( open post )

[poetryslamming]

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x et cetera

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[reiterated]

[ Ring, ring, ring! ]

[poetryslamming]

[ She responds, violently. ]

Where the fuck have you been, you crazy motherfucker?!

[reiterated]

Oh, calm down, dear - I've been in my basement. [ Pause. Then, with a smile in his voice: ] Did you miss me?

[poetryslamming]

Do you know how hard it sucks going to In & Out when you're nowhere to be found? Do you know how hard it sucks going to In & Out every fucking day of the week only to find grinding, writhing male specimens. And. No. You. Old fart.

[reiterated]

Wha - oh, come on, you have better things to do. Damn it, Alexa, didn't anyone tell you?

[poetryslamming]

Most people aren't as by and large as you, Timm, they don't exactly talk to me. Aside from my tie, I'm not fuckable to them.

x starter

[reiterated]

[ He doesn't bother cleaning up anywhere, seeing as he preserves his energy for more important things - such as getting the water ready to boil, instant coffee and two ceramic cups on the small stool close to the bed, serving as table. There's beer in the mini-fridge and the sun's still up, so he doesn't turn on any lights, apart from the sharp, blue lamp, clamped onto the easel in the middle of the room.

The room itself - a single, non too big - is littered with paintings in all shapes and sizes, some finished, some blatantly abandoned. Those in the back are covered by plastic somewhat sloppily. He pulls out two plates, both a little chipped. Ah, well. It's that, or getting pizza sauce all over his pajama bottoms - a pair of lose, black pants. He's wearing a dark undershirt as well, mostly to cover things up. He just doesn't feel like throwing last week in her face.

When he hears footsteps outside the open basement door, he calls out, his voice sounding a little raspy. ]

Come in, dear!

[poetryslamming]

[ Besides the two pizzas (one pepperoni, one pepperoni and three other kinds of meat) she picked up at the good pizza place just on the outskirts of the Pigsty - Pizza Roma where Tony always insists on treating her like a lady, so shit if she hasn't gotten a Doner kebab to go with the rest for fucking free - Alexa has picked up a bouquet of flowers at one of the local supermarkets. They're roses, pretty plain, white, the petals holding a slightly see-through quality. She wonders whether they're wilting, if she's bought bad flowers, if he'll even care. Shit, do you even give men flowers? She knows she buys flowers for all her dates, rare and far-between as they are, but she dates girls. Shit, will he think she's getting funny ideas, for fuck's sake, she just thought he'd like something nice to look at...

Descending the small flight of stairs leading to his front door, she banishes the thought. He'll take her fucking flowers or laugh at her, she can deal with both, as long as he's really okay. Before she can raise her hand and knock, he's called out for her to enter and she does, pushes the door open with one shoulder, keeping both the plastic bag with their fastfood and the flowers in plain sight. ]

Better give me a bright smile now, I'm bringing you some presents.

[ When she catches sight of him, he looks like a fucking albino in all black. So pale. What the fuck's he been up to? ]

[reiterated]

[ He sets down the plates and turns towards her. Oh, but look at that - the smell of food, such a voluminous plastic bag - and... are those really...

For a second, he can only stare at her in wonder. She's brought him flowers? It certainly sounds like it, from her words and how she's holding out the roses towards him. He actually likes roses, more so than other flowers - they've got a classic sort of beauty and charm, something that reminds him a bit of her 50s technicolor movies. What a shame that he'll probably kill them within a few days but - fuck, he'll attempt to keep them alive for her. See if he doesn't! ]

Why, Alexa. I've never been quite so wooed which, come to think of it, is a rather tragic notion.

[ He crosses the distance to her, his gait normal though perhaps a tiny bit on the slow side - it's fine, it mostly doesn't hurt anymore and he's positively delighted to see her. To be reminded that this is what awaits him on the other side, in this limbo that is also his life. He reaches for the flowers first, looking around for something that might resemble a vase. Nothing immediately pops to mind but he's clever, he'll figure it out. ]

[poetryslamming]

[ He relieves her of the flowers which leaves her one arm free to wrestle the small backpack off her back that has held on to her papers and the laptop she never leaves without, because you actually can't know for sure when your apartment is gonna get robbed, as long as you live in the Pigsty. Better bring it with her everywhere so as not to lose shit. As he takes the roses, she makes sure not to look at him too directly, it's more of a glance underneath her bangs, while she tosses the backpack onto the nearby bed.

