Zlaw's Echo

She could have gotten lost in the intricate patterns on her dress for hours on end. Truthfully, she actually had. On several occasions, too. Both on the bodice and the skirt, and down to the train, every single piece of lace was delicately hand-woven into the tiniest unique shape. Minuscule characters - people, birds, even horses - seemed like they were floating around among the flowery loops and abstract curls traced across the white fabric. There were sequins and pearls of various sizes sewn into layers of tulle, themselves here and there folded with origami-like precision into more frilly decorations. To put it simply, no square centimetre of the whole garment, including its considerably large veil, was the same as another. The reason for this level of sophistication was that generation after generation of her fiancé's family had added their very own personal touch to the ensemble. As she had been told, it had first started with a very plain three-hole dress. From there, ever...

Two hooded silhouettes are walking along a muddy path in a dark forest, hands in their sleeves. "'Oops'. I cannot believe that you said 'Oops'," grumbles one. "It just came out…" mumbles the other, apologetic. "It did. And is that not precisely the main cause of our current predicament? The fact that you just let things out of your mouth?" "What else do you think I should have said?" asks the accused, to which the accuser throws their hands in the air. "Pretty much anything would have most probably been better than 'Oops', including not a single word at all! This is the kind of onomatopoeia one lets out when spilling coffee, or salt, or sugar. Maybe a jar of pearls, or buttons, or something of the sort. At most when knocking over a knock-off vase, or rubbing shoulders with a stranger in a crowded street. Those are incidents worthy of an 'Oops'." "I did say I was sorry. You did hear me apologis...

At the sound of a heap of fabric being dropped onto her working station, in front of her, her eyes rose from her current task to see what had been brought to her. After having considered the mangled stack of textile for nearly a minute, she then lifted her gaze a little higher, to the young man who had deposited it. "And what do you expect me to do with this, exactly?" she asked. "Please, fix them," he pleaded, smiling sheepishly. At least he was being polite about it. She liked him. He was not a bad kid, but by everything sacred, did he ruin a lot of garments! "How? I cannot even tell what any of this used to be…" With the tip of the pencil she had been using to sketch sewing patterns when he had come in, she lifted a few pieces of material here and there. She was trying to ascertain the damage, but she could not make heads or tails of anything. This bit could just as well have been underwear as a coat. She considered herself experienced, but she di...

Au domicile Quanto, comme laissé sous-entendre par Strauss, il y a effectivement un peu plus de monde que d'habitude autour de Mae. Ce n'est pas le plus de monde qui a été accueilli ces derniers temps, mais la concentration des individus à un seul endroit augmente la sensation d'envahissement. Assise sur son lit, du côté du pied, la jeune fille laisse Gregor, sur un tabouret en face d'elle, ajuster un brassard sur son bras. Autour du pas de la porte, Ben, Andy, et même Chad sont présents, chacun pour une raison différente, et chacun l'œil sur cette raison. L'intervention de Ben dans la baignoire a provoqué une vague de réactions diverses et variées. Pour le scientifique à lunettes, par exemple, certains examens sont enfin possibles, et il ne s'en prive pas. — Est-ce que c'est vraiment encore nécessaire ? se plaint l'adolescente au bout d'un moment. Elle n'est pas usuellement réfractaire au procédé ; son impatience à l'idée d'enfin p...

She must have opened that trunk a million times as a child. Whenever she visited her grandparents, regardless of the season, she would always ask to be allowed to play in the attic, and then she would lose herself in the giant piece of luggage. They had never seemed to mind. She did not remember when it had first caught her fancy, but she knew it was the only item in the room that ever had. Maybe that was why it was the only thing that had always remained in there, like a reassuring constant? Either way, she used to spend hours on end rummaging through the treasures contained within the large chest: pieces of clothing, old hand-written letters, broken mechanisms, bits of jewellery, and even a few leather-bound volumes. She used to love the smell that emanated from it all. She wondered if it was all still there. Maybe her grandparents had added things to the lot, over time? Kneeling next to the antique coffer today, she felt sad that she had stopped playing with it so long ago. Unlik...

"Hey! Bolt!" "Yes?" Skylar was lying on the bed, on her stomach, her chin resting on her fists. She was watching her captor clean one of his numerous weapons, as he often did. He didn't even turn to her to reply. "I have a question for you." "Shocker…" His eyebrows rose, but he still wouldn't look in her direction, focused on his task. "You know, given the fact that you're the only person I've been in contact with for weeks, and the amount of time you spend here with me, I don't think I ask that many questions, on average," she objected to the taunt. "Just ask; get it over with." "Were you really drinking ice tea, the night we met?" That made him pause. He had not been expecting that. "That's your question?" "It is." "Well, considering you were all up in my personal space that night, like you have been many times since, I think you should already know the ...

In knee-high socks, shorts, and her largest and comfiest hoodie, Solène was considering a shoebox of memorabilia, on the kitchen counter in front of her, with a glass of red wine in her hand. When the microwave beeped, she put her drink down behind her, and went to retrieve her instant dinner from the machine. On her way back to her contemplation, she did sprinkle the cardboard plate with shredded cheese, to give it the slightest semblance of something home-made, but that was all the sophistication she granted her meal. Without taking her eyes of the pile of souvenirs again, she took a sip of her wine and then took out a fork from a drawer to plant it into her still fuming food. Her document-shredding apparatus had already been transplanted from the working area of her apartment to the kitchen, and it was now standing at the edge of the counter, next to the fateful shoebox. This was Solène's ritual. She had come up with it fairly early in her life, and it had always hit exactly t...

