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 Posted: Wed Jan 07, 2009 8:02 pm
two. (prp) vampires don't sparkle [child]
three. (prp) the goth and the dragon [child]
four. (prp) reunion [child]
five. diary entry [child]
six. solo [child]
seven. (prp) i left you in the dust [child]
eight. (prp) tiny oft-forgotten parks [child]
nine. solo
ten. solo
eleven. solo [child]
twelve.
thirteen.
fourteen.
fifteen.
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Posted: Wed Jan 07, 2009 8:03 pm
prp. Vampires Don't Sparkle
with. Jahzara
link. here
Girls named Bella are just terrible, heartless, horrible things.
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Posted: Fri Jan 09, 2009 1:04 pm
prp. The Goth and the Dragon
with. Kashmira
link. here
Shopping is a pain in the butt when you're trying to meet someone else's expectations.
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Posted: Thu Jan 15, 2009 5:04 pm
prp. Reunion
with. Iselda
link. here
A little less sixteen candles, a little more hairdressing...
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Posted: Thu Jan 15, 2009 7:34 pm
Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night, I'm so scared I'll die that I can't get back to sleep.
It's weird, but when I wake up, I don't know where I am right away. Dreams stick to me, sort of like Shelob's web sticks to Frodo in that one movie. The Lord of the Rings or something. 'Cause, if you talk to me at 8:04, the minute my alarm clock goes off or at 8:16, when Dad actually gets me up, I will swear to you on anything you like that I am trapped in the lost realm of Arnor or something, and for the love of Jean Valjean if I don't get to Imperial Center, well! The Opera Ghost is going to be executed by Ido the Rat Dragoneye.
Once I was visiting Dad's best friend, Asmadai, when I had this horrible and vivid dream. It wasn't a nightmare, not really. It was a night stallion, the sort of dream where you wake up after absolutely convinced that everything you just saw is true, but it's so terrifying that you absolutely don't want to believe that conviction. I dreamed that my dad had died and I had just stood there, watching. I dreamed that I had agreed to let him die so that a little boy I didn't even know would live. I dreamed I said, "I love you, Dad, but you're going to go to sleep now and never, ever wake up again."
And he said to me: All right, Magda. I love you. Then he closed his eyes.
When I woke up, I was hysterical, absolutely gone beyond terror that he really was dead and I'd suddenly developed a severe case of Oracular Visions. It would be terrible. Side effects would include ending up lie that guy Paul Atreides and becoming a mad preacher lady with my eyes burnt out by lasers. Or even worse, magically becoming an opium-dazed barely-clothed belly dancer, like anyone would want to see me like that. You know. Like in 300. I called Dad with the focus crystal he gave me, twice! And he didn't answer. So I ran out to Asmadai and asked him with no small trepidation, "Is Dad dead?"
"No," said Asmadai with a puzzled air. "He's teaching a class on the inherent duality of man."
Oh.
Sometimes, when I wake up, I just lay there for several minutes and breathe. I take a moment, or even two when the dream was really strong, to reorient myself. Where ever I was- lightsaber duels with Anakin Skywalker, painting with berries alongside Pocahontas, or playing piano with some blond man who looked disturbingly like Asmadai- I pull myself out, inch by agonizing, drug-hindered inch. It's hard, like climbing up the walls of a steep, slippery well with algae growing on the stones. You really have to scramble to dig your fingers in, and it hurts like hell.
After all, who wants to trade the vastness of the night sky for a world of white walled hell?
Sometimes, something spooks me in that foggy place between sleeping and waking and I'll fall out of the bed. Usually it's something really stupid, like the puddle of a black sweater I'd carelessly tossed on the floor in the middle of the night, or the light from a street lamp reflecting off a mirror. I could swear to you on Dad's focus crystal that the sweater was a shadow, it was Death coming to eat my soul (because damnit, shadows love you for your mind but they'll take your body too) and the mirror's reflection was Yggdrasill coming to sacrifice me to some unholy goddess.
Sometimes I think I'm disappointed when none of that happens.
