Kiko seemed to hover above us all, forcing the entire crowd to start at the pointy toes of her stilted blue leather boots and follow floral black lace leggings to her lunar skin mid-thigh, tangling our minds deep in a short black and white anime maid's dress, slices of fabric missing which allowed her tattoos to burst through bleeding color. Her hair dyed deep blue where it was not jet black, short where it was not spiked up in a fuck the world typhonic wave.
“Why don't you all shut up?” The room filled into an immediate hush as Kiko snarled, whipping her neck around jaw first.
“You… you just stand there waiting to hear me read the same words that you read to yourself. The same words that you make mean whatever you want them to mean. You think they're written for you, but these are my words. Monika used to say… Kiko you're my porcelain muse, stay near me so I can write. Never shatter.” Kiko licked her lips, fighting the endless desert in her mouth.
“I can't do this.” Choking up with two fingers inserted past the knuckle, Kiko shook Gloom's latest novel like it was an extension of her fist.
“Pale skin and pale words.” Lars rolled his eyes, twitching on account of the unwanted attention. The gawkers that weren't wrapped up in Kiko‟s trance were staring down Lars from all corners of the room.
“What do we do now?” I was getting restless, short-attention span and all.
“Listen.” Hawaii used a roguish whisper to undress Kiko on stage.