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Post by Nance Sikes on Jan 13, 2009 13:43:06 GMT -5
*Nance half-smiled, feeling strange.* "I'm not used to making choices," *she admitted.* "Whatever you'll have is fine..."
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Donavan
- Ingenious Pilot -
The eyes are the windows to the soul.
Posts: 229
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Post by Donavan on Jan 13, 2009 13:48:20 GMT -5
*Donavan's eyes dropped shyly as he started back to the kitchen.*
"Well, if it's something you might like to work on...at some point anyways... otherwise I'm afraid that the fare might get too repetitive around here."
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Post by Nance Sikes on Jan 13, 2009 14:26:54 GMT -5
"I'm used to unvarying circumstances," *pointed out Nance.* "I won't complain."
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Donavan
- Ingenious Pilot -
The eyes are the windows to the soul.
Posts: 229
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Post by Donavan on Jan 13, 2009 14:41:03 GMT -5
*Donavan smiled more easily at that. He nodded.*
"Just...make yourself comfortable. It might be a while."
*And with that he disappeared into the kitchen once more.*
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Post by Nance Sikes on Jan 13, 2009 16:41:31 GMT -5
*Nance sat on a small, ragged sofa, sitting rather more primly than she was used to. As time ticked away and her aching ribs wearied her, she gingerly reclined, slipping off her shabby boots and curling her feet under the muddy hem of her skirt, resting her head on the small pillow at one end, soon falling fast asleep.*
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Donavan
- Ingenious Pilot -
The eyes are the windows to the soul.
Posts: 229
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Post by Donavan on Jan 13, 2009 16:45:54 GMT -5
*The soup bubbling away happily, Donavan peeked back into the room. She looked asleep, or at least resting. That was good. Quietly, he pulled the throw from the back of the chair and covered her gently with it. It was clean but old, one of the few things he had of his mother's and it smelled faintly of her and the sea, like some half-remembered dream.*
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Post by Nance Sikes on Jan 13, 2009 16:54:14 GMT -5
*Nance stirred in her sleep, but did not wake, sighing softly as the warm and comforting scent of something pure and wholesome settled about her senses. It was foreign, and should have frightened her...but it didn't. Somehow, it felt as if her soul had been craving this something, this kindness, this goodness, and drank it all in as a man in the desert falls upon an oasis.*
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Donavan
- Ingenious Pilot -
The eyes are the windows to the soul.
Posts: 229
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Post by Donavan on Jan 13, 2009 17:05:33 GMT -5
*Donavan paused a moment to watch her. It seemed so much more obvious now, her walls lowered in the peace of slumber. Silently, he made his way to the chair and pulled a small notebook from the desk and did some light sketchings of her. He tried to focus on the page and not stare at her. He didn't want to startle her when she woke after all.*
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Post by Nance Sikes on Jan 13, 2009 17:24:27 GMT -5
*Nance's nightmares were an all-too-familiar terror, and so the slow rise of fear gorging at her throat felt as inevitable as it always did.
She tasted blood, and saw nothing, but felt her hands were tied. She heard the indistinct jeering of a multitude at her feet, hissing, murmuring, shouting--it was all one. Her ears caught the words 'whore', 'thief' and 'devil', but she never got a chance to hear any more. A rope rasped against her neck and tightened, stiff and itching and strong.
There was a creak of wood and gears, and the world fell away beneath her feet. She convulsed, flinching before the moment in which she would feel the snap of the rope and her neck, the spluttering choke of the air forced from her throat, the thick string of dog-like spittle swinging from her lips and a scream barely boiling in the pit of her stomach, too late to be even a breath.
She felt and tasted all these things--and yet the moment never came. The blinding white flash of pain, the final crack to precede the darkness of death and hell--neither reached her.
Her terror filled her to her fingertips, helpless with guilt and rage. Blindly, she woke, always in the instant when all was lost and her blood burned its hottest.
The dream came so often that she had ceased to scream upon waking--she had never cried out in her sleep since she had been a small girl, a filthy urchin who terrified even the rats in the gutter with her occasional penchant for torturing the pitiful creatures until she mercifully dashed their heads against a stone--her only release for the welling anger that dwelt at her core; perhaps the only thing that terrified her more than her dream or the reality of her life that would most likely lead to the dream's fulfillment.
And so she was silent as her eyes flew open, her gaze glassy and vacant. Tears gathered in her eyes--she could not stop them--and so she blinked, setting them free to roll down her cheek and disappear. One...two...and then no more. It was finished. The dream was over, once more.
For now.*
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Donavan
- Ingenious Pilot -
The eyes are the windows to the soul.
Posts: 229
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Post by Donavan on Jan 13, 2009 17:32:31 GMT -5
*Donavan had been focusing hard on the page, but when he glanced back, her eyes were open and cheeks stained. Worry coursed through him and he set the pad down, instinctively hurrying to her side.*
"Are you all right?" *He whispered urgently, not wishing to startle her badly.*
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Post by Nance Sikes on Jan 13, 2009 17:38:54 GMT -5
"I'm fine," *she said in a whisper, her voice rough and choked.* "Please, I...I'm fine." *She dropped her gaze, having unthinkingly stared at him openly.*
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Donavan
- Ingenious Pilot -
The eyes are the windows to the soul.
Posts: 229
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Post by Donavan on Jan 13, 2009 17:47:28 GMT -5
*He didn't seem to mind her stare, instinctively grabbing her glass from earlier and offering it to her.*
"Please." *He urged it towards her.* "I'm...if there's something else...you only have to ask." *He worried for her, being no stranger to nightmares himself.*
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Post by Nance Sikes on Jan 13, 2009 17:49:32 GMT -5
*Nance slowly sat up, her skirt brushing against his legs as he stood beside where she sat. She took the water and sipped it.*
"There's...there's nothing you could do," *she said softly, misery creeping into her tone.*
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Donavan
- Ingenious Pilot -
The eyes are the windows to the soul.
Posts: 229
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Post by Donavan on Jan 13, 2009 18:22:27 GMT -5
*His brow furrowed in sympathy as he remained crouched, now shorter than her. He seemed unsure of what to do.*
"If...you want to talk about it...I promise I won't...."
Judge? Tell anyone?
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Post by Nance Sikes on Jan 13, 2009 18:26:11 GMT -5
"Well, it's...it's nothing so terrible," *she mumbled dismissively.* "I always dream I'm about to die."
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