Bird. d9. fin

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

Bird. Sixteen.

odair

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

B i r d. 

Go on, ask me anything. I'm an open book, you know? I've had too much of a boring life to hold any secrets, and I've got no desire to be anything less than obvious — not after sixteen long years of being utterly boring. I have three older sisters and let me tell you, there's nothing you can hide when you're the youngest in the family and everyone's squished into one, tiny house. Everything's bare bones and all where I come from, and that's the way I was raised by my mama and papa. Really, I've had too much of a mundane life to not be honest about it. You can call me Elle — four letters, okay? — because I'm just as simple as my name makes me out to be. Jeez, I wish I had some swanky history here to tell.

(Bracelet.)

Yes, I'm fourteen, sir. Nah, my ma and pa are dead: illness and accidents of the sort from a long time ago, I don't really remember from tha' age. I live with my brother 'round the outskirts of town, but he's out workin' in the factories, sir. Nah, not at school today 'cause my sister's sick with something of some sorts; she's been coughing a whole lots lately, and I think it could be maybe something catchin' so she shouldn't be around much righ' now. Yeah, I've gotta take care of tha' until she gets a little better, and that's where I'm going to go. I'm okay, sir. I think I can find my way home alrigh' now. Thank you for helpin'.

(A broken watch.)

Hm? I'm actually not that busy. I've just been waiting for a friend for some three hours now, so I'm guessing he's going to be a no-show today. Huh, bummer. So yeah, I've got time. My name's Abby — well, actually it's Abigail, but no one really calls me that except my mother when she's pissed off about something major. Anyways, how come I've never actually seen you around here before? I definitely would've noticed, I mean...Yeah, I come here a lot. I like the atmosphere; I like just kicking back with a drink or two, think about some stuff that needs thinking about...Wow, that's really sweet of you. Seriously not necessary, but I really appreciate it. Thanks for the drink, lovely. Ha, we should hang out more often; I like this.

(Pocket change.)


I'm an open book, I say: a binder of blank pages kept pristine from myself, but clean and ready for anyone  to see what they want. Flip me open and scrawl out something fun, love. I've got a easy face they tell me: trustworthy by  gently sloped eyes, innocent from the soft curves, and so very changeable with the right light. I'm a fraction of a story-spinner and maybe a sprinkle of a dream girl, but above all I am a lover.

You could say I'm a thief. (Just a little bit of one.) But I'm just a poor girl you know, and there's nothing wrong for a poor girl to want a little bit more in life. After all, I do have three sisters and one of them's sick — and a brother that's working ever so hard to provide for our little non-existent family. Woe is me! It's a man-eat-man life out there, and I'm just one girl out of thousands. I've got to take of myself and my family. Anything goes when you're reaching for survival, anything goes when you're hungry and tired and sad.

Ha.

I'm no thief. So you must understand, I am a lover. Honestly.  

It takes a lot to keep a heart beating like it does, and I've got to take special care to keep those cells pumping for the next day. A bit of flirtation with a little peril gets the blood bursting into technicolour, and a quickstep with chance sends waves of rainbow-colours flooding through empty veins. It's barely anything, you know — slip a hand over his pocket, slip a kiss on his cheek; a few faux tears, a few faux feelings of good citzenship — small things with small stakes. But those moments of contact are also something intimate. And it's enough to keep everybody happy for a short period of time. A casual relationship, a dalliance, let's say, nothing serious. Just some good fun for everyone when we get into the game of things. We're all different players, all important towards taking care of poor, bored little hearts. (Oh, and I am no loser when it comes to this romance.)

No, I don't steal things without return, not like a simple thief does. How very rude to assume so. I'd like to think I put a lot of effort into making a fair deal, in forming a proper relationship with the people that pay me — like a good lover should do. Sometimes I'll spend a good week or so planning our little encounter, mixing and matching the words I'll say and the traits I'll have. I'll watch and see who they need: if they want to feel a little love or respect or generosity or curiosity or something of the sort. I've got it all right here in me: blank pages, open book — completely ready to give-and-receive. Really, it's nothing on them if I take some coins out of their pocket. They won't miss it much.

They'll miss me more. 

This evening, I'll put on a pretty dress and tie up my long hair all fancy, and I'll then go see Royce at the bar like I promised. He thinks I'm cute and friendly, and I'll be the cute-and-friendly little Abby like he deserves. I'll have a loving mother and father tonight, one baby brother who I cherish more than anything, and an oh-so-deep appreciation for philosophical things. (Ha.) Simple, happy, cool. We'll do this for a few more nights — hang out and have fun and the like. He'll think he's good enough — good enough because some girl's given him the validation of being able to get in my pants after being alone for who knows how long. In the moment he feels something right, it'll be time for the trade-off, yesiree. 

Then I'll take his wallet.
His heart will beat.
And then I'll disappear. 

(No one ever looks in the community home anyways.)

I've got an infinite number of things I could be in this one body of an unassuming sixteen-year-old girl, and I'll spend a damn long time choosing the right threads to wear and the right paints to mask me on. I'm looking at the girl who wears a nice chain around her neck and who's jealous of her whole other crowd of same-set siblings, or I'm looking at the man who wears a ring on his index finger and who wears a smile like it's stitched on.

Whatever it is, I'm a blank slate for you, love.
So go on then, ask me anything and I'll tell.

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

kinda gross, but kinda ok i hope
da-done.

[sbeeg]

Accepted!