InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "LORD HAVE MERCY"

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 06:40 pm UTC (link)

Andy opened his eyes and took his hand away from his face, letting out a huff of air that had started out as a deep, cleansing breath. He looked around the room again and, yep, she wasn't kidding. It was pretty dark. How he hadn't really noticed before was beyond him, but to each their own, he supposed. "O...kay..." he replied slowly, dim-witted with intoxication. "You could always put on a sweater or something, you must be freezin' your ass off," he commented, noticing the tank top.

"I...what?" he asked, confused. "I think it's pretty - hic - uh, obvious that I got myself drunk, don't you?" he asked, his words slurring together stupidly as if he couldn't be bothered to separate them into separate words. Or perhaps, as though he was not capable. She put a cup of water down on the coffee table and he thought to himself that maybe coffee would be better, offsetting the alcohol. A steaming mug appeared beside the cup of water and he gave a lazy, half-smile. If nothing else, the Planet was good at keeping him happy with material needs, anyway... He picked up the coffee first and when the smell made his stomach turn, set it down to take the water instead. "Thanks," he replied.

The dull throb in his head was driving him nuts. He could hear his pulse in his ears and feel it in his temples. And all for what? To drown out thoughts of someone who didn't seem to care as much as she said she did.

Laura prefaced a lecture by saying she wasn't one to give lectures and Andy was inclined to let out a bitter laugh even if he would've kept it to himself had he been sober. "I'm sure it is," he replied to the bit about an emergency room being a cold and lonely place to die. "So is, probably, a cabin the middle of nowhere surrounded by people intent to kill you to save themselves," he thought aloud in reference to what he now knew was his fate if he ever returned to the time from which he'd come.

"Look, I'm sorry...I'm in one hell of a mood, I feel sick, now, and I'm probably shitty company," he apologized.

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spitandviolets
2009-02-05 07:15 pm UTC (link)

A sad shake of her head. "You won't understand why not, but a sweater won't help me, either. I'm cold, though. I'm always so cold." Her eyes wandered to the floor, studying the carpet. Her bare feet slid over it, stroking the soft material. She could feel it, slightly, and she knew that it felt better than, say, a knife in her stomach might. It did not, however, feel soft and comfortable.

Rising to her feet, Laura moved behind him. She could almost hear his pain. Her hand gently fell on his forehead, better than any sort of icepack or cold compress because it would never melt, never get warm. Really, it was a win-win situation at the moment. His head would, eventually, begin to feel better. She would get to experience some human warmth. Her fingers lightly dragged over the skin, her other hand lifting to join the rubbing. The heels of her palms rested on his eyes, pressing lightly. Leaning down, she spoke softly, trying not to be too loud. As she got closer to him, he would notice that she smelled of a fairly pricey perfume. There was a strange undertone, though, that was very earthy. It was like perfume...with a hint of rot and chemicals.

"I'll agree with you. A cabin surrounded by people bent on killing you is a more sure way to die than simply by drinking." Her hands moved away from his eyes and back to his forehead, resting there, fingertips rubbing in small circles. "But I think that drinking leads to less pleasant, more unexpected ways to die than simply going to a cabin does."

There was a faint chuckle. It was sad to her that she thought of her own death in such cold, abstract, matter-of-fact terms. It was what it was: a story that others should hear to learn from and never make the same mistake. There were morals in it about infidelity, about karma, about love, about the road to Hell being paved with good intentions. She wasn't sure where Robbie was, but she was pretty sure that he was in Hell. She was in her own personal one, so why shouldn't he be in the proper one?

"You don't need to be sorry. I was human once. Every night, for thirteen months, I drank myself into a coma. Every morning I got up, went to work, and I had a drink with lunch. I couldn't even wait until five o'clock. I suppose that was the second in a long line of sins. I made shitty company for people, and I often felt sick. Even after I stopped drinking, I don't think my foul mood ever went away. It was about to. Then fate took its due and karma took its revenge, and that's the way the story ends, in short, because people do get what they have coming to them. I was a really awful woman. Women are wicked creatures. I paid for that."

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