#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]

ㅤa gulp traverses the column of her throat, tight and heavy, sinking down her taut, pale flesh. a product of dizzying restraint, yes, but also a product of something much deeper; the nervousness of a delicate, revived heart. maria wonders in sacred silence how her heart has handled it, all these years—barely beating at all, only ever sputtering out a sickly rhythm for scarcely ever a right reason. it feels good, good like all the things that usually end up hurting, for her heart to pump for something so surely right. " if we do this a little while longer, i think your cheeks might stay pink forever. " she grins, entirely aware that she's one to talk: her own cheeks are high-colour, her pupils blown, pink lips agape in equal parts awe and barely-contained desire. maria leans in, fingers sunk greedily in the curls at the nape of sebastian's neck, her lips ghosting against his. " which, by the way, i'm fine with. you somehow look even better when you're blushing. " by her final word, the touch is no longer ghostly. her lips press desperately against his, a show of the restraint her heart and hands threaten to disavow.

ㅤ" you know, we've been surprisingly old school about this. waited months to kiss, a proper wooing... if we're carrying on like that, i should probably wait til you've taken me on an actual, proper, official date for anything otherwise. " leaned back, maria gives a grin. it's a smile that carries as much jesting joy as it does suggestion. " in theory, anyway. although that's not my usual style. "

in his brain , there's a repetitive , constant echo of finally , finally , finally all stumbling around in the empty void of no thought , just action . maria makes it hard to focus on one thing — she makes it difficult to blink through his dizziness and get views beyond her face to make sense . all he can think about is her ; all he can view is the constant smile on her lips and fluttering eyelashes overlapping her soft gaze . she makes tender remarks about his memorization skills ( miraculous given how foggy his brain is ) and he shyly looks to the side . of course , while he's glancing away , flushed and amused , SHE KISSES HIS FOREHEAD . maybe a piece of him floats away at that . ❝ christ , maria . ❞ words don't make a lot of sense post-kiss with maria , but maybe he has to get used to that in a post-kiss world . maybe everything will constantly be like this now , messy and fumbled in knots . she changes the course of his mind and his life with one simple press . she turns the world into something new . ❝ I'M VERY WOOED . so wooed i forgot what i was going to say next . ❞ a pause , and then he goes on . . . ❝ maybe we could just keep doing this for a little while longer . i promise to behave , of course — i'm an obedient sort . i'll even keep my hands to myself and my shakespeare wooing to a minimum . ❞ he flashes a cheeky smile . ❝ though i can be convinced otherwise if incentivized . ❞

[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]

" no backstabbing. " richards flings his attention to maria at a breakneck pace, plucking out precisely what he shouldn't from shinwell's words. " you got a knife under that dress? " her red lips pinch, and she shakes her head in a curt no. richards returns the motion, the action all malice and mockery in the places maria gave only subservience. " then what's all the fucking rush about? "

nausea pools at the base of maria's neck, an icy chill trickling down her spine. the question's directed at her—his eyes are, anyway, inside them an off-putting expression maria doesn't care to linger on—so she hikes in an uneasy breath, whatever silent message shinwell's trying to send her be damned.

" no rush, we just don't want to interrupt your night. here— " maria moves to complete the transaction—his shit for their unharmed selves—her hands moving to her bag, delving for the gear inside. except richards moves too, his hefty form rising from his seat; and with him, like objects bound to his magnetic field, the cronies scattered about move too. some tall, some short, some round, some lean. but they all move in unison, following a wordless command, entering the new space formed. richards stands inches away from shinwell and maria's faces, his cronies forming a sort of circle around them all—close enough to give shinwell and maria a few jostling shoves from behind.

" do you need how i work knocking back into your fucking skull, johnson? "

obviously, shinwell's no better at handling the communication part of this interaction than maria would've been. goes and puts his fucking foot in his mouth, because there is no getting it right, not when richards is determined to dislike you from the start. ❝ yeah, returning ❞, correcting himself as if agreeing to the terms -- the terms being: richards rules this place and shinwell's just one measly worm of many.

                    the only difference it makes, shinwell handling it instead of maria, is that it'll be shinwell suffering the consequences. and he can tell there's gonna be consequences. it's the tiny fucking pig eyes that promise retaliation.

                    now they're here, enjoying their audience with the fucking pope, there's no chance of shinwell touching her without it sending a message they won't like. so when she starts speaking, instead of his hand flying back up to her shoulder to stop her, it's his gaze trying desperately to meet hers: shut up, shut up, let them forget you're even fucking here.

