Post by rocky on Jan 14, 2011 15:56:27 GMT -5
Hi, my name is Rocky and this is my first character. I found this site through Stars Over the Atlantic (forum ad). Something you should know about me is I am easily distracted!.
Canon: Greek Mythology
Custom Title: She whom you can neither name nor measure.
PHYSICAL
Age: 30
Gender: Female
Adrienne looks younger than she is. She dyes her hair radical, unnatural colours, she dresses like a college student (t-shirts and converse sneakers are a staple). She has an impish look about her features and a classic, hourglass-shaped body -- she could be glamorous, if it suited her, but it doesn't often. She's very animated, in person, and makes large gestures with her hands. The overall impression of her is that she's a little skittish, and her appearance does not match her persona, which is something she has created for the magazine she works for.
She's a beautiful young woman who both loves and loathes her own appearance. She often feels unfairly judged for it, and has made a concerted effort to work against stereotype, both because of her career and because of her blotted record in romance.
Height: 5'5"
Body: Curvaceous.
Other distinguishing features: Dyes her hair a variety of bright, unnatural colours, often has roots, which are a grubby blonde colour.
Wardrobe: Casual, mostly - she tends to be seen in comfortable jeans, a pair of converse, and a t-shirt -- although she can and will dress up if she needs to, she prefers not to.[/ul]
Play By: Kate Winslet.
PERSONALITY
General personality: Adrienne is the sort of woman who changes with the colour of her hair. She is excitable, passionate, and adventurous -- but in turn, her thirst for trouble has left her a little jaded and cynical. When she was younger she was very easily swept up in romance, and allowed herself to be led astray by a number of older and frankly manipulative lovers. She's a talented writer who never really meant to be a journalist, and she rather feels that the magazine has stolen her prime years as an author.
She is the sort of woman who has had her heart broken often enough that now she protects it fiercely. She is easily made defensive, and her temper is short. She doesn't suffer fools gladly and she takes things personally, even when it has very little to do with her. She can be self-centred, a little spoiled, and certainly rather vain. There is evidence to suggest that her penchant for 'dressing down' and for dying her hair ridiculous colours is a defense mechanism, too -- a way to pretend that she doesn't care what people think.
She does care what people think, but she wants to dictate it to them. She can be willful, stubborn, sarcastic, spoiled, jealous and difficult to work with. Beneath the bluster, however, there is a tender, sweet woman who just isn't ready to grow up or put herself on the line. She's been picking away at a romance novel for years that she has never let anybody see, and she works at the paper writing a monthly column on relationships and love.
She has a scathing wit, a twisted sense of humour, and real imaginitive flare to her, it's just that it's difficult for others to see past the 'scathing' part. She is atypical, for her class and her career, in that she never attended college. When she finished high school she took a job as the coffee girl at Plush Magazine, and gradually ingratiated herself (read: slept with the management) until she had a writing job. It's a much complained about fact that Adrienne shagged her way into her present situation, which is celebrated publicly.
Her colleagues do not like her. They think she is undeserving of her position, which would be true, had she not turned out to be awfully good at it. Her magazine persona is that of a frosty, high maintenance girl with a penchant for ruthlessness. This is a part of her true self, doubtless, but she exaggerates it for the column, and as such in person she is often a bitter disappointment for her fans, who expect a gorgeous glamazon, not a punky looking woman with torn jeans and scuffed sneakers.
People who know the real Adrienne expect her to be something of a free-spirit, which would work, if she wasn't operating in a corporate world, in a corporate job. She gets away with dressing down and being 'artsy' in the office because her work is popular (and so is she, with the men who make such decisions) but she is in no position to claim freedom or genuine originality. She often feels like a hypocrite and a fraud, as a result.
Adrienne has a real strength about her that she is largely unaware of. At the height of her happiness she could almost be an ego-maniac, but in the depths of her belly there's honest insecurity about herself lurking.
There's a sense of a fallen angel about her, as though she has broken her wings. Adrienne is a flawed and damaged young woman who needs to work out the difference between idealism and her true priorities in life.
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
BACKGROUND
Family: Mother, Alice Heart (née Sharp), deceased
Father, Christopher Heart, deceased.
Education: High School graduate.
Occupation: Columnist at Plush Magazine -- her column is about relationships (think 'Sex and the City', only she has occasion to write about celebrity relationships and other things in the news, as well).
