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Dizzy00

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  1. Karla woke up with a slap. She muttered a low-pitched fuck as the ember died under the palm of her hand. Ruins of the firewood clung thick in the smoky air. A few bodies coughed. Karla’s groggy figure sat up and examined the sky. The soot looked like oversized glow bugs trapped in tar. The dead fire murmured. Karla stepped over the sleeping bodies surrounding the hearth. When there was enough space to avoid disturbing Louie’s workers, she shook out her skirts sending a small cloud of smoke in the air. Gachi entered the bar and climbed the rickety staircase concealed in the tunnel. She opened a hatch at the end of it leading to a mangy hall lined with mismatched doors. The women who worked here rented the rooms from Louie when they had customers. Most of the girls hated the rooms. They opted instead for the body heat provided by huddling outside sharing smokes and food. Karla’s room was located at the extreme East side of the hall. She jiggled the knob to find the frame had expanded with thehumidity. She groaned in exasperation and kicked the door open. Light bled through cracks along the plaster and between the wooden planks on the floor. In the corner of her room nearly hidden by a large stack of hay and rubbish was a small closet. She brushed the hay aside and tugged the door open. There sat some garbs and a trunk. She pulled the trunk open and took out a small jewelry box hidden below the trunk’s fake-bottom. She placed the box on her mattress and sat on the ground; then, she lift the rounded latch on the container with a soft click. The inside contained a collection of several bottles, brushes, and herbs. She inspected a small bottle with a bright-red candy-colored liquid inside, and set it apart, placing it left side of the intricately decorated wooden box. On the right of it, she placed the brushes and ointments she would use to decorate her face. The jewelry box had a small compact mirror carved into the lid. Karla angled the mirror, so the moonlight refracted off the glass and illuminated her face. Using the moonlight, she applied rose tonic on her skin, rouge on the apples of her cheeks, and a heavy layer of charcoal on her eyelids. The make-up magnified her already heavy-ladded lashes and hid the dullness of her emaciated skin under the bright red powder. Karla pulled on a loose cotton shirt and struggled with a dress hoop and a lacey pair of bloomers with crocheted flower embroidery under which she displayed her black netted tights. Her skirt was a black silky base with small cut-out patterns of foliage that made her blood-red petticoat underneath visible. The skirt was shorter on the front displaying the petticoat, bloomers, and her legs. She used a red corset to tie her outfit together. The skirt drooped around her waist so she tightened it closer with a pin. She rummaged through her box until she found dried pechji petals. Her skin crawled at the sight of the drug-rose. The nurses at the home told her scary stories about the seizures she experienced due to it as a babe. She crushed the petals in her fist. Dry like this, the flower was a harmless aphrodisiac. She sprinkled the dead flower on her hair. It smelled exquisite, but perfume wasn’t the reason for its use. Displaying the flower on your hair or provocatively inked on your skin was a tell-tale mark. It made the girls easy to identify. Gachi sauntered out of Louie’s through the back alley and made her way to the rendezvous point. ... The silence was stifling. The men sat pinned between the wet concrete ground, the decrepitated wall, and the ground. Nathan and his brothers sat on the outer-part of the circle waiting. He heard a click, a steady click click click of boots approaching his location and took aim. A small woman in a skimpy black skirt met his eyes. “HEY!” she mouthed. He was dumbfounded and took a few seconds before he lowered his aim. The girl sighed in relief she hiked her skirt and proceeded to the front of the line. Nathan looked away. It wasn’t proper to stare at a lady’s bloomers. A quiet murmur ran through the line as his companions winked and waved at her with coins in their outstretched fingers. The girl marched to the front of the line to meet the gnoll who’d quieted Mr. Hollon. The girl crouched by the gnoll. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Everybody else?” … The man fired a warning shot at her feet. Karla tumbled backwards. “What the hell?!” she cried out crawling away. The man kicked away her arm and she fell on her back. He pinned her down with his boot. “Who are you!” he demanded. “Let’s calm down a sec,” she fussed trying to lift his boot from her chest. He leaned into it and she wheezed. “Jus-Jus’ a call-girl, hon. Nothing to…” he leaned in further and Karla struggled against the instinct to claw his pant leg. “…Nothing to be afraid of.” she promised with a forced smile. He lingered for a second and got off her. She heaved and rolled off her back. She was hardly recuperated when the man pulled her up by the arm. “Christ,” I thought we’d settle that I was OK.” “That’s for the captain to decide” he grunted pulling her along as he made way for the ship. Karla traced the path in her head, only slightly distracted by the trunks packed thick with pelts, spices, and precious stones. Some of the crewmen securing the perimeter hollered or whistled as she passed and she rolled