I WASN'T FIGHTING // tissue paper ghosts

[SLOAN.]

Progression of time untouched, concept made as strove for understanding in all, misguided those who came before and dictated the now in days buried in ash, each day further expanding gap. Away packed the festivities, process slow but necessary, routine returned to in mockery of the normalcy wished for, beneath taunt tension war brewing. Oblivious child dusted with gold, internal issues arising and further complicated until nothing beyond may be focused upon, a pawn on the chess board bearing no interest in such base placement. Further ze would not reach, however, preoccupied in manner no other was, ignored the increased activity.

Familiar hir placement among minimal patrons, dispersed the common crowd populating the inn, those few lingering caught in hushed conversation. Preferred such, low hum tuned out with ease, hearing occupied with only the best of heart held behind curved bone, the rustle and scrape, that before focus lingering upon. Ze knew of the talk, preparation and planning conducted within public space to allow wayward soul to offer misguided offerings, a messy plan spearheaded and shaped by hir father.

Old wood groaned in protest beneath the drag of blunt tips, pale lips crowned with an expression that one may deem more sneer, corners twitching, a mere unconscious action or the hint more lay beneath the surface. No further may be apparent, however, clean wiped hir visage as work begun, silent as always. Odd the child deemed Sloan, alike the work that saw balled up tissue paper pressed to another sheet, about folded until it was engulfed. Nothing may ze do, young and inexperienced, lost within the turbulent wellspring of conflicting thought and emotion that tormented ze further with each day, except this. Below encased ball a string wound, completed the simple craft.

A ghost. Or, at the least, would may somewhat pass for such. Typical simplification, an easy to accept version of that which walked ruined paths, a base offering but one hoped enough alongside those others stashed in hir living quarters. Work begun on another, soon discarded, growing the pile of torn paper as next was roughly dragged toward hirself.  "Please, I don't want to lose them as well." Strangled whisper left Sloan, head bowed as ze rolled a ball of tissue paper along the table top. Wrong felt those words, utterance of care unbefitting a tongue grown clumsy and thick, a truth well kept become apparent in those simple words.

The child that cared for nothing but hirself, grown further self interested with the conclusion of each lunar cycle, admitted another held a place in hir heart, small that part of ze that was petrified at the notion of impeding war.

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Roundest moon flutters on the river, night bird song coasting through heat hangs for a moment there cascades slowly down the thick air, landing somewhere by my feet waking up bugs try to repeat, a fine night to feel light

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code by Wisker

[teef]

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THE KINGPIN

golden lung dragon & black jaguar w/ vitiligo & platinum silver fox. god of war - ancient. bai shi lynn lingré. proper chinese name is lin bai. prefers lynn if close. they/them. formerly blind. wind element & electric element. firstborn son of jerisidie lingré & current head of family. courting halo mercer. kingpin of alithís evgenis. demiromantic gray-asexual. parent of veris, arvin, leoku, erian, flos, kekhai, evarhi, laeglin, sloan and colwyn. elder brother of ramona and hope, uncle of quennel and cosette. (strike is deceased/unknown status)

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quiet the pawsteps, soft murmurings of greetings to patrons within common room, hearth's glow and warmth drawing in the tired and weary. patrol clung to them, dispersing with shaking of snow from pelts, numbed toes kissing the warmed wood. pausing long enough to slip weary body under furs, father would approach, breath sweet with cider and mulled wine, dark circles below eyes. weary their bones, exhaustion wreaking havoc on their body and mind. shaking their head, freeing the last of ice and snow from whiskers, would the kingpin come to the warmth of the inn's hearth.

ears pricking, they turned their head to observe sloan, gaze soft as they listened to hir words, asking gently, "who don't you want to lose, wee one?", they asked softly, coming closer with a yawn. their paws ached from their recent patrols, but they wouldn't dare to pass up the option to spend more time with their child.