finalflight | psl; [the healing process]

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psl; [the healing process]

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF ELLE GRAYSON is generally a normal one, with enough variety sprinkled in throughout the week to prevent it from becoming a deadly dull routine. She lives in a flat in London, a charming little one bedroom and two bath, not particularly large, but cozy. It’s a strange fusion of modern and old fashioned, a dichotomy that reflects her own personality quite well.

Every morning, she wakes up and makes a cup of strong coffee. (Black, no sugar.) Her cat, a grey, long-haired, grumpy looking thing, lazes on her bed for longer than she does, only trotting out when he’s ready to be fed. His name is Paladin Leeroy. Sometimes she just calls him Lee.

When coffee and breakfast are a thing of the past, Elle usually hears chirping on her balcony, a structure small but laden with potted plants. She will open the doors, and sometimes, if she’s in a particularly energized mood, will announce, “Your Queen has arrived! Court will now be held,” and the little sparrows will chirp at her, and line up in a row. She’ll feed them birdseed, or bread, if she’s run out. Later, Leeroy will bound out, but she always tells him to leave the birds alone until they’re done eating. He listens. They always fly away before he gets a chance to do any real harm.

Lately, she’s been working part-time at an advertising agency, writing and tweaking copy that slides across her desk. It isn’t the most fulfilling job, but it pays the bills, and that’s what matters. Her real work is her own writing; freelancing for various websites, and poking and prodding at the idea for a book, slowly trying to force life into the narrative. Sometimes inspiration strikes her, and she sits and writes for hours at a time, until her eyes begin to strain, and she has to stop. Other times, she grows tired and can’t seem to string words together at all, and her word document looks a bit like this:

And then stuff happened. Everyone died tragically but it was fine, because it was thematically appropriate to the narrative.

ugh ugh you suck

That always gets deleted at the end, of course.

Crammed in the corner of the living area is an upright piano, white and well-used. Sheet music sits scattered on its stand, and an acoustic guitar rests on the floor next to it. There’s a television, of course, a flat-screen that looks larger than it actually is in her apartment. Connected to it is a Playstation 2, a blu ray player, and little else. On the shelves above, there are books — so many books. Mostly horror and old classics; copies of Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice look particularly worn.

The shelf next to it is stocked with board games. Tabletop and family ones, alike. One in particular is even out of its spot, instead spread out on the little glass coffee table. It looks as if a campaign hasn’t been started yet, though someone’s been flipping through the manual quite recently. Maybe quite frequently.

Her bedroom is small, but the bed is large and roomy. There are pictures of friends and family on the bookshelves in here, and a few on her nightstand. Beyond that, she keeps this part of the flat a little messier than the rest.

GENERALLY, SHE LIVES A RELATIVELY NORMAL LIFE, quiet and cozy. Sometimes living by herself is a bit lonely, and the time difference means that she cannot call her mom and step-dad any time she likes just to hear their voices. But like all things, these emotions pass like any other. Perhaps the only real oddity in her life are the strange surprises she sometimes finds on her balcony. There were a family of raccoons once. A possum. A falcon, who looked lost and confused when she opened the door, turning its head at her, blinking. There were even rats, but they only sniffed the air in her direction, and did little else.

Elle Grayson is just a normal 26 year-old, with a magnetism or two that might be considered abnormal. Perhaps that’s the extent of the oddities in her life. Perhaps this is all she could ever really wish for.

Perhaps she’ll be proven wrong, sooner rather than later.

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D I R E C T O R Y;

➤ a reunion
➤ a cat
➤ a novel
➤ an outing
➤ a resolution
➤ a sickness
➤ a home
➤ a boyfriend
➤ a horror

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He could have landed anywhere really. It just needed to be a place where rain wouldn't fall on him, where the wind would not whip at his wounds, where he could just rest. He's tired, he's beaten, he's sullen. He would not have not used the word humiliated because he doesn't have the same sense of pride man would, but the fact of the matter is, that's the closest descriptor of his current state right now.

He's in the city. He sees a window. No people inside.