Dad came home from work. After I was safely stashed on the couch with a copy of the Fellowship of the Ring and a DVD in the player, I listened to him rattle around the kitchen, ping-ponging off the various surfaces like a blaster shot until he came to a stop in front of the broken television. His black hair gleamed in the light from the television's THX logo. I wondered when the suboids were going to break through the rock layers and set fire to the crystal city. Then I remembered I was awake. "Magdelen," rumbled my dad, "Asmadai wants to know what drugs you're on."
"Okay, Dad," I said.
Sometimes when I fall asleep, I dream I'm missing. I dream that I'm lost inside my mind, forever contained inside the thoughts of the imaginary world where no one's sick. The worst thing is, I dream that just one person misses me. And they're so scared, but I don't care; I'm happy lost. I want to stay lost forever.
And sometimes, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I'm so afraid that I'm going to die I can't fall back to sleep.
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Posted: Thu Jan 29, 2009 6:00 pm
"Are you sure you have to go?" She felt very painfully tiny as she sat in the plastic chair in the waiting room, almost invisible in fact. It wasn't like she hadn't gone to the doctor many many times by now, but she'd never before conducted an entire appointment without Luka. He always knew the right questions to ask and the proper things to bring up. These were things daddies were supposed to do, and when it all came down to it, Magdelen was not very old at all.
And it looked like he knew it, too, but still he bent down and smiled and ruffled her hair. "I'll be back before you know it," he promised. "Pinky swear." With one hand on his knee, he interlocked pinkies with his daughter and they shook on it, her pinched features very solemn and more than a little scared. Then, as an orderly called her name ("Magdelena Christina Wesley?") he walked away, out the door.
Even knowing as she did that it wasn't a total abandonment, it still felt terrible. Her chest constricted and she found it a little hard to breathe. A stinging sensation welled up at the corners of her eyes and her nose felt funny, like it always did when she was about to cry. As the orderly mangled her name a second time, she got up and said "Me, I'm here," in the most miserable tone she could muster up. She followed the man down a hallway carpeted in mannered taupe, the walls a tasteful but bland seafoam green. Her footsteps made no sound and she shed her tears quietly there. Then he opened a white door and gestured her inside, put the clipboard with her chart on it in a basket on the door, and smiled a little uncomfortably. "I know," she said, already over her brief crying jag and fully immersed in a 'I'm a bad child, don't like me' personality. "Dr. Vladescu will be with me in a moment." He left, shutting the door politely behind him, and she looked around the room.
It was a normal examination room- walls of an inoffensive color, Winnie the Pooh stickers on the wall, a sink inset in a counter on the one side with a line of cabinets above. She sat in one of the plastic chairs, knowing from experience that the lady would always want the swiveling stool. That was just where Dr. Vladescu sat after walking in, her chocolate curls in a stern chignon. Magdelen had seen the lady with her hair down once. It looked a lot better on her. "Magdelen," said the doctor, "How have you been?"
"It's only been a week," Magdelen said unhappily. "What're you gonna make me do today?"
With a sigh that the white-haired child couldn't quite read, Dr. Vladescu turned to look at the folder, which was quite separate from the chart outside the door. The chart had all her medications and the things she had to do, and her respective symptoms and how she was on that day and such. She got a new one every time she came in, because she usually came in on an outpatient basis. In fact, she had never had to be an inpatient. The folder, though, had everything. How tall she was, how much she weighed, her age and date of birth and contact and details and everything. The folder was it.
"I just need to take a little skin sample again and a blood clotting test," Dr. Vladescu said, pulling Magdelen out of her contemplation of the mysteries of the Doctor's Folder. She wondered if the doctor was dumbing things down for her again. "Since I don't see your father, the other things will have to wait."
Other things? Magdelen's stomach dropped down to her ankles. "Other things?"
The woman held up one hand and coughed delicately. The other quested for curettes and other such things she would need, though not right away of course. There were other things to handle first, like 'how does the pain rate on a scale of one to ten'. And then more blood tests and stuff that never turned up any answers. Her ivory-colored eyes narrowed at the doctor, lips turning downward in a decided scowl. "Other things," said Dr. Vladescu, "Like a possible treatment. I shouldn't tell you without Mr. Wesley here." This immediately made Magdelen want to kick and scream. The doctor should tell her, not Luka! It was Magdelen who would have to suffer through it all, doubtless, and it was her body anyway, so it should be her choice! But she kept her words in, even though her face told the whole story.
