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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He needs to be whole again.
That night, he took off, diving from a high building and taking to the skies. Freedom. Absolute freedom. The sky never felt so liberating before. He was free and yet he empowered himself with purpose once again. He knows where to go, what to do, what must be done. He can confront that creature again without anyone to hinder him, without anything to lose.
He will be whole and he will be left alone.
... No one was there.
A large crow flies around the Aubel Estate in Derbyshire, landing after a long journey from the city. He's even bold enough to land on the ledge of the window that leads to Devon Winters' bedroom and the other, her studio. No one. He does not even sense the despicable creature who had driven him out in the first place. There were other humans of course, the workers. He watched them go in and out, none the wiser. They all chatted among themselves about various subjects. Their workload, the future week, their employers, the young lady of the estate, how long it was until the wedding date, and how nice it was that they both were out of the estate and taking a vacation together overseas...
... He has no strength left in him. And there is no point trying to fly across oceans, not when it took him so long to fly to England in the first place with his flock. All the energy he used to fly to Derbyshire had fizzled out. The object of his attention is out of his reach and there is nothing he can do. Nothing. He is nothing. Just a thing from an outside world beyond the stars who remembers nothing of its home or of its destruction. He knows he's wallowing in self-pity and he hates it. It's the only thing he can do because he doesn't even have a flock to drown out those emotions and replace them with avian instinct. And so he lingers for a few days. Watching. Waiting. Flying. Waiting. Watching. And for what?
Instead he find himself lingering not to wait for Devon, but to dwell upon something else. Someone else. Her warmth. Her fear. Her curiosity. Her kindness, that foolish, foolish kindness that he will betray because of what he is, what he has done, what he WILL do. And yet he also thinks about what she's doing at that moment. If Leeroy is being fed despite how he left her. If she's going to get sick again and will need to buy medicine and restock her provisions. If she will sing to anyone else, if she will play music for anyone to listen to. She should. There are many other ears in the world.
But who would listen first?
Who would celebrate those frivolous festivities with her?
Who would she read to?
And then finally after another day or two passed, he finally asks himself: Is she alright?
Another evening in Derbyshire falls. He nestles himself in the trees. He dreams of song, of sound, and of laughter. Of lights that are so bright, he could be blinded. He wakes up and he is alone. He wonders if she's alone.
Dawn breaks.
He spreads his wings.
A normal sized crow lands on the ledge of a certain flat in London. Innocuous. Inconspicuous. Nothing out of the ordinary.
It waits and watches.]
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The first day he’s gone is the hardest. She tells herself defiantly that she’s been fine on her own for years, now, and she can do it again. When a porcelain mug clatters to the ground in the kitchen, there’s no one there to call her clumsy, to tell her that she should be more careful. She would pick up Leeroy and hold him closer that day, as if borrowing comfort from creature, if he would give it. He would remain still for a bit longer than usual, before fidgeting, wanting to be let down. She would oblige him. She refuses to shed a single tear.
The next couple of days are easier — or at least, she tells herself that to make it feel like it is. She throws herself into her work, into her book she told herself that she was going to finish. (She made a resolution, she remembers. She told him that night all about them.) Words fly to her, but none of them in the right order. The emotion is there, but the focus isn’t; she curses under her breath (another broken resolution, but who even cared anymore?), closing the laptop with a resigned sort of finality. She looks out the window to her balcony, and little sparrows dance on its ledge, waiting for her. She feels bad for them. She had forgotten to feed them. She mutters a half-hearted “sorry” to the little creatures, telling them they’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow she’ll feel more like her old self. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes and she pulls herself out of bed. Her motions feel automatic, and she tells herself she needs to get to bed earlier, she needs to sleep or she’s never going to be productive ever again. Glancing in the mirror, god, her eyes look so tired, but at least she hasn’t cried. What a fool she’d be, useless and pathetic, if she cried over this.
