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| Locked Doors and Windowsills; Open | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 2 2009, 03:24 PM (98 Views) | |
| Elle | Oct 2 2009, 03:24 PM Post #1 |
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'This is a bad idea.' The thought seemed to settle in the stiffness of the girl's shoulders, the tightened set of her jaw, but it was too late to turn back now. Anna-Marie could feel her fingers begin to sweat in the confines of her green silk gloves, making each slightly-desperate grab for the rail feel dangerously slippery, her knees trembling slightly as she made her way precariously up the winding steps of the fire escape. She forced herself to concentrate all of her efforts to keep her eyes forward and up, rather than letting them stray to the scuffed toes of her Mary-Janes (she didn't want to see the way the gaps in the weather-worn grate made her feet look like they were suspended in mid-air like a ghost, four stories off the ground-- she wasn't so sure her poor stomach could handle that sort of torment). The rusting metal frame of the collapsible staircase groaned like an injured beast beneath the girl's weight as she forced herself up another rickety flight, eyes locked onto a closed window two stories above her head. Behind the dingy glass, she could barely make out the faint, familiar outline of her headboard against the wall, even in the darkness of the evening. Simultaneously, Anna-Marie thanked her good luck for preventing the stairwell from disintegrating from under her feet before she made it to her bedroom window, while vehemently cursing her lousy luck for forcing her to shimmy up the side of the rotting building to begin with. She'd only meant to go out for a few hours for a bite to eat-- she'd never meant to stay away so late. However, being new to the area made navigation difficult. It'd taken her nearly an hour to find her way to a decent cafe, and it had taken her twice as long to find her way back to her apartment building after some dumb dora gave her the wrong directions. When she finally did make it back to the blessed sight of the front door, she found that it had jammed, and no matter how she tugged or twisted it stuck firm. She knew from experience that nothing short of a bomb detonation in the near vicinity would rouse the sleeping woman behind the front desk, and so with no one to let her in, she decided the only way back to the warmth of her bedsheets would be through her bedroom window, six stories up. The air smelled coppery, thick with an electric zing that told of an incoming storm from the north-- already, the wind was picking up harshly around the chipping edifice of the Hallenboch Tenement, pulling stray leaves from trees and kicking the trash around in the streets. A chill rushed through her, nipping sharply along her spine, and Anna-Marie freed one hand from its frantic grip on the rail to clutch her long coat closer to her, trying to stifle the way the wind kept whipping the lapels into her face as it tousled her hair. Wouldn't be long now until it started coming down-- the last thing she wanted would be to be stuck in the downpour on a metal scaffold (she may not have finished school, but she weren't stupid, and nothing spelled 'death' quicker than a bolt of lightening conducted through the metal mess on the side of a very tall building, courtesy of God's poor humor). As if sensing her bitter thoughts, the fire escape gave a jolt and a moan, swaying slightly beneath her and forcing her into a crouch, dark skirts pooling around her as she bore down and fought to maintain some semblance of calm. The blood had rushed from her face, leaving her a ghastly pallor, and her wide dark eyes reflected back at her from the nearest window. With new-found determination (and no small amount of panicked desperation), Anna-Marie forced herself to put one narrow foot in front of the other towards the first lighted room she saw. She had to get off this thing before it quit on her, crumpled beneath her, and sent her tumbling to her death. With effort, she forced her knees to stop shaking as she made her way to the end of the scaffold-- she'd fought off more frightening things than she could count on one hand (man and beast alike), and hell if she let some stupid locked door be the catalyst of her demise). Moments later she found herself facing a cracked window, a dim light streaming out into the darkness and highlighting her face with sallow, yellow light. From her vantage point, she could make out a faint floral pattern to the stained, peeling wallpaper, but it was impossible to distinguish this portion of the building from a private apartment to an empty hallway. The fire escape moved again with the wind and she knocked anyway, gloved knuckles banging loudly against the pane. "Hello?" she called, voice thick and reedy. She punctuated her words with more forceful rapping. "Anyone in there? I could use some help out here!" |
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| Andrea | Oct 5 2009, 02:04 AM Post #2 |
