Early Autumn
by strickenized
He wasn't yet sure how to feel about being back, being in a civilized town. He recognized the trappings of society adorning each person on the street that afternoon, muddling their priorities, disguising their baser selves from view. It seemed odd to him to commit such dishonesties to appear approachable to others. But Eion nevertheless deferred to the better sense of his boys, who had never left society for the strangeness of the Rift. Who had never truly faced the raw savagery contained in the shape of a man.
He had something like a plan: get dressed up however Waru thought looked good on him, sit at one of the outside tables for a coffee and tea shop, and watch people. Bring a notebook just in case. Maybe draw if he needed some way to pass the time.
It sounded like hardly anything at all to his own ears. But then again, he couldn't compare it to battle stratagems.
It was mid-afternoon, and the dregs of sleep still clung to the corners of Eion's eyes. His husband dropped him off at a nearby building with a fire escape that extended from roof to alleyway. Eion watched and listened to the phantoms of his past few months while he descended the steps, pace leisurely, hand lightly following the many-times-painted rail that bore great pits and ruts.
The alleyway was quiet, save for a man smoking a cigarette outside. The smoke of his habit clung to him as his eyes had clung to Eion, and while the glammed-up boy hesitated just long enough to watch him, Eion decided quickly that this man wasn't his type. His attention felt frenetic and haunted, like a victim trapped on the runaway train of his own life. That lack of agency left Eion feeling bored.
He exited the alley to a busier main drag, where no one noticed anybody else. It was loud with people having conversations about all sorts of inanity, from plans in the future to what they did of no great consequence last weekend. There were bodies drifting one way and bodies drifting the other way and Eion did his level best to cross the streams with his narrow shoulders fitting between the waves. Maybe it was festival time, he didn't know. He didn't look it up. Better to stay away from such things if Eion wanted to reacquaint himself with society.
Waru had helped him find the shop online earlier. Together, they'd placed an order for him — a chai tea with black cardamom and a few madeleines for easy snacking. Finger foods that he wouldn't have to think about when eating. They'd placed a pickup order. Dropping into the place now, Eion was quick to recognize the pickup counter by the signs and quickly found the cup and snacks bearing a sticker with his name on it. He was in and out without a word. No one seemed to notice him.
He sat down outside at a table positioned under an overhang. Waru had said the weather was good that afternoon, though Eion found it intolerably chilly. He clung to the flame-emblazoned jacket that Celadonite had made him. Anytime he squinted from the sun peeking through overcast clouds, he was reminded of the little black stars glued patiently to his cheeks and around his eyes. Waru had spent a lot of time on him in concert with Haru, from nails to makeup to clothes, all so he would look his finest in whichever way he was supposed to be attractive. This had, to his bane, included a fascinator modeled after a miniature top-hat and studded with all sorts of grommets while dripping with black costume gems.
Eion felt terribly strange for it all. He was getting a lot of looks. No one had attacked him yet, though, so he turned his attention to people-watching. He opened his notebook. Soon, his pen took to paper with the haunted memories of a youma he met months earlier.
He had something like a plan: get dressed up however Waru thought looked good on him, sit at one of the outside tables for a coffee and tea shop, and watch people. Bring a notebook just in case. Maybe draw if he needed some way to pass the time.
It sounded like hardly anything at all to his own ears. But then again, he couldn't compare it to battle stratagems.
It was mid-afternoon, and the dregs of sleep still clung to the corners of Eion's eyes. His husband dropped him off at a nearby building with a fire escape that extended from roof to alleyway. Eion watched and listened to the phantoms of his past few months while he descended the steps, pace leisurely, hand lightly following the many-times-painted rail that bore great pits and ruts.
The alleyway was quiet, save for a man smoking a cigarette outside. The smoke of his habit clung to him as his eyes had clung to Eion, and while the glammed-up boy hesitated just long enough to watch him, Eion decided quickly that this man wasn't his type. His attention felt frenetic and haunted, like a victim trapped on the runaway train of his own life. That lack of agency left Eion feeling bored.
