PRINCESS enters upstage
Princess was early, moreso than her friend was late.
Friend, that was a word with some rather extreme connotation. She knew all the dictionary definitions and then some and she could have written several novels in the abstract. Several essays to the same effect, and she could have written platitudes until she'd derived some meaning from the nothing- that was the literary onus of many a high schooler, their impact onto a world about as big as themselves.
She'd picked a location, this time, more rarely personal to herself. Appreciable in it's absolute lack of any value or meaning. Verdant green of a somewhat off shade, as in the grasses were less lush and more something less favorable to the five senses, especially, the artificial detritus idly, carelessly lost to the four winds. Humans were capable of being so impressively productive in their spare time, at nature's expense. The benches were planks of plain stated wood, more colorfully decorated by the dubiously aesthetic egos of man and otherwise left untouched by their governments. Elderly men came out in droves to idle, often annoyingly in her direction.
Be it still that she could see the stars when they deigned to pierce the wispy veil of smog. That the abandoned swings would creak by the hand of the wind's gentle reminder. A few lonely trees disregarded Princess could see the distant lights of the city bounce over the Chattanooga in a shimmering chandelier display. The silhouettes of nature unrestrained competed with cracked, desiccated concrete sidewalks for estate.
She took idle steps in place, circling under the ghostly influence of a streetlamp. A specter watched her, a cat of grey plume. She considered it uneasily, knowing that it could see but that it would not speak back. Any conversation would be solely one-sided. Like speaking into a void.
But of course, she pretended to like animals when asked. Naturally, as expected.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
a lonely rural wilderness setting - private
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
Megan wasn't sure she had the directions right. The map on her phone said she was in the right place, and there was definitely a park here, somewhere, but the scenery all kind of ran together so that it was hard to find anything that telegraphed an impression of 'here I am, I am definitely the park, I am the place people should go to meet people when they agree to meet each other in the park.' And she couldn't see Princess anywhere. Old fears came up: she'd gotten the place wrong and now Princess will hate her, Princess didn't actually want to meet with her and was playing a prank, and so on. They were cowardly, lurking fears; none of them could actually crawl out of the depths, where they belonged, and overwhelm Megan. For now, at least.
Megan was still surprised whenever someone asked her to spend time with them. Try though she might, it was still hard for her to believe that people wanted her as much as she wanted them, that people thought of her as a friend, as much as she thought of them as friends. Especially when that person was Princess, everywhere, everything to everyone. Yeah, she listened when Megan said things. But wouldn't you, if you were Princess, if you saw someone in need? Wouldn't you choose to be kind, if you can?
Yet here she was, actually on an invite from Princess, actually here because Princess wanted her here because Princess wasn't just talking to Megan for Megan's sake. Proof positive that they were actually friends--hopefully. And there she was.
Megan walked up behind Princess. Moving quietly was a skill that she'd picked up a long time ago, but it still came in handy every now and then. She moved until she was just behind Princess. She raised her hand--her arm was just barely long enough--and hesitated for a quick second, before nervously tapping her on the head. "Boop. it's me."
Megan was still surprised whenever someone asked her to spend time with them. Try though she might, it was still hard for her to believe that people wanted her as much as she wanted them, that people thought of her as a friend, as much as she thought of them as friends. Especially when that person was Princess, everywhere, everything to everyone. Yeah, she listened when Megan said things. But wouldn't you, if you were Princess, if you saw someone in need? Wouldn't you choose to be kind, if you can?
Yet here she was, actually on an invite from Princess, actually here because Princess wanted her here because Princess wasn't just talking to Megan for Megan's sake. Proof positive that they were actually friends--hopefully. And there she was.
Megan walked up behind Princess. Moving quietly was a skill that she'd picked up a long time ago, but it still came in handy every now and then. She moved until she was just behind Princess. She raised her hand--her arm was just barely long enough--and hesitated for a quick second, before nervously tapping her on the head. "Boop. it's me."
The cat fled. Princess startled, her shoulders briefly knotting up into wadded little stress balls, all crinkly creases following the balls of her joints.
Someone who liked surprises, Princess surmised, were persona grata in and amongst the realm of those whose social-awareness vanished with the rising and the setting of the sun. Those presumptive of their ability to be truly prepared for and found within the moment, when it was Princess' experience in her short and richly bland life that a certain amount of expertise was demanded to stay incompetence. That was to say, she and she alone could absorb that humdrum state of affairs that was cheap attempts at thrills, as observed:
"Oh!" Princess spun around and relaxed, using the exact same grain of sand in the hourglass. "Megan, please!" She was all smiles. That was beauty, that was grace. Genuinely surprised, without a gross moment out of none unplaced.
