darkness-and-lavender - Tumblr blog

darkness-and-lavender · 1 year ago

Text

Cycle 4- A Loser Doesn’t Need An Encore

Knelt upon a well-worn, grey wool mat on the cold stone floor and welding a few metal pieces to her friend’s moped was Veronika. Her tired faint green eyes behind her amber goggles were locked in focus, oblivious to her cluttered basement room of the castle and all goings on beyond its aged grey brick walls.

The majority of the room’s light came from Veronika’s goggles and the sparks that shot every which way from her torch. The four semi-circle windows atop the walls had cracked plastic blinds before them that let in minute daylight. Like everything else in the room, the sun bleached, blue blinds had collected many layers of dust and hadn’t seen a cleaning since before the war.

Many mechanical projects Veronika had worked on and other projects she planned to surely continue surrounded her workspace, each covered in a dusty green tarp. Tools serving various purposes were scattered across her room’s barely visible floor and unmade bed. Dishes with unfinished meals caked upon them coated her floor as well. If not for Veronika’s slithering companion; a tree cobra named Chania, then the room would have surely fallen victim to a rodent infestation.

Veronika pulled a dirty rag from the side pocket of her forest green leather pants with her free hand and used it to wipe the sweat beads that accumulated atop her pale forehead. Rogue strands of her unkempt, sunrise orange hair had come free from her frizzled mess of a ponytail and stuck to the sides of her freckled face.

The distraction of her hair caused her to take her eyes off her work for the first time in hours. She gazed upon the wooden shelves on her walls, fully stocked with many trophies and awards she earned in the past, now unceremoniously left to be claimed by dust and webs of long deceased spiders.

She sighed at the sight and did the best to advert her eyes for if she did not, a tidal wave of memories of times no longer and never would be again would crush her and what little happiness remained inside her.

Veronika resumed her work, though the memories of the past she couldn’t shake. The times four years ago when she knew little of the Aethren Empire and the continent of Eun as a whole. When her Chief father was a brave, selfless leader and loved his family dearly. When her mother didn’t have to do everything herself and wasn’t obsessed with war. When her older brother Clyde was himself and didn’t put up a false persona. Even if his true self was a little on the mad side, she loved him nonetheless.

Her Isle home of Harrow had become a strange land full of new and foreign buildings and people from the Empire, replacing those and everything else that was lost.

Tears had begun to collect at the bottom of her goggles, she hadn’t noticed she’d been crying.

A warm, familiar sensation of slithering scales she felt against her backside, a second later Chania stuck her little head out the thick, oversized sleeve of Veronika’s algae green, striped turtleneck. Her little golden serpent eyes looked up at her owner in concern.

Veronika clicked off her blowtorch and turned her attention to her dear snake.

“Oh Chania, sometimes I feel it’s only you who gets me…” Veronika gingerly stroked her head with a finger. The light from her goggles lit up the deep green, gold and black scales upon Chania’s head.

Chania’s extended herself into the touch, her night black, forked tongue tasting the room’s stagnant air.

Veronika smiled weakly at her. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I could use a break”.

She pulled her goggles down to her neck, removed her leather mechanic gloves and tossed them on top a pile of dirty laundry not far from her. Chania crawled out her sleeve and burrowed into the pile.

Veronika had always found it unique that Chania preferred burrowing herself instead of slithering all over her shelves. Tree Cobras were arboreal creatures after all.

Carefully, Veronika rested her head against the laundry to not disturb Chania and retrieved her phone from her pants pocket. The artificial light given off by the screen caused her to squint.

A few unread messages from her mother and Clyde flashed on the screen, her undivided attention on her work must have made her unaware when the phone buzzed. It was far from the first time she was oblivious to her phone and her friends and family had gotten familiar to her tardiness at responding.

Sent 2 hours ago

Mom: Hey Roni, going to Rain’s

Sent 2 hours ago

Mom: Feel free to drop in if you want. I’m sure Suvi can use the company.

Oh, right, something had happened with Suvi. Veronika remembered Clyde had spoken of something about it to her earlier before he went out, but now she couldn’t by the life of her recall what was said.

She decided to not reply to her mother, seeing how the texts were already two hours old.

…And totally not because she couldn’t handle knowing more about the reality outside of her bedroom.

Veronika clicked the next message, sent by her brother.

Sent 26 minutes ago

Clyde: hey, heading to donnes to pick you up supper for i am certain youve not eaten

Sent 23 minutes ago

Clyde: i assume you’re at home?

Veronika quickly replied

Veronika: yes! im sorry for keeping you waiting! thank you! <3

Clyde was too nice to her. She felt like she was deep in his debt already for every meal he bought, for every part he retrieved for her for her projects and for all the times he’s stood up for her towards their father who only seemed to notice her when he needed someone to poke fun at.

Clyde’s constant reminders to her not to sweat the petty things and to not pet the sweaty things had never helped lessen the guilt.

She snapped her phone shut and placed it beside her. Her eyes had become heavier with fatigue. Perhaps she could sneak in a swift nap before her brother’s arrival.

Veronika turned on her side and let herself fall into slumber.

___

Clonk! Clonk! Clonk!

Veronika’s eyes darted opened from the sound that torn her from her sleep.

“Y-Yes? Clyde, is that you?”

“Indeed it is” She heard her brother’s deep voice from behind the door. It was honestly his most masculine feature.

She removed the sleeping Chania that she just now noticed upon her stomach and put her onto the laundry pile before she rose to her feet.

“Come in! It’s unlocked!”

Clyde entered the room, a white plastic bag with the Donnes logo in each hand.

Wow did he look a mess! All the black makeup that he spent at least thirty minutes every morning applying with great precision had turned to dark rivers upon his cheeks and chin. His hair was a frizzled disaster, but still nowhere as bad as hers.

The heavy scent of whiskey that waft off his figure didn’t surprise Veronika whatsoever, nor did it bother her. She knew about his alcoholic immunity.

Clyde placed a bag upon the nearest table that wasn’t entirely cluttered.

“They really didn’t have a lot in stock this time of night, at least not in the lines of healthy eats.”

Veronika peered into the bag on the table. In it there was a medium sized Styrofoam container, labelled as Deep fried haggis sticks with chips & mild Gajahian spiced sauce. Next to it was a half-litre bottle of orange soda and two deep fried peanut butter and chocolate bars in semi-transparent parchment paper, one of the guiltiest of all her pleasures.

She returned her gaze to her brother

“Thank you again for all of this…”

Her eyes drifted towards the bag that remained in Clyde’s hand, it contained only a six pack of stout.

“Did you already eat, Clyde?”

