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Oct 20, 2019 4:47 PM
honeysuckle rose unboxes jeanne
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Alarmed headshake. Covering the small incision scar on her throat protectively.

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“Mm. No voice, no pen...is a keyboard okay, hon?”

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The expression on Jeanne's face could be the emptiness of trauma. Or it could be the flat look leveled at someone being very, very slow. It's hard to tell.

She sits on her hands.

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She sighs.

“Don’t blame me for trying, hon.”

She pushes the shot glass aside.

“Is this also something you’re attached to?”

She gestures to her face.

 

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...this is the new and exciting flavor of panic you get when you ask someone if they're attached to their head!!!!

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It takes her a second.

“—the tattoo, sugar.”

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...ohhh.

 

A few deep breaths later, she slowly points at each individual letter of the tattoo.

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...there are a lot of ways she could take this, and she likes none of them.

“Making sure everybody knows?”

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Nod.

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“And, honey, is that to help them or punish you?”

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Nodnod.

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“...well. Punishing you isn’t going to do anybody much good.”

She picks up a rag, out of habit, and starts to wipe the counter down.

“You don’t want to hurt people. Is that right, hon?”

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...she does not immediately indicate assent to this proposition.

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“Mm, well, that’s a little trickier, then.”

She retrieves the shot glass again and sets it on the cleaned countertop.

“It would help if you could tell me more about your situation, but that doesn’t seem like it’s on the table.”

She inspects her fingertip and then hovers it over the shot glass.

A bead of golden liquid wells up on the pad of her finger.

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Jeanne watches this process warily.

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The drop oozes down off her finger like honey.

The moment it hits the alcohol underneath, it melts into it, giving off a warm glow that subsides quickly into a faint shimmer.

“Do you think it’ll be dangerous, if you use your words?”

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Raised eyebrow, slight tilt of the head: it could be.

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She laughs.

“You can’t hurt me here, hon. And there’s nobody else with us. If you still want it gone when you’re ready to leave, I’ll personally take it.”

She slides the shot to the girl’s left.

“So, if you change your mind, there it is.”

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She contemplates the shot. Warily.

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“Do you want an off switch for that one?”

She produces another shot.

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...she's still pretty suspicious of this whole endeavor, but ...

 

... she takes the first shot and sips it, tentatively, in exactly the manner one doesn't with a shot.

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It tastes like alcohol! Which is pretty gross! Luckily, she only has to take a little for it to start working.

There’s a brief tightening sensation in her throat as her vocal folds seal back together.

“Thanks, sugar. I really do appreciate it.”

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She touches her throat, gingerly, and moves her lips for a moment before producing any sound; when she does speak, it's in a whisper.

 

"Who are you?"

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She laughs, low and quiet. Despite the volume, it still seems to fill the room.

“I’m Honeysuckle Rose, hon. The one and only. I do change, transformation, perfection.”

A golden spark leaps between her fingertips.

“The question is what perfect is on you.”

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"My papa taught me better than to say 'I wish' to a demon."

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