#alteyed
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Timing: Not too long ago in the far off land of… 2022
Location: The Wormhole
Feat: @alteyed & @kodiacast
Warnings: Gun use (describing wound on ghost), alcoholism (the hunter)
Summary: So a hunter walks into a bar…
Between the fingers tapping along the polished wood and the pen tapping on the journal, the large man at the bar was making a hell of a lot more noise than he usually did. Otis was reserved, to put it mildly. A mountain of stoicism, or at least that’s how he appeared. Generally, the bear was barely used to being around so many people. His moms and the ranch workers were just about the only social interaction he’d gotten before moving up north. He knew there would be a culture shock but this was… distracting.
Otis came to Wicked’s Rest looking for a new perspective, but found himself a bit too much of a shy violet to properly interact with the locals. But he was trying to get better. Hence the bar. The Journal. And the Writing, but in public. This wasn’t his first time in the Wormhole. It was close to home, and cheap enough that he could afford to keep a tab open long enough to get some work done. Only, it was getting pretty hard to think. So many eyes all around, so many ears. It was a little unnerving. A strange feeling for the apex predator, one he wasn’t too sure he’d come to terms with.
“Ah– hey–” The bear sighed, attention shifting from the lack of words on the page to the bartender. “Could I– Another?” You’d think with a profession built around talking he’d at least be good at it, but Otis had never been a real conversationalist. Words never seemed to fit in the right order when he had to make them up on the spot. Always mixing up, switching around. Like his mouth was a blender and speech was a smoothie. Well, maybe not a smoothie, everything always came out pretty rough.
—
Being back in Wicked’s Rest meant a lot of things, but mostly it meant that with every whisper, she was left to guess whether it was a spirit, or somebody trying to figure out why, under their breath, Rue Kincaid was back in town. She’d gotten used to the voices; had gotten even better at ignoring them– pretending she couldn’t hear their requests. In Seattle, the population of ghosts that swarmed her were typically of the familial variety with a few stragglers here and there, all aware that she could see them even when she tried to pretend she couldn’t.
Her old hometown was entirely different. With its high death toll, it was bound to be filled to the brim with ghostly entities, all looking for their medium to latch onto. But this was just visiting, and while she had the option of working out of her dad’s ski loft for the summer, she figured there’d be more money to me made in town at the tried and true Wormhole. It wasn’t the cleanest of establishments, but the tips were typically good, and it was hard to say no to easy money, even if she had some funds coming in from her over the phone business. The underwriting job had proven to be boring, and while she didn’t anticipate straying from Seattle for too long, a summer couldn’t hurt.
Rue finished off the glass that she’d been polishing, putting it down onto the counter when her attention diverted to the customer sitting adjacent from where she sat. He’d been quiet, for the most part– an easy customer, and a face she saw a few times since returning to Wicked’s Rest. Her gaze flickered to the now empty glass and she gave him a curt nod, grabbing the glass before pouring more of the brew in, cutting off the head by pouring some to the side before filling it up the remainder of the way. “This all you want?” It was why people came to bars, wasn’t it? He had a notebook in front of him, and a pen poised between his fingers. She had to wonder what he was writing, and she wasn’t typically the kind of person to beat around the bush. “What’s going down in there? Grocery list? Are you a food critic, here to review the beer? Just know I’m not in charge. I only work here, just for the summer at least.” She gave him a wink before grabbing an additional glass to begin shining.
—
You had to get alcohol at a bar, right? It was like the law or something. Truthfully, the bear didn’t care for the stuff. Didn’t really like the way it reminded him of the air outside a dumpster in the thick of summer. But it’s what you were supposed to do, and Otis wanted a place to be social, so. Beer. An IPA, or something. Locally made with so many hops it could put a bunny to shame. The label seemed nice. That’s why he picked it. All scrolls and swirls like an Alphonse Mucha portrait. Got his brain lost in the ways he followed the lines. He found himself staring at it long after the drink was poured. Long after he was asked a question, or was it a series of questions?
Otis blinked back to the bartender, ideas swirling behind his dark eyes. Something about a label that drew people into a trap, ensnaring them in a trance far deeper than any stupor the alcohol behind it could cause. Something about spiders spinning webs in fanciful patterns. Swirls rather than sharp angles, pleasant faces instead of the gnashing mandibles that so many feared. His first good idea in weeks.
He smiled. A soft thing, hardly different from his neutral expression at all. “No judgin’ here, ma’am.” Otis’ gaze drifted back to the journal where he made a few notes, and half of a sketch. “...got any… bottles of that there brew? Tap’s fine but–” But he wanted to take it home. Wanted to keep the inspiration nearby. “S’nice is all.”
—
With a raised brow, she presses her hand to her chest with the rag in it, aghast by the manners he provides. “Ma’am? You know, I’m only twenty-five.” She’d heard it before, plenty of times here and there, but never while she was tending bar. Maybe it was because The Wormhole’s clientele fell all over the place. Rue looked from his glass, then to the tap that she had poured it from.
“Mm, I’ll see what I can dig up for you, sir.” With a begrudging smile, Rue retreated to the back fridge where she began to look and see if they had any bottles of the brew, the rabbit staring up at her from its label, tucked just behind a box of oranges. She grabbed the bottle and returned to him, setting it down just next to the freshly poured glass. “Might taste different, coming from the bottle.” She leaned against the wooden bartop, ducking her head low to grab another glass that was tucked away in the corner beneath the overhang. “You a beer connoisseur?” She avoided looking at the notebook he wrote into, not wanting to invade his privacy.
—
“Ah sorry, meant no disrespect.” Sheepishly, Otis shuffled in his seat. A thin blush reddening his cheeks. The last thing he wanted to do was offend someone, but the north was so much different than his hometown. Either of his moms would have whupped him upside the head for not calling someone in service by their due titles. But Ah– northern attitudes, right? “Just didn’t know yer name is all.” He added, before realizing that might also sound wrong. Shoot. “Not that you gotta give it or nothin’ I just–”
Before any other misunderstandings escaped his traitor of a mouth, Otis hung his head. Hunched himself into his shoulders and went back to writing, but not before paying for the drink, with a little extra tip for the confusion. But she came back, and she was asking things again. Small talk. The kind he never knew what to do with. Felt too heavy in his hands, too small to shape into something worthwhile. “Truly don’t know much about beer.” He responded, candid, shy. “Sorta just like the branding…”
—
“If I’m being honest, I don’t know much about beer either.” Not necessarily the truth– her dad had tried his hand at running his own brewery before failing miserably, and instead bought IPAs from the only other active brewery in town to cycle through the small bar within the lodge. Rue looked over the wrapper and gave a short nod. “The art is good, yeah. I can see why you like it.” She gave him a small smile before returning to shining the glass.
“You can call me Rue, by the way.” She didn’t look up from the glass she was shining as she spoke, “or Prudence, but Rue is better.” Rue set the glass down, planting both hands firmly on the bar top as she looked up, leaning slightly forward. “Should I call you man who likes bunny, or do you have a name? You don’t need to tell me it, if you want. We can go by codenames.” She paused, a short laugh pulling from her chest. “Or, I guess, you can have the codename. I already told you mine.” It was easier to focus on conversations like these– to ignore the woman behind him, the way her throat was slit– an accident, she thought– something about a linen wire. She’d heard the story before, could hear it now as the woman droned on and on, but she focused on the clientele, leaning backwards to tick up the volume of the song by a few notches. “Love this song.” She grinned at him.
—
A notch twitched at Otis’ brow. For sure, he thought, he’d ruined the conversation before it ever really started. A messy mix of misunderstanding and miscommunication. More monstrous than the words he wove through the old microphone at home. This was what he should write his next episode about. The horrors of trying to get to know people.
Rue came back, Well she sort of had to, it was her job. But it wasn’t necessarily part of the description to entertain surly bears that sulked around the edges of the bar. There was a warmth to her, a brightness. Made him wanna open up more. “Rue is...nice. It’s a nice name.” Otis repeated, accent heavy on his tongue. Committed to memory. She’d already painted a picture in his mind, now it had a proper title. “Fittin’.” Cause she was nice too. Nice enough to keep up with his… lack of expertise in this area.
“Otis.” The bear took a second to reply as the warbling torrent of his mind tried to come up with something better, something about codenames, something clever. Nothing came, just a whisper of half formed ideas clogging up his thoughts. “That’s– That’s me. You can– I’m Otis.” He raised his glass, tilted his head and nodded. “It’s good, yeah. Good song. Don’t think I’ve– heard it before.”
—
“Thanks, I sorta picked it myself.” Not untrue, since her dad had tried calling her Prue as a nickname instead. She went by it sometimes, but only for him, due to his insistence.
“Well, I’m Otis, I think you have good taste in beer and music.” It was an old man's name, or at least she thought it might be. But Otis didn’t look old, not in the slightest. Maybe slightly older than her, but not by decades or anything. The woman behind him finally had enough, disappearing through a wall. At least that was over with. Lucky enough for her, most of her family knew not to bother her when at the bar, but there were a few– her great uncle in the chair by the door, being one of them, that never got the memo.
