monday's child is fair of face (2/2)

[palfriday]

CW: death, probably gore, possibly more TBA

[and that’s what you missed on glee.

and so, there “Friday” is, standing on the roof of the bar. the attention of the party has surely turned to her by this point, but she doesn’t care about that. she just needs one person to still be a little too distracted to stop what was coming next.

Monday snaps her fingers, and Jenny disappears from wherever she was standing before, reappearing directly in front of Monday, who embraces her from behind, an arm wrapped firmly around her middle. those with enhanced senses might catch what she whispers, seconds before she snaps Jenny’s neck so hard it hangs at a 90 degree angle as Monday kicks her, her corpse toppling forward onto the deck below.]

Surprise, bitch.

[well, there. unfinished business settled. onto more pertinent matters.]

Let’s get a little more comfortable first, hm? Can’t waste too much of her magic, but audiences love a quick change.

[she snaps her fingers, and Monday finds herself in an outfit that is far more to her taste. now. time for her grand performance.]

Greetings, foolish mortals! You may or may not have noticed that things have been a little bit different this month. While the Captain is off having a good old bitch cry about whatever it is he’s so upset about, poor little Friday was running herself ragged keeping this shitheap floating! She was so distracted, in fact, that she happened to have a little accident, while fixing something in the elevator shaft! [a laugh] I guess even clay bitches can break their necks! And there I was, sitting in Fucking Nowhere, doing Fucking Nothing, feeling Fucking. Nothing! And I saw her empty shell. And I was, like, hey, free real estate!

Whatever tear in the veil that your whiny little Captain just didn’t feel like fixing? I ripped that fucker right open. And you’ve all met a few of the sorry little fuckers that fell out already, hm? [another snap] Not all of them, but, hey, that’s what now is for, right? Because, see, we all kinda got together a little bit, and we were like… You know, just borrowing some shitty bodies to have some fun for a few weeks? What a waste! And we still have a lot of bitches we need to spring from jail!

And that! Is where you assholes come in! And, trust me, you are all assholes. Have you even seen some of the psychotic shit you people have said and done to us? Like, yeah, Mary is legitimately insane, but she’s still a kid! Even I’m not gonna call a fucking nine year old a bitch!

You can try to run, but I fucking hate running in heels, so I made that a little bit… difficult. So. Why don’t you nice people just lay down and let us kill you. I’ll be gentle. Promise.

[perhaps people have tried to flee already. they likely have. and they’ve found that the entire party area has been blocked off by the same sort of barrier that surrounds the realm, an invisible orb holding them captive.]

Now. Let’s get the actual party started!

Comments

[tempingainteasy]

And much like a Magikarp caught in a Bind attack, Jean continues to take damage as April keeps their arm pulled tight, grinning with the kind vicious bloodthirsty rage that only comes out of years and years and years and years of dealing with the public and with the most intolerable coworkers and management that only government work can harbour. Years and years and years and years of smiling and nodding, of answering anything with a required level of politeness, of struggling with help calls transferred cold and contextless directly from the call center, of being bossed around like they're less-than, of rearranging a storage room or a file cabinet or an office only to be told to take it all out and do it again, of submitting suggestion after suggestion after suggestion of better ways of categorizing the myriad of horrors on the planet and being turned down over and over and over again for a system that was outdated in nineteen-fucking-hundred, of having no one show up to cover their lunch or of being pulled from a task to work the front desk, of having to listen to people berate them over the phone because they had the audacity to call them following up on a report that household submitted, of working in a windowless underground office for most of their life and most of the year, of being micromanaged to the second by the most infuriating man to ever crawl out of the earth, of relying on an elevator that can't even fully line up with the right floor let alone the right dimension, of sentient swarms of ants eating stealing their lunch and reference librarians who give them the runaround, of watching themselves stray further and further from their origin and passion as they force themselves into a square hole, of never! Getting! Their fucking! Raise!!

April realizes suddenly that the splashing has stopped.

Slowly, the relax their grip on their arm, staring into the mess of a face that once belonged to Bash, and will again when he wakes up next. Will it be weird to see him again?

After another moment to reflect, April leans forward and peels the fingers of their severed arm open, and then slides their arm free. Separate from them, and with only themselves as witness, it dangles limp like paper, and is as pale as it... except for when the light hits a certain way. Then it looks like something else, but April's familiar enough with it not to get hung up on it.

First, the reach into their face, pinch about the middle of it, and with some gentle wiggling and a firm tug, they pull their head back into roughly the right shape. They slide one knee up and put one foot down, then another, then stand. They shake their arm and shoulders out and stretch their neck, and then they look down again at what they've done.

"You know? I think I get it now." April says to themselves. They're a passive predator, mostly parasitic if they're being lazy, so they haven't really been this close and personal before.

The rush is unbelievable. Hopefully, the version of them back home gets to blow off some steam like this one day.

For now, April slings their busted arm over their shoulder, scoops up the bottle of tequila, unscrews it with one hand and takes a drink of it as they find a way out of the promenade. Time to see if the sundries store has any tape, or if they're going to raid Friday's desk.