Feet in cherry red Mary Janes bounce twice for momentum, then spring, exciting a tiny cloud of fuchsia dust. Aranea lifts off slowly as if underwater, swings her feet forward and floats to a landing. She looks up from her toes and at distant Alternia, breathing deeply the thin atmosphere and drinking in the sight of the snow white and blood red stars studding the silent black sky. Her fingers itch for pen and page and words to relay it all in ink; she isn't sure she or any writer could do it justice, but the fun of finding the words is the searching part, after all.
A bitter feeling brushes against the back of her think pan, and she frowns. She glances behind her to discover that Meenah is crouched morosely on the pink-pebbled ground; the sea troll's magenta-painted mouth is twisted sullenly, and she's fidgeting with one of the safety pins threaded through her pants (Aranea will never understand this innovation in fashion). The surge of thoughts and emotions intensifies as Aranea focuses on Meenah, all but swimming before the spider girl's eyes; she catches "why hasn't she fuckin' looked at me the whole cod damn time we've been here?" and "sole reason to have come here, my ass" and a hundred other thoughts, fleeting like scattered minnows.
Aranea sighs. She leaves her stargazing post and crouches beside the sea troll, looking straight into her eyes. The edges of Meenah's irises are beginning to prickle with pink, the colour she both resents and revels in. "Meenah," Aranea says carefully, "you know perfectly well that I'm not ignoring you at all. On the contrary, the reason we're here is to spend some time in just each other's company. The fact that I am not focusing on you exclusively doesn't mean you're not my main focus."
Meenah laughs harshly, nasal, sharp like her weapon of choice. Her serrated teeth flash in the starlight. "Waterever, but I shore wouldn't fuckin' blame you if you was decidin' to act like I'm just some piece of carp. It's not as if nobody ain't sick of me by this glubbin' point if they weren't already." She looses her grip on the safety pin and looks away, scowling, but her lipstick is smeared and her eyes shine too much. Just days ago, every single one of their friends turned down Meenah's requests - well, demands, to put it more accurately - to play the strange immersive game she'd found here. One by one they'd expressed their disinterest, in rapid succession, only occasionally softened with a "sorry". Meenah had jeered and laughed and acted tough, as was her custom, but later privately confided to Aranea that she knew it wasn't anything to do with the game, it was because they didn't want to play it with her.
Aranea gets out of her crouch to settle down properly beside her friend. Rejection and scarcely-buried anger seep from Meenah into Aranea's own soul like oil tainting an ocean, but the spider troll inches closer. Of all the strange things, she wouldn't trade away her empathic abilities, not even now. Not even beside Meenah, impossible, strident Meenah, who takes and takes and still brims with need. She wishes she wasn't just verbose but eloquent. She wishes even more that her emotional intelligence wasn't borrowed and accidental, only a consequence of so literally knowing how someone feels.
A pressure alights on Aranea's shoulder and she startles, nearly jumping up from her seat before she realizes that Meenah has laid her head there. She should have known, from the way the sea troll drapes herself over her on regular occasion, whines and pokes her and cheerfully barges in (as it were) to talk whether or not Aranea is busy at the moment.
And yet, she can't help suddenly not being busy when Meenah wants her attention. Can't say no to her. Couldn't live with her, couldn't live without her. She wonders what Felice would have to say about that.
She wonders what she herself would have to say about that.
Above them, white stars twinkle among red stars, alternating back and forth in their flares, as if the sky is wondering the same thing.
FILL: TEAM JOHN<3ROSE
A bitter feeling brushes against the back of her think pan, and she frowns. She glances behind her to discover that Meenah is crouched morosely on the pink-pebbled ground; the sea troll's magenta-painted mouth is twisted sullenly, and she's fidgeting with one of the safety pins threaded through her pants (Aranea will never understand this innovation in fashion). The surge of thoughts and emotions intensifies as Aranea focuses on Meenah, all but swimming before the spider girl's eyes; she catches "why hasn't she fuckin' looked at me the whole cod damn time we've been here?" and "sole reason to have come here, my ass" and a hundred other thoughts, fleeting like scattered minnows.
Aranea sighs. She leaves her stargazing post and crouches beside the sea troll, looking straight into her eyes. The edges of Meenah's irises are beginning to prickle with pink, the colour she both resents and revels in. "Meenah," Aranea says carefully, "you know perfectly well that I'm not ignoring you at all. On the contrary, the reason we're here is to spend some time in just each other's company. The fact that I am not focusing on you exclusively doesn't mean you're not my main focus."
Meenah laughs harshly, nasal, sharp like her weapon of choice. Her serrated teeth flash in the starlight. "Waterever, but I shore wouldn't fuckin' blame you if you was decidin' to act like I'm just some piece of carp. It's not as if nobody ain't sick of me by this glubbin' point if they weren't already." She looses her grip on the safety pin and looks away, scowling, but her lipstick is smeared and her eyes shine too much. Just days ago, every single one of their friends turned down Meenah's requests - well, demands, to put it more accurately - to play the strange immersive game she'd found here. One by one they'd expressed their disinterest, in rapid succession, only occasionally softened with a "sorry". Meenah had jeered and laughed and acted tough, as was her custom, but later privately confided to Aranea that she knew it wasn't anything to do with the game, it was because they didn't want to play it with her.
Aranea gets out of her crouch to settle down properly beside her friend. Rejection and scarcely-buried anger seep from Meenah into Aranea's own soul like oil tainting an ocean, but the spider troll inches closer. Of all the strange things, she wouldn't trade away her empathic abilities, not even now. Not even beside Meenah, impossible, strident Meenah, who takes and takes and still brims with need. She wishes she wasn't just verbose but eloquent. She wishes even more that her emotional intelligence wasn't borrowed and accidental, only a consequence of so literally knowing how someone feels.
A pressure alights on Aranea's shoulder and she startles, nearly jumping up from her seat before she realizes that Meenah has laid her head there. She should have known, from the way the sea troll drapes herself over her on regular occasion, whines and pokes her and cheerfully barges in (as it were) to talk whether or not Aranea is busy at the moment.
And yet, she can't help suddenly not being busy when Meenah wants her attention. Can't say no to her. Couldn't live with her, couldn't live without her. She wonders what Felice would have to say about that.
She wonders what she herself would have to say about that.
Above them, white stars twinkle among red stars, alternating back and forth in their flares, as if the sky is wondering the same thing.