#𝖛𝖎 . solitude should have wings. interactions.

[crimewrought]

her painted nails hammer a staccato rhythm on her darkened phone screen: tap, tap, tap, tap. there it sits on the wooden tabletop, ostensibly silent; mockingly so, in the throes of a bar teeming with the din of people. impatience isn't the culprit behind her movements—he's not late, she's early—but maria won't attribute the action to nervousness, either. speculation, she decides, defiant. because this meeting is an amorphous one—will this be a night of conflict, or confession? in the absence of a clear answer, maria seeks one at the bottom of her dwindling drink. the malt flavour offers no reply.

she'd suggested the meeting. and so she basks in hateful waiting, brown eyes flitting routinely to the entrance of the low lit-bar. all their meetings thus far had been things of chance, maria thinks; maybe a planned encounter was simply beyond them. her scarlet mouth gives way to a smile, entertained by the image of fate's hand tugging at their rotten strings. the picture fades when he arrives, his unforgotten figure appearing in her periphery.

" i would've got you a drink, if you'd replied to my text. thanks for coming, doctor. "

starter for @embrosyn.

[crimewrought]

ㅤ" nothing wrong with that. there are much worse things to dedicate your life to than fantastic music. " maria stays wisely shy of pointing out the obvious, that their lives have both been dedicated to much worse things—and largely not by their own hands, or per their own wishes. the fact of their subservience to powers bigger than them isn't something she'll dwell on tonight, though. in time, she thinks. in time they can trade tales of the aches and pains that litter their battered hearts. maria has found the bounds of what they can explore together are far from finite; every day they explore something new, dig a little deeper and towards something tantalisingly more. there'll come a time for talk of sadness. this is a time of comfort, of content, of revelling in the thrill of a touch. maria smiles at the thought, and her hand shifts a fraction, but hardly away from his—she moves her fingers to sit in his palm, fingertips tracing idle patterns upon it, her thumb stroking his.

ㅤ" simon & garfunkel, probably. i like things that can make me feel happy and completely miserable. you know what i mean? it feels weirdly—indulgent, i think. makes sense why i like them. i've been reliably informed i have a tendency to over indulge. " a gentle smile ignites her features, her eyes focused unerringly on their touching hands. " six foot something wine connoisseurs with dreadful singing voices also inspire me. in a different way. in... a better way. " her breath hitches, her prior words serving as some self-fulfilling prophecy. i have a tendency to over indulge. maria tries to bite back the words, to swallow them whole, but the confession burns on her tongue, ready to win the battle to be finally uttered aloud. " you know what i mean when i say that, right? when i say you inspire me in a better way. "

for @gunbash, continued from here.

[crimewrought]

sender invites receiver to dance. @shivcomplex.

ㅤit's the alcohol talking, but maria's sure she's a staple at any new year's party. not her personally, but someone like her. someone to bump up the excitement. someone to ensure, discreetly, that there's not just booze to keep things fun. it's winter, she thinks with a snort of laughter that she makes no effort to contain. of course they expect snow.

ㅤher bad humour fizzles quickly. midnight's come and gone, and the prospect of another year kindles little excitement inside her. so she takes another swing of the champagne—not that she particularly cares for the stuff, but at this caliber, she'll have what she pleases—and settles the empty flute on the tablecloth the next beat. a staple though she might be, she's not needed anymore. the high point of the party's come and gone, now it's just the comedown. maria readies herself to leave, hands smoothing out her silver dress, but the offer pulls her up short. again, it might be the alcohol, but her red lips find a smile.

ㅤ" sure, when the song is less dreadful. thought you'd have better taste in what to dance to. thought you'd have better taste in parties, too. " the smile grows, eases into a somewhat lopsided grin. this, at least, could be some fun. " just to be clear, i'm judging you massively right now. "

[crimewrought]

enough of me. tell me what you want. @gunbash.

ㅤa proper date. they've either been on a hundred of them, albeit unknowingly, or a grand none of them. wine-warmed and bubbly, maria lets the void question dissipate into london's brisk evening air. this might be their first, might be their thousandth—either way, the feeling overcoming her chest is just the same, and it's a feeling she's dying to bottle.

