eff' that, i'll take fifty!
#8
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In a tower of steel Nature forges a deal To raise wonderful hell
      She watched his body move between the fingers of an assortment of drugs that she couldn't name if she tried, but understood from arm's length. Intoxicants of every and any sort had drawn thick, colourful lines and designs down the timeline of her life, from a pothead mother and her rock star lover, to a band of hippiesque werewolves that partnered with several substances amongst their dances across history, music and the stars that they followed. They had taken her halfway from hell to home, teaching and showing her the surrealist, river-flow lifestyle that remained a strong influence on her life today. But it had been the music, the blue fiddle and the man with nimble fingers that had lifted her feet off the ground, not the drugs.

      Still, they held a kind of magic that she felt a complexity-distanced fondness for, if only because she had not spent the time later in her life understanding it, the way she had many other natural magics. When she took her fill of the stranger-man's face and shoulders, chest and hands, she turned her attention to his bottle and bag, and with it, this incomplete understanding of the substance he was riding high on. He too changed his focus of attention on the same beat, and after one of silence, she asked outright, "What fairy dust are you flying by on today?" Her gold dusted eyes flicked up to meet his again, always outstretching a line of easy, precise eye contact when she spoke to him. Building bridges, reaching for a connection.
Table by Tammi!

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