no, not at all.

there's a storm coming.

yaya coughs and spits out his tobacco.

Something shifts in the dark.

lotta words just to say temptation's a bitch.

my parents? the one good thing my papa ever did was teach me how to fight. all he knew was violence. he was a boxer, 'fore he signed up for some war in the midwest on the wrong side. sad shell of a man. tried to teach me about god and purity, goodness and all that, like it fixed his bullshit.

bit 'o' both. hey, where's that smile for me, huh? *c'mon*. you *wanted* this, remember?

you're gonna be on your best behaviour and wear your best dress. you're gonna see *stars*.

hey, get up. we're going on a road trip. @allthewrongpieces.bsky.social

you ever get . . . like, uh, bad thoughts? stupid thoughts you know are stupid? @allthewrongpieces.bsky.social

the branding one?

i doubt all of those.

i thought you'd never ask.

mmmmm, crow.

they'll build statues of me.

where's your girl?

someone is inside our house.

he knows what he must do, if she will not come. slinking, bending, the body twists in its own fashion upon the axis of movement. no, she will come to him. she will receive his delight like every other.

all day he has been miserable, barely moving unless he must.

yes i do. you're gonna meet 'em one day soon.

my family's gonna love you.

i know you can hear me. i KNOW you can hear me.

SHUT UP.

stupid freeside whores. they oughta teach you not to mess with kings. i hope you left it in a dumpster. i mean, what do *they* know about being king?

Это ты. После стольких лет это ты.

you-- do-- . . . you have a kid?

what, you think you have a choice?

i have a present for you. @allthewrongpieces.bsky.social

lucky 38. that glimmering godless testament, both protector and punisher of the city of sin. for most of its existence, it had thrived on mystery, the roulette wheel seen before the sun across the west's skyline. some wondered if it was possible for a taller building to survive the bombs.

( he's clearly hurt, looking at anything but her, but he says nothing as he carries on looking around. dust dances in his torchlight. )

what's your problem?

y-you . . . please. your face. you-- you gotta help. i-- i don't . . . i don't *want* this, i don't . . . *want* to be, to be, me. i was-- she's so evil. she just wants bad things, she makes them all me. every time i look in the mirror i hate him. i'm not me.

what?

we kept animals. hogs 'n' brahmin 'n' the like. my favorites was the chickens. it was weird, though, 'cos no matter what my papa tried, there musta been some creature, eatin' away at the chickens an' nothin' else.

i don't wanna do bad things. my mama didn't raise no sinner. my papa made sure i knew right. but they was scared of me, real scared anyway. they swore i had this voice that wanted bad things, but i didn't i was good the whole time. did what i was told.

don't call me knave. i am good. i am good. i am.

some haunted house this is. @allthewrongpieces.bsky.social

queers. ( 'the wolf' and his gang ride out. )

( he spits on him. ) whatever, toots. smart move. now you'll live to tell your grandkids about the day you met the big bad wolf.

now i know you're fucked in the head.

the end times.

NOW, bitch.

pfft. 2000, no less.

show me the caps or i'll drop this on those curls.

let's see your caps, doll. ain't no charity in vegas no more. by order of red.