“It’s by Imminence, it’s called Paralyzed.” She leaned over and grabbed her phone, showing him the screen. “We get to plug our own playlists, so guess I’m sorta… biased?” Rue offered with a laugh. “Might be… a bit sad for a bar, though.” Whatever, she thought. It was just the two of them, anyway. It was uncharacteristic of the bar, but…
Her thoughts flew out the moment the door slammed open. A man with a woman behind him– translucent, eyes wide with terror, a bullet between the eyes, followed after him. He’s going to kill more, he’s going to kill more. The woman repeated this continuously, rising in pitch as the man spoke, “drink, want a–” His focus shifted as his gaze leveled on Otis, or Rue thought. The drunken expression he wore moments before transformed into something else– determination, maybe.
—
Otis’ brow quirked again, before settling into a confused smile. A joke, that was a joke. That meant this was going… well? The bear couldn’t get out of their mind to just talk, everything had to be predated with a mini meditation on the right choice of words. Only to lose them all in translation between thought and speech. He nodded, thankful for the compliment and then again for the song title. Even wrote it down so he could find it on the youtube later on.
“Somethin’ nice about sad songs though. Feels… more like a comfort when you’re down too. Happy feels broken when you ain’t. Commiseration, like a hand to hold, is better, y’know?” Probably more words in a row than he’d said face to face with someone since he moved to this town. Another sign things were improving. Good, very good.
He didn’t pay much mind to the sudden slam. Didn’t even turn to look at the stranger who waltzed in already half cocked and clearly looking to add even more to his blood alcohol content. Otis was far and away too preoccupied with Rue, and with the brewing story inspired by the bunny brew. Far more content with sharing his attention to what deserved it, rather than what was demanded. “To be truthful with you–” He started, musing aloud as he wrote a few things down, fully ignoring the newcomer. “Rather have somethin’ sweeter. Like… What's that one soda drink, real red, with the cherries? Summ’n real nice about it. Smooth-like. Perfect for sippin’.” There was no attention given to the rowdy customer, no notice to the way he slinked in close, far too close.
His breath bounced off the back of Otis’ arm, and the bear barely budged. Didn’t like that much. “Oi. Shitheel. Look at me when I’m–” A hiccup. “–when I’m lookin’ at you.” The man was giving a masterclass in articulation, clearly Otis should have been taking notes. “What’s a beast like you doin’ in a place like this?” Slurred and mumbled, half the words weren’t really audible. But the man tried to twirl the bear around in his seat. Giving a full attentive audience to his belligerence.
“...Can I…. help you?”
—
Rue would have much rather spoken to Otis about songs and what they meant– maybe not so much how they made her feel, because nobody needed to know that, but this asshole had other plans. He was piss drunk and she could smell alcohol on him as he neared– bourbon, she thought. She wrinkled her nose, gaze passing over his shoulder to the woman who was still repeating the same thing over and over. The blood that dribbled down her forehead, though translucent, was a stark reminder that she had been killed, and it was apparent that the man ahead of her had done it.
But Otis was still speaking, seemingly unperturbed by the addition to their company. Maybe he couldn’t see him? Was the man dead, too? Spirits could force doors open, could do a whole lot more than just that, but he didn’t look dead, not in the way the woman behind him did. Was this something else?
She tried to level her focus on Otis, to respond to him. Shirley Temple, she wanted to shout at him, it’s called a shirley temple. Maraschino. Syrup. Sweet. Seedless.
The man was antagonizing Otis now, and it still didn’t seem as though he noticed him. Rue’s hand tucked beneath the bartop, grabbing the baseball bat that was clipped to the underside. There was another one just behind her, but this would be less inconspicuous.
“Hey, fuck off– what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She raised the bat above her head, swatting it towards the man’s head, easily missing Otis in her aim. “Get the fuck out, NOW.” The man looked surprised by her sudden outburst, but his hand was still firmly planted on Otis’s chair.
“Youa–h gonna make me?” Before he could get the rest of the words out, Rue was climbing over the bar top, kicking over a glass in her attempt to make it towards him. “I said get the fuck out!” The man’s eyes widened slightly as he stumbled back, and the spirits behind him– both the woman and her great uncle, stared at her with equal parts amusement and disbelief. “Get-the-fuck OUT!” Rue swung the bat at his head as she slipped off of the counter, kicking the chair next to Otis forward so that it caught the man’s legs. “I said now!” She swung again, and it whistled through the air just above the man’s head as he sloppily ducked, stumbling back towards the door.
Otis was lost to her now, all she could see was the way the man had put his hands on him, on the way he commanded attention. Rue hated it– hated the way that he looked at Otis, the way he looked at her. She didn’t like the way that the spirit looked at him either, mouth hanging in a perpetual scream that never came, blood dried to her forehead.
—
A sudden shift had the bear stepping back. The stranger insisted, getting a little more handsy, and Rue came in like a bat outta hell. Something about the scene sent Otis right back to the ranch. To the ways his moms would run a coyote out of the chicken coop, or how Lila or one of the other ranch hands would scare off a bobcat getting too close to the cattle. A fierce protective bolt of lightning. Snapped at the second the air got too excited. Sensed something, maybe. The intent Otis had missed behind the stranger’s wild expression and drunken slurs. A heat that had somehow been insulated against ever affecting him because the bartender diffused the bomb so quickly. So efficiently.
The man retreated. The bartender stood there like a guardian. And Otis felt more at home in this town than he ever had since moving there. The bear hadn’t really gone out of his way to make close connections. Hell, wasn’t really anything to say that’s what this was either. Just a hell of a woman protecting the hell out of her bar. Weeding out a wasp before it could sting.
A low breathy whistle escaped his lips. He pulled the jacket closer around his shoulders. A little stunned, a lot amazed. “...Sent him runnin’ like a rat been caught rummagin’ in the rubbage bin.” Otis’ accent was never thicker than when he felt the need to add a little southern simile to spice up the sentence.
“….You do that often?”
—
Rue watched as the man disappeared through the door, her own chest heaving. Her head buzzed with electricity– adrenaline fused together with the hatred she felt. The spirit that had followed him inside followed him out, and Rue was left to witness it, the lack of accountability.
For a moment, she forgot where she was, and she turned to look a Otis. “Only when some piece of shit comes in trying to act all tough.” It wasn’t the first time she’d run somebody out of the bar, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. If she got loud and aggressive, shrieking like some banshee, then people often cut their losses. People didn’t like when things got loud. She couldn’t blame them. Rue tucked the bat to her chest and turned the corner to go back behind the bar. “Are you good?”
She repositioned the things that’d been knocked by her eagerness to cross the distance to the man, putting the bat back to where it’d come from. “He didn’t bruise you or anything, did he?” Her skin was still warm and her chest still swarmed with a smattering of different anxieties– what if he came back? What had he done to that woman?
—
Not knowing the context was a blessing that coupled with the security Otis carried himself with. He hadn’t gone to pieces at the aggressive display. Hadn’t flinched even when the man’s touch spun him around in a way that maybe he shouldn’t have been able to. The bear was of the mind that if he ignored the problem, it would usually sort itself out. Generally, things tended to. A stalwart confidence in his own ability to withstand whatever the world had to throw at him.
“Yeah, sure ‘m fine.” Otis assured her. An apologetic smile crept in, as if he’d somehow caused the trouble by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. As if the drunk wasn’t going to cause issues no matter who was on either side of the bar. Maybe the man was having a hard time, Otis thought to himself, staring out towards the door where the stranger had made his exit. Maybe he’d been through something and was dealing with the grief it caused him. It never even occurred to the bear that maybe the man was predisposed to hate someone like him, something like him.
“Wish some fellas wuddin’t make their sorry hearts a problem for other folk.” A huff of air filtered through Otis’ nose, noting how this was something the north and south had in common. People who’d been filled with hurt, hurt other people. Just a fact of life. “My mamas always told me to keep compassion for folks like that. But also to pay them no mind.” Easy for the one who didn’t have to see the specter of a woman with a hole in her head. “How ‘bout you, Miss Rue? How’s the ticker feelin’ after a fright like that?”
—
Rue hid her shaking hands on the other side of the bar top, fingers now tangled in a rag. She checked behind Otis, towards the door, but he didn’t come back through. Her great uncle continued to stare at her, his own gaping wound obvious to her from where he stood. She gave him a look that she was half-sure Otis wouldn’t have noticed.
“As long as you say so.” Rue offered him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She pressed her hands into the rag, willing the trembling of her fingers to cease. She’d seen a lot– had done a lot, and no matter the anger that coursed through her for the sake of others– the bullet between the woman’s eyes, the dried blood– all of it, it made her feel ill.
The lack of urgency that Otis showed had upset her in a way she didn’t want to address. It wasn’t her responsibility. Her gaze lifted up to meet his as he spoke and she let out a breath that matched his. “It’d be easy to do that, right? Pretend it doesn’t exist, the hurt that they cause.” It’s said before she can stop it, but she shakes her head as if to dislodge the thoughts that continue on as her words fall into the air. “Oh, I’m fine. I’ve thrown a bat around a time or two.” Another smile, and it still doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s an odd thing, knowing how each family member has died– of being able to trace them back, accident or not. To have this capability, of being stuck with this capability, it’s a responsibility she wouldn’t wish on anyone else, certainly not Otis. “But uh, yeah, I’m good.” Another breath, before Rue is balling the rag up and tossing it to the side. “How about that shirley temple?”
—
There was a clear tension tightening between the woman’s chest and the empty door frame. A palpable string, struck out from a chorus of ethereal violins. Her words were comforting, her demeanor less so. Haunted. If Otis had to put a word to it, that’s what it would be. The pools of her irises held depth that her age betrayed. She’d seen things. Seen the could-have-beens maybe. The ending of stories that didn’t stop at the end of a bat, quelled by a thread of threats.
