#papy is an anglerfish~

[spookyflavors]

A terrible sketch, but... hinted backstory for Sirentale :3

[brooklynislandgirl]

@southern-belle-outcasts

Uncomfortable Headcanons meme- ANGLERFISH - does your muse smoke? if yes, when did they start? do they plan to stop anytime soon?  A FATHER’S LOVE - talk about your muse’s relationship with their father  BURNT OFFERING - what’s your muse relationship with fire? are they afraid of it, or do they find it fascinating?

     It was one thing to regularly drink rum- there she knew her limits, knew how much she should take in before it started getting questionable. Not that drinking to the point of being flat out drunk happened often with her. She was too used to it by this point. But moonshine…that shit would sneak up on you and fast. Add enough flavor to cover the sharp kick, and you didn’t even realize you’re now tipsy a quarter of the way in.

    So rather than her norm of telling anyone asking to none to kindly go fuck themselves, she just sighed and stared at the half full glass with the amber liquid for a good while. That fuzzy, giddy feeling of alcohol swiftly entering her bloodstream was being replaced by a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach; but she had definitely gone to the point where the padlock she so carefully kept locking her private emotions and memories had been chucked to the side. Beth wanted to ask, yeah? Well, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Maybe that would teach the other woman not to ask personal questions. Doubtful. But she was already running her mouth, the answers presenting themselves before she ever even decided they could be given, so now it was too late.

     “Mmm, never planned on smoking. Mami would get so mad at tio for doing it. He only ever did it outside when he would visit, but didn’t stop her from threatening to take the chancla to him. I think she muttered pendejo under her breath, not quite sure. She didn’t like to swear. So I never saw the appeal to smoking, not like it smells all that pleasant to begin with,” she admitted, tapping the light blue box of American Spirits on the table with her pointed fingernails, having set it there from her back pocket so as not to crush it when she sat.

    The tightening of her throat, that feeling of a cold invisible hand threatening to silence any words she dared to utter was only reduced by the warm burn of more moonshine. And just as the lump in her throat was loosened, as was her tongue. “So I hit twenty…thought shit was actually starting to not suck. Then my prometido- ¡Mierda! Cuál es la palabra…the- the fucking word! Fiance. Tortured to death. Baby lost because I have such…wonderful coping skills,” she muttered, eyebrows raising as she scoffed and took another drink, wincing at the welcome burn. Words she never thought she would even ever say aloud. The alcohol was really the only reason she wasn’t curling up in a ball in recollection. “So after that…well, rum only went so far. Wasn’t enough to fill that hole. Pain demands to be felt. And I demand it fuck off. And who goddamn cares if I’m slowly killing myself? I sure don’t. So will I be stopping? Is the sun going to stop rising? I’ll stop then.”

    Tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling, as though the different cast shadows offered more of an answer to the question than her own head. Finally, after enough time had passed where it could be questioned if she even remembered what the question was, she laughed, shaking her head. She looked to Beth, lips pursed. “Apparently if you had a gun to my head, and asked me to describe to you papi’s face for a sketch artist or risk being shot…I couldn’t. Couldn’t…I couldn’t tell you shit. I vaguely, mind you- vaguely, remember in the mornings he would sit me in his lap, to blow on his coffee for him. You know, be ‘helpful’,” she said with a roll of her eyes, making air quotations.

    “I remember it was black coffee, and he’d have me stir in the one spoon of sugar. But I seem to be very at good at what I intended, which is pushing mi familia far, far out my mind.” The last words were quiet. Nilza couldn’t tell if she actually regretted that decision, or if it was just the moonshine making her think she regretted that decision because she was far more drunk than she ever would choose to get.

    Fist closed tightly, nails digging into her palm sharply and she sighed, just barely avoiding a shake to the breath as she tried to better collect herself. This was far too much unloading. Even inebriated, the fact she had brought up all this was starting to sink in, and she hated it. Hated being open, exposed and frank to a practical stranger. Being known was a weakness, people could use that against you. Make your pain a weapon to stab you in the back with.