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Nick Callaway had been making his way up to his room on the 8th floor, cursing the way how all of the elevators in the tenement had seemed to conspire against him; no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t seem to find a working elevator (or get one to work for that matter). After moments of heated frustration, he at last resigned himself to using the stairs, convincing himself during his ascent that this was a common dilemma of an average individual, whose quarters were situated at the top of the building. Regardless, it had already taken him at least fifteen minutes to ascend the first three floors, though time seemed to evaporate as he continued. With a book in his right hand and a half-filled (or half-empty?) coffee mug in the other, he made his way through the dimly lit hallways, not taking into account the sparse décor, but grimacing every now and then at the array of furniture that littered the corridor. While he had always been a man of simplicity, he couldn’t deny the ghastly arrangements, or the way the wallpaper seemed to be peeling, leaving shreds of white upon the darkened walls that he, at first, thought were the remnants of some crazy animal. He had lived a comfortable home life, surrounded by family and friends, and was not yet accustomed to Hallenboch’s less-than-spectacular interior design. Then again, it could just be the irritation he felt from his… elevator issue. Rapidly blinking into the darkness, Nick tried to ignore the way he was the only individual who seemed to be roaming the corridors at the moment. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, so to speak, but he had a wild imagination, and he tended to imagine frightening things when all he could see was black, save the moonlight that shone through the few windows bordering the hallway. So, with some trepidation, he forced himself to study the floral patterns on the wall (no matter how much he disagreed with the color choice). Needless to say, he was unprepared when there was a loud thwack! at a nearby window. He gave a startled jump, nearly spilling the rest of his drink, before staring cautiously at the sound's source. If he had been sleepy before, he was now definitely awake. “What…?” he mumbled under his breath, clear puzzlement in his voice. He began to make his way over to the windowsill, but stopped himself, reconsidering his actions. What if it was a robber? He knew the limitations of his physical abilities, and his chances of fighting and winning against a criminal were little to none. I could inform the police, he reasoned. But what kind of robber was so careless as to make such a loud noise during his or her heist? Steeling himself, Nick continued his previous resolve. After all, the tenement, he knew, had a few broken windows here and there. He would be doing his fellow neighbors a favor by reporting it to the landlord. To his surprise, the source of the sound turned out to be neither of his previous suspicions. “What on earth?” he muttered, looking at the young woman outside. Well, she wasn’t a wearing a mask of any kind… Plus, she looked like she was in a bit of trouble, judging by the ghostly complexion of her face (Or was that natural?). Regardless, she looked like she wanted to get in. “Hold on,” he managed, still somewhat wary of the her appearance. Quickly setting his mug and book aside, he inched his fingers under the window’s frame, and made an effort to lift it up, fighting against the strong force that had previously sealed it shut. Cold wind brushed his fingers, and he turned his face away as a chill began to crawl through the rest of his body. He had intended to open it all the way, but to his dismay, it seemed to be intent on opening only half-way—enough room for a grown man like himself to stick a quarter of his body outside. Nick did just that, giving the stranger a pointed look as the wind ruffled his brown hair. “What on earth are you doing?” he demanded, seemingly ignoring the current plight she was in. He was kind; he was giving, but this… Well, this was just a bit over the call of duty, wasn't it? He made a mental note of where his mug was, in case she did happen to be a robber; at the first chance, he would be sure to spill his half-cup of coffee on her, although by now he suspected its contents to be cold rather than hot. |
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| Elle | Oct 5 2009, 05:22 PM Post #3 |
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Anna-Marie's gloved fingers twisted hard against the windowsill in a grip so tight it made her knuckles ache, peering through the locked window for any sign of rescue. The sky was darkening rapidly with a cluster of angry-looking clouds, and the ozone taste to the air only caused her anxiety to worsen as the oncoming storm grew closer. Soon, no doubt, she would be forced to scramble down the oxidizing stairs under a downpour and try her hand again at prying open the lobby doors (she tried not to let her mind wander to what she'll do if she can't figure out a way inside-- though she'd spent a year hitch-hiking across the country she was definitely not eager to spend any more time sleeping on the ground, especially with the weather in such a sorry state). Thus, it was hard to stifle the undignified little yip of joy that leapt