"It's just a sting." That's what he had thought whenever getting a vaccine. That's what he had thought every time someone had been gratuitously mean to him. That's what he had thought whenever having his blood taken, either for testing or when donating it. That's what he had thought of every single bee or wasp attack he had stupidly been the victim of. That's what he had thought when he got frostbite because he had put his hand on a frozen handrail, once, without wearing gloves. Paradoxically, that's also what he had thought every single time he had burned himself with a match, a candle, a lighter, a frying pan, or the sparks of a fireplace. That's what he had thought whenever getting his fingers stuck in any kind of door or hinges, as well. That's definitely what he had tried to convince himself of what few times a girl had broken his heart. That's what he had fought himself to believe whenever someone he loved had died. When the bu...

Caesar n'attend pas la fin de matinée avant de quitter la maison. Sans que ce soit une mauvaise chose, il n'a pas repris ses marques à l'identique, depuis son retour. Même s'il n'avait pas fallu s'acclimater aux nouveaux visiteurs fréquents, y compris celui au permis de séjour prolongé, il ne pense pas qu'il aurait vu ses pénates de la même manière de toute façon. C'est lui qui a changé. Et puis, il a dû maintenir Jack distrait. Pour toute l'envie du tatoué de lui faire confiance et respecter sa promesse de ne pas creuser, il conserve une bande passante qu'il vaut mieux occuper, par précaution, ce qui représente un travail à plein temps. Autant dire que le grand brun n'a plus vraiment l'habitude de traîner chez lui, et il n'a par conséquent pas eu le loisir de se réapproprier les lieux en bonne et due forme. Il n'a cependant pas vraiment à s'en plaindre, puisque justement, jusqu'ici, il avait mieux à faire que de hanter so...

Gerard sneaked into the apartment hastily, closing the door behind him both as fast and as quietly as he possibly could. Getting rid of the building concierge after convincing her that there was nothing amiss had not been easy, but he had managed it. He didn't like having to distract her in the first place, he would have much preferred being in a position to come in in her absence, but they were running out of time in their investigation; they needed to get in there today. And if he had left his partner to chat that woman up, it would have been a total disaster. He might have directly taken her to that door himself! Having caught his breath after this tense moment, the investigator finally took in his surroundings. The hallway was so orderly that, for a second, he wondered whether he might be in the wrong unit, before remembering he had used a key to get in. Needless to say, this was not the tidy environment he had expected. Hearing clinking noises, like bottles being put in a tr...

My whole life I have been told and showed very clearly that I am not enough. But on the other hand, I have also been made to understand that, somehow, I should be. And it has nevery really been made clear what "enough" is. I feel like I do my best, like I apply to every task set in front of me. I was good at school, getting good grades and never getting into trouble. History and Geography were not my strong suits, but Maths, Physics, Biology, those subjects made sense to me. I was not remarkably brilliant at any of them, but I did fine. I enjoyed languages, too. As extracurriculars, I did my very best to rise up to every challenge; I can swim, ski, ride a horse, shoot a bow, shoot a rifle, ride a bike, … The only thing I ever truly spectacularly failed at was music. I was put through music school, even though I had absolutely no aptitude for it, and it got to the point where I ended up hating it and blocking most memories of that time. I do enjoy listening to music, dancing...

Carla entered the hospital room with a cross look on her face. Frowning, lips pressed together, she went up to her fiancé and slapped him on the shoulder with her pair of gloves. "Ow!" he complained playfully. Laughing hurt a bit, with the few ribs he had cracked in the accident, but he managed. Most of the damage was with his right leg, which was in a cast and currently propped up. "Serves you right for being such an idiot!" she told him angrily, crossing her arms, now. "Would you please calm down? I ride a motorbike; it's hardly bungee jumping." "Calm down? Don't tell me to calm down! Look at the state of you! Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been?" She gestured to him, lying there, with scratches on his temple and jaw, all bandaged up beneath his hospital gown. She wanted to be relieved that he was conscious and not permanently injured, but all she could think about was the fact that he could have been. She co...

Markus descend les escaliers, et tombe nez à nez avec Jena qui fait son entrée dans la maison. Ses autorisations ne lui ont jamais été retirées par le maître des lieux. Il n'a pas eu l'occasion d'y réfléchir d'abord, et il estime aujourd'hui qu'elle peut toujours en avoir besoin de temps à autres. Il est surtout question de venir s'enquérir de l'avancement de la situation de sa petite sœur, mais aussi parfois de s'assurer que tout se passe toujours bien avec le prisonnier que ses mentors ont laissé sur place. En veste de cuir malgré la chaleur, la jeune femme réajuste rapidement sa chevelure en y secouant ses doigts. Toujours quelques marches plus haut qu'elle, son ex s'efforce de ne pas se laisser distraire par ce simple geste négligé. — Jen ! il s'exclame, surpris de la découvrir là. — Markus. Salut, elle répond à cet accueil en souriant doucement. Ils ne se sont pas revus depuis une semaine. Pas depuis son retour en furie de la fau...

The three men closed the rusty warehouse door behind them, in a great creaking sound. Their faces were covered in dirt, and they looked stern. They came to sit with the rest of the group, in the middle of the great hall, letting out a heavy sigh as they did. Everyone remained silent for a little while, staring into nothing. "Why did you call him Starfish?" asked one of the younger boys suddenly. "You never asked him?!" This idea seemed to bring the shadow of a smile to the lips of the three dirty men, as well as to those of some of the other older gentlemen in attendance. "I thought I might insult him or something," pleaded the youth, embarrassed. "Er… How do I explain this?" The man looked around at his companions of similar age, trying to find the words. One of them volunteered to help him: "Starfish are creatures that live in the sea. In water, like a puddle, but much much bigger. And salty. Before human civilisation collapsed, pe...