Glass shatters and a large crow, the size of a big dog destroys a window and sticks a landing onto the sofa. It has flown a long way and it's exhausted. It didn't care who lived here, it didn't care if humans came in and tried to beat him away. He just wanted to lie down.]

[It's early Christmas morning, on the weekend nonetheless, and Elle is sleeping in her bed, warm and cozy as can be. She's dreaming of something -- a far away land, maybe. Or a solar system light years away. Her dreams switch and meld into one another, as they often do. She mutters something, lightly-

And then there's a loud crash coming from the living area of her flat. That wakes her up.

She startles, gasping, sitting up in bed, her hair in her face. Oh god, what was that? Her heart races, adrenaline already beginning to pump in her veins. Did someone just break her window? Is she going to get robbed?

She gingerly gets out of bed, dressed in colorful fox-print pajamas. She looks around for a weapon to defend herself with, and... well. That vase there will have to do. Grabbing it, she makes her way to the door and quietly... quietly peaks out.

Elle doesn't see anything, but there's broken glass on the floor. No other movement. She frowns.]

Hello...? [She calls out, vase held up, ready to swing if need be. From this angle, she hasn't noticed the giant crow on her couch just yet.]

[That voice.

He thinks this to himself because he knows it. Somehow. Where was it? Who was it? His memory is blurred and hazy. He can't really think. He doesn't want to. He wants to sleep.

There's a tired squawk from the couch and a rustling movement of feathers and uneven breathing. Bird breathing even.]

[The squawk confuses her briefly, and she draws closer to the couch, being careful to avoid stepping on broken glass with bare feet. Peeking over, what she sees causes her to gasp, a sharp intake of air.]

What the hell?

[That was the biggest fucking crow she's ever seen.

She sets the vase down, circling around to get a better look. Did it crash through her window? Why was it so huge? It was almost terrifying.]

What happened to you? [She breathes out, looking over the creature. It looked hurt, badly so.] This is crazy. [Was she still dreaming?

Maybe not. She had been known to attract all sorts of creatures, but this was the first time one of abnormal size made such an... entrance. Hesitantly, she reaches out to touch at one of its wings... as if checking to see if it was real.]

[His wing instinctively moves up as if to slap away her hand. Not that it would hurt much, being feathers and all, but then he immediately regrets it. He's made a long trip from Derbyshire to London and he feels the ache in his cartilage and bone.

Also, why isn't he being kicked out yet?

... He's starting to remember the voice.

The girl who knocked over the glasses. The girl who brought out two slices of cake.

Why does he remember this? Why did that leave an impression?

There's not much else to do except maybe try to straighten himself up. He tries, but not much luck seems to be on his side. The crow collapses again, pitifully so.]

[She retracts her hand, keeping it close to her chest. No, it didn't hurt, but she's not sure exactly what a crow this size is capable of if she pisses it off. (Not that it looked like it had much energy to be pissed to begin with.)

One thing is for sure. She feels sorry for it.]

Okay, sorry, calm down.

[Whatever beating this crow took, it must have been a traumatizing ordeal for it. She covers her mouth with her hand briefly, trying to think. Should she take it to vet? Some kind of specialist? Hell, she hasn't been paid for the month yet. She couldn't afford a visit like that, to mend up a giant crow and foot the bill. But maybe they'd take it on as a charity case? But how would she even fit it in her tiny car, it's so big and hurt and she's afraid of even picking it up, in case she hurts it more-

She shakes her head, dropping her hand down. Something about this felt off. Somehow, she didn't want to take it to an animal doctor, not yet. They might just poke and prod at it, for being such an anomaly. She definitely didn't want that either.]

So, I guess... you're just going to... sleep on the couch for now.

[Because what the hell else is she supposed to do?]

Okay, okay... [She backs off, thinking. Off in the corner of the room, she can hear Leeroy growling, but that isn't surprising to her, and she ignores him.] Maybe you'll feel better in a few hours. Or tomorrow. Just crash on my couch in the meantime? [As if the crow could actually understand her.

