Route 29: ｍｏｄｓ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
these_balls) wrote2010-04-27 11:40 pm
these_balls) wrote2010-04-27 11:40 pm
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Understand the secrets and have some fun
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First Person Sample:
[It's clear from the way, once the camera comes on, that Meridiana is still adjusting to the notion of video and the recording camera set into her Gear; even after the feed begins, she still sets down the device on some solid surface — probably propped against the wall, really — and makes a face at it for a few seconds before she ever begins talking. It also seems, from the way her lips are pursed, that she doesn't like the way it's positioned. Indeed, after a moment, she steps forward again and adjusts it a little more, so that it now reveals what appears to be the interior of her room at the Violet City inn as viewed from the top of the bureau.
Finally a little more satisfied, she retreats and sits primly down on the edge of the bed, which is neatly made. And indeed, she makes a pretty picture, save for looking a bit...frazzled, from the way that her hair is standing on end in places.
A few moments into the feed, the reason for that becomes apparent as well — as a tiny Mareep hops up onto the mattress next to her and snuggles in to her side.]
There's a little rhyme, the sort for children: "Mary Had a Little Lamb"? About the little girl whose lamb followed her to school — "Mary had a little lamb, his fleece was white as snow, and everywhere that Mary went the lamb was sure to go"?
[She glances down at the Mareep at her side.]
I never once thought I'd end up like Mary, myself! But I did, this one followed me all the way home, and...
[As if on cue, a spark of static electricity escapes the Mareep, giving the girl on the feed a light shock; understandably, she jumps with a brief cry.]
Oh! Naughty thing, don't do that!
[She flashes a scowl at the little Mareep.]
We'll have to think of a better rhyme for you, won't we! I think it ought to go something like, "Mary found a little lamb, and didn't heed good warning; that little lamb gave her a shock, and it stung straight 'till morning!"
[...Oh, right, she's still filming. Um. Don't mind her just trying to smooth down her hair and give in to the subconscious urge to make herself presentable once more.]
...I'd feel awful about giving it away after it followed me like that, but I just don't know what to do with it, is all!
[And so, with that polite request posed to the network at large, she gets up again and walks over to shut her camera off.]
Third Person Sample:
Meridiana doesn't understand how or why she's been given another chance at life; she only knows that all things considered, it probably isn't going to last her very long.
It's pleasant enough — albeit a little strange — to travel along the path through the woods on the back of her...well, she's not sure what to call it, exactly. The people she'd spoken with over the telephone shortly after she'd arrived, they had called it a Tropius. It's an unfamiliar word in her mouth, but she's really not sure what else she might apply to it instead; "beast" seems harsh for such a gentle and sweet-tempered creature, and she'd heard someone suggesting "pocket monster", as well, but such a large thing couldn't possibly fit in her pocket, and to think so would just be silly.
Besides, while may be a monster in these woods, it's certainly not her Tropius.
It's a blessing that it's around, though, because Meridiana is sure that traveling to the next town would be nothing short of an ordeal, walking so far through the woods on foot in her borrowed finery. Even riding beneath the shade of Tropius's leaves, which keep the errant beams of sun from overhead off her face, she still finds herself tired and weak during the hottest part of the day, and is sure her body wouldn't bear it nearly so well if she were forced to walk the whole way.
Would she rot away faster, she wonders, if she were put through that sort of exertion? Once, she might've tossed her head and insisted that a proper lady ought to ride in comfort, anyway, but she's only a proper lady by virtue of what she's borrowed from others, really. Marriage would've earned her a borrowed title from her husband the marquis or the count; the lovely fine dress she wore had been borrowed from a noble lord's closet (and to think, she'd never asked where he found it, or whose it might've really been). And her life...
Yes, even her life was borrowed from someone else, wasn't it? So many girls killed for her sake...and in the end, what good was it really?
She's afraid, of course, of what she's sure will come to pass in the next few days. Soon enough the hunger will set in again, and she'll be forced to make a terrible choice — will she give in to it again, here, so far from home and the awful procedures that were performed time and again to perpetuate her hold on life a little longer? Of course the thought makes her afraid; her mother's cleaver and the doctor's scalpel are nowhere to be found, here. She'd be forced to kill someone herself, some innocent unsuspecting girl, and even then...
Well, it'd only be a matter of time even then, wouldn't it?
It's not that she's afraid of the death she knows is coming, not any moreso than any person would be of something equally imminent and unavoidable. She's died twice already; she'll die again, and so be it.
No, she thinks as she lays her aching head on her arm, as the solid body of her Tropius sways back and forth in a bobbing motion beneath her as it continues walking along down the path. No, it's not that she's afraid of death, not really.
What she's afraid of, Meridiana thinks with tired resignation, is that the hunger will consume her, become too unbearable to resist, and once again she'll become the unwilling pawn of something that seeks to control her. If she can't resist it, people will die — no, more people will die, and she'll be even more of a monster than she already is.
Still.
Tropius, as if sensing her melancholy, pauses in its stride and draws to a halt, craning its long neck back around to look at her where she's lying on its back. When it draws back the wide leaves that are shading her and sees how pale she is, its odd reptilian expression turns sad, and it drops its head down far enough to bring its bananas into the reach of her pale white fingers.
Poor Tropius, Meridiana thinks with a brief upswelling of affection for the creature and its tender concern. Bananas won't stave off the hunger she's desperate to avoid at all.
And yet, she still reaches up and plucks one from its chin, which seems to please it; a few moments later, the bobbing of its stride resumes, and they are on their way once again.
Well, Meridiana thinks as she peels her fruit and takes a thoughtful bite that — to her surprise — tastes delicious, and really does settle something in the pit of her stomach; well, if she really is to die in the next few days, then there's no sense in being gloomy in the time she has left.
No, she decides firmly — decides, for herself, adamant and determined and in control of her own choices for once — no, for now she'll be happy, and whatever may come...so be it.
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MATH. B(