    Pulling the lighter out of her pocket, she flicked her thumb to strike the lighting mechanism. Rather than the normal flame, a six inch tall flame shot up from the lighter. She had a habit of opening the top of her lighters, pushing the dial past normal adjustment parameters before closing it back up to create a ‘super’ flame. “I’ll light an incendio, watch it burn. Turn everything dead and broken, forgotten to just…despojos mortales, ashes. Maybe I wish it was me, hmm?” The smirk after the remark was not entirely altogether, her eyes staring at the flame as she said it before she released her thumb, allowing it to extinguish and looking back up, with enough hesitation it seem almost hesitant. “But in any case, it’s a good weapon. Gets rid of a lot of bad things. It’s a friend. A wild, consuming, greedy friend. Just have to…guide it properly.”

    She shrugged, slouching slightly as she finished off the moonshine, eyeing the other woman as she pushed the glass back to the middle of the table with the tips of her fingers. “Why you so nosy anyways? Boring shit, that you don’t actually care about. What’s the real reason?”

~*~*~*~*~

There's three things here at play.

The first is the very same Southern Hospitality that Nilza had spat upon their first meeting which hadn't gone well, all things considered. But more so, this was mountain hospitality, brought over long before. A kind that had roots that were ancient and bound to guest-right. There is a small tin of fresh baked herbed bread and a small cellar of salt to go with it.

The second comes from the minuscule amount of pride Beth displays in offering the amber coloured 'shine. It goes down smooth like the apple pie it's named after, but kicks like a mule with a nest of bees buzzing around its tender parts. It was traded for, hand over hand, all the way from Harlan county, from the Stills of Mags Bennett herself. The distance it has travelled, the pristine quality of the jug set on the table, it's one of her prized possessions.

And lastly, just because Beth was born and raised by a dozen generations back in these hills, she's not stupid. Moonshine happens to draw out the truth, distilled over the tongue. And she's not having a strange hunter under her roof through the night when she still has a healthy distrust of the woman. In the morning, once the woman's broken her fast and is able to think straight, some of the boys will escort her back to town. Where she goes from there won't be any of Beth's business unless Nilza chooses to come traipsing back up into the hills.

Which is why she pairs difficult questions with the flowing drinks.

She nods along. She doesn't know a great many of the words the woman speaks but enough of it comes through that she can follow, keep up with the story as it were. She was not a smoker herself but had lived with her brother long enough to become accustomed to it. Most of the time the smell makes her nose wrinkle but every once in a while, she feels herself missing the scent or taste of smoke lingering around. Andy didn't smoke them fancy kind that comes in boxes, though. Too expensive, too dangerous to get a hold of, and it was easier to come down out of the hills to pick up papers and roll your own. She still keeps a patch of tobacco growing because that was valuable for trading.

Beth's nails aren't as pretty as hers. They aren't fancy like hers, either. Without thinking about it she weaves her fingers together, back to back, and then closes her hands, effectively hiding the broken, partially bitten nails with the bits of earth still clinging underneath them. Her knuckles are rawboned from work. Rough. Lined. No one would look at them and call them pretty.

Not that that means she isn't paying attention, she is. And her heart goes out at the few words so quickly glossed over. Ironic, isn't it? If they had known each other those years in the past, Beth might have been able to help. Maybe not with her sweetheart, but at least with the infant. All along the hills the Riley women were known for their gifts, amongst them being midwives of the first water. More so when you add magick into the midst, the old rites and customs. It can be seen all around the little cabin they're in, with the way the plants and grasses thrive on her property. With the healthy children running barefoot through the holler, more than half of them welcomed into the world by Beth. Plentiful game, healthy fish in the streams no matter how much poison the mining companies pour into the land. But it all comes at a cost.

She swallows hard and bites back on the words that want to come rushing up and out between them. It would be unkind. But she does nudge the jug on the table a little closer to the Hunter with her elbow.

It's also very strange to her being able to feel both pity and jealousy in the same turn, something she's never experienced before. It knits her brows and twists her lips to one side. She worries at the inside corner with her sharpest teeth. Her gaze falls back to Nilza's hand. Then further slinks down toward the ground, moving low like a barn cat. Beth has no such pleasant memories of her father. The man had always been more stick and carrot, and there are still certain sounds and certain ways of being touched that instinctively make her flinch. She wasn't the least bit upset when the Mines refused to give him up and there is something satisfying and just in the back of her mind at the idea that he'd choked on his own evil down in the dark of a cave in, smothered by the earth herself. That had been long ago, though. She'd been ten and Andy had been fifteen. They dutifully gave away his unnecessary possessions and stopped sleeping on the floor. The only thing she really wonders about is if Andy would have gone as gnarled handed and as snowy up top as early as their father had, had he lived that long.