ㅤ" bold of you to think i could have enough of you, sweet. " the thames sprawls ahead and behind them as they walk, a dark mirror reflecting the kaleidoscope hues of sky-high buildings surrounding them. the night's a cold one, a bitter breeze nipping cruelly at her ankles, running up the gaps of the sleeves of her long winter coat. her hand stays warm, though, burrowed ever more comfortably in his; and despite the evening's chill, that warmth provided by their entangled hands keeps the rest of her body just warm enough, too.

ㅤ" honestly, i want to get inside before i start to turn blue. " flushed cheeks lift higher by way of her smile, but maria tactfully surrenders her coyness. " ... more of this, i think. i always want more of the things i—like. i've always been like that. "

[crimewrought]

" that was a bit anticlimactic, wasn't it? " the plan had the makings of a good one: snacks to eat and beer to guzzle while watching the sun go down from maria's rooftop. but the sunset she'd hoped for had been stifled by a thick cloud cover, and the warm breeze had devolved into a distinctly not warm rainfall. they'd endured it for half an hour before admitting defeat, hauling the provisions, bone-chilled and sodden, back into the warmth of maria's apartment. " the weather app lied to me. " greene beams a half-apologetic smile carol's way, passing a blanket into the other woman's arms as she settles herself onto the sofa.

the plan had been maria's, but she hadn't told carol why the idea had come to mind. for all that maria knew carol in halves, maria had a growing certainty on one aspect of the other woman—carol's love of the sky, of flying... and most probably, her longing for it. the skyline from maria's rooftop doubtless didn't compare to what carol had seen before, but maria knew intimately that small havens were havens nonetheless. that, and those more acquainted with hell appreciated havens the most.

" what's the best sunset or sunrise you ever saw? " maria's hands go to her hair, the platinum blonde rain-soaked to a darker hue. she squeezes and combs the wet strands with her fingers, studying carol with gentle, inquisitive eyes. " you must've seen some good ones. "

starter for @warbyrds.

[crimewrought]

ㅤchaos puppeteers her heart, but strategy doesn't fly over her head. no—tonight, maria's lined up her dominoes carefully, in the knowledge that there's a science to making an impossible endeavour like this go well. it's strategy sits behind the 'outside' text she's sent him; it's brief, it prompts no response, it means there's no going in the pub to meet him and shinwell delaying their departure until they don't leave for the coveted meeting at all. they're ten minutes out of where they're meeting richards; shinwell's assurance, and maria feels a bit too much trust for him, and knows too extensively of his professional reliability, for her to doubt his word.

ㅤ" you been here long? " there's subtext to the question, and maria knows shinwell will likely decipher it. have much have you had to drink while waiting for me? her brow lays heavy on her forehead, creased with concern, and with anxiety that even the darkness of the hour, and the murky orange haze of the street lamps, hold no chance of hiding. maria hikes in a breath, her heart tight in its cage. she'd hug him hello if the situation were anything other; those cards not being dealt, she settles on a meagre smile and a hesitant nod. " we can go get blackout drunk as soon as this is over, if you want. on me. obviously. "

ㅤstarter for @rvolving.

[crimewrought]

a dark bus stop lit only by street lights. @erebius.

ㅤoctober mists curl around them, translucent and twisting, glowing nocturnal in the night's artificial light. victor's the central phantom of this ghost town; skin pallid, but with a rising crimson spilt across his ashen cheeks; sockets ringed with sleepless grey, eyes wide awake with something searing between the whites and the irises. maria doesn't step towards him, not initially. it's a rare sight, one she gives herself a short grace period to stomach; vic, looking closer to explosion than implosion.

ㅤwhen her grace decays, she steps closer.

ㅤ" you panicked me a little with that call, vic. " her tone's a carefully brewed one: a touch caring, a touch probing. there's something wrong, here—something sinister polluting the frigid breeze that whirs between them. preparing herself to lift the rock and see the beasts beneath, she's going to find out what.

ㅤ" you wanna tell me what's gone on? we don't have to stay here. we can go wherever—a bar, my place. i think you need to be inside, vic. "

[crimewrought]

ㅤfor a moment, she's almost invested. for a hair of a second, maria entertains that he might just have something enlightening to say. but then kendall goes and settles a pampered hand on the wheel and yanks them off course, careering them into familiar, droll territory; stale pick-up lines, compliments with the depth of a puddle and just as dirty. she's deflated for a beat—if he'd berated her personality, that would've been a free pass for a character assassination of her own—but maria quickly rebounds from her disappointment. the cigarette dangling from his mouth looks just enough like a silver spoon to remind her of who he is.

