He squeezed her shoulder as he said goodnight, and her nerves lit up with the electric thought of how those hands might feel elsewhere—skimming her waist, sliding over her hips, gently parting her thighs, with his mouth never far behind, hot and tender, his words long since lost to hungry groans—and all she could do was lean back against the door as her knees melted, look into his eyes, and stupidly whisper, “You, too.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iffylogic for an illustration for my fluffy Transistor fic, "The Flowers of the Afternoon," and she delivered in spades. If you're a fan of the game, or just pretty art in general, please take a moment to look at this gorgeous, serene picture, and the two beautiful characters at the center of it all. 
Monday's child is fair of face
Create: Produce something that focuses on appearance (of a person, a thing, a place etc). Focus on describing and depicting the detail, or the overall impression. It doesn't have to be about beauty or attractiveness in any traditional sense, but whatever it is that is compelling, unique, impressive about the person, thing, place etc. Whilst this prompt is very visual, you can also focus on a non visual aspect of how someone/something appears, the first impression, the feeling, the atmosphere, the striking feature.
Squee: Share something beautiful, compelling, unique, impressive that everyone should see/experience. It could be a picspam of that drop dead gorgeous person, it could be your favourite painting, or a place you think everyone should have on their bucket list to visit before they die or something else entirely.
The opening of Goldwalk Channel was supposed to be a celebration. Inside the gallery, artists, most of whom had never had a say in the city's development and politics, stood, beaming, beside their creations and awaited the first visitors.
Outside, however, a different scene unfolded. A vociferous group had gathered at the entrance to the Channel, pushing their way past visitors waiting to get in, and repeatedly reading a list of seventeen grievances through a megaphone.
Niola tried to ignore them at first, then tried to calmly address their grievances, but the group was less interested in understanding than they were in strong-arming the hours-old gallery out of existence.
( Read more... )"Good morning, Cloudbank," Wave boomed into the microphone before him. "It's 9:35 on a gorgeous Tuesday, and just a reminder: all votes for the general election must be cast before noon tomorrow. Get to your nearest terminal and do your civic duty.
"If you remain undecided, maybe I can be of some help. I've got the intrepid Niola Chein in the studio with me this morning, to talk about the proposal she has on the ballot, for something called the Goldwalk Channel. Good morning, Niola; how are you?"
Niola smiled and leaned toward her microphone. "Very well, thanks."
"So, Goldwalk Channel—what is it? Can you give our listeners an idea of how it will benefit Cloudbank?"
"Certainly, Wave. Goldwalk Channel will be a gallery space between Goldwalk Boulevard and Goldwalk Plaza, featuring art by those whose work and views are traditionally ignored in this city."
( Read more... )Stepping into Bailey Gilande's office was like stepping into another world. A large wooden desk stood in the corner of the room, in front of floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and binders and haphazardly stacked folders stuffed to bursting, remanants of a pre-digital age that Niola couldn't even fathom existing.
Bailey herself was small figure sitting behind a keyboard, dwarfed by both the desk and shelves, another stack of folders at her elbow. A tiny owl perched on the green shade of a desk lamp and watched Niola's approach through enormous eyes. Bailey looked up from her computer with the trace of a smile.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Chein," she said, motioning to the chair in front of the desk, "please, have a seat."
Niola blinked. Bailey's stature belied her voice, which was rich, assured and velvety, a voice that both invited and inspired confidence. Pity that she spoke so little.
( Read more... )In the preview pane on the monitor, the sky glowed a dusty rose color, before flaring into blazing pink. Colorful shapes began to rise from the horizon in all directions—blue and purple and green, lines and triangles and arabesques—then converged above Goldwalk, shifting and snaking around one another before coming together to form an abstract image. Abstract, but lovely; so many images and subtexts could be parsed from it, Niola was sure, each differing with experience, context and mood.
"So, what do you think?" Farrah said, letting the preview fade to black. "I call it 'Perspectives Through Time.' It encapsulates how our ideas and conceptions change over time and with experience. They grow, they merge, they...evolve."
"It's a beautiful piece," Niola replied, still looking at the monitor as if expecting something more. "How long does it run?"
"About an hour, give or take. I'll be drawing some extra images live."
"I'd err on the side of 'take,' if I were you. The Administrators have insisted that the new quarter start precisely on the second."
( Read more... )She knew he liked the rain. She also knew he had no say in when it would fall. Niola met Auden while collecting data on the disenfranchised in Cloudbank and quickly took a liking to him. Hulking but affable, his observations on the city and life in general betrayed an inquisitiveness and intelligence that would have landed him a decent career had he had the opportunity to develop them. Instead, he was part of a legion of Cloudbank inhabitants that, while doing much of the minute, often dirty, tasks to keep the city running smoothly, were not afforded the benefits of citizenship.
Niola was horrified to discover there were so many.
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drabble_zone