Megan was a... well, insightful, visionary loner. Princess liked her perspectives, in so far as she could try to downplay them so that her own artistic merits still shined clear despite a total lack of jealousy or anything to that effect.
Princess supposed they shared a lot in life, though Megan's circumstances made matters complex. Her's was a story too postmodern, no enemy to declare overcome save herself, no resolution to make clear from the mess of contradictory points. Put down by society, but without the apparent will to become the heroine of her own story. Worthy of pity, perhaps. Princess was unsure what else she was worthy of, but somehow she'd bought into the serialization at some point, was now an avid fan. They could be truly lonely together- there was a particularly pathetic form of romantic aesthetic to that.
This close, Megan forced some manner of shakiness to the rhythm of Princess' heart, but Princess supposed this arrhythmia was a product of closeness of the platonic sort. Heaven forbid Princess be into members of the same sex- they were far too vapid and unaccomplished a species for that.
"Well, what do you think?" Of urban waste and blight, dressed up in nature as the same way a child could be dressed in their undesired Sunday Best costume if one ran them tired enough. "Don't I know how to pick 'em?" Princess could spell out the sarcasm even with a thick smile buttered onto her face.
"It's not my first choice, but I... I have something to show you, I guess."
How long had it been since they'd last talked? Winter must have already started at some point in between, ironically appropriately.
Someone who liked surprises, Princess surmised, were persona grata in and amongst the realm of those whose social-awareness vanished with the rising and the setting of the sun. Those presumptive of their ability to be truly prepared for and found within the moment, when it was Princess' experience in her short and richly bland life that a certain amount of expertise was demanded to stay incompetence. That was to say, she and she alone could absorb that humdrum state of affairs that was cheap attempts at thrills, as observed:
"Oh!" Princess spun around and relaxed, using the exact same grain of sand in the hourglass. "Megan, please!" She was all smiles. That was beauty, that was grace. Genuinely surprised, without a gross moment out of none unplaced.
Megan was a... well, insightful, visionary loner. Princess liked her perspectives, in so far as she could try to downplay them so that her own artistic merits still shined clear despite a total lack of jealousy or anything to that effect.
Princess supposed they shared a lot in life, though Megan's circumstances made matters complex. Her's was a story too postmodern, no enemy to declare overcome save herself, no resolution to make clear from the mess of contradictory points. Put down by society, but without the apparent will to become the heroine of her own story. Worthy of pity, perhaps. Princess was unsure what else she was worthy of, but somehow she'd bought into the serialization at some point, was now an avid fan. They could be truly lonely together- there was a particularly pathetic form of romantic aesthetic to that.
This close, Megan forced some manner of shakiness to the rhythm of Princess' heart, but Princess supposed this arrhythmia was a product of closeness of the platonic sort. Heaven forbid Princess be into members of the same sex- they were far too vapid and unaccomplished a species for that.
"Well, what do you think?" Of urban waste and blight, dressed up in nature as the same way a child could be dressed in their undesired Sunday Best costume if one ran them tired enough. "Don't I know how to pick 'em?" Princess could spell out the sarcasm even with a thick smile buttered onto her face.
"It's not my first choice, but I... I have something to show you, I guess."
How long had it been since they'd last talked? Winter must have already started at some point in between, ironically appropriately.
She'd blushed, flinched, averted her eyes, she shouldn't have, of course she'd ruined--
Never mind.
Cold and yet somehow overdressed--all boots and scarf and sweater--she was here, a teen girl doing teen girl things. Drinking in the moment, whether there was much to drink up or not. It was a couple days before the spring semester started, before the usual slew--homework and eyes pointed her way and chortled laughter and feeling panicked looking for a place to sit at lunch--resumed, but for now, she had a little time. Grey skies, litter, Princess smiling wryly. Megan would remember it all.
"I...I don't either." Megan had said. "But, uh, really, I'm...I guess, easy to please?" Stumble, recover. That was okay. She wasn't doing anything that she didn't normally do. And Princess had asked her to--
Not that she would be so presumptuous, of course. Eyes downcast, smile playing on her lips as she tried to get her face under control, she waited, then looked back up, following Princess as the other girl took her...wherever. It didn't much matter to Megan, not right now.
Later, perhaps, there would be time to figure things out. Megan could wait. Waiting was the kind of thing she was good at.
Never mind.
Cold and yet somehow overdressed--all boots and scarf and sweater--she was here, a teen girl doing teen girl things. Drinking in the moment, whether there was much to drink up or not. It was a couple days before the spring semester started, before the usual slew--homework and eyes pointed her way and chortled laughter and feeling panicked looking for a place to sit at lunch--resumed, but for now, she had a little time. Grey skies, litter, Princess smiling wryly. Megan would remember it all.