her eyes at them and tried to keep up with her captor. He stopped at the main hatch and she struggled out of his grip. He didn’t bother getting her again; instead, he pounded on the door to the captain’s quarters. A stout man with a grizzled whisker and a heavy leather jacket stepped out of the room. “Ah, Captain!” exclaimed Karla with an exaggerated bow and curtsy. The captain turned towards his beefy crewmember. “says she’s a whore. A present from...” “…Magistrate Vess or some politic. I got word of it at Louie’s brothel,” Gachi piped in. The captain stepped forward and examined a lock of her hair. Karla perked up and smirked at the guard awaiting command. His face turned red but he didn’t say a word. The feeling of dread had remained in the man’s stomach since morn. He welcomed the ditzy guest inside and retired the crewman. He locked the door. “Would you like a drink?” he offered, extending his hand toward a rack of spirits. The girl smiled, “If you have any rum, I’ll be a lucky gal.” The captain poured two drinks into a pair of small glasses…She downed hers in a single drink and closed in on him forcing the cap’n into the nearest armchair. The girl pushed him into his seat just as she pushed her tongue into his mouth. Her moppy curls encased them like a curtain and she smiled kissing him and retracting with a series of soft kisses going down his neck. He could smell the pechji in her hair; the sweet addictive aroma of the drug-rose wafted into his nostrils as she burrowed her face in the crook of his neck. He pulled her onto his lap and she moaned faintly into his ear, pushing her self closer to him. His hands squeezed her rear and groped for outer thigh lifting her bloomers over her knee so he could feel her fishnets under his grip. She responded by wrapping her legs round his side straddling him to the seat. He felt a tug as she peeled his coat off. He fondled her breasts and she pulled his shirt loose by the back part of his collar. “Help me with the corset,” she breathed into his ear. The man grappled with the corset which Gachi had triple knotted at the back. She smiled to herself. As he struggled with the lacing of her binder, she inched her boot closer and closer to her hand. He felt her shudder pressing him tighter between her torso and the armchair. When he felt a sudden jab of pain in his mid-back.
  2. Ok, I wrote quite a bit might shorten it up by distributing it with the last post later on.
  3. I've started my post I'll have it up in a few days.
  4. I talked to Die. Basically, she's hardly using Valucre and wants us to continue the story for ourselves. @AngryCacti You're up again!
  5. Dizzy00

    Vanora Rising

    Did somebody want to start a drug den? I am VERY interested and I have just the flora to start up a hustle. How should I proceed?
  6. I messed up the posting order and we skipped Die in the last round I went back and recorded the order, so it's: 1. Eye 2. Darling 3. Die 4. Cacti 5. Dizzy
  7. Gachi returned to the back alley of the bar earlier than she had anticipated. The salmon clouds reflected on the horizon were a good omen. She disassembled a plywood crate and arranged a six-board teepee for later use. She hauled the remaining lumber nearby and ran a trickle of rum over it as lighter fluid. She took a sip and plugged the glass bottle with a cork. soon a loose circle of girls had gathered nearby and were exchanging gossip and news about their children. Karla darted in and out of the social circles. “He was an asshole. Now, he’s just a lonely old man with a penchant for sweets. Gumdrop?” Offered a skinny girl with a bag of candy. A plump blonde fit a cigar between her molars and retrieved a titanium grill hidden behind a row of wine barrels. Some girls joined. A group of sluts rolled hemp into cigarettes. Karla needed to keep her wits about her. She smoked a roll of regular tabaco instead. The same blonde lit the fire and they all relaxed in the warmth. Karla passed around the bottles of rum and malt she’d taken from the meeting. The infected girls smudged the brim of the malt container with lipstick. No more sick. Relaxed, the girls slipped off their wedged shoes and loosened the ties on their corset. The door crashed open and the ease transformed into delight. The girls shrieked as Louie entered the back alley carrying a large satchel. A scrawny busboy skirted past his side and the jungle of lady's skirts and set a pot. He burned his finger on the grill and yelped. Too late—He tried to suppress a yelp, but the shout was heard by the women. Their maternal instincts kicked in and the trampled him over with coos and scolds. Karla took the chance when she saw Louie alone. She pressed herself against his arm and murmured, “You been working out, handsome?” He pasted a huge hand on her face. “Urrrgh! You had blood on them arsehole!” “No games, Birdy. Help me with the crabs.” “Peroxide and Apple vinegar.” “The crabs in the sack, smartass.” “Sack?” she repeated, “Louie you give me too much material.” The skeletal girl dragged three crates near the firepit. One to sit on and two for a table. She opened the satchel. Small blue crustaceans clicked their pincers in menace. Karla clamped her teeth in mockery of their bravado. She snatched the most ferocious beasty by the hindlegs and pinned him to the butcher's block. She wedged the knife through the abdomen, and between the eyes. She tossed the still-moving carcass into the bubbling pot of carrots, potatoes, celery, and onion.