Worst past experience: Her boss, and the love of her life (she thought) went back to his wife, and absolutely crushed her in the process. He told her it was all about sex and convenience, and that she hadn't meant anything more. Her hardships have all been emotional. Truthfully, Adrienne hasn't had a difficult life. She would like to think that it's difficult, but it certainly isn't.
Best past experience: Adrienne is rather whimsical about this idea. She tends to change her mind about what the best thing ever happens to be. True happiness tends to evade people like her, because she is never satisfied. Nothing is good enough! She enjoyed travelling and the freedom it afforded her, but she didn't enjoy being poor and she didn't enjoy the stress of supporting herself while she did it. Nothing is perfect.
Image: Her colleagues think she's the office whore. Her friends see her as the sort to fall in love easily, however hard she rails against the notion. Most people think of her as a character. A sort of novelty person, who does everything that they secretly wish they could and never do. The sort of carefree, impulsive person we'd all like to be, if only there were no consequences or we could have it both ways. Most people agree that she is in no position to be offering other people advice - she certainly never follows her own instructions!
History: Adrienne was an only child whose parents had her late in life -- her mother was 45 when she was pregnant. She's originally from London, England, and that is where she grew up and attended school.
As a child, Adrienne wanted for absolutely nothing. Her parents weren't rich, but nor were they blessed with the ability to say 'no' to their little girl, and as such she was wild and undisciplined. The huge age difference meant that as a teenager Adrienne had a difficult time connecting with them, and she was easy pray for older and savvier teens to take advantage of. She was sculpted by peer pressure, partied too much and studied too little. It was lucky that she had a natural flair for English, as she managed to pass that A-level, but did very poorly in maths and science.
She did not achieve well enough to attend university, and that suited her well enough. She fell out massively with her parents who had hoped she would be a lawyer or a teacher, as they were both primary school teachers, but she had other ideas: she wanted to write. Convinced that she needed to experience life before she could write about it, she went backpacking first in Europe, working menial jobs to support herself as she travelled (waitressing, largely), and she ended up in New York on a whim.
She had walked into an airport with a backpack and a passport and picked the flight she was getting on on the basis of a man she liked the look of in the queue. Adrienne has had a string of lovers, most of them very short-lived and fiery. She starts and ends romances with a bang.
The man on the plane transpired to be a dreadful bore (she couldn't even convince him to risk a quickie in the toilets) but New York City was a dream come true. She wandered into the coffee job at Plush Magazine and quickly found herself in various compromising positions with the executives working there.
It was her future boss, Frank Ferrier, that eventually launched her career. His wife, Sarah Ferrier, was less than impressed to discover her husband screwing the coffee girl. She was even less impressed to find that he had made all manner of career-related promises to her.
Ferrier fulfilled his obligations in terms of giving Adrienne the job she'd wanted, but their two year fling was abruptly ended. He is a manipulative, unpleasant overlord -- he often uses his position to try to control her. He knows she harboured feelings for him for a long time. They have fermented into a potent hatred for him now.
New York is just the sort of place for a woman like Ade, however. She has plenty to keep her occupied there. It's easy to be anonymous and easy to be recognised, if she wants it, and however much she might complain of having itchy feet, she knows she'll never leave.
She's been picking away at her romance novel, which is far more autobiographical than she would care to admit, for nearly ten years, and writing at the magazine for five. She was two years as the coffee girl, and before that she spent five years dossing around in Europe.
Her father died just a year ago: heart failure. She kept better contact with him after cancer claimed her mother, but ultimately she was never close with them. She has a strange sort of guilt about this, a lead knot in her stomach that she should have been less selfish and looked after them.
Secretly she thinks it's selfish to have a baby when you're so old you won't be able to keep up with them, however, and has always rather resented them for that. If she's able to blame somebody else for her problems, she absolutely will.
Adrienne keeps an enormous dog, George, upon whom she smothers affection and attention. She lives in an apartment, so George goes everywhere with her -- even into the office, much to the chagrin of the rest of the building.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample:
If it had been a romance novel, Adrienne Heart would have been draped attractively in the bed, her flowing hair spread on the pillow, her face relaxed and angelic, her soft breathing innocent and sweet. The reality was distinctly less elegant. She was lying splayed diagonally across the bed, and she had the entire duvet packed under her. Not over her, under her, she wasn't even using it -- she had taken over the entire bed and he had spent the night shivering in the corner, and being watched by her gigantic dog. The dog was asleep on the rug next to the bed. He looked remarkably like his mistress, in that moment.