Otis stared, held his gaze a beat longer than maybe he should have. Trying to convince himself that he was embellishing again. Treating life like it was a story. Like everything was a play that just needed a narrator's touch. Maybe Rue was just tired. It’d been a long shift. He’d been there for a good majority of it. Nursing half-enjoyed beers, and wishing for the sweet little drink he couldn’t recall the name of.
But she knew. Of course she knew. Otis knew fear, Rue knew drinks. The presence of the stranger hadn’t riled up that undefinable essence that the bear had always needed. He hadn’t gotten sick from accidentally drinking it in. Probably wouldn’t mix too well with whatever made it into his stomach so far. Sort of a relief, honestly. Meant he could stick around for a little while longer. Maybe figure out what kind of life made a person so steely. Meant he could enjoy that fruity little drink.
“Yeah– sounds–” Otis nodded, wanting to say more but instead he choked up again. Back to square one. Quietly settling into the chair, hunched as he had been. One hand pouring over the notebook, the other playing with the ring he kept around his pointer finger. “Sounds good.”
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@alteyed replied to your post “What's the strangest thing you've ever experienced...”:
Should've eaten them.
Well one was eaten, but not my me. It was a lovely dog by the name of Brutus who assisted me in that endeavor. I should check in on him to make sure he has not had any side effects.
I was told that the other was set on fire, which I suppose is a fine way of handling it in the end.
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finally…..i have worked out the names for my high republic ocs
SO we’ve got
Memyit Gad —> mechanic for the Stellar and surveyor for the Republic
Le’varia —> pilot for the Stellar
T’sora Jarliin —> Jedi master and wayseeker
Cyrin Tay —> Master Jarliin’s padawan and future Jedi knight
Liri Vok —> Future padawan to Cyrin Tay
Nimari “Nim” Enedu —> Jedi knight and archivist, future Jedi master
Kevaxe Coyper —> Jedi master and former council member, Nim’s former master
Bodumal’te’ilok “Altei”, now Te’ilok —> former Chiss sky-walker and current leader of The Wander
Therad’ara’kloi “Adarak”, now Ara’kloi —> former Chiss sky-walker and current Giver of The Wanderers
#star wars#the high republic#my ocs#ocs#oc#orignial character#star wars oc#star wars ocs#jedi oc#jedi ocs#the high republic oc#high republic#memyit gad#le’varia#t’sora jarliin#cyrin tay#liri vok#nimari enedu#te’ilok#ara’kloi
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Cherry Coke! || Rue & Daiyu
TIMING: current.
LOCATION: the wormhole.
PARTIES: @bountyhaunter & @alteyed
SUMMARY: rue tends bar, and daiyu eats a burger!
CONTENT WARNINGS: parental death.
Rue knew better than to comment on somebody’s drink choice, but as the cherry coke pop and fizzled beneath her chin as she steadied herself on the wet mat to slide it across the bar to the girl sitting across from her, she couldn’t help but do so. “We’ve got Shirley Temples, too. Comes with a cherry and everything.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and nodded towards the small jar of cherries, suspended in syrup. She tapped the jar with her index finger before turning to grab another bar goer’s order, handing the now uncapped IPA to them.
Tossing a glance over her shoulder at Cherry Coke girl, she hummed under her breath. “I’m not the best mixologist, but I bet I could make you something better than–” Cut off momentarily by the appearance of her great aunt behind Cherry Coke girl, she inhaled sharply. She should be used to it by now– the way they just appear, disappear, and reappear. “You know, the coke. It’s kinda boring, don’t you think?”
The Wormhole had an atmosphere that simultaneously agreed and disagreed with Daiyu. She didn’t like the large amount of drunk patrons and day-drinkers, nor the hum of noise. But she liked the laidbackness of the place, the lack of expectation. And the burgers. Bar food was really good at being greasy. She didn’t intend to stay long, but she was glad to have a coke to sip while waiting. At the comment from the bartender she looked up. “Huh? Oh. I mean, I’ll take the cherry.” She flashed a smile, adding an unsaid for free to that statement.
She didn’t drink. Occasionally a glass, if there was a social expectation to. Her family was full of heavy drinkers — her grandmother had famously been one, and so was her uncle. She didn’t like who she was when drunk. Besides, she already felt plenty out of control in her real life, her emotions always so readily available in the form of bursts of anger. No need to speed up the process. Daiyu frowned at the criticism. “Normal coke’s boring. This? Nah. It’s good. A classic. But if you can whip up something you reckon is more interesting – virgin – then sure. That’s a challenge.”
“Classics can be boring.” Rue was anything but classic. Boring, maybe– sometimes, not always. She leaned against the bar and looked over the glass that was sweating on the counter, condensation gathering at the bottom of the cup. “Nothing wrong with liking boring, though. Sometimes boring is good.” She’d been working at The Wormhole nearly every summer when coming back to Wicked’s Rest to visit her dad. Now, it was a full time gig, and it felt… weird. She knew faces, knew orders– could tell when somebody had had too much, and after the fact, who to call to pick them up. Cherry Coke girl always got the same thing– her drink, and a burger that dripped of grease with extra fries. She was predictable.
Her great aunt, Clara, hovered just over Cherry Coke girl’s shoulder, licking her lips at the sight of the burger. There was a large gaping wound at the back of her head, but Rue could only ever see it when she turned around. It’d been years since meeting her, and she still had no clue how she had died. Clara didn’t talk about it much, if at all. “I love a good challenge, by the way.” They didn’t have a lot of fancy options at The Wormhole, but Rue would make do. She always did. She poured together a mixture of apple juice, orange juice, and cranberry juice before shaking it over her shoulder, closing the metal fixture overtop. Once she was satisfied, she poured it into a new glass and grabbed the tongs to place two maraschino cherries on top, as well as an orange around the rim. She pushed the glass forward and nodded at the woman to try a sip, “used to drink this a lot– granted, usually with vodka, but it tastes great without it.”
Sometimes when strangers struck up a conversation with her, Daiyu felt like she lived outside of her own body. She was a chatty person, that much was true – always filling space with the sound of her own voice – but she didn’t think herself someone that people just spoke to. It was so mundane. So … sweet. So nearly normal. She liked it, which was what made it feel alien to her. “Eh, maybe. Anything can be boring, not cherry coke, though,” she said, a little more intrigued by this bartender and her heavy lidded eyes. “Never cherry coke.” This was a solemn statement, with a tinge of playfulness.
She dipped her fries into her condiment of choice (ketchup, duh) and chewed merrily. Food was such a simple pleasure. To eat greasy burgers in a dingy bar was simple, but in the back of her mind she knew her father would resent it and perhaps that made it taste all the better. Daiyu had been taught table manners and etiquette. She’d forgotten most of it. “Good,” she said, mouth half-full, “So do I. Life’s boring without a good challenge. Gotta be kept on your toes sometimes, y’know.” She continued to chew on her fries as the other worked her magic and she wondered, for a half minute, what it’d be like. To have a job like this. She’d probably slam her head onto the bar out of boredom after a week, but for a moment it seemed idyllic. “That looks awesome,” she said, abandoning her fries and pulling the glass towards her and taking a sip. The salt and grease from he fries mixed with the sweet and fruity flavor and it was good. Daiyu popped a cherry in her mouth. She wished she could tie a cherry stem. She should work on her party tricks. “It’s good. Like juice, but elevated. Nice and tangy but sweet. Almost better than cherry coke. Definitely less boring. Hats off.”
Rue watched as Cherry Coke girl took the glass, abandoning the fry on the side of her plate. She watched in muted anticipation as she took a sip, noticing that there were no signs of disgust. That was good, at least. Rue wasn’t confident in most things– mostly just her ability to throw a punch and make a good drink, virgin or not. She leaned against the bar, grin pulling over her features. “Almost? You’re going to break my heart, talking like that.” Rue leaned away from her before capping the jar of maraschino cherries, twisting the bright green lid back onto the plastic tub.
“Glad you like it, though. Were you a food critic in another life?” Maybe it’s an odd question to ask, maybe she could have asked if she was in this one, but the burger left a lot for to be desired (for her, personally).
Another customer flagged her down and Rue put up a hand to Cherry Coke girl before venturing off to make a vodka soda. That, too, was boring, but the man at the other end of the counter tipped well, usually. The fiver that landed on the table top was for her, as his tab was charging to the card. She took it gratefully and shoved it into her pocket before returning to the girl with the drink that was almost better. “Does it go with the burger? Dunno shit about food and drinks, and what goes good with what– just know drinks.”
It was admittedly very easy to please Daiyu when it came to food and drink. She had what other considered low standards and was often craving food due to her high daily dose of exercise and her tendency to forget to eat while she was in the woods. (Mental note: buy more protein bars.) “I mean, the bar is verrrry high, don’t take it personally. Can’t beat a legendary drink on your first try, it’d be too easy.”
She let out a huff of laughter, pulled the stem from her tongue and placed it on her plate. “I am one now. Unofficial. I mean …” She bent a little closer. “I have an anonymous Instagram where I rate local food.” It had less than twenty followers and wasn’t that anonymous, considering she brought it up aplenty in the hope of going viral. “Mostly burgers. This one? Got four and three quarter stars.” She wasn’t very critical for a food critic.