"Magdelen," said the doctor very patiently, "I know you want to know what's going on, but there are a lot of legal things going on, too-" She tuned the doctor out, snugged her headphones over her ears and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Shortly the (strangely, soothing) sounds of Valjean and Javert's confrontation filtered through her ears. Magdelen didn't even notice when Dr. Vladescu took the skin sample. Normally she struggled around, trying to avoid the curette at all costs, but today she just couldn't seem to care. It'd be just one more bandage, right?
A rap on the top of her head brought her back to the real world. She lifted one headphone a miniscule amount and opened one eye- the kind face of Dr. Vladescu was eclipsed by her black sweater. Magdelen pulled it on over her head and took the envelope offered- information for her dad, no doubt- and stomped down the hallway.
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Posted: Mon May 18, 2009 2:08 pm
prp. I Left You In The Dust
with. Ylaine
link. here
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Posted: Thu Aug 06, 2009 11:47 pm
prp. Tiny Oft-Forgotten Parks
with. Kodiak
link. here
She doesn't need you, but it doesn't mean she doesn't want you.
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Posted: Sun Aug 16, 2009 6:36 pm
Something very few people knew was that Magdelen did not wear the bandages just to hide the bruised colorations on her skin.
Her thoughts were admittedly gloomy one August morning as she wiped the white washcloth along a strip of her forearm; it came away stained a disgusting purplish color, like a rotten grape. She had not gotten much sleep between the vomiting and the body aches and the chills. Neither had Luka, who was off chugging espresso shots with Asmadai in the living room while she monopolized the bathroom; his hair had been all over the night before, and now it stuck up in an odd parody of bedhead. As she wrung the fluids out of the washcloth - her hands shook appallingly, and she carefully averted her ivory eyes - she wondered if you could have bedhead when you didn't sleep. Magdelen herself had only gotten maybe three hours in borrowed time, half-hours snatched with her head balanced precariously on the toilet seat between vomiting fits.
She sighed and picked up the roll of gauze. Her stomach still hadn't quite settled, and she felt as if today would be another day spent at home, valiantly trying to get warm on the couch. Luka could go to work; it was a Tuesday, so Asmadai would stay with her, and if he couldn't, there would be Asimov with her bright heterochromatic eyes and her stupid jokes. Magdelen, personally, preferred Asmadai; he was quiet, and wouldn't interrupt her self-pitying rants. Asimov did. She would laugh out loud, pat Magdelen's head, and begin to relate a half-witted anecdote about a friend of hers who had used telekinesis to cheat on a math final in college. Besides, sometimes it really hurt to laugh.
With another sigh, she slid down the side of the bathtub to settle on the floor. Her stomach seemed to like it, finally quieting enough that she felt secure taking a deep breath. "Dad," she called, "could you help me with my hands?" It didn't matter if she was dressed or not; the bandages covered most everything, even made going to the bathroom rather inconvenient since even the skin there seeped out... whatever it was. The mere thought made her gorge rise, and as Luka cracked open the door, she sat up and practically lunged for the toilet.
He came over to push her hair out of her eyes and didn't comment on the tears, picked up the gauze and started to carefully wind it about each finger of one hand as she sat back on her heels.
"It's alright," he said. She knew, though, she knew that it was not all right. Luka did not deserve this; he deserved a healthy child, someone like... Magdelen did not know that many people, but if she had to choose a replacement daughter for her dad, it would be Iselda. They saw each other in school every time they were both present, and since Magdelen was such good friends with the long-haired girl, she knew that Iselda would be a perfect addition to the Wesley family. "It is," he repeated.
