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
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I ended up doing nothing.
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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.]
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[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.
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[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.
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[Ah, a change of subject. Not as abrupt as it could be, but still it's clear enough. ]
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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.
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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...]
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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.]
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(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?
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... We can keep walking. If you want.
[But he defers to her instead. ]
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...No, I think you've done pretty good today. Let's not push it.
[She turns around, beckoning him to follow.] Come on, slowpoke.