mmmmaniacal (insania) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-05-23 12:16:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | lyssa, mania |
Who: Mania, Lyssa and some rather unfortunate NPCs.
Where: Lyssa's place
When: Friday evening
Warnings: TBD
"I'm going to a tea party!" Mania informed the taxi driver gleefully as she slid into the passenger seat. She had a peculiarly uneven voice, like shattered stained glass - multi-hued, disordered and deceptively sharp in all the wrong places. The sound was jarring to mortal ears - to many immortals', too, for that matter - but the cabbie was a well-mannered sort and so he hid his flinch, remarked mildly that that was nice and asked her for the address. A crumpled scrap of paper that may well have been torn out of the back of a library book changed hands, and though it bore some questionable stains the address was legible and local, so the driver started the meter and pulled out into the traffic.
Mania was virtually bouncing in the seat in her impatience. She never got invited to parties, not the nice ones anyhow, so tonight was a special occasion. She was wearing her best dress - although, of course, it wasn't actually hers, and where the daimon had managed to find a 1920s flapper dress was anybody's guess. It was red and beaded, though oddly matched with a bright orange fishnet stocking on one leg and a more demure black-and-grey striped sock on the other, and fluffy bedroom slippers on both. To top it off, her necklace appeared to be made primarily out of shrivelled bits of fruit. But that, thought the cabbie wryly, was New Yorkers for you. No rhyme or reason.
After several minutes of driving in silence, the driver glanced at the girl to find her squinting at his ID on the dash. She met his eyes, looking speculative. "Pradeep Saharanpuri, is that your name?"
The cabbie nodded. "That's right."
Mania pursed her lips thoughtfully. "It's a lot of letters. How do you remember how to spell it?"
Pradeep was a little taken aback but, thinking of his tip, he replied amiably, "I have had a lot of practice, I guess."
"Oh. I thought you might have a mnemosyneonical type thingie. You know, like... Purple Rats Are Done Eating Earnest Prunes, Some Are Horrid And Rancid And Nasty, Putrid Under Rude Islands."
What do you even say to that? "Ah. No."
"You can have that one, if you like." Mania offered generously. "I made it up. In my head."
"...thank you." Drugs, probably, he concluded. Kids in this town, it seemed as though all of them were getting high on something. If it wasn't drink, then it was the ecstasy or pot or worse. Such a shame, too, Pradeep thought reflectively, sneaking a sideways glance at his passenger. Underneath the outlandish costume and the bizarre smudged makeup, she looked as if she might be quite pretty.
Fortunately, their arrival at the girl's destination forestalled any further conversation. Pradeep glanced at the meter, and then at the girl. "Ten dollar twenty, please."
An expression of surprise crossed Mania's face and a crease appeared in her forehead. "But aren't you coming in?"
Um.
"...excuse me?"
He couldn't disguise his flinch this time as she clutched his forearm imploringly - not that it mattered, as she barely seemed to register his discomfort. "Oh, please, Mister Pradeep, you have to come in! My sister will be so disappointed if you don't."
Not good. "Miss, I-- You are very generous, but I have work to--" The poor cabbie stammered his excuses as he tried to extract himself from the girl's grasp. Her grip tightened painfully around his arm, the ragged fingernails digging claw-like into his skin.
Leaning in close now, Mania looked almost apologetic. Or maybe it was just the light. "It's just that I've nothing to bring, and I'll look so horribly rude if I show up to a tea party without a dish. You know?"
*
Mania jabbed at the buzzer impatiently, eyes bright with excitement. She'd have been bouncing on her heels, if not for the dead weight of the unfortunate cabbie slumped against her shoulder. He was conscious still, but barely; his eyes were unfocussed and the words he spoke were slurred and incoherent, in his native tongue. "Cheer up, Pradeep," the daimon whispered to him. "We're going to have a party!"