Friday, January 23, 2004
Character: Mel Gautier
Game: Eternus Infinuum
Note: First person in vernacular.
Feelin' hurts.
S'not just the feelin' o'somethin' on y'skin, th'prick of a needle or the dampened thud of skin an' muscle against th'wall when y'stumble through th'hallways at night. That's a sort o'feeling that y'can ignore, th'kind that lingers only when y'see fit t'make a fuss over it.
I've never been one t'make a fuss over a cut or bruise. Can't feel 'em now. B'sides, they heal. Y'can see 'em heal, right in front of your eyes. Y'might cover 'em up t'forget they're there, but once y'remember some piece o'gauze ya used a week ago, s'already gone an' healed up. Might not be good as new, but it's as good as it's ever gonna be.
It's th'other kind o'feeling that hurts moire, that picks at i'self from th'inside out until y'got this big bloody hold inside that doesn' do nothin' but eat i'self bigger. 'S guilt, 's regret, 's loss, 's every li'l thing that feeds off o'th'other. An' every time y'think it's healed up, some new bit comes along with a mouth fulla teeth an' six-inch nails an' rips it wide open until y'bleed more than ya ever did before.
Y'can't patch it. Y'can't heal it. Y'can find somethin' or someone big enough t'cover it up so y'can ignore it, pretend tat it's not there, an'tell yourself that y'got somethin' t'cure it. So y'lie t'yourself over an'over, ever knowin' if you've found a real remedy or just a good drug that keeps y'from feeling th'bad for a while.
Dunno what I've found. Dunno if I trust it. Dunno if it's th'real thing, or just a pretty bandage t'make me not see th'rest of it.
Don't wanna hurt more, though. Don't think I could live with any more of that kind o'hurt.
Game: Eternus Infinuum
Note: First person in vernacular.
Feelin' hurts.
S'not just the feelin' o'somethin' on y'skin, th'prick of a needle or the dampened thud of skin an' muscle against th'wall when y'stumble through th'hallways at night. That's a sort o'feeling that y'can ignore, th'kind that lingers only when y'see fit t'make a fuss over it.
I've never been one t'make a fuss over a cut or bruise. Can't feel 'em now. B'sides, they heal. Y'can see 'em heal, right in front of your eyes. Y'might cover 'em up t'forget they're there, but once y'remember some piece o'gauze ya used a week ago, s'already gone an' healed up. Might not be good as new, but it's as good as it's ever gonna be.
It's th'other kind o'feeling that hurts moire, that picks at i'self from th'inside out until y'got this big bloody hold inside that doesn' do nothin' but eat i'self bigger. 'S guilt, 's regret, 's loss, 's every li'l thing that feeds off o'th'other. An' every time y'think it's healed up, some new bit comes along with a mouth fulla teeth an' six-inch nails an' rips it wide open until y'bleed more than ya ever did before.
Y'can't patch it. Y'can't heal it. Y'can find somethin' or someone big enough t'cover it up so y'can ignore it, pretend tat it's not there, an'tell yourself that y'got somethin' t'cure it. So y'lie t'yourself over an'over, ever knowin' if you've found a real remedy or just a good drug that keeps y'from feeling th'bad for a while.
Dunno what I've found. Dunno if I trust it. Dunno if it's th'real thing, or just a pretty bandage t'make me not see th'rest of it.
Don't wanna hurt more, though. Don't think I could live with any more of that kind o'hurt.
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Character: Elena Healy, Vincenzo Ianniello
Game: Sailor Myth
"Elena?" The door opened slowly, spilling light from the foyer out into the darkness. A well-dressed figure stood in the doorway, shadowing the sobbing young woman on the marble floor. Shutting the door, Vincenzo knelt down and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. Roughly, she threw it off and pulled herself into a ball, pressing her forehead to her knees.
"Go away, Cenzo. Just leave." The brunette hid beneath a tangled mass of curls and pins, her voice raw. She would cry herself sick, nothing else mattered tonight, or tomorrow. "Go find your boys and be with them." Her fingernails dug into her arms as she held herself tightly.
