mama bore a girl with a gun for a mouth
Permission and encouragement were all she needed to invoke another state of vengeful reenactment. “So I’ve heard,” and the Honeybee granted another vicious grin in return. “See, that might be a fun thing to have as a shift.” Besides the usual dragons and monsters and flying things, all delightful sure, but renowned to headbutting people off mountains? Where was the downside?
The humor waxed and waned on the interim of deaths though – a quieter edge to both women who’d seen a flash of a dagger and the spark of lightning as something more than everyday nuances. Her own eyes darted back to ripples and constellations, listening quietly as Flora’s voice softened and the understanding passed between them. While the Hot Take had always seemingly fluffed issues away, Melita could fathom deep down it wasn’t that way at all – just another sentiment to let the harsher outlooks pass over. At least, that’s how she’d done it. Anger first, upheaval and sedition, and then weeks and months and years to gaze inward in the trauma – if she ever dared at all. “And there probably isn’t a good way to move past it either. I tried ignoring it for a bit,” wilted on a shrug. “But then last season was thunder screams and shit all the time.” Much like going into the Greatwood, just to drift in amongst the eaves, must’ve been something cantankerous and loathsome on the fringes of Flora’s sight. “Maybe people find it easier to just think everything’s okay and fine, because they don’t know how to address it either.” How to help. What to do. Everyone could go on pretending.
Magic was certainly easier, in her experience anyway. Unaware of the inferences between, she could only stick to what Flora granted, still managing a grin in the furtive edges. Until, of course, things added up. “Wait – wait a second,” abandoning the creative aspects of future elements, as something dawned on her, because the specific phrases were really hitting hard, and then she couldn’t really hold the quieter intonations together. “Jack is fucking his ship?!”
The humor waxed and waned on the interim of deaths though – a quieter edge to both women who’d seen a flash of a dagger and the spark of lightning as something more than everyday nuances. Her own eyes darted back to ripples and constellations, listening quietly as Flora’s voice softened and the understanding passed between them. While the Hot Take had always seemingly fluffed issues away, Melita could fathom deep down it wasn’t that way at all – just another sentiment to let the harsher outlooks pass over. At least, that’s how she’d done it. Anger first, upheaval and sedition, and then weeks and months and years to gaze inward in the trauma – if she ever dared at all. “And there probably isn’t a good way to move past it either. I tried ignoring it for a bit,” wilted on a shrug. “But then last season was thunder screams and shit all the time.” Much like going into the Greatwood, just to drift in amongst the eaves, must’ve been something cantankerous and loathsome on the fringes of Flora’s sight. “Maybe people find it easier to just think everything’s okay and fine, because they don’t know how to address it either.” How to help. What to do. Everyone could go on pretending.
Magic was certainly easier, in her experience anyway. Unaware of the inferences between, she could only stick to what Flora granted, still managing a grin in the furtive edges. Until, of course, things added up. “Wait – wait a second,” abandoning the creative aspects of future elements, as something dawned on her, because the specific phrases were really hitting hard, and then she couldn’t really hold the quieter intonations together. “Jack is fucking his ship?!”
Melita
of both beauty and battle cries