She leaves her bedroom, slinking out in her pajamas, her hair having come untied in the middle of the night. Strands fall in her face and she tucks them behind her ears, trying to figure out what to do about breakfast. Then she remembers the sparrows, how they chirped at her yesterday, looking at her as if to ask what was wrong. Elle grabs a piece of bread (she’s out of bird seed, and she forgot to do the shopping, she remembers when he helped her with that last time-) and makes her way to her balcony doors.
They swing open, letting sunlight in. She squints against it, looking for the sparrows, but they’re not there.
A crow is.
Elle freezes in place, and her expression is difficult to parse. It’s tired, it’s defined by an embarrassing loneliness that she’s trying very hard not to feel, and it’s frowning in anxious uncertainty.
Her mind must be playing tricks on her, that must be right. She doesn’t dare hope that maybe that crow is real, that maybe…
She doesn’t want to shatter the illusion. If she breathes out his name, the image will disappear, and then what will she do? Why, why, why couldn’t things just return to the way they were before? She hates being like this.]
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Maybe it was just a normal bird after all.]
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Time seems to move again after the crow flies away. She steps out into the balcony, fighting away the disappointment of a secretly dashed hope, and manages:]
Where'd you guys go? I thought you wanted to eat.
[As if on cue, the sparrows show up. One by one. Lining the ledge, chirping expectantly. Somehow the most mildest of smiles, barely there, graces her expression, and she feeds them. One by one, as they appeared.]
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As night falls, everything is silent and static. Time flows, but remains still. The balcony doesn't change except...
Someone is sitting against the wall, knees pulled in and arms draped over it. He's dressed in dark clothing as always, as if nothing's changed. He looks ahead of in in the distance.
Waiting. Hoping.]
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Maybe.
She's cleaning out her mug and drying it off in the kitchen, preparing it for tomorrow morning's inevitable cup of coffee. Finishing her task, she moves over to where Leeroy is, seated on the couch. Seated in the same place he used to nap.]
C'mon, little Paladin. Let's call it a night.
[But when she reaches down to pick him up, Leeroy stands up and meows. As if he's heard something, but it doesn't make the feline wary or skittish... it makes him curious, like something familiar has returned. He jumps off the couch and trots over to the closed balcony doors, tail in the air. He sits. Meows at it. Paws at it, as if it were a scratching post.]
Leeroy... there aren't any birds out there this time of night.
[What a weird cat. At least that'll be a constant in her life for awhile now. She walks over to the balcony and opens it a crack, just so he can see. She doesn't step out just yet.
Leeroy slips through and saunters out, turning and disappearing out of sight. She can hear purring from where she stands, and now she's just... confused.]
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She's so close and yet he still feels so far. How does he close the distance? How does he say the words he should say without sounding foolish?
Millions of possibilities run through his mind. He could leave again. He could sit there without making a sound waiting for Elle to come to him. But then he wouldn't say anything. He can't say anything. And maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to...?
There's a soft voice coming from the direction Leeroy just went to. A singing one, deep, throaty, a bit choppy as if it hadn't been used in a while. It's a message to her.]
I'll be the one who takes your coat off, one to take the blame...
[A pause. Does she hear him? He continues at the same volume.]
You'll be the one who keeps me sober, one to keep me sane and you say
Shut up, shut up, every time I say it
And I'd cut my fingers to the bone,
And I'd split my sides in for you
Tonight, we throw ourselves away
And we make it every time
When I thought I was ok
You said I was alright...
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She's afraid, pure and simple. If she steps out and sees nothing, she's really going to cry this time. She just wants herself to let it go, it's been days already, she should slowly be returning to feeling normal again; if she steps out and sees Leeroy and no one else, she just knows she's going straight back to square one.
She could just tell Leeroy to come in and close the door. She could go to bed and pretend she didn't hear anything at all. But what if she was wrong. What if, such a terrible phrase for a human being to utter to themselves. What ifs were the reasons why hearts were broken, why illusions were shattered so easily, like panes of glass.
But the what ifs are always, in the end, what drives humanity to act. And Elle is nothing short of human, in every way imaginable. It compels her, as it should. As it ought to.