Rather than leave her apartment, Cenzo wrapped strong arms about her shoulders, pulling her head in to rest on his chest. She offered a bit of resistance, but quickly clung to him as tears streamed down her face. Mascara left inky smudges on the white fabric, which could be replaced later. Sitting on the floor, he pulled her into his lap. Elena continued to shake and sob as she clung to him.
"God, Elena," he breathed, his hands rubbing against her back and holding her close. "What happened to you? Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, choking on sobs while she rubbed at her face. "I'm broken, Cenzo," she bawled. "Used and broken." Elena gulped air to breathe. "Used and broken and cheap and stupid, Cenzo." She turned away, her half-unzipped dress falling off her shoulders. Shoes had been kicked to the corner of the large room, and pantyhose had been ripped in the process. Her hands lay in her lap, small and trembling.
He took one of her hands in his, simply holding it as another hand brushed hair from her face. A hankerchief that had only been used for pocket ornamentation was now used to dab at her eyes and cheeks in an ever-tender fashion. She sat still, head bowed in emotional defeat. "Bella-"
"Don't call me that," she choked suddenly, a wave of fresh tears spilling down her face as she shoved him away violently. "It's not true. That was the biggest mistake, ever believing that one word was used to mean me." Elena gestured to her torn hose and disheveled hair and face, her formerly unshakeable self-confidence in shreds. "It's not true," she repeated in a soft but still desperate tone.
Cenzo shook his head slowly, fingers outstretched to run along her exposed shoulder. "You -are- beautiful, Elena," he breathed. "Any man who thinks differently is blind."
She pulled away again, finally standing up. "Don't do this to me, Cenzo," Elena shot back savagely. "I've had enough lies to last a lifetime. Lovely, sophisticated, refined..." She snatched up a shoe and hurled it into the kitchen where it left a mark on the pantry door. "I'm NONE of those," she screamed. "Don't stand there and tell me beautiful lies just to make me feel better!"
Crossing the room, she stared out the window into the night, her reflection clear against the glass. Puffy eyes and cheeks, smudged makeup, half-dressed... nothing like the picturesque women she saw on the streets day in and day out, in their perfect designer clothes that fit their perfect bodies. Her forehead banged against the glass and her face crumpled once more. Why had she ever believed Nunzio Moreno...
Cenzo came up behind her slowly, knowing that any sound might make her run again. Both hands came up around her shoulders, his cheek against her hair. He inhaled slowly, the too-familiar scent of her perfume still on her skin. "Elena," he whispered in a low tone. "You're a remarkable woman." She shook her head mutely in denial. "And you are beautiful-"
"Don't," she whimpered, eyes still closed. She hurt, she ached, and she knew that no amount of medication or intoxication would make it go away. This was her punishment for believing a silver-tongue demon who couldn't drive his own car. Elena rolled her head to the side, hair covering half her face. "Don't lie to me, Cenzo."
He turned her about slowly, tucking an arm about her waist and drawing her close. With unfailing gentleness, Cenzo kissed each of her eyelids in turn. "I've only deceived you about one thing, Elena Majella," he whispered, lips against her forehead. "And that is the fact that I've been utterly enamoured by every part of you since the day you set foot in Rome." He stepped back, hands still on her pale shoulders as he waited for her reaction.
Eyes wide and expression confused, Elena could do little but stare up in shock. Arms hung limply at her side as the words slowly registered in her mind. She finally managed to step back and pull the fabric of her dress over her shoulder. "I should get changed and go to bed," Elena mumbled, shaking her head as if she could ignore what Cenzo had said. "It's late, and I have to be at the factory tomorrow for a meeting, and there's too much to-"
"Elena." A warm hand under her chin tilted her face up to be kissed softly and sweetly. "Stop running. You don't have to run all of the time." Cenzo stroked her cheek, dark eyes somber and earnest. "You don't have to run from me." She shook her head slowly from side to side, still feeling the pressure of his hand on her face. Bending slightly, Cenzo touched lip to collarbone, eliciting a shudder and a sharp intake of breath from Elena. Despite the sudden touch, she remained still. Slowly, fingers interlaced the loose strands of her hair, and Cenzo traced the graceful line of shoulders and neck with his lips. Control kept him from too much too soon; this would fall away into a bitter memory of interrupted affection if he appeared too eager. For the moment, he would simply console and lessen her pain.
