• Any current thread with @cantusecho (or at least keeping the relationship they’ve built up)
• Any current thread with @sandsofchaos (or at least keeping the relationship they’ve built up)
• Any current thread with @streetxcat (or at least keeping the relationship they’ve built up)

     Springtrap snorted. This greek mythology thing really wasn’t his cup of tea. Also, this was getting to close to his own situation, && it was making him highly uncomfortable.

“D-d-drowing re-re-eally would be mu-much worssssse ——- b-b-b-but drowning f-f-f-from one’s blo-blo-blood - so-sounds amusing to me-me-eeee!!”

     The animatronic slightly tilted his head, yellowish eyes piercing the woman. His mind already did the job for him && imagined her dying the same way he just described.

“MAYBE  do a bake sale or something to raise funds. I’m pretty good at baking stuff,” he said, trying not to brag. “Hey, aren’t you in Dr. Bahner’s class? Meg, right? I’m Ryan.”

    “Maybe fer a lovely lookin’ lass like ye, but fer a pirate fox wit’ my reputation, bein’ cute would serve me no purpose.”

Abigail’s smile grew lopsided. “People would probably call we ‘guarded types’ sad, but I call us prepared. You won’t see me forking over my heart the way I forked over my trust, that’s for sure.” Brightening at the topic of her book collection, she nodded. “Oh yeah, definitely. Well…I don’t mean to toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve been collecting books ever since I could read. And I love sharing them, just so long as my books are ultimately returned to me.”

Laughing softly at Meg’s joke, Abigail followed her out into the hallway. “Yeah. Heaven forbid we actually show a human side for a change.”

Something to do? Hibiki didn’t think that far ahead, probably because she didn’t expect Meg to ask or even consider the idea. So what could she offer? What was available to do down here? Did she have any sort of past time activities?

The young teenager prodded her brain, literally poking the side of her head as if that would get it going. “Well, uh, aha,” she started out awkwardly, “…what is it that you like to do with your free time?”

‘ I’m gonna be honest here and tell you that it’s   almost too much work and sometimes it does   shit without your permission. also, it bites, and   changes styles and hates being brushed. the   plus side is that it’s helpful in a fight but really,   that’s it. ‘

          had a rough time, is having a rough time, will be having a rough time for the next.. how long does it take for ptsd to go away? or for memories to fade? can they ever really? she likes to think so. deb likes to believe that maybe there’s a timer somewhere, counting down until she can get through the day without a xanax or the nights where she doesn’t lay awake listening for suspicious sounds until two am. she likes to hope that maybe, one day, after she has suffered enough, that a switch will flip and brian moser will never have existed to her. it’s UNBEARABLE to consider the alternatives; that he will only go away after years and years of slow fading, or perhaps that he will never really go away at all. no, these thoughts are too devastating. debra doesn’t entertain them.

           ❛ yeah, ❜ deb half whispers, half CHOKES out in response. some people just don’t deserve to breathe. it’s funny, because even after everything, had deb really wished he would die? when she walked into the apartment, saw him there with his throat slit, did it bring relief? maybe, but it was the same relief she would have felt seeing him get a life sentence in prison. she isn’t sure it’s right to decide that he didn’t deserve to breathe. maybe he had, once. ❛ maybe you’re right. i guess i don’t get to make that fucking decision. ❜ she hangs her head a little, nails tapping at the bar counter top, feeling nauseous. whether it’s from the memories or the drinks is unclear.           she’s going to need to call a taxi for sure. 

The reassurance made her feel better but the words Meg offered made sense. There were various things Hibiki wished she had handled better, or changed, but there’s no way to go back. Now if she meant current events, then Hibiki wouldn’t be able to understand. With all the people Meg, apparently, had to watch over down here, that meant they would be stuck forever? It was sad to think as such. 

