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

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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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[info]spitandviolets
2009-02-08 05:31 pm UTC (link)
She was absolutely devouring the fact that he seemed, at first, afraid of her. She had never seen somebody flinch at her 'boo' before, and it made her stomach turn. It was a combination of disgust and relief. Disgust was present because she hated what she was. It was a relief, though, that somebody could react normally to the fact that she was a scary undead. Still, she couldn't get her hands off of his face. She didn't want to lose the heat. It felt too good, too much like life.

"You think that you'd be dead if the planet decided to send you back?" Her heart softened. That thought was painful. She didn't want someone to be as dead as she was. In a way, they were both undead. Andy was still alive, yes, but his proper place, if he had been allowed to remain a victim of fate, would be in a grave. "You shouldn't regret knowing. Being prepared for death can be a comfort. Besides, the likelihood of you actually going back is not high. And I'll help you fight. If there is one thing that I would fight to save someone from, it's a certain death. I wouldn't wish it upon someone who didn't want it, who didn't deserve it."

A demon? People could summon demons? She'd never heard nor seen anything like that. "Were you afraid of the demon when she summoned it? Did it hurt you? Did you get a bad wound when it attacked?" What sorts of wounds did demons give? She couldn't fully imagine it. Then again, her imagination was not what it used to be. It was a little less vivid, a lot more flawed. Laura had become more literal. Maybe it was because her brain didn't function on a high level; maybe it was a side effect of decay.

Laura's system of justice was impartial, but it did rely on first-hand evidence. The men that she'd killed had been hurting her husband. They had every intention of continuing torturing him, and they were going to kill him when they got bored. Why? Because he was a misled soul, mixed up in something that he didn't understand, and persecuted for his bloodline. That sort of inhuman cruelty could not go unpunished. She was not, however, so judgmental that Andy was on the top of her hit list. His murder was probably justifiable, and who was she to pass judgment on a crime about which she knew nothing? No, she had known for a fact that Shadow was in mortal peril, and she had acted to protect him. She would protect anyone that she felt strongly about in such a way. For the most part, however, she was indifferent to the ideas of crime and punishment. They were mortal affairs, and they no longer concerned her. She could neither be tried for murder nor theft where she came from, nor for any other crime. She was dead. There had been an autopsy. Laura Moon, as a person, was no more.

If Laura had known of his sorrow or his pity, she would have been furious. That was one thing she didn't want. Her story was factual, not a sob story. She had been a very compassionate, giving person in life, and she wasn't going to start being a selfish, attention-sucking leech in death. People had too much to worry about to feel sorry for the dead. Additionally, she spent much of her time feeling plenty sorry for herself. Perhaps that anger was why she almost jerked away when she saw his eyes. That look pierced her far worse than any wound would. That was raw emotion, and while she didn't feel it, she could still understand it, and she could still recognize it. If she had breath, that look of obscure compassion would have taken it away. What had made him look at her that way?

If she had known that he had forgotten his problems, however, her anger would have been tempered. Genuinely, all she wanted to do was make people feel better. If she had succeeded at that, in some small and insane way, that was all she could ask. She would never ask him to help her, and she would never refuse him assistance of any sort.

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