Her mind drunk with self-pity, Elena let herself relax in Cenzo's arms. Lips parted as a sweet but soft moan broke the silence, her eyes closing as she sought to enjoy each sensation on and beneath her skin. She allowed the shoulder of the dress to fall, allowed him to unzip the rest of it as he nibbled at the spot behind her earlobe. Elena stood passively, hands neither reaching for nor pushing away Cenzo. Gentle fingers slowly worked her clothing from her body, interrupted only by the whisper-soft touch of lips to skin. A quarter of an hour passed, her response to such attentions kept to sighs and the occasional moan.
Cenzo stood back, casting aside the last bit of black fabric. He held her at arms length for a nearly a minute without saying a word. Faint patches of pink began to burn on Elena's face, her hands coming up to cover her chest as she turned away. Tears made chocolate eyes bright in the scant light.
"Don't do that," he chided softly. He slowly pulled her hands down and away from her body, holding both of them in one large paw. "Don't hide anything, bellissima."
She lifted her chin in tearful defiance. In the light from the foyer, Elena appeared young and pale and painfully vulnerable. "Why do you keep saying that?" She turned, catching her reflection in the dark window. A comparatively short curvaceous brunette stared back, silhouetted by a well-dressed dark-haired man who, for once, kept his eyes on her reflection rather than his own. Elena shook her head, seeing naught but flaws in the glass. "This isn't fit for anyone to see."
"Elena Majella," Cenzo began firmly, leading her to her bedroom. "Now you're being ridiculous. Stand here." She offered little resistance as he pulled her to face her reflection in the full length mirror that hung on the back of the bathroom door. Turning on the closet light, he returned to stand behind her. Elena kept her head down, rather than face what she considered to be a rather imperfect creature. He clucked his tongue softly, taking her hand in his and kissing her neck. "Look at yourself. Be a bit vain, bella," he whispered. "God knows you deserve it."
Obligingly, Elena regarded her reflection with melancholy and skepticism. After a minute of examination, she tossed her head and watched her dark tresses catch the bit of light in the room. "My hair's nice," she offered in a small voice that still held a world of doubt.
"Your hair is lovely," her 'tutor' corrected, nuzzling the top of her head. "What else?" He received a shrug in reply as she began to shy away once again. His other arm wrapped about her waist, hand against her stomach. "Here." With her hand in his, he traced the contour of her upper body, cupping a breast in his still-warm hands. "You have the figure of a woman, not of a prize for some man to have hang on his arm." The same hand followed the curve over her ribs, fingers guiding hers across her soft stomach. "Like one of Raphael's maidens," he added, his other hand trailing over her wide hips to rest lightly against her pale skin. He touched lips to the base of her neck again, feeling her body relax against his. "Lovely dark eyes," he murmured. "Soft skin, and the curve of your back is exquisite." He released her hand and ran a finger up her spine.
She shivered, eyes closing once more. Better to feel than to see, she decided.
Cenzo pressed his lips to her ear. "Look at yourself, Elena. You -are- beautiful," he whispered.
Elena opened her eyes and nodded once. Perhaps tomorrow, or the next day, or the next week, she could find someway to believe such things. Tonight, she needed someone else to believe such things for her. "If you say so," she quietly acquiesed.
