((Dolores Upton continued from Two Hearts))
Dolly enjoyed the rain. Living in a place that more often than not was hotter than she preferred, she always appreciated the cool air and the smell of petrichor. When the rain started in earnest that afternoon, she had wanted to take a minute to herself just to appreciate it and slipped away from the group, promising Marceline that she'd be just nearby and would shout if she needed anything from them.
The raindrops pattering on the ground muted all other noise. The sheets of water made the structures beyond them fuzzy, reducing everything in the far distance to shapes and spots of color. It helped to chase away the malaise that the morning's voice had brought them.
Dolly had known what to expect, but that only barely lessened the gut punch that was actually hearing the names. She was waiting for it to feel real. She had been a small child when her grandparents passed away, and even standing at the funerals holding her mother's hand, it hadn't felt real. No sense of finality until much later.
In the small shelter of a house's overhanging roof, Dolly took her hair down from her pigtails, twisting her ribbons in her hands. She wound them one way around two of her fingers until she ran out of ribbon, then unwound them and repeated the motion in the opposite direction. It became a steady pattern, just like the rain coming down. She'd left everything except the knife, tucked into her skirt, in the building where Marceline and the others rested, a possibly unnecessary assurance that she wasn't going to run off on her own. Her makeup case was there; she thought that once she got back, she'd have a good sit-down and fix up her face. It would bring her back to reality a little bit.
When would this feel like reality again?
The hooded figure wandering through offered no answer. When she blinked, it was still there, moving closer. She blinked again, and it didn't vanish. Not a hallucination, despite her troubled sleep. As it moved closer, she realized that she had seen that red-on-black pattern before.
"...Violet?"
"...we must try until it kills us."
Private; afternoon of Day 2 (CW: Discussion of sexual assault and self-harm)
"...we must try until it kills us."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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MethodicalSlacker
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The trial of the dock. The trial of the wound. The trial of the bandage. The trial of the sacrifice.
And now, the trial of Dolly.
[Violet Schmidt continued from The Praise and Glory.]
She had been plodwalking through the woods and crisscrossing the footpath for a longwhile. Cloak, robe, shawl, garment, whatever it was, the cloth kept her skin dry. Inconceivably, considering its perceived thinness. She'd poke fingerholes through it with her nails if they were any longer sharper meaner she reckoned. Two bags, slung 'round her shoulders, fairlighter than they should have been were she concerned with the practical. Too shaken from shooting him to take his thingbelongings An offering to the Gods in the desecrated holy place. Karma abated, for not long enough, puddingproof put before her. Neatly arranged on shelves in jars. Rows upon rows.
Dolly.
Violet stopped just beyond the covering of the overhang. Rain traced tear trails down the fabric and bounced off the metal of her gun and soaked in its wood. Dolly's hair was down. Dolly was present when Violet invokesummoned the wrong Angel. Playground structure, mid-May. Synchronicity? More proof she had no chance from the start. Fate had been arranged this way for a while. She had no mind to put the piecepuzzles together as of yet.
Dolly.
Violet briefly bowed her head in greeting before raising it again. She took a hand off of the gun and drew back her hood.
"Hi."
And now, the trial of Dolly.
[Violet Schmidt continued from The Praise and Glory.]
She had been plodwalking through the woods and crisscrossing the footpath for a longwhile. Cloak, robe, shawl, garment, whatever it was, the cloth kept her skin dry. Inconceivably, considering its perceived thinness. She'd poke fingerholes through it with her nails if they were any longer sharper meaner she reckoned. Two bags, slung 'round her shoulders, fairlighter than they should have been were she concerned with the practical. Too shaken from shooting him to take his thingbelongings An offering to the Gods in the desecrated holy place. Karma abated, for not long enough, puddingproof put before her. Neatly arranged on shelves in jars. Rows upon rows.
Dolly.