ㅤstill, she leans in and lights him up all the same.

ㅤ" not tall enough. and i think it's too late for a career change. " a wry smile flickers, but it buckles when she ignites her own cigarette. she studies him from across the way, debating whether he looks better in 2D or in the flesh. " isn't that your big moneymaker? sounding bold. " maybe in person, she decides. some just aren't that comfortable in front of a camera.

it’s the fact she looks like a doll—biblical name to boot—that makes him both repulsed and keen. low-quality clothes. no perfume he’d recognize.

she’s seen him on TV, right? glossy two-pagers, maybe, uh, digital. yeah, probably. preconceived gen-z psych eval about a mile long, knows all there is at the bottom of the CNN barrel, so it’s only fair.

kendall’s mouth tugs, playful. untugs. he’s cruising, just about a-grazin’. no landing issues so far. logan wouldn’t like her, he doesn’t think, and that, as well, keeps him.

maria’s hair sheets like a pour of platinum. you could see your face staring back from that thing. kendall decides she’s not ready to know.

❝you ever model?❞ the virgin cigarette he talks around jumps. his eyes are shining outta his head. ❝at the risk of sounding too bold.❞

he doesn’t blink here on purpose, canting in the universal sign language ice-breaker every nicotine junkie’s cognitive functions are all over. got a light?

[crimewrought]

i would do literally anything to keep you safe. @erebius.

ㅤmaria spoons the hot soup into the awaiting bowls, taking pointed care to put a good heap more of the steaming food onto victor's plate. (it's less that vic looks like he needs it, and more that maria simply knows he does, whether he realises it or not.) a smile swarms across her features, unstoppable despite the gaping holes in vic's unprompted vow. it's an unfamiliar feeling, the knowledge of unlimited care, unlimited protection—doesn't matter that such dedication, despite the earnestness its spoken with, is cursed to stay hypothetical. he would do anything, maria thinks in silent solemnity, but he can't. and that's not his fault. her smile remains, lingering as she passes the food onto the table before vic. the would is more than enough.

ㅤ" not to give unsolicited advice, " maria starts, settling down on the seat beside him, " but focus on your priorities, vic. you should be focused on keeping you safe. " spoken with softness, yet a cold spear of shame splits the feeling in two. maria might doubt there's anything he could do, really—that doesn't mean she isn't thankful for the idea, though. " but thanks, darling. first step is wrapping me in bubble wrap, i think. then i'll do you. "

[crimewrought]

are you asleep, or just ignoring me? @vinduri.

ㅤthere's a stillness to these waters that maria has no liking for. it's not a stillness born of peace, or even a stillness born of fear. it's a unique quiet, maria thinks, one that brings with it a loneliness, a cold cover of isolation. they're the furthest from land they've been in months, and despite the plenty of souls on board, a grim, unusual quiet has settled into the pearl's timber. long days precede longer nights, the sea and sky both lost to a lifeless grey landscape. maria has stopped searching for blue in that unending grey; likewise, she's stopped trying to identify sea from skyline, muddled by the dense fog that engulfs the pearl and her seas.

ㅤlike the rest of the crew, maria had resisted the quiet. but, like the rest of the crew, a sort of reclusiveness had encroached upon her—she'd become one of the many uniformed by a bleak misery.

ㅤ" neither. i'm resting. "

ㅤresting like the dead. she's laid on her back, wan features pointing upwards, body unmoving. it's only her eyes that appear at all alive: half open, yet watching jack keenly. maria wonders how he bears it, immersed in the waters he loves, but them being waveless, eerily lifeless. like being with a loved one, she thinks, but their affections withheld. the thought ignites a molten guilt in her chest, and maria lifts suddenly from her gloomy half-slumber, the covers settling around her. the cold still holds her, but maria knows precisely which warmth she longs to feel.

ㅤ" i'm sorry. this quiet—i find it difficult. i don't mean to be an ungrateful passenger, darling. " moonlight slants into the bedroom, made silvery by the frozen world's dark mists. the pearly light settles across jack's features, skin, hair, and maria thinks he looks briefly more god than man—thinks that even a sea this ghostly would take him, recognising him still as one of its own.

