“You’re thinking beheading?” she asked, settling into her seat. The fabric was cool and faintly sticky from years of use. Overhead there was a balcony that had been roped off because it was deemed structurally unsound by inspectors. Every year, there was a fundraiser to pay for renovations, but it hadn’t panned out yet. The crowd who spent the most time at the Huntridge couldn’t afford to donate, which was okay to Madeleine’s thinking, because the last thing she wanted was for her favorite theater to be gentrified by a bunch of yuppie investors.
“I’m calling castration. We can try to guess what they’re using as testicle debris. I think grape jelly.” She sipped at her soda. “I always wanted to work in a props department. You could experiment with what looks most like entrails.”
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ninetydegrees
no subject
on 2013-09-15 06:35 am (UTC)“I’m calling castration. We can try to guess what they’re using as testicle debris. I think grape jelly.” She sipped at her soda. “I always wanted to work in a props department. You could experiment with what looks most like entrails.”