Violet stopped just beyond the covering of the overhang. Rain traced tear trails down the fabric and bounced off the metal of her gun and soaked in its wood. Dolly's hair was down. Dolly was present when Violet invokesummoned the wrong Angel. Playground structure, mid-May. Synchronicity? More proof she had no chance from the start. Fate had been arranged this way for a while. She had no mind to put the piecepuzzles together as of yet.
Dolly.
Violet briefly bowed her head in greeting before raising it again. She took a hand off of the gun and drew back her hood.
"Hi."
/ 
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/ 
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- Violet was before her, and perhaps Dolly should have been glad. Her oddity was familiar in this strange land. A towering hooded figure, perhaps ominous, perhaps threatening. When the hood drew back though, it was just Violet, like always, save for the bandage on her head and the tiny stains on her skin.
There was so much inherent wrongness in just these small details, but Dolly made herself smile anyway.
"You came more prepared for the weather, I see," she said. Soft, conversational, mundane. What had happened? Why was she hurt? That same conversation that would repeat over and over ad nauseam in the coming days. Dolly didn't ask.
Living people were never the ones from whom she had demanded answers.
"Are you alone?"
There was so much inherent wrongness in just these small details, but Dolly made herself smile anyway.
"You came more prepared for the weather, I see," she said. Soft, conversational, mundane. What had happened? Why was she hurt? That same conversation that would repeat over and over ad nauseam in the coming days. Dolly didn't ask.
Living people were never the ones from whom she had demanded answers.
"Are you alone?"
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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MethodicalSlacker
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"Yes," Violet stated, without feeling.
She had come to terms with her actions. No, she did not think they were just. It did not matter if they were just in her eyes. Only fate's. Violet had merely detached herself emotionally. Compartmentalized. Stored it away. Violet figured she would need to do that, before the universe did. The universe would never make peace with her. Taking another human being's life, ending their existence on this plane prematurely—and not just any human being but a good, pure, kind soul, undoubtedly one who could have, in his time, been elevated to higher ways of being—that was not something that she would get away with. Dolly. Violet looked down. Violet was always looking down. Now what if there was some synchronicity in that she wondered, in the looking down, down towards where she would shortly be unless unless unless
Violet took a hand off of the gun and pointed meekly at the house that Dolly was in front of.
"Are there others inside?"
Then, she put her hand back on the gun. It was pointed down and away from anybody. Anyone. Dolly. Just Dolly was present, nobody else. Anyone else was not here. They may be close. Not here.
Violet's eye twitched for a couple of seconds and then stopped.
She had come to terms with her actions. No, she did not think they were just. It did not matter if they were just in her eyes. Only fate's. Violet had merely detached herself emotionally. Compartmentalized. Stored it away. Violet figured she would need to do that, before the universe did. The universe would never make peace with her. Taking another human being's life, ending their existence on this plane prematurely—and not just any human being but a good, pure, kind soul, undoubtedly one who could have, in his time, been elevated to higher ways of being—that was not something that she would get away with. Dolly. Violet looked down. Violet was always looking down. Now what if there was some synchronicity in that she wondered, in the looking down, down towards where she would shortly be unless unless unless
Violet took a hand off of the gun and pointed meekly at the house that Dolly was in front of.
"Are there others inside?"
Then, she put her hand back on the gun. It was pointed down and away from anybody. Anyone. Dolly. Just Dolly was present, nobody else. Anyone else was not here. They may be close. Not here.
Violet's eye twitched for a couple of seconds and then stopped.
"Not here. Another house, down the way." Dolly nodded her head in the direction she'd come from. The ribbons wound around and around her fingers, one way then the other. "Marceline, Emeka, and Rhonda."
Violet wasn't close with any of them. Neither was Dolly, with the exception of Marceline. Strange bedfellows. That was the way these things always went, wasn't it? Disaster forcing people together who would never have otherwise crossed paths for more than a few moments. Roxanne had left them, and perhaps Dolly vaguely regretted having exchanged her for Ariana only to end up with an empty space after all, but it had been well-established that Ariana and Marceline shouldn't mix.
