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Lydia Cinctus Music Malady by Imperative Reaction Would it be a cliche to ask you into my parlour? I suppose I've always known that I am unique. Special. For a long while I wasn't really sure of how, but about a year and a half ago, well, things came into focus. I woke up one chilly November evening to a scratching in the back of my throat. I supposed it was just that - a sore throat. But it didn't really ever get worse - or go away. Then the dreams started. I could see my parents, my friends, my dog, everyone I've known. Watching them like I was in the corner of whatever room they were in. I saw my father slip out after my mother went to sleep. I saw her waking up afterwords and just sobbing. And it got stranger. A few of them I would watch while they were out and about. As if I was hiding in the bushes, like hunting them. I would follow my father to his car, then up the steps to the flat of the woman who lived across town. ...then Fluffy, our poodle, disappeared. Just after I had a dream that I had somehow...well, it was a vivid dream, to say the least. Two nights later I woke up in a cold sweat, went to the bathroom, and didn't recognize the face in the mirror. Except I did, it - she - was me. All eyes - so many eyes! And fangs, as well. Really rather different than what I am normally used to seeing. But I didn't fear that face, staring back at me. For some reason I was simply calm. And when I woke up again, the next morning, I looked, well, human again. But I could feel it all, really, truly. Just how special I was. Suddenly all of them - my parents, my friends, everyone I've known - they all looked so small. Helpless, like insects. Waiting for me to make my move. To decide - I could draw them in, I could pull the threads, or I could cut those threads and free them. The next time my father went to his mistress' home, I followed - and not in a dream. I waited until he left. And I rang her doorbell. And when she answered, I showed her my fangs. And I showed her my eyes. And then... ...well, I cut the thread she had on my father. And in the fallout of that - the police investigation on him, the argument with mother, and our leaving - our threads with him got cut too. So now my mother and I have come here, to Sheffield. To my grandmother's home. And I've come to St. Andrews. So far, there are so many little insects buzzing around, but I haven't picked any to watch in particular. Yet. But my throat itches again, so I know - it's going to be soon. I can't really resist. And, to be honest, why would I ever want to? quote:Look: patient, gleaming eyes LifeGetsWorser fucked around with this message at 19:48 on Aug 7, 2015 |
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May 5, 2015 00:31
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| # ¿ Apr 27, 2024 14:43 |
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Ferrosol posted:
Q1: That is an interesting question. Did you know that many species of spiders are cannibalistic? You see, after I came to the realization of what was, I took it upon myself to look up as much as I could about my, well, cousins I suppose. Regardless, I see other people like me occasionally here. Well, not like me exactly, I don't think I've ever met anyone with my - condition, but regardless, even in the cases of the more...predatory...people, there are only a few cases where that will make a difference as far as how I regard them. For instance, the librarian, the Mrs. Harding, she has the bearing of a predator. She interests me, and I am not entirely sure why. Perhaps, in part, it is due to the nature of the library - oh the section with the computers and the internet and everything, that is fairly standard - noisy teenagers trying to get around security filters and shirking work - but the rest is quiet. Undisturbed. When a book is taken off the shelf, dust comes up - a small commotion, and then everything settles, again. It is a good place for someone who likes to study things. And at the center of it - Mrs. Harding. Keeping everything in order. Stopping the little insects from buzzing around too loudly. Patiently waiting. Perhaps I'll go into library science one day? Q2: If I am allowed a bit of self-indulgent cliche spider-puns, I suppose you are as well. I might have overstated my lack of a specific interest in a specific individual before. The truth is, the first week I was here, I met a young man. Named Simon Browne. I suppose he must have been "interested", in the way the bipedal mammalian adolescents become interested in each other. I had not encountered a person who was "interested" in me, after my metamorphosis, so, to sate my own curiosity, I agreed to spend some time with him. Quickly, as an aside, I will mention, after my metamorphosis, there was a certain...lateral shift of my senses in my human facade. The hue on my eyes changed slightly - it isn't something people generally notice but your vision of the world is tinted based upon your eyes. Well, my tint changed. And the way I hear things - it's not precisely...better, but I hear insects, actual insects, more keenly. Small mammals, too, dogs, cats, rodents, those sorts of things, as they skitter about. Tuned for hunting, I suppose. It affects my sense of smell and taste, too. Well, most humans give off a pheromone, and