He exited the alley to a busier main drag, where no one noticed anybody else. It was loud with people having conversations about all sorts of inanity, from plans in the future to what they did of no great consequence last weekend. There were bodies drifting one way and bodies drifting the other way and Eion did his level best to cross the streams with his narrow shoulders fitting between the waves. Maybe it was festival time, he didn't know. He didn't look it up. Better to stay away from such things if Eion wanted to reacquaint himself with society.
Waru had helped him find the shop online earlier. Together, they'd placed an order for him — a chai tea with black cardamom and a few madeleines for easy snacking. Finger foods that he wouldn't have to think about when eating. They'd placed a pickup order. Dropping into the place now, Eion was quick to recognize the pickup counter by the signs and quickly found the cup and snacks bearing a sticker with his name on it. He was in and out without a word. No one seemed to notice him.
He sat down outside at a table positioned under an overhang. Waru had said the weather was good that afternoon, though Eion found it intolerably chilly. He clung to the flame-emblazoned jacket that Celadonite had made him. Anytime he squinted from the sun peeking through overcast clouds, he was reminded of the little black stars glued patiently to his cheeks and around his eyes. Waru had spent a lot of time on him in concert with Haru, from nails to makeup to clothes, all so he would look his finest in whichever way he was supposed to be attractive. This had, to his bane, included a fascinator modeled after a miniature top-hat and studded with all sorts of grommets while dripping with black costume gems.
Eion felt terribly strange for it all. He was getting a lot of looks. No one had attacked him yet, though, so he turned his attention to people-watching. He opened his notebook. Soon, his pen took to paper with the haunted memories of a youma he met months earlier.
Leaning close to a car's side mirror, America slid her sunglasses down to give herself one final inspection, then blew herself a little kiss when she liked what she saw. Straightening up, she gave the driver a little finger wave and mouthed, You’re welcome! After all, it’s not everyday a person got their passenger side window blessed by the America Jhones. Ignoring the driver’s rather baffled and annoyed face before their light finally turned green, the teen sauntered toward the coffee shop with the full confidence of ownership. She owned this particular sidewalk, this specific store, this giant pink monstrosity of an order, and…this seat!
“Don’t mind if I sit here, hon. We can both enjoy ourselves a nice view, right?” Faustite would find himself faced with a teen girl full of honey-pulled accent, artfully riotous ginger curls, and bright white teeth set in a self satisfied grin. There was definitely something predatory about it. At first sight she was a lot. But to be fair, so was the boy across from her. If she looked, and was, loud, he looked loud in a different way that stage whispered to all and sundry, I am an artsy little prince! I have a lot of thoughts, feelings, and opinions! Which I may choose to deny you the privilege of hearing!
Basically: he was super cute.
America moved her drink, a massive thing involving circus cookies and a full slice of cake, slightly to the side, to make sure neither view was blocked. After all, she was also super cute! She was due to take Tony for a walk later, but it was still a really nice day to do her nails and dress up, maybe look around for an Autumn Boyfriend. The weather was gonna cool down soon, and this one looked like he got cold easy, right? Maybe he was a secret hand-holding aficionado, which was exactly what she liked in a goth boy.
Taking a sip of her drink, she placed her sunglasses in her hair and leaned forward on the table to get a peek at that notebook (and try to give him a nice peek of his own). It was honestly a little exciting to try this particular move, as having the capital for it had been a thrilling new development of the past few months.
by strickenized
Eion slow blinked at the girl who sat herself down before him, completely mystified by her commentary and behavior. Was this something people did these days? Seat themselves in front of strangers and start talking as if they were in the middle of a conversation? And what was the nice view she was talking about, anyway? She didn't seem to have headphones in; Eion scanned their surroundings briefly before his attention landed on the audacity that was her drink.
