#josephine001

[sawyergraves]

Location: Primordial MC Clubhouse

@josephinestvincent

After a busy and particularly annoying shift in the garage, Sawyer strolled into the clubhouse, finally finding a moment to sit. Flopping down into one of the vacant seats, he unleashed a heavy sigh and dug a hand into the inside pocket of his cut, fishing out the small baggie of weed Kit had given him, figuring he'd earned a good high after making it through the day without going off on anyone. Between one unruly customer after the other, the restraint Sawyer had shown was nothing short of a miracle. Rolling himself a joint, he glanced up only when he heard the door open, and frowned once he recognized the telltale flash of a badge shining underneath the dim clubhouse lighting."Shit," he muttered under his breath, but he didn't stop what he was doing. It was no secret that Sawyer had always been wary of anyone in law enforcement and his time inside had only made that worse. Even though Josephine was close to Jeremiah, old habits died hard, and Sawyer tensed ever so slightly as the detective drew closer, "Ya here on business or pleasure?"

[cvnstantin]

Down Time (Jo & Costin)

@books-xnd-cleverness​:

Not exactly, [Jo answers. She’s long past the due date for celebrating anything, and if she really were celebrating Rosalind’s return then it would make far more sense to do it with Rosalind. So no, to say she was drinking to anything would be a stretch.] Just enjoying myself. I don’t really do that nearly as often as I should.

[She doesn’t intend to make a habit of it, either. There’s too much to focus on, too much at stake to be inebriated all the time. Besides, the vague floating sensation growing in her head makes her feel just a little unsettled. Like she’s left the stove on, or forgot to do something important. To distract herself from the nerves, her eyes settle on the book in the man’s hand.] Oh, I love Doctor Zhivago! Have you read it before? I always thought Tonya’s goodbye letter was the saddest part. He never even got to say goodbye!

✑

[He nods in soft understanding; there’s not really anything inherently melancholy about people not celebrating as often as they should, but it’s easy to view through a different lens these days. People are exhausted, so caught up in the act of surviving that they often forget to celebrate the good parts. It’s one of the reasons he likes to go to church each Sunday. It’s a good time to reflect and give thanks for what he still has.

Constantin is surprised – and impressed – that she’s read it. He was under the impression that Westerners generally found it exhausting to read. Something about the multiple names for each character, as well as the sheer scale of them. It’s just a matter of what you’re used to, he supposes. In school they had studied a lot of Russian and Balkan literature so large casts of confusingly named characters are the standard for him. He’s not so familiar with Western authors, so he’s sure he’d struggle with writers like Steinbeck and Fitzgerald for different reasons.]

For a book that opens with a boy sobbing over his mama’s grave, it does manage to get even more tragic in each page. But, is not Russian literature if is not bleak. This is always one of my favourite books, though I have never read her in English before so is taking me some time to become comfortable vith it. I am surprised you like it so much, I was under the impression that such books are not so enjoyable for English people?

[He’s not attuned enough to the language to realise she’s American – but he’d have said much the same thing anyway. It’s nice, though, to know there’s some intersection of culture and that the books he grew up loving can be loved here, too. These are the little things that make him feel less alone.]

[izzyrojas]

@josephinestvincent​

Izzy has always been someone who’s been consistent at the gym. She got used to those that were consistent around the place so it wasn’t a surprise if Izzy was found in-between sets making small talk. She was always dressed like she was on an athleisure photoshoot, ready for any shot as she squatted. Adjusting her leggings after a set, she takes a sip of water, looking around. Izzy waves toward the other regular she recognizes from the times she’d seen and even spotted for her. “I like your top, you’ve definitely got the gym rat vibe going,” she mentions from across the way, pulling out one of her headphones so she could hear the response. “Think you could spot my ass so I don’t end up falling backwards? My boyfriend didn’t come today so I’m a little fucked.”

[scthcartcr]

@josephinestvincent​

“Arrest any innocent fuckers lately?” he provokes, a far from subtle jab. Seth never took well to the police or the sheriffs and he certainly didn’t want more detectives sniffing around. Somehow, Jo was friends with Jeremiah, even though she was in law enforcement which obviously was an interesting combination. And while Jeremiah may never ask her to sweep something under the rug or look the other way, Seth would always remember that it was in the man’s back pocket. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t rattle the woman’s cage a little with a passing comment or two. “Been a minute, huh?” he asks. Seth’s dodged a lot of bullets with law enforcement, serving mostly small stints, that is, besides eight long years away for a murder he committed at eighteen.

