slide tackling my mind (OTA)

[armd]

Who: Abby and YOU
What: October catch-all
When: Throughout the month
Where: All about

Content Warnings: Mentions of previous murder, and grief/loss that accompanies that


𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐎𝐓𝐀

(abby isn't interested in painting her face. she doesn't want to wear a strange costume, either. she wants to join in on the festivities without having to indulge in any of the dress-up element, it's not her style. unfortunately, it's tough to get very far without getting hassled into some form of compliance; for her safety (not that the trenchers seem to care of acknowledge that she can look after herself well enough).

eventually, abby submits. she wants to eat the food.

don't be too startled when somebody wearing a bulky gas-mask suddenly reaches over your shoulder for a tin-foil parcel of roasted pumpkin seeds. in order to eat she has to push the mask up onto her forehead, exposing her unmarked face.)

Sorry. (she doesn't sound it!) Didn't mean to scare you.

𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫? 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐎𝐓𝐀

(most people are probably thankful for their gifted photographs, but abby can barely look at hers, an uncommon reaction she can't help. last month- the ravens, all of those perfectly recreated corpses piled high- this month, and the photograph in her hand, tacky with age. dead loved ones smiling up at her, frozen in time.

she's sick of this place reaching into her brain and taking out what's there as if it has the right. sick of how trench airs her dirty laundry out for everybody to see and peruse through at their leisure, for making her relive moments she's not ready to come back to yet. it forces her hand. every single fucking time.

she tears the photograph up in a surge of fury-

-and abruptly regrets it, especially when the weather kicks up and catches a few pieces, lifting them out of her angry hands to scatter in the wind.)

Fuck! Wait–

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬, 𝐎𝐓𝐀

(out at the edge of the pier the ocean breeze filters the worst of the dead-fish stink that darcmouth has to offer, and abby can be found here on an off day or two. nobody frequents it save for people who are there to trade, and she likes to sit and watch shipments roll in on the waves. sailors bring in all sorts of cargo: fish, mostly, but other things that are dried and salted too, and colourful fabrics, box-loads of patterns so vibrant they make her scoff with laughter to see them.

the boats are of interest too. turns out you can build ships here if you have the money and the time and the resources. abby has none of those things, but she still hangs around near the lucky few carving their own way, staring (enviously?) from the sidelines. for people like her, there are boats to rent, little two seaters, most of them smaller than owen's sailboat but still tempting.

it wouldn't be like california in the summer-time; the curving coast of santa barbara, not when the weather out here is always so goddamn terrible. but a girl can dream, right. and a girl can harmlessly price-check if she's thinking of indulging in what could be a future fun day trip.)

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐢𝐭

(hit me up at blisters for a starter all your own if you would like one!)

Comments

[armd]

Yeah, I guess that'd do it.

Does he look a lot like you?

[facultative]

Yeah, I think so. But I might be biased.

[Anakin is still dark, but talking about Luke helps with some of the effects of corruption.]

[armd]

Well, I'd like to meet him.

(she's curious, of course. she'd like to see the way the two of them get along.)

[facultative]

You'll probably see him around. He's still trying to get his head around the fact that I'm not an old man.

[As if that's the main problem and not the fact that Anakin dealt with news of the future poorly and immediately jumped to the dark side.]

[armd]

Hate to break it to you, but you're definitely an old man.

(how much older are you than her, anakin... like a hundred years, or)

[facultative]

Oh yeah? Then that makes you a hag.

[At least he puts their ages at roughly the same.]

[armd]

A– (hag.............

she splutters, caught off guard, and throws the rest of her seeds at him abruptly.)

[facultative]

[He clenches his eyes shut as she throws them and then starts brushing off pumpkin seeds into his pouch. He's supremely smug that his comeback worked.]

You're wasting food.