Ah, that must be it. To her credit, it did look good. Full of sugar and calories and perfect for someone as permanently ravenous as he. It left his chai tea looking flavorless and blasé by its juxtaposition. And the more he considered how that cake slice leaned just so, yet never actually touched the frosted circus cookies, the more he felt that he had to have one of his own.
Black eyes darted down to the hand that still rested on his notebook. Suddenly he didn't care about the half-remembered, energetic sketch of a youma in progress. The heel of his hand scooted a little further down the page. Then, his characteristic stark and violent scrawl formed words on the page.
He turned the notebook toward her without a word. Under the shape of something that used to be a man, a question begged: Where did you get that?
Looks good, he signed afterward, in case she knew how. Most people didn't. He expected she wouldn't, either. Society was made for a certain type of person, after all. That person had working vocal cords and wasn't on fire for 21 hours of the day.
She reminded him of someone. Perhaps not someone, but something. Regardless, the deja vu was strong enough that he'd tolerate her hanging around for a while longer. This outing was as much about self-discovery as it was about discovering new, if mundane, boys.
Ah, that must be it. To her credit, it did look good. Full of sugar and calories and perfect for someone as permanently ravenous as he. It left his chai tea looking flavorless and blasé by its juxtaposition. And the more he considered how that cake slice leaned just so, yet never actually touched the frosted circus cookies, the more he felt that he had to have one of his own.
Black eyes darted down to the hand that still rested on his notebook. Suddenly he didn't care about the half-remembered, energetic sketch of a youma in progress. The heel of his hand scooted a little further down the page. Then, his characteristic stark and violent scrawl formed words on the page.
He turned the notebook toward her without a word. Under the shape of something that used to be a man, a question begged: Where did you get that?
Looks good, he signed afterward, in case she knew how. Most people didn't. He expected she wouldn't, either. Society was made for a certain type of person, after all. That person had working vocal cords and wasn't on fire for 21 hours of the day.
She reminded him of someone. Perhaps not someone, but something. Regardless, the deja vu was strong enough that he'd tolerate her hanging around for a while longer. This outing was as much about self-discovery as it was about discovering new, if mundane, boys.
For a long moment she thought he was like, just really shy, so America wriggled her shoulders a bit with a sly look to see if she could make him even shyer. But then he started writing away in his notebook, and before she could ask if he’d decided to write a poem about her beauty being like, some kinda sunset in the darkness of his heart or whatever, she realized he just couldn’t talk outloud. Huh.
“Where did I get that? Hmmm…?” America read out loud to herself, a lifelong habit of hers. Her eyes wandered around to the dangly pendant on her chest and the way his line of sight…wasn’t on it. Huh! Then to her little fannypack, denim and beadazzled and also not where his gaze landed. Then…”Oh this ********’ thing! They like, sell it here but it’s on the secret menu and you gotta show them an insta-selfie with the secret hashtag and at least a hundred likes.” He honestly didn’t seem the type to be tagging it up for trendy foods, though. “Why, you want one?”
She waggled her eyebrows at him, sly grin still in place. “‘Cause I can, but I’m not a charity, understand? So you’ll either owe me a cute date or...draw me like one of your French girls.” She tapped on his notebook with a shiny red nail. “Or one of your spooky monsters, I guess.” She added with a breathy little laugh.
by strickenized
Eion didn't catch half of what just came out of her mouth. It sounded like the influencer babble that Haru and Hina sometimes had to resort to depending on their audiences. A garble of coded language that somehow sounded more braindead than the people who spoke it naturally. Did that mean this one was an absolute idiot? Potentially. If not that, then she adapted to her environment.
Still, Eion wanted a cake slice in his drink. Frosted animal crackers, too. It looked like a novelty, and Eion liked the idea that he could have food and drink in one sitting without having to change plates or utensils to do it.