into her throat at the sight of the vaguely man-shaped shadow as it moved in front of the window, blocking the light. With eager anticipation, Anna-Marie beat frantically on the pane with an open palm, hoping to gain the figure's attention. After a moment's hesitation (which lasted far too long for Rogue's tastes) the shadow seemed to come to a decision and moved closer with cautious slowness. Through the dirty glass, the sharp features of a well-groomed man in his thirties came into focus as he neared the window, eyes hard with suspicion. With effort, she tried to offer him a reassuring smile in return, but it only came out tight and weak from cold and exhaustion. "Hold on," his mouth moved, but the words were muffled through the glass and drowned out further by the eerie whistling of the wind as it sent a fresh chill crawling down her back. With a nod of understanding, Anna-Marie backed away from the window as far as she dared, arms stretched behind her to wrap nervous fingers around the rail. There was evidence of strain on the man's face as he struggled to force open the window, but in no time it had slid open far enough to allow him to poke his head and shoulders out. Warmth wafted out from the dimly-lit hall behind him in large contrast to the constant nip of cold, and Rogue's knees nearly gave in for the want of it. Unfortunately, the man seemed to be in ho hurry to help her inside. "What on earth are you doing?" The wind was wreaking havoc with his neatly-combed hair, but he still maintained the stern rigidness she'd seen from the other side of the glass. In her opinion, the mussed hair made him look much younger, and (if she were the type of person who'd be inclined to say so) much more attractive. "Got locked out," she answered honestly. "I live in 086. Figured I coulda shimmied up the fire escape to the sixth floor-- hadn't counted on it bein' so darn sapless." How fragile and delicate she must look, perched precariously on the rusted scaffold-- the image in her head made her grimace inwardly (she never had been that great at playing the damsel in distress). The wind had tugged a few strands of dark brown hair from her loose chignon, and she brushed the haphazard locks from her face with the back of one hand and tried to look confident. "Storm's comin' in any minute now," she said, trying to stand a little taller without losing her balance on the rickety platform. "Mind helpin' a lady inside?" Edited by Elle, Oct 5 2009, 08:06 PM.
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| Andrea | Oct 6 2009, 09:22 AM Post #4 |
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“Well,” he breathed, even as she narrated her short account. The word was not said so much out of irritation than… bafflement? It wasn’t her heavy accent either, which seemed to contrast her delicate appearance—it was the act in itself. The sixth floor? he thought with some shock. Goodness… Nick himself lived up on the 8th story, and couldn’t imagine himself doing such a feat. It seemed so ridiculous, and an utter lie, if not for the ring of truth in her voice. What was even more baffling was the fact that it just might have happened to him as well… There was that, and the fact that this strange series of events could have been prevented had he been in the lobby at that time to open the door for her. The irony of it all would have made him smile if it had been appropriate to do so. No doubt that he wasn’t smiling now. Apart from all that, her sureness reminded him a bit of Jordan, albeit he couldn’t recall whether or not the flapper would’ve attempted such a climb as this. It had been awhile since he made contact with the golf-player… ”Storm’s comin’ any minute now. Mind helpin’ a lady inside?” The girl’s voice shook him out of his thoughts and he hastily complied, somewhat embarrassed after noting the precipitous drop from his own position at the windowsill. Here she was behind the eight ball, and he didn’t even notice, still intent on his own suspicions and troubles. He didn’t, after all, want to be labeled the scapegoat if people’s items did end up getting taken. Regardless, it was clear that she was liable to harm if he didn’t get her inside. “Of course, of course,” Nick replied, shimmying himself sideways at the window so that she would be able to squeeze through. He extended his arm out to create some form of barrier, bracing himself against the cold gust of wind that seemed to make the unsteady staircase rattle once more, while ruffling the sleeves of his sacque suit. “I apologize,” he continued, raising his voice just a bit so that it wouldn’t be carried off by the tumultuous wind. “It’s just that you seemed odd… standing there,” he finished awkwardly, noting the way she seemed to stand up just slightly. Nevertheless, he bit back his words of discouragement, not wanting to sound like a lecturing parent of some sort. She seemed… well, old enough to understand her predicament (though he was still trying to accept the route she opted to take just to get inside). Nick offered his other hand, trying his best to ignore the way his satin tie seemed to slip out at this moment and point to the bottom, almost teasing him to look down. “Careful now,” he said quietly, averting his eyes away from the railing, which seemed to be positioned at an awkward slant. If he thought the inside was a mess, it was clear that the exterior of the tenement was in a rickety state as well. After this, he was going to have to give the landlord (or whoever ran this place) a notice of some kind, although by now he could guess that his efforts would be futile. |
