Gabrielle "Elle" Grayson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
animalqueen) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
finalflight2016-12-09 12:47 pm
animalqueen) wrote in finalflight2016-12-09 12:47 pm
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:
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
no subject
But it will require you to use your human body a little more.
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Why? I would prefer not to be noticed by humans.
no subject
Because it's not good for you to stay holed up in here. Get out and [experience life, be happy goddamn you] get some fresh air. And it'll help with your rehabilitation too, as long as you don't push yourself too hard.
I was thinking tomorrow we'd go shopping for some clothes that fit you better. It looked like James' shirt fit you kind of tight, and I can't just have you keep wearing his clothes.
no subject
He used to live here?
[Uh oh.]
no subject
Well. She supposes there's no reason to not tell him; sure, it's a little awkward, but not as awkward as talking to Devon (or James himself) about it. And it's not like she has anything to hide.]
No, he didn't use to live here. But he used to stay here for a few days at a time, whenever he was in town. ...That was a long time ago, though.
no subject
[He stands up to stretch out his limbs before settling down again. It doesn't seem like he's going to press her for anymore questions or do something like be teasing or be an ass about her past with the man.
Which is kind of surprising given the fact that Corvus is woefully bad at being decent in other areas.]
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[He's not asking any more questions, so that works for her -- albeit a bit surprising, considering Corvus has never shown any particular consideration for being blunt in the past. She chalks it up to him simply not being interested.]
So, is that a 'yes' on the clothes shopping?
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[Because humans can simultaneously be unnoticeable, but noticeable at the same time. The form Corvus has taken as a male man goes either way. Some people have approached him, citing his "handsomeness," (he's not sure what it is because he chose to look intimidating without making himself look burly), others simply pass him by which is the desired result.]
But as long as the clothing is not loud.
no subject
Not that she would readily admit this in front of him without some embarrassment.]
You'll get to pick your own clothes. I won't be the one to dress you.
[Let's be real, it'll probably come to that.] I promise you have nothing to worry about.
no subject
no subject
[She hopes he will, at least. In some small manner.]
I'll let you rest, now. Great Catsby.
[She laughs at her own (lame) joke and gets up, leaving him be to rest and do as he likes for now.]