A part of him thought that whatever she'd said sounded far more complicated than simply wandering in as his true self and threatening to burn the place down unless they make him one of those. The downside to that was her life would likely be forfeit; she didn't seem the type to let him be if he excused himself for a moment. Whatever other occult knowledge of novelty beverages would then be reduced to a starseed in the palm of his hand. Sounded like a waste for now.
That brought them both to her deal. Tapping a couple fingers absently against his jaw, Eion shot her a knowing look. Deals were familiar territory. And while he wasn't interested in dating someone who was clearly a she/her, he didn't know how he'd draw her in a way such that she would look French. But drawing her as if she was youmafied? He'd seen enough of them to try his hand at it.
So he started to study her. Watched how muted shadows laid across her face, how her skin moved when she spoke or laughed. Whether or not her eyes crinkled when she smiled. How her hair laid against her skin, how the colors of her outfit reflected up into her pale neck. It was one thing to draw what he saw — he'd gotten rather good at that during his time in the Rift — but to draw something partially from the imagination? He'd never thought about doing something like that.
Spooky monster it was, then. He held up a finger as if to tell her to hold on, then flipped to a new page in the notebook. He found it nigh impossible to purge any of his sketches of their wildness, so he leaned into it. Stretched her smile, her spine. Began adding a provocative, avant garde dress stylized after a viceroy butterfly. He liked to imagine that the burnished oranges matched her hair, as youma often had that polished look about them. Antennae swooped down and curled into the shape of her sunglasses, or mimicking the way they rested on her head. Those freckles became a dusting of white spots, enunciated by negative space. Her hair was done up and piled high in a queenly fashion with veiny brambles of black to keep it pinned into place. Her dress was a short halter, built from the discall cells and cut off at the bust where he had no intention of drawing further. Her eyes were shaped and rendered into a beautiful, staggeringly polished onyx.
It looked better than he expected, but he wasn't married to a ten-minute sketch. But if it could buy him some excessive empty calories? It was worth the precious time spent of his glamour.
Like that? He wrote beneath the figure, then turned it once again to face her.
Still, Eion wanted a cake slice in his drink. Frosted animal crackers, too. It looked like a novelty, and Eion liked the idea that he could have food and drink in one sitting without having to change plates or utensils to do it.
A part of him thought that whatever she'd said sounded far more complicated than simply wandering in as his true self and threatening to burn the place down unless they make him one of those. The downside to that was her life would likely be forfeit; she didn't seem the type to let him be if he excused himself for a moment. Whatever other occult knowledge of novelty beverages would then be reduced to a starseed in the palm of his hand. Sounded like a waste for now.
That brought them both to her deal. Tapping a couple fingers absently against his jaw, Eion shot her a knowing look. Deals were familiar territory. And while he wasn't interested in dating someone who was clearly a she/her, he didn't know how he'd draw her in a way such that she would look French. But drawing her as if she was youmafied? He'd seen enough of them to try his hand at it.
So he started to study her. Watched how muted shadows laid across her face, how her skin moved when she spoke or laughed. Whether or not her eyes crinkled when she smiled. How her hair laid against her skin, how the colors of her outfit reflected up into her pale neck. It was one thing to draw what he saw — he'd gotten rather good at that during his time in the Rift — but to draw something partially from the imagination? He'd never thought about doing something like that.
Spooky monster it was, then. He held up a finger as if to tell her to hold on, then flipped to a new page in the notebook. He found it nigh impossible to purge any of his sketches of their wildness, so he leaned into it. Stretched her smile, her spine. Began adding a provocative, avant garde dress stylized after a viceroy butterfly. He liked to imagine that the burnished oranges matched her hair, as youma often had that polished look about them. Antennae swooped down and curled into the shape of her sunglasses, or mimicking the way they rested on her head. Those freckles became a dusting of white spots, enunciated by negative space. Her hair was done up and piled high in a queenly fashion with veiny brambles of black to keep it pinned into place. Her dress was a short halter, built from the discall cells and cut off at the bust where he had no intention of drawing further. Her eyes were shaped and rendered into a beautiful, staggeringly polished onyx.