The other disappeared and she felt herself disappointed, as she’d proven to be a good chatting partner. Daiyu liked chattering with strangers, found her self-imposed solitude stifling at times. She occupied herself with her food and drink, though, combining the sweet and salty with merry glee. Small joys! They were almost enough to forget about the horrors. When the barkeep returned, she nodded while chewing on a bit of burger, held up a hand to indicate she was trying to swallow her mouthful. Who said she didn’t have manners! “It’s brilliant. Can’t go wrong with any of these tastes.” She grinned. “I’m Daiyu.”
“Not sure what’s so legendary about it.” She would stick to her guns– cherry coke wasn’t shit. She hated the way that the syrup sat on her teeth after drinking it, but that was true of most sodas. Rue shrugged, “we can all be wrong sometimes, though. I won’t hold it against you.” She gave the girl a playful smile before grabbing a glass to fill herself up some iced water.
“Oh, so you’re like Lorde with the onion rings.” She remembered the great reveal that came with learning the popstar had been rating them under an anonymous username. “Well, if you have something to say about the food here, I don’t really mind. Not like I’m the one making it.” Nobody would so much as glance at a bad review coming from the Wormhole– it was a given that there would be one.
Rue laughed as cherry coke girl– now named Daiyu affirmed that the combination was good. “Well, I’m glad. Would suck for it to taste like shit. You know, like after you brush your teeth and how you shouldn’t drink orange juice or whatever.” She grimaced at the memory. “Turns out, you’re not supposed to brush your teeth before eating, anyway.” After a moment, it occurred to her she hadn’t returned the conversation with her own name. “The name is Rue, by the way.”
Daiyu didn’t even care that much about brand loyalty, she just cared about taste loyalty. And her tastebuds really liked cherry coke. But she wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t take this overly serious and like something that mattered more than most things on the planet. “And I won’t hold it against you that you’re really wrong yourself.”
She nodded solemnly. “Yes. Just like her. Very cool. Very famous. And a great food critic.” She didn’t really listen to her music, in all fairness, but she thought the reveal of her onion ring account had been very admirable. “The food here’s the shit. I mean, it’s kinda shit too — but I’ve been told I’ve got low standards. It does make you thirsty though, but I guess that makes sense. Gotta sell those drinks.” She demonstratively sipped her mocktail. “Hydration!”
She plucked a sesame seed from her burger bun and popped it in her mouth, grimacing at the idea as well. “Yeah. That’s a top tier shitty experience. That and like, the sound of styrofoam.” She shivered. “Yuck. And what, you’re not? Thought you were supposed to before breakfast. Like to protect your teeth before the day started. Heh.” Daiyu grinned. “Awesome name. Nice to meet you.”
“You don’t need to hold anything against me, ‘cause I know I’m not wrong.” Rue wouldn’t necessarily die on this hill, but it wasn’t a real argument, and it did nothing to harm the conversation for a little back and forth over something that didn’t actually matter in the grand scheme of things.
“Yeah,” Rue laughed, looking over the plate that sat in front of Daiyu. “Pretty sure the salt content could make you float if you poured it into some water.” People who drank tended to order more food, so Daiyu wasn’t exactly wrong. Not most people came to the wormhole for a soda, though. There was a first time for everything– or in Daiyu’s case, multiple times for everything. She wondered how many cherry coke’s the girl had consumed in her lifetime.
“Nails on chalkboard, too. Or cardboard.” Rue shivered at the thought, though it wasn’t necessarily because of the phantom noise that ran through her mind, but the fact that her great uncle had phased through her. She shot him a look before he floated off towards the jukebox in the corner of the room. “Dunno much about it, but I saw something on some article from a dentist.” She shrugged, “I try not to think about dental health. Teeth aren’t really my thing.” She leaned against the bar, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Appreciate that. I picked it myself. Could’ve gone by Prue, but didn’t want to echo that Charmed lady.”
Daiyu appreciated someone who could stick to their guns, even if they were broken and malfunctioning guns. People who just folded and told her she was right were rather boring, after all. “You are suffering from delusions. I am sorry to tell you this, but you are severely delulu if you think you’re right.”
She chuckled at the image. “Salty food’s just so good though, you know? You’d think they’d have figured out a way to make food like this more healthy by now. But eh, there’s tomato on here.” Daiyu lifted the bun demonstratively. “I am the epitome of health. My drink has fruit, too!” She knew that this wasn’t healthy, but she didn’t mind playing a little dumb. It was more fun to play at it than to actually feel dumb, after all.
“Ew. The worst. At least kids these days have those fancy electronic boards, so they don’t have to bother with chalkboard and those bad noises.” In all fairness, she’d been the type to scratch at the chalkboards to make her classmates wail dramatically. She’d thought it kind of funny. Daiyu let out a noise of amusement. “Yeah, you know what? Same. There’s more interesting shit to be occupied with.” She plucked the aforementioned tomato of her burger and chewed on it, wondered for a moment if she was keeping the other off her work – she seemed distracted. “Ha, valid. So is it short for something? I sometimes wonder what kinda name I’d give myself if I got to choose one.” Sometimes she introduced herself as Daya. “Charmed was fun, though not a top-tier supernatural show, in my opinion.”
“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.” Rue grinned at Daiyu, wondering if she knew exactly how right she was in the grand scheme of things. Though, to be fair, they weren’t really delusions. Everything that Rue could see was real. Just… not real to other people. Which, whatever– nonbelievers weren’t really worth her time.
“Healthy food is kind of overrated, anyway. I’d take a burger over a… what are they called? Acai bowls? Yeah, I’d take a burger over one of those any day.” Mostly, it was a texture thing, but she didn’t need to get into the nitty gritty of all that. Rue chuckled, nodding, “yeah, that cherry is really going to carry you a few more years. I’m almost positive.”
“Those were a thing when I was in school, but towards the end.” Rue shrugged as she leaned forward, hands planted firmly in front of her against the bar. She kept an eye out for anyone else needing her attention, but it seemed everyone was fairly stuck in their own conversations. “Prudence.” She made a face as she explained, “dad was… you know, I don’t even know.” Apparently her birth mother had tried to name her something else, but after the adoption went through, her adoptive father had axed it. She still hadn’t gotten that name, though. “Into old shit, I guess. Sounds like an old lady's name.” After a brief pause, she poured herself some more water, taking a sip. “Daiyu is nice though, I like it.”
Daiyu could appreciate someone who owned any insult flung at them. As the other grinned there was a small part of her that would have preferred to keep debating this but she liked it, too, that the other just took it. It was refreshing. It was funny, really. “Oh, how’s that?” She picked off another sesame seed from the bun, which was starting to get pretty small.
“Yeah, fuck, me too. I tried one of them one time and it was … weird. Weird texture. Looked like it was gonna be super sweet and then it wasn’t,” she said, grimacing a little. Daiyu occasionally went for a green smoothie, but she wasn’t very good at looking after herself like that. Or in any way, really. “I hope you feel heroic, contributing to my health in such a significant way.”
She tried to remember if she’d ever had the electronic boards, but school was a blur. It hadn’t mattered, those classes — it had to be done and that was it. She’d skipped plenty of them, if she hadn’t been send out of the classroom. Daiyu skipped over the thought. “Rue’s better, yeah,” she said, slightly amused. “Prudence … like something from a song or something. But it does make you sound older than you are.” She chewed on the final bite of her burger after having dipped it in some ketchup. “I like it too. My mom picked it.” She took a large sip to swallow away the emotion that came with the mention of her deceased mother. She placed the glass down. “Been nice meeting you, Rue.”
“Tasted a lot like nothing. Not even honey could save it, and honey can save pretty much anything.” Rue shrugged, regretting the fifteen bucks she’d dropped on it at the airport. While she’d take a burger over almost anything, she hadn’t sold her soul to fast food corporations– unless it was Canes. But they didn’t even have that here, so it didn’t matter.
Rue snorted, hand to her chest. “I’m flattered. Make sure to write that on your obituary when you beef it.” Was that the right kind of joke? She wasn’t sure. Some people were weird about dying. She’d been surrounded by death all her life, so it wasn’t anything new to her, even if she, herself was afraid of death and what it would mean for her. To perpetually hang in some suspended existence… it was terrifying. But again, that wasn’t necessary for this conversation.
“Ugh, don’t remind me.” She scrunched her nose. “The only good thing about that song is when it was put into that one movie, they turned it gay.” It’d been an awakening for her, actually. Rue smiled at Daiyu, leaning away from the bar. Their conversation was over, and Rue had to admit that she was a little disappointed by that fact. “Mmm, make sure to come back for the cherries. They’ll extend your life by a couple of years. Threat or promise, you decide.” She looked over towards the rear end of the bar as a woman raised her hand for assistance. “Nice meeting you too, Daiyu. Have a good night.”
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This year is unique for me. Both fic and art. For the first time I can fill in this table 😅 There are more drawings for some months except February.
Thanks to everyone who leaves likes, reblogs, comments!
It would be sad without you c: 💜
Special thanks:
@myscprin @mistmoose @kassiekolchek22 @candygrahm @altey-v @estelior
#house of ashes#fanart#salim othman#jason kolchek#jalim#jason x salim#the dark pictures#summary of art 2022#supermassive games#the quarry#the devil in me
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Dacă vrei să înflorești frumos, nu fura lumina altei flori.
