ringing in the new year

[beastkeeper]

For the most part, the beginning of every new year on the block is the same. There's the party, held down in the common room (barely distinguishable from the lobby, but hey, who cares), and the reminders that go up in the week prior, telling people to bring food to share (not that everyone does — the witch provides more than enough, anyhow). There are, of course, smaller parties, held in the apartments upstairs or on the grounds, and the combinations of creatures always rotates (more or less), but the overall air remains the same. The end of one year and the ushering in of another is cause to celebrate.

Comments

[paralyzer]

[ The way she hums is pleasant and pleased. (Self-satisifed.) For however her night started out she can recognize the way Jack's mouth forms around the words Cerbos chooses to speak — weighted and heavy but friendly, the rainbow sheen on oil that's slick like tar, the set of his shoulders giving away to something better. There isn't any madness in Laurie, not the way Betina sparks hers, maybe of a similar breed but a different kind entirely. It's not the kind that sows but the kind that reaps and Laurie has never said no to a gift from a dear friend.

(Maybe that makes Circe her closest friend.) ]

Is it? [ She lets her hands fall away, brushing down the slope of his shoulders before returning to her side. The smile on her face is lazy and her lips shock-red. ] If you say it, it must be true.

[insides]

Oh, you know. Positive thinkin' works wonders.

[His hand reaches for hers, fingers pressing against her wrist and sliding up to her palm -- (is it a dare?) -- to bring it back up, as if inviting her to a dance, eyes focused on her with fondness built entirely on selfish interest. Laurie is one of the witch's pets with the most potential, with or without her little whims, and if Jack can't appreciate that, Cerbos certainly can.]

[paralyzer]

[ Maybe there is something more cephalopodic in Laurie's blood. Her fingers twist then lock in his, somehow twining in the spaces between his digits and locking on tight. The curve to her mouth is sweet (adolescent-sweet, sugar-sweet, you can touch me sweet) but the look in her eyes is less that. Under her left eye she has a fresh bruise, another blue ring to add to her namesake. ]

That's bullshit, [ Laurie tells him, her tone equal parts soft and plain. She tugs him closer with a light tug and her smile grows wider to show teeth. ] You know better than to lie to me, don't you?

[insides]

[Her grin is returned, wide and unafraid. If anything, her behavior just seems to reflect exactly what he wants. Pain and fear aren't his to feel.

His voice fades into a whisper, hissing words. He almost sounds vicious for it.]

It's not a lie, love. [And his expression softly changes with a little more affection again, pressing his thumb right into the back of her own hand, lifting his other one to touch the bruise on her face. Maybe she can appreciate someone who latches on to her just as tightly.] What's this here? Someone's parting gift?

[paralyzer]

Yes. [ She peers up at him through the thick of her lashes. It's not coy, not from Laurie — it just is because that's how life works. It hurts because it hurts. When it hurts enough, it bleeds. (After enough it bruises and the words do that again taste like honey on a raw throat.)

Her weight shifts the smallest fraction as she leans in, as if wanting to share her own secret (or maybe it's to get him to press harder; it's hard to tell). ]

Do you like it?

[insides]

'Course I do. Nobody can wear them like you do.

[So full of flattery, this one.]