She leaves, then comes back a minute later with a blanket. She feels silly, since it's a bird, but she spreads the blanket over the creature, just in case.]

Now I've just gotta clean up the mess you made.

[He lies still. But his feathers rustle, indicating there's a breath of life in him yet. When he's left alone, there's an uncommon, but not unfamiliar feeling that envelops him.

Gratefulness.

He will sleep now. He will rest. But he will let this human know.

With the energy he can muster, he sends message, a voice in Elle's head.]

(Thank you.)

[She's walking off to clean up the mess, when she hears a voice in her head. She looks around, wondering if she's hearing things; and wondering why it sounded vaguely familiar to her.]

You're... welcome? [She mutters, to no one in particular. Man, between giant crows and hearing voices, she really hopes she isn't starting to lose it.

Well, if one thing's for certain, at least it's already the start of an interesting Christmas. She'll leave the crow be for the rest of the day, quietly musing to herself, Weirdest. Christmas present. Ever.]

[Hours pass. He doesn't move. He has a dreamless sleep and it's (relatively) warm inside. There's not much more he could ask for. Sometimes his eyes blink open and he can make out some of the area around him, but then they shut back just as quickly.

When he wakes up a few hours later, it feels... Chillier. His vision is also different.

Corvus finds that he's rolled on his back. His HUMAN back. And he also no longer has his feathers. Just bare skin that display the bruises and beatings he received from a fire poker across his face, his chest and abdomen. His right leg is also a victim with a wound on top of his thigh. He must have transformed unwittingly during the past few hours.

Without taking his eyes off of the ceiling, he simply reaches over for the closest pillow and covers his lower area between his legs. It felt the chilliest.

... Now what next? He's not sure.]

[Sometimes, Elle is too lost in her own little world to notice anything substantial happening around her. Or in this case, directly behind her.

She's too busy scolding a couple of sparrows that have flown in (through the broken balcony windows, courtesy of Corvus) and have decided to settle in her Christmas tree.]

Hey, who said you could come in here?

[Though note how she doesn't tell them to leave, not just yet.]

Ugh, you're making needles fall off the tree...

[Good thing the broom is nearby, leaning against the wall from having being used earlier in the day. She grabs it and starts sweeping, and keeps talking to them.]

What kind of Queen is supposed to clean up after her servants? Sheesh.

[So you're an incomprehensible being in the form of a bird or man. Right now, you are a naked bloodied, injured man who basically crashed into the house of a young woman living by herself. What would you do audience?

Assume the corpse position.

... And honestly, there's not much Corvus CAN do. Everything hurts. And he knows, there's a stigma against human nudity (honestly, this is why feathers were better) so exposing himself now to the girl would be disastrous.

... He better prepare himself at any rate. Stillness and quiet it is.]

Edited 2016-12-10 07:25 (UTC)

[Honestly, Elle would have been oblivious for who knows how long, if not for her cat Leeroy, who starts growling again from across the room, back arched up, and slowly retreating to the safety of a bookshelf.

Elle stops sweeping and squints at him.]

What's your problem now? You've been moody all day...

[Leeroy keeps growling, low and unwavering, eyes settled on stranger on the couch. Elle turns to see what he's going on about-

And sees a Very Naked Man sitting quietly on her couch.

Naturally, she screams in shock, and it's out of pure defensive instinct that she swings the broom around to hit the stranger with the stick of it. It's long enough to connect; her tree is practically right next to where he's seated.

The sparrows panic and fly around the room, as if the illustrate the sudden spike in emotion. Leeroy hisses. The Christmas tree leans over, being hit with the other end of the broom in her haste.]

What the hell-?!

... Ow.

[This is only said after getting with the broom and having the Christmas tree in his face. Talk about a delayed reaction. Corvus lets the noise settle down around him before he interjects to make his case.]

I'm injured.

[THAT'S NOT THE ONLY ISSUE HERE??? But being nude doesn't seem to bother him. He finally gets a good view of Elle and he blinks once. Twice.

Points at her.]

Champagne girl.