Clyde shook his head.

“’Haven’t had the appetite. It was another one of those meetings.”

“Ahh… What exactly happened?” She glanced at the floor, feeling anxious she even had to ask something she should have already known.

Clyde sighed, his expression had fallen to melancholy. Veronika attempted to inform him he did not need to say anything if it bothered him, but he spoke first.

“You remember Sean, right? A close friend to Suvi, ‘had been here a few times dropping off supplies under father’s nose.”

She couldn’t honestly recall him, but remained silent.

Clyde continued “He was murdered in some sick act plotted by the occupation. Suvi was arrested too, but Kuunya apparently killed a few soldiers to free her”

She swore she saw a rumour of a smile upon his face after the last sentence.

“So again, father dragged me to another meeting where Olivius and his bellend cronies shifted all responsibilities of Sean’s murder off of themselves. Same song, different verse, as always.”

Veronika felt she shouldn’t have asked. No matter how bad the situation in Harrow was, it seemed to always find a way to worsen. She would have lost her appetite too if she hadn’t gone all day without eating.

“A-Are Suvi and Kuunya alright, at least?”

Clyde nodded “Physically. Olivius plans to trial them both. If Rain and Mum have any say in that, then I strongly doubt it’ll happen anytime soon.”

She cupped her face in her hands, a sign to Clyde that she wanted to hear no more. Clyde approached her and placed a hand softly upon her shoulder. She would lean into him.

“D-Do you think everything will soon reach the tipping point? Mum grows angrier every night, Rain will too after what’s all happened, and Dad is…”

“At an Imperial brothel, again.” Clyde interrupted, wiping a tear from Veronika’s eye.

Veronika let out a muffled groan. She knew that would do the opposite to quell her mother’s rage.

“I however, would like to believe we’ve approached the tipping point. None of us can live any longer under this occupation.”

That was not the answer Veronika wanted to hear but should have expected. She did not want any more conflict. She couldn’t bear to see another familiar face buried. She felt herself grow faint and Clyde noticed it too. He sat her down gingerly at the table.

“I’ll leave you to your supper. You’ll be okay though, right?”

Veronika nodded slowly and took a sip from her soda.

Clyde ventured back towards the door and glanced back to her one last time.

“Tha gaol agam ort, a phiuthar.”

Veronika smiled faintly and with that, he exited.

___

It had been nearly an hour since Veronika had begun her meal. She had always been a slow eater no matter how hungry she was. Chania rested at the other end of the table, her three foot long body comfortably coiled. Veronika fed her earlier in the day so she knew she wasn’t hungry.

Veronika leaned back in her chair, her eyes stared blankly at the wooden beams in her ceiling. She had been deep within her thoughts, what Clyde had told her about her pseudo-siblings, about Sean and about the tipping point being reached repeated like a broken record in her mind.

“Even if Harrow’s entire population rebelled against the Empire would it be enough? How long would we be able to hold out for? Would we have any allies? Would any of us survive?”

Would the project she had been working on in the garage under her room in secret from her family even amount to anything at this point? Would it even help if an uprising occurred?

She melted off her chair onto the floor, her expression heavy with anxiety.

“Chania, did I do it again? Did I start another project just to have it inevitably blow up in my face? Am I forever an eejit?”

Chania slithered off the table and crawled up to Veronika’s side. She tilted her little snakey head in question.

Veronika turned her head to face her “You can’t fly a jet, can you girl?”

To this, Chania just flicked her tongue.

“I guess that makes two of us” Veronika sighed and crawled over to where she had been adding the finishing touches to Kuunya’s moped.

She reequipped her goggles and gloves, grabbed a can of black spray paint and continued her work on the moped. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to stay in blissful ignorance for a little while longer.

End Cycle 4

#heresy #my writing

2 notes · View notes

darkness-and-lavender · 1 year ago

Text

Cycle 3- Two-Headed boy

Clyde sat at the far left of the podium in Dal-Innis’s stuffy and over-lit conference room. Despite the building being recently constructed in the past year, he already knew the layout off by heart. It wasn’t unbecoming of the occupation to drag him and his Chief father to these meetings here and use them both to calm their people.

This time was different not. He and his father both had been called once again by the Imperial Governor of Harrow to attend for a so called “emergency meeting”.

Clyde knew what had happened, he had been informed by his mother Eubha about the murder of a Harrowish child earlier in the day, the arrest of his pseudo-sister Suvi and the deaths of two soldiers that apparently had been done at the hands of his pseudo-sibling Kuunya.

He wondered what fancy words would be twisted by the Governor and his war criminal cronies to make light of the situation and shift the blame off of themselves.

The whole situation soured his stomach. He hated how with every passing moon he was seen as nothing but a collaborator in his people’s eyes. He hated the diplomatic, fence-sitting façade he had to put up when in all honestly, he wished to unsheathe his claymore from upon the side of his black kilt and take the heads of every Imperial and Loyalist he happened upon. His father being not an exception.

But that was not to be, at least not at this moment. The room had Imperial soldiers armed with mana rifles and gladii blades stationed at all exits. Not far from Clyde stood the Governor’s personal guards in correct postures. The guards wore gold and white fatigues that were infused with plates of the magic resistant, icy blue metal of Zephez. That armour had become their trump card in taking and the Isle.

Clyde’s pale emerald eyes scanned the room in hopes to land upon a familiar face. He was surprised not to find Suvi, Kuunya and their mother; Rain absent. His mother most likely with them too. If only he could be so lucky.

Clyde’s gaze caught the indigo eyes of a somewhat familiar Druid that stood with awkwardness by the double doors at the entrance. His name was Allister, a man older than he at thirty-three whose appearance spoke more than he did. Allister wore his fiery ruby hair shaved on all sides but the top where it was slicked back to resemble a flame. Though Clyde may have spoken a dozen words or less to the man throughout his life, he knew why he was here.

Allister had trained alongside Kuunya nearly all their life and became a close friend to them, one of the few people they minded not to be around. Allister was a good fellow in Clyde’s eyes, he had always attended these meetings in place of Kuunya, despite wanting to be here as much as Clyde himself did.

Clyde caught Allister turn to glance out the windows of the double doors, with haste he moved to be seated. The soldiers that bordered the doors opened them in sync and entered the Cathbad Veterox who looked as he forgotten what happiness was. To Veterox’s left was Clyde’s father; Chief Pádraig who wore the silver pointed, emerald heavy crown as if he deserved to. His faded green eyes hid behind a pair of oversized round glasses, his short black hair thin at his hairline on the right. His father’s complexion was as pale as his own, minus any freckles and the fact he aged like a tall glass of milk. Clyde could only hope that he’d age like his mother.