The food she holds on to for dear life. She hasn't eaten since yesterday morning. ]

Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm the biggest fucking sap. [ There's not a hint of self-deprecation to find in her voice. ] Cut me some slack, Timm, I haven't slept for three consecutive days.

[ While he figures out what to do with the roses, she follows her backpack's route towards the bed, hesitating at the edge of it while she looks around. There's not exactly a lot of light in the basement, the only real source being the lamp clamped to the easel, but it's not dark yet and they can eat in the shadows. They're creatures of the darkness as it is. Fuck it, she's missed not being a fucking misfit alone. Writing that poem to him while she thought he might just be dead was an eye-opener like nothing else. ]

[reiterated]

[ He ends up selecting one of his empty paint cans, currently filled with brushes in all sizes. Upending its contents onto the floor, brushes clattering noisily amidst the shadows, he brings it to the bathroom sink beyond the doorway in the back of the room - the toilet and shower's partially out-doors in what used to be an old shed. Luckily, he knows some guys with plumbing skills, doesn't he? Oh, so he does. He fills the can with water, running her words through his head again slowly.

No sleep... three days... He frowns. Walks back inside, sticking the roses into the can and leaving it on the floor next to his bed. ]

Bringing me gifts - in return for leaving you so worried. You odd girl. [ He doesn't bother shirking the issue. He knows. He should have known. ] Sit down, make yourself comfortable.

[ He gestures towards the bed. Goes to un-clamp the lamp from the easel, leaving it on the floor some feet away from the stool-turned-table. There. Such an inviting little set-up, ha! But for people like them, the frame's not truly so important and he knows she'll get it, even if this place is, by all possible comparisons, a rat hole. ]

x et cetera

[reiterated]

[ continued from here ]

[ It's been a terrible night, really. Johann was a god-awful lay, all that masculine bravado amounted to absolutely nothing when things finally (finally) got interesting. Meaning that Timm had to resort to half-arsed solutions, such as chatting up Mike when he chanced upon him in the darkroom. Mike, as it happens, takes forever to finish and that's why he's currently leaving the basements of In&Out, keeping a slight limp out of his gait by habit. People either step aside for him like he's royalty (or a leper - really - more like a leper) or ignore him. He likes both just fine right now.

He heads through the main room, the dance floor buzzing with a lustful sort of energy, the kind that permeates everything in this club once the clock passes midnight. As opposed to Cinderella and her pumpkin carriage, he thinks, smiling toothily at some guy (who shrinks back in response, looking quite frightened) in this world magic only evolves, the later it gets.

He looks out across the bar area, wondering if maybe she's chosen to... wait, no. There. By the... counter? His smile fades, just as Libby, a tiny man, currently dressed like Britney Spears in her early years of fame, leans in and whispers a quick, breathless story in his ear. He listens. Watches her. Feels his eyes grow wider right before his expression goes blank. Shrugging Libby off, he heads over to Alexa without a backward glance, sliding into place next to her easily, though his arse does sting somewhat at the movement. When he speaks, his voice is low. Quiet. ]

I'm terribly sorry, dear. Been left out here with the wolves for too long, hm?

[ He doesn't look too closely at her arm right away, though it's obvious that she's hurt. The thought alone makes him feel queasy in an all too familiar way. ]

[poetryslamming]

[ She doesn't hear him approaching, how the fuck was she supposed to? The music has only gone louder since Girard disappeared in the crowd, turned one with the shadows, it drowns out everything. The music.

Blindly, she's been staring at the glass of beer in front of her, her evidence, her fucking proof, writing a hundred different poems about it in her mind. The most recent one, the one Timm disturbs, starts with arm on my back, break me, break me, TRY and doesn't reach its end before he slides into place next to her, making her jump half a foot into the air. She strokes her upper arm a few more times while she settles back onto her stool, her ass feeling numb, but hey, his is probably worse off, if she knows him right.

She doesn't ask. She's just so fucking glad he's back.

The wolves, he calls them and they're predators alright, the men of In&Out. Down to how they only care about what can sate their appetites. Fucking assholes. Fuck them. Swallowing thickly, Alexa purses her lips and turns her head finally to look at Timm, a direct, hard kind of stare. It doesn't dilute. There's no water left, is there? She wasted it all on that ass-monkey. Pathetic, that's what it is. ]

Like they got anything on me. [ Her voice is harsh. It sounds void. She sounds like a hole, something eroded, something that's collapsed in on itself, even to her own ears. ] You might all be a bunch of queens, Timm, but I was a fucking queen first.

