InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Buh"

Madison Tanner (metrogingham) wrote in bellumlogs,
@ 2010-01-15 08:18:00

Entry tags:

dorothy, plot: memories

Who: Madison Tanner
What: Memory post!
Where: Outside in the hall on the first floor.
When: Late afternoon after the landlord's post.
Warnings: None yet.
Notes: It's a really short post. The responses will be longer.

Madison, unlike most of the other tenants in building hadn't read the Landlord's post yet, though the police cars and tape didn't go unnoticed by her. Her aunt and uncle didn't care for it and even discussed the possibility of moving. Given their money issues, the topic didn't stay on the table for long. She wouldn't have wanted to leave anyway, there was something about this place she was drawn to, even if the landlord creeped her out immensely.

Returning home from school, she opened their apartment door to her dear sweet little Rex jumping up and down for her...then taking off like a shot away. "Rex!" she cried, racing after him.

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ex_auguries536
2010-01-16 04:40 am UTC (link)

You're waiting outside Bellum, leaning against the building's stone exterior, and you think you might be nervous. You can't be sure, because it's a feeling, and those are strange and foreign. The fear that's beneath it, however, is something you remember the taste of. You can't mess this up, it's too important. He is too important.

You look down at yourself, and you wonder if you should have chosen something more traditional to wear. Something less you and more Protective Older Brother.

But then the taxi is pulling up, and you can see him in the back. He looks nothing like you remembered, and exactly how he should. He's safe, and he's here and he's yours, and you're going to take care of him from now on.

You push away from the wall, and you approach the cab.

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metrogingham
2010-01-17 07:20 am UTC (link)

By the time Madison blinks back to reality, Rex is circling around her feet, guarding her against any danger that might come her way.

She picks him up, and scritches the fur on the back of his neck. This was really weird, but she had the sense it wasn't a hallucination (she wasn't the type to fall to drugs and alcohol). But she saw Aaron, and could feel the brotherly warmth whomever it was had at the sight of him. She shook her head violently, trying to expel these thoughts.

It would explain the boy, Shiloh as she recalled who asked her to watch out over Aaron. It gave her pause. He never said they were related. Did Aaron know? It was a lot to think about. Maybe she'd ask him later. Her thoughts were distracted as a pup kept licking her chin. Smiling, she returned home.

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cyprian
2010-01-17 06:38 pm UTC (link)

There's no way he'll get away with this, you think. Although if anyone could do the impossible, you know it's him.

It's a warm spring day, and you're standing on the lawn of the house in Rochester. The yard is a massive sprawl of manicured green, and feels like blades of satin under your bare feet. You're looking at the house, your house. Some mansionesque monstrosity of modern architecture. Complete with pillars, a wrap around porch.. and a brand new paint job.

There are men strapped to pulleys and flats, rising and falling along the height of the house's floors. Covering what had once been a respectable whitewash with neon orange. It's tacky enough to churn your stomach, and that's what makes you realize that it's the exact color as if some greedy fuck had eaten a whole bag of candy corn and vomited the after effects.

The color preference was, naturally, your brother's.

He's walking out of the house now. Coming up alongside you to admire the recreation of your childhood home. He's munches on a piece of cheese toast, philosophically. "Think Mom will like it?"

"She'll hate it," you tell him.

"Same thing," he muses.

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metrogingham
2010-01-21 12:55 am UTC (link)

Madison didn't even make it two feet down the hall before the next attack. Clinging to Rex tightly, she closed her eyes. The distaste for the orangey house was palpable, and she agreed with him--herself?--greatly. But really, what was going on? She wasn't remembering something from her past, and no one had spiked her water.

Running inside, she shook her head of the foreign feelings of irritation at a brother she never had and went to her room. Maybe she wasn't the only one.

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beaute_endormie
2010-01-17 11:25 pm UTC (link)

The apartment is silent. No one is here but you, and you don't make any noise. It's Saturday so no tutors will be here, just your piano instructor at three. You wander around for a while, bored out of your mind. You eat some strawberries to help counter the throbbing loneliness in the bottom of your stomach. You have a nanny that should be here, but her head always hurts on weekend mornings, so you've told her in that sweet, wide-eyed way of yours, that you won't say anything to Grand-mère if she doesn't want to come so early. You really don't want to be giving anybody headaches.

You walk into a bedroom. It's Maman's and it hasn't been used in a couple months, at least. The bed is made up, but there's no dust. You bury yourself in the covers, wrapping yourself in the faint scent of Chanel No. 5. When she's here, she takes you shopping, and for ice cream at Serendipity's, and lets you watch her get ready for grown-up soirees. But she isn't here very often. You take out a few of her magazines and flip through, looking mainly at the pictures even though you can read the French. You recognize a dress in an advertisement, so you slide off the bed and walk to Maman's closet. It's almost as big as your room. It takes a long time to find the dress, but when you do, you can instantly picture how your mother looked when she wore it, and she was so much prettier than the model in the magazine.

You spend the rest of the day playing dress up with the exquisite clothing, and although nothing fits, it's fun, and the fabrics are so soft on your skin, and the different cloths and patterns and colors and shapes feel almost like another language. Maman's language. You hang the clothes up and bring a stack of magazines back to your room, resolving to learn it.

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metrogingham
2010-01-21 12:56 am UTC (link)

She barely sat down before the next one. This one was much different than the first two. The pure happiness the girl felt was so strong, the undertone of loss and pain following. When the girl played dress up, Madison could feel the fabrics swishing around her, and it made her smile, but the tears beginning to form happened not long after.

It was only after listening to the Landlord's post that she realized what was happening.

Memories. Memories that were not hers. Some girl in the building, the poor thing, unwittingly shared her personal moment with a complete stranger. So did the others. She felt sorry and worried. If this girl's memory was being leeched and shared, then what about herself?

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