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[irritablefacade]

*  𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘  𝐎𝐑  𝐍𝐎𝐓  ( 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗 )

trigger warning for ( gendered ) slurs, murder, etc.

‘ it’s not too late to flee, you know. ’ ‘ you don’t belong in this family. i mean that as a compliment. ’ ‘ thanks for the presents, go fuck yourself. ’ ‘ i’m giving you an out, right now. ’ ‘ don’t take it personally. they’re just trying to figure out if you’re a gold-digging whore. ‘ ‘ she’ll never be one of us. ‘ ‘ it’s just something we do when someone new joins the family. ‘ ‘ it’s part of the initiation. ‘ ‘ do i have to win? ’ ‘ no, you just have to play. ’ ‘ honestly, it means more to them than the wedding itself. ‘ ‘ it’s just a weird family ritual. ’ ’ we only have to do it once. alright? ’ ‘ you’ll have to hide better than that. ’ ‘ oh, my god, your dress is amazing! ’ ‘ i’ve been totally stalking you on instagram. ’ ‘ we’re going to be best friends. ’ ‘ my dear, it is your turn. ’ ‘ it says hide and seek. are we really going to play that? ’ ‘ the rules are simple. ’ ‘ you can hide anywhere inside the house. We then count to a hundred and try to, um, well, find you. ’ ‘ so, there’s no way for me to win, right? ’ ‘ well, you could, I mean, stay hidden till dawn. ’ ‘ [name]. good luck. ’ ‘ what the hell is this? how old is this thing? ’ ‘ why did you shoot her in the face, sweetheart? ’ ‘ you’re supposed to maim her. ’ ‘ she needs to be alive for the ritual. ’ ‘ they think that if they don’t kill you, something very bad will happen to the family. ’ ‘ i had to play along so that I can get you out. ’ ‘ it’s going to be really tricky. ’ ‘ you knew what would happen if I pulled that card. ’ ‘ i didn’t think they’d actually go through with it. ’ ‘ when you marry into this family you have to play a game. and if you don’t, you die. ’ ‘ hey, you wanted to get married. ’ ‘ you brought me here, you didn’t warn me? ’ ‘ i don’t know what i’m doing! ’ ‘ and then there were none. ’ ‘ it doesn’t make sense. ’ ‘ what truth is that? ’ ‘ fucking rich people. ’ ‘ do you think this is a fucking game? ’ ‘ i remember all of it. ’ ‘ i think you made your point, sweetheart, thank you. ’ ‘ you don’t want to kill me. you don’t want me to die. ’ ‘ let me go. ’ ‘ i can’t let my entire family die because of you. ’ ‘ can’t you see it’s insane? ’ ‘ no one’s going to die. ’ ‘ i am not who you think i am. ’ ‘ where do you think you’re going, bitch? ’ ‘ who the fuck do you think you are? ’ ‘ you’re just another sacrifice. ’ ‘ fuck your family. ’ ‘ you won’t be with me after this, will you? ’ ‘ you’re hurting me. ’ ‘ i’m not like them. ’ ‘ don’t fucking touch me. ’ ‘ jesus christ, what happened to you? ’

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Brian is afraid of horses,  mostly due to a few not-so-fun associative ties he has ingrained in his subconscious,  and it’s a shame because thanks to his family’s wealth when he was a sprog he spent a lot of time around them and loved them dearly.  Now they make him jumpy,  always seem a little too big and tall,  and he doesn’t like the noises they make.  Much like everythin else he’s loved, shit got spoiled.

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consultingsister·.

“Oh ye of little faith!” She holds her phone directly in front of his face, sitting on top of him in bed. Usually her wake up calls are much more pleasant. “It’s a christmas tree farm! I told you I would find one! And it’s only…” she turns the phone back to her, scrolling down the page. “It’s only a sixteen hour drive, that… is totally doable. We can take turns! Get a tree!” 

