ENG >> 008 >> 189 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
amethysts) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2012-08-15 10:48 am
amethysts) wrote in ataraxionlogs2012-08-15 10:48 am
Entry tags:
oh the weight it must be light wherever you are.
CHARACTERS: Libby and YOU (OTA)
LOCATION: Room 008 >> 189, floor 8 kitchens and living areas
WARNINGS: Substance abuse, cursing
SUMMARY: Libby is not taking certain losses well
NOTES: Bump into her any day whenever, profit from drunken honesty
Day One
Nikolai and Syg are gone.
Shrike checks on her people every day. She knows almost to the second when they've...just been gone. Like Kurt's Blaine. And she'll live, she tells herself. It'll be fine.
Nikolai was her one hope for opting out. Syg was her one girl friend. She is not going to be fine.
Shrike cuts out the blue in her hair and dumps all her piercings in the trash. That's when she starts drinking in her room. This isn't fair. This isn't--this isn't fair, she's losing everyone, and she doesn't know what to do.
Day Two
She wakes up shaking and sick with Nikolai's remaining cigarettes by her bed. She doesn't remember taking them. On the way to the kitchen to get more alcohol she tries lighting one up--
She pukes into her cupped hands, then the kitchen sink. She could clean up, sure. But she doesn't. Instead she curls up on a couch with a bottle of nearly vodka and teaches herself to smoke. She throws up three times and doesn't care. Somebody else can deal with it.
Day Three
They fucking abandoned her.
This is what she has to tell herself to get angry, lying on a table in the common room and wishing anyone else was gone. They left her and she doesn't give a fuck about them. Whatev, right? Nikolai was an asshole and Syg was stupid and she doesn't care except oh, fuck, she cares so much. She cares all the time and it's fucking horrible.
She needs to cut them out as efficiently as her blue streak, but she's keeping that in a box too. Sentimental. The colour of her hair and the colour of her heart were blue, blue, blue, and she misses them all--
That's what gets her going. She's given people prison tattoos before. She knows what she's doing. So after some more alcohol to ease the pain she traces two things: a reaper over her heart and spikes on her right wrist. Then she starts filling them in with ink she makes in her little lab in Engineering, biting down on a rag. So there she sits, naked from the waist up except for her bra, because she cares too much. Her heart is too big and it's choking her and she hates it, dully.
(She knows she'll lose everything, eventually.)
LOCATION: Room 008 >> 189, floor 8 kitchens and living areas
WARNINGS: Substance abuse, cursing
SUMMARY: Libby is not taking certain losses well
NOTES: Bump into her any day whenever, profit from drunken honesty
Day One
Nikolai and Syg are gone.
Shrike checks on her people every day. She knows almost to the second when they've...just been gone. Like Kurt's Blaine. And she'll live, she tells herself. It'll be fine.
Nikolai was her one hope for opting out. Syg was her one girl friend. She is not going to be fine.
Shrike cuts out the blue in her hair and dumps all her piercings in the trash. That's when she starts drinking in her room. This isn't fair. This isn't--this isn't fair, she's losing everyone, and she doesn't know what to do.
Day Two
She wakes up shaking and sick with Nikolai's remaining cigarettes by her bed. She doesn't remember taking them. On the way to the kitchen to get more alcohol she tries lighting one up--
She pukes into her cupped hands, then the kitchen sink. She could clean up, sure. But she doesn't. Instead she curls up on a couch with a bottle of nearly vodka and teaches herself to smoke. She throws up three times and doesn't care. Somebody else can deal with it.
Day Three
They fucking abandoned her.
This is what she has to tell herself to get angry, lying on a table in the common room and wishing anyone else was gone. They left her and she doesn't give a fuck about them. Whatev, right? Nikolai was an asshole and Syg was stupid and she doesn't care except oh, fuck, she cares so much. She cares all the time and it's fucking horrible.
She needs to cut them out as efficiently as her blue streak, but she's keeping that in a box too. Sentimental. The colour of her hair and the colour of her heart were blue, blue, blue, and she misses them all--
That's what gets her going. She's given people prison tattoos before. She knows what she's doing. So after some more alcohol to ease the pain she traces two things: a reaper over her heart and spikes on her right wrist. Then she starts filling them in with ink she makes in her little lab in Engineering, biting down on a rag. So there she sits, naked from the waist up except for her bra, because she cares too much. Her heart is too big and it's choking her and she hates it, dully.
(She knows she'll lose everything, eventually.)
no subject
So here he is, sitting there as Libby moves against him, traces his lips with her tongue, a movement that makes his skin feel too tight and too loose all at once, has color rising in his cheeks. And yet, he can't help but finally let his hands rest on her arms, fingers smoothing over her feathers, relaxing and even trying, nervously, to tilt his head a little, to move his lips the same way Libby is. Or, well, at least he thinks it's the same.
But then she's gone, pulling back and wide-eyed, probably as wide-eyed as James is. He's flushed, not sure what to do, shock still more than evident, but it's not bad shock. Not by any means. It's simply being taken unawares by a gesture he had no clue about.
"N-No, I-" but his voice is tense, choked out, and he has to take a moment to swallow, to clear his throat and try and speak again. And in that moment- Libby's pulling back, away. Running from the room and James is still too stunned, too numbed to do anything but blink slowly at her retreating form, to stare at the door she'd disappeared through. Finally, he swallows again, clears his throat to an empty room and glances at the needles on the floor, the empty glasses still smelling of alcohol, the shield at his side. "... I do," he finishes, the words still feeling stuck in his mouth, a feeling only made marginally better by telling it to the empty room.
He breathes out a sigh, muttering a quick, quiet damn it before pushing himself up, tugging on his shirt and slipping his shield over his shoulders, trying to sort of... push all their stuff into one big pile with a foot. It makes it look a little less-- ... okay, no, he made it worse.
So, hands shoved moodily into his pockets, he turns and walks back the way he'd come in, still not entirely sure what had just happened.