#lenore huerta: 001

[minotaur-unslain]

DATE & TIME: February 4TH, 12:30AM LOCATION: The Blackbird Bar TAG: @llenore

In his lifetime Jin had witnessed more than his fair share of bar fights (drunk college students; pissed fans in sports bars; couples arguing, the list went on and on) and he was keenly aware that this was technically his second one in less than month, but it wasn’t until now —sidestepping broken bottles and damaged property; trying to distinguish co-worker from enemy in the half lit room— that it became noticeable what prime location the Blackbird was for catching them off guard.

If he was a little less drunk he might have been able to discern if that was paranoia or insight talking. 

In the chaos Jin couldn’t help but wonder if someone had managed to escape; if both Vegas and the protest had taught him anything it was that at least one co-worker was slippery enough to figure out how break free when things go heated. The fact that person apparently wasn’t him was probably a plus mark in someone’s moral checkbook, but as Jin narrowly avoided someone charging towards him it felt more like a huge oversight on his part.

What did he have to do to get people to get it through their head that he was not someone fucked with?

Until that moment Jin had never considered the skill of his reflexes, but as his instinct works double time to curb his punch as his brain registers that the person standing in front of him was no longer his target but Lenore (and that he was as close to giving her a black eye as she is to nearly concussing him with a bat) he has never felt more relieved that it could be described as fast.

“Fuck— Goddamn, Lenore!”

[anoracle]

DATE & TIME: January 15TH, 8;00PM LOCATION: Bathroom in the Janus Hotel TAG: @llenore​

The bathroom counter is cool against bare legs not yet covered by skirts, Emme saving putting on the dress until she has too, leaving it draped on a hanger on a stall door. The world isn't quiet, but it can seem as such - with the muffled hum of the hotel outside the swinging door, guests already dressed and mingling between each other, members of a band tuning instruments both together and apart. Help create the world seem to be just her and Lenore under the yellow florescents and a smudged mirror, but with no other options of where to get dressed in. There's a quiet, but fond smile she gives to the other, trying to trick herself that the twist of her stomach is a good thing (she can trick herself of so many things, perhaps. To become drunk on hope). (It's the people, it's the unknown, because in some kinder story she would know how to wear dresses and heels and live Cinderella-esque nights would have the promise of something sweet at the end without her having to create softness.) 

There's warmth in the way she looks at Lenore, the kind of comfort built around the first who became a constant in her life, looking to her as she applies makeup to her cheeks. And there still is excitement, something live-wire inside of her that only brings smiles, but that doesn't mean her mind doesn't latch onto Lenore as something to focus on, like all that's worth to see in the world right now is the excitement of the other woman, all she wants to see, see something bright. Stars. (It shouldn't be so easy, for the world to be something seen and unseen, so much seen, but not like this, so what can she catch in her hands - she wants to know. She wants laughter in her chest.)

She doesn't want to break the quiet or knock Lenore off from some train of thought so when knotted hands needing still to move reach for a tube of red lipstick, twisting it in her hands to look at the color, her eyes lead the question if she could try it, but also she doesn’t want to add that she would have to figure out how.