When her arms had stopped shaking and both her hands were securely bandaged - a stain was slowly spreading on her shoulder - she looked up at him, really looked. She did not like what she saw. "I wish you had a better daughter," she said, trying to straighten her shaggy hair. It was getting thinner - a result of the same therapy that was making her so sick - and harder to style. Any attempt at all was normally in vain. Magdelen was thinking about cutting it short, so short she wouldn't have to bother with it at all. After all, it would all fall out soon.
He absently ran a hand over her hair, shaking off the strands that came with it in the trash. "It's all right," he repeated. "I'll be home a little late tonight. I have to tutor the Mephisto boy, but Asmadai will stay with you." As he helped her up, he added, "His daughter might come over. Won't that be nice? You'll have someone to talk to."
"I can talk to Asmadai," said Magdelen, who didn't like Lukia particularly. Then, seeing he was unswayed, she added in her most pathetic tone, "Dad, I just want to sleep."
With a smile she didn't recognize, he said dryly, "Oh, I know the feeling," and kissed her on top of the head.
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Posted: Sun Aug 16, 2009 6:37 pm
Magdelen did not particularly like Lukia Riffael.
It wasn't that the girl was cruel about Magdelen being ill. In a way, Lukia was just as badly off; thorns had shredded her eyes and the surrounding area of her face, leaving her blind. No, Lukia wasn't terminally ill, but she was certainly sick. If the world had been different, the two might have ended up in the same chemo rooms or something.
Nor was Lukia a bad conversationalist; she was dry, and rather like a textbook when she spoke, and way too logical, but she knew the give-and-take of conversation and didn't yell when she shouldn't. The two girls even had a few interests in common; they both enjoyed traveling, though Magdelen mostly accomplished this through video and Lukia actually went there. Both of them had extremely overprotective parents, though Luka would not allow Magdelen out of the apartment most days and Lukia wandered off whenever she pleased. Both of them liked stories, though Lukia preferred them to be simply stories and Magdelen liked them sung or in a movie.
And it wasn't that Lukia was ugly, she had very nice... hair, Magdelen supposed, and her body wasn't bad either if you ignored the stem-legs and the freaky thorns growing out of her skin and the really weird skin tone and the thorn-poked-out-eyes. Her clothes were nice, and even though sometimes she was really skinny and starved-looking, she never had a sickly look to her. Anyone like Magdelen, who spent most of her time caged up, would adore the vitality the rose-girl displayed.
No, Magdelen didn't mind any of that. She knew exactly what rankled:
Once, visiting Asmadai for an hour or so during a period of relative wellness, she had seen Lukia in her room on her knees and sallow shoulders shaking like she was crying, making peculiar sounds. Magdelen had approached her, spoke to her - Are you all right - and then the brunette had gone berserk, twisting up to her feet like some kind of sea monster. If Magdelen had not fallen over in surprise, she would have an interesting set of scars in the same shape and size as Lukia's fingernails.
"Leave me alone," Lukia had screamed, Magdelen had watched in silent shock as the girl collapsed back to her knees and sobbed, but the tears were not water. They were blood, and coming from her fingertips, which had been torn to shreds on the thorns that had ripped her eyes up. Luka had come to retrieve her and they had left soon after, with Asmadai's sister singing some little melody to Lukia in the room behind them.
Magdelen did not like Lukia because Lukia reminded her of her own self.
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Posted: Sun Aug 16, 2009 6:39 pm
When Luka told her not to eat anything for the next twelve hours, Magdelen knew something was up.
“Dad,” she said as she laid face-down on the couch, “I am going to die if I don’t eat.” She knew saying that to her father was not particularly tactful, especially since one day whatever the heck was wrong with her would reach her brain or rot off all her skin or something, and being half-human and half-whatever-Dad-was did not especially predispose her to living without the largest organ in the human body for any length of time. So one day she really would be dead, and then she’d regret being so cruel to her father about it, but she’d be dead and so she could never say so, but. Magdelen was really hungry.
He sighed. Like always, he had foregone food in order not to tempt himself to give in to her whining, and lack of food always wore on a man’s nerves. “Only another two hours,” he mandated, the Voice of God Himself coming down from on high to declare that she was not allowed to have any cookies that day. Or lunch meat sandwiches. Luka had been very hardcore this time.