"I...I don't either." Megan had said. "But, uh, really, I'm...I guess, easy to please?" Stumble, recover. That was okay. She wasn't doing anything that she didn't normally do. And Princess had asked her to--
Not that she would be so presumptuous, of course. Eyes downcast, smile playing on her lips as she tried to get her face under control, she waited, then looked back up, following Princess as the other girl took her...wherever. It didn't much matter to Megan, not right now.
Later, perhaps, there would be time to figure things out. Megan could wait. Waiting was the kind of thing she was good at.
Princess did know the apocalyptic ennui of this ghost town of a park well, she knew the individual brush strokes of each hue of each blade of grass on each and every other night of the year. It was, after all, the place she had the unfortunate honor of calling homestead. The anguished screams of the Uncommitted were the froth atop the waves of the Chattanooga as it meandered with it's deceptive laziness. A child had drowned in it a year back- that had been one cut from her very cloth, Princess' own friendly neighbors, the dog shit, the lingering cloud of heroin tar. Such product had a distinctive aroma to it, evocative as it was decidedly lacking in poetry. Cheap vinegar sour, cough syrup sweet, it was atrociously noxious when settled into fabric. Princess had learned to not string up her own laundry outside of the trailer, long ago, which made the whole affair all the more inconvenient and annoying for keeping up appearances.
"Don't feel the need to throw around cop outs on my behalf," Princess shot back, still smiling even as her disapproval mildly furrowed her brow. However long they had cultivated silence like the age of wine between them, richer by the day where Princess could not catch herself searching Megan's face for answers to questions she'd forgotten how to say, Princess supposed she, herself, was decidedly good at not changing.
It was the one thing she'd promise Megan. Everything else was, by her off-the-cuff, her trimmed and carefully picked off a rack from thousands off-the-cuff calculations, dangerous. Much in the same way that predators could smell the ferment of prey dead before their time in the water, the predator supposedly smelled it in themselves.
Princess felt that was, at least, an amusing enough way to phrase it. They were two awkward and clueless teen girls watching a river infinitely unconquerable by their petty mechanations wander on by. Princess was leery of that face, hopeful of the counterfactual that one day life would be more... meaningful, spectacular, something.
For now, at least, she supposedly had to show Megan something, no emphasis.
"Well... how have you been, Megan? It has been a while."
They hadn't moved an inch, since they'd started speaking.
"Don't feel the need to throw around cop outs on my behalf," Princess shot back, still smiling even as her disapproval mildly furrowed her brow. However long they had cultivated silence like the age of wine between them, richer by the day where Princess could not catch herself searching Megan's face for answers to questions she'd forgotten how to say, Princess supposed she, herself, was decidedly good at not changing.
It was the one thing she'd promise Megan. Everything else was, by her off-the-cuff, her trimmed and carefully picked off a rack from thousands off-the-cuff calculations, dangerous. Much in the same way that predators could smell the ferment of prey dead before their time in the water, the predator supposedly smelled it in themselves.
Princess felt that was, at least, an amusing enough way to phrase it. They were two awkward and clueless teen girls watching a river infinitely unconquerable by their petty mechanations wander on by. Princess was leery of that face, hopeful of the counterfactual that one day life would be more... meaningful, spectacular, something.
For now, at least, she supposedly had to show Megan something, no emphasis.
"Well... how have you been, Megan? It has been a while."
They hadn't moved an inch, since they'd started speaking.
Megan hadn't been able to keep her eyes still. She didn't dare look at anything for too long. Not at the ground, not at the gray-scaled landscape around her, certainly not at Princess's face.
Megan had always hated answering questions about herself. "No! I mean, I know what you mean, it's not exactly postcard stuff, but...it's, like, a mood, you know?" Her eyes flicked to an abandoned swingset. "I mean, it's got everything."
Oh god oh fuck goddammit Megan. Why do the words have to rush out of your mouth like that. Why do you have to blush. "I-I'm sorry."
Megan's hands were clenched in her pockets, though she did wonder if it wasn't a bad idea to let Princess see that she was nervous. Princess could tell, anyways. Might as well be honest about it.
But her hands had remained in her pockets. Blink hard, swallow. Soon. Soon will be enough. Megan's therapist had told her to stop mentally berating herself, which is why she didn't start calling herself an idiot right around now.
"But, well. It's a place where someone wants to meet me. Someone. You. That's a thing you can say about it, no irony. And I--that makes it--I want to see--"
Megan thought about burying her face in her hands, didn't. Histrionics normally came so easily for her. Why not now, with everything so close at hand?
"You know what I mean. I trust you. I want to see what you want me to see."
And she did, didn't she?
Megan had always hated answering questions about herself. "No! I mean, I know what you mean, it's not exactly postcard stuff, but...it's, like, a mood, you know?" Her eyes flicked to an abandoned swingset. "I mean, it's got everything."
