surojas.

The taps in both rooms are running, & the sink basins are unwashed; kitchens are messy things by nature, & the laundry always needs done.

Rolling over, she listens to the sound of another life existing in the next room & momentarily laments its approaching absence.

:Yvaine speaks in parables & lives in rhetoric.

-beauty is true, love is real, & destruction is inevitable-
(they’re called universal truths)

Eurydice paints in red & relief- the bas variety.
(art snob reference for the win)
She’s damn good, too,
but hates her finished works.

‘In progress’is [her element/more her style].

The Rolling Thunder is apprehensive; Yvaine is catching.

...it’s all crazy etc etc...

apenbare.

Enna eradicates weakness; Elsie cleanses the soul.
The twins are witch doctors.


There is no onomatopoeia for the sound the plate made when it hit the wall.
We all break [dishes] sometimes.


Something wicked this way comes.
Show your bones.

virvel.

There’s an awful case of identity crisis going around the Neighborhood- no one is safe. 

Neither M.P. nor The Rolling Thunder are sure which of them is which anymore.
It hardly matters; both are disengaging. 

The Mistress and ESquared are in cahoots.
Enna’s running the show, Elsie’s calling the shots, and The Mistress sticks to cowering in corners and waiting to be called on.

She haunts the halls while Dr. Physician practices his practice, breaking habits & breaking hearts. 

Also: somone’s been trying to resurrect The Master.
Imhotep-style.
Everyone’s more than a little worried.
Voodoo is almost always cause for concern.

terga.

Honora entered in the middle of the story.
Now she gets to be the one who works everything out via an oversized narrative monologue.

Read:
The Mistress won’t be heard from for a while.
She’s off listening somewhere.

The Master is licking his wounds in the recovery ward.
Hedge helps him get the bandage fuzz off of his tongue. 

Liege still plays in his sandbox, bubbling and brandishing his ever-peaceful beam of a smile at the world.

Swivel hides in dark corners.
With The Mistress gone, his confidence has been reduced to ashy flakes.

Elsie & Enna thought they owned their new house.
They were incorrect; they’re still in escrow. 

The neighborhood needs a newspaper.

boira.

The Mistress doesn’t know what to do with her head.
M.P. doesn’t know what to do with her eyes.
Swivel doesn’t know what to do with his feet.
Skye doesn’t know what to do with her smile.
Grier doesn’t know what to do with his soul.
Coggs doesn’t know what to do with his cerebrum.
Skeeter doesn’t know what to do with his shoulders.
The Master doesn’t know what to do with his clouds.
Elsie doesn’t know what to do with her inclinations.
Enna doesn’t know what to do with her cells.
Mismatch doesn’t know what to do with her hands.
Sphinx doesn’t know what to do with her answers.
Liege doesn’t know what to do with his pulse.
Chimaera doesn’t know what to do with his research.
Hedge doesn’t know what to do with Its alterations.

Uncertainty is entirely underrated.
Uncertainty is entirely overrated.

tuhoisa.

 ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones...’

Elsie & Enna are kind of like the 50’s.
They tell people this while wearing their best shared-secret grins.
No one gets it, as planned.

Their parents started the trend of referring to them as The Vowels.
There’s no use for names when they’re never apart.
Sphinx thinks they should just start a band and get it over with.
They’ve talked about it; their first album would be called SidE.
It’s really too bad Enna is tone deaf.

Instead, they bake cupcakes by moonlight while practicing the art of self-delusion.
They’re getting pretty good- Enna has almost convinced herself that she doesn’t think The Mistress is fat.

‘Practice makes perfect.’

mahalle.

The neighborhood is playing Red Rover; the teams are obvious.

Hot dogs burn as alliances are formed on the asphalt battlefield.
The block party was Skye’s idea.
She chirped something about potential while everyone made a game of ignoring her.
They had eyes only for potato salad.

The teams are uneven by design.
Community politics demand it.
The Mistress and The Master aren't speaking; she and Swivel kind of have a thing, though no one understands why they insist on separation.

Halfway through the game, the new girls show up with brownies and hopeful smiles.
Elsie & Enna will make a nice addition to the Femmes.

“Who’s up one now, bitch?”

The Mistress always was competitive.