"I do say so. I'll fight anyone who says the contrary," he followed, his voice and expression showing her that while his tone was lighthearted, Cenzo's intention was nothing short of sincere. With competition for Elena's attentions reduced to simply Maserati, he could afford such emotional luxuries. "Now, to bed with you." More difficult words were rarely spoken. "Beautiful women need sleep." He guided her towards her bed, pulling back the sheets. Crisp, white, clean... Cenzo wondered if she had intended to sleep alone here tonight. Jealousy came and went, an annoying green-eyed insect that hovered for a brief second before going on. There was no longer anything, anyone to waste jealousies on.
Elena stood mutely, salty tracks now dry on her face. Hesitantly, she waited until he stood back up to press her shaking hands to his chest. Fingers hovered over the buttons on his shirt, but she remained uncertain. She craved that physical and emotional reassurance like some would have craved water or air; without it, Elena wasn't sure she could make it until morning. It angered her that she had to rely so much upon one thing to satisfy self-doubt, relying upon it to the point that she was almost willing to sacrifice her last shreds of dignity for a few hours of reaffirmation.
Cenzo took both of her hands in his and brought them to her sides. He could not. Not tonight. "Sleep, Elena," he whispered before kissing her forehead. "I'll... I'll stay," he managed. "But only to sleep. Please." If he didn't repeat such things aloud, Cenzo doubted his sudden emergence of conscience could keep him from more than simply sharing her bed.
Something inside felt even more broken than before, but Elena struggled not to show it. Instead, she turned her back and slid between the sheets. On her side, she hid her face in the pillow. The voice in her head declared her a fool, admonishing her for trying to use Cenzo as a substitute for something that had once meant security and safety. Before she could cry again, the closet light went dark and a warm body pulled her in close. She felt the soft sheen of silk boxers and couldn't help but laugh softly. In that instant, things became whole again... or as whole as they could get, Elena realized a moment later. Nothing could really and truly make her whole again.
Game: Sailor Myth
"Elena?" The door opened slowly, spilling light from the foyer out into the darkness. A well-dressed figure stood in the doorway, shadowing the sobbing young woman on the marble floor. Shutting the door, Vincenzo knelt down and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. Roughly, she threw it off and pulled herself into a ball, pressing her forehead to her knees.
"Go away, Cenzo. Just leave." The brunette hid beneath a tangled mass of curls and pins, her voice raw. She would cry herself sick, nothing else mattered tonight, or tomorrow. "Go find your boys and be with them." Her fingernails dug into her arms as she held herself tightly.
Rather than leave her apartment, Cenzo wrapped strong arms about her shoulders, pulling her head in to rest on his chest. She offered a bit of resistance, but quickly clung to him as tears streamed down her face. Mascara left inky smudges on the white fabric, which could be replaced later. Sitting on the floor, he pulled her into his lap. Elena continued to shake and sob as she clung to him.
"God, Elena," he breathed, his hands rubbing against her back and holding her close. "What happened to you? Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, choking on sobs while she rubbed at her face. "I'm broken, Cenzo," she bawled. "Used and broken." Elena gulped air to breathe. "Used and broken and cheap and stupid, Cenzo." She turned away, her half-unzipped dress falling off her shoulders. Shoes had been kicked to the corner of the large room, and pantyhose had been ripped in the process. Her hands lay in her lap, small and trembling.
He took one of her hands in his, simply holding it as another hand brushed hair from her face. A hankerchief that had only been used for pocket ornamentation was now used to dab at her eyes and cheeks in an ever-tender fashion. She sat still, head bowed in emotional defeat. "Bella-"
"Don't call me that," she choked suddenly, a wave of fresh tears spilling down her face as she shoved him away violently. "It's not true. That was the biggest mistake, ever believing that one word was used to mean me." Elena gestured to her torn hose and disheveled hair and face, her formerly unshakeable self-confidence in shreds. "It's not true," she repeated in a soft but still desperate tone.
Cenzo shook his head slowly, fingers outstretched to run along her exposed shoulder. "You -are- beautiful, Elena," he breathed. "Any man who thinks differently is blind."