Oh god oh fuck goddammit Megan. Why do the words have to rush out of your mouth like that. Why do you have to blush. "I-I'm sorry."
Megan's hands were clenched in her pockets, though she did wonder if it wasn't a bad idea to let Princess see that she was nervous. Princess could tell, anyways. Might as well be honest about it.
But her hands had remained in her pockets. Blink hard, swallow. Soon. Soon will be enough. Megan's therapist had told her to stop mentally berating herself, which is why she didn't start calling herself an idiot right around now.
"But, well. It's a place where someone wants to meet me. Someone. You. That's a thing you can say about it, no irony. And I--that makes it--I want to see--"
Megan thought about burying her face in her hands, didn't. Histrionics normally came so easily for her. Why not now, with everything so close at hand?
"You know what I mean. I trust you. I want to see what you want me to see."
And she did, didn't she?
Princess giggled, bubbly and soft as she couldn't help the smile that followed. Not particularly planned, that. There were times when reflex got the better of her, much as she couldn't conceive why that was the case. Particularly seemed to happen around the people she most liked to call friends- Megan, Violet from photography.
"In a way," Princess offered as a beat of the narrative they spun. Still meditating loudly on her own amusement, further wondering why it had come to be. Was it that particularly funny? Just an element of the scripting: their friendship, their location, their dues to each other as youngblooded women. Cliches, in so many words. Fair use but predictably so.
Princess swallowed the butterfly in her throat, by only shyly flirting with eye contact. It made her feel like something of an idiot.
"It's a place that has everything" because it has you, hmph, just where had that particular turn of phrase come from
"-because I'm used to it, I guess. You know how there are some magical and obscured corners of the world that don't seem to matter but take on a life of their own, because you've hidden away in them in your most vulnerable moments." It was a fucking neglected strip of park land operated by people who owned real estate made of toilet paper and about as waterproof is what it was. "Not exactly postcard stuff."
She liked echoing Megan's words. She had such an... enviable way of phrasing things, Princess supposed. Maybe the hot thrill she flirted with whenever Megan was around was jealousy, of a wordsmith Princess might have called a rival if she hadn't scooped her up as a friend first.
"I'll show you," Princess asserted, aggressively. She finally found the wherewithal to remember there was a place to sit- atop the rickety table, but it was very much the best seat in the house. She invited Megan to take the space beside, continued to stare up into the frigid and gloomy skies that spilled overhead like dead theater lights about to tumble onto stage. "But I..." Something to say, she had. Business greater than mere idle talk, but she was suddenly... clammy. Might have been too cold outside. Maybe stage fright, much as she hated to admit that in particular. "What do you think? Of this place?" A weary side-eye, suddenly. Strictly focusing above the neck- probably.
"In a way," Princess offered as a beat of the narrative they spun. Still meditating loudly on her own amusement, further wondering why it had come to be. Was it that particularly funny? Just an element of the scripting: their friendship, their location, their dues to each other as youngblooded women. Cliches, in so many words. Fair use but predictably so.
Princess swallowed the butterfly in her throat, by only shyly flirting with eye contact. It made her feel like something of an idiot.
"It's a place that has everything" because it has you, hmph, just where had that particular turn of phrase come from
"-because I'm used to it, I guess. You know how there are some magical and obscured corners of the world that don't seem to matter but take on a life of their own, because you've hidden away in them in your most vulnerable moments." It was a fucking neglected strip of park land operated by people who owned real estate made of toilet paper and about as waterproof is what it was. "Not exactly postcard stuff."
She liked echoing Megan's words. She had such an... enviable way of phrasing things, Princess supposed. Maybe the hot thrill she flirted with whenever Megan was around was jealousy, of a wordsmith Princess might have called a rival if she hadn't scooped her up as a friend first.
"I'll show you," Princess asserted, aggressively. She finally found the wherewithal to remember there was a place to sit- atop the rickety table, but it was very much the best seat in the house. She invited Megan to take the space beside, continued to stare up into the frigid and gloomy skies that spilled overhead like dead theater lights about to tumble onto stage. "But I..." Something to say, she had. Business greater than mere idle talk, but she was suddenly... clammy. Might have been too cold outside. Maybe stage fright, much as she hated to admit that in particular. "What do you think? Of this place?" A weary side-eye, suddenly. Strictly focusing above the neck- probably.
Here Megan thinks about biting her lip, then goes ahead and does it. She's cute, isn't she? Megan, that is. Biting her lip, fidgeting (she really should take her hands out of her pockets), eyes unfocused as her attention turns inward. Nervous girl, boldly nervous girl, unapologetically boldly nervous girl who is terrified of saying the wrong thing, she must have said the wrong thing because why else would Princess have asked the question again?
