Saturday, October 30, 2004
Character: Melisandre Gautier
Game: Eternus Infinuum
Title: Hide 'Neath the Covers
“Help!”
The cry came hushed, lost in the cold January night air. Cracked chapped lips formed soundless words, precious breath wasted on unconscious fears. Her mouth moved faster in the darkness, mealy sticking sounds the barely-heard accompaniment to her tosses and turns.
“Please, let me out…” Frantic hands clawed blindly at the sheets, socked feet kicking and twisting the ratty bedclothes. She swatted at the air, knocking the watch from the crate that served as a table. Two thirty-seen, when most of Haven slept and Brian Haddock’s ghost haunted the dreams of her Guardian, Meli endured the violence that had begun her journey to Haven.
“It wasn’t my fault, Gina! Coz, tell her t’unlock the door, please!” Names reduced to whimpers, she flung her hands outward in a desperate plea for rescue. Behind her eyes, Meli could see the fire and hear the sirens, taste the saltwater from the sprinklers and smell the stench of burning hair and melting synthetics. Fists came up to beat upon reinforced glass, familiar faces taunting her as she cried over and over for someone to override the locks and free her from the certain hell within.
More familiar faces, faces that had never seen the quarterdeck of the Powell or witnessed firsthand the carnage in the weapons hold, they gathered at the door while the window grew wider and wider. The more she beat against the door, the faster the glass grew within it. Metal thuds turned to distant thumps of hand against glass, more frantic as more people were added to the audience to witness the gruesome scene. A red tattered scarf, a blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt with pink flamingos… the bandana came down around his neck, and Meli saw him laughing, head thrown back as firelight glinted off so many teeth.
“Please, Xi! Tell them t’unlock the door, there’s a manual override, the blue panel with the handle-“ Meli froze, the tinny speakers clearly filling the room with the melancholy notes of a purely acoustic Thunder Road. Outside, he was laughing, jaw moving in exaggerated fashion to mock her with the song she’d forbidden herself to ever sing, for the pain it brought him…
She rolled to her side, the quilt caught about her torso, tears flowing freely from closed eyes. Meli clutched at her pillow, her mental semblance clawing at burning coveralls even as she screamed at the demons beyond the door. Demons, yes… Xi would never leave her, leave her to burn, leave her at the nonexistent mercy of the fire. Tawny hazel eyes trained on the glass, the hope for rescue seeming to quench the flames.
“Not real, never on the ship. Never sang the goddamn song, ‘cause I promised you that, on my life I’d never sing it.” Face twisted in pain, her hand groped for the unseen handle of a door that wasn’t there. Not real, she could let herself out, walk into the sunshine of the French Quarter, because none of it could be real. Not her fault, none of it, she’d done her best to get them out, save them from the fire…
Miss Gautier, Captain Israel’s saying you’ll get the Purple Heart for this. Your whole team saved, guardian angel you are. Bet your momma and daddy will be proud of you, Melee…
My parents are dead, she heard her own voice say, somewhere caught up on the darkness. Go and take care of the others, I’m fine. Did you change his bandages? Has the doc seen Gina, her leg’s not doing well. Jerry, remember this picture, back at the bar that day right after Mardi Gras? Remember when, Jerry…
She’d cared for them, saved them as best she could given the fire and the chemicals and the locks and the faulty track. Not her fault, she’d inspected it the day before.
Not her fault. She tried every night to tell the voices in her head, every night, to no avail. They blamed her for the burns, the scars, the operations, the endless days connected to machines while she ran, ran to some elusive and safe Haven that they would never see, tethered to life support in sterile white rooms…
Coward. You ran away without us. Jerry’s voice rang clear in her head, over the strains of Bruce that cycled endlessly and fanned the flames. Through the glass, they laughed at her, pointing charred fingers and laughing, laughing for the pain, hollowed eyes and blackened lips laughing…
Xi was laughing. The fire was laughing, all laughing at her because the door was locked and the coward couldn’t run anymore, couldn’t run from the fire that should have taken her too…
“Not. MY. FAULT!” With breath enough to scream, the sweat-soaked Holder wrenched herself from the darkness. Frantic hands pawed at the quilt, quenching unseen flames that had licked at her skin. It took more than a minute until Meli fully came to consciousness, choking on tears as she called names in the darkness like a child cries for its mother after a bad dream. But, they were gone, dead or worse, with it being her fault, not matter what the cheap piece of tin and ribbon said. Her fault, all of it.
Familiar arms came, wrapped around her shoulders. A calloused hand rested in her straw hair, the low voice soothing, constant, offering reassurance and chocolate. Too tired to object, too frightened to sleep, too tormented to admit aloud that she’d dreamt the unthinkable abandonment when he’d been there as she’d woken up, screaming innocence, Meli found herself crying, apologizing for Thunder Road and every other fool thing that had never been her fault in the first place.