She pulled away again, finally standing up. "Don't do this to me, Cenzo," Elena shot back savagely. "I've had enough lies to last a lifetime. Lovely, sophisticated, refined..." She snatched up a shoe and hurled it into the kitchen where it left a mark on the pantry door. "I'm NONE of those," she screamed. "Don't stand there and tell me beautiful lies just to make me feel better!"
Crossing the room, she stared out the window into the night, her reflection clear against the glass. Puffy eyes and cheeks, smudged makeup, half-dressed... nothing like the picturesque women she saw on the streets day in and day out, in their perfect designer clothes that fit their perfect bodies. Her forehead banged against the glass and her face crumpled once more. Why had she ever believed Nunzio Moreno...
Cenzo came up behind her slowly, knowing that any sound might make her run again. Both hands came up around her shoulders, his cheek against her hair. He inhaled slowly, the too-familiar scent of her perfume still on her skin. "Elena," he whispered in a low tone. "You're a remarkable woman." She shook her head mutely in denial. "And you are beautiful-"
"Don't," she whimpered, eyes still closed. She hurt, she ached, and she knew that no amount of medication or intoxication would make it go away. This was her punishment for believing a silver-tongue demon who couldn't drive his own car. Elena rolled her head to the side, hair covering half her face. "Don't lie to me, Cenzo."
He turned her about slowly, tucking an arm about her waist and drawing her close. With unfailing gentleness, Cenzo kissed each of her eyelids in turn. "I've only deceived you about one thing, Elena Majella," he whispered, lips against her forehead. "And that is the fact that I've been utterly enamoured by every part of you since the day you set foot in Rome." He stepped back, hands still on her pale shoulders as he waited for her reaction.
Eyes wide and expression confused, Elena could do little but stare up in shock. Arms hung limply at her side as the words slowly registered in her mind. She finally managed to step back and pull the fabric of her dress over her shoulder. "I should get changed and go to bed," Elena mumbled, shaking her head as if she could ignore what Cenzo had said. "It's late, and I have to be at the factory tomorrow for a meeting, and there's too much to-"
"Elena." A warm hand under her chin tilted her face up to be kissed softly and sweetly. "Stop running. You don't have to run all of the time." Cenzo stroked her cheek, dark eyes somber and earnest. "You don't have to run from me." She shook her head slowly from side to side, still feeling the pressure of his hand on her face. Bending slightly, Cenzo touched lip to collarbone, eliciting a shudder and a sharp intake of breath from Elena. Despite the sudden touch, she remained still. Slowly, fingers interlaced the loose strands of her hair, and Cenzo traced the graceful line of shoulders and neck with his lips. Control kept him from too much too soon; this would fall away into a bitter memory of interrupted affection if he appeared too eager. For the moment, he would simply console and lessen her pain.
Her mind drunk with self-pity, Elena let herself relax in Cenzo's arms. Lips parted as a sweet but soft moan broke the silence, her eyes closing as she sought to enjoy each sensation on and beneath her skin. She allowed the shoulder of the dress to fall, allowed him to unzip the rest of it as he nibbled at the spot behind her earlobe. Elena stood passively, hands neither reaching for nor pushing away Cenzo. Gentle fingers slowly worked her clothing from her body, interrupted only by the whisper-soft touch of lips to skin. A quarter of an hour passed, her response to such attentions kept to sighs and the occasional moan.
Cenzo stood back, casting aside the last bit of black fabric. He held her at arms length for a nearly a minute without saying a word. Faint patches of pink began to burn on Elena's face, her hands coming up to cover her chest as she turned away. Tears made chocolate eyes bright in the scant light.
"Don't do that," he chided softly. He slowly pulled her hands down and away from her body, holding both of them in one large paw. "Don't hide anything, bellissima."
She lifted her chin in tearful defiance. In the light from the foyer, Elena appeared young and pale and painfully vulnerable. "Why do you keep saying that?" She turned, catching her reflection in the dark window. A comparatively short curvaceous brunette stared back, silhouetted by a well-dressed dark-haired man who, for once, kept his eyes on her reflection rather than his own. Elena shook her head, seeing naught but flaws in the glass. "This isn't fit for anyone to see."