  8. Exercise writing for: Francisco Ignacio Morales "El conejo" and Jesus "Chuy" Mauricio Morales Nacho looked back on that day often. He thought, and because he thought, his brother thought, of the day in the lot. That day, they were messing around with a pigskin. The ball flew over the gate that separated the junkyard from the lot and before it registered he felt his brother's adrenaline spike his own blood. He pumped his arms racing across the lot and making for the chain link fence and slat. He rammed into Chuy, who crashed into the dirt with a thud, lost his breath, and made a grab for his brother's feet. Nacho jumped over his brother's hands and broke into a sprint. Chuy blinked and saw familiar hands grip the rusty slots of the chain link fence. "Cheater!" Chuy cackled rolling onto his back. The familiar hands climbed the fence, and looked back. Chuy was not afraid when he saw himself lying on the ground through his brother's eyes. It was reassuring to know he could leak into that other self and enjoy a body that hadn't gotten the wind knocked out of him. He decided to fold his hands over the pit of his stomach. His identity tended to get blurry when they "shared" as they called it, and feeling his hands on his own stomach and looking up at the smog-clouded sky anchored him to reality. He was Chuy. He was laying on the ground staring up at the clouds and catching his breath, while a living extension of himself, a being he called brother, hermano, Nacho, climbed a chain-link fence separating the scrapyard from the abandoned lot searching for a lost ball. You rest I'll get it. "You see it?" asked the other pushing himself off the ground. Nacho felt the other half disregard his advice. He gaited toward himself, at the same time scanning the scrapyard for the ball from the fence. Do you see it Nacho? Move your head... It is on-- --the left side Ok they thought. They caught sight of the ball a few steps away from the fence. He wanted to jump. Chuy felt a pang of fear that subsided as soon as Nacho jumped over the fence. He froze. He scanned the lot, and Chuy returned to himself. He grabbed his arm and wondered what the hell made him panic like that, not the jump. something else. He ignored the chicken skin rising from his forearms and waddled towards his brother. Nacho threw the ball at chuy, he didn't catch it. "You pushed me hard," Chuy grumbled. "No guey, you were laughing a second ago! Don't start a fuss now!" (That wasn't it) Chuy hated shielding his thoughts from his brother. It felt strangely dishonest. Like lying to himself. Nacho felt a little shiver run down his spine and interpreted it as guilt. He picked up the ball and pulled Chuy's mind towards his own to relieve his brother's pain. Then he swaggered towards him and locked arms with him. Both of the twins paused momentarily as their consciousness collected itself they saw four perspectives combine into two and then one. Chuy sighed with relief. "God, You're being weird today" Nacho said he didn't admit the combination also eased his mind. That he felt something distant and ominous race towards the brothers, and being together made it better. He didn't say the feeling had been welling up in the pit of his stomach. he only nudged chuy friendly and started for home. Nacho discovered the little cut when that night when he was slipping into his night clothes. He felt the a small burn on his upper arm on the outside part of his bicep. The cut was small but deep. He hadn't felt it when he jumped down the fence, but there must've been a sharp catch in the wire. He pulled a tub of ointment from the dull mirror cabinet in front of him, and covered it with a bandage wrap. He asked his brother for a borrowed strength and he complied without probing. Nacho continued the week wandering in and out of his own skin playing video games at the arcade and fixing gear in the garage when he could afford to. It brought small money. His younger twin brother-- Only by like 60 seconds still older --swung by and inhabited his head while he played or fixed, but he covered the pain emanating from his arm as to not worry him. One afternoon. He was taking an illicit smoke and sharing the high of the weed with his brother, when Lorena appeared on the block. lovely short honey-auburn haired girl. Their hearts trembled. Nacho tried to ignore the snippets of the impromptu date while he meddled with a car. Still, he caught snippets of the date. The smell of flowers, the taste of popcorn, fish, wasabi, and strawberry lipstick intruded his mind, all the while the image of Lorena danced in front of him. The way she wrinkled her nose made Chuy crazy. Nacho could only tighten his stomach to keep steady. He worked twice as hard to make the feelings go away. He chewed the stub of the smoke between his teeth and tried to differentiate between the work and the mind of his love-sick brother. He put the smoke out on the counter, hoping to squash out the sensations in his diaphragm with it. Next, he raised the car with a jack, pulled up a bed and rolled under to inspect the gas leak. He tightened the cap on a loose drain plug