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There's a coffee shop on the edge of town that Effy favors above all others. It's got nothing to do with the quality of the coffee — she's not a snob enough to be able to distinguish between single origin and blends, between pour-over and French press, though the lines that often stretch around the corner suggest that she's probably happened across quality without even really trying.
No, what brings Effy to this coffee shop has nothing to do with the coffee, and everything to do with the people. The coffee shop is fairly innocuous in its décor, open and modern, but with homey little touches. None of the cup and saucer sets match, lending a sense of personality to every customer. Effy swears that the servers specifically pick mugs to match the person — oversized and pink for the sorority captain, tiny and black for the old, grumpy man from down the street.
Today, they've given her a pale, geometric mug of white and beige. Unusual without actively searching for attention.
It puts a smile on Effy's face, barely there as it softens her features.
With a few files from work tucked under her arm, Effy looks around for a free table. Finding none, she roams a couple of times before deciding to duck carefully into the view of a young man engrossed in papers and textbooks. Maybe some company would be welcome. And if it's not, at least Effy's capable of being perfectly quiet.
"Seems most places are taken. Would you mind if I took a seat here?" she asks, gaze inquisitive.
No, what brings Effy to this coffee shop has nothing to do with the coffee, and everything to do with the people. The coffee shop is fairly innocuous in its décor, open and modern, but with homey little touches. None of the cup and saucer sets match, lending a sense of personality to every customer. Effy swears that the servers specifically pick mugs to match the person — oversized and pink for the sorority captain, tiny and black for the old, grumpy man from down the street.
Today, they've given her a pale, geometric mug of white and beige. Unusual without actively searching for attention.
It puts a smile on Effy's face, barely there as it softens her features.
With a few files from work tucked under her arm, Effy looks around for a free table. Finding none, she roams a couple of times before deciding to duck carefully into the view of a young man engrossed in papers and textbooks. Maybe some company would be welcome. And if it's not, at least Effy's capable of being perfectly quiet.
"Seems most places are taken. Would you mind if I took a seat here?" she asks, gaze inquisitive.
familiarity tends to breed complacency
Oct. 22nd, 2017 08:04 pmDarrow is a city that makes you believe you have the luxury of time. Most days, there's no sense of urgency. You walk down the same streets, faces blending one into the other, and encounter the same traffic day by day as you head from one point to the next. The news fades into the background. Disasters may surface suddenly, but give it all a few days, and even they retreat into the shadows, to be forgotten until the population's recovered their sense of complacency.
It's been wonderful, having that time. Waking up to the sun streaming through the curtains, legs tangled in the sheets, my arm curled up and over Harley's shoulder as my forehead presses against the side of his neck. To be able to take the time to feel his pulse against my skin and revel in the fact that we're alive, we're healthy, with no end in sight.
But lately, there's been a thread of anxiety tightening. A tension, just behind the eyes. I've fixated on words before, but this time I know that it's not just in my head — Purge, Purge, be prepared for the day when everyone's encouraged to throw away all inhibition.
It's a fucking terrible idea. Harley and I, we've been making plans to stay safe. But as much as being prepared helps, it also makes our house feel less comfortable and carefree, makes the need for fresh air more acute.
Which is why we're here at the cat café, warm cups of coffee between our hands and the brush of tails against our elbows. I rest my head against Harley's shoulder, smiling as a shy little tortoiseshell cat with pale blue eyes watches us, just out of reach.
"We won't bite," I murmur, holding my hand out for her to smell.
It's been wonderful, having that time. Waking up to the sun streaming through the curtains, legs tangled in the sheets, my arm curled up and over Harley's shoulder as my forehead presses against the side of his neck. To be able to take the time to feel his pulse against my skin and revel in the fact that we're alive, we're healthy, with no end in sight.
But lately, there's been a thread of anxiety tightening. A tension, just behind the eyes. I've fixated on words before, but this time I know that it's not just in my head — Purge, Purge, be prepared for the day when everyone's encouraged to throw away all inhibition.
It's a fucking terrible idea. Harley and I, we've been making plans to stay safe. But as much as being prepared helps, it also makes our house feel less comfortable and carefree, makes the need for fresh air more acute.
Which is why we're here at the cat café, warm cups of coffee between our hands and the brush of tails against our elbows. I rest my head against Harley's shoulder, smiling as a shy little tortoiseshell cat with pale blue eyes watches us, just out of reach.