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| Elle | Oct 6 2009, 02:30 PM Post #5 |
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Anna-Marie held as firm as possible while the man worked his way through her reply, trying not to let her annoyance show as the man's skepticism failed to fade. Of course, the decision to scale an ancient fire escape rather than sit on the curb and wait for some big six to force the door, but she had been frustrated and desperate and at the time, six stories didn't seem like such a feat (she'd killed people with a brush of bare skin, had felled men twice her size with a touch... a lousy set of rickety stairs had seemed like nothing). While she could appreciate the precautions the man seemed to be taking, it was a mite inconvenient to be faced with such hesitance when she was hung like a star five stories up, one misstep away from falling and breaking her skinny little neck. While he didn't seem like the kind of person to let a young girl plummet to her death, he was certainly giving enough pause to make her question. The platform rocked wearily beneath her feet as another strong gust of wind carved around the side of the building, and Anna-Marie fought to keep from wobbling in her heels. While the man appeared content to take his time in deciding whether or not to allow her entry, the creaky scaffold's well-timed moan seemed to hasten his decision (she must have really looked pathetic standing there, buffeted by the wind and shivering in the cold). With a quiet statement of acquiescence, the stranger shifted to the side to allow her room to pass through the open window. Anna-Marie nearly trembled with relief. "I apologize," he told her, voice raised to keep the words from being lost. "It's just you seemed odd... standing there." Despite the discomfort he clearly was experiencing, his face still clung to that disapproving expression that she was quickly tiring of. Still, she understood why one might see her as a little girl who made a dumb decision-- the man was probably almost twice her age and all older men who see a young girl out on her own seem to automatically assume she's in trouble-- and in spite of the way his dark eyes regarded her as if he'd dearly love to lecture her, he was the only one going out of his way to help her (the only stranger who's shown any compassion in months), and she could appreciate that. "You really apologizin' or just razzin' me?" she asked impatiently, though the wry smile she wore took much of the edge off the jab. With only a moment's trepidation, Anna-Marie reached out to clasp the stranger's outstretched hand in her own, the silk of her glove making his large palm feel slippery and cold against her own smaller one. She ignored the way her whole body thrummed with excitement at the contact (this was the first time she's touched someone in nearly a year, and every nerve along her arm sang at the feel of this man's fingers wrapped so firmly around her own). "Careful now," he instructed as he guided her over the sill. She couldn't seem to get inside fast enough, not bothering to care about the way her skirt gets rucked as she extends a slender leg through the window, exposing more calf than she'd usually be comfortable with. Still, she was skinny and exhausted and all too eager to get to safety, and chances are the man aiding in her rescue wouldn't notice or comment on her desperate need to keep covered. Her veins flooded with relief as soon as she found both feet on solid ground, knees still quivery with the last residual effects of adrenalin from being in such a precarious position. The musky smell of the hall had never felt so welcomed, nor the strange, humid warmth that seemed to linger in the rotting building like a fog. "Thank you," Anna-Marie smiles gratefully before ducking her head in embarrassment as she straightens her skirt. "Dunno what I'd 've done if you hadn't come along. I'd call you 'my hero' if I thought you'd be the kinda guy who'd go fer that." |
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| Andrea | Oct 8 2009, 07:34 AM Post #6 |
