hephaestus' hammer, it rings through daybreak [bette; day 5]
Dec 1, 2018 11:49:56 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Dec 1, 2018 11:49:56 GMT -5
BETTE SUBLINO
On and on we go
Always with the ghosts of us in tow
Stuck somewhere between a friend and foe
Round and round we go
{ filler }
> After all is said and done, after they leave Wander standing, still standing, always standing in her mind's eye, they trek inland - past the bubbling pools that glisten with the sunrise. Past the pool of blood where Fiona Zachariah had her last breath, towards safety where the fog grows thin.
> they patch Eve up, the silence growing heavy. Wander was the one who always found the right words to say in the quiet, whether it be gentle humming or absentminded noises. Two boats passing by in the night
> Bette takes off the remnants of her helmet, dashes it against the rocks with a ticket. You want to reimburse something, Glamour Kinkade? Vepar Azazel? Reimburse this, assholes. She unscrews the jar of bat blood, it hasn't been washed out enough so the smell is god-awful, but there's enough stuck to the sides of the jar for her to at least write something on the back of the ticket: Vehicle. Four seats.
> The next time she looks, it's gone, replaced with a box as large as Eve. She opens it: bits of wood strewn every which way, a crisp, white manual that's both minimalist and unintelligible, diagrams that have shapes that don't exist.
> There's nails though, screws, a toolkit. It's fine. They want to make her work for it? Fair, but also fuck off with mocking her?
Oh, round and round again
Looking for a life beyond the end
Lost somewhere between a foe and friend
Round and round again
Ghost, by Lianne La Havas
Always with the ghosts of us in tow
Stuck somewhere between a friend and foe
Round and round we go
{ filler }
> After all is said and done, after they leave Wander standing, still standing, always standing in her mind's eye, they trek inland - past the bubbling pools that glisten with the sunrise. Past the pool of blood where Fiona Zachariah had her last breath, towards safety where the fog grows thin.
> they patch Eve up, the silence growing heavy. Wander was the one who always found the right words to say in the quiet, whether it be gentle humming or absentminded noises. Two boats passing by in the night
> Bette takes off the remnants of her helmet, dashes it against the rocks with a ticket. You want to reimburse something, Glamour Kinkade? Vepar Azazel? Reimburse this, assholes. She unscrews the jar of bat blood, it hasn't been washed out enough so the smell is god-awful, but there's enough stuck to the sides of the jar for her to at least write something on the back of the ticket: Vehicle. Four seats.
> The next time she looks, it's gone, replaced with a box as large as Eve. She opens it: bits of wood strewn every which way, a crisp, white manual that's both minimalist and unintelligible, diagrams that have shapes that don't exist.
> There's nails though, screws, a toolkit. It's fine. They want to make her work for it? Fair, but also fuck off with mocking her?
Oh, round and round again
Looking for a life beyond the end
Lost somewhere between a foe and friend
Round and round again
Ghost, by Lianne La Havas
