inbox.

[sophielicious]

SOPHIE CUCKOO INBOX

un. fiveinone -> justsophie | voice, text, action

dwbi

CODING

Comments

[sophielicious]

Down one level. I like him.

(He is, after all...)

Oh. He's mostly the most cocky, arrogant, petty, ridiculous little bitch I have ever met. You're not gonna like him. I'm pretty sure he's not gonna like you. He's a shit stirrer, and I don't think your shit is easily stirred.

[cache_coeur]

Different scales.

[Sciel likes almost everyone. She has to really like them to sleep with them. And this situation sounds... interesting.]

I'd like to see him try. What's his name? I'll introduce myself the first chance I get and see for myself, because it sounds like you're trying to spook me.

[sophielicious]

(Sophie does not.)

Oh, we're lowkey, so here's my proposal. Get to know the people from my world, there are some here. Find his obnoxious ass, and then I'll tell you if you're right.

[cache_coeur]

[Sciel blows a flippant raspberry, but she smiles, too]

I'll play! But I'll laugh if he's hardly any nastier than you are.

[sophielicious]

Girl. Trust me. I'm super nice. I've never even insulted you once!

No, but legit. Let me know. And when you figure it out, remember you can't judge me much, your complicated affair of your own chooses to live on a tree.

[cache_coeur]

[Sciel has her mug halfway to her mouth when she laughs, and she has to turn her head away briefly.]

I happen to like outdoorsy types! But yes, yes, I’ll let you know.

[sophielicious]

Oh, my God, fuck no, Sciel, absolutely not. I have eyes, you know, I think Verso is delicious, love that for you. I would fuck and ghost forever, what if he wants to camp out? Fuck under the stars or some shit? Grass? Sciel, grass burns? God forbid.

[cache_coeur]

[A foolish thing to have told the world’s most indoor girl, honestly. Sciel just shakes her head, amused.]

Grass stains? Really? In my books you can’t say you’ve really wanted someone until you’ve seen them at their absolute filthiest and still thought about shaking their joints out.

[sophielicious]

Different point, I agree with you on that one, but my point actually is — aren't you like, thirty? What about your joints? Have you considered comfort? Cripes, girl.

[cache_coeur]

Not a problem if you stretch and keep active! And where do you think I was getting laid on the Expedition? We were camping the whole way!

[sophielicious]

That's different, and both of us know it! You had to make an executive decision, that's fine! I get that! But! Look, forget specific partners right now. Bed or grass. Come on, girl.

(She's gulping the rest of that whiskey. She needs it, okay!!! It burns!! And the face she makes is a super scrunched up one, but look. She's right. Sciel can't take that away from her.)

[cache_coeur]

[Sciel laughs, gesturing with her mug.]

Neither, because I’m never going to have to choose between them in practice! A bed is comfortable, and I love to fall asleep in someone’s arms, but I’m not going to wait to get to a bedroom if the mood strikes! Sometimes the grass is where the moment is.

[Especially with her current roommates.]

[sophielicious]

Look! You're rigging my game! My point is, grass sucks, not that no one would fuck on it when the feels hit! My point is, comfort is important. He is choosing to fuck on the grass. Do you see what I'm trying to say, Sciel? Do you? Girl!

(Breaking News: Girl With Semi-Public Kink Talks Shit To Her Bestie, The Lion, The Witch, and The Audacity of This Bitch.)

[cache_coeur]

[Sciel sits up a little straighter, feeling the pleasant shift of the earth beneath them with it as the whiskey goes right to her head.]

I do but mon coeur, I will make love anywhere. Grass is nothing. Where I am, my lover is, and we’re together in it, and a man who will kneel on bare rock for you is a man committed to your pleasure.

[sophielicious]

I'm not disagreeing at all, you see, but you are only proving my point further. Wait, what were we talking about before all this again?

(What was it that Sciel wanted to talk to her about... Damn you, alcohol.)

[cache_coeur]

The identity of your lover.

[She’s moved on from whatever else she wanted to talk about.]

[sophielicious]

Oh! Right. I said I wasn't going to tell you and that you were going to have to sniff him out, bring your findings to me, and I'll tell you if you're right or not! Right, yeah. Ugh, 'lover'. Weird. 'Bane of my existence', 'significant annoyance', or 'evidence that karma is real' is more accurate.

[cache_coeur]

[Deeply amused:]

What’s wrong with “lover”?

[sophielicious]

French people and their big emotions and their poet mouths! It's too... Sweet? Assertive? Soft? Yikes?

[cache_coeur]

[With a little lean in:]

Too sincere?

[sophielicious]

Gross. Too inaccurate.

[cache_coeur]

[She raises her mug.]

Too sentimental when you don’t feel like you can risk it! I can’t relate but I understand.

[sophielicious]

No, no, see? Inaccurate again!

(Screw the mug, she's drinking from the bottle, somewhere Emma is either really devastated or really proud, and she doesn't know which. It's whatever.)

'Lover' implies, well, love, duh. I don't love him. I sorta like him. I'm happy just being around him, but love? Nope. He doesn't like me at all or trust me, which, honestly, good! He shouldn't. The way he gets when he likes someone irritates me back to my grave, and considering I've literally died to be, or while being, a bitch to him, if he did trust me, he'd be super insane. So, lover? Off the table, babe.

Implies a level of gross sentimentality we just don't have, should have, or want to have. Ugh, chills, bad chills!

[cache_coeur]

[Sciel shakes her head, unperturbed.]

It does not imply that at all! A lover admires. A lover makes love to you, they can love you but they do not have to be in love with you. It can be for a night or a week or a lifetime, even if you can’t or won’t be together. But if it’s not for you, then it’s not for you, I still understand.

[She puts her mug out. Pour, share.]

Are Americans that afraid of a word? I don’t have another word for it.

[sophielicious]

Oh, God, again, the French and their poet soul. All that you said there? Deeeeeefinitely not us.

(Too strong of an idea, for starters. Sophie is horrified by the idea of 'love'. Love feels a little like weakness, vulnerability, offered on a silver platter. She was taught always to have the upper hand, and where does that even leave her? At the whims of someone else? Horrifying. Not to mention the fact that connection is all she knows. She stood on ten feet, and her individual traits so strongly irked some of unit that it caused her death. Caused heartache. Headache.

To connect again? To give someone such power? To be 'Sophie Cuckoo, girlfriend of X or Y'? To have her own feelings and thoughts again, so impacted by another, when the ones she did have never really mattered in the first place, to anyone?

Horrifying. Gross. Nope.

At least she is pouring. Someone kept the class, good for Sciel for not ditching the mug.)

It's not the word, it's the situation. And, yes, you do, except just keep using your poet mouth for high sentimentality! I'm sure you could come up with something. I came up with several! Significant annoyance really deserves a prize, and I don't think you gave me enough credit!