"We won't bite," I murmur, holding my hand out for her to smell.
women and cats will do as they please
Oct. 16th, 2017 08:36 pmEffy didn't have to think the decision through for long before agreeing to help Blue Sargent with properly financing her cat café. Because, c'mon. It's a cat café. It sounds almost absurd on face value, but the more and more Effy thinks about it, the more it makes sense.
The world's getting increasingly busy and chaotic, and sometimes it can be all too hard to make ends meet. Sometimes people can't justify getting a pet with all the schedule juggling it takes to stay afloat, but just because schedules are tight doesn't mean that people suddenly lose the need for companionship. There's something about an animal's presence that alleviates loneliness without all of the complication that comes from another person.
(Something Effy only learned after getting to know Harley's dog.)
Effy's confident that she can communicate the value to investors, but to really make the pitch come to life, she has to see the place first. And that's how she finds herself pushing open the door to Un Chat Gris today, her eyes wide and watchful as she takes the sight in. She let Blue know to expect her today, but not to do anything differently than normal. Effy wants to see the café through unfiltered eyes.
And already, it's fucking wonderful. She can't help but smile at the diversity of feline personalities, with a couple of cats scampering forward to wrap themselves around her ankles, and a couple of others watching her warily from on top of shelves that line the walls.
"Brilliant," she says under her breath, before heading to the front desk to wait for Blue.
The world's getting increasingly busy and chaotic, and sometimes it can be all too hard to make ends meet. Sometimes people can't justify getting a pet with all the schedule juggling it takes to stay afloat, but just because schedules are tight doesn't mean that people suddenly lose the need for companionship. There's something about an animal's presence that alleviates loneliness without all of the complication that comes from another person.
(Something Effy only learned after getting to know Harley's dog.)
Effy's confident that she can communicate the value to investors, but to really make the pitch come to life, she has to see the place first. And that's how she finds herself pushing open the door to Un Chat Gris today, her eyes wide and watchful as she takes the sight in. She let Blue know to expect her today, but not to do anything differently than normal. Effy wants to see the café through unfiltered eyes.
And already, it's fucking wonderful. She can't help but smile at the diversity of feline personalities, with a couple of cats scampering forward to wrap themselves around her ankles, and a couple of others watching her warily from on top of shelves that line the walls.
"Brilliant," she says under her breath, before heading to the front desk to wait for Blue.
a smile is the universal welcome
Oct. 9th, 2017 08:39 pmThere's a chair in the house that Effy likes to lounge in, always when the sunlight peeks in through the curtains. The days have been rapidly growing colder, but the sun spills warmth over her shoulder as she curls up among the cushions, hair carefully pinned out of her face as Effy reviews a few files for work. She's been hired for contract work by the government, something of a trial by fire to see if she has the intuition to find corruption at the source.
Maybe she should be feeling the pressure, but the effect of being under contract is the opposite. She's got an easy out. A date by which she can refuse to continue without any repercussion, if it isn't the career for her. But already Effy finds that she likes the work, likes being able to scan the numbers for any anomalies, putting mental stories to each anonymized client. Middle-aged businessman goes through a midlife crisis, empties his accounts to buy a sports car and incurs major opportunity cost. Grandmother keeps track of all the neighborhood gossip, coaxes confidential news about upcoming mergers from her best friend by promising not to take advantage — but she's saving for her grandchildren to go to the best private university, doesn't matter who else takes a fall.
She's in the middle of weaving another tale when she hears a knock on the door, arching a brow in curiosity. Can't be Harley. Can't be Elvis — he'd text her first. Kate would have blown right in like a breeze, and Effy's heart aches at the mere thought.
Pulling her blanket closer around her shoulders, Effy's bare feet pad quietly on the ground before she peeks through the window.
Ah.
She opens the door with a smile, tilting her head in greeting. "Ellie, right?" She steps back, making room for the young woman. "Harley's out right now, but you're welcome to come in."
Maybe she should be feeling the pressure, but the effect of being under contract is the opposite. She's got an easy out. A date by which she can refuse to continue without any repercussion, if it isn't the career for her. But already Effy finds that she likes the work, likes being able to scan the numbers for any anomalies, putting mental stories to each anonymized client. Middle-aged businessman goes through a midlife crisis, empties his accounts to buy a sports car and incurs major opportunity cost. Grandmother keeps track of all the neighborhood gossip, coaxes confidential news about upcoming mergers from her best friend by promising not to take advantage — but she's saving for her grandchildren to go to the best private university, doesn't matter who else takes a fall.
