Post by LadyofBlood on May 6, 2008 4:51:24 GMT -5
Stuck on Pause:
Porthos:
Kaine:
FantineduVallon:
"Very little is left of her house, and so far no one's been able to contact her. It's unknown as yet if she was at home when this terrible fire was started. Although some of her neighbors were available for comment, none of them could say when they had last seen her or.... wait, what's this?"
The clatter of a crystal tumbler pulled her from her focus for only a moment. A subtle stain spreading across the divorce papers on her desk. Long enough to right it, and fill it again with the potent, amber alcohol. Pushing away from her wide desk, she kicked off her black heels as she stumbled drunkenly towards the television. Scooping up the remote control, it was rewinding and playing again before she practically stumbled in a heap with her face inches from the screen.
Fantine was what one would describe as a mess. Hair that recently was a tidy, pulled up no-nonsense bun, was now a hanging mess, reminiscent of what it looked like when she was in her right mind. Business jacket long tossed aside, collared button up as well. Even her simple chemise seemed to hot for her, she had pulled it free of the tucked security of her black knee skirt. Somewhere, since she shouted at Rose, her assistance, she had managed to earn herself some nasty gashes in her nude nylons.
"-wait, what's this?"
Deep, brown eyes returned to their focus. As if they were the only part of her that was free of the drink that addled her. Her fingertip, however, wasn't. Attempting to place it's manicured tip on the gurney, she sought desperately, as she had several times already, for some hint or clue that the body there was Aramis, or not.
She found the pause button.
Through the haze and distortion of her fairly decent television, there was no way to tell. It was just a covered lump more surrounded by EMT's than visible body, even if it was uncovered she doubt she could have made it out.
On a way of nostalgia, she recalled when she'd met Aramis. An awkward, friendly girl with a big smile. And she a just as awkward, recently boarded child. The friendship they had forged at such a young age had become more of the one alliance Fantine had always had faith in. The one person in her life who would never leave her, through the thick and thin of it all.
"Guess s'not th'case izit Ari?" she spat before taking a big swig of whiskey. She'd never flinched when she drank it, but tonight it stung, and her eyes began to water. "You're all dead'n gone'n.. talking to angels huh? Tha's great, leavin' me here to deal with this damned place. 'Th'all these little ...." The stinging in her eyes didn't pass, and her mascara began to run as her eyes watered.
Her stomach lurched, and Fantine dealt with another first. The contents of her stomach soon pooling at her knees. Sobbing and coughing, she brought back her control with the sound of the crystal tumbler, shattering against the wall, it sprinkled razor edged snowflakes over the bookshelf, and left a framed image of a belt winner in tatters.
It wasn't good enough, her stomach revolting again, she felt the gasp in her throat, the burning. And she debated for a moment of taking out her anger on yet another television screen. She didn't even notice the door to her office, left ajar by her escaping assistant some time before, had been pushed open, and a hulking figure had entered, until their boots were very close to her.
They creaked as whomever wore them crouched. And a large hand rested on her shoulder with surprising gentleness. "Don't," a soft spoken word, it was a man. But when she tried to look at him, her eyes blurred with tears.
"She's gone'n left me all by myself!" Hiccuping like a child, Fantine threw herself into the arms of the stranger, sobbing into his shirt.
Startled, her visitor could only remain there, feeling the salt water and snot already soaking into his shirt front. He soon settled to patting her gently on the back, he'd seen that happen somewhere. Getting her to her feet was a far more difficult task. He soon ha dto resort to hooking her under the arms like a baby, and holding her up until she got her feet.
"S'not fair, it isn't!" She certainly seemed smaller, and lacking that spark she had years back. At least, as far as he could recall.
"Stop it. You can't change what's happened. Stand up straight. Grieve but don't make a fool out of yourself." She couldn't stand up, blasted girl. He could see the nearly empty whiskey tumbler on her desk. From what he recalled, that was always full.
As he glanced over the room, he might have noticed the silence. But he didn't until Fantine fell against him. With barely enough time to catch her, he stumbled back a step before he could root himself. She wasn't so light anymore.
It took a few awkward moments to get the half dressed, dead weight of a woman onto her couch. There was nothing to cover her with except a discarded business coat, which he hoped wasn't covered with some form of defilement, not that she didn't deserve it.
But that was passed, she was a doll on a shelf, and he had other things to deal with.
A glance at the screen was al he needed to know what she'd been up to, he decided to leave it on. With luck, she'd wake up and not remember a thing.
He moved to the desk and took a seat. It sure was comfy, he thought, as he pushed aside a few stained papers to get a look at what was really there.