"You mean, if I'd been visiting without you?"
But that was okay, right? Megan was a mess and Princess knew that and Princess still wanted her here and Princess mustn't mind that she squirms for the correct answer and gives the wrong one anyways because, well. Actually. What if Princess was only asking this because she liked seeing Megan flustered? A thought that Megan immediately banished from her head as one that must have come from her inflated ego. Also, she might laugh.
She must've seemed like she was thinking carefully for a very long time now. It's okay. It's okay, Megan.
"I don't. Know? I've only ever seen this place with you. Probably different? Definitely different. But I am seeing it with. You. It--"
Reminds me of you, now, Megan had been on the verge of saying, but surely Princess would take it as an insult, so--
"I'm sorry. It makes me think of. I'm trying to, but all I can think about is you."
So of course Megan made it worse.
"The context of you, I mean."
Oh, Megan.
"You mean, if I'd been visiting without you?"
But that was okay, right? Megan was a mess and Princess knew that and Princess still wanted her here and Princess mustn't mind that she squirms for the correct answer and gives the wrong one anyways because, well. Actually. What if Princess was only asking this because she liked seeing Megan flustered? A thought that Megan immediately banished from her head as one that must have come from her inflated ego. Also, she might laugh.
She must've seemed like she was thinking carefully for a very long time now. It's okay. It's okay, Megan.
"I don't. Know? I've only ever seen this place with you. Probably different? Definitely different. But I am seeing it with. You. It--"
Reminds me of you, now, Megan had been on the verge of saying, but surely Princess would take it as an insult, so--
"I'm sorry. It makes me think of. I'm trying to, but all I can think about is you."
So of course Megan made it worse.
"The context of you, I mean."
Oh, Megan.
The lip bite was a statement. It had artistic value, albeit starkly contemporary. If Princess presumed she had some form of consistent baseline of aesthetic aspirations the mere presumptive, culturally coded femininity of the gesture should have been unimpressive. It was, to be clear, unimpressive. Princess was staring in awe because... she, uh. Could? She didn't care much for the moment. Allegedly. Apparently. This wasn't an exchange Princess was extracting an almost obscene amount of pleasure that she'd save away for later.
Whatever the word later was even supposed to imply in context.
She hated it, by the way, when her internal monologue got this lemony. She was supposed to be better than this, whatever this even was.
"The value of this place to you would be in some way connected to me, wouldn't it? A question only needs to be answered if asked." Not true, strictly speaking. Some people took it on themselves to answer questions on behalf of people who'd cared to ask. It was a particular form of social engagement, among the many that Princess documented in her free time, in those quiet moments she dedicated to doing what she did even when busy, paying more attention than anyone had ever asked her to.
The discomfort blossoming on Megan's face like first of spring, however many months away from this grey cloud wind tunnel hellhole of present day present time that was, was also going to be popping up in Princess' dreams on the closer half of 'too soon', and she wasn't sure why or why she was okay with that. Princess liked to not rely on the caricatures of people she knew in her head when she had the real ones at her beck and call, at times almost as instantaneously.
"I can take back that question if you want."
A raise of the eyebrow, and nothing more. Vanishing under her bangs, which would occasionally budge under duress from a river gust, then be meticulously set back into place without Princess even noticing.
"But I do appreciate that you're thinking of me." What a nice sounding and nice looking smile, marginally too perfect. "Whatever that's supposed to imply."
Whatever the word later was even supposed to imply in context.
She hated it, by the way, when her internal monologue got this lemony. She was supposed to be better than this, whatever this even was.
"The value of this place to you would be in some way connected to me, wouldn't it? A question only needs to be answered if asked." Not true, strictly speaking. Some people took it on themselves to answer questions on behalf of people who'd cared to ask. It was a particular form of social engagement, among the many that Princess documented in her free time, in those quiet moments she dedicated to doing what she did even when busy, paying more attention than anyone had ever asked her to.
The discomfort blossoming on Megan's face like first of spring, however many months away from this grey cloud wind tunnel hellhole of present day present time that was, was also going to be popping up in Princess' dreams on the closer half of 'too soon', and she wasn't sure why or why she was okay with that. Princess liked to not rely on the caricatures of people she knew in her head when she had the real ones at her beck and call, at times almost as instantaneously.
"I can take back that question if you want."
A raise of the eyebrow, and nothing more. Vanishing under her bangs, which would occasionally budge under duress from a river gust, then be meticulously set back into place without Princess even noticing.
"But I do appreciate that you're thinking of me." What a nice sounding and nice looking smile, marginally too perfect. "Whatever that's supposed to imply."
