assassin

photo from dozydawn

but you're never satisfied

you want something that's larger than life

and i give that to you

but it doesn't mean anything

if my love is a victimless crime

templates:

A) dreamlike mimicry & yew tree lessons // +1 to attack

B) idleness and mischief // +1 language

C) new hallow OR old hallow // +1 to attack

D) a sick rose // +1 language

roll three times:

1. kitten-sized mosquito on a silver chain
2. three sets of colored glasses in funny shapes
3. pocket watch with a compartment the size of a baby rat
4. umbrella with a hollow needle in the tip
5. three poison pill rings
6. spotless white silk gloves
7. taxidermy hat that whistles birdsong when the wind blows through it
8. thin tube of lipstick around a razor
9. living spleen in solution
10. pins and the killing jar
11. mourning locket with a compartment the size of an eyeball
12. orb-weaving spider who admires you
13. thorny bouquet of silk flowers
14. tattered veil you can see through one way
15. twenty books of matches
16. ghost of a lapdog in a glass bottle
17. palate of oil paints in shades of lead and arsenic
18. doctor's bag and stethoscope
19. leather briefcase that shudders when stroked
20. pathetically pretty eyes and a face to match

dreamlike mimicry

venomous and poisonous animals can understand your speech. if you can keep them fed and safe, they are happy to stay still and silent, nestled almost anywhere. they'll like you better if you're colorful and careful and cold, glossy-eyed and sunset-still. if they like you well enough, they'll even tell you what they know- tiny secrets of desire and dissolution plucked from the chemical coils of the toxins inside them.

yew tree lessons

poisons and venoms don't deal damage to you, and they impair you no worse than alcohol. their relative potency still matters. you can still drink yourself unconscious or dead, eventually. keep a flask on you– pain will dull to little limbs, something will turn like a pinwheel and rainbow flecks will dance before your eyes. lunch doesn't heal you any more, unless you drink poison. rest too. magical healing has to be chased with a shot.

idleness and mischief

look: face like an angel, eyes like pins in chitin, teeth like grooves in ice, fur like mold in lace, organs like fruits in jam, bones like traces in window-frost, soul like a bug around a needle, voice like a needle. poison in you springs to the surface and stands at attention like iron fillings around a magnet, or children in trouble. it poses on your outside- nail polish and lipstick and glitter and perfume. you can deliver it with a kiss or a caress, or with teeth on their throat or thumbs in their eyes. (you do express symptoms, when you're poisoned or sick, but only very lovely ones– colored veins and wet shining eyes and a red red tongue.)

new hallow...

...is the tongue of bright animals, of the lower airs and upper waters, of green plants and heretic priests and you. it clicks and trills and sings. it sounds like the sun loves you, which is such a pretty thing to pretend it almost makes you want to cry. speak it to someone who understands and give +2 to their reaction roll. speak it in prayer each morning and dress yourself in beaming expressive things and get three secret inventory slots that no one else can ever find, under scarves and sewn into swirling sleeves and in the compartments of your heels.

old hallow...

...is the tongue of deep animals, of the black earth and lower waters, of fungi and surgeons and you. It isn't meant for the air and it shakes like it's cold and afraid. you have to hide it in your mouth and keep it warm and cast your eyes down so it doesn't get sick. when your mouth is full of soil and worms are crawling in your skin it will sound like home. speak it to someone who understands and give +2 to their reaction roll. speak it in prayer each night and undress down to skin and hair and feel your bones bend in the naked dark, so you can squeeze through any hole wide enough for your head without cracking open. 

a sick rose

look: empty hands and open mouths. doors all falling open with the locks hanging. they aren't crying. tears like sled tracks in snow. skin that sloughs. limbs tangled like a tree that died before you were born. punctured with a tap. when it rains again your face will be clean as morning but your fingers will still be tangled and they'll snap and fall to the earth and you won't be able to pick them up again. it won't rain today. i promise.

if you are expressly prohibited from being somewhere, you can't be kept out. hands and mouths and doors and locks are all conspirators. there's no sanctity in the world, and no refuge. remember: you can still be seen, caught, stopped, hurt, kept in. just not kept out.

cadaver on table by hyman bloom