Porthos:
Kaine:
FantineduVallon:
"Very little is left of her house, and so far no one's been able to contact her. It's unknown as yet if she was at home when this terrible fire was started. Although some of her neighbors were available for comment, none of them could say when they had last seen her or.... wait, what's this?"
The clatter of a crystal tumbler pulled her from her focus for only a moment. A subtle stain spreading across the divorce papers on her desk. Long enough to right it, and fill it again with the potent, amber alcohol. Pushing away from her wide desk, she kicked off her black heels as she stumbled drunkenly towards the television. Scooping up the remote control, it was rewinding and playing again before she practically stumbled in a heap with her face inches from the screen.
Fantine was what one would describe as a mess. Hair that recently was a tidy, pulled up no-nonsense bun, was now a hanging mess, reminiscent of what it looked like when she was in her right mind. Business jacket long tossed aside, collared button up as well. Even her simple chemise seemed to hot for her, she had pulled it free of the tucked security of her black knee skirt. Somewhere, since she shouted at Rose, her assistance, she had managed to earn herself some nasty gashes in her nude nylons.
"-wait, what's this?"
Deep, brown eyes returned to their focus. As if they were the only part of her that was free of the drink that addled her. Her fingertip, however, wasn't. Attempting to place it's manicured tip on the gurney, she sought desperately, as she had several times already, for some hint or clue that the body there was Aramis, or not.
She found the pause button.
Through the haze and distortion of her fairly decent television, there was no way to tell. It was just a covered lump more surrounded by EMT's than visible body, even if it was uncovered she doubt she could have made it out.
On a way of nostalgia, she recalled when she'd met Aramis. An awkward, friendly girl with a big smile. And she a just as awkward, recently boarded child. The friendship they had forged at such a young age had become more of the one alliance Fantine had always had faith in. The one person in her life who would never leave her, through the thick and thin of it all.
"Guess s'not th'case izit Ari?" she spat before taking a big swig of whiskey. She'd never flinched when she drank it, but tonight it stung, and her eyes began to water. "You're all dead'n gone'n.. talking to angels huh? Tha's great, leavin' me here to deal with this damned place. 'Th'all these little ...." The stinging in her eyes didn't pass, and her mascara began to run as her eyes watered.
Her stomach lurched, and Fantine dealt with another first. The contents of her stomach soon pooling at her knees. Sobbing and coughing, she brought back her control with the sound of the crystal tumbler, shattering against the wall, it sprinkled razor edged snowflakes over the bookshelf, and left a framed image of a belt winner in tatters.
It wasn't good enough, her stomach revolting again, she felt the gasp in her throat, the burning. And she debated for a moment of taking out her anger on yet another television screen. She didn't even notice the door to her office, left ajar by her escaping assistant some time before, had been pushed open, and a hulking figure had entered, until their boots were very close to her.
They creaked as whomever wore them crouched. And a large hand rested on her shoulder with surprising gentleness. "Don't," a soft spoken word, it was a man. But when she tried to look at him, her eyes blurred with tears.
"She's gone'n left me all by myself!" Hiccuping like a child, Fantine threw herself into the arms of the stranger, sobbing into his shirt.
Startled, her visitor could only remain there, feeling the salt water and snot already soaking into his shirt front. He soon settled to patting her gently on the back, he'd seen that happen somewhere. Getting her to her feet was a far more difficult task. He soon ha dto resort to hooking her under the arms like a baby, and holding her up until she got her feet.
"S'not fair, it isn't!" She certainly seemed smaller, and lacking that spark she had years back. At least, as far as he could recall.
"Stop it. You can't change what's happened. Stand up straight. Grieve but don't make a fool out of yourself." She couldn't stand up, blasted girl. He could see the nearly empty whiskey tumbler on her desk. From what he recalled, that was always full.
As he glanced over the room, he might have noticed the silence. But he didn't until Fantine fell against him. With barely enough time to catch her, he stumbled back a step before he could root himself. She wasn't so light anymore.
It took a few awkward moments to get the half dressed, dead weight of a woman onto her couch. There was nothing to cover her with except a discarded business coat, which he hoped wasn't covered with some form of defilement, not that she didn't deserve it.
But that was passed, she was a doll on a shelf, and he had other things to deal with.
A glance at the screen was al he needed to know what she'd been up to, he decided to leave it on. With luck, she'd wake up and not remember a thing.
He moved to the desk and took a seat. It sure was comfy, he thought, as he pushed aside a few stained papers to get a look at what was really there.
