"On the dress. Here," she says, leaning over to hold it up between him and the ceiling "It's a...it's complicated. I don't - you likely won't notice much, unless it's gone more wrong than I expected."
"Alessa thought it looked nice, on the other dress we found it on," she adds "Did I tell you about that yet?"
She did. She must have, because there's just not much to say and so much time to say it in. They stretch so thin she can see right through them.
There a faint thread of something warm, at that, not a pleasant warmth, but it's gone very quickly. She waits for him, quietly.
"Didn't," Seymour replies after a while and from far away.
There were some toys at the Home. One of them was a doll. It had a key in its back and you wound it up and it banged cymbals together. The key got lost and the doll got broken - toys always got broken. It was Skid Row.
Sometimes Martine can turn the key.
"You can." For now, the toy's running. (Toys break.)
Martine is still for a moment, and then settles back down, gathering the dress up in her arms with a rustle. The needle winks at her, and she stares blindly back.
Babble, river-girl, babble.
"Well, we were in here, looking for a good cloth, the right shade of blue, and I saw a corner but it turned out to be the wrong kind - too light, you know? Too easy to tear. But the hem was very pretty, so I'm trying to do it over in this, but," Martine lifts the hem again, blue crumpling between her fingers as she inspects it "I did it wrong."
"I'll have to take the thread out and start over," she says, dropping the cloth back onto her lap "Only thing for it."
Martine could tell his profile with her eyes closed at this point. Back facing the wall, legs tucked up, arms curled so that his hands rest under his bearded cheek.
This is the first time she's been here while he's sleeping that she was allowed to be. She steps over the threshold of the cubby cautiously, silent in the same dress that rustled before.
Even the way she walks is a lie.
Her place in this scene is on her knees next to the bed, arms folded under her chin as she watches him sleep.
"Came back," she breathes, as quiet as she always is "See? She slides her hand out over the bed, fingertips touching the wisps of his curly mess of hair almost accidentally and stopping there.
"Alessa says hello," her fingers curl slightly, pulling the heel of her hand forward "You know. Like she does."
"I'm sorry for the colors. I knew better."
Martine twists to rest her forehead on her closest arm, fingers absently sliding along and up his hair until she can feel the damp warmth near his scalp.
"I..." she says, and sighs as she falls into rhythm, forgetting what she was going to say.
Better to be quiet. His hair is softer than hers, even if tangled and rank.
A time for firsts, tonight (or today, not that it matters).
Because this is the first time Seymour wakes up. He doesn't open his eyes or stir, but he's awake. Feels fingers running through his hair Audrey - then pins jabbing into his heart.
Comments 70
That thing where she talks to him - to his shell, really. Inside, things echo. Did they always echo? What was ever really there?
Jesus, it's pathetic. Shouldn't call her pathetic. She loves-- Just pathetic.
you and she's been with you all this time can't you think of anything to
The edging. She said something about the edging.
"Edging?" he mutters to the ceiling.
Reply
"Alessa thought it looked nice, on the other dress we found it on," she adds "Did I tell you about that yet?"
She did. She must have, because there's just not much to say and so much time to say it in. They stretch so thin she can see right through them.
There a faint thread of something warm, at that, not a pleasant warmth, but it's gone very quickly. She waits for him, quietly.
Reply
There were some toys at the Home. One of them was a doll. It had a key in its back and you wound it up and it banged cymbals together. The key got lost and the doll got broken - toys always got broken. It was Skid Row.
Sometimes Martine can turn the key.
"You can." For now, the toy's running. (Toys break.)
Reply
Babble, river-girl, babble.
"Well, we were in here, looking for a good cloth, the right shade of blue, and I saw a corner but it turned out to be the wrong kind - too light, you know? Too easy to tear. But the hem was very pretty, so I'm trying to do it over in this, but," Martine lifts the hem again, blue crumpling between her fingers as she inspects it "I did it wrong."
"I'll have to take the thread out and start over," she says, dropping the cloth back onto her lap "Only thing for it."
Reply
Martine could tell his profile with her eyes closed at this point. Back facing the wall, legs tucked up, arms curled so that his hands rest under his bearded cheek.
Reply
Even the way she walks is a lie.
Her place in this scene is on her knees next to the bed, arms folded under her chin as she watches him sleep.
"Came back," she breathes, as quiet as she always is "See? She slides her hand out over the bed, fingertips touching the wisps of his curly mess of hair almost accidentally and stopping there.
"Alessa says hello," her fingers curl slightly, pulling the heel of her hand forward "You know. Like she does."
"I'm sorry for the colors. I knew better."
Martine twists to rest her forehead on her closest arm, fingers absently sliding along and up his hair until she can feel the damp warmth near his scalp.
"I..." she says, and sighs as she falls into rhythm, forgetting what she was going to say.
Better to be quiet. His hair is softer than hers, even if tangled and rank.
Reply
Because this is the first time Seymour wakes up. He doesn't open his eyes or stir, but he's awake. Feels fingers running through his hair Audrey - then pins jabbing into his heart.
Reply
"...I don't really know what I'm doing," she says, thoughtfully "With...this. You. I'm not...much."
She quiets with that, still under the impression she might as well be alone in here.
Reply
Leave a comment