Megan felt herself weightless, scolded, accommodated, coaxed; she shivered, and she didn't think it was from the cold. Feverish, if anything; a pounding heart will do that to you. She didn't know what emotion she was feeling, really, but it sure was a lot, and it hurt. She didn't want to be--anywhere but here, let her escape and disappear. She didn't want to be here.
But of course, she did.
"Sorry. I wasn't thinking. Didn't, didn't want you to think that--"
Of course not, silly of her to even think of it. Hadn't Megan figured out that she had a little voice in her head for good reason? How dare she think that, how dare she not listen. Megan wouldn't dare--but she would.
She blinked, hard.
"Don't--" she swallowed.
"You know I'm easy to toy with. Right?"
She looked down, face burning, stomach cold and warm.
But of course, she did.
"Sorry. I wasn't thinking. Didn't, didn't want you to think that--"
Of course not, silly of her to even think of it. Hadn't Megan figured out that she had a little voice in her head for good reason? How dare she think that, how dare she not listen. Megan wouldn't dare--but she would.
She blinked, hard.
"Don't--" she swallowed.
"You know I'm easy to toy with. Right?"
She looked down, face burning, stomach cold and warm.
Hair set in place. A bit of preening, not too much. No use in exaggeration. Wasn't enough narrative momentum between the both of them to sustain excess... Yep. Impact of quiet- it made whatever sound existed louder. Let it echo, like an empty stage. Princess watched Megan watching nothing. Substantive gesture in how little substance it carried. Weight and pressure were illusions, tricks of the trade for an artist who knew her ink and makeup brush. Princess had learned that herself... learned it from friends, too. Sure, she guessed. Katelynne had been rambling on about assembling a Long Furby, some avant garde distortion of inherent cuteness to madness. Megan, dear Megan, she swapped faces like costumes. Light, delicate touch. Something about those dainty fingers that Princess devoted way too much mental capacity to.
Princess didn't like that, sometimes. She swore she could be her own friends better than they could be, sometimes. Yet there was always that aspect of them that eluded themselves and much as they did her- something that would intrigue her, madden her with frustration. Gossamer, ether, words for something that was fundamental as much as it was impossible to hold.
She interrogated them in her head, sometimes. Did a good job of it, if you asked her.
"What is it that you have, Megan? That I don't?"
"The capacity to not have to ask that question back at you."
"Who are you to me, Megan?"
"The absence of control that you wish you didn't need to have."
Okay okay. Princess had to admit, unfortunately, that she didn't quite replicate her friend's voices faithfully. She was working on it- didn't know why she was, which was no small part of the problem with the whole nonsensical trope.
"What do you want from me?"
"Whatever you want from me."
"What do you want me to do to you?"
"Whatever you want me to do."
"Do you like it rough? Up against that bench, right there?"
"I-"
Well, uh, that last one had probably been the closest to an accurate response- also, Princess had no idea where the fuck it had come from. She probably needed to be asking herself questions a wee bit more than she needed to be asking puppets of her friends. Oh, it had been just a moment. Right? Princess was better than just blanking out and staring at the side of her friends face for an infinity long of uncomfortable moments. Supposedly. Allegedly. Princess knew the passage of time with intimate detail. Stage time was slower- seconds became minutes, spotlighted, judged mercilessly.
Heaven forbid she ever be judged without her own consent.
"Honestly? Megan."
She kissed one finger to her lips. Could've bit it. Didn't. She was not sure if she was consciously making that decision or not. Sloppy of her.
"That trailer park you passed. Coming into this park. Uh. That's mine. Where I live. Why I never ask you to come to my place."
So, so sloppy.
"Like how you want it from me?"
"Fuck off Megan, I'm the one who asks the questions in here."
Princess didn't like that, sometimes. She swore she could be her own friends better than they could be, sometimes. Yet there was always that aspect of them that eluded themselves and much as they did her- something that would intrigue her, madden her with frustration. Gossamer, ether, words for something that was fundamental as much as it was impossible to hold.
She interrogated them in her head, sometimes. Did a good job of it, if you asked her.
"What is it that you have, Megan? That I don't?"
"The capacity to not have to ask that question back at you."
"Who are you to me, Megan?"
"The absence of control that you wish you didn't need to have."
Okay okay. Princess had to admit, unfortunately, that she didn't quite replicate her friend's voices faithfully. She was working on it- didn't know why she was, which was no small part of the problem with the whole nonsensical trope.
"What do you want from me?"
"Whatever you want from me."
"What do you want me to do to you?"
"Whatever you want me to do."
"Do you like it rough? Up against that bench, right there?"
"I-"
Well, uh, that last one had probably been the closest to an accurate response- also, Princess had no idea where the fuck it had come from. She probably needed to be asking herself questions a wee bit more than she needed to be asking puppets of her friends. Oh, it had been just a moment. Right? Princess was better than just blanking out and staring at the side of her friends face for an infinity long of uncomfortable moments. Supposedly. Allegedly. Princess knew the passage of time with intimate detail. Stage time was slower- seconds became minutes, spotlighted, judged mercilessly.