It looked better than he expected, but he wasn't married to a ten-minute sketch. But if it could buy him some excessive empty calories? It was worth the precious time spent of his glamour.
Like that? He wrote beneath the figure, then turned it once again to face her.
After he gave her a good solid look, it seemed the boy opted for deal #2. Which was a shame! He was totally one of her types! But America couldn’t say she wasn’t still in a good mood, being really seen and studied was always kinda nice anyway. Getting to watch the process of graceful swoops and aggressive swipes of pen to paper was also a certain sort of pleasure. Seeing someone do the things they enjoyed and show off a bit of their skills was satisfying, maybe not as satisfying as a smooch after a nice first date, but there was a certain charm to it, yeah?
The notebook was slid over for her approval, and America looked down, practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh well, well…!” Her eyes lit up as she took in the bust of what was undeniably Her in all her glorious Her-ness while also being utterly fantastical. “Well dang! I am so cool and badass, holy crap!” Looking up, she shot the boy with a wink and a fingergun. “Good thing you noticed!”
Without asking permission, she removed the page, “Gonna hang this b***h up on my wall.” The page was neatly folded and slid into her bra for ultra safekeeping. “Be right back, gonna get you so much sugar, honey.”
It took a few minutes, maybe a few too many, but eventually the girl did reappear with another monstrous drink in all its pink and sprinkled glory. “They almost tried to hassle me, saying it was one per person! Can you believe it?! Aren’t I worth two drinks? At least two drinks! And a whole damn cake if I want it!” Despite her words, she looked pretty ********’ cheerful. “Name’s America by the by.” As she set the drink in front of him, she also placed a business card right next to it.
Quote:
America Jhones
All the good advice you need!
All the bad advice you want!
All the good advice you need!
All the bad advice you want!
On the back was an email and a list of social media accounts, all belonging to one @bosslipgloss.
“You ever wanna try some viral weirdo food like this, I’m your girl. I got the know-how and what-all to get the goods and get stuff done!”
by strickenized
He liked her forwardness. The ******** was the point of drawing someone and keeping it for himself? Problem was, tearing out the page revealed a long and studied sketch of one of the many mutant fireflies that made up Headache's body. Without color, it looked well enough like a regular firefly (he hoped). Once she claimed the paper for her own, he slid the notebook back toward himself, lest she get the idea of picking through it.
Were she only interested in herself, he wouldn't have felt quite so annoyed about it. She seemed inquisitive enough to follow him into a dark alley if he actually agreed to take her on a date, though; that seemed a good enough out if he had to make her disappear.
She was spunky, though, he couldn't deny that. And it would've piqued his interest had such an attitude come from a boy, but she was, unfortunately, firmly in the Not A Boy category. Alas for that date she asked for.
Deciding they could get on well enough, Eion gave her a single-shouldered shrug, as if to say, 'it was nothing, really'. Felt strange to play along with something so trite, but that gave him the feel of pretending to be someone else. She seemed like she was putting on a persona, so why not do the same? Play human for as much as it was worth. Invent someone new, pair a couple of names together and cut a story from whole cloth. If she could be on top of the world, he could play the weird goth boy who was obsessed with monster stories and other haunted s**t. Might be a nice change from playing the monster.
She did come back with the drink, after all. And he smiled for that, feeling more than a little self-satisfied for trading a sketch for a free snack. It even came topped with what was likely a slice from the same cake. He didn't want to know the price; it wouldn't have meant much to him anyway. He nodded his thanks for what would undoubtedly put him into a delightful sugar coma.
It was habit to sign to her first. That's fake, right? He asked about her name. But then came the business card, and all the social media accounts, and all the icons for those social media posts that he didn't recognize. Great, she looked like she was all over the internet. And Eion was about as handy with the internet as Faustite was with gasoline.