She's in the middle of weaving another tale when she hears a knock on the door, arching a brow in curiosity. Can't be Harley. Can't be Elvis — he'd text her first. Kate would have blown right in like a breeze, and Effy's heart aches at the mere thought.
Pulling her blanket closer around her shoulders, Effy's bare feet pad quietly on the ground before she peeks through the window.
Ah.
She opens the door with a smile, tilting her head in greeting. "Ellie, right?" She steps back, making room for the young woman. "Harley's out right now, but you're welcome to come in."
The sound of rain is a familiar one. Drops fall lightly against the window, dispersing the lights of the city, as the tires of the car whisper as they cut through puddles on the road. It's easy for troubles to fade away in the midst of all the sounds and colors — easy to ignore the backdrop of the ride, and the fact that Effy Stonem is heading towards jail, where she'll have at least a few months with her thoughts for company. There are no cuffs around her wrists. No officer hovering, breathing down her neck. It's a remarkably distant and private trip, because Effy Stonem is resolute, ready to pay the price of a few months' worth of skirting the rules.
She only regrets that now, she won't be there for Naomi. But that's why Emily's here, isn't it?
It should be their time.
Effy smiles as she stares out the window, letting herself lean against the door and watching the city vanish behind her. For all the turmoil of the past few years, there's never a feeling quite as satisfying as putting an arse in the right place. She's come out on top of heartbreak before. She can do it again.
The movement of the car lulls Effy into a light sleep, and by the time she opens her eyes again, the sky overhead is painted soft pinks and purples with the rising sun. She frowns at the sight; she's pretty sure that the jail wasn't supposed to be so far away. The driver of the vehicle has also changed, no longer the man in uniform that she remembers from when she initially climbed in.
"Excuse me," she says quietly, careful not to lean forward in case the movement comes across as threatening. "How much longer until we arrive at our destination?"
"Oh, we're almost there," a cheery woman chirps back. "Glad you're awake now though; it was getting too quiet in here." The driver flicks on the radio, which plays some unfamiliar pop music.
Brow still furrowed, Effy leans to look out the window. The rain has stopped, and the high rises of downtown London seem far removed, replaced with rolling hills and sprawling forests. Her eyes widen, trying to place when exactly she's seen this path exactly, achingly familiar as her pulse hastens.
"You should be getting your receipt in your inbox," the driver explains as they come to a stop, pressing a button to unlock all of the doors. "And an option to leave a rating, if you like. Five stars helps keep me in business, you know."
Effy barely hears the last sentence, scrambling out of the backseat, her purse spilling onto the ground and long forgotten. She can feel her chest tighten, her breath restrict as she rushes towards the front door of the house they've stopped at, hair whipping in the wind as she knocks hastily against the wood.
If this is a dream, she needs to make the most of it.
She only regrets that now, she won't be there for Naomi. But that's why Emily's here, isn't it?
It should be their time.
Effy smiles as she stares out the window, letting herself lean against the door and watching the city vanish behind her. For all the turmoil of the past few years, there's never a feeling quite as satisfying as putting an arse in the right place. She's come out on top of heartbreak before. She can do it again.
The movement of the car lulls Effy into a light sleep, and by the time she opens her eyes again, the sky overhead is painted soft pinks and purples with the rising sun. She frowns at the sight; she's pretty sure that the jail wasn't supposed to be so far away. The driver of the vehicle has also changed, no longer the man in uniform that she remembers from when she initially climbed in.
"Excuse me," she says quietly, careful not to lean forward in case the movement comes across as threatening. "How much longer until we arrive at our destination?"
"Oh, we're almost there," a cheery woman chirps back. "Glad you're awake now though; it was getting too quiet in here." The driver flicks on the radio, which plays some unfamiliar pop music.
Brow still furrowed, Effy leans to look out the window. The rain has stopped, and the high rises of downtown London seem far removed, replaced with rolling hills and sprawling forests. Her eyes widen, trying to place when exactly she's seen this path exactly, achingly familiar as her pulse hastens.
"You should be getting your receipt in your inbox," the driver explains as they come to a stop, pressing a button to unlock all of the doors. "And an option to leave a rating, if you like. Five stars helps keep me in business, you know."
