With Cat-Like Tread Who: Leo Gryffiths and Nina What: I'm sorry were you using that part of your body? Where: Just outside. When: Early Morning. Warnings: Is Nina her own warning yet?
What forms do you see in the darkness you create? Nina knew.
A vagina dentate was whistling an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. It was off key. That would not due at all.
Programmable soda smashed against rocks that aren’t.
Romeo and Marcutio sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Juliet falls into the water where once Ophelia would have drowned. The warring families pay no mind when there is dancing to be done.
Taking the bow.
A bleeding audience.
Patterns.
People loved their patterns because they thought it makes them stronger. ‘My wife made me breakfast every morning (mourningmorningmourning? Nina got those two confused)’, ‘I go to bed by eight every night’, blah blah blah. Patterns made you weak. Patterns made you sleep walk through life until your enemies could come up and snatch you from behind and gobble you up whole. Pop out your eyes with a tool from the fireplace you’d forgotten was there and stab until you truly see there are no patterns at all.
Just Nina.
(Nina pouting out in the cold outside the opera house. “Pay attention to me.”
But they didn’t and they don’t so the world keeps on burning. She didn’t start the fire. Silly musicians did that.~)
Patterns were very useful.
Gryff was always on the same route. Training Four thirty to six, a gleefully ungodly hour, keeping his body in shape for –
For what? He was a failure. Nina would inform him as such when next they spoke. He couldn’t save them or protect them from anyone. Or anything; thinking otherwise was just as useless as the patterns people clung to.
Nina licked her lips and pressed play on someone else’s boom box, how dated, and waited from the shadows for someone to save a prerecorded person screaming bloody murder.
She had time. If it didn't work, if it didn't appropriately amuse her, she would try something else tomorrow.