(no subject)
3/8/07
Post 3 ( http://community.livejournal.com/outsideinn/1113.html)
There's a too-thin girl with waist-length brown hair hanging loose and falling over her face like a curtain, obscuring her wide (and confused) hazel eyes standing in the lobby. She's in a tank top and flannel pants, and obviously she wasn't expecting to be here... wherever 'here' is. Her hands are shaking a little, and there are track marks in the crook of her left arm. The first thing anyone is likely to notice, however, are the fierce red scars running the length of both her forearms.
"This... isn't hell," she says slowly to herself.
All she can do is stare.
Cast: April Cornwell, Faith Lehane, Peter Wiggin
"And it's not the library, either."
"Jesus Christ!" There's a 14-year-old brunette, skinny and bruised, staring at April from a table near the door. "You okay, lady?"
April blinks a bit, and turns to stare uncertainly at the 14-year-old. She's a little out of it. "Um... I'm dead, right?" She should be. The door was locked, and no one was home, and that was a lot of blood...
".......I don't know? I'm sure as Hell not. This place is really fucking weird."
Thinking. Thinking is good. Too bad drugs and blood loss make it hard to think. Or something like that.
Peter is still disoriented, but...in spite of a brief try at going back the way he came, he's clearly not in Kansas anymore. Or Greensboro, North Carolina.
"Well... two down," she supplies. She still has her sense of humor. That's good.
Peter smirks just a bit. "That leaves us..." Pause. "A lot of places, none of which are where I should be."
"Same here." April crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of the scars and eager to hide them. "What the fuck's going on?"
And she promptly gets them noticed, and filed in his mind. "I don't know." He glances around. "And I have a...paper I have to turn in." More like an article to turn into a paper, but that's beside the point. After a brief pause, he notes the arms again. "And...are you alright?"
"No. Yes. I don't know." April sighs and ducks her head, the better to hide behind her hair. "I'm supposed to be dead."
Blink. "How does that work?" You know, people are usually either dead or not dead. Either that or they get called prophets. Take your pick.
"Well, generally when one slits their wrists and bleeds out in the bathtub when nobody's home, they die," April snaps a little. You'll have to forgive her - dying and then being not-dead (apparently) haven't put her in the best mood.
Blink. About a half-second to process that, and... "I'm sorry."
She just shrugs. "What was your paper on?"
Uh...
Peter does some fast thinking on how to cover his arse. "It was on an upcoming election for one of my classes." Which is complete BS, but it's an effective cover: The article was supposed to be on the expected political impact of a bill Congress had passed, and it was supposed to be for an online paper based about six states away.
"Sounds boring," she says, wrinkling her nose. But then, she's an artistic type, so... "Where's... where the fuck are we?"
"Apparently it's called the Outside Inn, and shit just kinda shows up when you want it. Fed me, anyway. I just got here."
"It... like, out of thin air?” This is sounding more and more like a pre-death, blood-loss-and-drug-induced hallucination.
"Yeah. Gave me a steak and fries. I know, it's fucking bizarre, right?" Faith is very easygoing. She's warm! And fed!
"So you just... think of something you want, and it appears?" This could prove helpful...
"Yeah. I mean, don't know if it'd work for everything, but it gave me food and a blanket."
April thinks about heroin. Nothing. Of course, heroin is illegal, and maybe she can't imagine illegal things into existence. Which isn't fair if it's her own hallucination, but she isn't really thinking straight. She tries cheesecake. A slice of real, amazing, New York cheesecake. With strawberries. And then there just... is cheesecake with strawberries. April's eyes widen behind her hair. "Wow." I need a fork, she thinks, and as she thinks it, there is one on the plate. "That's fucking awesome."
"I know!" Given what Faith was running from when she came here, it's a good thing she doesn't know what April just tried thinking of. "Best place ever."
"Mmm..." April sits and takes a bite of the cheesecake. If she can't get drugs, it's not going to be the best place ever. But right now, she has a slice of the best cheesecake ever. Which is evident given the little moan and eyelash fluttering.
"...damn," says Faith, watching her. "Haven't seen somebody look like that since the last time one of Mom's boyfriends visited."
That gets a bit of a blush. "I can't usually afford good cheesecake," she explains after swallowing.
"I've never had it. I'll have to take your word."
There is dotting. And April holds out the plate. "Try this," she orders.
"My mother's an alcoholic," Faith explains, taking the fork. "Most of the money she makes goes for beer. And feeding herself. I'm kinda an afterthought." She takes a forkful, and bites. And then moans. "...oh. Oh, wow."
"Glad you like it," April grins a little. It's tempered by the information about the poor kid's mom. And the fact that addiction is addiction, and she knows now to be careful not to let her know about hers. "Um... I'm April."
"Mmm." Faith offers her hand. "Faith. Lehane. Nice to meet you."
"You, too." She shakes. Don't mind the slightly trembling hands. Or the scars. Or the track marks. Really.
Faith notes the trembling hands, but chalks it up to lingering surprise. And, you know, possibly being dead. This also explains the scarring.
Quite likely. "How old are you, anyway?" April asks curiously.
"Fourteen." Faith grins sheepishly. "Barely."
April just stares for a moment. "Shit, you're just a kid."
Faith snorts. "Lady, I live in South Boston with a mother whose idea of a good time is a rousing game of Get Drunk, Throw Your Empties At Your Kid and Then Fall Over. I ain't been a kid for a long time."
"Yeah, well I ain't been a 'lady' ever," April retorts in a rather good imitation of Faith's accent. "I'm only 21, anyway."
Faith laughs. "Okay. I won't call you lady if you don't call me a kid."