Effy barely hears the last sentence, scrambling out of the backseat, her purse spilling onto the ground and long forgotten. She can feel her chest tighten, her breath restrict as she rushes towards the front door of the house they've stopped at, hair whipping in the wind as she knocks hastily against the wood.
If this is a dream, she needs to make the most of it.
With only a few weeks having passed since she first arrived in Darrow, Effy's already seen more than ever saw outside of the tumult of her dreams. The sky takes on a blinding green, a scream rips and tears through the street, glass shatters in the distance and scatters across the pavement like so many diamonds. It's madness, absolute madness, and Effy finds that calm she'd so carefully stitched around herself starting to ravel and disintegrate.
It's the last thing that she wants, but the first thing that she expects, her even expression occasionally crumbling as she makes her way through the streets. She could ask Harley to stay by her side. She could hold onto his hand, grip it more tightly than anyone would expect from thin limbs and a hollow gaze, but the last thing that Effy wants is to force another person to come along as she spins out of control, feeling much like a fallen leaf lost in the wind.
She doesn't quite register every detail as she makes her way into the quiet of a small streetside cafe, breathing in the strong scent of coffee and stepping distantly along with the line. But something about the monotony calms her, and soon Effy finds herself with a tall cup of black coffee in hand, purchased more for the scent and the warmth than anything else. Her phone feels heavy in her pocket, and Effy knows, she knows that if something goes really wrong, she should give Harley a ring.
But for now, she embraces the brief moment of serenity as she stands by the milk and sugar station, reaching for neither just yet, and closing her eyes while she leans her hip against the counter.
One day at a time.
It's the last thing that she wants, but the first thing that she expects, her even expression occasionally crumbling as she makes her way through the streets. She could ask Harley to stay by her side. She could hold onto his hand, grip it more tightly than anyone would expect from thin limbs and a hollow gaze, but the last thing that Effy wants is to force another person to come along as she spins out of control, feeling much like a fallen leaf lost in the wind.
She doesn't quite register every detail as she makes her way into the quiet of a small streetside cafe, breathing in the strong scent of coffee and stepping distantly along with the line. But something about the monotony calms her, and soon Effy finds herself with a tall cup of black coffee in hand, purchased more for the scent and the warmth than anything else. Her phone feels heavy in her pocket, and Effy knows, she knows that if something goes really wrong, she should give Harley a ring.
But for now, she embraces the brief moment of serenity as she stands by the milk and sugar station, reaching for neither just yet, and closing her eyes while she leans her hip against the counter.
One day at a time.
it's a force field holding me down
Jul. 12th, 2012 08:28 pmThere's something about the boy that makes you want to touch him. That's the first thought that strikes me when the haze lifts, when my pulse has settled back into its regular murmur, and when sounds hit me again in the heavy rise and fall of the chest under my hand. This isn't the first time I've been here, not the first boy I've been with, not the first time I've been with this boy, and only because of all of the above, I notice. The way I can't tear my hand away from him. The way I need to feel every rise and fall of his chest like it's feeding air into my lungs. The both of us are still slick with sweat, and I ache like I'll never move again, the sheets starting to stick under my weight, but when I move, it's only to press closer to him, one of his legs caught between my own.
There's something about him, and I love that for these few seconds, I don't have to let go.
It takes a while for my words to come back. Always had, for things like this. Listening's the easiest thing in the world, but I went years without saying a single word. I speak in smiles, in the press of tongues, in the arch of a brow, and for now I speak in the press of my lips against his shoulder, a soft exhale falling from me as I turn over to lay over his body, skin pressed flush.
I can't help think that he looks a bit like an overgrown tree. Branches too thin to support his weight.
There's something about him, and I love that for these few seconds, I don't have to let go.
It takes a while for my words to come back. Always had, for things like this. Listening's the easiest thing in the world, but I went years without saying a single word. I speak in smiles, in the press of tongues, in the arch of a brow, and for now I speak in the press of my lips against his shoulder, a soft exhale falling from me as I turn over to lay over his body, skin pressed flush.
I can't help think that he looks a bit like an overgrown tree. Branches too thin to support his weight.
so many foreign worlds
Jul. 10th, 2012 07:42 amThe waterfall is, without a doubt, one of Effy's favorite places to be on the island. The roar of the water beneath her is thunderous, the mist hanging in the air cool to the touch, anything and everything in the vicinity screaming of not only life, but chaos, the type of force which can't be stopped by anyone. It's a comforting thing, Effy thinks, removing the pressure anyone might feel to affect change on their own. Not that Effy's really felt that pressure in quite some time, but there are occasions when she wonders. Occasions when other people have her feeling as though she ought to care, and to that degree.
