I try to talk
The sky goes red
I forget
So fill my head
With some of this
Some of that
Some of every word she said
- The Cure
Instead, the seer?s voice was for Lerida. ?I am..? The girl stressed, on the subject of princesses, but offered no evidence in support. Had Lerida asked, she would have produced the royal title. Her family connections were exotic and regal, and crisscrossed, and suited more purposes than simply for the sake of being beloved.
Lerida had a small smile for the Seer, her attentions passing. ?I'm not, really. But then, I was always happier being the court jester,? she said with a short laugh, and she leant into her palm, which balled into a fist, her elbow rising from the table edge.
?You are lovers and we are lovers,? said the seer to the sculptor, perhaps another of her stating of the obvious, perhaps to lay claim. As it was, fingertips had moved from berry-fine to the inkings on her skin, along her arms and shoulders, reaching like fingers of their own to the sides of her neck.
Lerida looked confused. ?Who?? Her eyes met Viki's again.
?Us,? the girl whispered in reply, a small hand to pass between her and the one beside.
?Painted,? remarked the sandman, who was still ticking the coin through his fingers to the loss of time.
Lerida turned to him slowly, her brandy bottle angry for abandonment. Domikai?s hand lifted, and he dropped the coin into the bottle.
?He is stretched.? Another of the seer?s funny riddle-rambles, possibly for the vanished gunslinger, and a hand moved to grasp that which had lifted.
Lerida had a tiny smile, her eyes moving from the sinking coin and to Domikai?s black-in-black. Her smile grew. ?You going to reveal?? She said, as a side to Viki. ?Your Lover feeds me riddles.?
?Reveal... what?? Viki?s fingertips chased claws, round and round, the softest, most lighthearted, connection. ?We do often express such things, for I piece puzzles in his words, and they are naut so much riddle..? To me, went the unsaid.
Lerida folded her arms on the table, and looked expectantly at Domikai.
?We cannot answer questions you cannot pose,? said Domikai. His claws clicked against the glass of the brandy bottle as he dragged it towards himself, dull rattle-hiss along the table.
Viki nodded in agreement, for the air was lacking specifications, and though the seer might've read what lay between each syllable she spoke, she didn't say. She stretched then, a toss of unruly curls over shoulders, thin-limbs high above her head, as if to push back the call for sleep.
Lerida smirked. Her animated face made all the more 'mime' and potent by the vermilion lick of berry guts across full tiered lips. ?What is it you make of me? What does it mean that I was offered a feather and not a ribbon, why does this tie in with my being painted..and a collector? I might understand my being attracted to many, but if that is your comment, I see no reason for it being said.? She canted her head.
?Feather..? Echoed the girl. Viki?s bows dipped in the aftermath, and all thought of sleep pushed aside. Somewhere between the blue and the gray was a green, though her tone was quite singsong even still.
A Crow?s feather, not a Bluebird.
?It is not in the attraction, it is in the reciprocation.? Domikai smiled... not some crow's-foot secrecy, but a thing full of feral teeth. The brandy bottle was tilted back and back, enough to rattle the coin up along the side, coasted the moment of liquid spilling from the neck, and then he took a swig and another... until the coin slid down the neck and was swallowed. No glass thunk, for the bottle was set quietly back to the table.
?Are you saying I trail kites?? Lerida?s eyes grew to narrow. ?Forgive my asking. I'm being indulgent.? Her chin tilted high, and her eyes sought the moths, circling their death.
?You are not painted, were not painted. It is mostly irrelevant, merely observation.? The sandman?s palm left the bottle, slid down to the tabletop and when lifted away, left a coin glittering black-side up. ?Why do you seek what others make of you and not what you make of yourself??
Viki was strangely silent, for all her color, and crossed her arms again at her middle, though her hands had caught a bit of fabric stitching, and fumbled with what lay in-between: something small, and possibly crafted of parchment, though it was soft, as if a little hand had held onto it for too long.
His paper clovers.
?If someone comes to me telling me what I am I will listen. I know what I am, and that is all that matters. It is what you touched on that I inquire about, Skado.? Lerida?s voice was soft, breaths bearing over her words. ?Such as reciprocation.?
?Do you not know that fraction so well, the little things we dig our claws at? Or are you like a sculpture, seeking observations of an outside eye?? The sandman inquired, a question-for-a-question.
?I don't have claws and it is I who sculpts,? Lerida implored.
?You have claws,? the sandman affirmed, placing the coin to sit precariously on its side on the tabletop.
Viki watched the exchange even now, though it was devoid of barbs, it did carry with it a certain constant tension, even with Mish?s absence. Her eyes shifted to the side of her Lover, pouring through shirt and skin.