Violet had a gun. It wasn't as though it could have escaped Dolly's notice. She didn't ask about the gun either.
"Come out of the rain," she said instead, gesturing in the opposite direction now, towards the space between the outer wall of the house and the water running off the roof. Pendulum swinging one way and then back. Tick-tock.
Violet wasn't close with any of them. Neither was Dolly, with the exception of Marceline. Strange bedfellows. That was the way these things always went, wasn't it? Disaster forcing people together who would never have otherwise crossed paths for more than a few moments. Roxanne had left them, and perhaps Dolly vaguely regretted having exchanged her for Ariana only to end up with an empty space after all, but it had been well-established that Ariana and Marceline shouldn't mix.
Violet had a gun. It wasn't as though it could have escaped Dolly's notice. She didn't ask about the gun either.
"Come out of the rain," she said instead, gesturing in the opposite direction now, towards the space between the outer wall of the house and the water running off the roof. Pendulum swinging one way and then back. Tick-tock.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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MethodicalSlacker
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"Mnnf."
Violet shifted a little. See? Not here. Not present even remotely. Dolly broke off from them. Dolly. No trap. Not being trapped. Dolly was right here, nobody else. That's just it. She should just go and and and and just and just be with Dolly, yes? Yes? Just go and set down just lean up against the wall under where it's dry nothing going to happenstances nothing no body nobody just Dolly standset there under overclings out in the straylight of the stop it just stop thoughts bumblestumblingfumbling around in Violet's brain a storm a whirlwind a tornado hurricanes torrential downpour of confusion and
She walked under the thing and stood a good couple feet away from Dolly. Dolly. As far as could allow. It was harder now than ever to be near anybody that could do anything. Violet.
"Why," Violet said, speech slow, "are you out here, and not in there, with all of them?"
Violet shifted a little. See? Not here. Not present even remotely. Dolly broke off from them. Dolly. No trap. Not being trapped. Dolly was right here, nobody else. That's just it. She should just go and and and and just and just be with Dolly, yes? Yes? Just go and set down just lean up against the wall under where it's dry nothing going to happenstances nothing no body nobody just Dolly standset there under overclings out in the straylight of the stop it just stop thoughts bumblestumblingfumbling around in Violet's brain a storm a whirlwind a tornado hurricanes torrential downpour of confusion and
She walked under the thing and stood a good couple feet away from Dolly. Dolly. As far as could allow. It was harder now than ever to be near anybody that could do anything. Violet.
"Why," Violet said, speech slow, "are you out here, and not in there, with all of them?"
"I wanted to be alone for a little while."
Dolly had been hurt. Her feet ached, and she was really doing them no favors standing around out here. Her heart ached too.
She understood the situation. She understood the survival instinct. People grouping together, wanting to live, most of them knowing that they would probably die. Many of them hoping that they would be the one who didn't. Dolly aimed to be one of the monsters who resisted her cannibal nature; it helped that the idea of living on without so many people that she knew opened a deep, dark emptiness in the pit of her chest.
It had opened up as she sat there while the announcement played, looking at the faces of her three companions in turn, and thinking that any one of them could be next. Her friends of convenience and the girl that she thought she loved. Ariana or Roxanne or both could be dead now, dying right this minute.
Dolly didn't know whether the thought of dying or living ate at her more. She probably wouldn't know, until it was far too late.
"I'm awake, but I'm afraid that I'm still dreaming," she told Violet. If anyone understood that, she thought that Violet would.
The ribbon wound around and around, tight enough to turn her fingertips white before it released and the blood rushed back in again.
Dolly had been hurt. Her feet ached, and she was really doing them no favors standing around out here. Her heart ached too.
She understood the situation. She understood the survival instinct. People grouping together, wanting to live, most of them knowing that they would probably die. Many of them hoping that they would be the one who didn't. Dolly aimed to be one of the monsters who resisted her cannibal nature; it helped that the idea of living on without so many people that she knew opened a deep, dark emptiness in the pit of her chest.