Well, they can all go fuck themselves, she thinks today.
The tricky part is making sure that they launch properly off the falls. The rocks underneath their feet are slippery at best, and although it's not impossible to balance with flip-flops as Effy tries now, bare feet are probably the easier answer. Last time, she held her sandals in her hands. Mostly because she needed them for when she walked away.
Most of all, Effy's just glad to have company. With the earth seemingly rumbling beneath the both of them, she turns with a grin towards Molly.
"Ready?"
Well, they can all go fuck themselves, she thinks today.
The tricky part is making sure that they launch properly off the falls. The rocks underneath their feet are slippery at best, and although it's not impossible to balance with flip-flops as Effy tries now, bare feet are probably the easier answer. Last time, she held her sandals in her hands. Mostly because she needed them for when she walked away.
Most of all, Effy's just glad to have company. With the earth seemingly rumbling beneath the both of them, she turns with a grin towards Molly.
"Ready?"
Effy's been spending a great deal of time on the beach this month. Not particularly a big fan of sand, or even of the salty scent of the ocean waves, she sits by the water instead because it's steady, predictable, and because it hasn't really changed at all in spite of all the chaos going on nearby. All around her are people who have started to forget patches of their lives, some wholly, others only the details. And it makes her think of things she doesn't care for, not when she's only just begun to find her feet again. To think of all the times she forgot— faces, emotions, fear— is a path she's not sure she can walk back from just yet, so she doesn't try.
And, instead, finds herself on the beach, without true rhyme or reason.
There's an umbrella perched above her, blocking the sun. Or perhaps more accurately, since she's pretty sure it'd snap if someone tried to fold the piece, a sun screen. It keeps the shadows stretching over her skin while she continues to enjoy the warmth of the rays, digging her feet into the sane and resting her chin on her knees.
Life's okay like this. She might be on the way to forgiving it, just a little.
And, instead, finds herself on the beach, without true rhyme or reason.
There's an umbrella perched above her, blocking the sun. Or perhaps more accurately, since she's pretty sure it'd snap if someone tried to fold the piece, a sun screen. It keeps the shadows stretching over her skin while she continues to enjoy the warmth of the rays, digging her feet into the sane and resting her chin on her knees.
Life's okay like this. She might be on the way to forgiving it, just a little.
i only pray you never leave me behind
Apr. 23rd, 2012 10:03 pmWhen the scenery changes, all that Effy feels is that she's been left behind. Her eyes, watchful and sharper than they've been in months, skim across the sky and the faint wisp of clouds above, less present than they were on the island. The air burns. It sears through her chest, and on some days, that pain is welcome. On others, it feels like she tries to go as long as she can without breathing. Time still remains inconstant around her, everyone past her fingertips rushing by while she stays hopelessly still, unsure how to find her footing, unsure where she is. Gone are the days when she spent every waking minute trying to find a way out, but here again are the days when nothing seems to matter, regardless of how hard Effy tries to make them.
She sits in the shade of tree that's long since lost its green, branches gnarled and bark dry. The sun beats down with a little less than its most piercing rays, already hanging lower than its noon high, but it's still too hot for Effy to wander out for long. She's forgotten the canteen in Kate's room. She's forgotten what time it is.
But nothing matters, so she continues to sit, her shoulders hunched as she stares out at the rolling horizon.
She sits in the shade of tree that's long since lost its green, branches gnarled and bark dry. The sun beats down with a little less than its most piercing rays, already hanging lower than its noon high, but it's still too hot for Effy to wander out for long. She's forgotten the canteen in Kate's room. She's forgotten what time it is.
But nothing matters, so she continues to sit, her shoulders hunched as she stares out at the rolling horizon.
He has one more performance, and then he'll be home. There aren't so many words that Effy's able to piece together from the shambles of her mind, just the indistinct details that pop from her memory, and that one last thread of hope— no, trust— that her brother, her Tony, will be home soon. He'll wash off the make-up, see that she's eaten, let her sleep in his bed in the way that she used to as a child, door locked to keep any possible intruders out. Time has shuddered since the day back in January, sometimes passing between her fingers before she realizes, and at other times frozen still. Birds call in the distance, and the sound slips down Effy's spine like ice, jarring as her breath passes and goes and catches in between. She presses her nose into the stretch of Patto's neck, and it smells of fire, and it smells of smoke, and suddenly it's all Effy can do to curl her hands around that thin neck and twist, not that it makes a difference.
