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
She's lifted up, but it's disorienting, because it feels as if her... head is lower than it should be? But at the same time, it's like she's floating effortlessly across what she can only assume is her flat. Is this what it feels like to fly? Is she dreaming? It's hard to tell. She just knows that whatever is carrying her is warm, and far too big to be Kitty Corvus.
God, she's piss drunk. She's going to so hate herself in the morning. She's going to be so embarrassed.
But right now, her inhibitions are at an all time low. She can't help herself. It's New Years. Don't people sing something on New Years? Can she sing when she's upside down? And flying? Flying upside down? She breathes out the words.
She breathes out the wrong words. The old poem. She memorized it, a few years ago; she liked the words better. It still fits the tune, though her own singing is barely above a whisper in the state she's in, as Corvus carries her to her room.]
Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,
and never thought upon;
The flames of Love extinguished,
and fully past and gone:
Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold,
that loving Breast of thine;
That thou canst never once reflect
On old long syne.
no subject
There's a brief thought about how he may ask her where it's from once she wakes up and recovers.
In any case, the door is opened and Corvus, carefully, if ungracefully deposits Elle onto her mattress.]
There. Sing yourself to sleep.
no subject
Why is he in here? ...Oh, that's right. She did say he could sleep here if he was a cat. Maybe that's what he was doing.
What a good cat. What a nice kitty. A nice friend. She feels compelled to utter a thanks, despite it taking an unusual amount of effort.]
Thanks for watching the... fireworks with me. Did you like them?
[She feels like she's about to fall asleep.]
no subject
... Yes.
They were very bright.
no subject
Yeah... they're like exploding... stars...
[And then silence. She's asleep.]
no subject
... That was the first time. That I sat down and watched with someone else.
[He knows she won't hear him. He's not sure why he said that aloud to begin with. And so, he exits closing the door behind him, pondering on the memory that was made tonight, all the brightness, sweetness, and foolishness.
He didn't have very many memories worth recalling.]
the next morning...
She feels it in her head, first. An acute ache, a terrible sharp pain, and she hasn't even opened her eyes yet. Elle turns on her side, moaning, feeling like death itself.]
What the fuck...
[Why. Why does she feel so awful? She blinks her eyes open, cringing. She's... in her room? How come she doesn't remember how she got here? How come she's not in her PJs?
Groaning again, Elle sits up. She looks around her room, trying to remember, but there's a great blank spot somewhere in-between the end of the fireworks show and her waking up right now. However, she's not stupid. She knows this feeling -- she's not had it too many times in her life, but she recognizes a terrible hangover when she has one.
She drank too much.]
Ugh. Fuck.
[Pulling herself out of bed, she makes her way slowly into the living area. The sun filtering in through the windows make her scowl and squint. Her hair is a mess, her clothes are a little wrinkled from sleeping in them. She feels gross. So gross.]
Someone please kill me. [-she announces. Leeroy looks up at her from the other side of the room, unimpressed.]
no subject
He speaks up, a little flatly.]
It's the first day of the New Year. Too late to make that resolution.
no subject
That's not a resolution. It's a request. A mercy killing.
[She makes her way to the other end of the couch where Corvus is sleeping and flops down on it. Move aside, alien cat, this is the closest seat to her. She puts her head to her knees, groaning.]
What the hell happened?
no subject
You drank until your bodily systems could not handle the over-consumption of alcohol, damaging your gross motor skills and thus, leading me to carry you to bed.
no subject
You... wait, what?
[She lifts her head to look at him, and regrets it almost immediately after when she catches the sunlight in her eyes.]
Argh. You carried me?
no subject
It was an effortless endeavor on my part.
[Rubbing his face with his paw as Elle suffers from the sunlight.]
Would you have preferred me to leave you on the rug?
no subject
Well, no... but... You were a cat.
[Did he turn into a man just to carry her to her room? EMBARRASSING if that's the case. Maybe he's misstating stuff again.]
no subject
I carried you as a human. Over my shoulder.
no subject
She stares at him again, freezing a little. And then:]
Did you put some clothes on first?
no subject
Yes.
no subject
...oh, okay. Good.
[And with noticeable effort, Elle tries to sit up straight. She manages, still grimacing.]
God, how embarrassing. Sorry that the night had to end that way for you. I guess I got a little too excited about celebrating.
no subject
It's fine.
There's one slice of cake left.
no subject
The last sentence does indeed surprise her.]
You didn't eat all of it? Did you get full?
no subject
[Laying his head down. It seems like he's gonna cat nap for most of the day.]
You, however, didn't eat any.
no subject
Grateful. How oddly thoughtful of him; how considerate Corvus could be, at times when she thought that he didn't know how to be. She doesn't give him enough credit, she thinks. She should stop that.]
...Thanks, Cor. That's sweet of you.
[That's the second time she's said that, isn't it? Since they've met.]
no subject
Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,
and never thought upon;
The flames of Love extinguished,
and fully past and gone...
[... Until he murmurs those words, repeating what she had drunkenly let loose last night.]
no subject
But no, that's not right. That's the old poem that the song is based off of. Elle knows that for a fact. How did he...?]
Where did you...? [Hear that?]
no subject
[Saying that like it explains everything because. Because Corvus is still terrible that way.]
no subject
[She doesn't understand, and then her head hurts again. Corvus, why can't you be straightforward without being so vague...?
(And then she hears the tune in her head, the words to go along with it. She felt like she had been floating at the time, flying, and she thought it was only proper to highlight the moment with a New Years' sentiment -- in the form of a song.)
She covers her face with her hands, breathing out in embarrassment.]
Oh my god... You've got to be kidding me. I'm such an idiot. [She's more embarrassed than anything that Corvus had to hear her, honestly. What a vulnerable state she must have been in. Yes, she vaguely remembers now, as if it were a far away dream.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)