lady_bols: (s1 work it out)
2013-12-31 05:03 pm
Entry tags:

Krampus Plot, part IV

 She crawled out of the tent on her hands and knees, gritting her teeth.  The ground was hard packed dirt, and the air smelled clean and fresh. It was dark, and they were under a brilliant desert night sky.

"Oh, Ichabod.  Look."
lady_bols: (s1 work it out)
2013-12-31 01:48 pm
Entry tags:

Krampus Plot, part II

 [ cont'd from here ]

She held tight to his hand as they swept through the door, the eerie light chasing them out into a gargantuan space.  The door clapped shut with a boom behind them. Beneath their feet, she felt rough stone floors and the air was humid and thick.  They weren't outside, because she could hear the echoes of the door ringing high above them.  There was an unidentified light source emanating from somewhere overhead.

"Well, this isn't Miliways."

Alex was still walking backwards when she turned to speak to Ichabod.  And it's a good thing he was close.  One foot kicked back into empty air and she almost fell over the edge of the cliff into pitch blackness.  She scrabbled for his arm, and caught herself before she overbalanced.

"Bloody hell..."

There was an ominous clicking sound.  And then there was a noise like boulders being slid across steel plates.  Beneath their feet, the floor began to shift.

lady_bols: (s1 soft smile)
2013-05-14 03:01 pm
Entry tags:

Room 6620, The Morning Of...

The evening had passed quietly, with no more talk of promises or commitment, or anything of consequence, really.

She'd tried to fall asleep, but only succeeded in dozing lightly off and on.  Every time he shifted or exhaled too sharply, she'd found herself wide awake.  Hypervigilance, she thought.  Her mind was fixated on the thought that she might miss saying goodbye. He wouldn't dare sneak out on her.  He was a bastard sometimes, but he wasn't exactly heartless.

Well, most of the time.

When the first light of dawn hit the windows, she was already awake, listening to the sound of his breathing.  She debated getting up and laying out his suit for him, but that would mean leaving the warmth of the bed.

'Love?  It's time.'

She knows he's anxious to get back.  A part of her understands, remembering how hard it was those first few days and weeks in Fenchurch, waiting to wake up from the nightmare.  At least he has the option to go home.

lady_bols: (s3 6620)
2012-10-08 07:39 pm
Entry tags:

OOM: An unavoidable eventuality

He was supposed to nip down for another bottle of wine.  But he wasn't back yet, and she'd fallen asleep on the couch while she waited.

When she woke up, she heard the faint patter of raindrops against the window.  There was a presence in the room with her, one she recognised instantaneously. 

She was alone.  There was a shadow of a figure in the reflection in the window.  Dark clouds mirrored her shift in mood, and she could see the outline of his uniform coat as clear as crystal.  She never thought she'd see this visage of him again. She thought, somehow, she'd laid him to rest.  Again, she was wrong.

His smooth face was impassive, his one good eye so young.  She just looked at him, and thought her heart was breaking right then and there.  He'd been called back to Fenchurch, without taking her ring, without so much as a kiss.  And the only way she knew was the reflection of his ghost, half his face a dark, gaping wound.

He was gone, and this was all the goodbye she was going to get.

She blinked and the ghost was gone.  And she felt her knees give way.

She sat on the floor, tears streaming down her face, staring at her hands, her useless bloody hands.  She didn't know how long she sat there, but eventually she collected herself and set about straightening the room.  She knew he'd have to go back some time, she just always thought she'd know ahead of time.  This is probably for the best, she thinks.  A quick break, and when he comes back, because he is coming back, she'll be all the more happy to see him.

She's chewing on her lip, sitting at the table making a list, when she hears the door open.

lady_bols: (s2 smile (for gene))
2012-08-09 01:45 pm
Entry tags:

Room 6620, Post Deluge

She is soaked to the skin and out of breath when they hit the back door of the bar.   And for all it was a summer downpour, it was not a warm shower either.  If only she'd worn something more than a silk tunic.  The water has plastered her hair and clothes to her skin, but if anything, it's raised her mood.

She looks over at him, her hands pushing her hair back out of her eyes, grinning at him.

'Why is it every time we go for a walk, I come back needing another shower, hmm?'
lady_bols: (s1 drunk crashed out w gene)
2012-07-14 04:53 pm
Entry tags:

Room 6620, Afternoon

There's a knock at the door.  Someone is politely, quietly knocking on her door.  It can't be Gene then.  He always uses his fist, even at 3am in the morning.  She opens one eye, and realizes, she's not in the flat above Luigi's.

For one, Gene is behind her.  And completely starkers, pressed against her from nape to knee, snoring quietly in her ear.  A grin spreads across her face, and she stretches, not quite willing to leave the comfort of the bed yet.

'Just leave it there, we'll get it in a minute.  Thanks.'  She hopes whoever is out there can hear her voice, because she's not going to shout and wake him.  She also makes a mental note to tip the rat very well when he brings dinner.

It's impossible to move much at all without waking him.  So she gives him another moment, content just to enjoy the feel of lying in his arms.
lady_bols: (s3 modern listening)
2012-07-09 12:31 pm
Entry tags:

Room 6620, Morning of the Third Day

She slept, and dreamt of fields of verdant green shrouded by the grey English sky.  A bell tolled in the distance, and in the mist, she could see ranks of her fellow officers, solemn in their black dress uniforms.  In their midst, six figures carried something heavy on their shoulders.  She can see the line of the casket, but it takes a moment for her to register what it is.  