Two rows of six of the Governor’s guards trailed the two figureheads, followed by the Governor himself; a vile, shrewd faced bastard by the name of Olivius Nepton. The sunken eyed man wore a sky blue overcoat with epaulettes of gold on the shoulders above of a white and gold uniform that held many medals, no doubt awarded to him for his role in defiling Clyde’s Isle home. The Governor’s appearance alone made Clyde’s blood boil, perhaps he should have not worn his black turtleneck this day.

When the Governor entered the soldiers at the doors slammed them shut. His guards formed rows on either side of path that led to the stage, their backs faced towards those seated. Each soldier thumped the butts of their rifles against the concrete floor when the Governor passed. A sign of respect, Clyde assumed.

The Governor’s heavy boots creaked across the wooden stairs upon the stage. Veterox acknowledged the Governor with a nod and his father dared to bow. Clyde tried with all his strength to mask a scowl that threatened to show upon his face. Harrowish needn’t bow to anyone but Her Darkness; Undrel.

The Governor took to the podium, all those Loyalists and pro-Imperialists in attendance before him rose from their seats and sat down a second later. Clyde however, did not rise.

He stood now meters away from Clyde. Clyde’s freckled nose infested by the overpowering cologne in the Governor’s shoulder length, wavy brown hair. It was a stench Clyde wished he was unaccustomed to.

The Governor cleared his throat. “Citizens of Harrow, My colleagues and I have been made aware of a shooting that involved a member of our protectorate forces.”

Here we fucking go.

“However, I assure you that whatever you may have heard from those who claimed to have witnessed the event, is simply an unreliable side to this unfolding situation.”

The Governor’s lied with such confidence. It is as if he believes he will never reap what he has sown.

“There is no further information to be delivered at this moment. Whenever my colleagues and I should be informed on any developments, we will share them with you all via radio, television and newspaper.” The Governor rubbed his pointed goatee.

“I shall now let Chief Pádraig take the stage for any inquiries you may have.” With that, he and Clyde’s father to his left swapped positions.”

“Hello everyone! I’ll be taking any questions for the next 10 minutes.” His father spoke in an unfittingly laid back tone, a half smile upon his face. Could he at least attempt at giving a rat’s ass?

Clyde pinched the bridge of his nose. His black, square rimmed glasses pushed to his forehead against his long, vibrant orange bangs. Many conferences before had proved to him that his father’s passion, his respect for his position of Chief had been lost, if his collaboration was not enough of a statement in itself.

For the sake of his ever dwindling sanity, Clyde purposefully zoned out the rest of the conference. He had not a desire to speak. There was not a thing he could say that would benefit the situation. What thoughts that passed through his mind were about Suvi and what she must be going through, about Kuunya and how the occupation may attempt to have them trialed and about Sean, who was the last living member of his family. Another family the Empire had destroyed. Another Harrowish sent to Chello’s realm.

____

Clyde took his leave early to avoid any questions asked of him and to distance himself from his father. Any moment he could spend away from him, he would take without question.

The late day’s sun kissed his pale face and its gentle winds weaved through his long, voluminous locks. It improved his mood only slightly.

What would greatly improve his mood and mask his troubles was a trip to his favourite pub; the Black House, located in a dark corner of Dal-Innis and one of the few places left unmolested by the Empire.

Sure, in his sights on the main street before him there were many watering holes, ones he was once a regular at, five years ago prior to the war and occupation. Those taverns however, saw change to fit the palate of the occupiers and their families. Where whiskey once had flown, now various wines did, fruity in all the wrong ways. Pies of haggis swapped for something the occupiers called a “gyro”. Or was it “gyro”? In all honestly, Clyde minded them not. It was still mutton.

The high heels of Clyde’s thigh high black boots clunked down every stair at the hall’s entrance. The main street before him had little activity. The song of the breeze through the forever green trees behind the buildings overpowered all other sounds.

The doors behind him cried in a creek, followed by the voice Clyde didn’t care to hear.

“Hey Son! Me, Olivius and some of his men are gonna be heading to The Spread Eagle for supper, and y’know, some other things. Would you like to join us?”

Clyde bit his bottom lip in utter disgust, his fists clenched and he was only glad for he had been back on to his father. There was nothing about that situation that could ever possibly appeal to him.

He swallowed his growing rage and feigned a look of curiosity at his father.

“But father, isn’t it rather inappropriate to attend a brothel during this tragic time?”

His father let out a deep belly laugh.

“O-Oh Clyde, you know these past few years have been populated by nothing but tragic times! If we can’t relax now, we can’t do it at all! You know, you’re really starting to sound like your ma.” His father’s lopsided grin dissipated after his last sentence.

Clyde would take that as a complement instead of an insult. How he dearly wished his mother could have been Chief. She was everything his father wasn’t. Eubha was bold, strong in mind and body and loyal to her family, to her people, to her homeland and to Her Darkness. Truly it was a wonder what she ever saw in him.

“I’ll take that as you don’t wanna come then. Y’know, you will have to get used to the Empire if you plan on taking my place, son.” His father turned and re-entered the hall.

Clyde’s rage reached its peak, he would sooner take his final breathe than be a mere puppet for the Aethren Empire. Never would he become the filth his father was.

In quick steps he climbed the stairs and approached the doors his father just shut. One hand he placed on the door and the other the basket hilt of his claymore.

“No, not this day, not yet” He repeated to himself, and swallowed his emotions again.

Back down the stairs he went and towards the direct of his favourite secluded pub. He needed to get away as fast as his anger let him.

____

Clyde shoved the heavy, dark wooden, windowless door of the Black House open and practically fell inside upon the wooden floor, only to correct himself on the railing that separated the bar from the equally dimly lit seating area.

“Another conference, huh?” Questioned the bartender, Iain in his grizzled voice, his eyes stayed on the Cherrywood bartop he was polishing.

Clyde grunted in place of a reply and pushed himself onto a barstool. The bar was in its usual desolate state. The other barstools unoccupied along with the half dozen tables, minus two semi familiar, shady individuals that sat at the table farthest away, they spoke with looks more than in words.

Clyde lazily watched Iain clean. He was a middle aged man, but his exact age Clyde knew not nor cared to ask. His short, faded black hair in a widow’s peak. He wore a brown wool shirt and blue dress pants, held up by suspenders that curved around his gut.

Iain had been a soldier during the Imperial invasion and formerly a close friend to Clyde’s father. After the treaty was signed and the war ended, Iain set up this bar out of the way and it now stands as one of the last bastions of Harrowish culture.