                       Brian wakes from sleep like he’s waking from the dead;  his limbs heavy and his eyes bleary with the fog of unconsciousness.  He blinks at the screen held just at the end of his nose,  and even so doesn’t quite catch what he’s meant to be seeing before Cee illuminates her smile again.   “  ------------  The merc will not make it that far,  ”    He surmises,  voice caught in the pit of his chest and his fidgety fingers settling comfortably under her thighs.   “  And i’m too old to be offering piggybacks across the continent,  you know.  ”

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anyone else just decaying

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                    VERTIGO .      @CONSULTINGSISTER​       ❛ I remind you of someone you used to be madly in love with. ❜

Tricky subject,  and one that is always met with the same phantom-like stoicism from the man in a mask of smoke.  He looks at her like he knows she’s ready to bolt,  come to her senses and realise the grave she’s dug for herself.   Cee could make it over the balcony at Harald’s Bar before he’d wake up and drop his third joint of Durban Poison from between his teeth.  Their food is late,  and he’s wishing for his fried chicken burger to make an appearance so that he at least has something to hide behind,  despite the nausea he’s gained from the blood-soaked day.  For now,  his cigarette does the job well enough,  his features spliced by the blue deck lights,  and half-eaten by cloud.  Table Mountain looks in much the same state - he gave her the seat with the view.

                                             “  ---------------  We used to know each other,  then?  ”

That rolls off the tongue easily,  and lights a tell-tale spark in his eye.  Sincerity hurts,  too often for the sad truth facing it.  Quick to recover,  and before he burns his knuckles,  Brian is forced to stuff the remnants of his anchor in the ash tray to his right - he’d moved it from their table,  as if for her sake,  and now risks dropping ash on some mindless pedestrian below.   “  If we’re playing psychiatrist,  darling,  you should know I prefer doctors and nurses.  ”   He doesn’t,  but he’d rather a day without a punch to the gut,  just for a change. 

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sentence prompts ➝ vertigo

❛ God, have mercy. ❜

❛ The law has little to say on thing’s left undone. ❜

❛ I love you, too. It’s too late. ❜

❛ One final thing I have to do and then I’ll be free of the past. ❜

❛ If I let you change me, will that do it? ❜

❛ Don’t leave me. Stay with me. ❜

❛ Couldn’t you like me, just me the way I am? ❜

❛ I tried to follow but it was too late. ❜

❛ When we first started out, it was good. We had fun. ❜

❛ I made a mistake. I fell in love. ❜

❛ Give me your hand. Give me your hand. ❜

❛ You want to know something? I don’t think Mozart’s going to help at all. ❜

❛ I won’t lose you. ❜

❛ One doesn’t often get a second chance. ❜

❛ You were the copy! The counterfeit, weren’t you? ❜

❛ But then she ditched ya for another guy. ❜

❛ Only one is a wanderer; two together are always going somewhere. ❜

❛ You’re safe with me. ❜

❛ I remind you of someone you used to be madly in love with. ❜

❛ Don’t leave me. Stay with me. ❜

❛ There’s no way for them to understand. ❜

❛ I walked into danger, let you change me because I loved you and wanted you. ❜

❛ I wish you’d leave me alone, I want to go away. ❜

❛ And I want you so to love me. If I had the nerve, I’d stay and lie, hoping that I could make you love me. ❜

❛ I’d like to have dinner with you. ❜

❛ Anyone could become obsessed with the past with a background like that! ❜

❛ I’m not mad. I’m not mad. ❜

❛ Why? Because I remind you of her? It’s not very complimentary. ❜

❛ There’s a room and I sit there alone, always alone. ❜

❛ He’d broken her neck. He wasn’t taking any chances, was he? ❜

❛ I want to stop being haunted. ❜

❛ No, I don’t want any clothes. I don’t want anything. ❜

❛ Why are you doing this? ❜

❛ It’s an open grave and I, I stand by the gravestone looking down into it. It’s my grave. ❜

