READ ALL ABOUT IT — [ #megidomay #rpf #iwasaskedtowritethis One does not describe the distance between the two simply. The distance is less of an actual thing, and more a feeling— a concept. Like the distance between Autumn and Winter— or the distance between this year and the next. She is -- as she would describe herself -- a MAID OF TIME. The other you would describe herself as A COLUMNIST. Her name is Darlin Dearie, and this cycle is the first cycle in a long time that she's had nothing to do. Most cycles you could catch her writing away the cycle in her respiteblock, leaned back with a thinkpan rapid and quick. There was always a story, always a column to be written, always a life to put in the spotlight. Achievements to share instead of spreading the same gossip that's been spread by numerous different sources in the same hour. Yet this cycle had nothing. There was no grand achievement, no story, nothing to write about. There were dry cycles, there always was, but this one was especially dry. Outside of her hive, the acid rain is in a downpour. Heavy and cruel, like nature always is. She wore a tight turtleneck, with a loose coat hung over her shoulder— her fingers idly fidget with a unlit cigarette. The devotchka stared out, her eyes saw a cycle laid out before her. One that was purely inside, one that would be nothing but thinking back on older days. She lost focus, the blur of the world before her refocused back onto the reflection in the glass. She met her own stare. A stare that was disappointed in the one it gazed at. She would smile at herself. Perhaps a smile of discontent. It's hard to tell, even she doesn't know. She would walk away from the window, over to the latch that led to the rooftop. She thinks back on a certain cycle, far from this one… one that she doesn’t quite remember well. She placed the unlit cigarette between her lips, with her hands she grasped the ladder leading up. One rung after another, she climbed up the ladder until her palm met the hatch. And with all of her might she would push against it, the old hinges would groan against the pressure. She was used to this at this point. This piece of shit would never open unless she used a great force, and by applying all of her body against it– it eventually gave in. With a loud croak signifying defeat the latch swung open. But the columnist is not met by the feeling of acid rain trickling down her head, nor is she greeted by the beam of moonlight. Confused, she saw a pair of nice red boots and followed them up to look at the face of the individual wearing them. A Maid of Time. In her right hand was an umbrella, opened and laid on her shoulder– a shield from the acid rain pouring down onto Alternia. Vibrant red she was, with lipstick and eyeliner applied neatly. She had a grin on her face that the columnist could never forget, it was her favorite after all. She leaned downward with a tilt of her head, curious as always. “What are you doing? OuO” She asked. The columnist sighed. There was no negative feeling in her pusher, it was more like she got caught. “I was going to relax.” She muttered. “In this rain?” She refuted. “...Okay, whatever, you caught me.” She confessed. The Maid twirled her umbrella with a chuckle. She crouched downward, knees held together. “Acid is terrible to recover from,” she rose her free hand and poked the columnist’s nose. “You have other things to do soon!” “Haah.” The columnist replied. It was always like this most of the time. The Maid smiled. “I have to be going now, sorry.” She stood back up. “Would you promise me you’re not going to go outside in this rain?” “...I promise.” The Maid snapped her fingers, and the motion of the hatch opening would reverse. Closing once more. Well, that made the cycle a little more interesting. ]
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bro is doing literally anything except starting the masquerade good shit tho