The tired, green eyes of Iain looked Clyde up and down. “This might be the worst you ever looked, lad.” His thick accented voice held a hint of concern.

Iain was right, as usual. Clyde’s black eyeshadow had smeared down his face, his hair a frizzled mess and his black lipstick smudged from where his sharpened teeth bit down when he suppressed his rage.

“Just give me something strong Iain.” Clyde’s gaze still upon the bartop.

Iain nodded and grabbed a tall glass bottle of whiskey from the sparsely stocked row of drinks behind the bar. He placed it before Clyde along with a frosted glass freshly pulled from the minifridge below the bartop. Clyde hastily snatched the bottle and poured a good third of it down his throat. He cared not for the cold glass or the whiskey’s room temperature. He needed it as a raven needed the sky.

“Slow it down there, laddy! That’s thirty-five bolts.”

Clyde choked on the drink when the price hit his ears.

“T-Thirty feckin’ five?! t’was a twenty just the other week!”

“Aye, but with the occupation’s recent violent crackdown on the black market, I feel me stocks will only get lighter. The bastards really haven’t a problem gunning down children.” Iain shook his head, his expression read hopelessness.

It crushed Clyde to see it. Iain had already lost so much during these past years.

Clyde forked over two twenty bolt bills. “They never had a problem with it during the war.” He returned to his drink.

“Keep the fiver, put it towards my next bottle.”

Clyde hadn’t ever to worry about overindulging in drink. For whatever reason, he had never once gotten drunk or even tipsy in the slightest. This, he saw as both a blessing and a curse. In times like these, he believed it more as the latter.

He reached the bottom of the first bottle faster than he intended and immediately ordered another. This one would be his last. Sure he could handle more but he wanted not to drink what little booze Iain had left in stock.

Clyde and Iain resumed their conversation about the occupation and over the passing hours the topics would change to music, religion and finally to family.

“Again, I worry for Veronika. She still locks herself in her room, tunes out the world and cares only for her projects. She’s been repairing Kuunya’s moped for the past week and all it needed was a basic fix up! Something I know she can do within an hour!” Clyde rested his weary head in his hands.

“’Can’t say I blame your sis for not wanting to face today’s world, I’d suggest trying to get her out of the castle, even if for an hour a day. Perhaps bring ‘er here.” Iain ended the last word in a chuckle, his well-worked hands drying a mug.

Clyde only scoffed in reply. His sister wasn’t bad by any means at socializing, she just preferred to do it at home. Like all other things.

He stood up from his stool in a stretch and glanced at the clock above the bar that read 10:18pm.

“I should prolly be movin on out now, gotta stop somewhere to pick up a meal for ‘Roni. If Mum or Kuunya haven’t dropped any food off than I doubt she’s eaten.”

“Aye then, oidhche mhath” bade Iain, his focus still on his mugs”

“Oidhche mhath” replied Clyde as he took his exit.

An armada of stars lit the night’s sky in support of the moon. The celestial bodies overpowered the dim streetlamps and served as a guide for Clyde on his journey to the shops.

End Cycle 3

#heresy #my writing

2 notes · View notes

darkness-and-lavender · 1 year ago

Text

Cycle 2- Run on the Banks

Between the bush in the shadow of two towering oaks, an Imperial soldier clad in a ghillie bides his time. The soldier positions himself flat upon his stomach against the edge of the dark forest’s floor, his rifle readied and his focused eye staring down its scope. Through the scope he sees the wide banks of the great river Semroc where sand and grass shake hands. The river’s agile current plays a song of calmness, but the soldier is here not for that, nor for the great forest that surrounds the banks.

The soldier’s shoulder bound radio crackles.

“Are you in position, Private?” Sounded his superior.

“Affirmative Sir,”

“Our interceptors relayed that the target shall arrive at your location in the next half of the hour. Keep your focus clear, Private and may Aethra’s light be with you. Over and out.”

The soldier clicked his radio off, his focus back to the river bank before him. The late morning’s foreign sun trickled through the trees that shrouded him and he could feel himself grow warmer under the suit. It would not deter him.

His breath quieted, his eye locked down his camouflaged mana rifle’s scope. A hunger now grew inside of him with his anticipation for his prey to emerge into his crosshair.

“Going out, tìoraidh ma!” boomed Suvi, a smile within her voice.

She stepped out of her home and stretched her bare arms towards the late morning’s sunny sky, the chill breeze against her skin quite the refreshment.

Suvi was in a good mood this day, well, as much as she could be due to the current circumstances. She had been texted with Sean; her partner in “alternative marketing” throughout the morning and he had a surprise for her.

Her gaze towards the skies interrupted, the sound of a paper crunched under her knee high, buckled goth boots took her attention. She snatched up the paper and frowned at what it read.

It was an article from the Harrowish times; a news outlet that was once respected across the Isle, but now simply existed as a tool for spewing out Imperialist propaganda.

Today’s edition differed not from the regularly scheduled propaganda. It featured storylines such as “evidence” that the Bronzewing Republic to the north; The Aethren Empire’s greatest rival, had actually planned for an invasion of Harrow.

Suvi didn’t have to read it to know the story could not be more of a falsehood.

“What a heap of pure, unfiltered Turducken shite!” She exclaimed with an eyeroll.

From underneath the paper, her hand crackled with minute bolts of dark lightning that in seconds set the paper ablaze, its ashes quickly caught in the cool breeze.

Her cell’s vibration in her sleeveless, black dress pocket drew her out of her disgust. With haste, she fished it out and flipped it open.

Sent 4 seconds ago

Sean: U comin’? lol

Suvi swiftly texted back, though her long black fingernails made it problematic.

Suvi: yea gonna be a feww good minutes, hhold on laddie

Sean: Kk, see ya by the bridge

She shut her cell with a snap, returned it to her pocket and withdrew her walkman walklady as she preferred to call it.

Now with her headphones in and totally legally obtained cassette on play, she curved left until she was greeted by the wrought iron fence and gate they led into her backyard.

Deep green vines and their early season blooms of brilliant oranges, yellows and blues, constricted around the fence. White and black striped bumblebees, various sizes of butterflies and even a few black pygmy forest bats up too late in the day took full advantage of these flowers. Suvi greatly envied their carefree nature and ignorance to the world’s problems.

The backyard of her home always brought Suvi to relaxation even if she refused to admit the mundane made her feel so. Though the cold season of Unheis had recently turned to Ekhtus, her mother had wasted not a second to replant her gardens that with the kiss of time will soon grow to awing flowers, shrubs of strawberries, raspberries, crowberries and elderberries alike and crops of potatoes, cabbage, beets, carrots and the native delectable neeproot that once grew undomesticated and abundantly before the war.

