[open] march prompts - will match prose OR brackets

[itsconceptual]

i. a nightclub

Nights with live music are better for dancing. People come up with any number of reasons why -- the feel of the bass beating in your heart, the energy from the band mixing with the energy of the crowd. It's all bullshit, really. Esoteric crap that people come up with when the night's mostly over and they're too high to think they sound pretentious. It's all because of the noise. Because when the amps are pumped up to max, when the singers are screaming into their mics, it's too loud to worry about thinking. The couple in the corner making out, two friends having a row...it doesn't matter. You mute it and just fucking dance.

Which she does, as much as possible. Moving. Aggressively ignoring all of the other shit. Beat after beat, partner after partner, staying only long enough to make them want her and then vanishing into the crowd again. Later, you'll find her at the bar, ordering a round of shots --vodka, from the look of it-- and then immediately downing one of them.


ii. outside a tube station

"Listen, Ms. Stonem," Effy, she silently corrects, watching them. "You're a lovely young lady, but I'm just not sure you...mesh...with our vision." She wasn't really listening for the rest. There were some half-hearted platitudes --"we really do wish you all the best," "we're really very sorry," "you've been so valuable," things like that-- and she probably muttered a quick "thanks" before going to pack her things, but it didn't matter. Not really. Temping in a finance office was never really her dream job, of course, but it just sort of...seemed like something you were meant to do. "Get out into the real world" and everything. Well, so much for that. She doesn't realize until she's off the train that one of the briefs she'd been putting together is still in her bag.

As soon as she's off the train, she pulls out a cigarette, flicks open her lighter -- it doesn't work. Nice.

She can be found outside of the station, unlit cigarette still in her mouth, tearing pages out of the brief, folding them into abstract shapes and then tossing them into a pile on the ground.


iii. late night wandering

It's always the same dream that wakes her, so late into the night that it borders on early. A door, appearing in an empty wall of her flat, opening into blackness, calling her forward. Beckoning. Sometimes, she thinks she can see herself, staring back at her from the other side of it, a faint silhouette in the darkness.

"You don't know me," she hears, her own voice coming from that other self's mouth, "and you never will."

She takes a step toward it, and then another, and then--

Awake, gasping, she shoots up and stares at the wall. No door. She reaches for a lighter, remembers the stern words of the landlady --no smoking at all times, god, why had she picked this place, again?-- and slips outside. It's raining -- something she doesn't seem to notice until she realizes she's forgot her keys. In her flat. With a door that automatically locks behind her.

"...Fuck."

And that's the story of how Effy is now wandering around alone, soaked and smoking, aimlessly waiting until someone happens to open the door -- or the management office opens. One or the other.


iv. wildcard
(any time during the month. choose your own starter, or talk to me on plurk [posolutely] and i'll set up another prompt!)

Comments

iii

[falsify]

Bumping into magical youths in the middle of the night who are woefully underdressed seems to be a thing that happens to Eames way too often.

He's soaked, but Eames doesn't seem in any hurry to get somewhere. Granted, the feeling is unpleasant but it's something you get used to after centuries in England. He's about to bypass Effy entirely, but a wandering fae in the rain is probably worth paying attention to. So Eames slows to a stop by her instead, looking up at the rain and then at her with a raised eyebrow.

"You alright?"

[itsconceptual]

Eames, you might need to reexamine your life, if this is a common thing.

It's hard to describe the way she realizes she can recognize what he is immediately, but that recognition shows on her face. Someone like her. A fae -- she's never met another one before...not that she can remember, at least. For a moment, she only stares at him, brows creased in a curious, sort of wary expression.

"... Not dead yet." There's the thing. She might not be able to lie, but as she's learning, that doesn't mean she has to tell the truth. "That's got to count for something."

[falsify]

He is considering a lot of things about his life lately, don't you worry.

"It's significantly better than the alternative." Eames gives her a knowing smile. A miserable life, that of a ghost. Not that either of them will ever know it firsthand. He steps in a little closer, the recognition flashing across her face tells him all he needs to know, and he drops his voice a little as he speaks on. "New to this, aren't you?"

[itsconceptual]

Right, of course, nothing to worry about.

"You sound sure of that." Said with a dismissive tone, but Effy is a teenager. Everything she says sounds dismissive. It's not that she actively has a death wish, these days -- she's just never sure she had much of a life wish. She watches him quietly for a moment, absorbing those words. His tone says a lot, but even if it didn't...if she can tell what he is, there's no way he hasn't noticed. She squeezes the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, breathing smoke into the rain.

"A bit. Who knew London would be exactly the same as in TV dramas."

Her tone is dry and avoidant, because while there is a part of her that screams out yes, god, please help me, I've fucked up so much already, an even bigger part of her isn't ready to trust anyone, let alone a stranger.

[falsify]

Oh god she's a real teenager, it's not just a look.