Seconds later, he's against the wall, looking all the more broken for having landed on his head.
Thin legs tangle in the sheets, cold sweat lingers on her temple, and she'd scream were she able, but there simply isn't air. There's a space on the pillowcase that burns hotly with her tears, but the rest of her is cold, and alone, and when the wind sweeps by the hut, she glances up towards the nightstand.
Two bottles of pills and a familiar rounded glass filled halfway with water. And that's when she knows. The passage of a few hours slips by her skin, and she doesn't move except to breathe, eyes focused on the shape of them as it quickly becomes clear that Tony's had his final performance, and that he's not coming home. The last of her strength, so reserved, is used to pry open both bottles of pills as they spill over the sheets, shadows bright to Effy's eyes.
She exhales, and it catches in her throat.
One by one, they're pressed between forefinger and thumb, a sip of water between each as they go down, and she replaces anxiety with a damning calm. The wall of Tony's room replaces itself with a calendar, careful lines drawn impeccably over its surface as blue words bloom over the dates.
Sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.
Seconds later, he's against the wall, looking all the more broken for having landed on his head.
Thin legs tangle in the sheets, cold sweat lingers on her temple, and she'd scream were she able, but there simply isn't air. There's a space on the pillowcase that burns hotly with her tears, but the rest of her is cold, and alone, and when the wind sweeps by the hut, she glances up towards the nightstand.
Two bottles of pills and a familiar rounded glass filled halfway with water. And that's when she knows. The passage of a few hours slips by her skin, and she doesn't move except to breathe, eyes focused on the shape of them as it quickly becomes clear that Tony's had his final performance, and that he's not coming home. The last of her strength, so reserved, is used to pry open both bottles of pills as they spill over the sheets, shadows bright to Effy's eyes.
She exhales, and it catches in her throat.
One by one, they're pressed between forefinger and thumb, a sip of water between each as they go down, and she replaces anxiety with a damning calm. The wall of Tony's room replaces itself with a calendar, careful lines drawn impeccably over its surface as blue words bloom over the dates.
Sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.
an affair at lambeth palace
Dec. 31st, 2011 02:16 am[ continued from here ]
He's tall, bean-pole skinny, dark hair, dark eyes. Not bad looking, if that's your thing. He looks like a gangly kid to me, impossibly young, no matter how ridiculous that is, coming from someone only a few years older than them.
"Not me," I argue with a huff of laughter, but honestly, I can't tell either. "What's he like?" I ask, wanting to see her face when she talks about him, more than anything.
No one's ever asked me that before. No one. People have asked about Cook before. People always asked about Tony. But there's never been someone to ask about Freddie, so... it makes my thoughts come to a still, a haze, like fog you try to put your hand through, but it sends a shiver down your spine real quick. Because I don't know how to put it into words. The way he looks at me. The way he's the only fucking thing in the world that's safe to me. Or was.
Sometimes, I think he's been broken. Sometimes, I think I'm the one who did it to him.
"He loves me," I say first, because it feels like the most important detail to have him know. "And he'll love me forever. Nothing else matters."
Except that's a lie, I tell myself.
He's tall, bean-pole skinny, dark hair, dark eyes. Not bad looking, if that's your thing. He looks like a gangly kid to me, impossibly young, no matter how ridiculous that is, coming from someone only a few years older than them.
"Not me," I argue with a huff of laughter, but honestly, I can't tell either. "What's he like?" I ask, wanting to see her face when she talks about him, more than anything.
No one's ever asked me that before. No one. People have asked about Cook before. People always asked about Tony. But there's never been someone to ask about Freddie, so... it makes my thoughts come to a still, a haze, like fog you try to put your hand through, but it sends a shiver down your spine real quick. Because I don't know how to put it into words. The way he looks at me. The way he's the only fucking thing in the world that's safe to me. Or was.
Sometimes, I think he's been broken. Sometimes, I think I'm the one who did it to him.
"He loves me," I say first, because it feels like the most important detail to have him know. "And he'll love me forever. Nothing else matters."