@un-suflet-anonim
#un suflet anonim#blogul meu#cuvinte#postare text#postare text pe tumblr#frânturi#emoții#sentimente#gânduri și cuvinte#trăiri#cuvinte și sentimente#tumblr cu sentimente#etichetă cuvinte#frânturi de sentimente#gânduri și sentimente#sentimental#doar un gând și atât#un gând nimic mai mult#un text și atât#postare text pe blog#postare pe tumblr#postare pe blog#textul meu
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Oooh time to infodump lore on your since neither cd or joltik is being entirely honest with you.
CD's dad put a parasite in joltik that made them basically a bodyguard for CD but ended up frying joltiks brain in the process. Thats why Altey was arrested. Joltik still has lingering affects of the parasite despite it being gone.
Altey went to prison over his crimes.
CD lost most of their stuff and almost all of their possesions in the court case.
His grandparents locked him in a room 24/7 and he was freezing to death.
CD is a plant made by their dad.
Minskt kidnapped joltik and used them as a converter to make things into gold, frying their brain in the process pt2, joltiks nervous system is like entirely broken from that. They have repressed all memory of this and continue to deny it today.
Joltik got flamethrower used on them by their ex rooomate, stayed with their ex and then evolved.
Anyways now they've both found somewhere to chill and they're all good I guess.
I need to stop being obssessed with strangers on rotomblr but still. Shits interesting.
...
Okay.
We might have to do something about some of that.
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Timpul este limitat. Nu il irosi incercand sa traiesti viata altei persoane. Nu lasa zgomotul creat de opiniile celorlalti sa iti influenteze vocea interioara si, mai important de atat, ai curajul sa iti urmezi inima si intuitia!♥️♥️♥️ #toamna #iubire
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VIOLENTA SEXUALA
CE ESTE:
VIOLENȚA SEXUALĂ este constrângere la relații sexuale sau atingeri nedorite, contactul sexual continuat după cererea de a-l opri, sau forțarea unei persoane să se supună la o relație sexuală neprotejată sau umilitoare.
TIPURI DE VIOLENTA SEXUALA:
Toate relațiile sexuale fără permisiune constituie infracțiune penală, definită ca viol. Aceasta include atingeri cu caracter sexual sau forțarea soțului/soției de a întreține relații sexuale. Chiar dacă sunteți căsătoriți, soțul nu te poate impune să întreții relații sexuale.
Impunerea sau încercarea de a impune orice contact sexual fără permisiune prealabilă, de exemplu, viol marital, forțarea de a întreține relații sexuale după aplicarea bătăilor fizice, atacuri asupra părților sexuale ale corpului sau tratarea altei persoane într-o manieră umilitoare în sens sexual; forțarea victimei de a întreține relații sexuale cu altă persoană, pe Internet, sau să pozeze pentru imagini cu caracter explicit sexual împotriva voinței ei.
Atunci când partenerul îți sabotează eforturile de control a reproducerii prin solicitarea sexului neprotejat, mințire despre ”retragerea penisului”, ascunderea sau distrugerea metodelor de contracepție (de ex. aruncarea pastilelor contraceptive în veceu sau găurirea prezervativului), prevenirea să faci un avort sau impunerea să faci avort.
Câte o dată abuzului sexual sau violul este comis de oameni străini, dar deseori abuzul sexual este comis de persoane cunoscute, precum prieteni, parteneri, cunoscuți rude sau chiar un partener de durată sau soț. În situațiile de violență în familie partenerii deseori abuzează sexual de partenerele lor. Abuzul sexual poate fi verbal, vizual sau orice care impune un contact sau atenție sexuală. Abuzul sexual se poate întâmpla oricui, inclusiv femeilor, bărbaților, copiilor, și vârstnicilor.
Violența sexuală nu trebuie să implice niciun fel de armă sau violență fizică sau să vă lase cu răni fizice. Dacă nu ai încercat să țipi sau să fugi, asta nu înseamnă că nu a fost violență sexuală – este foarte obișnuit ca oamenii în această situație să se trezească incapabi.
instagram
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Cu toții avem o parere foarte bună despre noi.
Poate nu îți place cum arăți, poate îți stă prost părul azi, poate ai un coș în plus, poate dintr-un unghi ai nasul mare și te deranjează asta, dar sigur comportamentul tau consideri ca e potrivit.
Dar oare ai un comportament potrivit și în ochii altora?
Ei bine răspunsul e DA ȘI NU.
Cum adică?
De fapt e destul de logic...Pentru fiecare, cel mai potrivit comportament este al lui. Am lămurit asta deja. Astfel, cu cat gradul de similaritate al comportamentului tau, cu al altei persoane, e mai mare, cu atat vei avea un comportament mai potrivit în opinia acelei persoane.
Există un comportament universal plăcut?
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şi dacă noi locuim în reflexia distorsionată a altei lumi?
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Dragul meu bărbat!
Amintește-ți cât de frumos, neted și sculptat era corpul ei înainte de a deveni mamă.
Este în continuare aceeași femeie frumoasă, cu aceeași gândire de care te-ai îndrăgostit.
Diferența este că acum a devenit mamă, adică i-a dat viață copilului tău.
Prețul pentru asta a fost pierderea aspectului fizic pe care l-a avut cândva, depresia postnatală și toată presiunea acestei lumi noi.
Nu te plânge de soția ta pentru că i se vede grăsimea de pe corp, ci ajut-o să fie din nou cum a fost, dar mai ales să nu crezi că ei îi place așa!
Dragostea de mamă o face să închidă ochii la toate aceste transformări, deși suferă mult fără să-ți spună, dar principala preocupare pentru ea a devenit copilul și fericirea familiei voastre.
Când te fură frumusețea altei femei, amintește-ți că această burtă, a fost cândva casa caldă înăuntrul căreia a fost copilul tău, timp de 9 luni cu toată durerea, oboseala și greutatea, pentru a-l putea duce până la naștere.
Dragi bărbați, apreciați-vă femeile pentru că merită! 🤎
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Care este visul tău cel mai mare?
Mereu am fost curiosă să aflu ce se ascunde în mintea altei persoane. Stiu că nu e bine și știu și faptul că cei curioși mor repede, dar cred că dacă ai vedea ce se ascunde defapt în gândurile unui om, în spatele acelui zâmbet fals, poate ai vedea de ce este așa multă tristețe în lume și ai încerca să fii tu schimbarea spre bine.
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Who the Fuck is Buffy? || Rue & Emilio
TIMING: current.
LOCATION: outside the wormhole.
PARTIES: @mortemoppetere & @alteyed
SUMMARY: rue is closing up the bar and emilio swings by for a drink.
CONTENT: alcoholism.
Rue leaned into the door, pulling it shut. “Somebody is coming. It’s that man who always looks like he has a stick up his–” Rue gave her great uncle a glare before she turned around, seeing Emilio walk up the path towards the entrance. “Closing early tonight, something about pipes bursting? Beer is all over the floor in the back. Not pretty, but not my job.” She dangled the keys in front of him before shoving them into her pocket. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and started to walk past him before pausing, turning around. “I think the Big Cheese might be open…? Maybe.”
—
The path to the Wormhole was a familiar one. Emilio had walked it about a thousand times, both when he’d lived in the shitty apartment in Worm Row and after he’d started staying at Teddy’s. The bartenders all recognized him on sight, with… varied reactions. Rue was, at the very least, one of the ones who wouldn’t toss him out on the street the second he showed up… most of the time. Tonight, though, things seemed different. Emilio furrowed his brow, looking to the keys in her hand with an expression of quiet regret. “Sure you can’t pour me a glass? I’ll tip.” The Big Cheese wasn’t really his scene.
—
“Sorry, no. It’s a mess in there.” She displayed the front of her shirt from beneath her coat, soaked through with beer. “Not sure what happened.” She gave her great uncle a pointed look, though he stood next to Emilio now, so maybe the man would think she was staring at him. There’d been another spirit inside, and apparently her great uncle had beef with him– something about another man, (go, gay rights!), and suddenly the lights were flickering and then the taps were bursting at the seams. She could have told him that maybe this was for the best, that a night off from drinking might serve him well, but that wasn’t her place. She didn’t know him like that. Rue zipped her coat back up, shivering slightly with the exposure. “Next one’ll be on the house, you know, for the inconvenience…?” She offered him a tight lipped smile.
—
Disappointment curled in his chest, though it wasn’t really that big a deal. Even if he couldn’t find another bar to go to, Teddy had stocked the kitchen with plenty of alcohol for Emilio to partake in, filled shelf upon shelf with the cheap whiskey the detective defaulted to and some of the more expensive stuff that they liked to try to coax him into switching to. But he liked drinking in bars, liked pretending that it was a social thing. His expression fell a little at the revelation that there would be no sneaking back in for a quick drink. The bartender sent an odd look in his direction, and Emilio raised his brows. “Hey, I didn’t do anything,” he said defensively. “I haven’t been here all night.” He brought a finger up to draw an x over his chest the way Teddy sometimes did — cross my heart, they’d call it. Emilio didn’t understand it, but Teddy only ever did it when they swore they were telling the truth, so it seemed applicable here. “Ah, yeah, sure. Won’t say no to a free drink, I guess.”
—
So he had caught that. Ugh, whatever. “I know, sometimes it’s just hard to… control the face is all.” Rue shrugged simply. She was sure he’d understand that– he wore something pinched half the time, always looking like he was having the most miserable time every time she did see him. Her great-uncle grinned his stupid shit-eating translucent grin and retreated back into the bar, a steak knife protruding from his back. See you, Edgar. “See, I knew that you wouldn’t be able to say no, and that should really warm your heart– get you excited for your next visit.” She hoped things would be fixed by the morning, but there was really no telling. “Maybe I’ll even throw in some olives, if you want. You look like an olive kind of guy.” She took a small step back to get a good look at his features, nodding, “yeah, definitely an olive guy– not a cherry guy.”