teenaged humans quite a lot of them. To your average human, it's not something that affects you consciously. But I can smell it. It isn't much, but when you get close to a person, in a way that two people who are purporting to be dating end up getting, it is far more obvious. Simon's scent wasn't...bad, per se, but it was off-putting, to me. I decided quite quickly I didn't want to spend more time with him. At first, I simply tried to avoid him in the halls. But he found me. I requested a change of a class schedule but the headmaster was against such a maneuver. He continued to call my phone even after I declined answering. And when he did not call he would send me text messages. Many of them, and of increasing aggressiveness and lewdness. The voicemail messages he left on my phone fell into that category as well. Evidently, I needed to take direct action. I detest direct confrontation - if I am not able to exercise the element of surprise or if I do not find myself advantaged by the location or other circumstances. Well, the hallways of St. Andrews do not provide any benefit to a...dramatic social situation. So I needed to think on my feet. At that point, I did not have many "contacts" in my "phonebook", but I had, luckily, remembered the combination to his gym locker (it was the same as the password to his cell phone...his birthday, foolishly). And so, I took one of his lewder texts...a picture, and I forwarded it to all of his contacts, with the caption "but where's the rest?". By the end of the school day, he stopped bothering me. And a week later he transferred away, after many meetings with the faculty about his inappropriate conduct. There were...accusations, in the aftermath. Not something I have had the displeasure of experiencing before that incident. Someone had managed to spot me sneaking into the boy's locker room. I am uncertain of who it was, which is more frustrating. But, I have the fortune of being the same general build and complexion as a year nine student, a Cassandra Williams. I had made notice of that, but she was an otherwise banal and boring insect. I had no intention of involving her in any of my schemes, but I needed a scapegoat. So, I swapped our sim cards, on our cell phones, after deleting all the messages Simon sent me, both textual and vocal, that included my name. Then, I made a report to the administrators - anonymously, of course. And, well, the evidence was there. Clearly she was the one who was having a tryst with Simon. And clearly she had taken the rather extreme action. I was let go with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. And, well, while she was serving her detention I switched the sim cards back - after copying her contacts, of course. One may never know when one needs another scapegoat.
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May 5, 2015 20:56
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Alright, since I know you're likely aching to make the pun - yes, the water spout did wash me out. But I didn't even climb it, so it's really reaching isn't it? Ian Fitzgerald is generally a very quiet little fly. Thin, unassuming, glasses. Likely an asthma inhaler judging by the scent around him. But when it was announced that our room had flooded and we were going to be stuck - for an undetermined amount of time - no less, with the class from 10H, his heart rate skyrocketed. I heard it across the hallway we were standing in at the time. I don't know if it is a matter of claustrophobia, or hydrophobia, or a phobia of someone or something in that room, but, well, suddenly the little fly has become very interesting. I waited for him to pick a seat before I picked mine. Fortunately, his choice of 5A left 5B for me. I offered him a smile in commiseration when I made my choice - he looked like he was about to pass out. "Don't forget your inhaler." I offered. He smiled. Good, looks like things will work out well. At the very least it will be interesting. code:quote:Backstory LifeGetsWorser fucked around with this message at 03:51 on May 7, 2015 |
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May 6, 2015 19:24
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thatbastardken, if you are agreeable to it, I would like to take a string on Donna, as I imagine she and Lydia have butted heads over wanting things before. Maybe they both wanted the same thing or person and Donna ended up caught in a Lydia Agenda without meaning to?
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May 6, 2015 20:52
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Lydia's about 5'4"ish, and willowy, long limbs but not gangly. She'll probably be pretty tall when she's done growing.
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May 7, 2015 03:42
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Felicia, you seem so sweet and innocent. But we all have our Dark secrets. Won't you show me yours?
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May 7, 2015 19:39
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| # ¿ Apr 27, 2024 14:43 |
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Phone died but posted - and Orokos hates me. Hopefully krsymbot is a more benevolent deity.
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May 9, 2015 00:37
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