09-24-2019, 10:00 PM
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Three of them came up to her; the ocelot watched them approach with fidgety flexes of her claws, the urge to socialize suddenly suffocated under anxiety. One she recognizes, the smallest of the bunch, but it is the newness of the two that drove her anxiety up the wall to begin with. Her four amber-orange eyes flicker between the three of them, her expression frozen in a blank mask. If her eyes did not flutter as they did, she might’ve been mistaken as a statue.
It was a long moment before she spoke, a deep rattle in the back of her throat. “I am Rosemary Roux. You’re new, aren’t you, Hushsound?” she said to the tabby male, finding his name amusing in a darkly ironic way. How could you hush a voice that didn’t speak? It was a rude thought, and she hated herself for thinking of it – worse still, almost saying it. Socialization always came unnaturally to Rosemary, and the skill atrophied quickly. The blunder circled her thoughts like a vulture, even as her four eyes drifted to the tiny wildcat. “Growing tired of the silence, I suppose. You?” she replied, plucking a meaningless response out of her bag of similar replies. Even when she wanted to get closer to someone, those walls in her mind did not come down easily.
Another funny thought occurs to her, of how the blind privateer cannot possibly ‘hear’ the voice of ironically named tabby. “I don’t suppose the two of you both know Morse Code? It is an easy way to translate letters to paw taps, takes less than two weeks to learn. Come to think of it… it would probably be useful for the Typhoon as a whole to know it, for communication purposes,” Rosemary says, trailing off into a mutter to herself at the end.
She knows ciphers and ways to write code, from the witch coven she grew up in; they hoarded their secrets jealously, and everyone wrote in their own custom secret fashion, usually in different variations across grimoires. Now, Rosemary only played with such things as games, but it was a thought – just as it was a thought that Caesar Cipher had a funny name, being named after a silly little encryption strategy, when she first met him.
Rosemary looks to the last one to approach once she finishes chewing on these puzzles, an invisible brow quirking up. The sage, despite being larger than Rosemary and less stricken by anxiety in general, presented as a nervous fawn. “Then you must have your paws full with Goldenluxury alone. These pirates always find a dramatic accident to blunder into, don’t they?” she said, almost amused. That was one nice element of her solitary time, never waking up in the middle of the night to some panicked crewmate screaming about someone being half-dead. Rosemary lost count of how many times she patched up her niece, which made her wonder if she was a terrible aunt or Goldenluxury lacked chicken sense.
It was a long moment before she spoke, a deep rattle in the back of her throat. “I am Rosemary Roux. You’re new, aren’t you, Hushsound?” she said to the tabby male, finding his name amusing in a darkly ironic way. How could you hush a voice that didn’t speak? It was a rude thought, and she hated herself for thinking of it – worse still, almost saying it. Socialization always came unnaturally to Rosemary, and the skill atrophied quickly. The blunder circled her thoughts like a vulture, even as her four eyes drifted to the tiny wildcat. “Growing tired of the silence, I suppose. You?” she replied, plucking a meaningless response out of her bag of similar replies. Even when she wanted to get closer to someone, those walls in her mind did not come down easily.
Another funny thought occurs to her, of how the blind privateer cannot possibly ‘hear’ the voice of ironically named tabby. “I don’t suppose the two of you both know Morse Code? It is an easy way to translate letters to paw taps, takes less than two weeks to learn. Come to think of it… it would probably be useful for the Typhoon as a whole to know it, for communication purposes,” Rosemary says, trailing off into a mutter to herself at the end.
She knows ciphers and ways to write code, from the witch coven she grew up in; they hoarded their secrets jealously, and everyone wrote in their own custom secret fashion, usually in different variations across grimoires. Now, Rosemary only played with such things as games, but it was a thought – just as it was a thought that Caesar Cipher had a funny name, being named after a silly little encryption strategy, when she first met him.
Rosemary looks to the last one to approach once she finishes chewing on these puzzles, an invisible brow quirking up. The sage, despite being larger than Rosemary and less stricken by anxiety in general, presented as a nervous fawn. “Then you must have your paws full with Goldenluxury alone. These pirates always find a dramatic accident to blunder into, don’t they?” she said, almost amused. That was one nice element of her solitary time, never waking up in the middle of the night to some panicked crewmate screaming about someone being half-dead. Rosemary lost count of how many times she patched up her niece, which made her wonder if she was a terrible aunt or Goldenluxury lacked chicken sense.
waded through the spirits like a flood on the floor
SHE PUSHED THE WATER INSIDE
I FEEL SO HUNGRY —
— Dear diary, I don't know what's going on, but something's up / The dog won't stop barking, and I think my TV is bust / Every channel is the same, it's sending me insane / And earlier somebody bit me, what a fucking day / The sky is falling / It's fucking boring / I'm going braindead, isolated / God is a shithead / And we're his rejects / Traumatized for breakfast / I can't stomach any more survival horror / Dear diary, I feel itchy like there's bugs under my skin / The dog's gone rabid (shut the fuck up) / Doing my head in —— WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?