diamond_heart (diamond_heart) wrote in mundus_district, @ 2009-09-07 12:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | deadpool, emma frost |
Who: Emma Frost and whomever...
What: Amnesia.
When: Tonight.
Where: Apartment building/bar.
Status: Incomplete.
Rating: PG?
She woke peacefully stirring in a large comfortable bed. As she sat up, she felt light headed and looked around, examining the furniture. The place was well decorated, accommodating, stylish, something that she felt accustomed to and enjoyed. Running her pale hands over the sheets, she noted that the sheets were made of satin. She stood and carefully began to walk around the room, still regaining her strength. It felt as if her legs had not been used not used for months. The room had four doors. One was spotted with glass panes that showed it's pathway to the balcony, two were ajar, revealing that one was a closet and the other a restroom. The last door must have been her way out.
As she walked over toward it, she passed the mirror above the dresser and peered into it. It was only until she saw her face staring back at her from that pane of glass that she recognized her own appearance. Her shining pale blue eyes, full pink lips and long, wavy blonde hair could have belonged to any beautiful woman but she knew them to be her own now. She started to remember. But what was her name? Where was she and why couldn't she remember anything, anything at all? There was a phonebook on the dresser. "London, Ontario" she spoke in barely a whisper, her voice hoarse and dry but characteristically husky. Somewhere in the depths of her memory she recognized the place as belonging to Canada. At least she knew where she was.
A breeze wafted in from the open window, spreading cold night air. She shivered and crossed her arms over her chest, realizing there was a plastic bracelet wrapped loosely around her thin wrist. She turned and read the words. "Hillsboro General, Ms. Emma Grace Frost." So, she knew her name and she had came from the hospital. Such information only seemed to create more questions in the woman’s mind. As soon as she thought about it, she was hit with a tremendous was of pain, throbbing in back of her cranium. She moaned and rubbed her forehead, sitting down on the vanity chair. Once she recovered enough from the splitting headache to move, she opened the drawers to examine it’s contents.
All of her clothes seemed to be there. All of them were white. No one quite appreciated the color white like Emma Frost. She regarded it as the most powerful of colors, brilliant, shining, pure, clear and clean. Nothing caught the light, reflected it and concentrated it like the color white. If the light was blue, white would reflect that color. If the light was yellow, it would do the same. White could reflect any color and any color of light. Unlike a dark color or white's polar opposite, black, which remain untainted by light. Black was not blacker at by daylight that it was by the velvety darkness of night. No, Emma knew white to be the chameleon of all colors, moving and shaping along with it's atmosphere- brighter by day and muted by night. The walls at the hospital were white. The walls and the sheets and the lights. She remembered.
Emma took out white dress and laid it on the bed. It was a plain, cotton material that would cling to her skin and reach just above the knee. It had a wide scoop neck and long sleeves with thumb holes at the end. She slipped it over her head, fastened a white belt around her waist, zipped up her leather boots and combed through her hair. The last thing she grabbed before walking out the door, was a leather handbag with money and identification inside. With that, she made her was out the door, still plagued with a horrible headache.
The lobby was just as lavish and lovely as her bedroom, decorated with an ornate chandelier, purple marble floors and cherry-colored wooden furniture. Just off the lobby, on her right hand side, was a restaurant and bar. She graciously made her way inside, hips swaying as she walked, finally getting the controls of her body back in order. She sat cross legged at the bar and ordered herself a double shot of Remy Martin Cognac. Once it arrived, she downed it in one gulp and sat, waiting for the alcohol to take it’s effect, thinking that perhaps she should order herself something for dinner.