( graveyard of memories | ukulele )

[SUITEKIT.]

THE TELLTALE HEART

I never learned to trust a love song
[size=9px]( cream tabby ; three months ; typhoon minnow )
It was not because the words were trite[/SIZE]

Two weeks.

The loss of hope was nothing more than a silent admittance of irreversible defeat, laid in unmarked grave the only thing to which she clung with dwindling conviction. Yet was she not such, tainted each breath with the earthy tang of grave soil, a monument to those passed living only for that she was incapable of releasing the memories she had grown desperate to hold. A time when she may grow, learn from the experiences that populate the spaces between unconscious action, from her taken by the graveyard built within her chest.

Late the hour she was roused, deemed a supposed necessity a rarely claimed extended rest, the situation one often making impossibility such occurrence. Slow the creeping extension paws made along smoothed sheets, grown cold with the lack of sought companions. Harsh the surprise that arose, a bubbling, cloying heat, ruined her covering by sudden movement. Too much. Careful had been the one to tuck close the blankets, an ocean in which she drowned, frantic the wild kicking.

Foolish child, scared of everything.

No longer constricted, with the once tidy quilt now left in a bundled mess at the foot of the bed, shame produced a tepid, yet somehow more agonising, heat scorching chest and cheeks. To righting the mess she had been a direct cause of was no thought spared, left in her clumsy wake, each stumbling step a cacophony drowning out all thought. There was nothing until the warmth of grains crept between spread toes, flexed and buried, grooves worn as opaque crescents raked along the golden shore.

Heavy the breath that skirted parted lips, cruel the ensnaring rage wound about the guttering spark of her shame, back shifting until encompassed was soft visage with the sharp frame of a snarl. Unfitting it alongside the prickle tears caused in tightly closed eyes, shuddering each breath as the moments passed, erratic the jerky twitch of her tail though still all else.

She was gone and such must be accepted, yet her heart rejected such notion for a moment, bitterly sweet the few memories that populated mind clouded beneath what she may only understand with time.

Slow the first step, seconds suspended before next was performed, stilted her progression. Best may it have been to return, quell any worry that may have arisen with the haste of her departure, but this was needed. On did she continue her trek, soothed the rapid beating of her heart as the hushed symphony the ocean conducted with the advanced and subsequent retreat of the tide, closer creeping until wet grew her paws in the rising surf. Too soon had it all come to an end, however, above the sodden grains paw hovering.

Disruption within the smooth expanse of golden grains a point of dark brown, shape odd if indistinguishable at such a distance. Intrigue washed away any sense of worry and closer did Suitekit move, surprise arising alongside a dampened joy. Imperfect it, a shape similar but not quite as that of the instrument her father had once lovely tended with care, whispered between them much until it seemed a carrier for all those inconsequential not quite secrets. Careful the manner she extracted it from the bed of sand, frown fixed into place as she made note of the broken strings.

"Merci, papa." Long since had he take his last breath, stolen from his eyes the jovial light of joy in days she could recall only in fragments, too young even to give shape and weight to his countenance. Yet she was sure within her conviction that he smiled upon her from where he watched with pride, gently cradling the ukulele to her chest with a smile and tears staining her cheeks.

code by Reggan

[Simon F.M.]

[align=center]

I KNOW WHY YOU'RE MAD AT ME, I'VE GOT DEMON EYES

& THEY'RE LOOKING RIGHT THROUGH YOUR ANATOMY

Diya had spotted the small child from through the window as she milled about. Brows furrowing, her eyes flickered back to the bedroom. Hadn't she tucked the little one in not too long ago? Shaking the thought from her mind, she slipped out, approaching cautiously. She purposefully allowed her paws to thump against the porch as she left the wood, sand parting as she walked. Her eyes scanned the scene, laying upon the ukulele laid held tight.

She would flick an ear at Suitekits murmers, deciding it was not hers to hear. After a moment she would settle behind the cream tabby. Rasping her tongue against the little ones fur, she would hum a soft melody. "My mother played the ukulele, you know?" She would murmer this softly, breath hardly above a whisper. "She taught me some things, long ago. If you'd like, dear, I could fix those strings for you?" she would offer as she laid curled around the small child.

Her eyes would look over the instrument, memories of a time long past flooding her. As she awaited a response, she once again hummed a melody. It was a soft tune, one that she only knew from her past, moments similar to this with her own mother, the one which the small kitten had been named after.

[michael t.]

REAVER ❝ MIKEY ❞ THE TYPHOON

Truthfully, Michael wasn't sure of what was worse. To have been mistreated by your parents for most of your life, or to be left behind by them. If one were to ask him, he'd generally say he would've rather had his father and mother leave him behind, and left him to live a life that he wanted. However, it was easy for him to say that, considering his mother had been the definition of apathy, and his father had been nothing but a cruel bastard, with sharp words and even sharper claws. Would it have hurt him more, to have had a pair of parents who truly loved him, only for them to be snatched away from him? He wasn't sure, and he honestly didn't care to contemplate it for all too long. As much as some might've wished they could've gone back and changed the past, the reaver had never truly been the type. Yes, his parents had been awful, and yes, that had a profound effect on him even now, but without all of that... he might not have ended up where he was now. Happy, in love, and in a place where he felt safe, and truly cared for. If not having shitty parents meant that he didn't end up in The Typhoon, then he'd take his shitty parents every time.

But nowadays, the thief no longer focused upon his own childhood. Now, the bobcat had his own children to worry about, and that meant that he had more responsibility than ever. He wasn't about to leave his children or treat them unkindly, which was an unfortunate luxury that some kids didn't get to have. Now that he had a family of his own, however, he had no intention of neglecting them. Obviously he didn't know the true circumstances of how Suitekit had ended up in the care of Diya and his sister, but these days, he could only see the other's parents as irresponsible. He didn't know whether or not Suite had truly been left behind, or if both of her parents were dead, but if it was the former... just the thought of it was enough to make the fugitive's blood boil, something that caught him off guard. He really was beginning to go soft. Although, Michael found that he didn't have many complaints about such a thing happening. He had spent the majority of his life hardened and lashing out at those around him – he felt as though he deserved a break from all of that.

The scent of Diya was what had initially attracted the thief to the scene, considering he had grown closer to his fellow vampire as of late. He approved of her relationship with his sister, and found himself wondering how her care of Suitekit had been going as a whole. Thankfully, it seemed as though he wouldn't need to do much asking, considering when he came across the other, she was standing with Suite there as well. Not only Suite, however. The child was clutching an instrument that felt vaguely familiar to him, but only in the most fringe way. He had never played a ukulele himself, nor had anyone played one for him, but he knew what they were for, and had a vague idea of what they might sound like. Wondering where Suitekit had obtained such an instrument, Michael took a few long steps over, the small feline settling near Diya before he spoke, "Hello, Suitekit. Did you just find that washed up on the shore?" That seemed to make the most sense, considering the rather shoddy shape that it was in. The strings were broken and bent, and Michael doubted that anything would be able to be played on it – at least not yet.

AND ALL THIS TIME I HAVE BEEN LYING
OH, LYING IN SECRET TO MYSELF

— Reggan