To the left of the black stone path Suvi took, across from the gardens and on the border of the dark forest, the pocket of an orchid had budded again. By the height if Chaull, the assortment of trees shall bare their fruit of golden pears, wolf citrus and apples of brilliant greens. The few sugar maples that stood by the orchid Suvi and Kuunya had tapped after the last frost. The syrups collected would be used for an array of meals and desserts that Kuunya excelled at preparing.

Kuunya, always too humble to admit they had great skill in cooking, but they had to not as the food spoke for itself. Suvi, their mother and anyone that had ever eaten their food knew well they were a damn good cook.

Needless to say, the self- sufficiency of Suvi’s family garden was a privilege to have in these times. Her family’s noble status their saving grace. Many crops and the meals they provided were given without cost to the locals that had little to nothing thanks to the war and occupation’s tyrannical restrictions.

The end of the garden path Suvi walked broke off towards a shrine to Her Darkness before the woods. A meter tall statue of Undrel carved of onyx many generations ago, stood at its center.

Her magnificent, broad raven wings upon her back spread in pride, the curved ram like horns on the sides of her forehead still sharp at the points and her flowing black braids reached down to her ankles. She was clad not, her bosom, curves and genitals exposed to show her full beauty, something the occupation despised as what she bared they referred to as “unlike a lady”. To say this, was to say Suvi was unlike a lady as well which bothered Suvi all the more.

Around the statue’s base there were offerings left by Suvi, Kuunya, her mother and the Chief’s wife, Eubha. An arrangement of raven feathers and teeth from a wolf, both collected without harm in the forest. An unopened miniature bottle of Uisge Beatha; life water or whiskey in commontongue, Suvi had found in nearby rubble and placed it before her Goddess yester. A few dried pieces of crow garlic, tobacco and parsley also placed as offerings before Her Darkness.

After a quick prayer at the shrine, Suvi ventured off into the wood.

Suvi’s treks through the dark forest were of second nature to her, any Harrowish worth their name were required to hold great knowledge of the forest that coated their Isle home. Not just for cultural reasons, but for survival.

The shrouded, natural roof of deep green dimmed the sun’s rays which set the forest in forever dusk. The limited light did not deter life of all kind from calling the forest home, nor did it impair Suvi’s vision. One thousand years of residence within the Coille Dorcha did give her people that advantage.

Suvi’s heavy boots weren’t the best choice for forest navigation. Fashion over function was always what she favoured. Her steps were calculated to not stir a sound in the quiet wood. To alert and be charged by a Harrowish Elk with antlers each the length of a meter was not an experience she’d ever fancy again.

Her grasp upon the trees equally as careful, to grab what appeared to be a vine could end in a fatal mistake if it turned out to be a well camouflaged tree cobra. The Coille Dorcha was as great a source of life and protection as it was a source of death and pain.

Suvi saw the light grow before her when the forest thinned to meet the bank of the River Semroc. Her trek followed the wide river upstream. A few grey herons that fished for their dinners took flight at Suvi’s presence. Across the river an adolescent fox drank with caution, the sun’s rays highlighted the blackness of its coat and silver tips upon its ears and end of its bushy tail. The fox distracted Suvi well. She had always wished to have a fox like it but her mother taught her wild animals are meant for the wild, but that deterred her wishes not. Her best friend Clyde had a pet wolf once! It really wasn’t fair! Suvi had her own Badb Sith however which to her, was like a pet.

At last, her comrade Sean came into view, casually he leaned against the wall of an historic stone bridge that arched the river, one of the few left intact.

Sean’s earthy green eyes caught her approach and a smug smile manifested upon his face.

He leaned off the bridge to greet her.

“It’s about time yer arse showed up”

Suvi couldn’t help but grin herself, she pocketed her walklady.

“’ad to take the forest route, roads leave us too vulnerable.”

He gave a quick nod in response.

Sean stood a good quarter meter taller than Suvi despite being four years younger at sixteen. He wore a well-weathered, leather jacket unzipped and a just as beat up blue shirt below. The bottoms of his faded leather pants and black boots heavy with water, if it already wasn’t obvious enough from his wooden rowboat tied to the bridge that he arrived by river.

“The current a bitch to row through today?” Suvi now close enough to catch the scent of seawater in his dirty blonde hair and once pale face.

“Aye, sailed inland from the coast I did! Real bitch was getting the cargo ‘ere without capsizin’.” He pointed his thumb back towards the boat where a green tarp lay over a few crates and barrels.

Sean continued,

“Anywhoo, I wanted ta meet with ya because by the Dark Goddess do me and the crew got a big fuckin gift comin’ for yas!”

“Oi?” The idea of what it could be caused Suvi’s grin to widen still. Some of his passed surprises he and his Uziamian pirate crewmates happened upon included an ancient Elvish dagger found on the neighbouring island of Aivol and a black necklace with an onyx triskelion; the symbol of Her Darkness, Sean claimed to have taken off a once pillaging, Imperial soldier’s body. Either way however, it made her mother overjoyed when Suvi handed it to her on her previous birthday.

“Ya see, we may have gotten frisky and plundered a little Imperial transport ship and to our grand surprise it contained enough guns, blades, mana and explosions for a small army. And I do think ya know what we both wanna do with our spoils, don’t ya?”

Suvi’s excitement warmed her heart to the point of jitters. Getting arms back on Harrow after the Empire forcefully disbanded the Isle’s forces and collected its arms would be the embers that the inevitable uprising needed to grow aflame.

A well suited pride filled Sean’s expression.

“Ya see Suvi, rumour has it that on mainland Eun, the Imperial population isn’t too supportive of ta occupation. It, among other issues that plague ta Aethren Empire has made those on both sides believe ta Empire could be at its breakin’ point. As fer us, I believe we can be tat final push it needs.”

Sean clasped his hands together and turned back to his boat.

“Now, I got ya a few ‘tings ta hold ya over in ta meanwhile!”

Suvi approached him as he dug through his smuggled goods, a joyful hum escaped him. The sound would be abruptly cut off, his head snapped violently right.

“So watcha got for me, Sean- S-Sean!?”

Suvi’s eyes widened in terrific horror, her body refused further movement. Blood trickled down Sean’s head from below his temples, his dirty blonde locks fell to scarlet. Sean’s body ragdolled against his boat before it rolled into the river, the current held it against the bridge and the water faded to red.