I love viral weirdo food, he wrote onto a new page in his journal. Could eat basically anything. Though he learned from Waru to leave the details out unless he wanted to be remembered in infamy.
Were she only interested in herself, he wouldn't have felt quite so annoyed about it. She seemed inquisitive enough to follow him into a dark alley if he actually agreed to take her on a date, though; that seemed a good enough out if he had to make her disappear.
She was spunky, though, he couldn't deny that. And it would've piqued his interest had such an attitude come from a boy, but she was, unfortunately, firmly in the Not A Boy category. Alas for that date she asked for.
Deciding they could get on well enough, Eion gave her a single-shouldered shrug, as if to say, 'it was nothing, really'. Felt strange to play along with something so trite, but that gave him the feel of pretending to be someone else. She seemed like she was putting on a persona, so why not do the same? Play human for as much as it was worth. Invent someone new, pair a couple of names together and cut a story from whole cloth. If she could be on top of the world, he could play the weird goth boy who was obsessed with monster stories and other haunted s**t. Might be a nice change from playing the monster.
She did come back with the drink, after all. And he smiled for that, feeling more than a little self-satisfied for trading a sketch for a free snack. It even came topped with what was likely a slice from the same cake. He didn't want to know the price; it wouldn't have meant much to him anyway. He nodded his thanks for what would undoubtedly put him into a delightful sugar coma.
It was habit to sign to her first. That's fake, right? He asked about her name. But then came the business card, and all the social media accounts, and all the icons for those social media posts that he didn't recognize. Great, she looked like she was all over the internet. And Eion was about as handy with the internet as Faustite was with gasoline.
I love viral weirdo food, he wrote onto a new page in his journal. Could eat basically anything. Though he learned from Waru to leave the details out unless he wanted to be remembered in infamy.
She did, in fact, notice the firefly and as a wild child of the south, had noted its ******** at a glance. But he was a gothy little monster artist and it’d be way more surprising to have seen something like a pretty anime girl or cute puppies on that page. Settling back into her seat, America sipped at her drink with a smug sorta pleasure, like she’d won something even in the midst of being rejected.
And maybe she had gotten the better result. A seasonal boyfriend was great! For a season. But an artsy friend who could and would draw her, and might be up to venturing into the weirder side of the Destiny City? That was the sorta friend worth making, and hopefully lasting well past Autumn.
“Tell you what,” she drawled, bouncing her ankle under the table. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, if you keep an eye out for me. I wanna cute boyfriend for Cuffing Season, so be my wingman when I take you to whatever secret menu selfie-taking ARG fun-piece-a-bullshit pops up next, okay?”
by strickenized
Oh, so it was boys she was after. Eion watched her, lids low in his smugness. He pointed to himself, then pressed his fists together, then pointed to her in a readily interpreted sign for I got you. He'd met enough boys in his forays as Eion to have encountered a few that professed themselves staunchly straight, regardless of how endearing Eion tried to be. And while Eion wasn't an expert on telling age from looking at someone, he suspected that America was a touch on the younger side. If that was the case, then most of his contacts would never have the pleasure of meeting her.
But, he'd met a few younger boys who mistook him for being relatively new to high school. They might be better suited to her depending on her age.
He took another sip of the drink to firm up his decision. Yes, it tasted like it would merc his pancreas unabashedly. Yes, it tasted like he'd acquire diabetic kidney disease by the time he polished it off. But was it worth the risk? As he recalled the message inscribed inside his wedding band, Eion decided.
Whatever shenanigans came of such endeavors, it was worth a shot.
But, he'd met a few younger boys who mistook him for being relatively new to high school. They might be better suited to her depending on her age.
He took another sip of the drink to firm up his decision. Yes, it tasted like it would merc his pancreas unabashedly. Yes, it tasted like he'd acquire diabetic kidney disease by the time he polished it off. But was it worth the risk? As he recalled the message inscribed inside his wedding band, Eion decided.
Whatever shenanigans came of such endeavors, it was worth a shot.
