and noisy. It looks like itâs about to give out but Cain asked around and everyone said it shouldnât. One way to find out, isnât there?
The loud ticks and screeching sounds the structure makes only seem to attract Cain further. âWanna make a bet?â he suggests; if heâs about to do something so stupid, he should at least have some fun with it. âYou could time me. Twenty div I make it up and back down in less than ten.â
âź
Widower doesnât get the Wheel.
Theyâve read about the Old World and they understand that resource management then was a fundamentally different game than it is in the present. Still, the idea that people could waste tons of steel and kilowatts of power for something with no discernable purpose but . . . amusement(?) is a difficult concept for them to parse. As such, they avoid it. They brush their horse, add a healthy bonus to their haul playing five-finger fillet at the Silver Lining, and go about their business normally. They donât worry about the perplexing landmark at the edge of town. Really, they donât.
Widower approaches Cain, though, because Cain isnât perplexing. Worrying, maybe, but generally not perplexing. At the manâs explanation and subsequent offer, they give the structure an experimental kick. It croaks out a hollow protest, raining down flecks of paint in what is presumably admonishment. The tip of Widowerâs boot is smeared with rust.
âYou could do it,â they conclude, though they squint leerily at Cainâs black eye. âI think.â They glance at their boot. They knew someone who died painfully after getting rust in a woundâthough they also know someone who did the same and lived, so . . . âMaybe?â
Widowerâs next words arenât spoken; rather, they sort of escape involuntarily from their throat. âBut why go up just to come back down?â Ah, but there are no takebacks, are there? âI meanâIâm just sayinâ. Gotta be a helluva view up there, right?â They step closer to Cain, reach out a gloved hand, tug on a rung. âDunno if itâs twenty divâs worth, but,â they smirk, âyouâre not strapped for cash already, are you?â

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PABLO NERUDA x MARINA ABRAMOVIÄ
âOctober Fullnessâ from The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems (1979), edited by Mark Eisner;
Cleaning the Mirror #1 (1995), five-channel video installation with stacked monitors, with sound, 112â x 24.5â x 19â overall