The delayed, muffled sound of “Thoup” sent Suvi’s mind to its deepest recesses, back to recent years when warjets obstructed the day’s sun and fires from their payloads the night’s moon. Death and war filled her vision, it infested her very core.

Bodies of those she knew by name, by voice and by song surrounded her, they still radiated their warmth before even flies set upon them. To witness those she loved murdered had become commonplace but desensitized to it, she shall never be.

Hands upon hers pulled them behind her back and reality formed back around her. Her eyes wetted with tears.

“Y-You fucking Imperial bastards!” she sobbed in rage, though she couldn’t liberate her hands from the metal chain she felt around them.

“Watch your tongue, thief!” spewed the soldier who tied her hands. He roughly spun her to face him.

Between her and the path of the river bank, three terraves stood. Terraves were the mount of choice of the occupation especially for forest based scouts. Flightless, predatory birds that stood taller than six feet, ran like a horse and with golden beaks and talons sharp as any greatsword. Saddled upon two of the night blue and grey birds were soldiers, both in forest camo, rifles strapped to their backsides and in dark blue helmets with wings on either side.

“Insurrection tip number one! Never use trackable devices for communication you idiot!” snarked one mounted soldier.

“But that’s one less smuggler in His Majesty’s waters!” Chuckled the other soldier on birdback.

Suvi readied a tirade of insults but the soldier that chained her drew his words first.

“That chain is magic proof and don’t be trying to run off either unless you wish to join your little friend. We know who you are and your status matters not.”

With that, he remounted. Suvi was forced to follow her captors into the dark forest.

Suvi’s body battled between fatigue from the pace she was forced to keep up with, sickness from the image of Sean’s murder fresh in her mind and the bloodthirsty rage that had only grown ever severe. Sweat clung her clothes to her figure and hair before her eyes. The cries of corvids and of the soldiers’ meaningless bickering filled her ears.

“These dark vision goggles suck!”

“You’re telling me, dude! I bet those soldiers stationed in Datheo are getting all the good shit like always!” Complained two of the soldiers, the third gestured them to shut it. He would turn his gaze back to Suvi.

“Keep up, boy!”

Suvi chose to ignore the insult.

It was obvious to her that from the length of the journey, that the soldiers were unaccustomed to the forest’s layout and she hadn’t the slightest of intention to guide them back to Dal-Innis.

Her attention shifted, the soldiers in front came to a halt.

“What in the Light Goddess is that?” One soldier questioned, fear laced his voice.

The soldier to his right pounded on his goggles in hopes to process what his comrade spoke of.

Suvi stood tall and raised her neck to peer between the soldiers. A rumour of a smile returned to her face.

Between two great oaks, a darkness that absorbed what little light in the forest’s shroud had manifested. They took form of a silhouette whose only notable feature was the raven skull mask they wore.

Petrified in fear were the soldiers, their terrave mounts however were not. One soldier’s terrave bucked him off to the forest floor where he found himself immediately under the powerful legs of another terrave whose rider yelped and clung for dear life upon it. The terrave’s bladed talons left the trampled soldier a mangled, disembowelled mess. The third terrave’s rider lost his balance and knocked off his mount when his head smashed into the broad trunk of a great oak. His helmet failed its only job and he too was left in a lifeless, bloodied twist under the oak. His terrave followed the other two, fearful bellows escaped its beak.

The terraves disappeared into the dark. Silence again fell upon the forest.

The shrouded pitch darkness around Kuunya subsided. They removed their mask, with haste freed their sister from her bindings.

Suvi flung her arms around her older, yet shorter sibling in tight embrace. Streams of tears returned to her eyes.

Caught off guard by the hug, Kuunya simply patted her back in silence. Their expression remained monotone.

“They fucking killed him! Sean’s dead. He was just a kid!”

She felt Kuunya grow tense.

“I sent Oighrig for you, I… just wish I had done so earlier. For that I am sorry” It was Kuunya’s attempt to comfort her.

Suvi sniffled. “It wasn’t yer fault.”

Kuunya’s amethyst eyes met her own.

“However, why did you not at the least inform Limbo of your meeting?”

She had completely forgotten about her Badb Sith companion. Greater guilt formed within her.

Kuunya took her hand in their own.

“You need not speak now if you are unable, Sister. For now, we must return home. Mother and Eubha shall be sure to see the occupation punished for this. If not them, than I.”

Hand in hand, the siblings ventured forth through the dark wood towards their home.

End Cycle 2

#heresy #my writing

2 notes · View notes

darkness-and-lavender · 1 year ago

Text

Heresy (Rough Draft)

Cycle 1- Welcome to the Occupation

Sandals crunched through the fallen foliage of the moon shrouded forest, their breath heavy under their raven skull mask. They wanted to stop, they wished to rest but they knew doing so would mean certain death. The silver spiral robed figure continued their venture into the dark wood, with hope of salvation from their pursuers awaited them.

“Where is my family? Where might be my allies? Am I really in solitude within these trees?” Their thoughts were as rapid as their movement.

Suddenly, a branch seemingly reach out and snagged their black robe’s lose sleeve, throwing them into a tumble and knocking the mask from their face.

They got to their hands and knees, long shags of their onyx hair swaying while their amethyst eyes darted around towards grass and bush in hopes to locate the mask.

The cladded robe’s search was abruptly interrupted by the sound of heavy boots from all directions. They hadn’t time to gaze upwards before six men in military fatigues, camouflaged in colours befitting to the dark forest surrounded them.

The golden glowing eyes of their night vision masks locked upon the deep tanned face of the ground bound figure, their blue and silver metal rifles followed.

“The Druid has been located, permission to eliminate the target?” The most decorated soldier asked into his radio secured on his right shoulder.

“If I shall die this moment, let it be as a stand” Uttered the Druid from within their mind before rising to their feet, forcing the soldiers to ready their triggers. To their surprise however, the Druid did not attack but instead clasped their grey gloved hands together and shut their eyes in prayer.

“O Undrel; awesome and enteral Goddess of night, the creator of all, saviour and uniter of the Dal and Innis. Your child asked you now to protect my family, my people and my homeland that worship you so. To guide my spirit to Chello’s realm and let it exist in your enteral, mothering darkness. I shall love you in death as I have in life, my Goddess.”

“Worshipping your false Goddess until the very end, huh?” A soldier jeered, gaining a snicker from his comrades. To this the Druid responded not and kept their eyes closed, anticipating their demise.

A gesture of the squad leader’s hand was all his men needed to open fire and unload the magazines into the Druid. Bullets, laced with a blue sheen of mana ripped through them. It burned like an undying fire.

