MILLIE, n. (modern, pejorative or affectionate) A working class, harsh-spoken woman, often unemployed (also mil-bag).
MAGIC ANON:
((After some thought, I think I’m going to take a hiatus. My roleplaying has been slipping anyway, and I’ve been spending more time just staring at my replies rather than doing them anyway, which isn’t particularly productive and doesn’t seem to be doing much for my mindset. I’ve been generally rather conflicted about it, as evidenced by a question someone just asked me that I couldn’t find an answer I very much liked. Forcing myself off may allow me to rethink some things as well.
I apologize to anyone I currently have threads with, and I’m sure I’ll be happy to revisit them whenever I return if any of you still would like to. Unfortunately I don’t know whether I’ll be available for the reversal arc: please do not hold it on account of me, and I apologize for committing to something falsely. I don’t think I was very relevant to the plot anyway, so this shouldn’t interfere with anything.
Again, please forgive my absence. It’s been quite fun guys, and hopefully will be again soon. I will be available on my personal and outside tumblr, though I’m also in the midst of various school projects and things that may interfere. I will try to respond when I can, though.
Additionally, to the swarm of lovely anon(s) plaguing my inboxes as of late, I’d ask whether you were happy about this development, but I’ve been doing my best not to care too much what you think.
))
Millie set down her little utensil and reached for the forceps. Her nerves were evident even as she was just taking a bit of lye from its container, struggling to keep from dropping it all on the table before it reached its destination. She finally managed to place it on the first fingertip, letting out a yelp at the sudden sizzling and pops of the flesh as it burned. The girl managed to control her hand enough not to jerk it away, though she cringed and clamped her mouth shut as the smell filled the room. She applied the lye to the rest of the pads much more quickly, hoping to be rid of it soon.
Ples would have held his hand together, one hand curled into the other, up near his chin like a helicopter mother, if he had known what a helicopter mother might be. Instead, he simply watched with bated breath and resisted the urge to criticize, unless a grievous error was about to made. Fortunately, no such mistakes were made. And sigh of relief. Seeing Millie flinch set the gears in Ples’ head turning ((that was a very clever joke, by the way)). He began to wave his hand back and forth, stirring the air, trying to dispel the smell.
It’s unpleasant, certainly. A-a-and a bit toxic, too.
But no worries there.
Oh, well done, Emily. A bit shaky at first, but a clean finish.
He waved his hand a bit more before starting to rearrange the tools and chemicals, tidying up.
Let’s ah, retreat. Let the basement air out a bit. How does some tea sound?
She would have thanked him for the compliment, but she was taking care not to open her mouth or take in the fumes. Instead she gave a rather hurried nod and set the hand down. Millie slipped off her seat and hurried back to the relatively hospitable areas of Ples’ home, going to the kitchen first, under the guise of tea-making but really to run the water faucet to help clear the air and get the fumes out of her nose. She’d been feeling so nice before; she’ hate to tarnish it with nausea.
sodoffyabuggers replied to your post: ≛
((IM SCREAMING IM LITERALLY SCREAMIGN))
((Well what else could it be
Worth and Millie are like as far opposites as you can reasonably expect to get))
One of two things will happen. Either Worth and Millie’s genes will even out into a rather average looking person, or it will be some odd freak show of traits where they’re short but have FREAKY MONKEY ARMS that they use to walk with and like a really weird long torso and would have dark hair but blonde eyebrows and eyelashes so that they look like a creeper and their body proportions would be all wonky and it’s a good thing that they’d be a dhampir or whatever because that thing should be locked in a basement and never see the light of day. They would also probably not talk a lot because they’d end up talking like Worth but would be self-conscious of this fact and no one should talk like Worth.
The kid would also grow up either to be some crazy genius who figures out all these crazy physics theories, or they would be sent to a mental ward for serial killing people and stuffing the bodies with rubber ducks. There is no in-between.))
cdwalker: ≛!!
Undead lizard midget child. Also ginger. Would be brought up to have very conflicted feelings about everything that would mostly revolve around “hell yeah you can do the thing so long as Millie doesn’t know about it” even though Millie always knows about it and is always unamused by it. Might have shown promise academically at a young age, but would probably end up becoming burned out and would begin slacking as they reach adolescence, perhaps only later falling into something they like doing out of pure chance (and later would be much later, as I’m assuming they would have some manner of extended lifespan, meaning that they could be like a little fuckhead for about seventy years before getting their shit together and working at the Alligator Farm. Have you guys ever been to an Alligator Farm? I fucking love the Alligator Farm.)
((or just any character, really. If you want to do this on anon.))