“I…guess that makes sense. Though sometimes, don’t you wish there was something you could do? Or, at least, make it a bit easier for people down there?” Though that could just be how Hibiki felt but who knows? Maybe Meg wished to but was restricted. 

weakncss:

“It’s a lot better than the wars, at least.” Meg remembered the crusades from centuries ago, remembered the men and women and children swarming to the underworld. Often they were still squabbling away over it, ghostly forms trying to damage what could no longer be damaged, even past realizing there was nothing to be done. Some still held grudges - enough to keep them in her meadows and away from her fields. Meg followed Shadow’s lead easily enough, watching the crowd carefully. One of the men they passed seemed to pause, to stare at her vacant eyed, and a slight humming assured her that they would meet in a few hours. She wasn’t sure what he saw. Probably the Reaper, if that was what he expected.

“A lot of things are better than wars.” Shadow said. He had taken part in a war, although it hadn’t been a very serious one and had only lasted basically one battle. He had been quite handsomely paid for it though, and hadn’t killed anyone, which is something he was proud of. He hadn’t killed anyone, to the best of his knowledge, and he couldn’t think of a wound that he had inflicted on anyone that would kill them, unless they were particularly dumb about getting it treated. Meg probably would know better than him if he had killed anyone, although he had no idea of that at the time.

Shadow led her into the cafe, barely noticing the man who stared at her as her passed, imagining that he was probably staring at her body. She wasn’t exactly the most endowed woman he had ever met, but she did have wide hips and a very slim waist, which did make her look very curvy. So he simply assumed that they were staring at her body as he lead her inside, leading her to an empty table and taking a menu to look at what was on offer.

                         SHE FOLLOWED, moving to her feet and then remaining still.  She was stiff from having just been sitting for so long, but Cat knew they were about to start walking, so no need to stretch just yet.  No need to dust off, either – she was a dirty girl.  No amount of DUSTING would fix that.  Her hands had grime e t c h e d into the cracks that ran along her palm.  Fingernails were almost painted with the brown and black coloring of asphalt and trash.  On top of which they were bitten to the nub or simply broken from lack of care.  It had been around a week since she had last managed a shower.  Even then, the water pressure had been pitiful and cold, leaving it mostly to just be a chance to rinse her hair some, the WILD tangles already returned, sending her hair into a frenzy about her head.

                      It was rare for people to believe she had a home life at all.  Most thought her as a runaway.  Others figured she just lived with a boyfriend who couldn’t pay for proper items due to a CRAPPY job.  Then there were the people who thought she was addicted and chose to be out there bartering for her next fix.  The last amount realized she was just homeless and didn’t think about where she came from.  Very few, it ANY, had ever considered she had been abandoned.

                                                   There was also those that suspected her of criminal                              activity.  To which they were RIGHT.  Though she was on a much                              smaller scale now  –  no longer with the ring where she had dealt                              with drugs and heists and, unfortunately, killing.                                             Cat was a bad girl, but she wasn’t HEARTLESS.

                     At the question, small head raised to look upon her companion.  Sunken gaze was apathetic, too tired to bother with braving an emotion in the chill of a light wind.  Hands were dug deep into her pockets while she remained still, a stature that looked as if it could s h a t t e r on the breeze and clothed in fabric too big for it.

                                                     “There’s a burger joint two blocks south.  A Chinese                                 place jus’ down the road over t’our left.  Then a couple Mickey D’s                                an’ the like jus’ scattered round the corners.”

Here is this.

If you voted for Clinton, I don’t hate you. If you voted third party, I don’t hate you. If you voted for Trump, I don’t hate you.

Given the choices, you went with who you thought would be best for the country. Regardless of whether I agree with you or not, I’m not going to hate you. That seems defeatist to me. That’s the sort of rhetoric that is just going to fuel more hatred and anger.

So, I don’t hate you. This election was tough - every election is tough - and I believe you put just as much thought and weight into your decision as I did into mine.

And if you chose not to vote, I won’t hate you either. I’ve been in that position. I understand.

In that same manner, I hope that you would not hate me based solely on the person for whom I voted, regardless of who they may be. Hatred does us no good. It will only make things worse.