Her mouth was open and there was an obvious stream of saliva glistening from the edge of her lip. She was snoring. Her blue hair was tousled and strewn everywhere, not draped alluringly, and he could see her roots.
Stephan was pacing up and down, borrowing her toothbrush in the bathroom. He didn't know what to think of this woman. She was distinctly not his type. He didn't tend to go for vulgarity. She had been drunk when she'd brought him back there. More drunk than he had been. He felt an unusual pang of guilt. Maybe he'd taken advantage of her. She was sexy as hell, or at least she had been, when the mystery was intact. Ten years younger than him, maybe more -- her dyed hair and luscious curves, and her sassy attitude had hooked him instantly. No, you couldn't take advantage of a woman like that. She was the liberated sort, right? Right.
He absolved himself of his guilt readily.
They had met at a party. A private, pre-awards party - some nonsense celebrity event that he had already forgotten the name of. She had been wearing a slinky little black number. Now she was only wearing a bra -- which, he had noted with vanity that only a man in his career could have, hadn't matched her panties when he'd discovered them.
He spat in the sink and set about tiptoeing around her apartment, collecting his clothes and dressing himself quickly. He slipped into his shoes and patted his pockets, checking his phone. Seven text messages. He'd have a lot of explaining to do, when he got home to his girlfriend. She wasn't happy he hadn't been answering his phone.
With an idle smirk he turned the phone towards the bed and took a souvenir picture. He would delete it from his own phone straight away, but not before he had sent it to his best friend to prove his conquest.
When Adrienne awoke she was alone, and hungover. She rubbed her face blearily, and looked around. The sheets indicated there had certainly been somebody else there the night before, but her memory was foggy at best. She sat up slowly and turned the alarm clock to face her.
10:30.
She was shockingly late for work. The news didn't rouse her to move much faster, however. Instead she crawled to the edge of the bed and found a pair of jeans she had definitely worn for too long before leaving them discarded on the floor, and pulled them on without bothering to find her underwear. She didn't button them up or take the time to seek a shirt, just shuffled towards the coffee with all the grace and elegance of the walking dead.
George raised his head. He was a Neapolitan Mastiff -- far too big, to be an apartment dog, even in an apartment as large as Adrienne's, and his wrinkly face always looked judgemental in the morning.
"Don't," Ade said hoarsely, as she crossed to rake in the fridge for the milk. "Not a word."
George never said a word. He just watched in scrutinous silence. Adrienne didn't know how the dog managed to make her feel guilty. She supposed it wasn't the dog at all. Nor was it really guilt, either. The feeling in her stomach was an odd sort of emptiness, the type of feeling that there wasn't a proper word for. It was something like loss, and something like regret, and it definitely had elements in common with shame, but there wasn't a single defining word for it, and she allowed herself to be bothered by that.
It was far easier to be bothered by the lack of definition than it was to honestly face this nameless feeling. Her anonymous nightmare.
She was already composing a callous, frank article on the etiquette of the one night stand. Don't leave if she's asleep, she thought bitterly. At least make coffee before you go.
She took another swig of coffee and then went into the bathroom, and paused, as she found her toothpaste with the cap twisted off, a drip of it squeezed from the tube, and her toothbrush, wet.
Don't use her goddamn toothbrush. Don't leave her to sleep in and be late for work.
She sighed and rinsed the brush. Her blue hair in the mirror was no longer appealing. She would bleach it that night. Red, maybe. A warning sign, to tell everybody to leave her the fuck alone. She'd feel better, then. She would go to work. She would have to go to work.
The morning routine was spent largely convincing herself to leave the apartment and actually go in to the office. It was like a tower of misery, these days -- if people weren't sneering at her they were only doing a better job of hiding it than the others. And Frank. Frank was an asshole.
At least throw the condom away, she thought, as she wandered back into her bedroom, to get dressed. Her thoughts were always fragmented, half writing and half elsewhere. She plucked the offending item with her thumb and forefinger and dropped it prissily into the bin.
