Madison Rye Progress

But not as much as this woman loves kettle corn.

“Therapy!” A Finger Pointing exclaimed, waving a hand at nothing in particular. “What a lovely idea.”

“After all that?” Beholden said, smirking. “I am surprised that you have not already scheduled something.”

“I am so dreadfully busy, Beholden. You know that.”

“You spent yesterday afternoon lounging in the auditorium trying every kind of kettle corn you could find on the exchange.”

She sat up straight, staring at her partner like she was some alien creature, some queer thing too dense to understand the importance of kettle corn. “Yes. Busy.”

Motes Played will be out late summer~

I got into SS14 recently and then proceeded to get in trouble on the server I was on (Frontier, for what it is worth) because Odist names Are Not Real™. Turns out that hosting your own server is pretty easy, so, yay. Working on a Lagrange Station server~

Marsh:

It was Tule who broke the silence. “This is all incredibly fucked, but at least the food is good.”

We all bust out laughing. Cress, most of all seemed caught up in the humor, laughing uncontrollably until tears streamed down its face. That laughter briefly veered into hysterical sobs as it hunched over in its seat. We had long since set up a cone of silence, and I think we were all glad for that now, as it made the space feel more intimate, more comforting as Tule and Dry Grass bookended Cress and rubbed their hands over its back.

“Sorry,” it said once it was able to sit back up. Its voice was round, stuffed up. “I don’t even know why it hit me like that.”

“Too many emotions at once?” I suggested.

It shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, that’s definitely true, but I don’t know if that’s why I fell apart.”

“You do not need to know why, love,” Dry Grass said gently. “You are allowed to be a confused mess in this confusing mess of a life.”

Motes Played:

Drawing her attention back to Dry Grass, she smiled, adding, “She calls you ‘Ma 2.0’, did you know that?”

Dry Grass blinked, then burst out in laughter, laughing until once more the tears flowed down her cheeks, until she sobbed, holding herself still on her swing with feet planted firmly on the ground.

Beholden waited in silence. She knew well the mechanics of a hysterical laugh-cry — she had at one point recorded A Finger Pointing falling into such and chopped it into little slivers of half-recognizable samples and haunted an entire album with it, so beautiful had she found it — and while her and Dry Grass’s relationship did not include a whole lot of hugging, she still nudged herself to the side far enough to rub at her cocladist’s shoulder until the tears once more slowed and she was once more able to breathe but for a few aftershocks of chuckling.

Both books come out August first and I am not sorry. Dry Grass is in both, and we can pretend it is intentional.

Post-Self is an iseka– wait.