#mahalo!marion <333

[brooklynislandgirl]

This One || -

1. Who slowly eases into the pool while complaining about the temperature of the water and who takes a full-force no regrets flying cannonball into the water:

Sometimes Marion runs the dogs out along the creeks, down in the hollows of the bayous, cypress trees overhung with moss. The sounds of crickets and frogs and mosquitoes, a long list of local denizens. Sometimes, she follows along in human skin, keeping Marion company, with a running conversation, questions about the area, what it is like to live here alone, so far away from people, though she knows more about that than she cares to admit. Sometimes Beth follows along in feathers, completely indistinguishable from other birds except that she knows how and where to fly that she isn’t easy prey. Sometimes as a deer, sometimes as a gator. These are silent sojourns are company in her own way. They don’t last nearly as long; while her magick lets her wear whatever skin she wants so long as it is a living thing, too much time spent in an altered form starts to steal away her humanity, and causes her pattern to leak. 

This time, she spends too much time as a hummingbird and can only dart out and over the water without warning. Knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins, she hits the water’s surface like a boulder. The splash covers the dogs, the long reeds, and eventually Marion. When she comes up sputtering, she grins, covering her bareness with skin and the swamp water. She grins at the other woman sheepishly. “So. Can I...ah...borrow ya plaid, til I get somewhere wi’ clothes?”

2. Who can easily comfort the other when they’re sick and who sprays everything down with Lysol and wears an antimicrobial mask and pats the former with a broom to comfort them when they get sick?

Beth thinks she is going to die. Every smell, every whisper of sound, every touch only makes the nausea worse. Without the covers, she’s too cold. With them, she’s too hot. It’s so bad that even her hair follicles hurt. Not only that but her nose is red and chapped, her sinus passages and her eyes swollen, red, itchy. Her head is pounding, her body aches, she can’t even find a few moments of peace. She doesn’t even understand how people live like this. 

And while Zarek is in town picking up supplies because she can’t, Marion is keeping an eye on her. And there’s kind of a curl of her lip and an eye roll that Beth is familiar with, she’s seen it on her brother’s face a half a million times. But for really real this time, she’s dying.

"S'jus' a lil' cold, sha" Reproachfully, Beth glances in the other woman’s direction. And spends the next thirty seconds sneezing.  “Need. T’make. Living will.” She’s absolutely sure that next time instead of just a spritz of Lysol in her direction, Marion will feed her the entire can.

3.  Who’s the amazing cook and who almost burns the house down trying to microwave a pop tart?

Marion glances over to Beth, a sneer of disdain on her face. Reflected in the dainty Hawai’ian’s demeanour too. They can certainly blame one another for playing a bit of grab-ass with each other. The pan is no longer on fire though the lingering smell of burnt ...whatever... was still thick and heavy, almost more powerful than the smoke drifting out toward the windows. There is only one thing they can do. In unison, their voices rise. “RILEY!” “PANDA!”

He peels himself from the lean against the side of the place, and field strips his cigarette butt into the ashtray. It was like he could see this coming.  Heading to his truck, he’s already got the grill loaded up with charcoal, and the cooler he just knew to bring along. 4. Who immediately goes for the can of Raid when they see a bug and who picks it up like “no wait don’t kill it I wanna keep it”?

It’s instinct, Beth can see it in the start of the muscle twitch as Marion’s hand goes to to smack it right off her arm, like she would a mosquito or some other kind of ‘critter’. Thankfully, she is just quick enough to lean in and cup her hands around it. Plucks it free of Marion’s sleeve and pulls her hands apart just enough to peak into the dark space and murmur something unintelligible to it. “...’s jus’ one...da kine. Ya know... make big-big web? Like...Charlotte. Or...” She doesn’t know any other book characters based on Orb-weavers. This one is a particular beauty, green and white and about the size of a dime.

She offers Marion a brilliant smile, all sharp pointed teeth and soft, full lips. “No everybody evah see da beauty in nature, but is always dere, even undah da surface.” She excuses herself and makes her way toward the treeline to set her tiny captive free.

5. Who likes to lean over railings to get a better view and who freaks out and tries to pull the former back away from the rail screaming about how they might fall?

“Jus’ jump, sha.”

Beth squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head vehemently.

“..s’only twelve feet.” But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like the space between the branch and the ground is a million miles. Worse, she doesn’t know how she even got up here. She doesn’t know how she’s going to get down. “Gotta trust me. I’ll catch ya.” Not if her heart gives out before she makes it. And she stays there, arms wrapped around the tree bark for the better part of the hour, no matter how Marion threatens or cajoles. But she can’t hold on forever. At some point she’s either going to slip or she’s going to have to jump and neither option seems so great. Marion is...six feet. She’s five. That’s almost twelve, right? Carefully she sits down, still holding the trunk for dear life. “K-den. But...don’t drop me....au’rite?” 6. Who acts like they’re brave and fearless but actually gets terrified 15 minutes into a horror movie and who is usually the huge scaredy cat but isn’t fazed at all by most horror movies?

Beth tries to become one with the couch and when that fails, she builds a small wall of pillows and blankets around her. Lifts her forearms up defensively to block sight of the screen. But that doesn’t stave off her other senses. Beth can still hear the screaming. The slick, gushy sounds that are so very realistic she can all but taste the blood on the back of her tongue. The way that one guy is slicing skin off that kid’s face...

She knows it all too well from the ER. And even though she knows it’s movie-magic it still she can’t get over the feel of it all. She buries her face into Marion’s side and wishes it all away.

7. Who constantly criticizes the latter’s wardrobe and who dresses even more outrageously to further annoy the former?

She doesn’t have a thing that would fit Marion, who is a foot taller than she is, and though whip-cord lean, is still a few dress sizes larger too. And for all that she has money and influence, she can’t take Marion to the gala in jeans and a tee shirt, maybe some flannel if she’s dressing up. 