She turned to look at herself in the mirror again, then. The full length mirror in the bedroom. She turned sideways and smoothed her fingers over her stomach, biting her lip. She always felt as though her reflection was an alien, she didn't feel as though she was really in there. Is that who I am? Is this it? Seriously?
She sighed heavily, through her nose, and flipped the radio on, cranking the volume up in a vain attempt to drown her thoughts. Her bedroom was littered with dirty laundry, and she had to pick her way across it to find clothes to wear.
Comfortable trainers and a pair of combats were in order. An old t-shirt. She was tired of waking up feeling as though her sexuality -- her sensuality -- was a mistake. She dressed down as if to counteract it.
She finished dressing with her mind kept deliberately blank, and when she stepped outside with George at her heels, she felt marginally more ready to face the day. Her sunglasses kept the light from hurting her eyes, and did an admirable job of concealing her obvious, pounding hangover. It would be long after twelve by the time she had taken the dog to the park, and she would take her lunch break before she waltzed into the office and told Frank to fuck himself, if he complained.
That was just the ticket. She raked in her bag for her cigarettes and set off in the direction of Central Park, her half-finished cup of coffee left to mould on the sideboard upstairs.
Adrienne "Aphrodite" Heart
Middle Class
Middle Class
Canon: Greek Mythology
Custom Title: She whom you can neither name nor measure.
PHYSICAL
Age: 30
Gender: Female
Adrienne looks younger than she is. She dyes her hair radical, unnatural colours, she dresses like a college student (t-shirts and converse sneakers are a staple). She has an impish look about her features and a classic, hourglass-shaped body -- she could be glamorous, if it suited her, but it doesn't often. She's very animated, in person, and makes large gestures with her hands. The overall impression of her is that she's a little skittish, and her appearance does not match her persona, which is something she has created for the magazine she works for.
She's a beautiful young woman who both loves and loathes her own appearance. She often feels unfairly judged for it, and has made a concerted effort to work against stereotype, both because of her career and because of her blotted record in romance.
Height: 5'5"
Body: Curvaceous.
Other distinguishing features: Dyes her hair a variety of bright, unnatural colours, often has roots, which are a grubby blonde colour.
Wardrobe: Casual, mostly - she tends to be seen in comfortable jeans, a pair of converse, and a t-shirt -- although she can and will dress up if she needs to, she prefers not to.[/ul]
Play By: Kate Winslet.
PERSONALITY
General personality: Adrienne is the sort of woman who changes with the colour of her hair. She is excitable, passionate, and adventurous -- but in turn, her thirst for trouble has left her a little jaded and cynical. When she was younger she was very easily swept up in romance, and allowed herself to be led astray by a number of older and frankly manipulative lovers. She's a talented writer who never really meant to be a journalist, and she rather feels that the magazine has stolen her prime years as an author.
She is the sort of woman who has had her heart broken often enough that now she protects it fiercely. She is easily made defensive, and her temper is short. She doesn't suffer fools gladly and she takes things personally, even when it has very little to do with her. She can be self-centred, a little spoiled, and certainly rather vain. There is evidence to suggest that her penchant for 'dressing down' and for dying her hair ridiculous colours is a defense mechanism, too -- a way to pretend that she doesn't care what people think.
She does care what people think, but she wants to dictate it to them. She can be willful, stubborn, sarcastic, spoiled, jealous and difficult to work with. Beneath the bluster, however, there is a tender, sweet woman who just isn't ready to grow up or put herself on the line. She's been picking away at a romance novel for years that she has never let anybody see, and she works at the paper writing a monthly column on relationships and love.
She has a scathing wit, a twisted sense of humour, and real imaginitive flare to her, it's just that it's difficult for others to see past the 'scathing' part. She is atypical, for her class and her career, in that she never attended college. When she finished high school she took a job as the coffee girl at Plush Magazine, and gradually ingratiated herself (read: slept with the management) until she had a writing job. It's a much complained about fact that Adrienne shagged her way into her present situation, which is celebrated publicly.
Her colleagues do not like her. They think she is undeserving of her position, which would be true, had she not turned out to be awfully good at it. Her magazine persona is that of a frosty, high maintenance girl with a penchant for ruthlessness. This is a part of her true self, doubtless, but she exaggerates it for the column, and as such in person she is often a bitter disappointment for her fans, who expect a gorgeous glamazon, not a punky looking woman with torn jeans and scuffed sneakers.
