Re: [misha & jude: the capital]
[Jude had forgotten where the lines were drawn, with Misha. It was like going deeply into a book and through the prism of narrators on narrators: whether Misha knew (and accepted) that Misha was different, whether he, Jude was convinced that Misha was different. It was a tangle that had no real ending, even if Jude was certain where he, Jude had begun. Hello, the rescue from interview (death) with a vampire. Misha's truth straddled the places close enough to Jude's own for sympathy to spring the gap, and a place Jude couldn't grasp even if he'd begun trying.
He was thinking about windows, if you're especially curious. Windows and white lace, and the cat that had sat in the window opposite Jude's own and had lurked there sun-up to sun-down. They were walking and Misha had put windows into his mind and Jude saw that as the air dampened and darkened and the noise of the street pressed in around them. It was ordinary city-sound, if a little on the bohemian side given the part of town they were in, until it was not.
Jude saw the feathers drag along stone sidewalk and blinked once, slowly and heavy-lashed before he saw it all. The whole of it, the cluster of two in a doorway, one with tape-wrapped shoes and a beanie pulled low over greasy hair and the other all fabric and clearly not local. His face was wide and open and curiosity had been wiped clean from it, all the better to replace it with something akin to awe. Jude didn't fear the unknown, but he drank in the look of it all as thirstily as drowning man in desert offered a glass.
It didn't feel unnatural, exactly. It felt like an unfolding, a turning of a page in a particular book. There were people who weren't people at all, but what to a boy who read far enough and wide enough to feel a fondness for words, might be dubbed 'angelic'. The wings, if you didn't draw it from the sub-text. But Misha cursed even if Jude didn't know the language, he heard the friction in the sound and cold sucked in and around him and when Jude stood back on steps they'd long since walked from, he blinked long-lashed in Misha's direction, his face still readable as a page.]
Are they there still, if we went that way? Are they here? Or somewhere else?