Game: Eternus Infinuum
Title: Hide 'Neath the Covers
“Help!”
The cry came hushed, lost in the cold January night air. Cracked chapped lips formed soundless words, precious breath wasted on unconscious fears. Her mouth moved faster in the darkness, mealy sticking sounds the barely-heard accompaniment to her tosses and turns.
“Please, let me out…” Frantic hands clawed blindly at the sheets, socked feet kicking and twisting the ratty bedclothes. She swatted at the air, knocking the watch from the crate that served as a table. Two thirty-seen, when most of Haven slept and Brian Haddock’s ghost haunted the dreams of her Guardian, Meli endured the violence that had begun her journey to Haven.
“It wasn’t my fault, Gina! Coz, tell her t’unlock the door, please!” Names reduced to whimpers, she flung her hands outward in a desperate plea for rescue. Behind her eyes, Meli could see the fire and hear the sirens, taste the saltwater from the sprinklers and smell the stench of burning hair and melting synthetics. Fists came up to beat upon reinforced glass, familiar faces taunting her as she cried over and over for someone to override the locks and free her from the certain hell within.
More familiar faces, faces that had never seen the quarterdeck of the Powell or witnessed firsthand the carnage in the weapons hold, they gathered at the door while the window grew wider and wider. The more she beat against the door, the faster the glass grew within it. Metal thuds turned to distant thumps of hand against glass, more frantic as more people were added to the audience to witness the gruesome scene. A red tattered scarf, a blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt with pink flamingos… the bandana came down around his neck, and Meli saw him laughing, head thrown back as firelight glinted off so many teeth.
“Please, Xi! Tell them t’unlock the door, there’s a manual override, the blue panel with the handle-“ Meli froze, the tinny speakers clearly filling the room with the melancholy notes of a purely acoustic Thunder Road. Outside, he was laughing, jaw moving in exaggerated fashion to mock her with the song she’d forbidden herself to ever sing, for the pain it brought him…
She rolled to her side, the quilt caught about her torso, tears flowing freely from closed eyes. Meli clutched at her pillow, her mental semblance clawing at burning coveralls even as she screamed at the demons beyond the door. Demons, yes… Xi would never leave her, leave her to burn, leave her at the nonexistent mercy of the fire. Tawny hazel eyes trained on the glass, the hope for rescue seeming to quench the flames.
“Not real, never on the ship. Never sang the goddamn song, ‘cause I promised you that, on my life I’d never sing it.” Face twisted in pain, her hand groped for the unseen handle of a door that wasn’t there. Not real, she could let herself out, walk into the sunshine of the French Quarter, because none of it could be real. Not her fault, none of it, she’d done her best to get them out, save them from the fire…
Miss Gautier, Captain Israel’s saying you’ll get the Purple Heart for this. Your whole team saved, guardian angel you are. Bet your momma and daddy will be proud of you, Melee…
My parents are dead, she heard her own voice say, somewhere caught up on the darkness. Go and take care of the others, I’m fine. Did you change his bandages? Has the doc seen Gina, her leg’s not doing well. Jerry, remember this picture, back at the bar that day right after Mardi Gras? Remember when, Jerry…
She’d cared for them, saved them as best she could given the fire and the chemicals and the locks and the faulty track. Not her fault, she’d inspected it the day before.
Not her fault. She tried every night to tell the voices in her head, every night, to no avail. They blamed her for the burns, the scars, the operations, the endless days connected to machines while she ran, ran to some elusive and safe Haven that they would never see, tethered to life support in sterile white rooms…
Coward. You ran away without us. Jerry’s voice rang clear in her head, over the strains of Bruce that cycled endlessly and fanned the flames. Through the glass, they laughed at her, pointing charred fingers and laughing, laughing for the pain, hollowed eyes and blackened lips laughing…
Xi was laughing. The fire was laughing, all laughing at her because the door was locked and the coward couldn’t run anymore, couldn’t run from the fire that should have taken her too…
“Not. MY. FAULT!” With breath enough to scream, the sweat-soaked Holder wrenched herself from the darkness. Frantic hands pawed at the quilt, quenching unseen flames that had licked at her skin. It took more than a minute until Meli fully came to consciousness, choking on tears as she called names in the darkness like a child cries for its mother after a bad dream. But, they were gone, dead or worse, with it being her fault, not matter what the cheap piece of tin and ribbon said. Her fault, all of it.
Familiar arms came, wrapped around her shoulders. A calloused hand rested in her straw hair, the low voice soothing, constant, offering reassurance and chocolate. Too tired to object, too frightened to sleep, too tormented to admit aloud that she’d dreamt the unthinkable abandonment when he’d been there as she’d woken up, screaming innocence, Meli found herself crying, apologizing for Thunder Road and every other fool thing that had never been her fault in the first place.