People who know the real Adrienne expect her to be something of a free-spirit, which would work, if she wasn't operating in a corporate world, in a corporate job. She gets away with dressing down and being 'artsy' in the office because her work is popular (and so is she, with the men who make such decisions) but she is in no position to claim freedom or genuine originality. She often feels like a hypocrite and a fraud, as a result.
Adrienne has a real strength about her that she is largely unaware of. At the height of her happiness she could almost be an ego-maniac, but in the depths of her belly there's honest insecurity about herself lurking.
There's a sense of a fallen angel about her, as though she has broken her wings. Adrienne is a flawed and damaged young woman who needs to work out the difference between idealism and her true priorities in life.
Likes:
- Writing.
- Romance, secretly - the old fashioned kind you only see in Cary Grant movies, and that is so lacking in feminist scope that she feels the need to keep it quiet.
- Adventure!
- To be liked... or perhaps worshipped.
- Chocolate.
- Animals.
- Escapism.
- To laugh.
- She has an unhealthy addiction to soap operas, slasher movies, and other artless media forms -- an absolute guilty pleasure.
Dislikes:
- Being wrong, ever.
- Not having the last word.
- That people think she's a slut.
- That people don't take her seriously.
- That people don't think she's intelligent (there's a theme, here)
- Her boss.
- Her job.
- Artists.
- Her exes.
Strengths:
- Talented writer.
- Quick-witted/clever.
- Courageous.
Weaknesses:
- Low self esteem.
- Short tempered, impulsive -- she doesn't consider consequences, or else she foolishly believes she's both immune and immortal.
- Jealous, and can be vindictive.
- Vain, spoiled, selfish. She has been adulterous in the past.
BACKGROUND
Family: Mother, Alice Heart (née Sharp), deceased
Father, Christopher Heart, deceased.
Education: High School graduate.
Occupation: Columnist at Plush Magazine -- her column is about relationships (think 'Sex and the City', only she has occasion to write about celebrity relationships and other things in the news, as well).
Worst past experience: Her boss, and the love of her life (she thought) went back to his wife, and absolutely crushed her in the process. He told her it was all about sex and convenience, and that she hadn't meant anything more. Her hardships have all been emotional. Truthfully, Adrienne hasn't had a difficult life. She would like to think that it's difficult, but it certainly isn't.
Best past experience: Adrienne is rather whimsical about this idea. She tends to change her mind about what the best thing ever happens to be. True happiness tends to evade people like her, because she is never satisfied. Nothing is good enough! She enjoyed travelling and the freedom it afforded her, but she didn't enjoy being poor and she didn't enjoy the stress of supporting herself while she did it. Nothing is perfect.
Image: Her colleagues think she's the office whore. Her friends see her as the sort to fall in love easily, however hard she rails against the notion. Most people think of her as a character. A sort of novelty person, who does everything that they secretly wish they could and never do. The sort of carefree, impulsive person we'd all like to be, if only there were no consequences or we could have it both ways. Most people agree that she is in no position to be offering other people advice - she certainly never follows her own instructions!
History: Adrienne was an only child whose parents had her late in life -- her mother was 45 when she was pregnant. She's originally from London, England, and that is where she grew up and attended school.
As a child, Adrienne wanted for absolutely nothing. Her parents weren't rich, but nor were they blessed with the ability to say 'no' to their little girl, and as such she was wild and undisciplined. The huge age difference meant that as a teenager Adrienne had a difficult time connecting with them, and she was easy pray for older and savvier teens to take advantage of. She was sculpted by peer pressure, partied too much and studied too little. It was lucky that she had a natural flair for English, as she managed to pass that A-level, but did very poorly in maths and science.
She did not achieve well enough to attend university, and that suited her well enough. She fell out massively with her parents who had hoped she would be a lawyer or a teacher, as they were both primary school teachers, but she had other ideas: she wanted to write. Convinced that she needed to experience life before she could write about it, she went backpacking first in Europe, working menial jobs to support herself as she travelled (waitressing, largely), and she ended up in New York on a whim.
She had walked into an airport with a backpack and a passport and picked the flight she was getting on on the basis of a man she liked the look of in the queue. Adrienne has had a string of lovers, most of them very short-lived and fiery. She starts and ends romances with a bang.
