There was something that rolled along through the night, as big as a mountain and as graceful as a beast plucked straight from myth. Fleck could feel it like a chill from deep in her old bones. The lunatic paced awkwardly from one end of town to the other, though even she wasn't quite sure how she had ended up there. Houses loomed like polished silver along long, endless stretches of concrete and Fleck knew that her mere presence was a tarnished spot amidst the patina a world she had never known. Bare feet, bitten with bits of glass and debris, trudged on and on, following the fading flame memory of a girl she barely knew. Blonde hair hanging in gnarled snags, her new lilac jumper riddled with tears and holes, Fleck wanted nothing more than to go home to the safety of the tree roots, to the smell of dirt and decaying plant matter.
Keep on, little girl, a voice seemed to whisper- something part growl and entirely too much survival instinct- keep on or it'll never end. The hunt always involved a chase. A chase. A Chase. And when it passed, Fleck found herself standing in front of the door of a penthouse and it was that same gravel rough voice that told her she had found it. She looked around and then knocked with strength that didn't match her tiny form.
Inside of the penthouse, Chase was playing her guitar, and her music was riddled with bubbled dreams and thoughtful keepsakes that hung around her soul in a tangle more intricate than the networking pieces of chaos around her neck. Her memories were gems, jewels, little sparkling pieces of rain that were suspended in time. The knock on the door was something that caused the song to stutter and dilute into silence. She knew her fiance's knock and knew that he would not be home so soon. It was Chase's day off, and she luxuriated in pretty melodies and spiral fancies that made her furiously forget the little music box that played only for her.
Chase was without a wind but a strife that had those tap-tap-tappers collide with the ground just enough to get to the door, and she opened it with a curious look.
"Wha's this now? Y'look so chewed and swallowed. Have I threatened you before, love?"
Her brows rose, treating the wilted vampiric type in front of her as a little girl lost. A little spirit beaten and dislocated from a life somewhere else.
"Wha's the trouble?" asked the Gypsy.
Fleck answered quickly, almost as if she was startled by the fact that someone had actually opened the door.
"The book has already been written. Bits revolving around a Queen with no throne, no people to wash to her feet with the blood of those who worship her. A Queen that turns her back on saving graces and finds her end hanging on a dozen different threads. The yellow, the calico, the rat and the kook."
Though her brain had sped them up, the words ran slow from Fleck's mouth; each one calling upon a long faded Carolina drawl. They had played out differently in her head, more textbook and precise but the Meat never really agreed with the Mind on how such things found their eventual conclusions. Cracked eyes, blue so dark that it was almost black, watched Chase nervously. It wasn't even that she feared the girl, for in a world so full of horrible wonders, Fleck had little time for such things, but what she represented confused and frustrated her. Her hands stayed hidden in her pockets on the concern of what they might accomplish otherwise, fingers bending against the fabric like annoyed eels.
Keep on, little girl, a voice seemed to whisper- something part growl and entirely too much survival instinct- keep on or it'll never end. The hunt always involved a chase. A chase. A Chase. And when it passed, Fleck found herself standing in front of the door of a penthouse and it was that same gravel rough voice that told her she had found it. She looked around and then knocked with strength that didn't match her tiny form.
Inside of the penthouse, Chase was playing her guitar, and her music was riddled with bubbled dreams and thoughtful keepsakes that hung around her soul in a tangle more intricate than the networking pieces of chaos around her neck. Her memories were gems, jewels, little sparkling pieces of rain that were suspended in time. The knock on the door was something that caused the song to stutter and dilute into silence. She knew her fiance's knock and knew that he would not be home so soon. It was Chase's day off, and she luxuriated in pretty melodies and spiral fancies that made her furiously forget the little music box that played only for her.
Chase was without a wind but a strife that had those tap-tap-tappers collide with the ground just enough to get to the door, and she opened it with a curious look.
"Wha's this now? Y'look so chewed and swallowed. Have I threatened you before, love?"
Her brows rose, treating the wilted vampiric type in front of her as a little girl lost. A little spirit beaten and dislocated from a life somewhere else.
"Wha's the trouble?" asked the Gypsy.
Fleck answered quickly, almost as if she was startled by the fact that someone had actually opened the door.
"The book has already been written. Bits revolving around a Queen with no throne, no people to wash to her feet with the blood of those who worship her. A Queen that turns her back on saving graces and finds her end hanging on a dozen different threads. The yellow, the calico, the rat and the kook."
Though her brain had sped them up, the words ran slow from Fleck's mouth; each one calling upon a long faded Carolina drawl. They had played out differently in her head, more textbook and precise but the Meat never really agreed with the Mind on how such things found their eventual conclusions. Cracked eyes, blue so dark that it was almost black, watched Chase nervously. It wasn't even that she feared the girl, for in a world so full of horrible wonders, Fleck had little time for such things, but what she represented confused and frustrated her. Her hands stayed hidden in her pockets on the concern of what they might accomplish otherwise, fingers bending against the fabric like annoyed eels.