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“You really apologizin’ or just razzin’ me?” Nick offered a small smile in return, and though she seemed irritated, he couldn’t hold it against her. Moments from your death, he suspected, could provoke that in a person. Regardless, he was glad at least one of them was attempting to break out of the awkwardness their meeting had induced—whether by confrontation or simple conversation. Of course, the predicament they were in didn’t fit in the latter category. “Apologizing,” he responded sincerely. “It was wrong of me to be inconsiderate.” There was a serious edge to his voice, coupled with embarrassment. Nevertheless, he was a modest man; surely apologizing wasn’t too far below his character. As the young woman took his hand, he carefully guided her inside as quickly as he could, though she seemed to do that action just fine on her own. As the smooth texture of silk made contact with his skin, he found himself looking interestingly at her gloved hands for a mere second, before resuming eye contact again as he pulled her into the hallway. Curious, he thought. A flood of questions and speculations flowed into his mind. Was she of a noble family? In a way, her state of dress—or at least her gloves—held a familiarity to him… perhaps of Daisy. Could the young woman be a debutante? Once she had her two feet upon the ground, he released her hand, going over the window to shut it. To keep out the storm, obviously, but to also leave the scene as it had been originally. After all, the window had to have been closed for a reason. “You’re welcome,” he answered politely in response to her thanks, taking the time to collect his things, which had been placed carefully to the side of the sill. He turned back to the stranger just as she was tending to her clothes which, no doubt, had been somewhat thrown in disarray while she had been outside. The young man took only a brief moment to consider her appearance, now that he could see her more clearly under the hallway’s lights (albeit, a bit dimly lit). She seemed mature, though her features betrayed her to be, he guessed, significantly younger than himself. Under the light, her skin hadn’t lost its ghostly pallor, and though her delicate features made her look weak, he could sense a kind of independence embedded into her character. “I’d much rather prefer being called by name,” he stated simply, though he secretly harbored a small appreciation for her comment, whether she had meant it genuinely or not. Even so, he remained a bit discomfited; he usually preferred to receive as little attention as possible, content to watch over others—a wallflower, if anything. Nick cocked his head to the left slightly, in curiosity and in small concern. “I don’t suppose this… happens to you frequently?” he inquired, though he guessed that she might find it offensive. He had arrived just last weekend, and although he hadn’t seen any girls scaling the fire escape every evening, he couldn’t help but think her as just a tad reckless. For a moment, he wondered if her parents knew (and approved) but, once again, reality made itself apparent. Clearly she was living solo in the tenement… he had a hard time believing that a family would willingly settle here. That is, of course, if there was simply no other choice. |
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| Elle | Oct 11 2009, 09:42 PM Post #7 |
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The window slid shut with less resistance and barely a creak, the latch clicking into place with an audible sound that seemed to echo in the dank, dimly lit hall. All at once the sounds of the oncoming storm railing against the side of the building were muffled into silence, the horrid howling of the wind reduced to nothing more than a faint whistle that made Anna-Marie's spine tingle with phantom chills. The absence of sound was jarring, and she fought the urge to play with her hair, mussed as it was from being buffeted by the weather (it's a tell-tale sign she's feeling awkward, and she would hate to give too much so soon after being acquainted with this man). In the brief pause that followed, she could feel the weight of his eyes settle upon her in studious scrutiny, and out of habit she straightens her spine a bit and raises her chin almost challengingly, as if daring him to make a comment about her noticeable oddities-- her pallor, her youth, her style of dress. However, the cruel sharpness of judgment was absent from the man's gaze-- whatever he's seen must have been acceptable, and his humbled reply to her gentle ribbing was enough to endear him to her, just the tiniest bit. "I'll be sure t' keep that in mind," she returned, a coy smile trying to surface against her determination to keep this interaction politely distant, kind but formal. It was then that his gaze turned curious, and Anna-Marie watched in amused fascination as a grown man tilted his head like a puppy and knitted his brow ever so slightly. His hair still askew from the wind, he reminded her of a child, eyes dark with questions. "I don’t suppose this…" he asks, implying her daring attempt to scale the building in such a polite way that she has to smother a dry chuckle, "... happens to you frequently?” The laugh refuses to be suppressed, bubbling up into a wry chortle that rattles in her throat. "More than you'd think." Her Mississippi roots seemed to be resurfacing-- she almost called him 'sugar,' but thought better of it at the last second. He didn't seem the type to be flattered by such pet names, and she doubted the term of endearment would do anything other than make him uncomfortable. And despite how she wasn't necessarily looking for any sort of friendship from this man, it didn't seem right to drive him off after he hauled her sorry caboose from almost certain death. Clearing her throat, she attempted another smile, this one back under the restraints of propriety, small enough to hide the gap between her front teeth. "So, if I'm ain't s'posed to call you my hero, then what am I s'posed to call you?" |
