am i allowed to say 'bra' ? --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- trigger warnings: implied s3xual activity, mental breakdown, SADNESS --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- MEDIOCRE EVENTS She couldn’t run, nor could she hide. And when it was over, it was just a crushing, suffocating acceptance of what was about to happen to her. Very well. If something must happen in order to do the right thing, then let it be. Catherine’s face dropped as she knew it was done and finished; all tied up with the bloody bow it supposed. She could feel the cold hunger of the Star and their Witch nearby, though they hadn’t yet finished their job, snaking up her spine and making her shiver. She spun around wildly, searching through the sea of heads. “Mitsu! Mitsuri!” Panic began to set in as she realized her friend was nowhere to be seen, the people around crushing in on her. “Jesus, I bloody-” “What’s up?” “Get out of here! Leg it, then!” “You’re Irish again,” Jesus said helpfully before vanishing. “Ach!” Catherine wiped her forehead, panting. “Please,” she said at last. “I can’t.” María licked a smear of blood off of her hand delicately, as her mother had always taught her. She took Leo’s with her other hand, swinging their arms back and forth and smiling politely. “Well, I think that was rather enjoyable,” she said after a long, pleasurable silence. “You’re giddy, I can tell,” Leo said, grinning. “Well, time for the big job, I suppose.” They gave her a prospective smile. “Care to watch the show?” “Well, I suppose I must.” With a carefully controlled glimpse of a coy expression, she turned smartly around to face the path they had come from. The two linked arms. Leo turned to the side, giving her a loving glance. “Ready, my love?” “Of course.” And as they kissed, the world went up in flames. Spinning through the crowd, Emilia was startled by the scarlet-orange flames erupting just beyond the edge of the people she could see. The heat was as uncomfortably intense as if she were standing right next to it, making her flinch. She could hear agitated cries from the people around her as well. Someone crushed into her, stepping on the delicate part of her heel and edging down the backs of her soiled sneakers. She struggled away from this, pushing people aside in her frantic alarm to get to a breathable space. Her shoulder bag, which she was clutching as tightly as ever, rubbed painfully against her shoulder, distracting her further from her path. She bumped into someone as she tried to fix it, causing it to be knocked to the ground. “No-” But before Emilia could even manage a protest, one of the many hysteric people around her stepped on it, ripping the delicate fabric. Among the wreckage was a single crushed daisy. Something tore in her; why it was this that finally broke her was unknown, but it did. And an awful shriek was torn from somewhere deep in her chest. She spun around deliriously, eyes wide and crazed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She clawed at the people around her, searching for the perpetrator. “You broke it! You broke her!” She felt someone grabbing her from behind, pinning her arms behind her. She struggled against them, kicking and screaming. “Stay still,” Michael hissed in Emilia’s ear, skin growing hot against hers painfully. “No!” she shrieked with all the force in her body, kicking and screaming. The Archangel picked her up like a rag doll, or rather, one possessed by a rather agitated ghost, and began to carry her through the crowd easily. “You are stirring people up,” they snapped. “We cannot have a panic right now.” But Emilia was inconsolable. The words had barely touched her ears before she had dissolved into a hiccuping hysteria. “I hate you, get off, I - I, please - they broke her, they broke her all up -” “Listen!” Michael grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look into their eyes. “You are not special. Being the only innocent here? It is a chance out of millions.” They leaned in closer. “You aren’t special. And I could take care of you right now and nothing would happen.” Taking a deep breath, Michael turned back away from them, shaking a little. “So calm the hell down.” The only thing Emilia could do was stand there, blinking and staring into unfocused space. She could hear Michael from beyond the haze around her saying to someone blurry, “I can’t believe I did that - I mean, she was being so annoying, but I’d never kill her - I’ve never killed anyone!” She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe - not that she needed to, truly. And when she subconsciously reached for the flower she rubbed in times of stress so often, it wasn’t there. I am in Hell. (cont)
(cont) Mitsuri, too, was in a haze. It was the sort of haze that comes when you are trying to reach a decision, or rather in this case, have already reached it and are trying to come to terms with it. Of course, it had to be done. Many people fall into a pattern of mediocre events. Cruel consequences are explained and expected, but not truly. Because people always find a way to get out of it. You know something should happen, but it never does. Because it is not a mediocre event. And you are stuck in that pattern. There are never real consequences. Just the expectations of them. And that is why, for some, when the time comes you must break the surface of the pattern. So when the Star came to take her, she didn’t fight. She didn’t sob. She didn’t beg. And not just for the sake of being noble. Things have to be done, sometimes. And she didn’t want to even give it a chance to not. /And her soul dissolved./ The witch sighed, slipping the strap of her bra back up over her shoulder. Leo was lying across her thigh, fanned hair tangled on the sheets as they scrolled through something invisible. Currently, or at least as close to currently as there was, they were lounging back on the pillows of the large, cozy bed. Leo stroked the large striped cat draped behind them. It purred, one large paw kneading into the scattered blankets. There was an empty cage nearby with a single stain of blue blood inside. “Sneaking away from the party to make out with someone,” Leo teased. “Bet you were the life of it back when you were alive.” María smiled wryly and traced one thin hand through their hair. “Conservative Mexican villages in the early twentieth century don’t often have parties, love.” “Oh, but you would have been.” “Of course.” Leo stretched, turning to kiss her stomach. “Going to have to plead our case soon, then.” They ran an absent hand along her bare back. “A thrilling endeavor.” There was a yawn. “Tres is chewing on the carpet again, my love.”