Somehow, she doubts it.

She doesn't do anything for long though because the hunter pulls a lighter and does something that sends a gout of flame so high that has her pushing her chair out away from the table, body stiff as she gets to her feet. Her hands come up to her chest and begin to curl instinctively into a countering gesture. The ceiling of her cabin isn't very tall, maybe only a half a foot above six feet. They are filled with her drying racks and covered in plants in various stages of desiccation, the herbs and roots that she uses in her works. Medicine and food, the lifeblood of her community. So very flammable. She cannot allow that, allow this woman to burn down her home, maybe her along with it.

Lines form at the corners of her eyes and mouth, her entire tiny frame practically quivering from the tension as she watches the fire. Even after it dies down, leaving the cabin unscathed, she cannot allow herself to relax. Though she tries to hide her discomfort by turning her back and making the few short paces to the fire-place ~the only means she has of heating the small space~ and puts a new log into it, poking it with the iron rod leaned up against the river-stone of her hearth. She takes her time in formulating answers that are demanded of her, trying to soothe her voice into something a little more normal before she returns to her seat.

Obligingly, she refills the woman's glass, takes a small tipple of her own, but she doesn't keep her eyes on Nilza when she finally finds the right words.

"When ya look at me, I know what ya see. An tribe entire of ignorant white folk. Dirt poor an' full of city additions. Livin' lil better'n animals, which some of us kinda are. An' ya come up here huntin' them for...reasons I don't play a' understandin. Jus' cause I ain't got no book learnin, an' don' know my letters, ya call me ignorant. Inhumane. Assume that jus' cause I'm a witch I got evil plans an' do some real wild stuff with that ole Devil. That I'm tryin t' trick ya into tellin' me a secret to use against ya."

She swallows quietly, shrugs one narrow shoulder. There's an honesty in her words that highlights a vulnerability that the young woman doesn't often show. Who would notice if she did?

"I get that there's evils in the world, Nilza. An' it ain't all haints an' black magick. It's a pa that beats on ya cause yous too little t' stop him. It's corruptin' the land for profit, poisonin' everything for miles 'round. A ma can't feed her babies but also can't get away from makin' more. It's yer elders dyin' an' takin' with them the stories about how ya lived in these parts for what feels like f'eva. Whatchin' what lil ya got gettin' smaller an' smaller by the day. Constantly bein' afraid of losin' jus' a little more.

"Mebbe, I guess, I were lookin for some kinda common ground. A place we could start from, even-footin' like. Ain't you never been curious about the world 'round you, an' the people in it?"

[popatochisssp]

Pyre is a (Tiger/Great White) shark, Mal is likely to be either a Piranha, or a Barracuda. I'm seeing Rus being an Eel(or the unpopular choice of the octopus). Will Slate be a Crocodile/Alligator, or Anglerfish because of the glowing headlight? The whale is the biggest sea animal, which fits with Papy. How right am I here?

One right, one sorta right, the rest wrong-- this is fun lmao XD

[southern-belle-outcasts]

@brooklynislandgirl​ sent: Nilz:  Anglerfish, father's love, burnt offering 

Uncomfortable Headcanons meme- ANGLERFISH - does your muse smoke? if yes, when did they start? do they plan to stop anytime soon?  A FATHER’S LOVE - talk about your muse’s relationship with their father  BURNT OFFERING - what’s your muse relationship with fire? are they afraid of it, or do they find it fascinating?

      It was one thing to regularly drink rum- there she knew her limits, knew how much she should take in before it started getting questionable. Not that drinking to the point of being flat out drunk happened often with her. She was too used to it by this point. But moonshine...that shit would sneak up on you and fast. Add enough flavor to cover the sharp kick, and you didn’t even realize you’re now tipsy a quarter of the way in.