[angel-thorne]

after the urban manuscript || angel & josephine

@books-xnd-cleverness​:

angel-thorne‌:

[They’ve no way of knowing, of course. It’s through their ignorance that they’ve cultivated this memorial garden, and Angel adores it.

He’s not got the heart to tell anyone that it’s meaningless. Nobody is up there watching over them; he would know, he’s been there. The Afterlife isn’t as simple as that. It’s nothing and everything, and your sense of self dissolves so absolutely that you become one with everything. In the Afterlife, Angel disconnected utterly from the concept of his parents, or loved ones, because the cosmos was so much bigger than that. It’s difficult to imagine, now, being so limited that you devote your love exclusively to those of your blood.

But, it’s not easy to put into words. For mortals on earth, there is comfort in ritual. Gravestones and eulogies and memorials are all for the living, not the dead, and that’s just as beautiful. Angel isn’t in the Afterlife any more, he is here on Earth with the living, and it’s their comfort he seeks. It’s why he loves the memorial garden so. It’s a place of great comfort to so many, and for that reason it helps him feel close to them.

Perched on the low, stone wall, the gauzy chiffon of his skirt caught against a few sharp edges, he pulls out a little note tucked between two stones. The words are sacred, a prayer from one of the living to one of the dead, but as Angel is not really one or the other, he can’t imagine anyone will mind.] ‘…and in my grief, I smile, knowin’ you’re with dad again.’ 

[He reads the words aloud in the melodic lilt of his accent. It’s a beautiful sentiment, grief and joy married as one. His eyes are half shut in the sort of pensive ecstasy he often loses himself to when the world sings these songs to him. He hears the wind play through the trees, and the grass dancing together, blade against blade, and he hears the soft approach of footsteps.]

Mm. Beautiful, isn’t it? And in my grief I smile. [He might have that for some of his lyrics, Angel thinks.] 

[Jo didn’t often wander the Colony aimlessly. Her teaching and training kept her busy enough, and in her spare time she figured it was better to keep her head down and away from trouble. That said, she did stray from time to time. Always with a purpose, be it walking down to the docks or people-watching in the Catch-22. Just to vary the routine once in a while. Shake off whatever restlessness built up.]

[Out of all the places she didn’t wander to, the memorial garden was high on her list of areas she actively avoided. For one thing, it was close to where she’d tried to escape. Not right next to it, but closer than she would’ve liked- never mind whatever Elites were watching her. For another, it was a place of sentimentality. Sadness. Goodbyes. None of which she had any desire to interact with. She didn’t need the added weight of abandoned prayers on her shoulders.]

[All of that said, after class she found herself wandering without purpose, and of course where else would she end up but in the gardens. That’s what she got for losing herself in her head, she supposed. Smack dab in one of the last places she wanted to be. Someone else is there, too. Praying, maybe, or reflecting. She doesn’t want to disturb him, but then he speaks and of course her stupid feet carries her towards him instead of away.]

It is beautiful, [She agrees. Always a sucker for poetry. Or prose. Or both. At the same time, she feels more than a little uncomfortable reading someone else’s private message.] Is it yours? The prayer?

[Is it yours, she asks. Yours. Angel could get terribly philosophical there. He considers a  lot of things to be ‘his’ even if they aren’t strictly his possession. And sentiments, like the one on this slip of paper can’t truly belong to anyone. In that way, he does consider this poem, this prayer, to be his as much as it is anyone’s.

But it’s not really what this person has asked, and he knows that. Angel folds the paper closed along its creases, toying with it between his fingers. Respect of physical possessions is not a trait Angel is known for: he’s very detached from the idea of ‘things’, and tends to forget that people might be attached to these things no matter how meaningless it seems. He never intends to hurt anyone -- he wants to bring only light, and love -- but it’s not always easy. When you’re not a human, a lot of life becomes quite irrelevant.] 

Mine? [The question is asked with a flourish as he regards the woman. Very petite, and seemingly quiet enough to match it. People are so fascinating, all so different. The unassuming ones are often the most interesting of all; they wear all of their truth inside where only they can see it, as if tattooed on the inside of their skin. Some people are known on Earth - Angel had been one of them, extravagant and loud and shameless. But some people are known only in the Afterlife, when all of the ephemeral threads of their soul are teased out to twine among the cosmos.

