Mandy Slade (smileslie) wrote in expresslogs, @ 2012-05-25 20:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, {mandy slade, {tristan moore |
Who: Mandy and Open
What: Mandy finds herself on a train, and has just a bit of trouble believing it's real.
When: Friday night
Where: Hallway of car #13 (sleeper)
Rating: Definitely going to be some language and references to illegal substances, will edit if more comes up.
Status: Open/ongoing
Mandy had just finished draining the crap beer one of the roadies had tossed her, thinking as she threw it away that she should probably get back to the hotel before she started seriously eyeing that boy who had his hair done up like Brian's because he couldn't be legal and it would be a bad idea even if he was because fucking Brian.
And anyway, it looked like Curt would be beating her to the chase on that one. Oh, poor Curt. She'd tried to shield him--it was the least she could do, after those nights early on when she'd screamed at him how it was all his goddamn fault and a thousand other horrible things she had never ever meant--but, just like her, he couldn't keep away from Brian, or at least the idea of Brian. He'd said, when they'd been on the phone making sure everything was in place for her to get her pass, that they were strong. We walked away, Mand.
No, they hadn't walked. They'd both run, angry and wounded, from a man neither believed could ever have been the one they'd fallen for. Which, she supposed, was why they kept circling back to imitations, to images. And she knew she'd do it again, in some club or bar, with some other boy or even a girl if she was blitzed enough. But she couldn't do it tonight with this boy. The momentary pleasure would not balance out the excruciating pain tonight, no matter how much she drank or smoked.
So she'd hit the door,the scents of fried food and petrol and everything she hated and loved and would miss about London hitting her when...
When suddenly she found herself on a bloody train. She'd been on enough of them over the past few years to recognise what she was hallucinating, anyway. Because that had to be it. She was tripping, even though she didn't remember taking anything. Maybe someone had dropped a tab in her beer. In spite of how utterly fucked up this entire evening had been--burying everything she'd spent five years giving life to and Curt and that damn song and that boy and Brian that fucking coward--in spite of all that, she couldn't help laughing a bit. Maybe because of the fact that, in all likelihood, this was last time she'd be on a train like this and it was in her own damn mind. She let her bag fall from her wrist and sat down, leaning back against a wall to wait out coming back to her wretched reality.