Effy Stonem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
itsconceptual) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-03-16 12:20 pm
itsconceptual) wrote in undergrounds2016-03-16 12:20 pm
Entry tags:
[open] march prompts - will match prose OR brackets
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 [![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
posolutely] and i'll set up another prompt!)
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 [
no subject
"I like to think I'm... different enough," she answers, with a small shrug. The sentiment holds almost too much truth-- she's quite likely to be the most different teacher the Institute has ever had.
Gaby regards the girl for a while, tilting her head while her eyes remain unblinking, almost eerily so. "Maybe you should consider some more studying, too, if being a desk girl isn't living up to... anything. Redbright is- not bad, as far as its education goes." Not perhaps the best sales pitch, but then she's never been one to mince words.