( meme ) prompts & characters.

[caipirinha]

we all write our own endings.

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( adelaide, yiro » water )

[honeyed]

She finds solace in the warmth of the summer air, the stillness of the night and the firm grip of his hand. Like this, is it as though only they exist, as though their only company and witnesses are the stars, sitting peacefully in the pitch black sky above. The grass is cool and soft between her toes, and although their progress is slow, she savours it. If she is to walk this old path for the last time, she would like to have it as a clear, beautiful image in her mind. She grips Yiro's hand a little tighter, as much as her delicate, frail hands can allow, and in response he stops, asks her if something is wrong. She shakes her head, urges him on. He has always been such a sweet little boy, such a wonderful creature, and ever so handsome. Age has not marred his features as it has done hers; his skin is still so pale and smooth, his hair still so bright. As years have gone by, Adelaide has grown so terribly weary. The woman that once charmed and enthralled entire crowds at parties and events has long been replaced by someone that has chosen to live her life solely in the company of her belua and her son. Of course, she has never lost her pride or her elegance, reclusive but filled with the same character that she always had. Even as she is escorted to her death, she walks with her head held high, her crooked smile ever present on her weathered face. "It won't hurt." He kisses her hands as his bare foot quietly breaks the surface of the water. Adelaide gasps quietly as he gently leads her after him, the chilled temperature of the lake a surprise after the balmy summer air. Her dress immediately feels heavy as water soaks into the fabric, and she braces herself for the final exertion. Yiro is facing her, moving backwards with only the precision and ease she would expect of him, his large eyes never leaving hers, watching her with intent and focus. His voice is a murmur that the wind keeps stealing from her, but she knows the movement of his lips. Assurances, promises that he first made to her long, long ago, before she understood. She merely nods to him; she knows. She knows. "My darling boy, you've always been so good to me." Her bones already feel numb and stiff, but she moves with him nonetheless. "You've always treated me so well." She feels the water weigh down her curls, still long even though they have lost their rich red colour. It's as though the lake - as dark and endless as the sky - is seeping into her every pore, preparing her, readying her for her fate. Nowadays all she has thought is how fitting it is. Appropriate, and utterly ideal. This way, she chooses her own end; she does not allow death to take her whenever it pleases, but when she calls for it. "Goodbye, my dear. Thank you ever so much." Water rushes into her mouth, into her lungs, as he pulls her gently down into eternity.

( cat, bass » apology )

[troublesome]

In recent months, Cat has grown to love how stupidly warm Bass is. During the summer it was a chore and a pain that required nightly disentangling and grumbling and sleepy, half-hearted arguments as Cat wriggled herself free from the human radiator - still unused to the prospect and process of sharing a bed with another person for longer than a few hours - but now that the weather has taken a turn for the worse, she has had to revise her opinion on the matter. It's certainly a reasonable way of keeping the heating bill down. Regardless of how far apart they might be when they fall asleep, Cat always finds some way of burrowing herself against his back, keeping her nose warm between his shoulder blades. Bass's head is heavy against her chest, but the weight doesn't bother her. She lies in the darkness drifting in and out of slumber, still and comfortable with Bass coiled around her, fingers absently stroking his hair as he sleeps. It's a regular progression of the night. They have their fun, exert each other into breathlessness, and yet Cat still can't find a pattern of sleep. It used to be the case that she never thought enough about anything that she did, but an unfortunate side effect of Bass on the whole was that she began to think far too much. Guilt is an emotion that Cat was introduced to very late in life, and it wasn't something that she took to well. She had never felt remorse for the lives she had taken and the fear she had worked so hard to spread, but engaging with Bass, all those years ago, had made her realise that even that which she saw as her one true constant, her loyalty, was not set in stone. It made her realise how complicated things became when you got yourself tangled up with other people, and that the black and white you believed in really wasn't so black and white at all. She had betrayed a man she thought that she loved - or rather, a man she had loved fiercely, but not nearly in the same way as the man with his arms around her now. It isn't rare for Fox to cross Cat's mind. She's loath to say that he haunts her, but that's exactly it. The thought of him creeps into her consciousness more often than she'd like; it always halts her, holds her back from giving Bass just that little bit more that she knows she wants to, but guilt can be difficult to remove from your conscience. (She has these conversations with herself all the time.) As Bass exhales a little heavily in his sleep, Cat turns her head, waiting for her eyes to adjust as she seeks out a corner of the room, a corner now occupied by the shadow of a memory. She can still picture him very clearly in her mind, his height and his facial expressions, the sound of his voice. She can picture him standing hunched, in that very corner, staring at them with hurt and disappointment - but it's getting old, now. Listen, she says to the memory, I'm done. No more wishing I could change things. Not when I'm happy with I have. Been sorry for falling in love with the wrong guy for long enough, so now I'm just sorry for not being sorry. Can't keep apologising forever. Can't keep wishing it turned out differently when I don't. I'm not sorry that I have him, not anymore. The desire to sleep suddenly grows as the memory in the corner glances down at his feet, and shrugs. Worst fucking apology in the world world, she thinks, absently. No surprises there.