[reiterated]

[ It doesn't take a clever man to read her body language - the way she jumps at his presence, her harshness, empty save for whatever their token Jetset Politician has left her with. How unnecessary it all is. Politics and this sort of violence against Alexa, both. She, who's clearly already felt the darkness of the world. Unnecessary. He reaches for her glass and slides it closer to himself, though he doesn't drink from it immediately. Usually, he would.

Right now, he finds himself holding back. ]

You belong here more than he does. [ He leans in just a bit, a fraction, though he smells like sex and sweat still. Her poor olfactory senses will simply have to deal with the onslaught, won't they? ] I think we should go. Don't you?

[ Gaze slipping from her, gliding around the room slowly, he takes in all those horny queers, some kissing, some humping on the dance floor, others slipping away in the darkness, all of them driven by their dicks and nothing more. Feeling his own body respond, mostly as a painful twinge of sympathy, he suddenly feels the wrongness of it - of her, here, among all those men, consumed by this very basal craving because they don't have to care about anything else. Sighing, he leans away again. Repeats before she can answer: ]

I think we should.

[poetryslamming]

[ When he leans in, he stinks of dick and spunk and sweat and she should be grossed out, but Timm smelling like the sex he's obviously just had still feels more like home than all of In&Out does right now, so she doesn't lean back, she just sits there, clutching at her arm that's started to go numb. He thinks they should go. Well, won't you fucking look at that, she actually thinks so, too. ]

Yeah, whatever. Let's get lost.

[ She belongs, Timm says, more than the great minister Girard, although Girard is a man who sleeps with men and she's... yeah, that wishy-washy, in-between thing that it's taken her this long and probably longer yet to define. She doesn't even fuck men, isn't that what they're all here for? Like shit, she seems to belong exactly nowhere.

So Alexa gets to her feet, wincing at the way her wrist burns at the sudden onslaught of movement. She hasn't looked at it more closely - or, more like she hasn't looked at it at all, but it sure feels like a whole myriad of bruises are eating away at her usual paleness and wouldn't that just be grand, more proof, more fucking evidence. Can she gather enough of those motherfuckers to get him a ticket, if not a night in jail?

Yeah, dream on. When did a male politician ever break his stride over a girl's testimony? Shitty kind of world they're living in. She mumbles something unintelligible even to herself under her breath and turns her back on Timm, beginning to undo her cuffs to lessen the tightness around her hand.

Shit, it's beginning to swell up. Isn't that just fucking dandy, isn't that fucking cute? ]

[reiterated]

[ She gets up, he gets up, it's all in sync and he's thinking about where to take her, maybe go for a late-night cup of something that he probably can't afford... Then, she starts fiddling with her sleeve cuff, and he can't help looking at the skin underneath, her slight wrist positively painted in bruises. Gods, some people really do get away with anything, don't they? Because he'll get away with this. He'll get away with hurting her, it's as obvious now as it'll be in the morning. He shuts his eyes for a moment.

They always get away with it, really.

Taking a quick, decisive breath, he nods towards the door and sets off quickly. She'll probably have to hurry to keep up but all things considered, it shouldn't bother her too much. Getting the hell out of here ASAP, yes? He's left her beer glass on the counter after all, knowing without knowing that it's undrinkable, at least in the figurative sense. And for people like them, artists, sometimes what's figurative matters more than the rest. He walks past a few familiar-looking faces on the way, all of whom he ignores, and seconds later, he's finally breathing the fresh air outside. He breathes in great gulps of it, realising only now how much he actually reeks. Well. He's always been a man of contrasts.

When he's certain she'll hear him, he speaks. ]

Can I see?

[ She'll know what he means. ]

x picture prompts for Mel

[poetryslamming]

[flyingpig]

[ Mel hadn't been travelling for long and but it hadn't been hard for her to uproot her entire life. It hadn't been a bad one, all things considered, but adventure called her name and she chased it with glee. Unlike her gloomy best friend Rex, Mel liked to throw herself into the locations their work took them to. His role as the chosen one to save the world might be some big burden to him, but Mel takes it all as an excuse to enjoy herself. Sometimes she can convince him to come with her when she samples the local culture, usually, she can't. It's okay. That's who he is. She, on the other hand, is an unabashed ray of sunshine and others of a less than friendly disposition are often drawn into her warmth. It's how she made friends easily with Alexa and got invited on a night out.