There's a hole in the ground, clean edges, the mound of earth beside the grave covered with faux turf to hide the truth of it.  She can smell lilies and her favourite, white roses.  Evan has his arm around Mols shoulders, and her face looks so still.  She's been crying, Alex can tell.  But she's put a brave face on.

He's right, she knows.  She's strong, and resourceful.  She's going to be all right.  She is.

(I'm happy, hope you're happy too.)

But it doesn't keep her from missing her daughter.  And it hurts.  Like nothing she's ever experienced.  A part of her knows she should look away, but she can't.  She watches as they lower the casket into the ground, listens as the pipes play, a haunting melody that puts voice to the ache in her heart.  It feels like a final goodbye, and she struggles to stay there as long as she can.

But there's another reality she belongs to now, softly snoring in bed next to her.  She opens her eyes, feeling the tears on her cheeks, and drinks in the sight of him.  His hair is mussed, and when he's asleep, she can see the outlines of that young man's face beneath the surface.  She thinks of Betty, and gently brushes a lock of his hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

Betty knows what it's like to lose a child.  Two of them, even.  God, she hopes this place will afford her the chance to meet the woman again.  Anything is possible, here, isn't it?

Aren't they both proof of that?
lady_bols: (s3 modern profile)
2012-06-27 03:33 pm
Entry tags:

[oom] Room 6620, Day Two

He'd returned from his smoke break, and they'd returned to the room together, bottle of wine and glasses in hand.  Neither one of them seemed to inclined to stay and be social, at least not yet.  Fatigue and that same vague uncertainty about where they stood with one another seemed to overshadow everything else.

She slipped her shoes off first thing inside the door, preferring to enjoy the soft rugs beneath her feet.  The wine and glasses are deposited on the coffee table and she disappears into the bathroom. 

When she emerges, she takes a few moments to tidy up.  Or at least to go through the motions.  It seems that while they were out, housekeeping made the beds and folded their clothes.  They even took away the tea and biscuits, which was a shame, because they hadn't even got through half the stack.

She makes her way to the windows and draws the curtains back, trying to get some light in the room.  Even the pale Scottish summer sun is better than nothing.

No luck.  It's pissing down out there.

She sighs, and leans on her hands, looking out over the scene.  It's a beautiful view, even in the rain. 
lady_bols: (s1 distraught)
2012-06-23 07:42 am
Entry tags:

[oom] Room 6620

[ cont'd from here ]

She dreams, fitfully. The same anguish plays itself out on her face, and at one point, she calls out. His name, desperate and pleading, as if willing him back from the edge of some precipice.
lady_bols: (s3 modern listening)
2012-06-20 01:17 pm
Entry tags:

[oom] The Railway Arms

A saloon bar.  That's what he'd told her.  They have a saloon bar, a place for proper ladies to sit, and eat and drink without having to be disturbed by the smoke and coarse language of men.   Somewhere there's a juke box playing, and she can hear laughter.  There are people here, people she should know.  And somehow she knows, it's just gone quitting time.  Nothing to worry about here.  Molly is safe, and in the land of the living.  She'll heal, in time.  That little truth is small comfort to Alex.  

The other truth is no comfort at all.  But it's real and for once, she doesn't have any questions.  It's hard, but simple fact that she, Alex, is no longer among them.  The living.  She's here now, where the atmosphere is warm, welcoming, and she should be ready to take her place among the contented souls of the dead.

And yet... )
lady_bols: (modern looking down)
2012-06-20 12:01 pm
Entry tags:

[oom] The Defining Moment

Hail Mary, full of grace... )

[ooc:  Written 11/30/2010, inspired by this piece. ]
lady_bols: (s3 apart by never parted (gene))
2012-06-13 02:20 pm
Entry tags:

[oom] 3x01 - Tape recorded notes

Alex Drake, 1983. First recording on my return from... [sigh] the real world. Doesn't sound very convincing, does it? I know, I'm only going from my own limited perception, so it'll have to do right now. This world, here, 1983, that's what I have to work with. That's where I am.

[long pause]

I should have recognised it when I arrived in 1981, before my parents' murders. )
lady_bols: (Default)
2011-01-01 06:40 pm
Entry tags:

[oom] 3x01 i. Wakey Wakey Drakey

Her entire world is shrouded in shadow, a palpable darkness that weighs her every breath, her every thought.  She refuses to take the pills and the ice pick behind her right eye is her constant companion, waking and sleeping.  It's the only reason she's come here today.  She has to talk to someone.

"I understand that emerging from a coma... I understand that one might have difficulty -- adjusting to the real world." )
lady_bols: (s3 modern profile)
2010-11-26 01:30 am
Entry tags:

[oom] London, 2008

"It's a brisk two degrees below zero, this afternoon, but the weather doesn't seem to be what's keeping shoppers home this holiday season. We'll have more on the continuing economic crisis in just a moment. Today, scientists announced they've positively identified the remains of the Russian Tsar, Nicholas the second, using modern forensic DNA..."

Alex turned the news off, and reached for her iPod. Easier to do her yoga stretches with music, anyway. She needed to get back into her routine. Yoga used to be one of her favourite stress reduction techniques. So she focused on her sun salutation, going through each position three times, focusing on her breathing, trying to ignore the dull throb behind her right eye.

A phantom, nothing more. The bullet's out. She's home. Bols!

The days passed like water running through her hands. It was easier while the sun was up. Easier to believe that everything was normal and proper and right. Easier to believe that she was healing and that it was only a matter of time before 1982 and her time at Fenchurch East was nothing more than a distant memory.

The night time, that was another country entirely )