InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "You're lucky to have me. "

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.

(Read comments) - (Post a new comment)

brain_ninja
2009-02-08 09:59 pm UTC (link)

Andy frowned. He'd hoped he'd been able to keep that to himself. "It's just different, Laura... I'll get used to it," he said firmly because even he wanted to believe it. "It's not so bad."

All right, that was a lie, but he felt justified in believing that if he touched her long enough, he would get used to it and it wouldn't be so bad. She'd extended an offer to keep him company when he was feeling lonely. She'd helped him put things into perspective and he knew he'd be far better for it in the morning. The least he could do was the only thing he could, physically, to help her out in return.

But she'd taken hold of his wrist and he froze. He'd pushed a button of some kind, because she looked thoughtful and maybe...no. He thought for a moment he'd seen a sadness there, but he couldn't be sure. It was dark...and she was dead. She'd said already that only the powerful emotions could come through and sadness sucked, but Andy didn't think it was all that powerful.

Laura moved to the sofa and Andy bowed his head, taking the clove from his lips and holding it between his two fingers, cherry pointed toward the sky as he set his hand on his knee. Something he'd done hadn't been welcome and he felt an awkwardness wash over him. Should he apologize? Leave? He looked up again when she spoke. She'd changed the subject entirely. Andy lifted the clove up and took another drag, nodding. "I always used to smoke the Djarums in the maroon and white box...they have somethin' on the tip that makes your lips tingle and tastes like cherries. Fuckin' trippy when you're already high," he said, deciding to go with the conversation rather than make things worse by revealing how uncomfortable he felt with whatever faux pas he'd committed. "I haven't had a clove since, like, high school, though," he added lamely.

He paused, dragging on the clove for a moment and exhaling it in thin brown-gray plumes. "...do you want me to go?" he asked quietly. He was well sobered now, he thought, between the conversations and the feel of her cold skin. "I don't wanna overstay my welcome," he added for good measure. He really didn't, but at the same time, he didn't want to make her feel like it was her that was making him want to go, because it wasn't. Not really.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

spitandviolets
2009-02-08 10:37 pm UTC (link)

She shook her head, waving a hand at him, indicating that he shouldn't worry about it. Another long, slow drag on her cigarette was taken, and she exhaled it equally slowly. It hurt, the fact that he didn't want to touch her. Most people would rather touch a frog or something; at least they were supposed to be cold and moist. Yes, Andy was just like Shadow, even in that they didn't want to touch her. She'd be fine, though. Maybe she needed to just stop trying. Maybe that was the curse of being dead: you wanted to touch them so badly, but they were always just out of reach. It was better off for everyone if you just kept your hands to yourself.

Laura reached out, picking up her cigarettes. "Djarum makes great cigarettes." She wiggled the box a little bit. "Djarum Black Slimz. Even in death I can't not smoke girly cigarettes. I'll try pretty much any flavor of Djarum Blacks, though. I used to get teased that I belonged in the twenties, complete with flapper dress and cigarette holder. I think I'm a little too scandalous for the twenties, though." Sitting up a little straighter, she folded her legs beneath herself. "I can't deny that I've always loved a good smoke. Maybe I'm a really stressed out person. I like the mentholated kind like those cherry ones, though. The subtle burn feels really good. Though I can't say that I've ever had a smoke while high. I think I only did that once. It was so long ago that I really don't remember. Maybe at some point, in high school?"

She shrugged and leaned into the sofa a little. It was a nice conversation, laid back, the closest to a human discussion she'd had in a long, long time. Laura ran a hand through her hair, shaking out the long, chestnut colored locks. "Do you want to go?" she echoed, rephrasing his question. "I'm not going to keep you here. The invitation was for you to come and stay as long as you want. I don't want you to stay, though, if you'd rather be someplace else. That's the nice thing about being dead. You don't worry so much about rejection." You do still worry about what people think of you, though, and she was pretty certain that Andy was completely petrified of her. Or at least disgusted with her. And why shouldn't he be? She was a corpse who liked to have long discussions about nothing in particular, just shoot the breeze.

"For the record, though," she commented, dark blue eyes flickering over to him, "I do like your company. It makes the night pass a little easier, not being in here alone. Night, day, weeks, months, they don't matter to me. Everything is just one long, endless stretch of time. I can pretend to sleep, but I can't actually sleep, so things are just as long one way or the other. When you can't sleep, you can't dream."

(Reply to this) (Parent)

(Read comments) -