She doesn't worry for a second about the fact a young girl with legs like trees and arms like pythons might not look pretty as a peach in a lovely pink cocktail dress, hair down for once. The fact she's almost certainly the most dangerous person at least fifty miles couldn't be less obvious with the way she gleefully runs (in heels, nonetheless) to pick Alexa up by the hips and hold her high to greet her when they meet. Who'd guess her adorable little handbag (it's not pink, it's flamingo!) has armaments enough to prove just how dangerous concealed within?

She might have misunderstood exactly the sort of scene Alexa enjoys but does Mel is the sort of person who can have fun anywhere, anytime. ]

Hello, stranger! You're looking good!

[ Sure, she might say that to anyone anytime no matter how they're looking. Doesn't matter. Look at that smile, with the single overgrown tooth slipping past her lip, try to say she doesn't mean it. ]

[poetryslamming]

[ They have agreed to meet in front of Alexa's regular hang out, so that's where Alexa has positioned herself. Far enough away from the entrance that she has a good view of who enters and who leaves, but still close enough to hear the faint notes of jazz hanging heavily, warmly, fucking smoke-like in the air. She's clad in a pair of aesthetically torn jeans, a loose T-shirt (bright baby blue) and her newest purchase, a real leather jacket that cost her parents a small fortune, but who is she to care what she wastes their money on, huh? Standing with her hands shoved into her pockets, she is about to fish out her smokes when Mel appears out of fucking nowhere and tackles her, hugging her so her bones creak. Alexa curses under her breath, but allows it, because she can't really do anything else and besides, Mel is looking so completely adorable in pink notes that contrast how she's shaped her physique. Made herself strong and stronger and stronger yet. Fuck, if Alexa doesn't find it admirable. All of it. She was always a sucker for a girl in pink, yeah?

Fixing herself up a bit after Mel has released her, running a hand quickly through her hair and tugging at her jacket to make it fall in the right folds around her form, Alexa looks up at the other woman and huffs out a laugh. Mel obviously means her compliment and although Alexa honestly doesn't look much different from her everyday get-up, she'll take a compliment where she can get it. God knows, the girls around here aren't too fond of her and wouldn't pay her one even if they were paid to. ]

Nah, you're the pretty one between us right now.

[ And she might not look very sincere with her scowl and her slumping shoulders, but she means every word like it were an oath. Alexa turns her head and glances over at the entrance to the club where a couple of girls she's only slept with once (or twice) glance sideways at Mel skeptically. Bitches. Her hands curl into fists. Ignoring them, though, she turns her attention back to Mel and half-smiles. ]

You better not mind jazz, they're gonna play nothing else until midnight.

[flyingpig]

[ The compliment has Mel break into her usual snorting fit, her hands on her cheeks immediately. The simpler, sweety sort of kind words get to her like that- being called, cute or pretty. She knows she's got a pretty face and if she hadn't devoted her life to becoming the second strongest person to walk the Earth (in her mind that would always be her dear deceased Master Arany), she'd probably have a figure similar to her mother and sisters (i.e hourglass). None of it bothers her. She knows she's adorable and anyone who talks to her for more than five minutes will agree.

It's just nice to hear. She gives one of her wide shrugs. ]

Why's only one of us gotta be pretty?

[ Mel isn't a genius except when it comes to cracking skulls, but Alexa's moment of quickly suppressed anger just from seeing some girls doesn't go unnoticed. It's curious, to her. She can't hold a grudge for more than a hot minute. Didn't seem like it was pleasant so she just didn't do it, in that impossibly straightforward way she had. She doesn't make a thing of it and moves on. ]

Can you dance to it? That's all that matters when it comes to music.

[ As if Alexa doesn't know what dancing is, Mel does a five-second softshoe shuffle preview right there. She's Slavic. She'll dance in the street all she wants. ]

x overflow for heartfate

[poetryslamming]

You've got it? Fuck my life.

[heartfate]

Better than being in the boys clutches. You'll get it, with your coke, don't worry.

[poetryslamming]

The day anything of mine ends up in the clutches of any fucking boys, I'm gonna shoot off some dicks. Fair warning.

[heartfate]

While they don't exactly need their dicks to be in my gang, they need to at least walk to do work so how about no.

[poetryslamming]

They stay out of my way, they keep their dicks.