when his abs convulsed instinctively. He was under the car, but he felt the weight of a girl on top of him. She was running her strawberry-flavored lips along the ripples of muscle on his torso. He moaned, frozen. He could taste the nape of her neck on his tongue. Soft honey-brown curls and her soft skin as he slid up and down her body. The wrench dropped from his hand almost smacking his face. I love you he said, kissing her back. I love you so much. Please...I'm... He closed his eyes. Inside! He felt her body against his hips and scrambled to get out from under the car, but instead of metal he felt his hands groping blankets and soft skin. So much. Such a pretty thing Still shivering Nacho relit the stub of his cigarette and held it to his lips until the fire caught him. "Agh! Burns!" Chuy yelled falling backwards. "Chuy!" Lorena cried. She grasped a blanket to her chest and crouched over him. "E'htas bien?" she asked in her lovely accent. More throaty than his Spanish. "I (burned) bit ma lip," he chuckled, "Gosh, did I scare you?" Pili took the kettle off the stove. The atmosphere in the house was grim, but she didn't understand Why. She looked at her boys suspiciously. Not with jealousy, she convinced herself. Why would she feel jealous? But it was uncanny how the two synchronized their behavior sometimes. They seemed to be interconnected in some sort of circuit and no matter how much she loved them. How awfully bad she attempted to bond with her boys their was an awkward sensation that would always be more together with each other than with their own mom. She blew the steam off her tea and set it on the counter to cool. She tousled Francisco's long matte hair. Empapado de sudor "Cariño, give me your forehead," she asked. His skin felt clammy and hot. Her heart stopped. She tested his temperature with both hands, quickly and told him to stay in his seat. Get ahold of yourself, he is not running off when you look away, Pili, honey, sweetheart, she cooed. She took a thermometer from the drawer and told him to say AHHH. He complied and she stuck the thing in his mouth with pretend serenity-- as she could muster. He was running a 102 degree fever, so she made him take a cold bath (a commodity) she wouldn't allow her boys under normal circumstances, and put him to bed. At 3:42 in the morning Jesus shook her awake. "Ma," he croaked "Nacho's bad." She stared at the boy then flipped on all the switches as she made her way down his room. Her baby lay, with pallid yellowed skin, slowly rolling his head amidst soaking wet blankets. She picked up her 16-year-old son and draped him over her shoulder like a baby. He convulsed and threw up something sour and warm down her back. Pili winced, grabbed her coat, grabbed a purse and grabbed her boy. Chuy trailed behind her collecting money, keys, cards. "Help with him Chuy" she called just outside the door." Chuy pulled his brother's arm over his shoulder. The sensation of fire poured over his body took over, his skin crawled, and he fought hard the urge to pull away from his brother's sick mind. He was blinking in and out of his skin wondering who he was. The boys were framed in the rear view mirror hugging each other, whenever she looked back and it was silly, she knew, but feared losing Francisco would make her lose Jesus as well. That her boys would disappear in a flash of streetlight and she would be left alone listening to the headlights blink. "There is something wrong with my boy!" she cried at the secretary manning the desk. She turned over her baby, into the strong hands of a nurse, and she wanted to run after her screaming, but she only managed a defeated sob that had built over on the drive over here. Chuy followed her into the patient's room where the nurses ran his temp and asked about tests and cuts and scraps. They stuck needles into his arm and Chuy winced. After the blood work was complete. Chuy tapped the nurse on the shoulder. He felt sick and his hands looked pallid, but he managed to pull the man's ear close to his face and whisper something. The man looked at the boy. Then back at his brother. He pulled back his sleeve and revealed a pus-infected wound covered in bandage wrap just off the muscle off his shoulder. "Shit," he whispered.
  9. Twin One Brainstorm syn. skin: perma-tanned, sunburned, browned, bronze, bronzed, weather-beaten; More dark, swarthy, dusky hair: hazel, chocolate-colored, coffee-colored, cocoa-colored, nut brown; More brunette, mousy; untidy, messy, unkempt, disordered, disarranged, messed up, rumpled, disheveled, bedraggled; uncombed, ungroomed, ruffled, tangled, matted, windblown, wild; informal mussed up sepia, mahogany, umber, burnt sienna; beige, buff, tan, fawn, biscuit, camel, café au lait, caramel, mushroom; bay, sorrel, dun, brindle, brindled; auburn, tawny, coppery, chestnut, bronze, russet Clothes: I see a stringer tank top, crosses, hidden, tats, and baggy pants, hoodies bikes, tienditas, maquinitas, hoodies and bad parents, stray dogs, nicknames
  10. Trying Pomodoro timers to be more productive.

     

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