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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...

[A nod. It's true.]

I don't have anything I like myself after all.

That's why I don't mind when you show me the things that are important to you.

[Corvus, why do you say stuff like that? It's both touching and a little sad.]

...All right. But we're going to find things that you like, too, you know. So you won't just have to rely on me.

[And so Elle stands, grabbing the book, and taking a seat on the couch. She gestures at the empty spots next to her.]

Sit. Unless you want to listen while standing the whole time.

[And so he sits according to her instruction, although he is gonna bring up his legs and sit in a cross legged position. As a human.

Well, it doesn't look like he'll be changing back into a cat. This might be awkward.]

[She half expected him to proclaim he was going to return to his cat form first, but is surprised to see when he simply sits down at looks at her expectantly. She stares for a moment, then glances back down into her book.]

Um, okay, let's see.

[Focus. You've read this so many times in the past, Elle, it should feel like second nature to you.]

..."It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters."

[As the story goes.]

~*~*~*~*~

[It's a bit more than a romance novel; it's equal parts social commentary, on status and what one should expect out of a marriage, out of prejudices wrought from each other, and an unwavering pride on both parties' sides that dictates them. It's about the brooding (and very rich) Mr. Darcy, slighting everyone he comes across, and how he falls for Elizabeth Bennet, whose opinion of him was already far too low to consider him anything more than a prideful, cold-hearted man.

It's about coming to reach understandings, on finding ways to show how you care, how to look past these unfortunate first impressions and reveal something about a stranger's character you didn't see before. And so much more.

Of course, like she did with The Great Gatsby, Elizabeth stops somewhere in-between all of this to see if he's been paying attention. It's a longer book than the last.]

[Corvus did put an effort into listening and in a way, he understands the beauty of the words, the wit that was weaved into them to give life to a past that he may have been present in, but never aware of. As a human, it's easier to tell that he's contemplating deeply and not just spacing off as he would as a feline.

He thinks about how accustomed he's gotten to Elle's voice. How he started to look forward to reading time. About how he may just read on his own so that Elle doesn't have to tire herself out and take up time to read to him.

(He thinks about how he can live with himself when he goes back to his original goal; was it worth it? His heart beats, half of it. It aches.)

When Elle pauses, Corvus looks up at her.]

Are you tired?

[He's been more considerate lately; in a way, he always has been, but out of caution, out of mistrust, out of a need to keep an equilibrium between them. Here, it's rather sincere.]

[The contemplation is easy to spot. She's glad for it, but not because she's vain; Elle wants him to think, to become lost in a world that isn't this one. To dip his proverbial toes into the sea of emotion and circumstance that does not belong to him, but to the characters on a page, life breathed into them through the writing, through her own voice. It's escapism at its best, she always said -- and yet she knows that the best sort of books gently deposit you back into reality, with more to think about than you had initially started with. That was the beauty of it, and she was more than eager to share, in her own way.

She shakes her head at the question, smiling slightly at his consideration.] No. Just checking to see if you were. I'm always worried that you get bored of me reading to you, but I guess you were more immersed in the trials of Darcy and Elizabeth more than I thought.

But like you said, if you get tired, you'll just sleep, right?

[Corvus purses his lips and nods.]

I did.

I am feeling tired actually.

["Oh," she breathes out, gently closing her book.]

Then this is a good stopping place for now. Why don't you get some rest? There shouldn't be any more interruptions today thanks to you, after all; we can both laze around and just take today to relax.

[She's referencing his intervention with her neighbor previously. Something she's still quite grateful for.]

[The thing about Louis was that Corvus is finally glancing at Elle. Carefully. Not just focusing on her voice. The question of attraction had come up before and he had shied away from it. As a being that could adjust its biology to copy those around it, it meant that his reactions would be about similar too. When he was an avian he acted an avian way, the only difference being he was long lived and could be something different.

As a human? He never wanted to try. It was too...

He leans his face into the palm of one hand.]

Are you resting in your room?

[He's just full of odd questions today, isn't he? Elle thinks that this one is innocent enough, though, and gives a little shrug, leaning forward to lightly toss her book on the coffee table in front of them.]

Probably not. Spending all day in bed sometimes makes me restless. Spending all day on the couch, watching tv, and taking a nap? Totally more productive.

... So will you sit here?

[A beat.]

With me?

[He's... Trying something. He doesn't know what. After what Elle had told him back at the planetarium, it's been on his mind even if he doesn't realize it.]

[She looks at him questioningly.]

Of course. If you don't mind the company.

[In the back of her mind, she wonders if he feels awkward in her presence because of what... happened those few days ago. She hopes that's not the case, she hopes she didn't screw it up.]

[He's tired. Sleepy. He doesn't want Elle to leave. He likes her voice. Her presence is comforting, a good thing, something he doesn't reject, he never rejected. And it's not her pull that she has with other beasts even though he wishes he could use that as an excuse as to why he's fine with her, why he's grateful deep within that she's fine with him even though that could be ruined sooner or later because of who he is and what he is and...]

... I don't mind.

[And with one swift motion so that there's no hesitation and no protesting, he lays his body down sideways and finds a headrest in the form of Elle's lap, using his arm as a buffer between his face and her legs and...

It's warm.

His eyes are already closed. Everything that's been going on in his head really did exhaust him. He just wants to rest. He just wants...]

So stay.

[For a moment, predictably so, Elle freezes. But it isn't from trepidation, it isn't from shock, it isn't even from confusion; it's just that suddenly, he's there, his head in her lap, and she's feeling that swell of warmth again, that feeling of fondness that's sharpened at the edges with something that threatens to be more intense than mere friendly affection. It's acute, and yet it's a dull sort of ache. She doesn't know why this keeps happening, she wishes she knew why he kept doing this to her, was he trying to confuse her, but no, Corvus wouldn't do that, it's as simple as he said, he just wants her to...

