“Girl, I’m all
for dressing for comfort but I’m ninety-nine percent sure you won’t make it
past the bouncer in those.” Your suitemate, Kara, raises her perfectly trimmed
brow, not bothering to hide the silent judging as she stares at your sweatshirt
and pajama pants as though they’re something entirely alien compared to her
skin tight glittering red dress.
“Yeah, uh, I’m
not going. I forgot I had a project to work on… It’s due three days from
now.” The last part, thankfully, manages to convince her as you wave your phone
in the air as indication that you’ve just found out from your friend; the open
chat says it all.
Or at least
you hope. Because the blue bubbles of the message sent to you definitely do not
mention any pending project or anything close to college matters. The only
guarantee you get of her not seeing the text is her state of half-blind as she
refuses to wear glasses outside of lectures, that, and one of the contacts are
missing. She hasn’t gotten around to visiting the optometrist yet.
sure.” Krystal grins knowingly as she walks out of her room, having heard your
earlier statement. “Ken texted me saying Jin had something come up too.”
Kara lets out
a not so subtle, ooh, that turns into an aww, followed by a
teasing, “When’s the wedding?”
1:12 Margaritas, made from resin. Garnishes made from polymer clay.
I know, I know, there’s no salt. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that salt plus superglue goes funky after a while (it starts turning brown and really gross looking), so until I can find a substitute that looks decent, I’ve left it off. I’m thinking sand would work…if I could ever find white sand at the craft store. :P
I was looking through the Hannibal costumes, and for some reason this is sewn into two of Mason Verger’s suits.
Why is this here? Why is it sewn into two suits that aren’t even from the same brand? Why the hell did the costume people sew pictures of a miniature horse drinking martinis at a bar into two of Mason’s suits?
I feel like every time I think Mason can’t possibly be any more crazy and horrible, something like this shows up.
Write about a subsection of a mythical species. Maybe instead of just mermaids, these are swamp mermaids with films over their eyes like gators. Instead of werewolves, there are Mexican Wolves, Tibetan Wolves, or even Arctic Wolves. Centaurs that are half miniature horse. Vampires that drink life essence rather than blood. What is different about these creatures from the usual suspects?
“yeah, but people don’t just DO that.” her feet kicked up on the coffee table in front of her, she rolled her eyes over towards hanna, drinking her miniature bottle of wine straight from the bottle from a straw. ( it gave one a better buzz that way, something she’d heard only once, but a habit’s been kept since. )
“they don’t just … write stuff about themselves because unless you’ve made it —- no one cares.” it was harsh, but that was her reality, what she’d accepted it to be. she’d dropped out of school, taken off in hopes of making it, and what did she have to show?? nothing. she’d accepted it, but some nights it got to her, those nights when she found herself flipping through the channels, ultimately landing on some old grace kelly movie, settled in to wonder what she was doing w r o n g – venting her frustrations whether her roommate was listening or not.
“sweet of you to call me interesting though.”
❛ hauld on there, lad, ❜ moments ago, hanna had been curled
up on the opposite end of the sofa, attention entirely focused on the carton of
chinese take-out she was rummaging through, as if she were an archaeologist on
the dig of her life – now, the carton was resting upon the coffee table,
threatening to tip over with how carelessly hanna had slammed it down, and the
irishwoman was sitting upright, looking very seriously at her roommate. ❛
that’s a pile’a shit, an’ we both know it. people write about themselves all
the time before they’re famous. who was that lad, fuck… ❜ hanna paused for a
moment, looking to the side, clicking her fingers uselessly as she struggled to
recall the name, ❛ you know ‘em, we listen to ‘em on a fuckin’… did that thing,
the piano song… BILLY JOEL ! ❜ hanna shot a triumphant, and more than a little
smug, look at the other woman. ❛ billy fuckin’ joel, you think he wrote that
piano man shite when he was famous ? nah, mate, he wrote that before he fuckin’
made it, writing that song helped him make it. wouldn’t have made it if he
hadn’t written it, an’ he’s no’ the only fuckin’ one, is he ? away an’ fuck
with that shite, rubes, honestly, ❜
despite the expletives, there was no annoyance or malice in
hanna’s voice – she was aiming for an encouraging tone, though she wasn’t quite
sure if she was achieving it. though their arrangement had once been one borne
of necessity, she now considered ruby a friend, and she hated to see her on
nights like this, pressed down by the weight of the world, of past regrets. ❛
you write a song about y’rself tonight, or tomorrow, or when the fuck ever, an’
i’m tellin’ ye, one day, people’ll be listenin’ to it
twenty-four-fuckin’-seven. an’ sides, this is a negativity free zone, a’ight?
this – ❜ and here she paused to make a wide, sweeping motion with her arm, gesturing
to the room, the apartment, they sat in, ❛ – is a fuck-your-bad-thoughts space.
unless you’re talkin’ bout how the lads next door are a bunch of absolute
wankboxes, i don’t wanna hear it. you’ll get there in the end, babe. promise. ❜
that had been a good pep talk, hadn’t it ? she was proud of
herself for that one. settling back into a comfortable position on the couch,
an unsettling pop-cracksound could be heard, and hanna’s arm fell to the side
of the couch, just a little farther than should have been possible – just far
enough that she could grab her beer bottle without having to move again.
another cracking sound, and hanna’s arm was safely back in its socket, her
grimace of pain hidden as she took a quick swig. stupid ? yes. painful ?yes.
worth it ? probably not, but oh well.
❛ of course it was sweet of us to call y’interesting. i’m a
sweet person. i can do sweet. i just … prefer not to, ❜ she offered ruby a
bright smile, cradling her beer bottle close to her chest, pulling her legs in
to give the other girl room – she had been close to kicking her legs up into
ruby’s lap and just sprawling out. ❛ ‘s’the truth though, isn’t it ? you’re a
freak like the rest of us, ❜ she offered brightly. ❛ you’re interestin’ by
default, practically. bet you could squeeze a song or two outta your life
before here, though, c’mon. y’ever try ? or were y’too caught up in this, gotta
be famous first shite ? ❜
1:12 Scale bubble tea, made from acrylics and resin. Tapioca pearls and straws made from polymer clay. Glasses were bought online.
I’ve had people asking me to make these for a while now, so I finally decided to give it a try. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be - the little tapioca pearls at the bottom showed through well when I thought they’d be lost. The only thing that gave me trouble were the straws. I had to find a way to make them in scale as well as being hollow. Took a few tries but I got it. :)