                    ❝ i, uh-- ❞, fucking dipshit for not having anticipated this question, and his attention snaps back, quick on his feet but sheepish all the same, ❝ just witness, i guess. make sure you get your shit back, no backstabbing, that kinda thing. ❞ he motions at maria in a way he hopes suggests some sort of superiority, some indication of her playing no role at all. ❝ give it. ❞ there's an argument for rushing through this, but another against it too, and shinwell's gambling on the former. ❝ it's just this and we'll fuck off. ❞

[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]

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]

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]

ㅤher smile starts hollow, mirthless, more a thing of habit than happiness. yet when he agrees, the expression evolves; something sincere tinges the waters, lips tugging upward in a show of inarguable contentment. perhaps buying ben a drink, encouraging an apparently mutual vice, is an unwise venture... but by that logic, maria supposes, so is their coalition altogether. and despite the innate treachery of their companionship, there's not one part of maria that's actually regretting it.

ㅤ" i wouldn't go that far. this is me trying to turn a bad night into a good one. if it cheers you up a bit, well, that's purely incidental. " her smile endures, still skirting the corners of her mouth when she orders them another round. the drinks come quickly, the amber liquid undulating just so in the brimming tumblers. maria pauses for a beat, rolling her narrow shoulders back, as if straining against something weighty but invisible.

ㅤ" i'd like to spend an evening together that doesn't hinge on either morbid information or a disappointing lack of it. " this time, when her shoulders move, it's instead in a more decisive shrug. " just for a change. what do you say? "

blunt   statement   dislodges   the   melancholy clogging   his   throat,   beckons   a   wry   amusement   to   his   lips.   the   ghost   of   a   smile   that   doesn't   quite reach   his   eyes.   sentiment   one   to   which   he   can   relate,   too   often   tragedy's   messenger.   AND   I   LOOKED,   AND   BEHOLD   A   PALE   HORSE.   AND   HIS   NAME   THAT   SAT   ON   HIM   WAS   DEATH.   except   his   isn't   a   coming   foretold.   it   is   merely sirens   carried   upon   dust-winds,   the   ground   underfoot   weeping   blood. here :   the wasted   cold   of   a   mausoleum,   such   chill   settled   ever-present   within   ossein   frame.   ❛ no,   it   isn't. ❜ reassurances she gives left hanging in the air.

and   he   knows   he   should   turn   down   the   offer that follows,   that   choosing   to   stay   sets course upon A DANGEROUS PATH.   (  but   held   in   her   copper   gaze,   he feels the   ache   fading ).   a   solace   in   her   company   that   keeps   him   seated,   better   than   the   alternative   of   returning   to   an   empty   apartment,   passing   hours   marked   with   whiskey   and   regret.   keenly   aware   it   would   be   his   turn   to   deliver   the   bad   news   come   morning   briefing,   eager   to   avoid   reality   if   only   for   a   little   longer.   ❛ this   you   feeling   sorry   for   me? ❜   words   without   malice,   empty   glass   slid   across   table   towards   her   in   A SILENT GESTURE of agreement. / @crimewrought

[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]

how about a little midnight snack? @gunbash.

they're bathed in the soft yellow light of her kitchen, a warm and welcomed contrast to the evening darkness that slants in through the windows. the light agrees with him, as all lights invariably do—the amber glow hits sebastian's features in just the right way, highlighting all the things maria has become increasingly familiar with... and increasingly fond of. the particular shade of his hair, the strong lines of his jaw, the freckles that sit just under one blue eye. his words, the way he looks in this nook of nighttime brightness, earns a soft smile from maria, the glow of it not dissimilar to the one they're currently bathed in.

ㅤ" can do, but we'll have to order in, or go on a late night trip for something. i think i have about two edible things in my kitchen right now. " her smile evolves, making way for a grin. an empty kitchen is hardly a habit of maria's, but an excess of time spent at sebastian's is a more than welcome forfeit for a lack of food. " your choice: bad takeaway, or a midnight hunt for food? "

[crimewrought]

i can't handle this sober. @vinduri.

rain pelts down in sheets, storming from the fat clouds that hang persistent in the bruising sky above. maria's seen a vast expanse of climates now, but she finds some rare novelty in this weather—not in the rainfall itself, but in the ceaselessness of it. a fortnight gone with no relenting; and subsequently, to jack's evident chagrin, no sailing. they'd made port intentionally, but the length of the stay was a result of being thwarted by the weather... and by a few members of the crew having found better beds than the pearl's to reside in for the brief stay. with no urgency to set sail, it'd been tensely agreed to stay a further two nights, and not a moment more. maria watches the deluge through the closed window, listening to the glass struggle and rattle against the onslaught. the fixture sounds close to breaking point, maria thinks—not unlike her sullen company.

" you're a fool to have stayed sober for this long. " her words carry a brusqueness, but the glint in her eye, the tug of a smile at her mouth, betrays her pantomime harshness. maria retreats from the window, sources a bottle of undoubted contents, and passes it jack's way. " we could've gone today. what made you willing to linger? " she studies him from across the table, fingers idly plaiting her sun-bleached hair. " this stay clearly isn't agreeing with you. "

[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?