"Elena Majella," Cenzo began firmly, leading her to her bedroom. "Now you're being ridiculous. Stand here." She offered little resistance as he pulled her to face her reflection in the full length mirror that hung on the back of the bathroom door. Turning on the closet light, he returned to stand behind her. Elena kept her head down, rather than face what she considered to be a rather imperfect creature. He clucked his tongue softly, taking her hand in his and kissing her neck. "Look at yourself. Be a bit vain, bella," he whispered. "God knows you deserve it."
Obligingly, Elena regarded her reflection with melancholy and skepticism. After a minute of examination, she tossed her head and watched her dark tresses catch the bit of light in the room. "My hair's nice," she offered in a small voice that still held a world of doubt.
"Your hair is lovely," her 'tutor' corrected, nuzzling the top of her head. "What else?" He received a shrug in reply as she began to shy away once again. His other arm wrapped about her waist, hand against her stomach. "Here." With her hand in his, he traced the contour of her upper body, cupping a breast in his still-warm hands. "You have the figure of a woman, not of a prize for some man to have hang on his arm." The same hand followed the curve over her ribs, fingers guiding hers across her soft stomach. "Like one of Raphael's maidens," he added, his other hand trailing over her wide hips to rest lightly against her pale skin. He touched lips to the base of her neck again, feeling her body relax against his. "Lovely dark eyes," he murmured. "Soft skin, and the curve of your back is exquisite." He released her hand and ran a finger up her spine.
She shivered, eyes closing once more. Better to feel than to see, she decided.
Cenzo pressed his lips to her ear. "Look at yourself, Elena. You -are- beautiful," he whispered.
Elena opened her eyes and nodded once. Perhaps tomorrow, or the next day, or the next week, she could find someway to believe such things. Tonight, she needed someone else to believe such things for her. "If you say so," she quietly acquiesed.
"I do say so. I'll fight anyone who says the contrary," he followed, his voice and expression showing her that while his tone was lighthearted, Cenzo's intention was nothing short of sincere. With competition for Elena's attentions reduced to simply Maserati, he could afford such emotional luxuries. "Now, to bed with you." More difficult words were rarely spoken. "Beautiful women need sleep." He guided her towards her bed, pulling back the sheets. Crisp, white, clean... Cenzo wondered if she had intended to sleep alone here tonight. Jealousy came and went, an annoying green-eyed insect that hovered for a brief second before going on. There was no longer anything, anyone to waste jealousies on.
Elena stood mutely, salty tracks now dry on her face. Hesitantly, she waited until he stood back up to press her shaking hands to his chest. Fingers hovered over the buttons on his shirt, but she remained uncertain. She craved that physical and emotional reassurance like some would have craved water or air; without it, Elena wasn't sure she could make it until morning. It angered her that she had to rely so much upon one thing to satisfy self-doubt, relying upon it to the point that she was almost willing to sacrifice her last shreds of dignity for a few hours of reaffirmation.
Cenzo took both of her hands in his and brought them to her sides. He could not. Not tonight. "Sleep, Elena," he whispered before kissing her forehead. "I'll... I'll stay," he managed. "But only to sleep. Please." If he didn't repeat such things aloud, Cenzo doubted his sudden emergence of conscience could keep him from more than simply sharing her bed.
Something inside felt even more broken than before, but Elena struggled not to show it. Instead, she turned her back and slid between the sheets. On her side, she hid her face in the pillow. The voice in her head declared her a fool, admonishing her for trying to use Cenzo as a substitute for something that had once meant security and safety. Before she could cry again, the closet light went dark and a warm body pulled her in close. She felt the soft sheen of silk boxers and couldn't help but laugh softly. In that instant, things became whole again... or as whole as they could get, Elena realized a moment later. Nothing could really and truly make her whole again.