❛ When I saw you again, I couldn’t run away. ❜

❛ I don’t want to go in there. ❜

❛ Why did you jump? What was there inside that told you to jump? ❜

❛ All right then, i’ll do it. I don’t care anymore about me. ❜

❛ What’s this doohickey? ❜

❛ I know cause you remind me of her and not even that very much. ❜

❛ There is something I must do, there is something I must do. ❜

❛ I was safe when I found you. ❜

❛ Let me go! Please, let me go! ❜

❛ If you lose me, then you’ll know I, I loved you. And I wanted to go on loving you. ❜

❛ There is nothing you must do. No one possess you. ❜

❛ Don’t you see? You’ve given me something to work on now! ❜

❛ And when it’s done, we’ll both be free. ❜

❛ If I do what you tell me, will you love me? ❜

❛ I always said you were wasting your time in the underwear department. ❜

❛ We’re in love. That’s all that counts! ❜

❛ You shouldn’t keep souvenirs of a killing. You shouldn’t have been that sentimental. ❜

❛ Well, why did you pick on me? Why me? ❜

❛ Here I was born and there I died. It was only a moment for you; you took no notice. ❜

❛ Do you believe that someone of the past, someone dead, can enter and take possession of a living being? ❜

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hi am reading zulu.

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CELIA.

His darling gets an eye roll. Here we go, put me in my place clever man. She slumps against the opposite counter with more force than she means to use; her hips hit the countertop at a funny angle and it takes all her bad mood not to wince. Show no weakness, don’t get pity. Somewhere in the back of her mind, there is a voice screaming at her to talk with Brian calmly. To admit that maybe she needs to head to London for a day or two, so she can see a couple friends and get a change of scene. Ask him to take some days and come with her; introduce him to pals, make him real to them. But she would much rather have a fight about a dead woman. 

The writer scoffs. “You don’t want me in a place like that. It would ruin your perfect picture of me. This angelic woman that you have created in your mind. The only place you want me is naked in your bed.” She moves like she’s storming out, but instead just grabs her bag from the living room and digs around it, before pulling out her own lighter and offering it to him. “Some men enjoy it, you know. They want to pull their wives apart, they want to inflict pain. They want to destroy everything she is and keep her just for themselves. A perfect picture.” 

He’s done this incorrectly;  knows the second it comes out his mouth.  The headache that has been brewing behind his eyes for the last week or so doesn’t abate,  though he wishes the chill would at least be good for that.  It’s the niggling of uncertainty.  The cracking of an image,  the mirage he’s tattooed on the backs of his eyelids.  Where that’s concerned,  she isn’t wrong.

“  Look,  I know.  ”        It’s slow,  as lost in the dearth as he is.  As if it’s just about his sorry,  already half-lost case,  and not the undoubted suffocation that comes with existence when alongside him.  Funny,  that.  The last three days have barely seen him walk through the front door during waking hours.      “  Me obsessing over bullshit.  ”      It’s not the case.  Compared to the rest of their time together the grizzly reality barely ever registers;  he prefers the daze,  the bright light of fantasy blinding his eyes.  And she knows it.  Hates it,  probably.  Brian works his jaw and finds her eyes,  and does take the lighter offered.  He’s got something harder in his back pocket.  If she sleeps first he’ll make himself more trouble,  sink into another oblivion.  In that knowledge he becomes softer,  calmer,  disturbs himself with the truth of it all,  the weight of the notion.       “  Bullshit’s what I’m good at though,  eh?  ”      

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C‌ELIA.

“Oh come on! The husband clearly did it.” He shouldn’t leave files at home; she has no scruples about flicking through the pages in search of something interesting. “It only looks like a gang killing because that’s what he wanted. She has zero links to drugs or… sex trafficking or anything that would bring her remotely into the world of gang warfare. She is the third world equivalent of a suburban housewife. And he probably got caught fucking their neighbour. It’s a suburban drama.” It feels kinda nice to argue with him. Maybe because she’s starting to get frustrated; maybe that’s why she opened up the case files. Her book is going nowhere, she spends half her day waiting for him to come home. She has no friends here. The reality of it is starting to settle on her. 

