( AN OPEN POST #2 )

[charmlessness]

 
 
 

you know the drill. pick your poison (not entirely limited to those listed). reply with a prompt in the form of a post, photo, song, text, voicemail, whatever your heart desires & receive a response. simple, right? right.

 
 
 

Comments

[prescription]

[ You have to let me go. Richie remembers his words, thinks on them often — he'd lived a life without Seth, but never like this. It was like walking in two separate worlds, he and his brother toeing opposing sides of the same, extended line, but never given the ability to cross. The time for that was not yet, Santanico explains, and Richie understands, but a small, childish part of him doesn't want to.

He misses the sunlight. He never imagined the last time he'd feel it on his face was when he was standing just outside of a titty bar down past the Mexican border. Now, he only watches a sunset through tinted windows and on big screens. Her company fills a certain void, but Richie's possessed it for so long now, he hardly recognized it needed something wedged there. It's the only warmth he feels anymore.

There are things, these days, that he can't have, but through it, he has her. Santanico. She's like no one he has ever known. ( Not that he's met many culebra goddesses. ) He looks on her and he tries to understand. Years of time and restraint have kept her from the world outside. It's a changed world, a new world. She marvels, he provides insight. She's intoxicating; she puzzles him. This is what I do: I figure it out.

The graze of her nails on his cheek is a feeling he isn't doomed to forget. He presses further into the palm of her hand, skin against skin. By the book, vampires are said to be cold to the touch. He never feels particularly cool in her presence.

He looks into her eyes, half of a grin quirking at his lips. ]

What's a guy gotta do to get a decent meal around here?

[ It's a bad joke. Of course it is. ]