—
Emilio snorted lightly, but he couldn’t exactly argue with that. According to Teddy, his face gave away his inner thoughts about ninety percent of the time. “Fair enough,” he shrugged, wondering absently what had happened. Something more than just a burst pipe, he suspected, to elicit that expression. But… it wasn’t important. Digging into shit that wasn’t his business only ever got Emilio into trouble, anyway. “Right. This is my excited face.” He gestured to his face, expression neutral the way it usually was when he wasn’t actively pissed off. ‘Resting bitch face,’ Juliana used to call it. “What do I need olives for? Or cherries? I just want whiskey.”
—
“You do look pretty excited, you’ve got me there.” She offered him a small smile, tilting her head to the side as she let out a laugh. “I mean, you can have your whiskey and your olives. Olives are good with whiskey, I think. Wouldn’t know, I don’t drink the dark stuff.” She looped the threaded keychain in her pocket around her finger, yanking at the loose threads idly as she stood across from Emilio. It was getting colder by the minute, and all she really wanted to do at this point was go home. Home, to the empty apartment– the broken glass in the corner courtesy of whoever lived there first. “Uh…” She motioned towards the parking lot, her camaro sitting pretty. “You need a ride somewhere?” She knew the rules about giving rides to strangers, but she felt like she’d seen Emilio enough that she could parse out whether or not he was an actual threat to her. A threat to their whiskey, maybe, but she couldn’t picture him trying to hurt her. If he did, she had a baseball bat in her car and a can of hairspray that she wasn’t afraid to throw into a flamethrower with the old steel lighter her dad had given her for a graduation present.
—
“Yeah, I’ve been told I’m very expresiva,” Emilio quipped, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t want olives in my whiskey. I’ll drink the whiskey, you eat the olives, how’s that sound?” He took a step away from the door, ensuring she had ample space to move without feeling boxed in. He liked the bartender; the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable. Following her gaze to the parking lot, he glanced down at his bad leg absently, finger unconsciously tapping against his thigh. Walking everywhere didn’t do much for the already limited functionality of the limb, but accepting rides tended to be bad for his ego. “Nah,” he decided, “but I can walk you to the car. I want to hear more about those olives. Do people actually eat them?” He didn’t like the idea of anyone walking alone at night in a town like this one.
He started towards the car, eyes darting around the way they usually did. Paranoia was a thing that clung to him, even now. And it tended to be well-founded. Naturally, he felt it before he saw it. That uncomfortable tugging at his gut, that quiet feeling that wasn’t quite nausea but wasn’t quite anything else, either. Something undead was nearby. And maybe it was just a passing vampire or a mare on their way to dinner, but dread pooled in Emilio’s gut all the same. “I think we should walk faster,” he said quietly. If he got Rue into her car and out of the picture, it’d be a lot easier to fight if he had to.
—
“I can eat as many olives as I want, when I want. You can take a to-go container with the olives.” Rue raised a challenging brow. He stepped aside, and Rue moved forward, shrugging as he explained a ride wasn’t necessary. “A real gentleman, and you didn’t even get your whiskey.” She fiddled with the keys in her pocket, finger continuously looping around the threaded keychain as they walked towards her camaro. “Yeah, people eat ‘em. Why wouldn’t they? They’re good.” Pitted olives were preferably– she hated the surprise of texture when they weren’t. “Black olives are best, though. Not really used as garnishes.”
As they moved towards her car, she looked over to see Emilio’s demeanor change. He seemed on edge, more so than usual. Rue’s brows knit together as she looked around them. She didn’t see anything except for a few of the ghosts who looked as though they were transported from the past– unfinished business following them from the realm they were unearthed from. That was what she assumed, at least. “Uh, alright.” Suddenly tense, Rue took her keys out of her pocket and began dividing them to get to her car key.
Sticking them into the door, she turned around to bid Emilio a farewell before she was shouting at him to duck. Something– a creature of some kind, was barreling towards them. The smell of blood was heavy in the air as it approached, and though it was grotesque in manner, it was like nothing she’d seen in the dismembered spirits she’d seen wandering around town. This was something tangible, something real. She could press her fingers into its skin, if she wanted to. Instead, she was diving into her car as she got the car door open, laying flush against the front seats as she dug beneath the passenger seat to find the can of hairspray. She would blind this mother fucker if she had to. “Emilio, get in!” Rue didn’t look over her shoulder as she made her attempts at convincing him to get inside.
—
“If I bring home a container full of olives, my partner is going to do something weird with them,” Emilio huffed, already imagining the kind of ‘meals’ Teddy would throw together with an abundance of olives. They’d probably put them into some kind of a dessert, where they absolutely didn’t belong, and then insist that Emilio enjoyed it. (He probably would. That was the unfortunate part.) “Yeah, well, who’s gonna pour my whiskey if you get eaten by a reindeer?” It was the most ‘normal’ thing he could think of, in the moment. Most people in town were blind to the supernatural occurrences here, but everyone had experienced the damn reindeer. “They can’t be good. They look weird.” He’d never actually tasted olives — at least, not to his knowledge — but he was in no hurry to change that.
He was in a hurry, however, to get Rue the hell out of dodge before whatever undead thing that was approaching got too close. Even if it was just someone passing by, it was better to be safe than sorry. The sooner she was in her car and on her way home, the sooner Emilio could investigate and get a better idea of the situation without risking her well-being.
For a moment, he thought they’d made it. She had her key in the car door, she was about to get in. But then, she was screaming at him to duck, and he was whirling around to see a goddamn kuzlac coming for his head. His groan was more one of annoyance than of anything else. Kuzlacs weren’t typically deadly, but they were annoying. On the bright side, he doubted this one would go for Rue with Emilio present. Even without being able to drop into the Wormhole for a glass, he’d had enough whiskey that the pest could probably smell it in his blood. He blew another irritated puff of air through his nose.
He’d expected Rue to take off the moment she saw the thing. Most people would have. Maybe things would have been different if the two of them were friends, if they knew one another more than in passing, but they barely ever really spoke. No one would have blamed her for running. But… she didn’t. Instead, she was yelling at him to get in the car. Emilio glanced back at her, shaking his head. He might as well kill this thing before it cornered some drunk, even if it probably wouldn’t kill them. “Just go!” He darted away from the car, towards the kuzlac. “I’ll be fine, just get out of here!”
—
If she were back in Seattle, then maybe she and Emilio could continue discussing olives. Maybe she’d look up the benefits of eating olives to convince him, or maybe she would drop it and give him a jar of maraschino cherries. They’d discuss his partner, and Rue would talk about what she studied. But this was Wicked’s Rest, and normal didn’t exist here.
Over the years and throughout her childhood, she’d had her fair share of run-ins. Monsters were a part of living in this town, and it was something she’d always expected. Maybe it was a little morbid, not being afraid of them— at least as far as sight went. With every spirit that passed by, Rue was capable of tracing out the way they’d died. It stayed with them, and sometimes, it was gruesome— far more gruesome than the small wrinkly dog, or the giant bat that had chased her
and an ex-girlfriend out of the woods after they’d left a party. Wicked’s Rest wasn’t kind, and that much she knew.
Some people were better at handling it, and though she wasn’t the type to run, something told her that maybe this time, she was in over her head.
“Are you fucking stupid!?” Rue’s hand splayed awkwardly around at the base of her passenger seat until she finally came away with the can of hairspray. Her dad’s lighter sat heavy in the chest pocket of her coat, and she practically rolled out of the car, punching her hand into the pocket to display the lighter. She flicked it a few times, trembling fingers doing hardly enough to produce a flame, but then finally. The monster was after Emilio, and she was chasing after it, too— probably not the smartest thing to do.
“Hey, you fucked up looking Scooby Doo villain, get back here!” Rue was spraying the hairspray before she could process what was happening, because the amount of noise had gained its attention. The makeshift flamethrower was enough to send the creature reeling back, and she proceeded forward, “you think you can just eat people! I bet he doesn’t even taste good! Get the fuck out of here!” Her hands still trembled and the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, but beneath the light of her makeshift flame, she could see the creature for what it was— horrifying.
—
Emilio had been dealing with things like this all his life. The kuzlac was far from the most dangerous thing he’d faced. In fact, things like this were so inconsequential that his mother had hardly bothered training them on anything specific regarding them at all. They didn’t often kill, weren’t horribly traumatic to victims often too drunk to remember being turned into a meal at all. Things like this, for slayers, were more inconvenient than anything else. But for someone who hadn’t dealt with it before? This kind of thing was bound to be terrifying. Even just the look of it, inhuman and bestial, could scar an individual. Emilio had learned that through experience, even if had taken him some time to understand it.
Except… Rue didn’t look particularly terrified. Rue didn’t even really look afraid. If anything, Rue looked pissed off.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, brow furrowed as she made no move to run but instead grabbed some kind of can from her car. “Probably,” he replied to her question, sounding half-confused. “What are you doing?” The kuzlac was still coming towards them, but Emilio wasn’t paying it much attention now. Whatever it was that the bartender was planning was far more interesting than an atypical vampire that wasn’t even powerful enough to be considered a threat.