But because he hasn’t done anything wrong (or at least, nothing that she’s bothered about) she can’t pick a fight over anything between them. So she’ll pick a fight about a murder case. There is logic in it somewhere. “I am not saying you can’t do your job, I’m just saying you seem to have a unfounded bias about this case.” 

There’s likely some rule in one of the multiple handbooks Brian hasn’t read regarding idle chatter surrounding a case at home,  but he isn’t one to think on that.  Ali would be disappointed,  frustrated ever - but not surprised.  Currently,  Brian is scrounging the drawers for the same lighter he’s looked for twice already,  cigarette hung between his teeth.  And perhaps it’s his fruitless search that has him irked,  paired with the fact that today he’d spent a good twenty minutes pinned to a wall with a glock aimed at his balls whilst Neuman talked shop with a bunch of coked-up Americans.  And perhaps her line of questioning has pulled on an already frayed thread,  hits a little too close for his nerves to ignore.

“  Darling.  ”       It slips from his tongue like a shard of glass,  too terse and too tired.  He sighs,  spits the cigarette onto the kitchen counter unlit,  and slumps against the sink in an effort to turn.  Something haunts in his eyes.  Something always does,  heavy like a hammer against and already bent nail.      “  She was scattered like fucking roadkill with her-  ”      Eyeballs in her mouth.  He doesn’t say.  Brian thinks he’s cruel enough to.  He doesn’t say it,  knocks his palm against the counter to balance himself with a thunk.       “  Even when it is the husbands they never get their hands dirty.  But the next time I find some chick splattered up the walls you’re welcome to tag along.  ”

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leah.

She gives a thoughtful grunt, and brings up four more images into her large set of monitors. “Five all together. I handed in a report after the second, but I’ve provided some updates since then. It’s definitely a pipe. The same one each time.” Leah brings up a digital analysis of the skulls and other broken bones that had been recovered. “The curve matches, as do the metal fragments.” She looks at him with a sympathetic and well meaning gaze. “You should grab a shower and a nap. He isn’t going anywhere.”

“  Careful.  ”       He’ll talk into a coffee cup,  breathe the fumes and keep himself upright.      “  One of these days you’re going to hurt my feelings.  ”      As if he has any these days.  Sleep or no,  Brian’s exhaustion is perpetually framing his face.       “  If you’ve got spray or some shit,  I don’t mind smelling of flowers.  ”        He really doesn’t.        “  In the mean time if this bastard’s going to strike again,  I’d rather be awake for it  .”

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sophia.

a dark-green bottle of beer got already warm in her hands. slender finger unwraps its damp sticker. she always wonders — why do people do that ? even while being surrounded by friends. there’s always something on their minds. maybe the town’s new cold-blooded serial killer also unwraps his beer. everybody has already named the killer’s gender. it’s usually a ‘he’.

‘ thought that old people don’t go out at this hour ? ‘ thin-lined smile crossed her face. ‘ i lost our last bet. the husband didn’t do it. beer’s on me. ‘ 

Sea salt and nicotine burn the insides of his nostrils when he sniffs.  He’s hung himself over a plate of nachos, beneath the white veranda displaying ‘Bob’s’ in chunky, gothic lettering.  He’s not allowed in  - no firearms - but knows the manager well enough to receive the barest showing of table service when he hunkers down in his usual spot by the road.  Inside,  every bar stool in the place is taken,  every table littered with shot glasses and bottles - Brian,  for once,  appears strangely out of place on the outer edge of the nightlife.  Not alone for long,  however.

“  They’ve got a menu of eighty-three shots.  ”        It’s tossed like something casual,  a comment on the weather.  Then a stiff shrug.  His back hurts.       “  Depends how shitty you feel about being wrong,  eh?  ”