fiction
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Kilney is almost eighty percent sure Ramshackle looks different. He is taller and instead of his infernal suits, he is wearing a rather fluffy sweater. He looks like an elongated cat that will purr if scratched correctly. Kilney blushes at the thought.
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It has been two months since Ruidan Kilney lost Gimble. When asked how he is holding up, Kilney usually responds in one of two ways: hysterical laughter or a growl that means it is no one’s business. Selling the townhouse is proving to be rather difficult. At the advice of his closest and dearest friend,
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It is the year 1920. Ramshackle has not discovered suits yet and it is dressed in the same fashion as the people around: a loose white tunic that comes to its knees, loose white pyjamas that are a horror to maintain as the ends get caked with mud no matter how careful or fastidious it
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After the disaster of a lunch date, Kilney does not contact Gimble. Not to ask when she plans to honour the contract. Not even to say that he supports her. Because truth be told, he isn’t sure that he does.
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Matru is hiding behind a pillar, eyes shut tight. It’s a normal pillar in so far as pillars go. Except it’s riddled with bullet holes. If Matru’s heart wasn’t beating as fast as it is, they would have assumed they were playing a video game. But they’re not.
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After leaving Ramshackle, Kilney finds himself in front of the townhouse he had purchased as a wedding gift. Even though they couldn’t really afford it, he wanted to make Gimby’s dream of living in a fancy house come true. Because that’s what you did when you loved someone.
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Ramshackle becomes aware of pain in its body. A voice whispers in its ear that it is hungry but it has no means to feed itself. It vaguely recalls a circus, of being formed out of nothingness, not there one moment and corporeal the next. If there is a story to how it got its
tales of Suchita 