Absently, he wondered if Rue was a hunter. He was usually pretty good at spotting them, but some were difficult to suss out. He might not have guessed Jade was a hunter if she hadn’t told him the first time they’d met, after all. There was also a chance that Rue was more like Teddy — someone raised in such a way that things like this were more commonplace for them, that knowledge became power. If she’d grown up in Wicked’s Rest, there was every chance that this wasn’t the first creature she’d encountered.
Whatever he was expecting her to do, it didn’t involve flames shooting out of the can in her hand. Emilio watched, eyes glued to the lighter and the can as he read the word on the side. Hairspray? He barely knew what hairspray was, but he made a mental note to pick some up the next time he was at the store. A makeshift flamethrower was a good thing to have.
Snapping out of his momentary shock, Emilio fished a stake from his pocket. As Rue went on, he found himself a little offended by her words. “I think I would taste good,” he said. “I think I would taste very good. It’s rude to say I wouldn’t, you know.” He moved towards the kuzlac, which seemed to be avoiding the flames. “Hey, steer it this way so I can take care of it.”
—
Emilio didn’t seem particularly concerned with the newest addition to the parking lot, but that didn’t mean a whole lot. She knew that some people in Wicked’s Rest were better equipped to deal with things like this, and while Rue wasn’t necessarily one of them, she was no stranger to the things that went bump in the night.
She glanced over her shoulder at Emilio, for a brief second, brows pulling together. “It’s nothing against you, I just don’t think that humans would taste very good! I don’t think I would, either!” Clearly, it was a sore spot, but that wasn’t really her concern. The monster turned on its heel and swiped through the air, but Emilio was calling for her to change its course, and she took a deep breath, laying down her finger on the canister as heavy as she could.
Rue angled it to the side, willing the creature to retreat from it in the direction Emilio had indicated. “We’re going to kill it, right?! We should definitely kill it!” She was going to run out of hair spray at this point, and it was only a matter of time before it tried to make a snack out of either of them. Her mind raced as she planned her next course of action– maybe she’d run it over.
—
Was there something to read into with her statement there? She didn’t think humans tasted very good, so did that mean she wasn’t one? Emilio tried not to dwell on it much, because it was probably far less important than the kuzlac looking to make a quick meal out of him, but it was difficult. Juliana used to accuse him of being nosy. He figured his career choice here in Wicked’s Rest was proof enough that she’d been right about that. He couldn’t help but cast Rue a sidelong glance, wondering if he’d missed something somewhere.
“Well, plenty of things think humans taste very good. To those things, I think I am very tasty.” Except most vampires, who’d get a mouthful of acid any time they took a bite, but saying that would be saying a little too much. Especially if Rue wasn’t human. Just because she wasn’t undead didn’t mean she wouldn’t have some vendetta against hunters that she’d be happy enough to take out on a wayward slayer — just look at Teagan.
For now, at least, she seemed happy enough to work with him. She angled her makeshift flamethrower to steer the kuzlac in the right direction, and Emilio snorted at her question. “Well, I’m not looking to buy it dinner,” he replied, deadpan. The kuzlac stumbled to get away from the flames, and Emilio darted towards it, stake at the ready.
—
“Yeah, but I’m not into cannibalism! Stop being a freak and kill this thing!” Rue could feel that the weight of the can was waning, it was only a matter of time before she was casting fumes and sparks rather than a full on flame. She wasn’t sure why Emilio wanted to die on the hill that he might be delicious to something or someone, but she didn’t have time for it. Neither of them did.
Rue’s index finger laid down hard on the nozzle, and sure enough, it began to spit nothing but fumes. Emilio seemed to be taking his time with whatever he was trying to do– definitely killing it, she thought– she saw the weapon he had at the ready, and it wasn’t anything she didn’t recognize.
Now that the hairspray was out, Rue was chucking the emptied can at the creature, hitting it square on the head. It turned around in mute exasperation and Rue lunged to the side, avoiding it as it tried to barrel towards her. “FUCKING KILL IT!”
—
Calling it cannibalism meant that she was human, too, didn’t it? Emilio turned the word over in his mind as if thinking on it long enough would allow some kind of an answer, but Rue made a good point. It was a much better idea to take care of the kuzlac and worry about her eating habits at a later date. “I’m just saying,” he said, dodging a swipe from the kuzlac, “you can’t tell it that I don’t taste good, because I probably do. It wouldn’t be trying to eat me if I didn’t taste good.” Maybe that argument was cheating, given the way he knew exactly why the kuzlac was trying to eat him, but Emilio wasn’t always one to play fair.
Whatever had been shooting the flames forward seemed to be out of juice now, if the way Rue tossed the can was any indication. Doing so caught the kuzlac’s attention, and it turned its might on her. Not ideal, but it did give Emilio an upper hand. He collided with the kuzlac before it could fully close the distance between itself and Rue, tackling it to the ground.
“Try not to panic about this part,” he muttered in Rue’s direction before driving the stake home. The body underneath him stilled and collapsed into dust, leaving Emilio resting on the concrete with a grimace. This was the part where people tended to take some offense to his actions, he thought. They ran away, or they yelled, or they looked at him with some strange expression. He got to his feet, dusting himself off and eyeing Rue in quiet anticipation to see what she might do.
—
“I’m not going to bite you! Not unless you give me a reason to, so stop alluding to that!” Rue wasn’t really sure if that’s what he was doing– his insistence was lost on her, but that didn’t really matter, not with the ugly beast sizing them up for what she could only assume was to be a meal. Edgar finally popped out of nowhere, whispering something ineligible to her. “I can’t hear you right now!” It was said aloud, and she didn’t bother trying to mask it for something else– a slip of the tongue, because really, she didn’t care if Emilio knew she could see dead people. She wasn’t exactly quiet about it, especially not when it came to the phone calls she took. The only thing she kept under wraps was who haunted her.
Rue was surprised by the sheer force in which Emilio took the creature to the ground. She stared wide-eyed as he shot instructions her way, a block of pointed wood then diving through the creature’s chest. It disintegrated into nothingness, and the body that Emilio had been hovering over was now gone. She stared as the dust was picked up by a sudden gust of wind– almost thematically, and her gaze swiveled over the bar regular.
“What are you, the male version of Buffy or something?” It was the first thing that’d come to mind. Really, she half-expected the creature to lay there lifeless, to exist in perpetual stiffness or something. Maybe she should’ve expected it to disappear, as these were the laws of… monsters, right? “What was that?” Her voice shook slightly as she pushed her hair out of her face. She wasn’t scared, not necessarily, but the adrenaline was beginning to wear off and the shock of what she’d seen was splintering through her like a dozen little rockets.
—
“I don’t want you to bite me,” Emilio scoffed, sounding offended that she’d even suggested it. He no longer knew what they were arguing about or why; it was difficult to keep up, what with the vampire trying to eat his neck and all. Rue spoke again, claiming that she couldn’t hear him, and Emilio’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t say anything,” he replied, glancing over to her. She wasn’t looking at him; instead, she was looking at the empty space beside her in a way that felt strange. Curiosity tugged at his gut, but it was difficult to follow it. The first priority here had to be taking care of the kuzlac. Everything else was secondary, no matter how burning those questions felt. Interrogation could come when no one was in danger of being eaten.
The kuzlac turned to dust the way they always did. There was no fanfare to it, no dramatic last-minute twist. It was there one moment and gone the next, with Emilio too accustomed to this sort of thing to even bother feeling relieved that there was no longer any immediate danger to contend with. Years ago, he would have at least gotten some kind of thrill out of it; some burst of adrenaline, some intoxicating high. These days, though, he felt as empty as he ever did. It was there one moment, and gone the next. Inconsequential, pointless. Wasn’t that how most things were?
Turning back to Rue, Emilio furrowed his brow. “I don’t know what a Buffy is,” he replied slowly, testing the word on his tongue. He tried to imagine how it might translate, but kept coming up short. Buff meant strong, didn’t it? Teddy had used that one before. But what was Buffy? Was that a different thing? He gave up trying to understand it with a shrug. “It’s called a kuzlac,” he said, kicking absently at the pile of dust it left behind. “Likes to drink the blood of drunk people. Probably used to getting a meal outside the bar and didn’t like that you were closed. Usually more… annoying than dangerous.”
—
“You have a wooden stake, and you don’t know who Buffy is?” Rue’s tone dipped into disappointment as she stared at him before she shook her head. She didn’t figure schooling him on who Buffy was was important at the moment, not when he’d just killed something in front of her. She thought that maybe she should be afraid of him, or afraid that he was capable of murder, but it was clear that what had attacked them didn’t necessarily deserve… life. It was possibly cruel to say, but what would have happened if Emilio hadn’t been present? She didn’t want to think about it.
“Kuzlac.” The name practically echoed as soon as Emilio spoke the name into existence. She now had something to attach to the monster that had tried to take both of them out. “Oh, of course it does.” A short laugh left Rue as her gaze wandered back to the dust that was practically gone now, wind carrying off any proof of what had transpired here.
“You say annoying, I say terrifying, but hey– to each their own, I guess.” Rue let out a breath, finally steadying herself. She stuck her shaking hands into the pockets of her coat and finally looked up to Emilio. “You do that often? Stab things with wood?” After a brief pause, her eyebrows pinched together, “man, you’re telling me you really don’t know who Buffy is?”
—
“It was not a question they made me answer before buying it,” Emilio replied sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest. Of course, he hadn’t actually bought the stake at all, had fashioned it himself with a knife and a block of wood in a motel room in the middle of nowhere, but that didn’t lend itself to a joke quite as easily. And now that the danger, small as it had been, was passed, he could make his stupid jokes that no one would laugh at and not worry about what he might miss while he was doing it.
