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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]brain_ninja
2009-02-10 07:04 pm UTC (link)
Andy jumped with surprise and then froze, wide-eyed, when Laura grabbed his wrist harshly. He winced slightly, looking down at his wrist as he tried to wrench out of her grip. No go.

When she started talking, he looked back up at her. "Well, I mean...can you blame me for takin' it that way?" he asked, frowning slightly. Was she so far gone from life, now, that she couldn't remember what it was like trying to read mood from words and context? Part of him even felt badly knowing that if that was the case, Laura was gonna have a hard go of it, trying to interact with people whose minds processed things the same way his did. But, she said that she prefered he stayed. "I wasn't trying to talk myself into leaving," he replied. "I was trying to give you a get out of jail free card."

His eyes meandered toward her bed after she let him go and he shook his hand to help the blood circulation flow pick up again; his hand was numb, now. Man, that thing looked comfortable and Andy was getting really tired, now... He looked back at her, only, by the time he had, she'd moved, her back to him as she held the edge of the desk. Even from where he stood, Andy could hear the splintering of the wood, although he assured himself he was only hearing things and that it wasn't real. Nobody could do that, just by holding onto it, right?

"You're not a shitty host," Andy replied, running a hand through his hair. "I think we're just miscommunicating, that's all." He wasn't sure if that was the problem or if they'd just never really see eye to eye, but he liked to believe it was because it was their first time ever really talking mixed with his alcohol-addled brain.

Moving across the room, Andy sat down on her bed. "Man, I don't wanna, like, negate all that with this, but...it's finally hitting me and I'm fuckin' tired..." he said softly. "Sure it's okay that I stay here? I'm honestly not really keen on the idea of stumbling back to my own room if I don't have to..." he admitted.

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[info]spitandviolets
2009-02-12 12:50 am UTC (link)
"No, I can't blame you," Laura echoed, glancing at him from across the room. Really, she couldn't. It was she who was dysfunctional, not him. She was dead, she was socially inept. He was alive, and his understanding of things far exceeded her own. It was hard for her to conceive of how people would take the things that she said. And, truly, she found it hard to care. Being blunt was the way that she worked. Truths were the way that she worked. It felt too difficult to hold things in anymore, anyway. Even though she had more space inside, she had less of a capacity for holding things.

Her eyes followed him to the bed. "I don't need a get out of jail free card. Your presence does not bother me in the least. I concern for you and what you will think when you wake up in the morning, because while you are sobering, I have a feeling that everything will still be vastly hazy. I am pleased that my bed will be used for its intended purpose for once. When I lay down to pretend to sleep, just to see if I manage to actually do it, it feels more like a wake than a bed. The bed is fulfilling its duty, and it is living up to its potential bed-ness. I think that the bed god, somewhere, would be thoroughly pleased with it once you've fallen asleep there."

Making her way over to him, Laura stood beside the bed. She reached out, her hand gently stroking over his forehead. She wasn't sure, exactly, what she was going to do for the hours until he woke up. What she knew for certain, however, was that she would not be there when his eyes opened. The last thing he needed was her sitting there staring at him. Would he remember anything about her? Would this all seem like a dream, or some kind of hazy, underwater nightmare? Part of her was curious what his process would be in the morning. Maybe she wouldn't be there be there, but she might watch. Then again, she might be tempted to interact, and that would be harmful.

"Go to sleep, Andy," she murmured, her fingers twisting lightly in his hair. Her dark, dead eyes gazed down at him. Applying light pressure, she pushed him back. "It's okay if you stay here. I don't like the idea of you stumbling back to your own room, either, and I think I've done enough damage for the night." A faint, crooked, hopeful smile crossed her purplish lips. "I'm not going to degrade your masculinity by throwing you onto my back and carrying you."

Her hand slid over his eyes, covering them, her touch cool and soft. "Go to sleep, Andy. It'll all feel better in the morning."

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