Except that's a lie, I tell myself.
an affair at lambeth palace
Dec. 30th, 2011 02:11 am[ continued from here ]
He pulls back when she does, not wanting to come across as overeager or, even worse, overly pushy - and while the desire to one-up her had been more than apparent, it really only ends up going that far. He's never been able to refuse a challenge, subtle or otherwise, and this has proven to be no exception to that rule. In the end, he's going to look back on the moment with little regret, and as she rocks back down onto her heels, he sighs quietly, punctuating the noise with a tiny smile, a small press of lips as he nods appreciatively and steps out of the doorway, out from under the mistletoe, giving himself that minute opportunity to stretch his legs. He'll probably take a seat at some point later, but at the moment, he doesn't mind sticking around.
"And yet," he replies, shrugging casually while the corner of his mouth quirks into a half-grin. Nothing lost, nothing gained - except, perhaps, a little more to her overall mystery.
In most people's eyes, there are mirrors, Effy thinks. Not really windows into the soul, not always, some people more than capable of obscuring that view (and Effy likes, or at least liked, to think of herself as one of them). But there are always mirrors. Pieces of oneself that one can see in that flash of an instant, when an impression is made or a perception changed. But try as she might, pinning down her own reflection in Tyler's eyes is... difficult. Unsure whether she counts as a girl, a ghost, or something else entirely, Effy simply tilts her head, eyes narrowed as she tries to catch a glimpse, but to no avail. Maybe that's okay, she tells herself, prepared to walk through that labyrinth and discover herself in the process, prepared to find him instead, and perhaps, just perhaps, to catch a glimpse of that brother all the while, too.
"I have a boyfriend," she says, her gaze almost proud in that instant. Not of herself, of course. But of Freddie, whose strength may come and go, but lately it feels like it's been better, closer to his grasp, the same boy she's loved before even realizing. Her next words are said without irony. "And I love him."
He pulls back when she does, not wanting to come across as overeager or, even worse, overly pushy - and while the desire to one-up her had been more than apparent, it really only ends up going that far. He's never been able to refuse a challenge, subtle or otherwise, and this has proven to be no exception to that rule. In the end, he's going to look back on the moment with little regret, and as she rocks back down onto her heels, he sighs quietly, punctuating the noise with a tiny smile, a small press of lips as he nods appreciatively and steps out of the doorway, out from under the mistletoe, giving himself that minute opportunity to stretch his legs. He'll probably take a seat at some point later, but at the moment, he doesn't mind sticking around.
"And yet," he replies, shrugging casually while the corner of his mouth quirks into a half-grin. Nothing lost, nothing gained - except, perhaps, a little more to her overall mystery.
In most people's eyes, there are mirrors, Effy thinks. Not really windows into the soul, not always, some people more than capable of obscuring that view (and Effy likes, or at least liked, to think of herself as one of them). But there are always mirrors. Pieces of oneself that one can see in that flash of an instant, when an impression is made or a perception changed. But try as she might, pinning down her own reflection in Tyler's eyes is... difficult. Unsure whether she counts as a girl, a ghost, or something else entirely, Effy simply tilts her head, eyes narrowed as she tries to catch a glimpse, but to no avail. Maybe that's okay, she tells herself, prepared to walk through that labyrinth and discover herself in the process, prepared to find him instead, and perhaps, just perhaps, to catch a glimpse of that brother all the while, too.
"I have a boyfriend," she says, her gaze almost proud in that instant. Not of herself, of course. But of Freddie, whose strength may come and go, but lately it feels like it's been better, closer to his grasp, the same boy she's loved before even realizing. Her next words are said without irony. "And I love him."
[ continued from here ]
It was something that Thalia was going to avoid if she could help it. She wasn't going to compare this Effy to the last one or her life to theirs. She simply knew that having tried it once willingly and once on accident that she could pass without remorse. It was better this way.
"Yes." Her face was calm and cool, her voice giving away nothing as to the strangeness of it. She might as well own up to the whole mess now and get it over with. "Chris Miles."
Years ago, she would have laughed. All of fifteen, sixteen, she would have laughed, a child who did so carefully, deliberately, everything a play and everything in her own interest. She would have utilized this knowledge as its own weapon, newly capable of holding a weight over Christ Miles, even if the chance that she'd have to use it in any meaningful way was slim. (He was... clueless, perhaps, at times. Never did look after himself. But kind. Invariably, he was kind.)
Now, she only looked upon with that touch of understanding, and a slight grating under her skin, no more and no less.
"He's my brother's friend," she said, mostly because she couldn't help but remark on one thing:
That was pretty fucked up.
