Nico and Marie and The Boys go to mars. This must be the bedlam of its surface, arcing ferns yearning for the sky and plundering the earth with their roots. The deep red that thrives on life until it’s all spent away. They hack at the surface and the ferns writhe in excitement. It’s a fight they came looking for, turning the sky red and stirring the earth into dust.
Amongst A Grove Against The World the girls are boiling and roiling, thick and sweet and salty like oil, like tar, like honey and sweat. They churn in waves together and crash against the Scapegoats, battering Nico until she feels drunk and crazy like she is. But she’s like a stone. But she’s like a fog. They rock her but they can’t get to her. Marie pins one down, drives her daggers through its hands, roars into its face. She’s hotter than them, and she will turn them into mist, boil them into the atmosphere. The Boys dance. The grove quakes. It’ll be a long afternoon.