Sunday, April 11, 2004
Character: Melisandre Gautier
Game: Eternus Infinuum
"Damn."
Sweat soaked through the first layer of clothing she wore to keep off the icy November night air, while clumps of white-blond hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks. Still shaking, Meli managed to shove the blankets onto the floor before socked feet followed, damp cotton uncomfortable in that warm slimy way that she'd never come to endure pleasantly. The watch on the crate next to the futon said 2:37AM, an unconvenient time to be awake for most people. Meli wasn't concerned with convenience as she peeled off clothing, layer by layer. All the while, she couldn't help but try to remember a name, some name of some boy long before she'd heard of King Zombie or Haven, or even gone by the tongue-in-cheek moniker of Melee.
It bothered her. Forgetting a name when she could recall every other thing about him made her worry, and it didn't help the dreams that kept coming night after night. Even since she'd met Kort, opened up to him, allowed herself to acknowledge that maybe she needed him like he said he needed her, Meli had spent her non-waking hours reliving a past she couldn't bear to retell to anyone. It wasn't her in those dreams, she told herself as she peeled off the long sleeved undershirt and coughed violently.
It was some other girl in that bed, needles in hand, lighter on the bedstand, living day to day for the next high and the next chance to act on a hedonistic impulse. World was going to hell, they'd all say every night at the usual bar two blocks over from Bourbon Street. If the world was going and taking the sweet Big Easy with it, they'd be damned if they'd go quietly into the ever-loving night. And at sixteen, she'd succumbed to that pseudo-reality without so much as a blink. It disgusted her to think what she'd been, barely over a decade ago on the streets of New Orleans.
Dry fabric touched her skin, warm clothes covered her shivering form again. She'd have to tell him someday soon; he deserved to know the real person, Meli decided. She sat back on the futon, pulling dry socks over calloused feet. Tomorrow night, before she could dream again. She'd tell him tomorrow. Blankets over her body again, she tried to relax against the cushions. As her head hit the pillow, honey-hazel eyes opened wide in the dark.
Ben. His name was Ben. "Damn."
Game: Eternus Infinuum
"Damn."
Sweat soaked through the first layer of clothing she wore to keep off the icy November night air, while clumps of white-blond hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks. Still shaking, Meli managed to shove the blankets onto the floor before socked feet followed, damp cotton uncomfortable in that warm slimy way that she'd never come to endure pleasantly. The watch on the crate next to the futon said 2:37AM, an unconvenient time to be awake for most people. Meli wasn't concerned with convenience as she peeled off clothing, layer by layer. All the while, she couldn't help but try to remember a name, some name of some boy long before she'd heard of King Zombie or Haven, or even gone by the tongue-in-cheek moniker of Melee.
It bothered her. Forgetting a name when she could recall every other thing about him made her worry, and it didn't help the dreams that kept coming night after night. Even since she'd met Kort, opened up to him, allowed herself to acknowledge that maybe she needed him like he said he needed her, Meli had spent her non-waking hours reliving a past she couldn't bear to retell to anyone. It wasn't her in those dreams, she told herself as she peeled off the long sleeved undershirt and coughed violently.
It was some other girl in that bed, needles in hand, lighter on the bedstand, living day to day for the next high and the next chance to act on a hedonistic impulse. World was going to hell, they'd all say every night at the usual bar two blocks over from Bourbon Street. If the world was going and taking the sweet Big Easy with it, they'd be damned if they'd go quietly into the ever-loving night. And at sixteen, she'd succumbed to that pseudo-reality without so much as a blink. It disgusted her to think what she'd been, barely over a decade ago on the streets of New Orleans.
Dry fabric touched her skin, warm clothes covered her shivering form again. She'd have to tell him someday soon; he deserved to know the real person, Meli decided. She sat back on the futon, pulling dry socks over calloused feet. Tomorrow night, before she could dream again. She'd tell him tomorrow. Blankets over her body again, she tried to relax against the cushions. As her head hit the pillow, honey-hazel eyes opened wide in the dark.
Ben. His name was Ben. "Damn."