The Druid’s spirit left them, their body slouching to the forest’s floor and the last sound heard was-

“Beep, beep, beep, beep”.

They launched forward in their bed. Their violet cat like eyes darted open, their breathing intense and their figure drenched in a cool sweat from below their bedding.

“….That dream again, I should be rather accustomed to it by now.” they whispered to no one but themselves.

“Kuunya?” The warming, familiar voice of their mother outside the bedroom door snapped them back to reality. “Kuunya? You must be getting up soon, you know your father hates when you’re even a second late to training.

“I am getting set now” Kuunya fibbed in an unrested tone, glancing towards their saviour of an alarm clock that read 6:03am. They took their time exiting the bed. Druidic training was once something they looked forward to do at every dawn but ever since the occupation began, it had not.

Kuunya stood before their mirror above their dresser, the reflection showed their short and androgynous dark skinned figure coated in an ocean of black freckles, their forever tired looking amethyst eyes and their wavy bob of shoulder length raven hair interrupted by a fringe before their left eye that they had dyed bright violet. The mirror also revealed their room with posters of various alt rock bands, both local and foreign dotting their wooden planked walls and their banjo snuggling against their black and white electric guitar leaning upon their bed’s wooden frame.

Kuunya decided against brushing their unruly raven bob and got dressed in the Druidic robs, slippers and gloves, keeping the imitation raven skull mask beneath their robes for the time being. They exited their room and entered the hallway.

The wooden stairs croaked under their sandals which stole the gaze of their little sister at the dining table who was finishing off her white pudding and other breakfast arguments. Her night touched lavender hair done up in its signature drills on either side of her head. Her well-kept hair was juxtaposition to the fact she only wore her faded grey nightgown. Her deep tanned skin face in a forever smug expression with a single fang always resting upon her black glossed lips.

“Ya look like proper shite!” She held back a laugh.

��Suvi!” their mother scolded, back onto her children with her focusing being on watering her plants above the kitchen sink.

“Another nightmare again huh?” Their sister asked which to this they just nodded and poured themselves a spot of green tea. It was just warm and they added nothing to it, the way they liked it.

After quickly finishing it, they approached their mother’s pack of cigarettes they rested beside her on the kitchen counter.

“Oy! If you wish to smoke you need to buy your own, we have discussed this, Kuunya.” Her back was still turned, but her instincts knew what they had attempted. Kuunya would apologize and headed towards the front door, having already killed enough of their father’s time. Before exiting, their mother finally turned away from her watering and faced them, her wine red hair was long on the left but buzzed to stubble upon the right and her warm deep tan face showed its age.

“Don’t let your father push you ‘round. Even though you’re runnin’ late, it’s not an excuse for his attitude. See ya for now, Kuunee.”

Kuunya ignored the childish nickname from their mother and bid farewell to the women with a wave.

Kuunya’s robe flowed in the early morning’s chill winds, it was still the beginnings of Ekhtus but the snow had dissipated so it wasn’t like they were underdressed. The path from their house led into Dal-Innis’s main street of cobblestone. There, they would remember their moped was still at Veronika’s for repairs, so the long walk to the sacred grove was their reality.

The journey down the capital’s main street was one Kuunya formerly adored but now just brought them to melancholy. The street, which just three years ago had been filled with bustling markets, beautiful melodies of fiddle, flute, bagpipe and banjo alike and more drink than any mortal liver could ever handle, was now not even a ghost of its former self.

Buildings Kuunya knew off by heart now lie in ruin from bombings, replaced with ones of Imperial architecture insultingly adjacent to where they once stood. Occupational soldiers patrolled the streets during every waking and resting hour, brandishing their mana rifles and freedoms of their “victory”. The Harrowish tricolour of black, green and white continued to fly though beneath the golden eagle standard of the Aethren Empire.

Their disgustingly quiet trek to the training grounds would be interrupted by a disgruntled local across the street from them. The man had a pale complexion and his clothing unwashed. The stagger in his step gave away that he already had his share of life water despite the breaking dawn.

The drunkard pointed a finger towards two Imperial soldiers down the street from him.

“C’mere ya Imperialist cunts! Why don’t ya drop yer rifles and shocksticks and fight me like a man!” The man slurred and raised his fists to the best of his impaired abilities.

The soldiers glanced at one another with each raising a brow, without a word they both approached the man and drew their shocksticks.

“Ey! I thought I said fists onl-“ The drunk’s complaint would be interrupted when the metal end of a soldier’s stick cracked against his skull. His body slumped onto the sidewalk and jolted about from the electrocution. Though now indefensible and subdued, it didn’t deter the soldiers from continuing their savage beating upon him.

A gloved fist was clenched in rage, Kuunya’s amethyst eyes locked upon the brutal scene. They wished they could unleash bolts of dark lightning from their finger’s tips onto the soldiers and relish as their bodies quivered against the ground, giving them what they so deserve. But they also knew better, that doing so would simply make tensions between their people and the occupiers higher. After all, Kuunya was the eldest child of the Cathbad and was to take on that position of Archdruid soon enough.

So they reached into their robe and put upon their raven skull mask to shield their ever growing rage. They continued on their journey as the other locals upon the street had been doing.

It was just a quarter after seven when they finally arrived at the sacred grove. Their father at its entrance greeted them with only a scoff. Their father had the same complexion and eyes as they did but whose midnight hair was shorter, his brow wider and standing just over six feet, having an entire foot over Kuunya.

He also didn’t bare his Druidic uniform, just a simple white wool turtleneck and blue jeans.

Obh Obh, it was to be one of those days..

“You’re late again Kid! You should know by now I’m not here for me!” He now towered over his child.

Though the man who stood before them had survived the war, their father did not. Their father was a selfless man, a man that took his role as the Dark Goddess’s lead Druid seriously, a man that cherished his family and home Isle over all else.

When he and the Chief signed the peace treaty, thus turning the Isle of Harrow into a protectorate under the Aethren Empire, He had signed his soul away as well.

“I mean, fer fuck’s sake, you’re twenty-two! Don’t you think it’s about time you acted your age and took responsibility for your time?”

He attempted to read his child’s expression, but their mask proved it difficult.

“…I’m going to head out now, do your training in the grove, summon your Badb Sith, I’ll return in six hours.

Kuunya hadn’t even time to process all of their father’s snide remarks before the man had turned his back and walked away in direction of the city.

With a sigh, they removed their mask.

They were now alone in the grove, shrouded by the vast sacred oaks whose leaves hissed in the gentle breeze.

The Coille Dorcha; the Dark Forest covered the majority of Harrow, but despite so, it was left more undefiled than not by the Empire’s unrestricted aerial bombardments late in the war.