Eames laughs, distaste for teenagers aside, and shrugs a shoulder. "I wouldn't say that." So she's dodging the question. It's not a surprise, changelings tend to either be annoyingly honest or already great at dancing around the issue. Either way, they rarely trust easy once they know what they are. "I've never seen many dramas with extended scenes about locking yourself out in the rain."

[itsconceptual]

Bet you're regretting everything even more now, aren't you?

Dodging questions is what she does on a good day. Today, in this situation, with this particular stranger? She's practically barrel rolling around them. "Really. Good." Another puff on the cigarette; her free hand moves to shove sopping wet hair out of her face. "Thought I might've turned into a complete cliche."

Instead of just a partial one. You know. She pauses, looking out at the rain, and then eyes him again, cautiously. "You seem to know a lot about what I'm doing out here. What about you?" It's not exactly perfect weather for a stroll around town, after all.

[falsify]

He has... So many regrets.

Eames tilts his head with a small smirk tugging on his lips, tone almost conspiratorial. As though he's imparting some secret instead of total bullshit. "Would you believe I'm just a good Samaritan, out looking for people to help?"

[itsconceptual]

"No one's ever 'just' a good Samaritan. There's always something they get out of it." Her tone is no less blunt, but her expression does soften slightly at the load of bullshit he's going on with. He seems like he believes that just as much as he expects her to -- which can't be much.

[falsify]

"Awfully cynical for someone so young, aren't you?" Not that he disagrees. In fact Eames' feelings on the kindness of others are very much the same; there's no such thing as 'something for nothing'.

His smile broadens. "I'm Eames," he says, offering his name in a delayed greeting.

[itsconceptual]

Cynical? Her eyebrows lift for a moment. Maybe he's right. At the same time-- "Planning to give me a reason not to be?" Because he hasn't yet. She hasn't missed the fact that he was avoiding the question.

The cigarette is getting soggy. One last drag and she puts it out. "Effy."

[falsify]

Oh, and continue avoiding it he shall. Eames takes a moment to give Effy a contemplative look - for all that he's certain she's a changeling and not just some young fae out for a stroll, he's been given no actual evidence to that fact.

But nothing venture, nothing gained, eh?

"How much do you know about what you are, Effy?"

[itsconceptual]

Trust a stranger to pick up on the things she's trying to avoid.

If looks could kill, the change in her expression would probably at least hurt like hell. At once she looks stony and scared, wary and withdrawn. None of your fucking business, her first thought, venomous and defensive. She holds onto it, though, because it's not true, is it? It sort of is his business.

That doesn't make it any better.

"I know I'm like you," she answers, going from cool to cold as she speaks. Her arms cross, body language turning defensive. "Not human. And I know it's completely fucked up."

[falsify]

Effy's reaction doesn't phase him, if anything it confirms his suspicion. Eames purses his lips in thought - 'completely fucked up' she says. What a reaction to discovering immortality and incredible power. That's what being raised by humans will do, apparently.

"You've not known for long then, I take it." It's not really a question. It's obvious how new to this she is.

[itsconceptual]

He hardly bats an eye, and for a moment, she wonders, is this how people see me? Aloof and unfazed, as if it's all just...hunky-dory or something? But it isn't. It's not okay. Because once upon a time, there was a girl who was about to come into the world -- real, and human, and perfect. And she was stolen away. She was replaced by something else, something that couldn't feel love and happiness...not the way you're supposed to, at least. Not without destroying everything.

Is there anything about it that isn't fucked up?

"Not long," she answers, after a few moments of hesitation. Her tone is still guarded, still standoffish, but a little less reluctant. "A few months, maybe. I always wondered..." She pauses, contemplatively fishing another cigarette out of her damp pocket. "... Well. Figured it out eventually, at least."

[falsify]

"So you left home and came here to try and solve the rest." Again, not a question. Of course she left home, most of them do; in search of answers, the people that spawned them, or even the child they replaced. And London is pretty much the central hub for magic on this little island, anyone looking for it is gonna come here sooner or later.

Guess that makes him the welcoming party then. Eames gestures to her wet everything with a wry smile, "welcome to London."

[itsconceptual]

"You hear that a lot." She doesn't have to ask -- it's a common story, isn't it, even for humans. Once you're old enough, you get the fuck out, because there's nothing else you can do.

London just seemed like the right place to go. Now she's beginning to understand why.

Her smile is nothing but dry sarcasm, flat and sardonic. "Yeah. Thanks. I wasn't expecting a proper welcoming committee."

[falsify]

"You should probably get used to the unexpected." Eames waves a dismissive hand, as if this is anything close to a welcoming party and not just a chance encounter in the street. More often than not though, he is that, but that's usually for ye olde fae who know dick all about the modern world.

Though less so now he's a Lord. Maybe there is an up side to this whole 'promotion' thing after all.