Es fließt durch meine Venen Es schläft in meinen Tränen
[ WHO ]: Possessed!Michael and whoever wants to join.
[ WHERE ]: 7th Floor
[ WHEN ]: 23/04 ; 1900
[ OPEN/CLOSED? ]: Open!
[ RATING ]: TBA
[ WARNINGS ]: Probably going to get quite violent?
[ NOTES ]: If you didn't tag either post but want to join in, go for it!
In the dark, lonely apartment, Sayoko opened her eyes.
Or at least, she opened the first pair of eyes she could find, and knew that those would continue to do. One, she was aware, was looking at two things at once, but if she focused on what the other was looking at, then that was all that mattered. Perhaps there would be a better set, but these would do. The jelly was fixed inside the socket, not melted and running down her cheeks like tears. They had done her well enough for over a week.
She had enough control of the body to move it smoothly, like a person, not a juddering, shuddering mess of poor puppetry. She knew how to work the mouth and could speak with the voice. She could even play with the disguise it wove over its teeth. Most importantly, however, her grip was as strong as the body itself would allow, and that was why she was reaching for the canister she had found on the second night in her new body.
The liquid inside sloshed noisily.
If she had had to haul it up the stairs, it would have been a problem. Fortunately, she could work the lifts - had worked them all of her life - and had been able to shoot her old neighbours a toothy grin when they had tried to hinder her on her way to the seventh floor.
She stood there now, canister in one long-fingered hand, head tilted only slightly back so the matted mess of hair hung off her face. Somewhere, she felt the owner of the body gently trying to sink his claws back in, insidiously attempting to slip by her and resume control. Forcefully, she pushed him back, hearing the silent snap of his metaphorical fingers and smiling to herself. It twisted the lips she now wore, exposing teeth she would quite possibly have been frightened of when she was alive, and would have hidden under her covers in her apartment home at the sight of.
It was a good thing that she was not scared of much anymore, because that place was off limits to her. Most of her previous neighbours had new, largely unwelcome lodgers in their homes, but hers had gone one step further. That tape - that damnable red tape - had been plastered over every surface in hers, covering every single nook and cranny, forcing her out, evicting her like a landlord she had not given rent to.
The thought sickened her. It was her home. She had lived there. They had taken it away from her.
Slowly, she unscrewed the cap on the canister and turned it over. The heavy liquid glugged sluggishly, splattering onto the threadbare carpet. She began to walk the length of the hall, trailing the petrol with her, enjoying the acrid smile as it burned her borrowed nostrils.
She shook the last of it out of the canister just before the door to her old room, making sure to splash some on the wood.
Then she stepped back, reached into the pockets of the jeans her host was wearing, and withdrew a lighter.
It fizzed to life with a pop, and flared brightly as she threw it into the puddle.
[ WHERE ]: 7th Floor
[ WHEN ]: 23/04 ; 1900
[ OPEN/CLOSED? ]: Open!
[ RATING ]: TBA
[ WARNINGS ]: Probably going to get quite violent?
[ NOTES ]: If you didn't tag either post but want to join in, go for it!
In the dark, lonely apartment, Sayoko opened her eyes.
Or at least, she opened the first pair of eyes she could find, and knew that those would continue to do. One, she was aware, was looking at two things at once, but if she focused on what the other was looking at, then that was all that mattered. Perhaps there would be a better set, but these would do. The jelly was fixed inside the socket, not melted and running down her cheeks like tears. They had done her well enough for over a week.
She had enough control of the body to move it smoothly, like a person, not a juddering, shuddering mess of poor puppetry. She knew how to work the mouth and could speak with the voice. She could even play with the disguise it wove over its teeth. Most importantly, however, her grip was as strong as the body itself would allow, and that was why she was reaching for the canister she had found on the second night in her new body.
The liquid inside sloshed noisily.
If she had had to haul it up the stairs, it would have been a problem. Fortunately, she could work the lifts - had worked them all of her life - and had been able to shoot her old neighbours a toothy grin when they had tried to hinder her on her way to the seventh floor.
She stood there now, canister in one long-fingered hand, head tilted only slightly back so the matted mess of hair hung off her face. Somewhere, she felt the owner of the body gently trying to sink his claws back in, insidiously attempting to slip by her and resume control. Forcefully, she pushed him back, hearing the silent snap of his metaphorical fingers and smiling to herself. It twisted the lips she now wore, exposing teeth she would quite possibly have been frightened of when she was alive, and would have hidden under her covers in her apartment home at the sight of.
It was a good thing that she was not scared of much anymore, because that place was off limits to her. Most of her previous neighbours had new, largely unwelcome lodgers in their homes, but hers had gone one step further. That tape - that damnable red tape - had been plastered over every surface in hers, covering every single nook and cranny, forcing her out, evicting her like a landlord she had not given rent to.
The thought sickened her. It was her home. She had lived there. They had taken it away from her.
Slowly, she unscrewed the cap on the canister and turned it over. The heavy liquid glugged sluggishly, splattering onto the threadbare carpet. She began to walk the length of the hall, trailing the petrol with her, enjoying the acrid smile as it burned her borrowed nostrils.
She shook the last of it out of the canister just before the door to her old room, making sure to splash some on the wood.
Then she stepped back, reached into the pockets of the jeans her host was wearing, and withdrew a lighter.
It fizzed to life with a pop, and flared brightly as she threw it into the puddle.