Trading Licks For Fire

JournalWord: A cold Hell

::

My fingers are frozen into tight little fists underneath these thin lace gloves. The skin is bright through the spaces between the webs and I worry my fingers won't make it through this winter.

Frostbitten appendages would severely hinder customer appeal.

Angel whimpers beside me, sticking her cold, red nose into my arm as she snuggles closer for warmth. She isn't finding what she needs, neither of us are, but we wrap our arms around each other anyway, watching the doorknobs with dread and hope.

It's warm in there, but warmth comes at a price.

The lamps are dim, and flicker with an uncertainty at our low clientele. We clench our teeth and tug tighter. Our arms wrap around our bodies easily without anything to hold onto except our own hips. Angel shudders under her sheer blouse, tucking her fingertips into the hem of her leather panties, the only real article of fabric that has a chance of staving off the chill. I have no such luck with my own attire comprised of a worn, lacy corset and boa set, and nothing else. I wrap the scraggly boa tighter around my neck, squeezing any ounce of heat the remaining tufts of feathers can produce.

We're not insulated at all. We envy the abundant coats and thick scarves our customers trudge in. They complain as soon as they enter the rooms, immediately ripping off their layers and wiping up patches of sweat. We can only dream for a proper, wool glove.

This rickety bench creaks under our skimpy weight when we shiver. Between clouds of cold breath, we wiggle our toes to fight for circulation. They hang off the edge of this narrow old bench like icicles threatening to fall.

A doorknob down in the shadows clicks as an invitation and I nod my head at Angel. She shakes her head but I untangle her bony arms from my waist and shove her off the bench and towards the door. She squeezes my hand appreciatively and cracks a grateful smile with her full blue lips. A gust of heat escapes before she can shut it behind her and it leaves me envious with its taunt.

Maybe hell is like this, and not warm at all.

::

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Basic Logic

JournalWord: Duodenum.

***

Some time later, Varence is casually walking down the stairs when he slips on a large puddle of blood.

He lands on the floor with a thud and finds himself face-to-face with someone's patella. He turns his head slightly to the left and regards an adrenal gland a few feet away. Beyond that, a kidney in another puddle of blood.

He notes that he is short on kidneys this month and straightens to pocket the kidney. Following the bloody trail of body parts, in search of the kidney's mate, he peers around a corner in the winding hallway.

A heavily bruised and bitten, but triumphant woman cackles as she swings something knobby and purple in the air above her head. Nori sprays droplets of blood onto the walls around her but doesn't take notice, as she's also soaked in drying blood.

"What is this called, Ishin?" Nori haughtily asks, wagging the purple body part in front of a lump on the floor.

"Duodenum," Ishin's severed head answers, sulkily.

"And this," Nori picks up something that is unmistakably Ishin's spleen. "How many of these are there?"

"One."

"So if Ishin has one spleen, and Nori takes it away, how many spleens does Ishin have?" She smirks and raises an eyebrow, tossing the spleen into the air to catch it in her palm.

"None."   

"And if Nori has a spleen, and Ishin tries to take it away, how many spleens does Ishin have?"

"No fucking spleens," Ishin bites out, but hesitates at her menacing glare. "Ma'am."

If Varence had not long ago replaced his own heart, he might have felt a tiny flutter in his chest.

***
I like my little horde of zombies >.<!!

A little blood and gore can't hurt anyone, although I still can't stomach or watch horror films... So many conundrums! :D

Be good, 
Mera!

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