     So rather than her norm of telling anyone asking to none to kindly go fuck themselves, she just sighed and stared at the half full glass with the amber liquid for a good while. That fuzzy, giddy feeling of alcohol swiftly entering her bloodstream was being replaced by a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach; but she had definitely gone to the point where the padlock she so carefully kept locking her private emotions and memories had been chucked to the side. Beth wanted to ask, yeah? Well, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Maybe that would teach the other woman not to ask personal questions. Doubtful. But she was already running her mouth, the answers presenting themselves before she ever even decided they could be given, so now it was too late.

      “Mmm, never planned on smoking. Mami would get so mad at tio for doing it. He only ever did it outside when he would visit, but didn’t stop her from threatening to take the chancla to him. I think she muttered pendejo under her breath, not quite sure. She didn’t like to swear. So I never saw the appeal to smoking, not like it smells all that pleasant to begin with,” she admitted, tapping the light blue box of American Spirits on the table with her pointed fingernails, having set it there from her back pocket so as not to crush it when she sat.

     The tightening of her throat, that feeling of a cold invisible hand threatening to silence any words she dared to utter was only reduced by the warm burn of more moonshine. And just as the lump in her throat was loosened, as was her tongue. “So I hit twenty...thought shit was actually starting to not suck. Then my prometido- ¡Mierda! Cuál es la palabra...the- the fucking word! Fiance. Tortured to death. Baby lost because I have such...wonderful coping skills,” she muttered, eyebrows raising as she scoffed and took another drink, wincing at the welcome burn. Words she never thought she would even ever say aloud. The alcohol was really the only reason she wasn’t curling up in a ball in recollection. “So after that...well, rum only went so far. Wasn’t enough to fill that hole. Pain demands to be felt. And I demand it fuck off. And who goddamn cares if I’m slowly killing myself? I sure don’t. So will I be stopping? Is the sun going to stop rising? I’ll stop then.”

     Tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling, as though the different cast shadows offered more of an answer to the question than her own head. Finally, after enough time had passed where it could be questioned if she even remembered what the question was, she laughed, shaking her head. She looked to Beth, lips pursed. “Apparently if you had a gun to my head, and asked me to describe to you papi’s face for a sketch artist or risk being shot...I couldn’t. Couldn’t...I couldn’t tell you shit. I vaguely, mind you- vaguely, remember in the mornings he would sit me in his lap, to blow on his coffee for him. You know, be ‘helpful’,” she said with a roll of her eyes, making air quotations.

     “I remember it was black coffee, and he’d have me stir in the one spoon of sugar. But I seem to be very at good at what I intended, which is pushing mi familia far, far out my mind.” The last words were quiet. Nilza couldn’t tell if she actually regretted that decision, or if it was just the moonshine making her think she regretted that decision because she was far more drunk than she ever would choose to get.

     Fist closed tightly, nails digging into her palm sharply and she sighed, just barely avoiding a shake to the breath as she tried to better collect herself. This was far too much unloading. Even inebriated, the fact she had brought up all this was starting to sink in, and she hated it. Hated being open, exposed and frank to a practical stranger. Being known was a weakness, people could use that against you. Make your pain a weapon to stab you in the back with.

     Pulling the lighter out of her pocket, she flicked her thumb to strike the lighting mechanism. Rather than the normal flame, a six inch tall flame shot up from the lighter. She had a habit of opening the top of her lighters, pushing the dial past normal adjustment parameters before closing it back up to create a ‘super’ flame. “I’ll light an incendio, watch it burn. Turn everything dead and broken, forgotten to just...despojos mortales, ashes. Maybe I wish it was me, hmm?” The smirk after the remark was not entirely altogether, her eyes staring at the flame as she said it before she released her thumb, allowing it to extinguish and looking back up, with enough hesitation it seem almost hesitant. “But in any case, it’s a good weapon. Gets rid of a lot of bad things. It’s a friend. A wild, consuming, greedy friend. Just have to...guide it properly.”

     She shrugged, slouching slightly as she finished off the moonshine, eyeing the other woman as she pushed the glass back to the middle of the table with the tips of her fingers. “Why you so nosy anyways? Boring shit, that you don’t actually care about. What’s the real reason?”