|Billie Harper =/= Ερις (unlikeable) wrote in paxletalelogs,|
@ 2011-09-20 06:23:00
Narrative: I've watched you change
Who: Charlie & Eris
What: Sleepy time; two personalities meet that probably weren’t supposed to. But then again, Discord rarely has tabs on what’s going on - or maybe she does, and just doesn’t want you to know? She’s a bit confusing like that.
Where: Apt 103 & an ancient Greek battlefield.
When: 3 AM.
Notes: Can has narrative.
It was still dark out when she woke, her throat demanding something to drink. Charlie sat in bed for a moment, letting herself orient in the dark; then she slipped bare feet to the cold, wooden floorboards of her apartment and slowly padded to the tiny kitchen area. She could hear the soft breathing of her dog, passed out in his usual spot near the couch.
Less in an effort to keep him from waking and more from her own tired mind, she moved quietly into the kitchen to procure a glass of water from the tap. A glass came down from the cupboard by her hand, and then her other was turning the tab to let a stream of water fall into the glass’ waiting mouth.
The taste was crisp and yet a little dull, but Charlie didn’t care. She just gulped down the entire glass, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trailing onto the sleeve of her pajama top. Putting the dirty cup in the sink itself, her bare feet turned around to take her back to bed when a strange phenomenon announced itself to her eyes - there was a light coming from her front door, through the peep hole and underneath, fingers reaching around the frame of the obstacle to attempt contact with the darkness on the other side. It wasn’t the usual sort of light that was in the hallway - this was erratic, and tinged red slightly. Remaining where she was standing, Charlie rubbed at her eyes; the light remained.
Moving slowly toward the door, she imagined she could hear sounds; perhaps even screams, some kind of clanging and the whinnies of frightened horses.
Changing her tactics, Charlie moved toward the door and flung it open, thinking that maybe Rylee had upped the stakes and was playing a much more elaborate prank on her. What met her eyes completely dissolved that theory:
A wide, foot-beaten plain lay before her. A hot, scalding sun rose above it, casting the red light that seemed almost fantasy-like. The plain was a no-man’s land, drenched in something to give discolored spots the limelight as they were decorated with what looked like the bodies of men. Those that were still alive continued their struggle, clashing with one another, swords striking, hand to hand, caving in each other’s skulls, puncturing stomachs and eviscerating one another with no care except for the warm spray of blood that came with each blow. Harsh wind blew from this fray into Charlie’s apartment, fingers pulling at her hair and dragging it away from her face as her jaw dropped.
One hand held tight to the frame while the other kept a grasp on the door itself; though the wind played havoc with her hair, there was no threat of ripping the entrance to her dwelling from her. For a moment she stood, enraptured, unable to tear her eyes away from the horrible sights before her. Near the frame of the door, two men came running, and Charlie started to swing it shut; but they stopped within a hairsbreadth of her entry way, instead one choosing to cleave into the other and send a spray of blood in the door’s direction - it was as though the two of them had no idea that the door was present, or else were so maddened by their blood lust that they chose to notice no details.
Rather than discover which was which, Charlie had had enough - she started to slam the door shut, when something stopped her. A hand on the door - the outside of it - kept the entry way open to welcome whatever this force might be.
“Don’t you want to stay and watch?”
The voice nearly giggled the words, a childish sound that had no place in a scene like this. Charlie watched, still gaping, as a form appeared, slowly breathed to life or else simply making itself comprehensible to her mind. A young woman - not too different in appearance from Charlie herself - dressed in what looked like a black shroud, the wind that had been gently clawing at Charlie’s hair whipping hers into a frenzy like a beloved pet rubbing at the ankles.
“They’re always so eloquent, always...one thing I’ve never been able to do well...” The woman shook her head as though disappointed in Charlie, who finally found the strength to snap her mouth shut.
“What the hell is this?”
The young woman grinned, her mouth little more than a wound itself. “Isn’t it lovely? You had better say it is, I worked so hard on it.” Charlie glanced back at the battle scene, where the majority now lay dead on the ground.
“No, this is what I call fucked up,” she responded, looking back to the young woman warily, maintaining her grip on the door with white knuckles. The woman pursed her lips, clearly displeased, eyes narrowed in order to study Charlie. Then she shrugged, eyes closing in apathy.
“So few appreciate what I do. It’s so disappointing.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
The wound expanded into a grin once more. “I am the Lady of Sorrows.”
Charlie raised a brow. “What kind of a name is that?”
The grin was replaced by a frown; she placed a hand over her breast as though insulted. “A very auspicious one, if I do say so myself. It was granted to me, and I think it’s quite well deserved.” She turned, using the same hand to indicate the battlefield before her. “Do you not hear them wailing? The screams, the dying, the bloodshed - I encourage this, in men and in beast, the thing that makes all strive to be more than what they are.” She gave a girlish laugh threaded with mischief. “Though I will admit, sometimes I do go a little overboard. What can I say, I do enjoy my work...”
“Must have been that Chinese,” Charlie mumbled to herself, earnestly starting to hope she was dreaming. She’d never had an episode like this before, and though the fact that she seemed to be aware of what was going on while in the dream was telling in itself and scared her more.
“Chinese?” The young woman appeared confused, drifting closer; she didn’t so much walk as float, her feet hidden by the train of her long, dark gown.
“This is the fucking weirdest dream I have ever had, and I’d like to wake up now,” Charlie sternly told herself, repeating one psychiatrists’ words with a few additions of her own. It was supposed to knock her subconscious back into place, give her back control over both her reality. She closed her eyes, fully expecting to wake up back in her bed - she was dismayed to still feel the wind blowing on her face, the smell of decay seeping into her living space.
“Oh, I see what you think this is,” the young woman replied, pushing Charlie to open her eyes and stare at the grotesque creature once more, waiting for answers. “But I have another proposition for you to think on - how is it that you believe that you are dreaming me, Charlotte? What if I am dreaming you?”
Charlie sat up in her bed, shocked away and gasping. The jingle of Jack’s tags announced his presence, signalling that he was on his way; the bedroom door opened enough to admit his small frame. He came up to the bed when Charlie patted the comforter; she wrapped her arms around the dog, eyes trained on the window, waiting for the sun to come up.