Lerida brought the precarious coin towards her. ?I am nothing of which you have called me. Collector, Painted, Sculptor.? The coin burned in her palm, and it scorned tender flesh. She threw it to the table, and it spun on its side, gold tiny tornado. This caused a blink from patchwork girl, and she leaned in, able audience for the metallic spin. To verify, or not? She hadn't initiated a theft of the lady's secrets yet.
The sandman's hand snapped up after Lerida?s hand, and he was as fast as the snake-sounds he made, when he chose to be so. He caught her, his rough palm... callous, leather-wrapping, and clawed. The flesh burned with more heat than any moving flesh should possess.
A sky full of dying stars going nova.
?We know that. You have claws, even in your words. Maybe you taste like lies,? he said.
?She does naut taste,? Viki said, finally, interjecting, stern instead of singsong, and flat teeth dug into her own lower lip, though yearned for flesh quite adjacent. Warmed by his warmth, the girl aglow pressed closer.
Lerida?s eyes watered, muscles in her arm were straining, and she was breast-forward at the table, breaths deeper, lips parted. ?You will never taste me to know.? She moved to steal her hand back, but found his grip tighter than she had bargained. A truce? In the struggle, the candle was snuffed out. Burn wick and melted wax acrid on the nose.
Domikai laughed harsh and cruel. ?Now what makes you think we desire to do such a thing?? In that grip tendons were tendons where they should not be, strange harshness and sharps were writhing beyond the protocol of anatomy. The grip did not tighten, though there was a terrible tension that said it could... but he released her with a snap and a curl of claw that may have snared skin, grazed just deep enough to spark a line of red.
The fairy thing beside him moved, leaving their hands to entangle as they would, and simultaneously spilled from the booth. Eyes were alight on the stairs for some time, as if expectant of a spirit that did not dwell along bar shelves, behind counters. A pirouette, ballerina in most of her body, she gave the sandman a longing look, that said more of sleep than want, though want was ever-present.
Lerida?s top lip reared back, teeth pinning her lower lip. Her breaths replaced words, as she held the streak. Her eyes locked to the streak of red for a long beat, and then rose. She stared at Viki, vacantly, then towards Domikai.
?How dare you.? Lerida?s eyes were fierce as the frail lines about her mouth, from too much expression. She moved from the booth.
?I would be for the road now. Be well, Laaa-reeda.? Quicker to taste her name this time, held upright in sound if the Lover so desired. Not wanting to further intrude on their palaver, nor delve deeper into some awkward situation, the seer took backward steps toward the door. ?I would wait for you,? she whispered to the sandman. A flash of pallet, a discarded bundle of clothes, figures outstretched in shadow. .All these things raced wild over her face.
Lerida?s head was bowed, and her injured hand was held closely. ?Night, Viki. ?Her voice was shaky.
?Touch for touch,? said the sandman. He made a point to blot away the blood on the black cloth of his shirt.
The seer?s thoughts were loud. The taint of iron was on the air, and a small voice whispered retribution by the gunslinger, though she paid it no attention. She nodded something sad, and then, off-blue bled once more into black.
He cuts her like he would cut you? You who would not wear another. Would he?
There was a change in Lerida?s stance, her chin held high, eyes not once drifting from the sandman. ?Fuck you,? she spat, tracing the thin cut. It was surgeon perfect. She made for the door, perhaps conscious of his being able to beat her to it, or, of her being able to get past the booth without his silhouette driving her back.
?The night, now,? said the determined and somewhat wounded seer, though it was more like morning. It was a simple invitation to follow if the sandman so desired. Curls trailed behind as she spun, once more walking proper - toes forward, heels behind, albeit frozen as Lerida stormed past.
Domikai?s silhouette mucked about the bottom edge of the door, and grappled onto it. It was not impossible to open, just difficult. most likely irritating. The sandman stood as well, slid out of the booth slowly... certainly not pursuit. He merely looked after her thoughtfully.
Lerida fumbled with the door and the sandman?s shadow, giving a grunt as it finally gave. She'd not give him the satisfaction of a look over her shoulder, and simply disappeared onto the porch. Like a bird, perhaps a crow, forlorn aghast the dawn light, in her leathers, she petted her scratch and stared at the street.
Viki sighed something heavy and heated, albeit sticky-sweet of summer still. Waiting for the battle with door hinges to be through, finally, she withdrew, falling into outside arms, to be along ribbons of roads, slow-moving for the sandman?s shadow to catch up with her own.
When it did, it tasted of blood and clay.
Sculptor?s iron. Though he would only use claws in the sampling, for now.