Heaven forbid she ever be judged without her own consent.
"Honestly? Megan."
She kissed one finger to her lips. Could've bit it. Didn't. She was not sure if she was consciously making that decision or not. Sloppy of her.
"That trailer park you passed. Coming into this park. Uh. That's mine. Where I live. Why I never ask you to come to my place."
So, so sloppy.
"Like how you want it from me?"
"Fuck off Megan, I'm the one who asks the questions in here."
((vague allusion to self-harm tw))
Megan waited, face a rictus, waited as the seconds stretched on and on and yes, that was because she was actually in hell and she simultaneously felt like she could burst at any second and also like maybe she would never be able to let it out, her joints locking and fusing as her body turned into a sarcophagus--but it wasn't just that, no, Princess was taking her time to compose, a, yeah. Oh no.
To a person like Princess, that--what Megan had said--that was as good as a confession, and maybe if Megan had thought her words through before she spoke she would've--but she hadn't, she was such a fucking stupid girl, she ruined--
She'd wanted too much. Greedy girl. Silly girl, you start off thinking you know your place, but then you let yourself get carried away for one second because you think maybe, and you need an answer right now, you're probably deluding yourself but maybe you're deluding yourself about deluding yourself so you trick yourself into trapping yourself because you can't bring yourself to do it but you want to, you have to know, God please let it be true.
Princess opened her mouth, breathed in, and Megan just about jumped.
An acceptance would've shocked, a rejection too. But, Megan wasn't expecting this.
Exhale, hard. Maybe have a panic attack. Imagine your friend having a panic attack because you told them you lived in a trailer park.
Okay, but. What was Princess trying to tell Megan? She hadn't missed it, right? The unsaid request, the all-but-said request. Focus, Megan. Dear God, how do other people cope with having feelings? Honestly, Megan should just faint into Princess's arms right now. She didn't feel quite light-headed enough, though, and wasn't--desperate? dishonest? worthless?--enough to fake it.
"I--"
I like you. No need to say it. Might as well say it. It occurs to Megan that maybe she could, right now, roll up her sleeve, let Princess see the scars. You can trust me, I trust you too.
Silly.
"I--"
I don't see what that has to do with anything. It's obvious, though. Isn't it? Somehow? Some way? She loves me. She loves me not. It was blindingly obvious, either way. Megan was just hopeless.
"No one's ever asked me to their home before," Megan gasped, finally.
Megan waited, face a rictus, waited as the seconds stretched on and on and yes, that was because she was actually in hell and she simultaneously felt like she could burst at any second and also like maybe she would never be able to let it out, her joints locking and fusing as her body turned into a sarcophagus--but it wasn't just that, no, Princess was taking her time to compose, a, yeah. Oh no.
To a person like Princess, that--what Megan had said--that was as good as a confession, and maybe if Megan had thought her words through before she spoke she would've--but she hadn't, she was such a fucking stupid girl, she ruined--
She'd wanted too much. Greedy girl. Silly girl, you start off thinking you know your place, but then you let yourself get carried away for one second because you think maybe, and you need an answer right now, you're probably deluding yourself but maybe you're deluding yourself about deluding yourself so you trick yourself into trapping yourself because you can't bring yourself to do it but you want to, you have to know, God please let it be true.
Princess opened her mouth, breathed in, and Megan just about jumped.
An acceptance would've shocked, a rejection too. But, Megan wasn't expecting this.
Exhale, hard. Maybe have a panic attack. Imagine your friend having a panic attack because you told them you lived in a trailer park.
Okay, but. What was Princess trying to tell Megan? She hadn't missed it, right? The unsaid request, the all-but-said request. Focus, Megan. Dear God, how do other people cope with having feelings? Honestly, Megan should just faint into Princess's arms right now. She didn't feel quite light-headed enough, though, and wasn't--desperate? dishonest? worthless?--enough to fake it.
"I--"
I like you. No need to say it. Might as well say it. It occurs to Megan that maybe she could, right now, roll up her sleeve, let Princess see the scars. You can trust me, I trust you too.
Silly.
"I--"
I don't see what that has to do with anything. It's obvious, though. Isn't it? Somehow? Some way? She loves me. She loves me not. It was blindingly obvious, either way. Megan was just hopeless.
"No one's ever asked me to their home before," Megan gasped, finally.
