kassandra,
we were born in the shadow
of the crimes of our fathers
This cheesebit doesn’t even make it to the ground. Oculos’ teeth are a flash of white in the dark. He is back on his haunches, spine coiled like a spring, but he could not jump when thinking about it. He could leap twice his body height in the air chasing butterflies or lunging at birds on the wing, but the moment he planned a start and end location, his vertical abilities stopped at the length of his back legs, and finished with his chest plopped on whatever he was trying to clear.
It was embarrassing, really, so he stayed on four paws.
“Well, it’s rats, isn’t it, that help the princesses. In the stories.” Kas’ voice falters halfway through, unsure if her memory is serving her correctly. “The unwanted princesses.” There’s a moment when she thinks maybe she is mixing up a fairy tale heroine with her own self, but there had been no rats in her ivory tower. Too high up, and the offerings were sparse. On hot days she was visited by flies, and once a nest of hornets sprung up beneath her windowsill. They buzzed between the silver bars with enviable freedom. The winter killed them, and they did not return the next year. “Anyhow, I quite enjoy them."
As if on cue, another one pops out of her satchel. Kassandra gasps with delight. “You have such delightful little eyes,” she tells the rodent, her own crossing a bit to focus in on the beady, red dots.
The stranger’s ears move a bit with her thinking as she mulls over taste and flavor; they remind Kassandra of beautiful aubergine sargassum, floating in the sea; she imagines them as gills, air moving over them to produce thoughts. They look fuzzy. She wonders how they feel.
Ever excitable, she rises a bit at the mention of honey. “I do like honey! Though, once I tried to harvest some using a smoldering campfire. It did not work.” She pauses, unabashed. “Also, they were wasps.”
(And I’m the embarrassing one,) Oculos snorts.
The stranger offers her a taste and Kas crowds in a little more, manners swallowed by curiosity. She took a gentle sniff and her nose wrinkled. It smelled like the bastard child of smoke and ozone.
(Do it,) Oculos jeered, grinning. (Coward.) Kassandra swatted him with her tail.
“It seems like it, but not really. Four years.” Four years of island traipsing and star watching and vision having. Compared to time stuck like a ship in a bottle, it was nothing at all.
It was embarrassing, really, so he stayed on four paws.
“Well, it’s rats, isn’t it, that help the princesses. In the stories.” Kas’ voice falters halfway through, unsure if her memory is serving her correctly. “The unwanted princesses.” There’s a moment when she thinks maybe she is mixing up a fairy tale heroine with her own self, but there had been no rats in her ivory tower. Too high up, and the offerings were sparse. On hot days she was visited by flies, and once a nest of hornets sprung up beneath her windowsill. They buzzed between the silver bars with enviable freedom. The winter killed them, and they did not return the next year. “Anyhow, I quite enjoy them."
As if on cue, another one pops out of her satchel. Kassandra gasps with delight. “You have such delightful little eyes,” she tells the rodent, her own crossing a bit to focus in on the beady, red dots.
The stranger’s ears move a bit with her thinking as she mulls over taste and flavor; they remind Kassandra of beautiful aubergine sargassum, floating in the sea; she imagines them as gills, air moving over them to produce thoughts. They look fuzzy. She wonders how they feel.
Ever excitable, she rises a bit at the mention of honey. “I do like honey! Though, once I tried to harvest some using a smoldering campfire. It did not work.” She pauses, unabashed. “Also, they were wasps.”
(And I’m the embarrassing one,) Oculos snorts.
The stranger offers her a taste and Kas crowds in a little more, manners swallowed by curiosity. She took a gentle sniff and her nose wrinkled. It smelled like the bastard child of smoke and ozone.
(Do it,) Oculos jeered, grinning. (Coward.) Kassandra swatted him with her tail.
“It seems like it, but not really. Four years.” Four years of island traipsing and star watching and vision having. Compared to time stuck like a ship in a bottle, it was nothing at all.
@Rivane | 424 | airheaded