It had opened up as she sat there while the announcement played, looking at the faces of her three companions in turn, and thinking that any one of them could be next. Her friends of convenience and the girl that she thought she loved. Ariana or Roxanne or both could be dead now, dying right this minute.
Dolly didn't know whether the thought of dying or living ate at her more. She probably wouldn't know, until it was far too late.
"I'm awake, but I'm afraid that I'm still dreaming," she told Violet. If anyone understood that, she thought that Violet would.
The ribbon wound around and around, tight enough to turn her fingertips white before it released and the blood rushed back in again.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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MethodicalSlacker
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Violet nodded to what Dolly said, about dreams. It struck a chord with her. Not only had this place itself, this experiencestream, been like something from the realm of dreams, a semi-oneironautical experience unto itself, but...
She had a dream the other night, when Kyle was still alive 'n breathing. A dream that she was sure she wouldn't soon forget. It was easier to say that it was a nightmare than a dream, but at this point Violet's objective concrete corporeality was so utterly nightmarish that the distinction felt useless.
In the nightmare, Violet was with somebody. She didn't know anything about this person, except that the two of them were in love. Violet felt love in her heart whenever they so much as looked at her. She felt it in places that weren't quite her heart as well. Such as her eyes. She could not take her focus off of this radiant being, heavenly in all appearances. In fact, her gaze was so focused on this being that she was unable to see clearly anything even kind of around her. The being was a woman. Anything even slightly to the left or right of this woman was impossible to distinguish. It was all featureless and gray, but Violet got the sense that beneath that grayness was something sinister. They walked through a city, which Violet could tell from the occasional smudgevisions she got off the outline of the Godhead was old and cobble-y and full of twisttwisttwisttwistturns, and eventually wound up at a coffeeshop looking place. There was no staff inside but Violet and the Godhead sat down at a table and started to drink tea anyway.
Violet disliked tea, but she was forced to drink it. She had no control over her own body. It was just the Godhead, Violet, the cup of tea, and the expectant smirksmile on the Godhead's lightface. Violet kept pouring tea, for herself, for this creature, no control over the way her body moved, and felt love all the same, love, love, love, until she dropped the kettle on the ground and had to stoop low to pick up the pieces. Gathering the ceramic pieces of the kettle, Violet noticed that her vision had refocused on something other than the Godhead, and began to look around at her surroundings. She very quickly realized the reason why the coffeeshop was empty—or at least, she gained a hintclue. For the walls were painted something very ungray.
Covering the walls was—
"If I'm keeping you from being alone," Violet said, "I can go."
She had a dream the other night, when Kyle was still alive 'n breathing. A dream that she was sure she wouldn't soon forget. It was easier to say that it was a nightmare than a dream, but at this point Violet's objective concrete corporeality was so utterly nightmarish that the distinction felt useless.
In the nightmare, Violet was with somebody. She didn't know anything about this person, except that the two of them were in love. Violet felt love in her heart whenever they so much as looked at her. She felt it in places that weren't quite her heart as well. Such as her eyes. She could not take her focus off of this radiant being, heavenly in all appearances. In fact, her gaze was so focused on this being that she was unable to see clearly anything even kind of around her. The being was a woman. Anything even slightly to the left or right of this woman was impossible to distinguish. It was all featureless and gray, but Violet got the sense that beneath that grayness was something sinister. They walked through a city, which Violet could tell from the occasional smudgevisions she got off the outline of the Godhead was old and cobble-y and full of twisttwisttwisttwistturns, and eventually wound up at a coffeeshop looking place. There was no staff inside but Violet and the Godhead sat down at a table and started to drink tea anyway.
Violet disliked tea, but she was forced to drink it. She had no control over her own body. It was just the Godhead, Violet, the cup of tea, and the expectant smirksmile on the Godhead's lightface. Violet kept pouring tea, for herself, for this creature, no control over the way her body moved, and felt love all the same, love, love, love, until she dropped the kettle on the ground and had to stoop low to pick up the pieces. Gathering the ceramic pieces of the kettle, Violet noticed that her vision had refocused on something other than the Godhead, and began to look around at her surroundings. She very quickly realized the reason why the coffeeshop was empty—or at least, she gained a hintclue. For the walls were painted something very ungray.