It was only a matter of time, like everything else on the once secluded Isle, when the ever reaching hands of the Aethren Empire would find a way to exploit it.

That meant not Kuunya had to except their life under Imperial control. They had spilled blood of many Aethren legionaries during the war. Kuunya knew the near millennium old Empire was mortal and could collapse yet.

If the Empire’s fall had to be done by their hands alone, then let Goddess Undrel will it to be.

The short Druid had zoned out once again and had not noticed the great raven whom had perched herself upon their wavy bob.

“Oighrig?” Their cat eyes gazed up to the bird that in response, simply tilted her head.

Difficult it wasn’t to know it was Oighrig, her haunting eyes of solid white and darkened violet beak gave truth that she was not a raven; but a Badb Sith.

A faint smile found itself upon Kuunya’s face, even in these tiring times the sight of their raven fairy partner never failed on lighting up their mood.

“You would mind not flying to the nearest shop and snagging a pack of Olde Harbour methanol’s for me lass? It has been nearly a quarter day since my last.

The pseudo raven hissed in reply.

“I understand, though I fear withdrawal will set in and interfere with our training.”

The Druid fished out a 10 bolt bill from their robe and presented it to their companion.

“Actually, see if Suvi has any on her from her black market ventures. It is best we bypass the occupation’s monopoly.”

Begrudgingly, Oighrig snatched the bill and took flight.

“Do not let me forget I owe you”

Kuunya perched themselves upon the well-polished flat stone at the apex of the grove. The guilt of being tardy combined with the event witnessed in the street began to eat at them.

They reequipped the mask, crossed their legs and rested upon them their now shaking arms. They needed badly to meditate, to tune out the world and solely focus their jumbled mind onto their beloved Dark Goddess.

End Cycle 1

#heresy #my writing #aaaaaaaadcwsafda

4 notes · View notes

darkness-and-lavender · 1 year ago

Text

The Calendar’s on repeat,

Day and night become one,

My feet rooted to the bedroom floor,

The sun shines through the window onto me,

But I do not grow,

I could not fit into the mold,

Now the mold overtakes me,

I have forgotten how to speak.

#another oc poem #poetry

1 note · View note

darkness-and-lavender · 2 years ago

Text

The lone raven,

Quietly perched upon a gravestone,

The flowers before it long wilted,

Replaced by nature’s gift of vine and moss,

With time, all that is left shall be so;

As above, so below

#another oc poem #poetry

2 notes · View notes

darkness-and-lavender · 2 years ago

Text

A structure built upon the earth, Falling into nature’s reclaim, The windows, once showing the sun and moon’s promise, Are now just fragments scattered, broken, The halls, which once contained life, Are silent with ever fading memories, The walls, whose paint has long faded, Now are decorated with vines, moss and fungi, In cracks within the rotten floors, Saplings and grasses have found a home, I now understand, The rusted sign upon the broken door, “Closed for renovations”

#just a poem i wrote to character build an oc #poetry

3 notes · View notes

darkness-and-lavender · 2 years ago

Text

//going to re-figure this blog again and just post whatever oc/ramblings i feel like

#misc #still i'll get around to writing binary world

0 notes

darkness-and-lavender · 2 years ago

Text

These two are Lyra Kinley (Left), Harrow's 11 year old sister and Harriet Kinley (Right), Harrow's 18 year old cousin

#i wish i had money or commissions aaa #lyra kinley #harriet kinley #binary world

1 note · View note

darkness-and-lavender · 2 years ago

Text

Prologue- July 2008

Junior high was over, Harrow had passed it with not exactly flying colours, but colours that could take to the skies nonetheless. High school was to start come September. For now however, Harrow had a summer to get through.

Wednesday, July 2nd, 2008.

Harrow had awoken to their radio alarm blasting some new pop song that already soured their mood.

(Dammit, Lyra must've fucked with it again. Doesn't that preppy trendfollower have anything better to do?)

Harrow scurried to their feet, turning off the radio and sighing in relief. They really hated that shallow pop music, it was worse to them than rap!

They returned to their undersized bed, pulling out and putting on their clothing for the day while not bothering to turn the lights on. Harrow liked the darkness.

The enby's outfit consisted of their usually summer wear; a pair of faded and torn black skinny jeans with their signature spiked belt and a t shirt featuring the logo of some band they favoured. Today's shirt was Escape The Fate.

Harrow dragged themselves into the bathroom, noticing their apartment was suspiciously quiet. The bathroom clock only read 8:07am so their parents would have left for work an hour ago but their sister must have been gone off somewhere too.

(Fucking finally!)

Harrow faced the mirror, brushing their short violet hair over their left eye. The right, shaved side of their head was still pitch black. Good, they wouldn't have to dye it again soon.

Harrow wanted to have the entire right side of their hair dyed black for their birthday at May's end. Their parents promised them that they'd help with that but of course it fell through like most of their promises do. Their parents still got them black dye though, albeit a smaller amount than they required. To deal with this, Harrow simply buzzed the right side of their head thin and then applied the dye.

The young teen had mixed feelings towards their parents. On one hand, they let them and their younger sister Lyra do pretty much whatever they wanted but on the other hand, they never were around much at all. Harrow had gotten used to the independence however.

Zoning back outside their mind, Harrow put their septum piercing in. It was a silver ring they had gotten, along with the piercing procedure for their birthday as well. Their nose still hurt a bit, but the pain was worth it. Harrow had already planned to get more piercings done before the summer's end.

After finishing their morning routine, Harrow got a danish from the kitchen pantry and flopped onto the living room couch. Harrow turned on the family laptop which sat upon the coffee table between the couch and tv. It wasn't often Harrow got to use it in the morning as it was more often than not in use by their sister.

It seems she had been on it earlier however as her user account was still signed in. Harrow could easily fuck with her facespace or billdow's live messager account as revenge for the many things she's done and said to them but Harrow wasn't like that. They didn't care for social media either.

(Not like i'd have anyone to chat to anyways..)

Harrow checked their email out of habit and was surprised to see they had mail! It was from their cousin Harriet.

From Harriet Kinley, Sent today at 6:33am

hey kid, driving to your place, just leaving sydney now. be their by 11am and your little ass better be ready to go

(....Oh right, she was gonna take me to spend the week at uncle's place. How the fuck did I manage to forget this shit?!)

Harrow groaned and headed to their room to start packing. They hoped they'd still be able to squeeze in some time to play their Vii before she arrived.

#srry if this wasnt very interesting im still new to trying this #harrow kinley #binary world

1 note · View note