Cyrus Monroe // D8 // FIN
Feb 22, 2017 1:10:44 GMT -5
Post by Gryphon on Feb 22, 2017 1:10:44 GMT -5
. cyrus monroe ♔ 17 ♔ district 8 .
It's some kind of a beautiful fuckin' mess, how everything's worked out for me. I wouldn't admit it out loud, but...I'm kinda glad the pieces of this puzzle that is me have fallen into place this way thus far. I get what I deserve for being a little bitch and y'know what, it makes me appreciate life some more somehow.
Now that doesn't mean I'm going to make a complete turnaround in changing who I am and you can't really do a lot of that anyways but--"Thanks for your handiwork, Fussy! You're such a good mama's
boy~"
Oh my God shut up just take your dress and go I swear to God--
It's a friend thing, it's our thing to be sarcastic, sassy dipshits to each other. Not necessarily fun, but it's just a friend thing. She pokes at one of many taupe ringlets that make up my hair, springing it back and forth until it returns to its original position. I swat her hand away and rub its shoulder, pale freckled skin with the opposing palm.
"Yeah yeah, ju-just move it along." She giggles lightly, mischievous blue gaze parting from dead-serious green ones and heading out the door."Seriously though, until next time--you're good at this."
Gee. Thanks.
But I do appreciate her words of kindness, I'm just not the type to be gushy and fluffy about my feelings because talking about them makes things all awkward and embarrassing.
Feelings are friggin' weird.
I'm glad people out there can get me though, not afraid to learn what lies behind the surface--I got a resting bitch face, dude, I mean c'mon. I look like I want trouble from a single glance my way, and I mean I do sometimes with the reactions that I have but that's not always the case, not as much as before. Glad there's those who can see past the arched brows and an unfriendly expression always around the clock. It's not fun being all by my lonesome sometimes, though on the other hand it can be a blessing.
I don't know, don't mean to sound vain here but I think I'm just too smart for people's bullshit. Or too serious.
Or both.
I'm not uptight, I just--"Fussy!"
Welp.
I care about the heart too much, he's a sensitive dude and I don't blame him because everybody can truly be assholes to numerous degrees. It's not easy to laugh off insults and name-calling, whether genuine or just banter, always feels like they're trying to take a jab at you like in the Games.
I don't really want to have a part in that but yet I do anyways, too often it's frickin' lame and annoying."Are you all there today, or...?"
"Eh?""You look like you got something on your mind."
How I don't want y'all to fuckin' address me by Fussy yet you still do anyways; but I mean I guess I've always asked for it with the stick I've had up my ass for years now.
I don't know how to take a joke though. Don't know what that is, I don't know her and it's conflicting feelings, simultaneously I still want them to just grow up as soon as possible and deal with me for who I am. I tried, I really did to be on the giving end of patience but it doesn't fly with me, doesn't work, the heart refuses.
"Nothing important, I was just spacing out...sorry. Your dress is done, let me uh...go get it."
Away from the counter and to racks and cabinets, never thought I would do something like this and love it but it was punishment at first. I grew to enjoy this and want to help out with the business, and on the bright side mom isn't as stressed as she used to be.
It's always just been mom and I, dad was a douche with a knack for whipping it out everywhere he went so he's as good as dead to me as he is to her. She's always had a strong personality and I did get that from her, just yeah it clearly didn't develop well for me to where it didn't get me in trouble. I was a short kid and people felt the need to pick on it, I couldn't deal with their "helpful" observations even at a young age. Sharp tongue changed perceptions from ridicule to loathing and I made them leave me alone, but I could still hear knives sharpening on the tip of their speaking organs behind my back.
She never was having any of it and sentenced me to whatever the hell had to be done at home when she caught on. A dressmaker who overworks herself for us both, she tailored clothes to fit her customers while I scrubbed floors and organized piles. Not much changed when I came to reaping age but we all learned to chill the fuck out a bit and mellow some as years passed. I'm still a little twat but so are they, we're just more aware of the lines we're not supposed to cross now.
That's where the ever-so-affectionate nickname came from.
I've only started to sorta live and, to some extent, cope with the playful mockery recently, but hopefully one day we'll all learn to relax even more. I won't be so serious and can brush it all off more easily, they'll be more serious and have more legitimate conversations worth having.
"Yep, here you are.""Thanks, mama's boy."
I raise a brow and sniff as loudly as I can while my cheeks bloom with sheepish features. More chuckling."God, please lighten up more--you know we love you."
"...Yeah, yeah."
But even if it is easy to strike a chord with me--with the feeler, inside these people are all the reason why the thinker sings beautiful compositions of affection for being a part of my life.
Would still really like them to not pick on my ass so much, but I'm thankful--and even if it'd probably take them a lifetime to make me confess this out loud, I hope they see that I am deep down nonetheless.