And so with a surge of bravery (or was it foolishness?) she swings open the door fully and steps out. There's nothing slow about her movement. If she's wrong, she wants to get it over with as soon as possible. She turns, and...
There he is, sitting, waiting.
She doesn't know how to feel. Is she imagining things? Has she become so tired that her mind is making her see what she wants to see? How does she know he's real?]
...Corvus? [This time, she does breathe out his name. It's the last drop of courage she feels she has.]
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His head moves slightly as if bowing down. He doesn't want to see the kind of pain he had inflicted on her because he'd hurt again, she'd hurt again, and...
He continues his song singing in more of a whisper, sounding like he'll fade away at any second.]
As the night comes crashing down
We catch ourselves a line
Yeah we're only makin' out
If we make it out alright...
I'm home.
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There's something about that word, the one he's never used to describe her flat before, that sparks something in her again. Suddenly she doesn't want to stand and hope that he's real. She wants to make certain of it herself -- she wants to grab him and shake him and cling to him and force him back into reality, if she has to.
Her feet move and she walks over to him, then practically collapses to her knees, pulling him into a hug. He's solid. He's warm. He's real.
She's feeling those tears finally threatening to fall, the dam starting to creak after these past few days of stress. She doesn't seem to care this time.]
Corvus, you... you...
[One hand around his back, the other had been gripping the front of shirt so tightly, just to make sure he didn't slip away. She feels such an odd mixture of happiness and relief, swirling inside an array of fond irritation and exasperation.]
You jerk! [She hits him with that hand on his chest, weakly, trying to make a point.] Why did you leave?! You left me here all by myself. [She felt so alone, but god, now he's back and there's no way in hell she's letting go. She buries her face in his shoulder, shaking her head.] Don't do that to me.
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[A hand reaches up to touch Elle's head and then run its fingers through her hair, stroking her warmly, softly. God, she was warm.]
... Did you get sick again?
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She can feel his touch, his fingers running through her hair. There's something oddly intoxicating about it, yet calming. She raises her head to look at him, tears in her eyes.]
I'm not... sick, I was upset because you left. You're not doing that again. [A desperate please hangs in the air.]
I missed you.
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But for now, he wants an end to her sadness. And if that meant just being here, just letting her pull him into new experiences he was too stubborn to be part of before then...]
I'm here.
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And so Elle finally puts her arms around him proper, pulling him into a tight hug, her head on his shoulder.]
...Good.
[He can probably feel her heart beating in her chest. The warmth of his body is so comforting, and she thinks that finally, yes, she'll be able to sleep peacefully tonight.]
What... what made you change your mind?
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Why did he come back? What DID change his mind...?]
... I...
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...
... Not that.
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You... [She tries to stifle her laughter.] You haven't been eating very well, have you?
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[Is what he mutters, but it's in a warmer tone than usual.]
As for why I came back...
... There wouldn't be anyone else to read with me.
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Yeah, no one makes a better audio book than me.
[Her look becomes fond and wistful.]
And we still have plenty of books to go through, at least until you get sick of my voice narrating.
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[He puts his arm down to drape it over his knee again, sitting back just to look at her.]
Not for a long time.
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She stands to her feet, and reaches out to offer him a hand to stand. Leeroy looks up at her, having settled next to Corvus while all of this had been happening.]
Why don't we go inside? It's cold out here. I can fix you something to eat.
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[He accepts her hand and pushes himself up to stand up.]
I'll probably sleep for a long time. I flew around for quite a while.
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She leads him (and Leeroy) back inside the flat. It's warm and cozy (and feels less empty, now), and she closes the doors behind her.]
...Where did you go?
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Somewhere far away. I just settled among some trees to... Think.
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...Elle realizes she doesn't have much. She's due to go grocery shopping again soon, so Corvus will just have to settle with her pouring him a bowl of cereal for now.. Eventually, she brings the bowl over to him, and a spoon.]
Um... hey, about what happened that night... [She's almost afraid to bring it up, after everything. But it can't be ignored, despite his reaction last time.] I wasn't trying to upset you.
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