She translates what Marion says as “I ain’t wearing this.” though, technically it could have actually been ‘Fight sweater debris,’ just like it sounded. Beth doesn’t know why she hates the sheer black top and the leather skirt. Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t be let out of the house like that, but with Marion’s pale skin and long limbs...it would look stunning. “Okay. How about... black sequin kine dat look like it shot t’rough wi’ lava?”

8.Who likes total darkness when they sleep and who needs a night light?

Despite the rain, despite the fact that Beth was exhausted from the hunt and trying to keep just out of the Rougarou’s reach, despite the fact that she was too slowly for comfort healing up from the jagged chunks of her body having been ripped muscle from bone, she tosses and turns in the moonless dark of Marion’s bed.

She whimpers. Writhes. None of it is alluring when it is paired with the thick scent of frothing-at-the-mouth terror. That she attempts to keep moving, feet kicking under the cool sheets. Sweat soaking into her hair. Goes on for hours until Marion, in her wisdom, sets a candle out. The light falls on Beth, and she starts to calm, her breathing returning to normal.

In the morning, Beth doesn’t talk about it. But over her coffee, she hoarsely whispers, “mahalo f’ dat.”

9. Who loves kids and who scowls at the mere sight of them?

She disappears from everything for more than nine months; it’s more like a year and some. Three months after the birth of the child she finally emerges from her cabin, from out behind her husband, from everything she’s used to put space and silence between them. Has the gall to act like nothing is wrong, that nothing happened.  And to make matters worse, she brings the baby with her. He has her skin tone and her eyelashes. Almost takes up all of her available arm space because she’s not that big. A little tuft of black hair, black eyes when he flutters them open. She says his name is Styxx.  Like the river of the dead and damned. And though she doesn’t look any different than she did before, except maybe going up a cup-size, there’s something stiff in the way she walks. The ginger way she sits, and tries to cover the wince with a coo at the drowsing baby. She doesn’t see the scowl on Marion’s lips, or the shadow that passes behind her blue, blue eyes. If she had, she’d seen a flicker of pain and annoyance and how much Marion missed her.  Misses her still, because the woman sitting on her porch isn’t exactly Beth any more, is she? 10. Who plays games competitively and sucks at them and who plays games casually and is actually really heckin good?

Marion doesn’t care how many rounds of rummy she wins. Or when she insists on the checkers or chess or half a dozen other stupid board games that come out of her bag, all of which seem to have the same goal; time wasting and aggravation.  What she likes is how innocent Beth is even when the fires of competition seem to burn bright in her eyes. The little stories she tells about the game pieces, how she’d learned to play, which ones are her favourite.  It’s Trivial Pursuit, and the only person who can beat her, she says, is her brother.

There’s the way she dances in place and tosses popcorn at Marion when she actually loses a turn, followed by the trill of her laugh. The games don’t matter, but getting a spark of starlight to keep you company? That’s the miracle, isn’t it? 11. Who can handle spicy foods perfectly and who chugs an entire gallon of milk after accidentally eating one jalapeño?

It starts with a little ground black pepper. Then red pepper flake. There’s pepper sauce, a variety of chillies that would eat through most cooking pots if left long enough. Brewed for three days, if that’s what you want to call it, others would say it was fermented in the Devil’s nut-sack. Either way, it gets strained and heated, then cooled to room temperature before its put into the fridge. Beth swears by her brother’s hot-sauce. She tends to put it on most things, but then, how tasteful can vegetables and even some fruits be? Marion once told her that vegans, like her, tasted better. The meat sweeter, less stringy, less fatty, a whole laundry list of things, will inside the Rougarou made plans on what it would devour first when it finally got teeth into the little witch. It’s experimentation really, what combination of foods brings out the best in her. Marion doesn’t say maybe it’s honey, maybe its just her.

But she doesn’t want to crush Beth’s enthusiasm for the project.

[brooklynislandgirl]

💿

Notes in a Quiet Room || Accepting

To Let Myself Go || Ane Brun

Beekeeper || Keaton HensonKingdom Come || The Civil Wars

Guilty || Rag ‘N’ Bone Man

Through The Valley || Shawn Jones

Dearly Departed || Shakey Graves

Wolves || Down Like Silver

Severed Soul || Brown Bird

Poison Water || The Builders and the Butchers

Monsters || ShinedownBroken Bones || Kaleo

**Bonus**Put It On Me || Matt Maeson

[brooklynislandgirl]

♬

Let The Music Play || Accepting

1. Bottom of The River | Delta Rae

The wolves will chase you by the pale moonlightDrunk and driven by a devil's hungerDrive your son like a railroad spikeInto the water, let it pull him underDon't you lift him, let him drown aliveThe good Lord speaks like a rolling thunderLet that fever make the water riseAnd let the river run dry

2. A Little Wicked | Valerie Broussard

No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throneBeware the patient woman, cause this much I knowNo one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throneOne of these days a-coming, I'm gonna take that boy's crownThere's a serpent in these still waters lying deep down

3. Raise Hell | Brandi Carlile 

I found myself an omen and I tattooed on a signI set my mind a wandering and I walk a broken lineYou have a mind to keep me quietAnd although you can try,Better men have hit their kneesAnd bigger men have died 

4. Cupid Carries a Gun | Marilyn Manson

Pound me the witch drums, the witch drumsBetter pray for hell, not hallelujahI'm a coat of fists, dead and heartened spidersLike two mangled crowns or the widest of the meanest coiled snakesFolks said I look like deathLived in the hotel of my eyes

5. Applebite | Soundgarden

No one can save  The pure or the braveNo one can save them at allGrow and decayGrow and decayIt's only forever