Broken narrative momentum sounded louder outside of a theater. Somehow, without the echo accompanying. Like a thump to the flat of the ribs, louder on the inside, how it bounced off the thicker and denser parts of the skull. Those parts Princess presumed most of her peers had in abundance. Here, Princess was safe and comfortable. The rehearsal would naturally fall apart in that endearingly cringy way only the youthful soul could bear as its arms against troubled seas, someone would crack a grin, someone else would start unbecomingly laughing. Someone someone else would call for a re-take.
Princess was almost taken aback when none of that actually happened. Still just herself, still just Megan. Dowdy skies, dowdy girls, both promising equal amounts of rain if you read the tea leaves etched into the softer bits of flesh just right. Megan's eyes, subtle, mistakable for any other generic form of vaguely Caucasian genetics. Same as Princess.
Here they were, on the eve of the beginning of the end of their bildungsroman. Un-romantic, anti-climactic, so on so on Princess didn't need to launch into the full spiel. Princess was used to biding her time- the fairy tale part of her tale, however gothic and-or gratuitously postmodern it had to be, it awaited. She had some more confidence in that, at least, than in this mess of a situation in front of her ever resolving in a satisfactory way. It could be resolved easily, to be sure. But messy, existentially disasters ruminations waited for Princess when she sealed herself into her shoddy half-eaten beans tin can of a home a ways down the street from here. Why had she allowed this, what did this mean, what the fuck was with all the homoerotic tension, so on.
Princess, at least, marginally assumed she was straight. She'd never thought about it too much. Reckonin'-was-a-comin', as Katelynne might have said.
That one probably also needed some work.
"Not that you ever make it easy for them to ask."
Practiced chiding. Typical, in-character. Gentle, motherly, twee.
"We've been over this before."
Smiling. Simpering, safe.
Princess was almost taken aback when none of that actually happened. Still just herself, still just Megan. Dowdy skies, dowdy girls, both promising equal amounts of rain if you read the tea leaves etched into the softer bits of flesh just right. Megan's eyes, subtle, mistakable for any other generic form of vaguely Caucasian genetics. Same as Princess.
Here they were, on the eve of the beginning of the end of their bildungsroman. Un-romantic, anti-climactic, so on so on Princess didn't need to launch into the full spiel. Princess was used to biding her time- the fairy tale part of her tale, however gothic and-or gratuitously postmodern it had to be, it awaited. She had some more confidence in that, at least, than in this mess of a situation in front of her ever resolving in a satisfactory way. It could be resolved easily, to be sure. But messy, existentially disasters ruminations waited for Princess when she sealed herself into her shoddy half-eaten beans tin can of a home a ways down the street from here. Why had she allowed this, what did this mean, what the fuck was with all the homoerotic tension, so on.
Princess, at least, marginally assumed she was straight. She'd never thought about it too much. Reckonin'-was-a-comin', as Katelynne might have said.
That one probably also needed some work.
"Not that you ever make it easy for them to ask."
Practiced chiding. Typical, in-character. Gentle, motherly, twee.
"We've been over this before."
Smiling. Simpering, safe.
Megan had never been to the beach, or if she had, she couldn't remember it. Maybe a couple times, when she was really really young, but it always seemed too far to drive and too close to fly. The closest she'd been was the wave pool at the water park. She liked to wade far enough to get to the point where she could just barely touch the bottom with her feet without dipping her face below water. She'd close her eyes as the wave came, lifting her up, and for a moment there would be nothing beneath her feet. She'd pretend she was being tossed about, swept out to sea in a riptide, seafloor and shore receding, a calm, peaceful kind of dread swelling up inside her, until her feet touched back down on the pool bottom to confirm: she hadn't moved. She could've waded out a couple yards further, if she wanted to live a little closer to the fantasy. Fat chance of that actually happening, though.
Megan was still here, Princess was still here. There was a smile on Princess's face, sad, kind. Softening the blow, keeping her feet on the ground. Sorry, it said. Or maybe that was just Megan's imagination.
I'd love to, I really would, but we both know why I can't. Not yet, anyways. It's not just your feelings we need to work around, take care of, manage.
Or maybe not, but we can let Megan delude herself a little while longer. There's problems with being gentle, yes. You have to accept them.
A promise, then.
Another day, another time, another life. When Megan knew how to make it easy, when she deserved it, then she would find Princess, Princess would be waiting.
Megan was still here, Princess was still here. There was a smile on Princess's face, sad, kind. Softening the blow, keeping her feet on the ground. Sorry, it said. Or maybe that was just Megan's imagination.
I'd love to, I really would, but we both know why I can't. Not yet, anyways. It's not just your feelings we need to work around, take care of, manage.
Or maybe not, but we can let Megan delude herself a little while longer. There's problems with being gentle, yes. You have to accept them.
A promise, then.
Another day, another time, another life. When Megan knew how to make it easy, when she deserved it, then she would find Princess, Princess would be waiting.