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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Elle.
[He says her name again. Twice in a day!]
You need to go back to bed.
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Look-
[Oh, she forgot about the box of tampons already. They clatter to the floor as she stands to her full height.]
…
[She doesn’t break her gaze.]
-I’m really touched that you’re concerned, Cor, but you [can’t tell her what to do!] don’t need to worry. I’m not going to over-do it. I just want to make us both some tea, become a lazy slug on the couch, and binge watch some anime.
[It’s her usual sick routine, when she’s not completely useless in bed. She feels she could manage it, today. She might fall asleep on the couch at some point, but that’s no big deal.]
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(Was he worried? In a way. The more she pushes herself, the more she risks her health, and then he truly wouldn't be able to do anything and...)
Corvus stands up to this full height. He puts his hands on Elle.
And then, reprising the New Years episode, he hoists her over his shoulder.]
Bed.
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What are you-
[And then she's hoisted up, light as a feather as if she were hollow, slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes or something.]
The fuck are you doing?! [She's more surprised than irritated, and god, that's making her feel dizzy and THIS IS VERY EMBARRASSING, last time Corvus made this much physical contact she was drunk and too out of it to dwell on it-
She struggles. Hits him (not actually very hard) with her fist on his back a few times.]
Put me down, Cor!
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I'll put you down on your bed.
Your temperature is still high. Get better.
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Ugh.
[Staring down at the floor, she makes a sharp-edged, sarcastic comment.]
This is definitely not how a man is supposed to carry a woman to bed.
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I'm not taking any chances.
[GOTTA PROTECT HIMSELF MAN]
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As if I could actually hurt you the way I am now. You could at least carry me so that my blood isn't rushing to my head.
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...
...
[Well, he supposes that he DOES owe it to her. So without warning, he gently sets Elle down, only to literally sweep her off her feet, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back.]
... Better?
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And then she's literally swept off her feet when he picks her up again, but this time bridal style.
Like a deer in headlights, she freezes still. Oh god. Looking up at him from this angle, it's hard not to appreciate his face, and she was just kidding when she said that wasn't how you carry a girl to her bedroom, and oh no he's asking her something.
She's blushing and just staring, but somehow manages to... nod slowly.
Why do you do these things to her, Corvus.]
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His actions tend to be done on a rate of 1-1 exchange. Everything he's done for Elle so far has been to repay her for letting him stay in her place, to recover from his injuries. The same line of reasoning applies to why he changed the way he's holding her.
Now that they're so close, he can't be oblivious to her expression, the redness in her cheeks, how she feels light in his arms and...
This lingering is dangerous.
He manages to get the door open and deposits Elle much more carefully on her bed compared to when he put her there during New Years. He immediately turns his back around, not looking at her in the face.]
Sleep.
[He won't wait for an answer and closes the door behind him.]
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Elle doesn't know what to make of it, other than he's so close and she can feel the heat in her cheeks. Should she say something? Was she making a fool of herself? Was he annoyed at her still silence?
But like they often do, words fail her, and the moment carries on.
She deposited gently onto her bed, and when she looks at him his back is turned. Sleep, he says, then disappears.
I'm such an idiot, she thinks for the second time today. Sighing, she buries her face in her pillow. Maybe she's just being weird, maybe she's just imagining things.
Maybe she just needs to sleep, as he told her to.]