Covering the walls was—
"If I'm keeping you from being alone," Violet said, "I can go."
After a moment's thought, Dolly slowly shook her head side to side. She didn't want to just stand and stare at Violet, so her vision had been drawn outward again, to whatever lay beyond the rain.
"I don't mind. I'm... glad. To see you." To see her alive? In one piece? "I don't know what I'm going to do," she continued after another pause. "Just wandering around and waiting for things to happen seems like a poor use of time. I don't like any of the alternatives, though.
"I don't suppose you've gotten any... guidance," Dolly said, leaving her tone open-ended so that it wasn't quite a question. This sudden upending of everything that she knew hadn't changed Dolly's beliefs any. If, in fact, there was a supernatural, an omniscient something, she knew enough already to be certain that it didn't much care what went on with human beings. Still, she was curious. Violet believed, so much more genuinely and deeply than Dolly ever had. At best, Dolly could hope that it had brought her comfort and given her ideas.
What path would Violet offer, if she gave one at all? She might bring up the things that Dolly had already considered and discarded. The hope was faint but there that Violet might have had something in mind that Dolly hadn't come to yet, and she might suggest that.
She might raise the gun, and-
Well.
Dolly rather disliked that option too, but it was ever-present, wasn't it. Acceptance was a process.
"I don't mind. I'm... glad. To see you." To see her alive? In one piece? "I don't know what I'm going to do," she continued after another pause. "Just wandering around and waiting for things to happen seems like a poor use of time. I don't like any of the alternatives, though.
"I don't suppose you've gotten any... guidance," Dolly said, leaving her tone open-ended so that it wasn't quite a question. This sudden upending of everything that she knew hadn't changed Dolly's beliefs any. If, in fact, there was a supernatural, an omniscient something, she knew enough already to be certain that it didn't much care what went on with human beings. Still, she was curious. Violet believed, so much more genuinely and deeply than Dolly ever had. At best, Dolly could hope that it had brought her comfort and given her ideas.
What path would Violet offer, if she gave one at all? She might bring up the things that Dolly had already considered and discarded. The hope was faint but there that Violet might have had something in mind that Dolly hadn't come to yet, and she might suggest that.
She might raise the gun, and-
Well.
Dolly rather disliked that option too, but it was ever-present, wasn't it. Acceptance was a process.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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MethodicalSlacker
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—a solidified crusty mixture of blood and other bodily fluids deeply soaked and seeped into the floor and walls and ceiling, deep red with white flecks, covering nearly everything, still suddenly wet with smells, scents, odors, filling the space once occupied by the strawberry smile given off by the Godhead and now vacant now and forever now never nothing but this post apocalyptic miasma of unholiness, all the while the Godhead still beautiful still unrelentingly so amidst the scarlet blood and silky semen tilts her head and stares at Violet’s wrinkled contorted twisted face and asks what is wrong.
Guidance?
Violet couldn’t help but laugh a little.
“I have received nothing in the way,” Violet stated simply, “of guidance. But that is not to say the spirits have been silent. In fact, they have done little else but make their presence consistently known.”
She couldn’t tell if the rain was letting up or growing more intense, and was not currently willing to step out away from here and check. Dolly was here. Dolly.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad to see you too.”
Guidance?
Violet couldn’t help but laugh a little.
“I have received nothing in the way,” Violet stated simply, “of guidance. But that is not to say the spirits have been silent. In fact, they have done little else but make their presence consistently known.”
She couldn’t tell if the rain was letting up or growing more intense, and was not currently willing to step out away from here and check. Dolly was here. Dolly.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad to see you too.”
