★ ☆ ✰ (vespertine) wrote in bellumlogs, @ 2010-07-27 18:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | lucy westenra, van helsing |
Who: Lily & Aiden.
What: After the interesting happenings during the night of the full moon, or more accurately being hit in the head with the blunt end of a stake and consequently being knocked out and carried to Aiden's apartment, Lily awakens in a strange place with a bad headache.
Where: Aiden's apartment.
When: Morning after the full moon.
A sunny-morning sliver of light stole the liberty of pricking itself into the beige thumb of the carpet. The light itself was soft and warm like the cheek of a baby, and when Lily awoke from her dreamless yet eventful slumber, fluttering her eyes into opening shop, the light was as shrill and sharp as the cry that the figurative brat-baby of aforementioned proportions was capable of. She'd squinted them back closed, not open for business, drawing in the mandatory first inspiration of breath after waking. And once stirred out of the undertides of the sleepy pit, the second breath was a scream-gasp.
She was now as officially wide awake and sober as a Vietnam vet monitoring the foot activity of his well-maintained lawn. Near a high school.
Not only did she find the room unrecognizable, the bed, the possessions, pretty much everything around her, which made her stand up on the bed as if the room were filling with lava or ice water, but she also managed to remember all the things that ended up happening last night, and that surprise, they weren't all a dream. What happened to that poor guy?!
Lily jumped off of the bed in a hurry and bumped into something placed on a dresser, which fell with a dull thud onto the carpet, mentally apologizing to whatever it was, and then stopping for a second... considering... should she pick it up? Where was she? She probably shouldn't touch anything! It could've been a startlingly accurate bust of Elvis Presley curling his lip, or even the Holy Grail. She wasn't thinking straight. And that's when her head started to pound.
And so, she ran into the hall and to the exit as fast and expertly as an escaped feline from a cage inside the pound, grabbing the doorknob which... was locked. Oh, right. That's when she, bruise on the side of her face in tow, sheepish laugh, awkward grin and all, saw the figure in the kitchen.
"I was just..." She began to explain, but alas, she wasn't a liar. "I was sneaking..." No, you weren't. You were running. "I was running, which isn't very sneaky..." Her hands uncurled from the doorknob and she covered her face. Caught. Maybe this would help her think of something to say. She said something, which was muffled through her hands, that sounded like 'I'm sorry.'