LOOK GUYS LOOK IT'S MEMES
1. Who are you?
2. Yay! How long have we been RPing together?
3. What was your first impression about our RPs? (IE, were you nervous, intimidated, disappointed, impressed, amused, annoyed?)
4. First characters we played together?
5. Most amusing scene from one of our RPs?
6. Most depressing?
7. Sappiest/most romantic?
8. Cutest couple from our RPs?
9. ( Read more... )
calls me on the phone tells me all the ways he's gonna mess me up
It's not until after the fourth call in an hour that Madeline finally unplugs the phone. She looks over at the silhouette in the window; when the light hits Eden's hair she can see the red in it and Madeline, who sees more than most people give her credit for, thinks it's strangely apt, the flash of blood and the potential for violence under all that sweetness, those long lashes and mouth like sugar spilled over the skin of a flower.
"Maybe--maybe it'll stop now," she offers hesitantly, hands twisting in the pockets of her sweater. The air conditioning in here is up high enough that she needs the cardigan; Eden likes the temperature just about freezing. In that blousey little top she's wearing it's bordering on indecent, which is probably not an accident.
Eden slides off of the windowsill and drifts over; when she walks it's dandelion fluff filtering through a stray beam of sunlight. All these things are incongruous, Madeline knows this, but she tries not to think about it. Until Eden says "Do you really think so?" and there's that note in her voice, not the one that could stop your heart, just the same one that in another life took her to a locked room with a gun.
She doesn't even have to talk, really. All the phone calls, the late night visits speak for themselves. Eden never really got to see what Mohinder was like when he was mad, but there's another world where he spits that all spies are just misunderstood, and that's something like what this is. Because after all, he and Gabriel have each other and these two forgotten women are just discards, just in the way, and he won't be happy until there's no trace of them left.
The problem is that sometimes forgotten people have a way of finding each other, and it's not always for the best, but when Eden chucks Madeline under the chin and leans forward - not to kiss her, just to nip her bottom lip like a promise - it doesn't matter.
"No, I...I don't, really." She wouldn't recognize the note in her own voice if she hadn't heard it before in Eden, a reflection of sound where their featherweight bones link when the other woman (still a girl, really, there are places where you stop growing) hooks her fingers into beltloops to tug their hips together.
They fit together like stitches in cloth, like ice melting together (something in you is eternal because it was frozen that way) and Madeline closes her eyes. "I know where he lives."
Eden's lashes flutter down to rest on her cheeks, and there's that flash of red again before she moves to button and zipper and skin. "Good."
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