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| Andrea | Nov 5 2009, 09:04 PM Post #8 |
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Nick blinked as she laughed. The young man thought his question had been rather serious, and so when she gave her response, he didn’t know whether it was a joke… or actually the truth. What was he supposed to say to that? He felt utterly foolish to give her a reprimand of any kind, especially if there was the slightest inkling she had been through such an ordeal before. Regardless, he was grateful that at least she had taken his advice to heart… or appeared to. “I see,” he managed finally, unable to think up of a more witty or substantial reply—one that wouldn’t delve into her life. Once again, her accent came to mind, and it was unlike anything he had heard before. He had traveled to the East, had come from the West… Perhaps she was from the northern or southern part of the country. Good heavens; he really needed to learn how to mingle someday. "So, if I'm ain't s'posed to call you my hero, then what am I s'posed to call you?" He considered her question. Nick, recently, had been wary of giving names under false pretenses, especially after his little run-in with the people from East Egg. However, the small smiles that the young woman gave were not ones of shrewdness, nor did she appear to be harmful at all. While he normally wouldn’t introduce himself unless the other had done the same, he figured that the best way to learn about her circumstances was to continue the flow of conversation. Meaning, he wished to know who on earth her parents were, and if they had any idea of the ridiculous acts their daughter was getting into. “Nick,” he said bluntly. Realizing the slight brusqueness to his tone, he added quickly, more politely, “Carraway, I mean. Nick Carraway… from the Midwest.” A small smile graced his features as memories of his hometown came to him, though they seemed long and far away from where he was now. He could hardly assume that his friends and family knew on earth what Madswit was, or where it was even located. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts before asking, “And yourself?” He hoped introductions would go both ways, and that she was sincere in her answer. |
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| Elle | Nov 6 2009, 06:47 PM Post #9 |
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Anna-Marie arched an eyebrow bemusedly at her new friend, unsure of how to take the leery expression on his face as he cautiously responded to her dry humor-- the poor man looked so baffled by her, confusion mixing with concern and blatant intrigue in his bewildered expression. She could feel herself being studied carefully, warily, like a feral cat come wandering up onto the porch (the kind of scruffy-looking thing that you couldn't be sure where it's been or what it'll do... and while she's sure she isn't wild compared to New York women with their bobbed hair and high-cut little skirts, but she wouldn't deny feeling like a stray even on her best days). Her reluctant hero seemed unsure whether to give her a pat on the head or scold her for her foolishness. She probably should have felt offended by his judgment (subtle though it is)-- she'd never been the type of girl to take criticism lying down-- but the guarded curiosity in his gaze kept her from getting her hackles raised. He didn't seem like such a bad fellow. In fact, he seemed like the kind of man her father might invite over to drink brandy and shoot the breeze. Respectable, she decided with a slight tilt of her head, that's the word. Something about him-- the dapper way he dressed, or the upright way he carried himself-- reminded her of the world she should have belonged to had things turned out differently, had her body not betrayed her (she was not sure if she liked that or hated that about him, but either way, she found that she didn't have it in her to be irritated). In a manner too curt to be formal, he introduced himself as "Nick," but then seemed to catch himself and adopted a more polite, apologetic expression. "Carraway, I mean," he amended, his voice softening as a small smile curved across his face. "Nick Carraway… from the Midwest.” Anna-Marie nodded politely in response, returning his quiet smile and twining her gloved fingers behind her back. "And yourself?" She hesitated before answering. Though compelled to give her real name, the defensive instincts she'd developed after fleeing north screamed not to-- she couldn't be Anna-Marie here in this place, in this gaudy apartment complex with the peeling wallpaper and the rusting fire escape and the sticky front door (Anna-Marie wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this, but it Rogue might). Best to detach herself from the girl she was before and become someone else. "Rogue," she said, voice firm. "Rogue, from Mississippi." Her eyes sparked, challenging the questions she knew he'd ask. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Carraway." |
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8:41 PM Nov 29