ㅤ" please come to bed. tell me something wondrous. or show me something even better. "

[crimewrought]

i know you think you have to do things, but you don't. @dtperez.

ㅤ" anyone ever told you you're a touch tunnel visioned, ben? "

ㅤher words come with a smile, one that persists despite two raging detractors: the sobering melancholy that swells in her chest, and the brutish cold that roots them to where they stand. they'd gone to their usual haunt, drinks and furtive conversation taking them up to the bar's late closure. the time, maria thought, had been stealthy in its swift passing.

ㅤ" it's not that simple. never has been—never could be. " she'd been studying benjamin's face closely, carefully watching the precise lilt of his brow, the life in his eyes not quelled by the surrounding dark; though maria is quick to yank her attention away when she speaks. she doesn't mince her words, doesn't hesitate to speak the cold reality—but she can't quite do it when looking at him, though.

ㅤ" there's no easy way my messes can change. you're gonna be stuck looking down that tunnel forever if you can't accept that, benjamin. "

[crimewrought]

maria isn't ignorant to the ravenousness she feels for shoshana; can't ignore her insatiable longing for sho's presence, her touch, her words. it's the latter that she's most hooked on now, listening in earnest to the gentle revelations, and the much-coveted words of support, that shoshana offers in plenty. like much of sho, there's a duality to her words, a two-fold talent in what she says; because in one part they soothe maria, and in another part, they utterly ignite her.

" of course i cleared you quick. go for gold, you know? " the red-lipped smile speaks to her heart's ignition, but the way maria's fingers stay twined with sho's, never without gentleness, speaks to her softened heart. " you know, i think it was fifty-fifty with me and sim getting on so well. we're so similar, i think it would be pretty easy for us to clash entirely. and i suppose we do, on occasion. could never be us. " another knowing grin blooms, but something punctures her confidence—briefly, and not for worse. giving way for something ardent to shine through.

" i think it's only right to worry about this sort of thing. isn't it? " her fingers don't leave sho's, curling around them subtly. unquiet desperation. " not that i think they don't like me. just—would it not, you know, affect us at all? if they didn't. "

THERE'S CERTAINLY A STRANGENESS TO THE SITUATION AT HAND, BUT IT ISN'T A BAD SORT OF STRANGENESS. it's nebulous, soft, something that lingers subtly in the air around them, as unobtrusive as anything - which comes as somewhat of a surprise, considering the arguable gravity of the situation. the sommerfeld siblings aren't exactly in the habit of introducing partners to the parents, for various reasons that differ between them, and maria is the first person since high school who shoshana has decided to bring home.

❝ you're not an acquired taste, mar, and even if you were, you'd certainly suit this crowd. I'm by far the most difficult sell in my family and you cleared that hurdle quick. ❞ sho's mouth twitches slightly and she squeezes the other woman's hand gently before sipping at the drink in her other. ❝ sim's probably the next most difficult, despite appearances, and you charmed him like you were born for it. ezra was definitely more worried about you thinking he was weird than the other way around - always is - and my parents like you and trust me, so they're absolutely going to start asking after you at every family gathering from here on out. ❞ her gaze lingers on the other woman a moment as she brushes her thumb along the back of her soft hand. ❝ are you really so worried? ❞

[crimewrought]

you can choose what you are, what you will be. @warbyrds.

ㅤmaria's not quite sure if that's advice, philosophy, a line from a movie, or some mixture of the three. whichever it is, carol's words stir something keen inside maria—something poignant, but falling just short of belief. sorrow digs a small hole inside when she tries to kindle faith in the idea, and the words won't find a spark.

ㅤ" i'm no good at philosophising, you know. you'll need to find someone much more wise than me for that. " her red lips turn crescent, the smile soft, and just a shade rueful. she shrugs, brown eyes parting from carol's face after several beats of lingering there, studying the other woman's features and trying to absorb the thoughts behind them. maria's eyes settle on a candle burning on a nearby table, the flame small but blazing, pale wax dripping down the stick below. " i think you've got a much better chance of changing what you will be, than changing what you are. " maria turns her attention back to carol. she pinches her lips, shrugging again, as though in the handful of moments she'd spent contemplating the idea, she's arrived at some profound conclusion. or maybe, despite her objections, it's an idea she's considered before, and this contrary belief is one already determined, already held.

