Elsa Wren Llewelyn (
notthejerkbag) wrote in
bunchoflosers2013-04-02 09:14 pm
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[multicharacter post. why? why not. pick a number and a thread with that person you shall receive.]
1. This is a park. It is unseasonably cold for April. There's snow on the ground, about a foot thick.
There's also a medical student named Elsa here, very gingerly balling the snow up in order to make a snowman. So far she's made the base. She has to keep stopping to rub her hands together though...snow is too cold and too wet to build snowmen efficiently...
2. If you go down to the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise. Sort of. Well, an unpleasant surprise anyway. Because rising up in the middle of this clearing is a house. Alright, cabin. It's made from wood and quite nice looking. It's a lovely sight altogether if you ignore Mari.
She's currently varnishing it, a radio on the ground on low volume. A cat lies stretched out in the windowsill, blinking in the dappled shadows. It's altogether rather peaceful.
For now.
3. What this right here is is a room of brilliant white. Nothing quite seems to exist, as though this room is empty of everything; meaning, possession, material of any kind.
There's at least one material being here, though. It's Miach and he's lost. Now and then he sits down patiently to wait for someone to find him, but this room is very big and he never sits for long before he starts out again on his meandering path around the white box.
Where is everyone? ...Where is anything?
There's also a medical student named Elsa here, very gingerly balling the snow up in order to make a snowman. So far she's made the base. She has to keep stopping to rub her hands together though...snow is too cold and too wet to build snowmen efficiently...
2. If you go down to the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise. Sort of. Well, an unpleasant surprise anyway. Because rising up in the middle of this clearing is a house. Alright, cabin. It's made from wood and quite nice looking. It's a lovely sight altogether if you ignore Mari.
She's currently varnishing it, a radio on the ground on low volume. A cat lies stretched out in the windowsill, blinking in the dappled shadows. It's altogether rather peaceful.
For now.
3. What this right here is is a room of brilliant white. Nothing quite seems to exist, as though this room is empty of everything; meaning, possession, material of any kind.
There's at least one material being here, though. It's Miach and he's lost. Now and then he sits down patiently to wait for someone to find him, but this room is very big and he never sits for long before he starts out again on his meandering path around the white box.
Where is everyone? ...Where is anything?
1
She draws up slowly to Elsa and leans to the side, trying to get a better look.]
Sometimes it's better to just make them a column. The, um, t-the classic three ball snowman, it's so tricky... [She's forcing herself to be friendly. She's spent too many years hiding away from people. Pearle smiles and inches closer.] It is gonna be a snowman, right?
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[Really? Have cartoons lied to her? Elsa looks at the heap of snow on the ground and then she looks up at Pearle.] Um.
[She looks back at the snow. Alone, it was fun. But when caught, she always feels a little embarrassment to be 18 and making a snowman.] Yeah, it's a snowman...going to be. [She touches the pile of snow with the tip of her sneaker.]
Does the column one look better than the threeball one? That's how the one in 'the snowman' was made...wasn't it? A column of snow.
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It goes cute knitwear, pleather gloves, then a couple pairs in latex for safe measure. Actually, it's nice to get rid of a layer; she can feel the sweat pooling at her fingertips.]
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[Head low, she begins pushing snow towards the already packed stuff, on her knees on the ground. The frozen water is already beginning to melt, to soak into the knees of her jeans. She hesitates, not wanting to seem ungrateful.] Thank you very much.
2
When some strong chemical smell distracts her from her hike, Marnie hides behind a tree and peers out at the cabin and the person painting it. People live out here? she wonders. People are allowed to live out here? It's a lovely cabin, so it must be in some way established with the authorities... Against her better judgment (though she has one hand in her purse, gripping her keys like a weapon), Marnie calls out.]
Hello! I didn't know anyone lived out here. I don't mean to disturb you.
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[She turns back again because frankly, it' ridiculous.] What makes you think that tree'll hide you? [She drops the paintbrush into the can and dipping a hand into her pocket, retrieves her cigarettes. She lights one, staring at her staining handiwork.] That tree's not going to hide you.
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Your home is beautiful.
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Yeah, it's alright. [her radio is still buzzing and she leans down to turn it off. She only listens to Kanye or French talk radio anyway.] Aren't you a bit far out?
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It's a lovely plot of land. I know my uncles used to hunt deer out here, but they stopped a long time ago. Promise. [Marnie smiles again.] Are you living alone?
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Deer hunters? [Mari goes stiff before she's realised it, her mouth a line. All she can think of is a pack of dogs who don't know better whipped into a frenzy by lordly upper crust men; people who've never had genuine need for food. Hunting for sport makes her feel genuinely outraged, as much for the animals involved as it is about the politics.] Did they stop because of the hunting with dogs ban? Never mind. [They'll regret it if she catches them out here, though.]
No, [she looks behind herself to the little cabin and points to the window.] It's just me and Little Fucker over there. You live with your hunting uncles, back over that ridge?
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Hmm? No, no dogs... [Slightly puzzled, Marnie lets the subject drop, as requested. The look in the woman's eyes is strange anyway and her stomach is starting to get that awful sinking feeling.]
Little Fucker? [She laughs, trying to hide the fact that she is slightly shocked to hear that word.] That's a horrible name for such a pretty cat. No, I'm staying with my parents. My father never had a hunter's constitution. You must be new to the area. Or just doing some upkeep?
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[Wandering over to her window, Mari peers at the cat, which ignores her complete.] I used to name them after people I knew, but I ran out of people. So he's named after me. [She taps the glass; the cat looks at her and flicks his ears and narrows his eyes.] He's not very pretty either. Look, see, the top of his ear's been ripped off. He likes to fight things. But I think he likes staying inside better. Little wimp.
[She's almost soft, talking about the cat. But she looks around to remind herself she's not alone.] I've come back. I went away. Now I'm back.
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Still, she tries to appear polite and follows Mari to the window, keeping a few paces between them.] A Little Fucker and a wimp. Poor darling. No wonder he stays in when he's talked about so outside. [She laughs, but at the same time, she really does want to stand up for the ugly cat she's sure would scratch her as soon as look at her.]
Welcome back. [Marnie looks around as well.] I'm sorry, I'll go if I'm bothering you. My manners are a few degrees off these days. I only wanted to say hello to a new neighbor.
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[She pauses for a second, remembering. The English lionise themselves as animal lovers, yet always find it strange that someone should value the life of a creature above their fun. She coughs into a hand again.] I used to work at an animal shelter. So my views are strong. It's where Fucker's from. He was treated pretty bad as a kitten.
[Tired, she wipes her face with a hand and looks at her cat. He pulls back his lips from its teeth and seems almost to hiss at the window. It's not until she catches sight of her reflection in the glass that Mari realises that she's pulling the same face, right back at her cat. She also realises that this woman's still talking.] He can leave when he wants to. But he acts like a dickhole and then comes crawling back in the night to cuddle up.
[Running a hand through her thick, short hair, Mari looks at the other girl properly, instead of only in the reflection of the glass.] Who else lives in your place? You, your hunting uncles, your dad...