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

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[He gives a look at the squirrel. Is it trying to talk to Elle, he wonders?]

I don't engage in the same activities as humans often enough to be able to express that I've derived enjoyment from them.

[Hard to tell, isn't it, Corvus? Welcome to actual Disney fucking Princess lyfe. In any case, the squirrel is being deftly ignored for now.]

Then what do you "derive enjoyment" from?

[He makes a gesture with his hand, a thinking one where he furrows his brows, and strokes his chin to think about what she asked.

Then his answer:]

Sweet things.

[THRILLING]

[She scoffs at that, clearly amused.]

Yeah, you're the only cat I know who'd actually eat a macaron. Remind me to buy us a cake or something for New Year's. Not that gross fruit cake stuff, though-- Ah! Shit!

[She's interrupted and startled, of course, because there's a flock of pigeons that have come down out of nowhere. They land at both Elle and Corvus' feet, cooing and looking up at her expectantly. They want to be fed! Feed them!]

Edited 2016-12-14 06:09 (UTC)

... You're what they call, "popular" aren't you?

[Unlike Elle who's disgruntled by the pigeons, Corvus squats down to look at the birds more closely.]

At least with animals. And other oddities.

[i.e. Him. He's a special case though, he knows.]

...You don't know the half of it. [She mutters, mostly to herself.

She gazes down at the pigeons, giving them a look that says, Really, guys? But she doesn't tell them to fly off just yet, especially when Corvus squats down and seems to take interest in them.

Consequently, they look up at him too. Coo coo, they say to him.

....She has to admit, it's kind of cute.]

Remember when we first met, and I said animals always like me better? I wasn't lying.

[The pigeons seem to regard Corvus with some quiet curiosity. On his end, he reaches out to stroke one of the pigeons with his index finger and it seems willing enough.]

Have they always gravitated to you?

[She must be similar to Devon's sibling then, the young one who could see past veils and sense the hidden. Some humans on Earth seem to be blessed with qualities, some with a sixth sense, Elle, with magnetism.]

Yeah. They have.

[She decides that, why the hell not, she'll crouch down too. Four or five of the pigeons immediately hop on over to her, cooing. She looks over at Corvus, who actually appears to be showing something akin to fondness for the creatures.

She smiles at the sight, albeit faintly.]

I grew up on a farm. It made life both easier and more difficult, when I was younger. I guess it still kind of does. [She shrugs.] I attract all the weirdos, but birds really have a thing for me.

[He continues petting the pigeons, giving another one attention by stroking the top of its had.]

Something about your voice perhaps? An allure?

... Perhaps that's why I...

[He never displayed interest in other humans. He had told himself that he went outside where Elle was because she had caused a scene with her clumsiness. He happened to have food for his crow friends too. Was that all?]

Edited 2016-12-14 06:32 (UTC)

[An allure? For a moment, Elle is reminded of her stepdad; always telling her she had a creative talent for not only writing and music, but also for singing. Always trying to get her to perform in front of crowds. Dragging her to a handful of his musical gigs when she was old enough, making her stand in the spotlight and sing for strangers.

(The memory makes a small part of her ache for home. She misses them, sometimes.)

But she's taken out of the memory, when Corvus lingers on his sentence too long, unfinished.]

Why you what?

[Crashed through my balcony window? she almost says. Nothing had ever been quite so dramatic until that happened.]

Why I was drawn to you.

[He puts his hand down as the pigeon expresses more interest in Elle and strolls over to her where its friends join in.]

Why I didn't mind talking to you as well.

[Oh. He was talking about the night of the party.

Elle casts her gaze to the ground, embarrassed of his phrasing, but this time, also embarrassed by his frankness. She holds out her hands, cupping them. A pigeon hops on and sits, content to do just that, and she pets it absentmindedly.]

But I thought you just already happened to be there.

Could be both.

[He looks at the pigeon sitting in her hands, finding its implicit trust in her quietly alarming, but perfectly natural at the same time. ]

But I actually started the conversation between us.

[That's true, she realizes. In retrospect, she supposes that was a bit strange; having been able to observe him better now, she can tell that Corvus was not the type at all to simply... walk up to people and talk to them. She isn't sure how she should feel about that; flattered or embarrassed?]

Right. You don't exactly strike me as the type of person to make conversation on their own.

[Which still remains strange to her that he decided to crash a social party, of all things. And so she hesitantly offers:] You never told me what you were doing there, you know.

... Nothing.

I ended up doing nothing.

[Elle sets the pigeon back down, and it hops off of her hand.]

Then why did you go?

[True, Corvus had said that he knew James, and maybe implied to have known Devon, too. But after everything, Elle is even wondering if that's true. Maybe he honestly just crashed the party for cake?

It's so hard to tell with him.]

The lights.

[He's not lying, not exactly. He's just avoiding the dark and ugly truth because he does want to be more exposed and vulnerable to this woman anymore than he already has been. ]

It was warm.

...Oh.

[If she seems... hesitant to accept that answer, she doesn't let it show. It seems as reasonable as anything -- birds flocking to warmth, drawn in by the glow.]

There were a lot of lights, weren't there? The Aubels really do go all out for Christmas.

Does anyone else know about your draw?

[Ah, a change of subject. Not as abrupt as it could be, but still it's clear enough. ]

[She blinks at the subject change. It might be strange, but then again, she has no reason to think anything of it. Elle merely assumes that Corvus might've gotten bored of that line of conversation; if it was more than that, he certainly wasn't telling her.]

No. I mean, family and friends used to make fun of me because of my affinity, but they weren't aware of the extent of it. [They always called her a Disney Princess. She always rolled their eyes at them and told them to stuff it.] I didn't want to freak anyone out.

You're the only one that knows now. [And then she stands, muttering to the pigeons, "take your turns and fly away."

They do it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Elle smiles softly and picks a feather off of her sweater, which had fallen off one of the birds when they initially swooped down.] But you're a special case, Cor. Your story is just a little weirder than mine.

Considering the fact that you are bad at concealing your feelings, I may say that I'm actually more surprised that you haven't expressed your secret to someone else at some point.

[She looks down at him, frowning.]

What do you mean I'm bad at concealing my feelings? I can keep a secret if I have to. And I'm not as social as you might think I am; I keep some stuff close to the heart, as good as any other woman can.

[Do you not remember that you found her outside sitting in the freezing weather by herself, Cor...]

[Never let it be said that Corvus is a good judge of character of others much less himself. ]

Hn. I see your point.

[He is the disruption in Elle's routine. So if she's showing sides of herself that others wouldn't see, it's a given that he's at fault. Otherwise, from what she implied her existence is relatively peaceful.]

[Well, it's been years since she's actually lived with anyone. Of course they'd see a different side of her, just by proximity alone.

(That and she's very committed to the idea of making Corvus just... overall less sad. She knows it's not really her place to do so, but the lingering sorrow from his manner is really too much. She has such a bleeding heart; that'll never change, social, anti-social, or otherwise.)]

Good. [She prods at him lightly with the toe of her shoe.] Wanna keep walking? Or are you too tired?

[He stands up wincing. It seems his physical injuries remain stubborn even if they have faded over the past few days. ]

... We can keep walking. If you want.

[But he defers to her instead. ]

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animalqueen - 2016-12-14 18:38 (UTC) - Expand

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