"Deal."
Post 3 ( http://community.livejournal.com/outsideinn/1113.html)
There's a too-thin girl with waist-length brown hair hanging loose and falling over her face like a curtain, obscuring her wide (and confused) hazel eyes standing in the lobby. She's in a tank top and flannel pants, and obviously she wasn't expecting to be here... wherever 'here' is. Her hands are shaking a little, and there are track marks in the crook of her left arm. The first thing anyone is likely to notice, however, are the fierce red scars running the length of both her forearms.
"This... isn't hell," she says slowly to herself.
All she can do is stare.
Cast: April Cornwell, Faith Lehane, Peter Wiggin
"And it's not the library, either."
"Jesus Christ!" There's a 14-year-old brunette, skinny and bruised, staring at April from a table near the door. "You okay, lady?"
April blinks a bit, and turns to stare uncertainly at the 14-year-old. She's a little out of it. "Um... I'm dead, right?" She should be. The door was locked, and no one was home, and that was a lot of blood...
".......I don't know? I'm sure as Hell not. This place is really fucking weird."
Thinking. Thinking is good. Too bad drugs and blood loss make it hard to think. Or something like that.
Peter is still disoriented, but...in spite of a brief try at going back the way he came, he's clearly not in Kansas anymore. Or Greensboro, North Carolina.
"Well... two down," she supplies. She still has her sense of humor. That's good.
Peter smirks just a bit. "That leaves us..." Pause. "A lot of places, none of which are where I should be."
"Same here." April crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of the scars and eager to hide them. "What the fuck's going on?"
And she promptly gets them noticed, and filed in his mind. "I don't know." He glances around. "And I have a...paper I have to turn in." More like an article to turn into a paper, but that's beside the point. After a brief pause, he notes the arms again. "And...are you alright?"
"No. Yes. I don't know." April sighs and ducks her head, the better to hide behind her hair. "I'm supposed to be dead."
Blink. "How does that work?" You know, people are usually either dead or not dead. Either that or they get called prophets. Take your pick.
"Well, generally when one slits their wrists and bleeds out in the bathtub when nobody's home, they die," April snaps a little. You'll have to forgive her - dying and then being not-dead (apparently) haven't put her in the best mood.
Blink. About a half-second to process that, and... "I'm sorry."
She just shrugs. "What was your paper on?"
Uh...
Peter does some fast thinking on how to cover his arse. "It was on an upcoming election for one of my classes." Which is complete BS, but it's an effective cover: The article was supposed to be on the expected political impact of a bill Congress had passed, and it was supposed to be for an online paper based about six states away.
"Sounds boring," she says, wrinkling her nose. But then, she's an artistic type, so... "Where's... where the fuck are we?"
"Apparently it's called the Outside Inn, and shit just kinda shows up when you want it. Fed me, anyway. I just got here."
"It... like, out of thin air?” This is sounding more and more like a pre-death, blood-loss-and-drug-induced hallucination.
"Yeah. Gave me a steak and fries. I know, it's fucking bizarre, right?" Faith is very easygoing. She's warm! And fed!
"So you just... think of something you want, and it appears?" This could prove helpful...
"Yeah. I mean, don't know if it'd work for everything, but it gave me food and a blanket."
April thinks about heroin. Nothing. Of course, heroin is illegal, and maybe she can't imagine illegal things into existence. Which isn't fair if it's her own hallucination, but she isn't really thinking straight. She tries cheesecake. A slice of real, amazing, New York cheesecake. With strawberries. And then there just... is cheesecake with strawberries. April's eyes widen behind her hair. "Wow." I need a fork, she thinks, and as she thinks it, there is one on the plate. "That's fucking awesome."
"I know!" Given what Faith was running from when she came here, it's a good thing she doesn't know what April just tried thinking of. "Best place ever."
"Mmm..." April sits and takes a bite of the cheesecake. If she can't get drugs, it's not going to be the best place ever. But right now, she has a slice of the best cheesecake ever. Which is evident given the little moan and eyelash fluttering.
"...damn," says Faith, watching her. "Haven't seen somebody look like that since the last time one of Mom's boyfriends visited."
That gets a bit of a blush. "I can't usually afford good cheesecake," she explains after swallowing.
"I've never had it. I'll have to take your word."
There is dotting. And April holds out the plate. "Try this," she orders.
"My mother's an alcoholic," Faith explains, taking the fork. "Most of the money she makes goes for beer. And feeding herself. I'm kinda an afterthought." She takes a forkful, and bites. And then moans. "...oh. Oh, wow."
"Glad you like it," April grins a little. It's tempered by the information about the poor kid's mom. And the fact that addiction is addiction, and she knows now to be careful not to let her know about hers. "Um... I'm April."
"Mmm." Faith offers her hand. "Faith. Lehane. Nice to meet you."
"You, too." She shakes. Don't mind the slightly trembling hands. Or the scars. Or the track marks. Really.
Faith notes the trembling hands, but chalks it up to lingering surprise. And, you know, possibly being dead. This also explains the scarring.
Quite likely. "How old are you, anyway?" April asks curiously.
"Fourteen." Faith grins sheepishly. "Barely."
April just stares for a moment. "Shit, you're just a kid."
Faith snorts. "Lady, I live in South Boston with a mother whose idea of a good time is a rousing game of Get Drunk, Throw Your Empties At Your Kid and Then Fall Over. I ain't been a kid for a long time."
"Yeah, well I ain't been a 'lady' ever," April retorts in a rather good imitation of Faith's accent. "I'm only 21, anyway."
Faith laughs. "Okay. I won't call you lady if you don't call me a kid."
"Deal."