Since he was not making her drink any medicine at all, she felt secure in thinking that this was not a lead-up to another test. There would be no isotopes in her blood stream or intestines this time. This meant that whatever was up, it involved knives and her body, and she did not like it already. “Come on,” she said as she ran one hand over her bald head, “I’ve already lost the part of the Prince, and all my hair. What’re you doing to me now?”
Reminding herself of that particular failure made her grit her teeth. She had so wanted to be on stage, just for one moment to be in everyone’s eyes as she could be one day if she wasn’t sick... but a girl who spent so much time out of school she had all the assignments emailed to her was not particularly good acting fodder. Wasn’t very good gene pool fodder, either, if the latest science class handouts were to be believed.
Magdelen sighed when he didn’t answer. Instead, he seemed pretty focused on playing with the remote, changing channels on her like no tomorrow.
Well. Two could play at that game. Magdelen was very good at it especially. She rolled onto her side, facing away from the television. It put her nose perhaps half an inch from the back of the leather couch, which smelled like astringent herbs and general sickness. She barely noticed it anymore; nor did Luka. It was hard to find everyday things extraordinary, but she knew that plenty of the kids at school didn’t like her because of exactly this odor. The smell was not pleasant, but nor was it terrible. Sometimes it was even comforting. She let it lull her into a half-dozing state, knowing for sure that her father would cave.
“Dr. Vladescu recommended we try a standard necrosis treatment,” said Luka from somewhere over her shoulder.
She jolted up and around, skin stretching painfully as she twisted to look at him. “You’re going to carve off my skin?” Panic gripped her quicker than the best pills she’d ever taken; the face looking back at her was not her father’s, it was some alien masquerading as Four Luka Wesley and she knew it had to be, because it was completely blank. Magdelen did not know that this was the face her father presented when he needed to emotionally distance himself from something, right before he started to smile and act cheerful for the cameras or the Mephisto boy. She just knew it wasn’t right. “Dad! You can’t!”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as his hair swung forward in front of his eyes. “I have to try,” he said. She tried to hear some kind of quaver, something she could manipulate, but his voice was normal, like he was asking if she’d prefer to watch Hamlet or Narnia today. There was not one thing that she could use against him. “Magdelen,” and now there was a plea in his voice. “I can’t lose you. Odessa -”
“Oh,” she said shrilly, hands balling up into fists. No, she couldn’t understand, why was he calling the doctor by her first name, were they in love, was she going to lose her Dad to the person who had time after time sacrificed her mental well-being to try and preserve the physical? “So now it’s Odessa? Am I going to be some kind of experiment for your girlfriend, a victim for some unproven surgery -”
The sudden grip on her shoulders was unnaturally harsh. For a moment, she feared Luka might actually strike her; he never had before, but there was rage in his eyes, something she recognized purely from movies watched on this couch when she was too sick to move. There was something else, too, an undertone she couldn’t suss out, but it was that undertone that made her feel like he wouldn’t raise a hand against her. “She wants to help you, Magdelen, she loves you too,” he said.
Magdelen gritted her teeth again, looked at the clock: Thirty minutes. She had thirty minutes to make him take it back, to cancel the surgery. If he wasn’t going to hit her, she had no reason not to throw all her ammo at him. “So she’s going to flay off all my skin? Funny kind of love there,” she snapped, shoving him ineffectually. “Kind of like Buffalo Bill, isn’t it -”
He let her go. There was a dreadful stillness in the way her father stood in front of her, black-tinted fingernails digging into the fabric of his black slacks like claws. She imagined she could hear the grinding of bones and knew she had gone too far. His amber eyes were glazed: He was not looking at her, but something else. The silence was complete, and dreadful.
“Daddy,” she said, suddenly afraid. “Daddy, please say something.”
Five long minutes ticked by. Luka closed his eyes and then opened them. “You should get whatever you’ll want to entertain yourself with,” he said, some kind of jagged edge to his voice. “Since Dr. Vladescu wants you to stay for a few days while they do skin grafts.”
Magdelen watched him retreat into the kitchen, then got up to find her iPod.
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