ㅤ" i struggle with the what you are, though. how'd you choose that? you know, the parts of you that matter—how'd you change those? " she leans in a fraction, her smile losing its sorrow, and gaining some joy. " genuinely asking. any tips would be greatly appreciated. "

[crimewrought]

what do you need from me? @perdefinitio.

ㅤit's a dizzying, too-trusting thing, a person offering themselves up in their absolute entirety. all of their tools, all of their knowledge, all of their very self, presented in such willing service. maria knows sev means it, too—without self-interest in his way, there's scarce part of him that he wouldn't let her take, with just a little faux compliant as his payment.

ㅤ" you're gonna land yourself in trouble for helping me, one day. "

ㅤthe joke doesn't land, but the message might. there it is, she thinks: the warning she can point him to when the world comes crashing down around him, which it will. there's the i told you not to help me, not my fault you didn't listen. " it's not, like, a huge issue or anything, but i wanted to get out of the city for a few days. " she's piecemeal in her method, gradual in revealing the truth of her request; like a crescent moon slowly turning blue. maria uses the plastic fork to pick at the scraps of fish and chips they shared, but doesn't take a bite of any. paranoia sits poorly on her, always has.

ㅤ" i'm probably being, whatever, overly cautious, but i'd rather be too cautious than fucked. i just want someone—i want you—with me for a few days, that's all. i've booked a hotel out of the city and we can get fucked up or watch films or go for walks by the seaside, i don't care. i slept shit last night because i've convinced myself that something's gonna blow up, and there's nothing to say it will, nothing's even really happened, but i'm fucking tired of thinking someone's gonna show up at my door in the middle of the night and they're gonna— " maria hadn't realised the force she'd been using, or even that she had still been playing with the food, and the plastic fork splinters, the cheap material shattering. she hadn't realised a lot, in fact; the speed she'd been talking at, the growing heat on her cheeks, the urgency in her tone that sounded uncomfortably close to pleading.

ㅤmaria gulps, suddenly regretful that she hadn't ordered a proper drink.

ㅤ" i'd just feel better if you were there, alright? "

[crimewrought]

what did you want to tell me? @gunbash.

ㅤ" ah—so i did say that to you. i was sort of hoping i imagined that part of last night. and my dancing fall... only, i've got the bruise to prove that one. " maria's smile is unerring, wavering not for her hesitation, nor for the forkful of pasta heading towards her mouth. there's a tiredness about her, but it's not the weary sort she's usually saddled with; this is a drowsiness not to be endured alone, but savoured with another. the food finds her lips, not painted red but left uncommonly bare. maria eats slowly, contentedly, studying the soft golden glow of evening light that flits between sebastian's eyelashes, that rushes through the soft brown whorls of his hair. a reliable instinct flares; to evade, to recant her wine-induced suggestion of honesty. despite all habits, dying hard but dying nonetheless, maria conquers the urge—at least in part. her full truth can wait—when those habits are finally six feet under, maybe—but she'll give him a glimpse of the truth her heart is harbouring.

ㅤ" i've never had such a good time with someone in so little time. and... i'm just really happy we're doing this. really happy—weirdly, slightly frighteningly happy. "

[crimewrought]

why should i trust you? @dtperez.

ㅤit's an honest question, wasted on a dishonest recipient. it's nothing she can help, not really—that treacherous but essential impulse of warping truth into falsehood. it's survival instinct in some part, maria figures, and simple bad habit in another. " you could've asked me how i'm doing first, benjamín. " the words are a tad barbed, but her tone lacks any real venom; mostly, it's just good-natured mirth thrumming in her timbre. she hasn't bypassed the question entirely, though—maria studies the detective sidelong, mulling over his words, taking a sip of her drink to fill the long pause that builds. that familiar impulse rages inside, that knee-jerk instinct to lie, to tweak a truth into something just short of honest. in an uncanny display of perhaps strength, perhaps stupidity, maria stomps away the impulse, reaching inside herself to wrench out something utterly novel; honesty, or something desperately close to it.

ㅤ" i'm pretty sure you're halfway there to trusting me already, despite yourself. i'm not going to give you reasons to trust me. i don't want to be held liable for saying i'm worth your trust when i'm probably not. " greene shrugs, small smile unwithered beneath the dim bar lights. " unfortunately who you trust is your call. so—does my brutal honesty mean i make the cut? "