OPEN | prompt one | RAIN

[wrens]

prompt one | R A I N I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain - and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.

 

Comments

[dogmas]

[ It's nice, Madchen thinks, seeing something so tiny and meek grow to become something as broad-shouldered and tall as Kid's turned out to be. The world doesn't nurture things anymore, not the way that it used to, and on the rare occasion that someone's able to tease some life out of the fallow ground, it always comes up crooked and stunted. (There's nothing the Event hasn't touched, even now.) But Kid's proof that there are still good things to be had, that there's hope in children and that Mother Charlotte gathers only the best and most deserving.

Running her hands over her rain-damp arms she touches her hair, pushing it back from where it hangs in her face in whiteblonde, wet-grey stands. ] Favorite thing 'bout the rain?

[ She mulls it over, her head moving tunelessly as if listening to unheard music. ] Ain't nothing that can't be washed clean by the rain. If'n you've got enough of it, I'd wager. [ She talks a lot about being washed clean; Madchen does. There are sins for which she'd like to be forgiven, some of which she's guilty of but most of which she's not. It's the hook that Mother Charlotte's driven into her heart and it's the lead by which she drags Madchen and Johnny around. ]

[shaped]

[ Kid looks at Madchen from behind still-young eyes, dark and unreadable to most at times. He might be determined to prove himself a man, but there are still corners of his mind that have been and will forever be babied by a number of their group. Too many times has he been comforted by her to not have grown to think of her as some kind of foster maternal figure. That he can barely remember his own mother now, his biological mother-- his eyelashes flutter as he blinks away the thought and returns to the woman he can reach out and touch if he needs to.

But comfort isn't necessary at the moment, the rain pelting down against the ground a chorus of sound that feels satisfying against his ears, especially when he switches the containers over. The sound of water against plastic and glass sounds even better, a percussion section against the otherwise temporary silence of the wasteland. ]

'nd the Guilty? [ The ones who Mother Charlotte warns them against, the ones she's always warned them against. Kid spits on the ground, the look of pure disgust creeping over his features synonymous with any mention of them. ] Not them. They can't be washed clean by nothin'.