#well sort of we all know how that shit goes with margot thanks filthy beast brother

[godblooded]

@rejectory has requested the fucked up journalist. 

your own house growing up (it wasn’t ever a home, was it? people had to make it feel that way) wasn’t even as big as this. but the vergers are old meat and so are you, after all, or so was the crellin family (sometimes, even for how your heart aches whenever you look at amma, you’re glad you’re a preaker, even though that’s not much different). you might’ve been raised that way, but you’re certain you don’t have anything left of that you. might’ve existed for a brief second, maybe in the days of cheer, but it never stuck with you long.

(you don’t think parts of adora you hate her you hate her, mama are too clear in you, but damned if you’re not fuckin’ terrified of them. sometimes your hands are soft and you remember tucking amma in and then you remember your skin singing like it used to, the way you hadn’t wanted it to anymore, the way you thought you’d gotten rid of. the word blood throbs just once somewhere on your chest.)

it smells like lilacs here, and that’s not surprising to you. you grew up around stockyards, and while you figure it might always smell like death, it doesn’t. goes to show, sometimes, there are good things even amidst the trash.

the great part about big places like this is i’m sorry, i got lost is your back-pocket excuse. the smell of horses, however? that’s inescapable. the stable’s the ornate kind of thing you think adora would swoon over and then remark backhandedly about over mimosas unreasonably early in the morning. 

you are looking for margot verger-- or her brother mason, but you’re really less curious about him. you needed a big assignment, and this is enough of one. it took you hours to convince curry into it.

you’re not really sure where the front door is, but you are sure it’s somewhere, so what does a little looking around hurt?