It was something that Thalia was going to avoid if she could help it. She wasn't going to compare this Effy to the last one or her life to theirs. She simply knew that having tried it once willingly and once on accident that she could pass without remorse. It was better this way.
"Yes." Her face was calm and cool, her voice giving away nothing as to the strangeness of it. She might as well own up to the whole mess now and get it over with. "Chris Miles."
Years ago, she would have laughed. All of fifteen, sixteen, she would have laughed, a child who did so carefully, deliberately, everything a play and everything in her own interest. She would have utilized this knowledge as its own weapon, newly capable of holding a weight over Christ Miles, even if the chance that she'd have to use it in any meaningful way was slim. (He was... clueless, perhaps, at times. Never did look after himself. But kind. Invariably, he was kind.)
Now, she only looked upon with that touch of understanding, and a slight grating under her skin, no more and no less.
"He's my brother's friend," she said, mostly because she couldn't help but remark on one thing:
That was pretty fucked up.
There's a poem that Effy Stonem knows by heart. One of the few, she thinks, where every word has been put perfectly in place, and not a single one can be taken away. Beautiful and delicate, but with a thread of truth that keeps it all standing tall. All around the island, people are powerful today— some reject their newfound abilities, others welcome them in full. But to each and every one, it seems to be a new experience that goes beyond their original awareness, even if Effy feels that each power has been carefully selected. A brush of Tony's hand, and she sees rainbows stretching across the sky, blazing and bright with color, but so far as to be unreachable. In the darkness, Jason's words still shoot straight through her chest, lingering there with a soft murmur that keeps her, today, from being alone.
"Some say the world will end in fire," she murmurs lightly to herself, raising a hand curiously, small flames licking from her fingertips and lapping at the air around. "Some say in ice." A murky gray climbs over her skin, trailing in diverging paths, feathered until it cuts off the small flame with a hiss, then melts away, leaving no trace there at all.
Her feet, buried in sand, send a chill up her spine, and the wind around seems to pick up in anticipation, sending her hair flying about in tangles.
"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire." Carefully, she lowers the rest of her body to the beach, breath tight in her chest as she stares above, at clouds that roll by thunderously. "But if I had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction, ice is also great."
It's starting to hurt. Effy's brows pull shut with a soft gasp as her hands push off of the dunes, sand scattered over her skin, rough and unforgiving, seeming to pull a layer of her away with it. "And would suffice," she breathes, sitting up, crouching, fighting whatever it is— pain or weakness— that tries to stop her now. She's promised. She's promised that she could be strong, and for that to hold while all of this comes out at last, every single war and breath and emotion untold, she has to be able to weather through. Every stray thought and the hint of death hiding in the shadows, she wants to be rid of all of it, staring at her hands and willing them to freeze over. To harden her heart against everything that threatens to send walls crumbling down.
Instead, fire bursts from her shoulders, Effy's eyes quickly flitting from one to the other, hearing the crackle and spark of air around. It's not what she wanted, but maybe it'll have to do.
"Some say the world will end in fire," she murmurs lightly to herself, raising a hand curiously, small flames licking from her fingertips and lapping at the air around. "Some say in ice." A murky gray climbs over her skin, trailing in diverging paths, feathered until it cuts off the small flame with a hiss, then melts away, leaving no trace there at all.
Her feet, buried in sand, send a chill up her spine, and the wind around seems to pick up in anticipation, sending her hair flying about in tangles.
"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire." Carefully, she lowers the rest of her body to the beach, breath tight in her chest as she stares above, at clouds that roll by thunderously. "But if I had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction, ice is also great."
It's starting to hurt. Effy's brows pull shut with a soft gasp as her hands push off of the dunes, sand scattered over her skin, rough and unforgiving, seeming to pull a layer of her away with it. "And would suffice," she breathes, sitting up, crouching, fighting whatever it is— pain or weakness— that tries to stop her now. She's promised. She's promised that she could be strong, and for that to hold while all of this comes out at last, every single war and breath and emotion untold, she has to be able to weather through. Every stray thought and the hint of death hiding in the shadows, she wants to be rid of all of it, staring at her hands and willing them to freeze over. To harden her heart against everything that threatens to send walls crumbling down.
Instead, fire bursts from her shoulders, Effy's eyes quickly flitting from one to the other, hearing the crackle and spark of air around. It's not what she wanted, but maybe it'll have to do.