App submitted to Singularity...

[weaverwove]

I see a tin can a steel can a man can spun like prey twitching fighting rustling squeezing captives of an insane god insecure whimper scream god a god of metal god of broken webs I will fix I will spin and sew I will unrip sassing acetone and grind the fraying fever and make it whole cord of spines not spineless but oh I miss it scissor-snap realm of handled blades and winding fingers speckled alleys bashful training snick and slice.

Comments

[unpunnyandshellfish]

[And they say he can be confusing..]

I'm usually good at this sort of thing but, uh...

...

What?

[weaverwove]

[ She is mournful; she got cockblocked from getting some scissors, man, and scissors are awesome. ]

I was called with scissor sounds to a realm of flesh and knife snick it said come find me and then thieved and whisked and slid to elsewhere popped in a can of air.

[unpunnyandshellfish]

[He understands; he'd never be caught dead outside without his absurdly sharp crab claw.]

Soooo I'm guessing whatever place you're being sent to, you were lured there by something, whatever that something was it was taken away?

...the can of air is some sort of confined space, then? The place itself?

[weaverwove]

Gargantuan prison, pretends to precious speciously.

[renegadephilosophy]

Quit trying to trap me in your steel web of lies and deceit[deceit deceit deceit]. You know as well as I do that my mind is a steel shield and I can cut through all of your words and tricks.

[weaverwove]

Peck he does a fleshling hatchling he insults me and thinks the metal of mind enough to snip a web snip a string of wrought shine frost the foolish little thing.

[renegadephilosophy]

My... tongue is the steel sword of truth! [shinggggg] And with it, I shall steel myself against your steel web of deceit before you steal my life[life life life]!

[Xavier actually pulls a sword out of his mouth and is at the ready.] En garde!

[control_issues]

...I think I see an acid flashback.

[weaverwove]

She has a little badge a glinting painted badge but it doesn't shield the skin that breaks and slakes a thirsty bullet.

[ She gently pats Dani on the head, like a dog. ]

[control_issues]

[The FUCK? Dani is not so invested in keeping up appearances that she doesn't jump about a foot back.]

Now all you need are some grateful dead lyrics to complete the picture.

[weaverwove]

Dead are quiet rotting things not grateful but grated.

[control_issues]

Fine, they're not a band for everybody.

This is too long for the other thing. Am I dreaming? Fall asleep in the middle of one of Crews' stories?

[weaverwove]

Awake lids open and pretty painted lashes.

[ Her hands rub together, an oddly and disjointedly human gesture. ]

[control_issues]

I think that means yes? You know -- what is it with circus performers, insane zen masters, exotic animal salesmen and talking spiders, apparently, that keeps you all from just speaking in a single, coherent sentence?

[weaverwove]

Twist and knot like bits of twine the Circusens contort for sport they squirm like worms in the Circus.

[ Her tone of voice turns delighted. Contortionists, man! ]