Categories > Games > Zelda > The World in Brief
Title: Turning, Turning, We Come 'Round Right
Game: Twilight Princess, Alternate Universe
Warnings: PG; mature themes
Theme: fags
How do you fall in love with cigarettes and bubblegum?
This is Ilia's Question of the Decade, a sort of sudden shuffling of motives amidst other petty concerns (she knows, she knows - though she feels she's getting better). Last year it was, "What did Jesus know of loving if all he knew was love?" The year before that it was, "What is the missing link between arithmetic and necrophilia?" (The answer always, always, is forty-two.)
She scribbles in Sanskrit and babbles in foreign tongues - at least, it's all arcane speech to human ears, and she doubts Zelda passes the test for patience where her stuttering is concerned. But Zelda doesn't know (can't know, wouldn't know, couldn't care to know) about the woman at the bar, behind her fortress of ale and sentries of chipped glass and all of the barriers age and circumstance has built her. She had looked so sad that day against the back alley wall, picking at gum stuck to the heels of her faded pumps and puffing listlessly at the end of a burnt-out fag, like if God had a moment to distill all of the agonies of unhappiness and prosaics in the bosom of Eve, he'd have placed her here in the grit and the smoky air of a cheap bar and called it Creation: The Second Act, better and more beautiful than any Adam could have hoped.
God, Ilia thinks, God has nothing on that torn leather shoe and the shaky clasp of that old corset, and neither does Zelda, with her perky breasts and perfect heels, and she is drowning in liquid fire and second-hand smoke.
How do you fall in love with cigarettes and bubblegum?
Fall in love with the woman first.
Game: Twilight Princess, Alternate Universe
Warnings: PG; mature themes
Theme: fags
How do you fall in love with cigarettes and bubblegum?
This is Ilia's Question of the Decade, a sort of sudden shuffling of motives amidst other petty concerns (she knows, she knows - though she feels she's getting better). Last year it was, "What did Jesus know of loving if all he knew was love?" The year before that it was, "What is the missing link between arithmetic and necrophilia?" (The answer always, always, is forty-two.)
She scribbles in Sanskrit and babbles in foreign tongues - at least, it's all arcane speech to human ears, and she doubts Zelda passes the test for patience where her stuttering is concerned. But Zelda doesn't know (can't know, wouldn't know, couldn't care to know) about the woman at the bar, behind her fortress of ale and sentries of chipped glass and all of the barriers age and circumstance has built her. She had looked so sad that day against the back alley wall, picking at gum stuck to the heels of her faded pumps and puffing listlessly at the end of a burnt-out fag, like if God had a moment to distill all of the agonies of unhappiness and prosaics in the bosom of Eve, he'd have placed her here in the grit and the smoky air of a cheap bar and called it Creation: The Second Act, better and more beautiful than any Adam could have hoped.
God, Ilia thinks, God has nothing on that torn leather shoe and the shaky clasp of that old corset, and neither does Zelda, with her perky breasts and perfect heels, and she is drowning in liquid fire and second-hand smoke.
How do you fall in love with cigarettes and bubblegum?
Fall in love with the woman first.
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