Mood Swigs Picture

"Simon-"

Leona plopped heavily down on his lap, which wouldn't normally be a problem. Except Simon was sure that this was some kind of contact between two individuals that had some variety of romantic or sensual implication, which confused and disquieted him. Additionally, Leona was still, as she always had been, a great deal more massive than Simon. And the sudden soft impact drew him out from his seemingly unbreakable chain of thought.

The smell of alcohol told him part of the story.

He hoped to deduce the rest of it in good time.

"Looooong day." She sighed. The air hung thick with the Boggart's Brew. A strong scent of spoiled berries and rye. He couldn't see it, but he could clearly recall the geometric cut glass of the blue bottle. That stuff was heavier than Lilith's posterior.

Simon's mind hunted and pecked at the words. Memory searched for familiar contexts to match the inputs to. It didn't take long.

Leona sighed and let out a quiet hiccup, laying back against the air, flopping back off the end of the sofa, her legs extended down it's length, her elongated torso sprawled out over the edge and into the air. She blinked dully, her motions heavy and somber. She took another drunken sip.

"Got a letter." She quietly sighed.

Simon silently applauded his powers of deduction. He then immediately condemned himself. But still held onto a shred of pride for learning to anticipate how Leona might behave. At least he had the excuse of familiarity.

She sat forward, her weight shifting a bit as she slumped, her enormous bust shoving itself into the side of Simon's face. She sat for a moment, trying to piece together some kind of coherent course of action. But at that moment her body said 'drink'. Damn this body.

What had it ever done for her?

She raised the bottle up and thought about taking a sip, then stopping and letting it dangle in front of Simon. She raised a brow and waved it at him. But he slowly shook his head.

"C'mon. Just drink with me. J.....ustify....this daft indulgence...." She mimicked an eloquent method of speaking. One reserved for fairies and nymph socialites. But she was clearly showing her brownie side tonight. "I don't wanna be sober for this."

"Alright, lemme see the letter."

Leona rummaged around the pockets sewn into the sides of her dress, clumsily, due to her own needlework. She found it amusing that Simon's was more adept. Her fingers wrapped around the petite letter, and she passed it to Simon. He pinched it, flicked his wrist to open the folds, and read.

"....who's Blythe?"

"She was..." Leona pinched the bridge of her nose and set, clearly stewing in emotion. With a sigh, she sat the bottle on the hard wood of the floor and let it sit there, figuring this was all for naught. "...m'best friend as a kid."

Simon referenced the letter, but debated speaking when he noted Leona's response. She didn't seem entirely angry. Or regretful. But there was worry in her tone. A wariness.

"Member of the nymph corps...goin' 'round the country stoppin' bandits. Catchin' dark magicians. Saving livessss....all that....all that....that. Yeah."

"...geeze. The nymph corps? Like...the-" He stopped himself.

Leona leaned back and propped herself up on one arm, looking into the candlelit ceiling. "She's coming to visit." She lowered her head and let it flop to her shoulder, blinking slowly. She had downed a decent portion of that bottle. The stuff kicked like a carbine to the tongue and a shotgun to the brain. He could only imagine the depths of inebriation she was sinking to.

"I don't...uh..."

"Simon...gimmie a good word. I'm....soddin'....I'm a little down. I need a sumthin' nice t'be said." She huffed and sat back again. "'bout life. 'er whatever."

"I....um." Simon cocked his head and suppressed a sigh. There had been enough of that. "I am...quite possibly the least ideal person for this task, Leona."

She hung for a moment, as if she were suspended by some invisible set of strings being operated by a laughing puppeteer, marching Leona through a routine reserved for Simon. She drank to unwind and allow her body to relax itself after a long day of hard physical labor. He drank to bring out and derive catharsis from memories of his formative years. What the hell was she doing here?

"She's comin' t'me inn. And she's gonna....she's....gonna.....see Claire and flip out and I....need sumthin' here." Leona sat still, her face reddened, her blue eyes staring into the tangerine weaving of her dress.

"Well...uh...." Simon took a breath. "...is that....uh....are you...alright?"

"...I will be." She curled up around the side of the sofa and began to still her heavy movements. "I...just...don't wanna be lucid for a bit."



"Just for a bit."




Okay, going to try my best to get back into the swing of things. See, I like drawing butts. But it's not, like, fulfilling. In a sense. Because the story and character shit and this little microcosm of a universe I've feebly built-up overtime is something I enjoy making. Sculpting another picture of Lilith's gigantic plush behind is great. Love it. Can't get enough of it. But it leaves me feeling almost like I'm suckering attention out of people by offering them sexiness.

So I wanted to get back to writing.

And this sort of implicit style of world building and character definition that I used to pledge myself to. That I love doing. Because I can sort of plan out and play around with language and character to tell some kind of story.

For some reason.

Okay. Listen.

It's 2.

I'm tired.

I would love to bang on about this art shit but I just can't do anything why did I do this my fucking god.
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