"That's a shame, but I suppose if any place is going to be haunted, this place would do." Ghosts and spirits weren't in Dolly's realm of belief either, but she understood why people believed in them. The things that people experienced, the things they felt... it didn't surprise her that the magnitude of grief and violence could poison a place.
But she was glad to see Violet, and Violet was glad to see her. A small bright spot, a little trickle of warmth in the yawning void of Dolly's chest.
"You're welcome to come back with me when the rain lets up a little. If you're searching for someone or something, I understand, but you could stay the night, if you want." Violet might find it too crowded, too close. Still, Dolly made the offer even if she expected it to be turned down. It wouldn't have felt right not to do so.
She thought again of asking about the bandage on Violet's forehead, whether it needed to be changed, but her hands seemed to be stuck in their rotating pattern, twisting the ribbon around and around.
"...Is there someone you're looking for?" She didn't think that Violet had been close to anyone on the announcement, but closeness wasn't a requirement. Dolly hadn't known Beryl all that well, but they had spent a week in close proximity, and that was enough to make her loss stand out. She had sat in fashion club meetings with Blaise and placidly deflected their jabs and their advances, and the boy that they had shot had leaned against her locker with a grin one afternoon and complimented her dress, and he'd drifted away with that same good humor when she politely blew him off.
Any number of things could make a friend or an enemy of a stranger, or a stranger of a friend.
But she was glad to see Violet, and Violet was glad to see her. A small bright spot, a little trickle of warmth in the yawning void of Dolly's chest.
"You're welcome to come back with me when the rain lets up a little. If you're searching for someone or something, I understand, but you could stay the night, if you want." Violet might find it too crowded, too close. Still, Dolly made the offer even if she expected it to be turned down. It wouldn't have felt right not to do so.
She thought again of asking about the bandage on Violet's forehead, whether it needed to be changed, but her hands seemed to be stuck in their rotating pattern, twisting the ribbon around and around.
"...Is there someone you're looking for?" She didn't think that Violet had been close to anyone on the announcement, but closeness wasn't a requirement. Dolly hadn't known Beryl all that well, but they had spent a week in close proximity, and that was enough to make her loss stand out. She had sat in fashion club meetings with Blaise and placidly deflected their jabs and their advances, and the boy that they had shot had leaned against her locker with a grin one afternoon and complimented her dress, and he'd drifted away with that same good humor when she politely blew him off.
Any number of things could make a friend or an enemy of a stranger, or a stranger of a friend.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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MethodicalSlacker
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"Not haunted," Violet said.
"Cursed."
Violet reached up and tugged at her own face. Pinchpulled her cheekfat like this and that. She was lying through her teeth as weakly as a whistle. The only cursed grounds here were wherever her feet fell. Violet knew this. She could feel it pulling like right now like her hands on her face except all around her and primarily pulling away from Dolly as cleanly and quickly and invisibly and untraceably as possible.
Dolly.
"I'm not searching for anybody," she said, "and I'm not searching for any particular thing, either."
She gazed up at the sky.
A brief, lonely smile crossed her face on its way out back to be shot to death.
"I can't be with your group, probably. You know me. Too many opportunities to be touched in there. I can't. It's making me, um, I can't think about it, too much, nope. Stressed out. I've been very stressed out. I've had a lot of stress put on me and I think it's wearing on me Dolly it'd wear on just anyone and you've been staring at my bandage haven't you come on if you want to know how I got it just ask come on don't stare just ask about it aren't we friends um uh Dolly you can just ask about the bandage I know you want to hear about the bandage and why I have the bandage because of how often I've um caught you staring at it because you know and I know that this bandage is not something I usually um have and given the circumstances you'd be right to be curious or even concerned so just ask Dolly please just take a guess why is there a bandage on my head. Go on. Ask."
"Cursed."
Violet reached up and tugged at her own face. Pinchpulled her cheekfat like this and that. She was lying through her teeth as weakly as a whistle. The only cursed grounds here were wherever her feet fell. Violet knew this. She could feel it pulling like right now like her hands on her face except all around her and primarily pulling away from Dolly as cleanly and quickly and invisibly and untraceably as possible.