She’s one of the latter, Angel thinks. A little unknowable.] No, no. Mournin’ is for... [He almost says ‘mortals’, but something he is aware of is the fact that that sort of talk makes people uncomfortable. Generally best not to launch right into it.] Not for me. Did you come here to pray? [As Angel asks this, he tucks the paper back into the crack between the stones where he had found it. He loves hearing prayers. Whatever god they’re addressed to, there’s something very moving about humanity’s faith.]

[cambieandrews]

right as rain | jo + cambie

@books-xnd-cleverness:

cambieandrews‌:

[She’d only gone outside for a matter of minutes, in order to retrieve the child that had ventured out in the storm because they thought they saw a cat in need of help. In those few minutes, Cambie had gotten as thoroughly soaked as if she’d just dived into the public bath still fully clothed. The child has been safely returned to their mother, and now she’s wringing her hair out into the sink of one of the communal bathrooms. She’s cold, and clammy, and shivering, and there’s a soft smile on her face: she has to laugh at herself, because of course someone is going to come in while she’s looking like a drowned rat.] 

I know, I know - I’m that idiot. [She smiles, shaking a few more droplets from sleeves.] I’d not recommend going outside right now. Bit brisk out there.

[There are as many different types of rain as there are raindrops; that is to say, too many. Soft rain, rain that’s more like mist, thunderstorms, driving rain. Jo’s favorite has always been pure Seattle rain. The kind that comes down just hard enough to be worth staying inside, but light enough to tap out a rhyme on the window. This rain is not that. This is a deluge, a storm to rival Noah’s flood. Jo grimaces on her way to the bathroom, tooth and hairbrushes in hand, and is at least partially glad she’s safe in the Colony and not out swimming. Not like the woman currently shaking water from her hair.]

Recommendation noted, [Jo replies, smiling just a bit.] And I’d recommend you wear a bathing suit next time. Did you have a nice swim at least?

[’Did you have a nice swim?’ Cambie chuckles, turning to face the newcomer. She recognises Jo immediately, although they’ve never spoken. Jo’s the one that had tried to escape with several of the kids. It had been a difficult day, for everyone. The NWRF had been furious. Cambie had gotten into an argument with one of the guards, storming furiously that this place isn’t a prison, you can’t lock people up for wanting freedom.

But, apparently, they can. They had. Cambie’s arguments had gone ignored, and she’d been pointedly reminded of her own tenuous position, and how many Reformists there are that could easily take over Delma’s leadership from her. Sometimes she’d thought about seeking Jo out, since she suspected they might have a fair amount in common, both personally and politically, but Jo seemed content enough keeping to herself. Presumably she was keeping her head down to avoid any more trouble, and Cambie respected that. She respected the fact that it might be risky talking to her and getting too political - they were both in that tenuous position of Uninfected Elites who felt strongly against the NWRF, but couldn’t argue too loudly or risk losing what little power they had.] 

Mm, it was nice and muddy, just how I like it. [Cambie grins, shivering from the chill. The water drips down her back, a none too subtle reminder that no good deed goes unpunished.] But, isn’t that just British life? You know it’s going to be cold and rainy half the time, but you’re also just outraged when it happens. God, I know you were joking about the bathing suit, but I might actually go warm up in the baths for a bit. Come with, if you like - you might not be soaked through with icy rainwater but I’m fully convinced that hot tubbing has healing properties for anyone and everyone.

[annie-perrault]

Home Turf || Jo and Annie

@books-xnd-cleverness

[Despite her blunt and forward nature, Jo is suddenly grateful for the woman’s answer. Jo needs to get away from all those painful memories, and this confusing answer is enough to put her out of it. Still breathing shakily, Jo turns and frowns at the woman. The woman sounds like she’s making sense, but Jo can’t make heads or tails of it. She almost wishes she has her notebook to take all this down.]

You…your body? [Quickly wiping her eyes, Jo turns the words over to make sense of them.] Your consciousness? So…you’re not really here? [Of course the woman is really here, but Jo learned the hard way not to argue.]

[Annie’s not sure at this point if she’s making things more or less awkward. It’s too late to backpedal now, but she half-regrets saying anything. She’s not sure why she does this - overshares, tells anyone and everyone the intricacies of her mind. She should probably take a leaf out of Roy’s book, and Orson’s, and just shut the fuck up once in a while. She’s just desperate for someone, some day, to look her in the eye and say, holy shit me too. It’s tiring, being alone in your mind for so long.] 

