finalflight | psl; [the healing process]

Entry tags:

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.

----------

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

[She furrows her brow in confusion.]

Arrival? From where?

Where else would something that was not a man or creature of this world come from?

[Think about THAT Devon. He leaves her to figure it out while he lays his head down to rest.]

[It takes her all of maybe two seconds. She's read a lot of Lovecraft, you know.]

Oh my god. Are you an alien?

[The cat ear twitch. He doesn't answer for a minute.]

That's the word they use here.

[Her fingers around the book tighten. She brings it up to her face, covering it completely. She's muttering something, trying her best not to sound too high-pitched.]

Oh my god. I can't believe it. I have an alien on my couch. I have an alien living with me.

[THAT'S SO COOL. I mean, she should be panicking, right? But after seeing what he can do, the shock of such a confession doesn't seem to faze her the way it should. Oh man. She has so many questions she wants to ask, but she knows it'll annoy him if she just fires them off one by one.]

[Okay. Breathe. Play it cool.

She lowers her book. Her face is deadly serious, because she's trying so hard to be casual.]

I guess... that makes sense.

[She clears her throat.]

Wanna keep listening?

If you must.

[He can feel the unsettling excitement radiate off of Elle and his nose twitches. At least she wasn't asking questions. Yet. At this point, he's not sure if any answers he could give would ever be satisfactory for this curiosity filled woman.]

Continue.

[She can ask questions later. She plans on it. If she's lucky, maybe Corvus will actually answer them, someday.

She nods, and begins reading the rest of the book.]

~*~*~*~*~*~

[It ends, of course, as she had mentioned. In tragedy. In the death of Gatsby, forgotten so easily by Daisy. In Nick Carraway's disillusionment, and his consequential departure. In a line that remains one of her favorites, for its poignancy and melancholy.]

'Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning--

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.'

[It always gives her pause, and it does this time, too. And then finally, she closes the book, setting it down beside her. She looks at Corvus.]

And... that's it.

... You seem like the type that would have preferred happy stories.

[Because... Corvus didn't see the melancholic end coming. In retrospect, he should have. He didn't like these people in this story, he didn't think about why they did the things they did and what was going to happen in the end.

They were all alone.

And yet Elle said that this was a good book or at least implied it to be so.]

[She looks at him, considering his words.]

Not all good stories are happy stories. Some of the best ones are tragedies.

You didn't like it?

I think I'm fine with it.

I am mostly uncertain.

Well... what are you uncertain about? His death at the end?

Everything really.

I wouldn't want to live that life.

[Showing that he is still a viewer from the outside. That he couldn't immerse himself in the world of an imaginary 1920s, in the world of a troubled group of adults who lived in a society of complicated rules said and unsaid, leading to tragedy.]

[She purses her lips together. It's a fair assessment, really. She wouldn't want to live that life, either, but it speaks so much about one man's obsession of an ideal, of a want for something that was forever across the water; clinging to the past, and drowned by it. It was poetic, and it was a commentary on the times.

She wonders if Corvus would understand any of it, in retrospect, now that she knows that he isn't even of this earth. But wouldn't that not be giving him his due credit? Surely, surely he wasn't emotionless; surely he could comprehend. She's already felt sadness from him once before.]

Then don't. If you take away one thing from the book, then it at least should be that.

But what kind of life would make you happy? [She honestly is curious.]

[The question gives him pause. Because in a way, he's never really thought about it before. What gave him happiness?

(Being cared for. Being accepted. Being in the sky because there is no possible way he could get any closer to the home he used to know among the stars and the darkness far, far, far, away from this tiny insignificant planet...)

He doesn't answer.]

...Corvus?

[She implores him out of his silence. Was he thinking, or just didn't know?]

The life I want.

[He speaks up, quietly. Resigned. ]

The life I want is something I will remember less and less as time goes on.

[...fuck.

How is she supposed to respond to that? That's beyond sad, to hear him say that, and to sound so resigned. Just... accepting of it, like being happy will never be on the table ever again.

How can anyone live like that?]

If it's that precious to you, it's not something you just forget, though. [She's... not sure what he's referring to, this life that he wants that he's forgetting, but she's smart enough to know that it's defined by a sad longing.]

And, um, besides- [Her words falter, but she tries to keep them steady.] Maybe you can find some happiness on Earth? You found them with your crows, didn't you?

[There is an essential and physical part of him that's missing. Even if he were to find another flock, he'd have to go on without his other half. He's forgotten what it felt like to have a whole heart.

But that's much too complicated for this girl. ]

To a certain extent. I found a place among them. But even that feels temporary.

[Is it a wanderlust then, she wonders? It doesn't seem like that, at least. She can't understand you if you don't talk to her, Corvus.

Still, she wants to help. There's something so lost and wayward about him (like Gatsby gazing out at his faintly blinking green light) and it makes Elle's heart hurt when he says things like this.

She puts her book down, prodding at the couch with a slender finger. She means it as a way to indicate the whole of her flat.]

Here. You can stay here. And if you want, you don't have to allow it to feel temporary. If it helps you.

[How impulsive of her. But she doesn't regret the words when they leave her mouth.]

[He lifts up his head in surprise. It's only been a few days since he crash landed in her home. But Elle kept giving and giving and the only thing Corvus can give in return is his thanks. How is he supposed to repay her back?]

... But I can't do anything. In return I mean.

You don't have to. I mean, you're keeping me company. Otherwise, it gets kinda lonely sometimes. So that works out for the both of us, right?

You don't have any other companions who would question my presence?

[She shakes her head, and gives a little shrug.] No. No "companions". Just me and Paladin Leeroy. If a neighbor comes knocking occasionally, it's not like they should be weirded out by a man in my room.

And Leeroy?

I've already earned his ire either way.

[stop hissing at him god he's not even eating your food]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

1/2

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject