now freezing hands and bloodless veins,
as numb as i've become. i'm so tired
and i wish i was the moon tonight.
as numb as i've become. i'm so tired
and i wish i was the moon tonight.
Kassandra’s sleeping patterns had become irregular as birds on the wind: she had the instinct to go to bed (a bird had the notion to migrate south for winter) but when darkness fell she hesitated (waiting on the wire for the rest of them, unsure of when to make the big leap, the big trip) and she had napped, sporadically, throughout the day, searching for something that was no longer there (maybe it never was) and so when other households drew the curtains and doused the candles for bedtime, Kas swept her hair into something resembling brushed and headed out the door into the night. Oculos, himself tired and pulled taught like thin, glutenous dough, was on her heels, though he’d had about enough of this shit.
It wasn’t unusual to be out and about at night in Denocte. Night was, unsurprisingly, when the Night Markets were at their most populous. Denoctians, as a rule, thrived in the dark times of the day, when Caligo had wrapped the earth in her embrace and her stars were out to show the way. Their light, however, was almost completely masked by a sky choked with paper lanterns and strung lights, each glowing a different shade of yellow and orange. Some were painted with the logos or signs of the stores they lit; others had been meticulously carved, folded, and shaped by artists of papercraft. Going out to see the lanterns was a trip in and of itself.
It was a slow but dizzying spiral, this tepid, late summer street-pacing-- like a raccoon prowling on the heels of sleep. Like all of Denocte is a giant trashcan and Kas is reaching for something shiny with her greedy little claws. She’s lulled into some sense of fever, a blurry-eyed status quo of forward motion, someone else on autopilot in the driver’s seat.
It did end, of course, with her nearly crashing into someone.
She shifts harshly to the side before she can bodily shoulder into Aislinn. Shaking her bleary head, she fights down a yawn and looks up into the slender creature’s pale eyes.
“Apologies,” she says, under a sigh. “I was… distracted.” She pauses for a moment to take in the stranger’s countenance, concealed mostly under her hood. Still, there was a flash there, of something… strange. Like there was with all of them, it seemed.
“You are new to Denocte, yes?” Kassandra asked, cheeks rounding in a welcoming smile, like she knew some secret that lurked beneath the surface. It was a bit funny, to her; between Cicatrix’s faceless, leaking orifices and now this young fae’s shadowy, stardus ways, was anyone in their court normal? Or did all of the odd ducks get caught in the senseless swirl of things and, swept down the drain like a spider crawling helplessly at chipped porcelain, end up at the end of it all, here, in Denocte?
The imagery brings a dry chuckle to her lips. Her silver eyes fall closed and bedraggled, flint-colored bangs slip across her forehead. She looks tired. She is tired. Answering her own question, she says, “I am not surprised. You will fit right in, I’m sure of it.”
"Speech." @Aislinn | me? responding to an open thread when i have other things to do? more likely than u think.
It wasn’t unusual to be out and about at night in Denocte. Night was, unsurprisingly, when the Night Markets were at their most populous. Denoctians, as a rule, thrived in the dark times of the day, when Caligo had wrapped the earth in her embrace and her stars were out to show the way. Their light, however, was almost completely masked by a sky choked with paper lanterns and strung lights, each glowing a different shade of yellow and orange. Some were painted with the logos or signs of the stores they lit; others had been meticulously carved, folded, and shaped by artists of papercraft. Going out to see the lanterns was a trip in and of itself.
It was a slow but dizzying spiral, this tepid, late summer street-pacing-- like a raccoon prowling on the heels of sleep. Like all of Denocte is a giant trashcan and Kas is reaching for something shiny with her greedy little claws. She’s lulled into some sense of fever, a blurry-eyed status quo of forward motion, someone else on autopilot in the driver’s seat.
It did end, of course, with her nearly crashing into someone.
She shifts harshly to the side before she can bodily shoulder into Aislinn. Shaking her bleary head, she fights down a yawn and looks up into the slender creature’s pale eyes.
“Apologies,” she says, under a sigh. “I was… distracted.” She pauses for a moment to take in the stranger’s countenance, concealed mostly under her hood. Still, there was a flash there, of something… strange. Like there was with all of them, it seemed.
“You are new to Denocte, yes?” Kassandra asked, cheeks rounding in a welcoming smile, like she knew some secret that lurked beneath the surface. It was a bit funny, to her; between Cicatrix’s faceless, leaking orifices and now this young fae’s shadowy, stardus ways, was anyone in their court normal? Or did all of the odd ducks get caught in the senseless swirl of things and, swept down the drain like a spider crawling helplessly at chipped porcelain, end up at the end of it all, here, in Denocte?
The imagery brings a dry chuckle to her lips. Her silver eyes fall closed and bedraggled, flint-colored bangs slip across her forehead. She looks tired. She is tired. Answering her own question, she says, “I am not surprised. You will fit right in, I’m sure of it.”