[Okay, a plain "ow" is not what she was going for. What kind of reaction was that? Who the hell was this guy--]

You're not-- you're naked! Who are you and how the hell did you get in here?!

[Wait a second. Champagne girl? No, there's no way.

The Christmas tree is getting in the way of everything, and she grabs it by a branch or two, lifting it up to see the man's face more clearly. Ornaments clatter to the ground as she does so, but she doesn't seem to notice or care.

She knows that face. She'd have a very hard time forgetting it after the first impression he made.]

Corvus?

[... His finger silently switches position to point at the window.]

Last night. Through there.

I was here the whole time you know.

[C'mon, can't she figure it out? He winces and drops his hand to his side.]

Didn't know this was your place. Not lying about that.

[Corvus, your explanations aren't helping. The sparrows flying around her house decide to perch on a bookshelf nearby, as if curiously overseeing the situation.]

Wait... what? [She shakes her head, waving her free hand dismissively. The other still clutches at the tree.] No... no, start over. You came in through my balcony?

[God... suddenly she remembers his weird association with the crows that night.] Did you have something to do with that giant crow landing on my couch? That's not funny, you know! I have to pay to get my windows fixed!

[The question of why he's naked and why he's injured surely will come next, but she wants to make sure she gets this point across.]

...

...

...

I AM the crow.

[Yes, please sound more crazy Corvus.]

I crashed through the window as a bird. I rested on your couch the whole night.

What part of that doesn't make sense?

[UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM]

[UUUUUUUUM ALL OF IT????????

/INTERNALLY SCEAMING]

You really are a crazy hobo man.

Do you have band-aids? [He points to the wound on his thigh.]

I...

[Why do you keep changing the subject, crow hobo.

She tells herself to breathe. Calm down. He's harmless, right? Naked, but harmless. So very, very naked. (She does feel a lingering concern for the crow that was here, though. Did he startle it and it fly away?)]

I... yeah. I do. [Now that she's looking at him more closely, though, those injuries... they look pretty painful. He's bruised up pretty badly, along with the thigh wound.]

What happened to you?

[Because trying to reason with Elle doesn't seem to go anywhere (no Corvus, that's just you being the worst at everything). He looks at the floor staring at his feet when she asks that question.

... Well, he can answer as best as he can. In the way he sees fit.]

I got beaten up with a stick.

[Oh.]

You what?

[She looks at him in concern and confusion.]

Who the fu- [She stops herself. She needs to work on her language, really.] -uuuh. Who the heck beat you up with a stick? Why?

[Worry starts creeping in for this man. What kind of life is he living?]

[He can hear the worry in her voice. This woman really didn't hide how she feel did she? It was awkward in a way, but Corvus appreciates the honesty. He honestly could not blame her for how she was feeling even if he doesn't understand all of his mistakes.

That being said, he can't afford to explain his circumstances. He needs to heal.]

... It's cold.

[... An he needs clothes.]

You really need to stop changing the subject. It's not helping.

[But yes, she's worried. And he has a point, too. It'd probably be less awkward if they spoke when he wasn't butt naked, either.]

I have a closet full of women's clothing, though, I don't have-

[She pauses, remembering something. No, she did still have some of James' old clothes here, from a long time ago. She never knew what to do with them; they weren't hers, she didn't feel right just throwing them out. But at the same time, how weird would it be for her to hunt down James just to give him his clothes back?

Maybe they'll get some use now. They look like they might fit Corvus, or at least, they will in a pinch until he finds something more suited for him.]

Wait here.

[She disappears into her bedroom, then comes out less than a minute later. She tosses the clothes at him -- a full set. They're expensive, too.]

Let me know when you're done dressing.

[And whoop, she closes the door to her bedroom, disappearing behind it.]

Edited 2016-12-10 08:49 (UTC)

[... Well. Okay.

Corvus sits there doing nothing for a moment. The clothes flop onto his lap and he holds them up to examine them. He narrows his eyes. This scent...

...

...

He's not petty however. He slips on a dark button up top, and dark pants. He calls to Elle over his shoulder.]

Decent.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚃𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝

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