(Source: wolverinelogan, via keepcalmandsingyourswansong)
There we go…
Ples slid off his own stool and gestured at the empty space, indicating that Millie should seat herself there.
It’s relatively simple. Just, take, ah, th. The. Uh.
He nodded at the dismembered hand and fingers.
And you cut the pads. It’s important to keep the cut shallow, no deeper than the first layer of skin. When you’re finished, use the forceps to take a small bit of the lye and put it on the open wound, and it will cook the tissue.
Millie hopped up and looked at the setup. Carefully, she reached for the odd cutting utensil of Ples’, her position a bit awkward even without the limitation of the oversized glove. She was always rather afraid of sharp objects. The knives in her kitchen, even dulled with time, worried her. Back when she had a kitchen.
She was thankful for the glove, however, once she reached for the other hand. She didn’t want to feel its skin. She didn’t want to think of it as skin. It was rubber, those cheap little toys they sell in the pop-up stores the month before Halloween. You bump into the pile on accident, jump and scream a little, then laugh at your foolishness. It was foolish to be afraid now.
Her first cut was painfully slow, so careful was she not to cut off too much that the blade hardly went through. And when she pushed, the skin tore in unsightly chunks. “Oops,” she said with a cringe, looking back up at him and holding out the uneven sliver.
There was a small fog of fatherly pride around Ples’ head. He just chuckled and plucked the cut skin from her hand.
That’s fine; it’s only your first time. I know it’s…unseemly at first. Just try to separate from the. The material. And take your time. Best to go slowly and get it right. No one will find us here.
He patted Millie on the shoulder in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.
With a nod Millie turned back to her work, fresh determination setting in and edging out the disgust. The second finger went painfully slow, the slight cuts only showing a slight indent toward the end. The third was smooth, and by the end she’d managed to get it all in one even slice, if perhaps a bit slow. Given enough fingers and enough time to train her wrist, she might get quite good at it. Unfortunately she hadn’t killed enough people for proper practice.
She held up the hand for examination, a small smile on her face. “This okay? Now we do the—the lye, right?”
Obviously pleased, Ples smiled and nodded.
Good work for a first attempt. Very good indeed. Yes, take some lye-
He tapped the glass container.
And be extremely careful. Just a little bit for each pad. It’ll cook right up.
Millie set down her little utensil and reached for the forceps. Her nerves were evident even as she was just taking a bit of lye from its container, struggling to keep from dropping it all on the table before it reached its destination. She finally managed to place it on the first fingertip, letting out a yelp at the sudden sizzling and pops of the flesh as it burned. The girl managed to control her hand enough not to jerk it away, though she cringed and clamped her mouth shut as the smell filled the room. She applied the lye to the rest of the pads much more quickly, hoping to be rid of it soon.
There we go…
Ples slid off his own stool and gestured at the empty space, indicating that Millie should seat herself there.
It’s relatively simple. Just, take, ah, th. The. Uh.
He nodded at the dismembered hand and fingers.
And you cut the pads. It’s important to keep the cut shallow, no deeper than the first layer of skin. When you’re finished, use the forceps to take a small bit of the lye and put it on the open wound, and it will cook the tissue.
Millie hopped up and looked at the setup. Carefully, she reached for the odd cutting utensil of Ples’, her position a bit awkward even without the limitation of the oversized glove. She was always rather afraid of sharp objects. The knives in her kitchen, even dulled with time, worried her. Back when she had a kitchen.
She was thankful for the glove, however, once she reached for the other hand. She didn’t want to feel its skin. She didn’t want to think of it as skin. It was rubber, those cheap little toys they sell in the pop-up stores the month before Halloween. You bump into the pile on accident, jump and scream a little, then laugh at your foolishness. It was foolish to be afraid now.
Her first cut was painfully slow, so careful was she not to cut off too much that the blade hardly went through. And when she pushed, the skin tore in unsightly chunks. “Oops,” she said with a cringe, looking back up at him and holding out the uneven sliver.
There was a small fog of fatherly pride around Ples’ head. He just chuckled and plucked the cut skin from her hand.
That’s fine; it’s only your first time. I know it’s…unseemly at first. Just try to separate from the. The material. And take your time. Best to go slowly and get it right. No one will find us here.
He patted Millie on the shoulder in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.
With a nod Millie turned back to her work, fresh determination setting in and edging out the disgust. The second finger went painfully slow, the slight cuts only showing a slight indent toward the end. The third was smooth, and by the end she’d managed to get it all in one even slice, if perhaps a bit slow. Given enough fingers and enough time to train her wrist, she might get quite good at it. Unfortunately she hadn’t killed enough people for proper practice.
She held up the hand for examination, a small smile on her face. “This okay? Now we do the—the lye, right?”
