Sander Cohen (taketheearsoff) wrote in nofandompolitix, @ 2009-09-11 11:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | dr_gillies, fast_love, taketheearsoff |
alive again
Sander stirs, inhaling a lungful of stale air tinged with the feint trace of dust and the sickeningly sweet scent of open moonbeam absinthe bottles. His lashes draw open lazily, heavy from over-sleep. A pale blue light filters through his vision...he's bathed in it. The sound of distant piano keys sail through the air quietly accompanied by the all-too-familiar sound of bubbles-
As the world slips into his vision, he realizes--as he glances around groggily--he was home.
The sight of his room greet him coldly, shrouded in darkness; all except the 'gathering room' where he often allowed dancers to practice. His back pressed against the cool wood of a piano leg and the same chill creeping through the underside of his pants, seeping into his legs and back.
"No...-" He mumbles in half disbelief, half desperation as he pushes himself to a stand.
"Nono..no no - No...I was out!" He wavers. A brilliant color draws his gaze to his shoulder; wrapped there was a yellow scarf. Another realization sneaks into his awareness like a slithering serpent as he gazed down at himself--taking in the caked blood long since dried over his tux and hands-, "I was dead.".
He slumps into wooden chair and stares out the window at the rest of Rapture, as silent as the grave. He remembered those last few seconds prior to his death; the face of a friend...and then the face of a goddess. Clearly this called for a bottle of Absinthe. Sander draws a bottle over to him with his foot, stooping over to pluck it up, and uncorking it; taking a deep swig. He sits for a few quiet moments-
-Then he's up and over to the piano. With absinthe bottle placed precariously next to the phonograph-his restless hands spreading over the ivory keys-Sander playing a haunting tune. There was no better way for an artist to express themselves...then through their art after all.
((here's his apartment. He wakes in the room where the dancers are. No lights are on except for what filters in through the window. I'm going prose for this one. screw dem brackets!))