Isadora Raleigh (poison_and_fire) wrote in indarkness_logs, @ 2010-10-08 19:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, 2032 10, isadora raleigh |
RP: Familiarity
Characters: Dora
Time/Date: Evening, October 8
Location: Outside
Warnings/Rating: None, really
Summary: Dora is moderately distressed
Status: Closed
She recognized the bottle when she saw it on the nightstand. Recognized it by the chip in the glass, the scrape on the metal band at the neck of the pump. It wasn't a replica; it was the very same bottle he'd given her.
He'd loved her, or so he'd claimed. She'd felt nothing for him. He was a tool, a means to an end, and in the end ... she was fairly certain he'd been playing her the same way she'd been playing him. Opposing forces pretending to work toward the same goal, and when push had come to shove ... he'd been her target.
Isadora lifted up the bottle, turning it slowly in her hand. She knew exactly what she would smell if she squeezed the pump, so she refrained as she set the bottle slowly back down on the nightstand.
She couldn't imagine what it meant, being here. What were their captors trying to say with this, exactly? He'd been no threat to her at home; he'd be no threat to her here. The bottle itself represented nothing; all it did was stir up memories of him, of her past, of the only kill she'd felt any reluctance about carrying out. It wasn't much of a pause, but there'd been some. It was, she thought, the same reluctance she'd feel ...
Her jaw tightened slightly. Was that it then? Was this their way of saying they knew what she and Spike were up to? That they'd guessed at the angle of their relationship? It wasn't quite the same, no. She actually liked Spike. Yes, she'd hesitate to kill him, but if he was between her and an end-goal and there was no other way ... she would. It was her nature. It was how she operated.
It also wasn't a very likely scenario. There was no goal here that Spike would be a hindrance in achieving. If anything, it was quite the opposite wasn't it?
Isadora carted the small bottle to the dresser, tucking it into an empty drawer. It could stay there until their captors were inclined to take it away ... or it could rot there. What did she care?
Glancing to Iridia, she cocked her head to gesture him to the door. She slipped her feet into shoes and started in that direction. She wanted some air, and she wanted to consider all angles and meanings of the bottle of perfume. Maybe she'd already guessed at the meaning. Maybe there was no meaning. Maybe it was random. Maybe what she'd guessed wasn't right. She just ... wanted to think.
Making her way down the stairs, she cut through the lobby area to head to the door. Letting herself outside, she inhaled slowly before exhaling. Starting to walk along, she let her hands rest at her sides. The skirt of her dress rustled around her legs as she stepped carefully over the barren dirt off the beaten path (such as it was), and she let part of her mind slip to mulling over the bottle. The rest of her was focused on her surroundings and whatever people were out here for her to encounter.