Yeah, no, I’m... It’s... complicated. I’m just, I’m asleep right now, and this is a nightmare that I’ve been trying to figure out how to wake up from for like, five years now. [She smiles, tight and awkward as she tugs her sleeves down. She’s not sure why she bothers. It’s not like Jo would need to see her tattoo to realise she’s Deluded. Everyone figures that out, fast.] Not a metaphor, by the way. Just... in case that was your next question.

[carasoliz]

> @thymeandreason !!

There was only a tiny corner of the lake that Carina made herself comfortable in every so often. She missed swimming but she was not sure yet if she would be welcomed in an unknown body of water. Who knew who else lived there? So she kept content in the little area behind the rocks, somewhere far too shallow to really swim in but enough that she felt better from the water and it was certainly more comfortable than her small tub in the hotel. Cara hadn’t found the time to do much else like figure out there was a pool in town or start to investigate the lake more. Most of her time and energy was consumed in her new work and studies.

The biggest downside, however, was how lonely it was to sit there in the shallow water for as long as she needed to. Cara kept occupied studying her textbook on the edge of a wet rock and hoping not to get water on it’s pages. But when she heard the sound of someone approaching, she excitedly tucked the textbook back into her bag on the shore and peaked up from the rocks in curiousity. The girl didn’t seem to expect anyone to be there. So when she seemed to look startled upon noticing her, Cara sheepishly lifted herself up on the rocks, chuckling. “I am sorry,” she said softly and apologetically. From behind the rocks, most of her wet crop top and all her bright tail were hidden. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

[ozheik]

Asphyxiation Lullaby

@thymeandreason

Oz missed his home at times. Things were much simpler there and he knew their customs. The time he had been trapped in this place had started to finally rattle his brain. Would they ever make it out? Would he ever be able to help Cara find her siblings? The answer seemed to be a large resounded, ‘No’ that chimed off the calming lake.  He had meant to come into the lake to take a nap, but instead stood watch over the duckling on shore. The territorial sense shifted from his home to that judgy thing.

In the back of his mind he could hear the lullaby his mother used to sing that would help him fall steady asleep. He noted a few figures that lingered around the lake that hadn’t yet ventured inside of it. Slowly he ducked his head into the lake closing his eyes. The song powered from his lips into the air and towards the surface area near him. Ironically, though his mother wanted him to have nothing to do with English or humans. He was pretty sure the lyrics to the lullaby were English in nature.  Oz watched the reflection of the sun against the lake where he had seen the girl near his duck.

“Come here. Come in to the water, it’s just fine. One foot and then the next, you won’t be vexed. Come to me where you’ll swim joyously and free. The wetter the better as you slide into the water, where you’ll come under. Oh what a plunder!” 

[rodolphuslcstrange-blog]

@underneathsilk

For the past few weeks, he felt as if he were walking on air. Ever since the day he met Emmeline Vance, or rather re-met Emmeline Vance, his days were colored by a note of unbridled joy, where just the mere idea of seeing her again roused him with eagerness and anticipation. Every free moment they could find, they spent together, all of his more-pressing responsibilities falling to the wayside. Habit and tradition had faded into the periphery of his conscious mind, even the ones he had once treasured so much. On that single day that they couldn’t be together, Rodolphus finally remembered her. He chastised himself for forgetting when he realized what had been biting at the far reaches of his mind for the past couple of weeks, what had felt missing all this time. On that afternoon, after navigating through the winding, endless passages of the Ministry, he knocked on the door of the office of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot before turning the knob with a gentle flick of his wrist. Pleased to find her solitary figure, he leaned against the doorframe, his posture lazy. "Long time no see, Ms. Flint. Did you miss me?

[eveofyourperdition-a]

josephinethetempest​

Eve had been alive long enough that she should have lost her sense of wonder at the world--would be well within her rights to, since few things were as beautiful as Eden--but here, on the beach, she couldn't help stopping a moment to sigh

The breeze swept around her, throwing her shawl this way and that, and she couldn’t help but smile. Eyes closed, sun warming her skin, she almost forgot why she had come until she heard people approach. She cast one last sigh out toward the ocean, so close and yet so far, and turned round to head back up to the sidewalk.

As she climbed the last stair, a group of people walked past. None of them human, of course: She spotted a werewolf, a merman, and even an ogre bound in a human-sized shell. If any of them gave her a second thought, they didn’t show it. Not that eve expected it.

And then, trailing just behind them all, a familiar face. Eve felt herself smile again. She ascended the last couple steps until she was level with the walkway at last. Hand on the rail, she stood and watched Josephine in silence for a moment before she finally spoke:

“Hello again, Sweetheart.”

.