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Thursday, March 5, 2009

Curse/Or: Living in Hangover City

"Christ," Teresa said jovially, "I look like complete shit." A blood vessel had burst within her right eye, staining the sclera just beneath the pupil a vicious scarlet, and she was examining it in the ladies' room mirror. She laughed hoarsely. "Utter dogshit."

The cold water from the faucet stung her eyes as she splashed it onto her face with trembling hands, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her pulse was hammering in her head, and if she thought about it too long, that itch on the back of her throat made her want to vomit.

She'd just performed the most potent magical act of her life, and it felt like two hours of rough sex. She could barely stand, let alone walk.

She was utterly wrecked.

She felt wonderful.

God damn, she thought with an idiot grin, I'm high.

There was a brief moment upon exiting the restroom when she contemplated making a run for it. The front door was ten feet away, and between her and their table was one of those games where, if you were very careful and fed it enough money, a crane would drop and just barely miss the stuffed animal you were aiming for. It was currently blinking and dinging as a young girl, dressed in entirely too much pink to be healthy, pumped quarter after quarter into it. She was wearing a headband that sported fuzzy animal ears and seemed obsessed with retrieving a plush kitten.

Teresa knew she could be out of the restaurant and across the street before Old Lady and The Nose could react, and away from this entirely too hinky scenario. But it was, in point of fact, precisely that hinkiness which intrigued her. She couldn’t conjure up any reasonable explanation why a twenty-something dork and a retiree grandmother would need a forty year old ex-con, so whatever explanation they gave would be entertaining enough to justify the inconvenience of a forced detour.

Plus, breakfast. Free breakfast. With real bacon.

“Fuck, why not,” she muttered, shrugging. “And if I get bored, I can always break his nose later.”


  1. Nice. You know, something that has been striking me as pretty fucked up (and why Curse/Or got to be a dystopia) is that that the people that get magic are the ones who are the least suited to have it. Basically after re-reading your "magic" article, if I understand it correctly people actually get their power from not only having a screw loose, but also because they're obsessing over the way they see the world.
    So you're not just likely to meet religious fundies, but they're also likely to be magical religious fundies (religion used very loosely here, as in "believing in something absolutely and without question and letting said believe shape your entire perception of the world").

    Also, concerning your twitter:
    A. Heh. Lexx fan.
    B. Who is the chick?

  2. I think the sharp way in which the tension/drama levels of 'oh hells I've been kidnapped' have dropped to 'oh, hey, bacon!' highlights the way Teresa's perceptions/mood have been altered by her 'high' and also leaves things open for them to jump back up again in a startling way sometime soon. Especially as Teresa starts coming down.

    Oh for the love of fluffy bunnies, please no! They [religious fundies... heck that's a funny word...] already think they can heal people by slapping them in the face, if they actually do gain the power to heal people they'll never shut up about it!

    In an unrelated, twitter-type comment I would totally buy a CD by a band named Bøwël Dysfünctïøn.

    Oh and more people should use the word hinky. Starting right now.


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