To stay with him.]

Corvus...

[She looks down at his face, at his profile, too handsome for its own good. She can feel her heart pulsing in her chest, and it seems so thunderous that she can swear to god that he might be feeling it too. But she doesn't move, she can't move. No, she doesn't want to move.

And so the only thing to do is to let him rest, to take in his offered warmth and his scent, so close to her. She doesn't know what to do with her arm that isn't already resting on the couch, almost too afraid to shatter the moment, but--

Her fingers brush lightly at his cheek, a ghost of a touch, barely there, probably barely registered. Then her hand settles onto his shoulder, resting there, and she simply continues to look down at him.

Doesn't he know what this does to me?]

[He's tired.

Tired from his traveling among the stars. Tired of the incurable sorrow from the loss of something that he barely remembers and will eventually forget. Tired from obsessively following a part of himself he can't get back (but he wants it back desperately, he still clings to being whole), tired of being part of a world which was full of temporary beings, temporary things.

But most of all, he's tired of trying to reject the warmth.

Elle is warm.

Elle took care of him.

Even if he couldn't do anything in return, even though he didn't deserve the kindness, monster that he is, even if she wouldn't be there forever, the time spent with her had been replacing the memories of countless seasons that he spent with his flock, the pain of arrival, the pain of loss.

Basking in her presence, in her bothersome words, in her voice, in her, right now, resting on her felt like it could have been some kind of forever.

For once, maybe he'd be alright. Being together was alright.]

[Elle watches him — waits for him to say something, anything, waiting for him to move, to lift his head up and end what must be an illusion. This odd little anomaly in her life that he was causing. Because surely a moment like this could not last, and was bound to dissipate sooner rather than later, and then things could continue on normally like they have been, like she’s been pretending they have been, all this time.

He doesn’t move.

Her hand, the one on his shoulder, feels warm. It moves slightly, slowly, with the cadence of his breathing. Minutes pass, and Elle’s heartbeat begins to slow. The initial feeling of uncertainty (or was it an anxiousness, a wayward sort of excitement?) was fading into something calmer, something more observant on her part. Corvus, he looked vulnerable again, just like the time he fell asleep in her car, but now… Now, he appeared so tired. As if he was allowing her to see this side of him for the first time, and Elle wishes against all hope that he could find his rest, somehow, some way, tonight.

So she doesn’t say anything else, and won’t for a long while. On the far side of the room, Leeroy sleeps, curled up in a ball, tail tucked close to him. She smiles a little at the notion of her entire flat tempting her into rest; her apartment keeps a warm glow, and someone important to her, she’s realizing, is laying his head in her lap, his breathing hypnotic.

She cranes her own head back, closing her eyes. Lets her head sink into the plush of the sofa, relaxing, letting the swell of whatever this was (for once, stop overthinking it, she tells herself) wash over her.

Eventually, she’s pulled under by sleep. She dreams of a cat who isn’t a cat, resting quietly in her lap, as she reads. It isn’t terribly far from reality.]

[They both don't move for a while. He flickers in and out of sleep, not wanting to move as if afraid to ruin the moment as he's so wont to do. He's giving himself so much allowance and it's such a peaceful thing, it feels unreal.

An hour later, he wakes up. He's still on her lap, still resting, still halfway through a dream he can't remember.

Corvus can feel Leeroy tucked close to him. It's another first. That cat didn't trust him at all before and with good reason.

He considers moving for a minute before giving up. He doesn't want to.]

Edited 2016-12-19 16:08 (UTC)

[Elle remains asleep, a woman so easily dragged under by slumber, and swift to fall into its dreams. What she's dreaming about, it's hard to say, but she mutters lightly under her breath, something about horses pulling a carriage — undoubtedly inspired by Jane Austen’s narrative, read to Corvus barely an hour ago.

Leeroy is purring, simply because he’s warm and content. A cat needs little other reason to, after all, and it’s only when he senses Corvus stirring does he lift his head and give a little chirp of a meow. It’s a funny noise, not matching up with his usual unimpressed expression.

Don’t move, I’m comfy, seems to be the implication.]

[For a while, Corvus does nothing. He continues to rest, eyes half-lidded.]

...

...

...

[But. He supposes, it must end at some point. And Elle's legs might get tired of his weight.

So he reaches up with one hand and pats her on the head. Once. Twice. Three times.]

[It seems to be just enough to rouse her from her sleep. Her brows knit together, and she mutters, "But he fell off his horse..." before her eyes begin to slowly open.

It's hard to tell if she's still caught in the wake of a dream or not. Eyes half-lidded, she's looking down at him, and it's as if what's happening hasn't quite registered yet.]

Oh, hey... I think you fell asleep.

[You fell asleep, too, you know.]

You did too.

[Don't think he won't point it out. But he remains laying there.]

... Are you tired?

[Of me? it sounds like almost.]

[There’s the smallest flicker of a questioning look, but then it’s gone. Even if she does or does not hear the implied words lingering above their heads, her answer would have been the same regardless.

She shakes her head a little.] No.

Just comfortable.

... Yes.

[He murmurs in agreement. Shifts his position slightly, but not by much.]

You're warm.

...So are you.

[Out of her peripheral, she can see the flicking of a cat's tail. Leeroy...?

It pulls her out of her state just enough to ask:]

Am I... seeing things, or is that Leeroy cuddled up next to you?

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