Thread: Mercury Milk

The docs had abandoned places. Warehouse 009 through 043 were a wasteland of stray garbage and foam from waves on occasional stormy mornings. Not even the fingergloved, barrel fire clientle of the board side liquor stores would go beyond number seventeen. Some people took comfort from that the way you can find comfort in simple things remaining as they are the house on the hill, the ash rain from summer forest fires - the emptiness of the docs. If a can rolls from the asphalt of warehouse 027 into the water, does it make a splash? But the dieing megacity harbored some vivid chaos in its belly today. Her hair had been gray, an expensive color when you're a young girl. She'd taken care of her roots, never letting them show. Brown eyes on matte, murky whites staring forward, comfortably half lidded. On her back, left arm out straight, reaching for the border with the ten feet drop to the ocean. Hand turned down, fingers spread, wrist rounded and closest to that end of asphalt. The other arm had been more sympathetic with her, going out by the shoulder but retuning in again by the joint of her elbow, resulting in her slightly closed hand touching her hip with its knuckles. Her ribs were higher than her stomach, crating a valley that her breath would never inflate again. Her breasts, tipped by dark tops were painfully stiff, small but not for her frame. Flatter when laying down, but pleasantly round. Freckles above and between them but not on her knife-nose or gaunt cheeks. The pale powder was still there to tell about her vanity. Maybe that made the net of dried up, crusted white pattern that her features were visited by all the more noticeable. And fitting. Impressive amount that had been applied after her last motion. The gray hair - contradicted by the exotic red, thin line continuing upward where the slit of her sex ended - had stuck to some streaks of her pretty, net-like mask. She was narrow in build and it made the bulge of her cunt rise slightly after the dip of her belly. The folds of her young hole still had flakes of her dry lust on them, but perhaps most daunting - to males and females alike - would be the slightly bent formation of them, as if she'd taken something so big she couldn't straighten before the onset of stiffness in her flesh. And then of course the dried out fall of sperm from the low of her sex. The substance had gathered and hardened on her anus and clogged it. Maybe the open state of her legs and the slight wind had somehow worked together to turn seed into a cast on her face and genitals. She had been found when the John Doe had come to see why all the birds had gone to 040. The gossips knew almost as soon as the authorities did. She wasn't beautiful anymore when the police came, nips on her skin and raw indentations in her softer areas telling of a sin the beaks would never confess to. Morgan Allyard drank his coffee as the bluster played with the notes of his colleagues and the hats of the foot patrols trying to keep media away. A particularly large raven flew in quick, squawking and all, to start tugging at her her already distressed armpit. It actually made her body jerk. A brown jacket first timer ran to her aid to scare the omen away, but not without that precious nibble of Sapien spaghetti that it ascended quickly with. Again they tried to cover her up with a plastic sheet. Morgan licked his lips. He still wore a squint over the light, fuzzy shadow on his lower face, as if everything was a bother to his carved features, but this case had his blood quicken faster than the caffeine. His jacket fluttered, black like the bird. Nina Ivory, daughter of someone high up. A damn pretty lass. He drank some more. She had bruises, but not ones that she earned by struggling. Something that not only controlled her, but had her complete cooperation had done this. A monster, if only in his pants, judging by her dilation. Fuck, he bet he could find the murderer by just taking cock size of the entire capable male population. When they ran out of ruler, that'd be their guy. Who do we want on this? asked a scrawny but layered up officer. He didn't seem very bothered. Maybe he was right. This was just another murder in this murderous city, after all. Morgan Allyard coughed once into the arm of his jacket. I've already sent for her.