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Laura Moon (spitandviolets) wrote in mirage_rpg,
@ 2009-02-05 16:23:00

Entry tags:

andy gallagher, complete, day 31, laura moon

Who: Laura Moon and Andy Gallagher
What: Insomnia!
When: Day 31, very late night
Where: Laura's room, C112.
Rating: PG-13 for language and gory details
Status: Complete

If there was one thing that Mirage already knew about Laura, it was that she no longer had any concept of or any care for the concept of time. It had not supplied the undead woman with a clock. It didn't matter. When the sun was down, Laura was active and the rest of the world was not. When the sun was up, well, sometimes she didn't have a choice, and others she debated with herself as to whether or not she should be doing something. Thus, it was very dark, and possibly late or early.

Laura did not remember her own wake and funeral very well. She was not there, exactly. It was a distant memory, like watching herself from across the room. She remembered when her best friend spat on her face, and she remembered the violets. She also remembered the pose in which she'd been put to rest. At the moment, she was practicing it on her bed, bored, as usual, and cold, as usual. Her body was rigid, laying on her back on the plush, black coverlet, arms crossed over her chest, hands folded. Since she did not need to breathe, she was not breathing. Her eyes were closed but she did not sleep. Her hair was fanned out around her. Only the outfit, a pair of jeans and a black tanktop, which made her look even paler than usual, was out of place for a wake.

Having just retired from her computer, she was expecting Andy. When he would arrive, however, was uncertain. Drunk people ran on their own schedule. When she got drunk, when she was alive, she drank a lot. That, in fact, had been the death of her. Literally. Maybe she'd try to brighten Andy's mood with that story. The likelihood that he wanted to hear about her death, however, was probably not high. L was unique in that respect. Still, maybe she'd have another friend, someone else who wouldn't mind that she was dead and cold.

Focusing on the movements of the lights of humans, she managed to zero in on Andy's with only minor difficulty. Rising from the bed as a zombie from the grave, Laura sauntered to the door, opening it just as her guest arrived. She said nothing, holding the door open for him, dark eyes studying his face.

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brain_ninja
2009-02-05 04:14 pm UTC (link)

Maybe it was because he'd opened himself up to Sam and Illyana that he'd felt like it wasn't as much of an escape as it was a distraction from everything. He hadn't told Illyana anything about Rose beforehand even if he'd originally thought he had, so that had made him feel as though he had to explain what had happened, which of course, was the opposite of not thinking about it.

So...he'd gotten drunk. Really drunk. And still, all he could do was stare at his ceiling and hate everything. The booze should've knocked him on his ass and it hadn't. So, now, he was just awake and depressed and angry. Angry with Rose, angry with the Doctor; angry mostly, though, with himself. For buying into the idea that someone like her would've even so much as noticed, much less been interested, in someone like him. He was stupid and now he was suffering the consequence of it.

When hours passed and he still couldn't sleep, but he couldn't stop his mind's gears turning and turning...or, for that matter, the room spinning, he stumbled across the room, retrieved his abandoned journal, and wrote in it, having to scratch out misspelled and sloppy words here and there. He just needed to get it out. It was a bit surprising how fast he'd gotten responses from Laura and a girl named Layla he hadn't met yet. Laura was offering company; Layla, some sort of sleep aid. He'd had enough toxins in his body for the day, he thought, so he went with Laura's offer.

It took a lot of effort (and hanging onto pretty much every wall, railing and just about anything he could along the way) to drag himself out of the building and over to the C resident building where Laura had said she was.

He squinted against the lights in the downstairs foyer and groaned at the way the floor wobbled beneath him. It took a few minutes to rack his brain and remember which room was Laura's and he knocked really softly, in case his memory was failing him.

In the dimness of the second floor hallway outside her room, he waited until the door opened and through beer goggles, she was gorgeous. Great. He didn't remember her being quite as pretty, but he also hadn't been paying much attention at the group activity; he'd been too busy trying to make sure he wasn't making an idiot of himself and falling over on those stupid skates. "Hey," he said dully, offering her a small, somewhat forced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She was holding the door open, so, gripping the door frame to keep himself upright, Andy managed to get inside. He didn't bother trying to cross the room, just stood barely inside and held onto the wall for support. "Thanks for the invite..." he slurred lazily.

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spitandviolets
2009-02-05 05:43 pm UTC (link)

Wow. Apparently Andy's typing had not betrayed just how drunk he was. He was coherent, but barely, and his movements were pathetic, to say the least. Somewhere inside all of the formaldehyde, glycerine, and laudin was a very kind heart, the kind of heart that didn't beat. Perhaps that was what people considered the spirit or the personality. Seeing him as pitiful as he was, Laura's sympathies were stirred. He was having it rough. It was, in fact, way worse than she had suspected. He looked like her on the nights that she hit the bottle the first year that Shadow was gone. In those moments she had looked deader than she did even in death. Seeing humans with one foot in the grave was depressing.

Wordlessly moving to stand beside him, Laura snaked an arm around his torso, holding tightly onto him. Her grip held him firmly beneath the arms. Despite her delicate, feminine frame, she had an insanely strong grip. In fact, it may have been a little too tight. She had trouble being delicate. Humans were such fragile creatures. Draping his arm over her icy shoulders, peeling him off the door frame, the dark haired woman lifted all of his weight nearly effortlessly. His feet were only barely touching the floor. "It's nothing," she replied, guiding him slowly and steadily towards the plush, black, leather armchair that sat beside a matching sofa. "Night owls have to stick together, right?" Her voice was still that same dark, blank, emotionless tone that it had been that morning. After a short, slow walk from the door, she set him gently in the chair, careful not to move him too quickly. The last thing he needed was any quick movements. She did not want to have to clean up anything gross.

As she assisted him, she couldn't help but wonder if he noticed how frigid she was. Her room was kept cool to delay decomposition, but it was not uncomfortable. Her touch, however, many would find both unsettling and unpleasant. She, most certainly, could feel his heat when they were in such close proximity. Logic declared that he would just as easily feel her cold.

Laura's room was dim, and she liked to keep it that way. She did not need light to see. Everything was as clear at midnight as it was at noon. There were a few lamps, kept low, and the shadows in her room were long. There were also numerous candles that flickered. She found it amusing that they were always the perfect height - they were never close to burning out, but not brand new. Laura hated using brand new candles. Her room was somber. The carpet was a deep, forest green and the bedspread and furniture was black. It was very chic and mod. There were red and gold accents all over the room. One wouldn't think that the combination would work, but, in fact, it did. Oddly enough, the sound of a running fountain echoed through the room from a little closet with a glass door that was beside the bathroom. It was easily visible and strikingly beautiful. There was a statue of three women, one old, one a young woman, and one a child, with the water coming from the roots of a tree that was behind them. The water shimmered in the dim light.

Taking a seat on the sofa that was adjacent to his chair, Laura crossed her legs and leaned back, watching him carefully. "Can I get you something?" she asked, head canting to the side. Maybe some water would help. Also, she wasn't great at breaking the ice. She hoped that he didn't mind silences. Her conversational style, at this point, worked better when someone asked her things or spoke to her about things. "What's got you so messed up? People don't drink like that just because they think it's fun. Because, really, that's not fun. You look like crap."

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