Nova Montaigne (chthonic_touch) wrote in darker_london, @ 2020-02-25 17:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | november montaigne |
Storms brewing up above - Nova
It was while cleaning the benchtop, her shower-fresh hair hanging wet and heavy on her shoulders, that Nova thought I have got to get my own place.
Sure, the hospital was fine. But it wasn't a home, wasn't any way to have an actual life. And Nova spent all her time in that place, either working or on her downtime. Originally it had made sense: Valentin had reached out and (understandably) terrified her: but it had been years since then, years since there'd been even a glimpse of him.
Honestly, Nova didn't think she was on his radar anymore. Maybe she was wrong but maybe if she was just going to continue hiding away forever, she might as well be in a prison of his choosing anyway.
No, things were changing. Things were getting better and looking up, and she needed an external change to reflect that new confidence.
This house was very nice, Nova considered again as she turned away from the kitchen counter and into the open plan living room. Very sleek and classy, although totally out of her price range. She'd never be able to afford somewhere as clearly posh as this. No, she'd end up with some shitty one bedroom that was falling down, not this place with under floor heating (madness!) and a lighted fish tank that took up an entire wall (why?).
Rich people things, the sorts of expensive taste that bordered on ridiculous.
She gave the house another sweep, running bleach over a few more surfaces before tossing the gloves and cloths and assorted debris into a rubbish bag.
After dragging all the bags into the boot of her car, Nova climbed in and turned on the heating, already decided on her direction. She changed the CD twice, annoyed with both selections. Things got on her nerves a lot recently and she tried to let them go, tried not to let them escalate.
But sometimes she couldn't help it.
It was a forty minute drive to the surprisingly treacherous little patch of water, and there she dropped the heaviest of the bags and watched the churning rapids drag it under.
It might come up again soon, or it might not. There were nooks and crannies down there that apparently held onto anything given to the river, but like all rivers it was temperamental. Nova figured it was a fifty-fifty chance, and she'd burned off enough identifying features in case it did.
Back at the car, Nova leaned against the boot and watched as the first rays of the sun began to break over the trees, taking a deep breath and letting the frigid air fill her lungs. The chill was enough of a shock to make her feel present and real and good.
She dumped the other rubbish bag in a council skip, the rubbish truck already coming into view down the street.
After a long and busy night, Nova was hungry for something that could be served greasy and fried instead of just blood- as delicious as it was, Nova needed both. So she ended up at a small diner, smiling at the waitress who took her order and hoping it arrived before she started feeling too sleepy. She had to be at work in a few hours.
The coffee arrived first and it was hot and it was decent. Nothing mind-blowing, but it would keep her going.
Across the street, in a beige and brick building, she saw a sign reading FLATS FOR RENT. Nova stirred her coffee and nodded to herself.
Sure. That might do.