Post by Deleted on Apr 5, 2016 23:02:16 GMT 2
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Lana L. Whitaker
the basics
the looks
the freestyle part
[break] As she raised me, my mother let me know everything that was wrong with me. A one-night-stand-accident-red-headed-cretin-why-would-I-sleep-with-a-ginger-money-draining-snot-nosed-worthless-cunt. I remember one day after grade school, she took shears to my hair. My younger half-sister, also the result of unprotected sex, was crying as our mother screamed and threatened to cut my ears off, too. I learned to avoid my mother. I delayed coming home. I slipped by the living room when she was watching tv and chain smoking. As I grew older, she hounded me, following me around the house as I tried to get away from her. She was usually drunk or stoned. She yelled behind me, yanked me back, criticized the way I looked, but I knew it was venomous jealousy.
Abby and I were each other's best friend. When mom was targeting Abby, I called her an ugly bitch to divert her rage. When Abby tried to do this for me, I twisted her arm behind her back and made her swear never again. Being the oldest allowed for my occasional cruelty toward her. I can't say my mom didn't teach me anything about the unfariness of life. I had to keep Abby safe. Sometimes that meant giving her a rug burn and taking away her favorite toy.
But I always had her back. She needed glasses since she was in fifth grade. When other girls picked on her, I pulled their braids out. When a boy called her fat, I punched his throat.
I was incapable of saving her from everything though. When Abby was eleven, we managed to convince mom to buy her ballet lessons. It was the second week into the program and mom's turn to carpool. On the car ride home, Abby said she forgot her ballet shoes. Mom slammed on the breaks, reached back and started slapping Abby in front of her friends before turning around to pick up the shoes.
By the time I was 17, I was never home, which meant mom found her outlet in Abby. Mom targeted her. Hounded her. Abused her. I was dealing with my own life. Most of it is a blur now. I was drunk all the time - never attending school. I stayed with boys and smoked joints with them all day. I walked the same path as my mother. I got pregnant, but the decision to terminate came easy even though the money did not. I barely graduated from high school. They set the bar low in our poor town.
When I was 19, I moved in with some drug dealer named Finn. We fucked and he gave me crank. Abby ran away from home and came to live with us, but I kept her away from the drugs. I managed to keep it hidden that I was using them, too. To this day, I wonder whether she knew - what she would think of me. One night Finn got really drunk and hit me a few times. It was the only time it happened because once he passed out, Abby and I took his drug money and bailed.
Together we moved to Chicago. Living wasn't easy. We were always broke - always behind on the rent and utilities. Despite our water getting turned off and a break in that took the few valuables we had, this is what it meant to survive. We were sisters, and I loved Abby dearly, but I could never be her mother. I was only a few years older than her, and I was still the reckless adolescent. After working two shifts, I would try to score drugs from lowly dealers. It was never something I could afford, and the quality was always bad. I did it anyway.
I fell in love with a married man. We had an affair for three years before he divorced his wife to marry me. He helped me open a flower shop in town. We were married for five years. We fought a lot - almost all the time. The sex was great, but we came to resent each other. He was paying alimony and he was bitter. He said I tricked him into leaving his wife. Why couldn't we keep to the affair? he would ask.
Abby died when she was 23. I got a call from the hospital the night before my 28th birthday. I needed to identify a body. I hadn't heard from Abby in a few days, but that wasn't anything unusual. She was a free spirit and sometimes went outside the city and hiked to other towns. She was strange like that. The body looked almost pristine except for the single hole through her head - right in the middle of her forehead. The cops told me it was an execution.
The Bianchi family killed my sister. I think she saw something. Abby was a stranger - an unpredictable civilian who felt no loyalty to the family running this town. I think she was a loose end that needed snipping. Of course the cops were never able to close to the case. The Bianchi family are untouchable. When a rival of the Bianchi family emerged, I listened to the rumors. It was years after Abby was killed, but somehow I made the right friends in the right places. Now my business helps those who look to dismantle my sister's killers.[break]
I fell in love with a married man. We had an affair for three years before he divorced his wife to marry me. He helped me open a flower shop in town. We were married for five years. We fought a lot - almost all the time. The sex was great, but we came to resent each other. He was paying alimony and he was bitter. He said I tricked him into leaving his wife. Why couldn't we keep to the affair? he would ask.
Abby died when she was 23. I got a call from the hospital the night before my 28th birthday. I needed to identify a body. I hadn't heard from Abby in a few days, but that wasn't anything unusual. She was a free spirit and sometimes went outside the city and hiked to other towns. She was strange like that. The body looked almost pristine except for the single hole through her head - right in the middle of her forehead. The cops told me it was an execution.
The Bianchi family killed my sister. I think she saw something. Abby was a stranger - an unpredictable civilian who felt no loyalty to the family running this town. I think she was a loose end that needed snipping. Of course the cops were never able to close to the case. The Bianchi family are untouchable. When a rival of the Bianchi family emerged, I listened to the rumors. It was years after Abby was killed, but somehow I made the right friends in the right places. Now my business helps those who look to dismantle my sister's killers.[break]
the roleplayer
But he was no consequence until he addressed her. As she was taking a gulp of her ale, she glanced at him curiously as he spoke to her. He elaborated. A part of her wanted to sigh and roll her eyes, but Mivra was never so impolite. It was bad for business. People asked her things like this. Oftentimes, the questions came from people who had never been five miles beyond their small town borders. They knew of kingdoms and rulers and kings, but they didn't see much of that. They saw horses, and farm pigs, and wood chopping. They wanted to know what heroes lived like. These questions didn't usually come from travelers, though it wasn't entirely uncalled for.
Ultimately, Mivra was an advocate for sharing knowledge. As she put down the mug and licked her lips of the drops of ale, she noticed the ink along his fingertips. He was literate, which meant a lot in these parts. Perhaps a learned man, and Mivra always welcomed an intellectual conversation. The village laggard just wanted stories of swords, women, and fighting. They missed the morals, the overarching themes, the lessons, the harsh realities - all of it.
Mivra tilted her head to the side, silently appraising the man in front of her, but she had a subtle friendly smile on her face - like it was an inside joke with herself. "That depends on what answer you're looking for," she said. "Religious? Scientific?" She rose and carried her mug over to him. "Political?" She smiled a bit. "There are versions with all in one! Some versions speak of Helia drying up the lands to smite the greedy kings. Some say a cult in Lo'Debar sacrificed to the goddess Sinistra and the dark queen is weaving her web of death as we speak." Her tone had turned ominous and she ended with a swig of her ale. "Who can say for sure? Isn't that why everyone loves a good story?" Mivra suddenly put forth her hand. "Mivra."[break]
made by remi of rilla go! and adoxography
