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queenoflogs2011-03-05 07:13 pm
howaverage.livejournal.com) wrote in queenoflogs2011-03-05 07:13 pm
Entry tags:
001; from the distance of passing cars.
Characters: Emilia Gorski & other people.
Date: Late afternoon, 5th March. Can be done in separate days, however? NOTHING TOO SPECIFIC, SO...
Summary: Emilia is being le French. I DON'T KNOW. She's just missing her people and home and everything. YOU ARE WELCOME TO BRING YOUR LADIES AND YOUR CHOCOLATES!?
Warnings: Huh, nope.
Date: Late afternoon, 5th March. Can be done in separate days, however? NOTHING TOO SPECIFIC, SO...
Summary: Emilia is being le French. I DON'T KNOW. She's just missing her people and home and everything. YOU ARE WELCOME TO BRING YOUR LADIES AND YOUR CHOCOLATES!?
Warnings: Huh, nope.
The emptiness of this place echoes against silence. The library is enormous, the kind that only comes out of fairy tales. Then again, animals talk in fairy tales too, so it's fitting for such a place as the Gardens. It creeps her out, actually. The whole fake perfection of the place. Even the sunset that drips through the tall windows of the library, filling the room with a gentle yet cold fading light, seems a little bit too perfect. The room itself is rather cold. Tall shelves of books and some couple desks so one could read carefully.
Emilia has chosen the one at the center - not the corners, to hide, but the center to see the outside. She holds a hand against her cheek, covering her mouth, her eyes observing the birds flying outside to their nests, their homes, and a little heart string is pulled pitifully at the thought. Home. She misses her own dearly. Misses her friends and her family and the normality of it all. Sometimes she thinks she even misses her boring job at the travel agency. Here, there is nothing to do. She has no schedule and no responsibilities. She can wake up at noon and just stare at the ceiling of the library once she wakes up. She doesn't have anything here. No nothing, no friends and she finds herself thinking often about them, wondering if they are safe and sound, if they miss her. If war was over. She wonders if they think she is dead. Sometimes, she wonders if she has slipped into a coma and this is all in her head, but the still unhealed wound on her shoulder seems too real to find this to be a product of her mind. She has never been this imaginative either...
Her eyes fall away from the window to the desk and watches as the glass of water is nearly finished, the wrapped chocolates laying still in the bowl. She doesn't touch those, she's afraid of the things around here since she was bitten by a flesh-eating rose. Next, to the book she is holding, a page between her fingers. She meets the passage she had last read.
She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose, reaching for the burning cigarette on the ashtray - three cigarettes butts lay amidst the ashes. Her Lucky Strike pack is almost finished and she doesn't know if she can wish for a vending machine around this place. Everything is so Disney-like. Somehow, it almost feels wrong to be smoking. Sure, it may be the fact that she is inside a public library smoking, but is was past that one point. She hardly sees people here. It's the only place that she can be bothered to go, however, to occupy herself. Reading and thinking and doing nothing.
It's a depressing cycle.
( * "The House of Spirits" by ALLENDE, Isabel )
Emilia has chosen the one at the center - not the corners, to hide, but the center to see the outside. She holds a hand against her cheek, covering her mouth, her eyes observing the birds flying outside to their nests, their homes, and a little heart string is pulled pitifully at the thought. Home. She misses her own dearly. Misses her friends and her family and the normality of it all. Sometimes she thinks she even misses her boring job at the travel agency. Here, there is nothing to do. She has no schedule and no responsibilities. She can wake up at noon and just stare at the ceiling of the library once she wakes up. She doesn't have anything here. No nothing, no friends and she finds herself thinking often about them, wondering if they are safe and sound, if they miss her. If war was over. She wonders if they think she is dead. Sometimes, she wonders if she has slipped into a coma and this is all in her head, but the still unhealed wound on her shoulder seems too real to find this to be a product of her mind. She has never been this imaginative either...
Her eyes fall away from the window to the desk and watches as the glass of water is nearly finished, the wrapped chocolates laying still in the bowl. She doesn't touch those, she's afraid of the things around here since she was bitten by a flesh-eating rose. Next, to the book she is holding, a page between her fingers. She meets the passage she had last read.
It bothered her to have to stay locked up within these walls that stank of medicine and age, to be kept awake at night by the moans of her sick mother, always attentive to the clock so as to administer each dose at the proper time, bored, tired, and unhappy while her brother had no taste of such obligations. Before him lay a destiny that was bright, free, and full of promise. He could marry, have children, know what love was.*
She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose, reaching for the burning cigarette on the ashtray - three cigarettes butts lay amidst the ashes. Her Lucky Strike pack is almost finished and she doesn't know if she can wish for a vending machine around this place. Everything is so Disney-like. Somehow, it almost feels wrong to be smoking. Sure, it may be the fact that she is inside a public library smoking, but is was past that one point. She hardly sees people here. It's the only place that she can be bothered to go, however, to occupy herself. Reading and thinking and doing nothing.
It's a depressing cycle.
( * "The House of Spirits" by ALLENDE, Isabel )
no subject
"Are they?" Her tone is lightly curious. "I have not had much time to read, in quite a while. However, there is little else to do here. What would you recommend?"
It would be better, she thinks, than killing small game for little reason outside of boredom, and watching the days go by, distracting herself by sparring. Or worse, listening to the humans bicker and romance one another over the Vine. She would rather watch paint dry.