Dolly.
"I'm not searching for anybody," she said, "and I'm not searching for any particular thing, either."
She gazed up at the sky.
A brief, lonely smile crossed her face on its way out back to be shot to death.
"I can't be with your group, probably. You know me. Too many opportunities to be touched in there. I can't. It's making me, um, I can't think about it, too much, nope. Stressed out. I've been very stressed out. I've had a lot of stress put on me and I think it's wearing on me Dolly it'd wear on just anyone and you've been staring at my bandage haven't you come on if you want to know how I got it just ask come on don't stare just ask about it aren't we friends um uh Dolly you can just ask about the bandage I know you want to hear about the bandage and why I have the bandage because of how often I've um caught you staring at it because you know and I know that this bandage is not something I usually um have and given the circumstances you'd be right to be curious or even concerned so just ask Dolly please just take a guess why is there a bandage on my head. Go on. Ask."
Dolly let the stammering flood of Violet's words wash over her and then away again, a rock under the tide.
"How did you get hurt?" She asked. She didn't address anything else that had just poured out of Violet. There wasn't anything to be said other than that yes, of course Violet was stressed, and of course Dolly understood. Anyone would be. The only difference was in how it manifested.
Dolly kept her gaze from drifting to the gun again.
"Is it clean? Do you need help with it?" Might as well ask that too, since she'd thought of it already, despite her hands in their round and round motion with no sign of stopping.
"How did you get hurt?" She asked. She didn't address anything else that had just poured out of Violet. There wasn't anything to be said other than that yes, of course Violet was stressed, and of course Dolly understood. Anyone would be. The only difference was in how it manifested.
Dolly kept her gaze from drifting to the gun again.
"Is it clean? Do you need help with it?" Might as well ask that too, since she'd thought of it already, despite her hands in their round and round motion with no sign of stopping.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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MethodicalSlacker
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Violet looked down from the sky to the ground. It felt more befitting her to look at the rocks and grass and pathways and all that for some reason. She had little kinship anymore with the sky.
"I bumped my head on a tree branch. Ha ha."
She shifted back and forth uncomfortably, uncontrollably.
"Kyle Harrison patched me up. I think it's clean. I don't want to check."
The rain was closer to her. Her eyes found the middle distance and gazed into it, long and hard.
"He's not with me anymore."
"I bumped my head on a tree branch. Ha ha."
She shifted back and forth uncomfortably, uncontrollably.
"Kyle Harrison patched me up. I think it's clean. I don't want to check."
The rain was closer to her. Her eyes found the middle distance and gazed into it, long and hard.
"He's not with me anymore."
There was a tall joke in there somewhere, Dolly was sure. She let it drift away on the breeze with so many other unsaid things.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Both of those things." Should she ask about Kyle?
Kyle and Violet had been close, she thought. Good friends. He wasn't exactly Violet's friend in the same circle as Dolly, but she knew they had been good friends. He'd helped Violet in her time of need.
And then, perhaps, he had become a stranger. Or something else. Innuendo upon innuendo. Dolly could tell herself all day long that she and almost everyone she knew was dead, dead, dead, one way or another, just waiting for it to catch up with them all, but it was still hard to say.
She took the long way around the whole matter. "You can... tell me about it, if you want. Or about anything else. Anything you want me to know, at least."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Both of those things." Should she ask about Kyle?
Kyle and Violet had been close, she thought. Good friends. He wasn't exactly Violet's friend in the same circle as Dolly, but she knew they had been good friends. He'd helped Violet in her time of need.
And then, perhaps, he had become a stranger. Or something else. Innuendo upon innuendo. Dolly could tell herself all day long that she and almost everyone she knew was dead, dead, dead, one way or another, just waiting for it to catch up with them all, but it was still hard to say.
She took the long way around the whole matter. "You can... tell me about it, if you want. Or about anything else. Anything you want me to know, at least."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."