He nodded as she repeated the name, thinking back to the way he’d taught Wynne some of these terms. He’d learned which ones were harder for people to understand when uttered in his accent, discovered which were the simplest for those who knew little about the supernatural world to wrap their minds around. This one was one of the easier ones, he thought. It was a monster in an undeniable kind of way, but it didn’t carry the same fear of death that some of its more dangerous cousins might.
“There are scarier things than this here,” he replied, shaking his head slightly. “Kuzlacs don’t usually kill people. They eat their fill, and they move on. Other things aren’t so nice.” Maybe he was saying too much, but didn’t she deserve to know? This probably wouldn’t be the last time something tried to take a bite out of her. Didn’t Emilio have some duty to educate, in a sense? “I stab things with wood all the time,” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching a little as he hid a smile. “Am I supposed to know who Buffy is? I’ve never met them.”
—
“You bought that? You know there are sticks on the ground. Or does it have to be some kind of fancy bark? I’ve seen The Vampire Diaries. Is it like that?” If he didn’t know what Buffy was, something told Rue that he had no clue what TVD was either. “Forget I brought up that show, you’d hate it, but you are giving me Damon Salvatore.” She attempted to imitate the eye thing that the actor had done in the show, but it fell flat. Emilio would probably look at her like a crazy person. Whatever, she didn’t really care, especially not after watching him kill a beast.
“Oh, dude, trust me, I know. I’ve seen them, and what they can do to people.” Rue wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t the type to turn a blind eye to things. She might not know the names of what went bump in the night, but she fully believed in them. Wicked’s Rest had a lot of horrors to offer– it was a part of the reason she’d been so eager to leave. It was just unfortunate that she’d found her way back so soon.
“Got it. They like to eat. Me, too. I can understand that.” She grimaced, gaze sweeping over the dust that was practically gone from their feet. Her hands still shook slightly, but it was easier to manage now that the adrenaline was wearing off. “There’s a joke in there somewhere, but you’re old, so I’m not sure you’ll get it.” Blowing her bangs out of her face, Rue shrugged. “It’s a t.v. show. I’ll find you a link so you can pirate it. We don’t give Joss Whedon more revenue. He’s a shit bag.”
—
Of course, Emilio had no fucking idea what the Vampire Diaries was. “What the hell kind of vampire has a diary? Did they let you have it? Or did you steal it?” It was a show, apparently; he made a note of it as she continued, privately agreeing that he’d probably hate it and trying to decide if calling him a Damon Salvatore was an insult or not. Probably. He fiddled absently with his stake. “It doesn’t have to be a special kind of wood for most of them. It does need to be strong enough to go into their chest without snapping before it gets to the heart. You know how hard it is to stab something into somebody’s heart? Can’t do it with most sticks you find on the ground. Was kidding about buying this one, though. I made it.” Thanks to the woodcarving station Teddy had gotten him, he’d been making a lot nicer stakes lately, though this was a much older, cruder one.
He nodded, unsurprised that she at least knew about the existence of this shit. She worked at a bar in Worm Row; he doubted this was her first run-in with something supernatural. It made his job a lot easier, too. People who’d experienced this kind of thing before were a lot less likely to panic when Emilio buried his stake in something’s chest. “Fire’s a good way to kill most of them,” he offered. “That trick you showed off, that was good.” She ought to know how to protect herself, he thought. Maybe knowing that fire was a safe bet would give her a leg up.
Sighing as she went on, he shook his head. He wanted to insist that he wasn’t that old — he wouldn’t even hit 35 until the end of March — but he felt old, felt an exhaustion clinging to his bones that only came with seeing too much. In hunter years, he figured, he was ancient. Few people in his line of work made it to 30, let alone 34. “Sure,” he said. “No giving him anything. Sounds good. You good to go? Probably best to head home.”
—
Instead of explaining the show and why a vampire had a diary in the first place, Rue simply nodded. “Yes, and they talked a lot about hating the royal family. Looks like I have something in common with them.” She didn’t know a lot about the royal family, didn’t even think it was a topic brought up in the show, but the idea that there was a queen hating vampire out there delighted her, even if it was make believe. “I don’t know, actually. Never done it before.” She eyed the stake that, funnily enough, was void of any blood. There was no dust, either. It was as if it’d never been a weapon of destruction– instead something for the sake of protection. Though, she guessed that’s what it kind of was. Her gaze swept up to meet Emilio’s and she rolled her eyes. “Would’ve never let you live it down if you did buy it. It’s just some wood.” She could probably make one, if she wanted to. She took a wood shop class in middle school. No, she wasn’t very good at it, but how hard could it be?
“Seen it movies, so figured a part of that had to have some truth to it.” Rue realized she’d thrown the can at the creature, and immediately parted ways with Emilio to go and find it. It wasn’t too far. “I’m no litterer.” She shook the empty can at him. “I’ve got a bat in my car, too, but it was aluminum. Probably would’ve just dented against the side of its head.”
“Mmm, let me give you a ride.” She motioned towards the dust that’d since disappeared. “You saved my life and all.” Rue wasn’t sure it was all that dramatic, but she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She motioned for him to follow her back to the beat up peeled orange paint camaro and slid into the driver’s seat, tossing the empty can of hairspray onto the passenger side floor.
—
It seemed like a fair enough sentiment, and Emilio pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. He wasn’t sure he knew enough about the royal family to have a solid opinion one way or another, but anyone who referred to themselves as royal probably deserved the hate. “Well, it’s not easy,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “People think it will be easy. It isn’t. Body’s designed to keep anything from getting to your heart.” People who didn’t have experience underestimated the difficulty of a lot of things like that, really. “You should let me live things down. I just saved your life.” Not really. The kuzlac probably wouldn’t have killed either of them, but Emilio liked to be a little dramatic from time to time.
“Don’t know much about movies, but fire is good against most things. That and cutting off its head, but that’s harder than people think it would be, too.” Maybe movies had something to do with why people expected that sort of thing to be easier; Emilio might know if he’d ever managed to sit through one. He waited as Rue hunted down the can, shrugging when she picked it up. “Bat’s not good,” he agreed.
He considered her offer, but the ache in his leg answered for him. “Yeah,” he agreed, “all right. I’ll tell you how to get to my big, fancy house, and you can come in for a drink if you want. I’m sure there are cherries lying around somewhere.” He huffed a quiet laugh, circling around to climb in the passenger's seat of her car. All in all, he figured it wasn’t his worst night… even if the bar was closed.
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E ușor să vezi de pe margine și să judeci un om. E simplu să îți dai cu părerea. De asta niciodată nu am înțeles oamenii care aleg calea asta ușoară prin care să pune etichete.
Am fost deseori omul judecat și plin de etichete și încă sunt. Nu că mi-ar păsa prea tare de ce spun ei din colțul privitorului, dar mă fac deseori să mă gândesc la viață genul ăsta de oameni.
Cât poate fi de simplu pentru un străin să mă judece pentru ceva ce nu știe? Pentru ceva la care nu a fost parte? Pentru ceva pe care nu îl înțelege sau măcar nu încercă să îl înțeleagă?
E lejer să strici imaginea cuiva doar pentru că nu ești capabil să porți papucii altei persoane. E trist că oamenii nu mai au empatie și efectul de turmă îndoctrinată de zvonuri și povești absurde se tot întinde până mănâncă bunătatea.
E tristă lumea asta în care trăim. Pentru că am ajuns să judecăm curajul unui om de a o lua de la zero și de a alege să fie fericit.
Fiecare are o viață ,dar mă gândeam, ochii care condamnă or avea o viață a lor ?
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DRAGI BĂRBAȚI:
Ştii...
"Că atunci când intri într-o femeie, ești de fapt ÎN INTERIORUL altei ființe umane, ești în interiorul ei?"
Ai realizat vreodată cât de sacru este asta?
Că acesta este cel mai apropiat lucru de unitate pe care îl vei experimenta vreodată, și că ea ține acest cadou pentru tine...
Că te poți întoarce în pântece și în punctul creației...
Că poți planta și semințele creației...
Că atunci când o părăsești, ea simte despărțirea în timp ce te retragi fizic și o lași goală...
Că a fi permis în interiorul ei este un dar, o onoare, ceva sacru, și că este treaba ta să cunoști, să respecți și să onorezi asta...
Că inima ei este legată de sexul ei, iar când vrei să intri în sexul ei, intri și în inima ei...
Că simte totul când intri în ea, ca toată energia ta este transmisă mai departe și în ea. Prin urmare, ai responsabilitatea de a intra cu o transparență a intențiilor tale, deoarece ea va simți toate modurile în care ai putea-o folosi pentru a evita să-ți simți propriile durere sau emoții. Trebuie să fii atent și conștient de ce intri în ea și cu ce o umpli...
Acel “sex” este uniunea cosmica a energiei feminine si masculine, o intalnire sacra a polaritatilor, si ca nu are nimic de-a face cu atingerea orgasmului, care dura suficient de mult, dimensiunea, un alt numar pentru colectia ta, sau valoarea ta...
Acea deschidere cu adevărat a unei femei, este despre a merge adânc, dar a nu intra adânc în ea, a merge adânc în interiorul tău, a te cunoaște pe tine însuți, și cu cât poți intra mai adânc în tine, cu atât poți intra și într-o femeie.
#femeie
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