The man on the plane transpired to be a dreadful bore (she couldn't even convince him to risk a quickie in the toilets) but New York City was a dream come true. She wandered into the coffee job at Plush Magazine and quickly found herself in various compromising positions with the executives working there.
It was her future boss, Frank Ferrier, that eventually launched her career. His wife, Sarah Ferrier, was less than impressed to discover her husband screwing the coffee girl. She was even less impressed to find that he had made all manner of career-related promises to her.
Ferrier fulfilled his obligations in terms of giving Adrienne the job she'd wanted, but their two year fling was abruptly ended. He is a manipulative, unpleasant overlord -- he often uses his position to try to control her. He knows she harboured feelings for him for a long time. They have fermented into a potent hatred for him now.
New York is just the sort of place for a woman like Ade, however. She has plenty to keep her occupied there. It's easy to be anonymous and easy to be recognised, if she wants it, and however much she might complain of having itchy feet, she knows she'll never leave.
She's been picking away at her romance novel, which is far more autobiographical than she would care to admit, for nearly ten years, and writing at the magazine for five. She was two years as the coffee girl, and before that she spent five years dossing around in Europe.
Her father died just a year ago: heart failure. She kept better contact with him after cancer claimed her mother, but ultimately she was never close with them. She has a strange sort of guilt about this, a lead knot in her stomach that she should have been less selfish and looked after them.
Secretly she thinks it's selfish to have a baby when you're so old you won't be able to keep up with them, however, and has always rather resented them for that. If she's able to blame somebody else for her problems, she absolutely will.
Adrienne keeps an enormous dog, George, upon whom she smothers affection and attention. She lives in an apartment, so George goes everywhere with her -- even into the office, much to the chagrin of the rest of the building.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample:
If it had been a romance novel, Adrienne Heart would have been draped attractively in the bed, her flowing hair spread on the pillow, her face relaxed and angelic, her soft breathing innocent and sweet. The reality was distinctly less elegant. She was lying splayed diagonally across the bed, and she had the entire duvet packed under her. Not over her, under her, she wasn't even using it -- she had taken over the entire bed and he had spent the night shivering in the corner, and being watched by her gigantic dog. The dog was asleep on the rug next to the bed. He looked remarkably like his mistress, in that moment.
Her mouth was open and there was an obvious stream of saliva glistening from the edge of her lip. She was snoring. Her blue hair was tousled and strewn everywhere, not draped alluringly, and he could see her roots.
Stephan was pacing up and down, borrowing her toothbrush in the bathroom. He didn't know what to think of this woman. She was distinctly not his type. He didn't tend to go for vulgarity. She had been drunk when she'd brought him back there. More drunk than he had been. He felt an unusual pang of guilt. Maybe he'd taken advantage of her. She was sexy as hell, or at least she had been, when the mystery was intact. Ten years younger than him, maybe more -- her dyed hair and luscious curves, and her sassy attitude had hooked him instantly. No, you couldn't take advantage of a woman like that. She was the liberated sort, right? Right.
He absolved himself of his guilt readily.
They had met at a party. A private, pre-awards party - some nonsense celebrity event that he had already forgotten the name of. She had been wearing a slinky little black number. Now she was only wearing a bra -- which, he had noted with vanity that only a man in his career could have, hadn't matched her panties when he'd discovered them.
He spat in the sink and set about tiptoeing around her apartment, collecting his clothes and dressing himself quickly. He slipped into his shoes and patted his pockets, checking his phone. Seven text messages. He'd have a lot of explaining to do, when he got home to his girlfriend. She wasn't happy he hadn't been answering his phone.
With an idle smirk he turned the phone towards the bed and took a souvenir picture. He would delete it from his own phone straight away, but not before he had sent it to his best friend to prove his conquest.
When Adrienne awoke she was alone, and hungover. She rubbed her face blearily, and looked around. The sheets indicated there had certainly been somebody else there the night before, but her memory was foggy at best. She sat up slowly and turned the alarm clock to face her.
10:30.
She was shockingly late for work. The news didn't rouse her to move much faster, however. Instead she crawled to the edge of the bed and found a pair of jeans she had definitely worn for too long before leaving them discarded on the floor, and pulled them on without bothering to find her underwear. She didn't button them up or take the time to seek a shirt, just shuffled towards the coffee with all the grace and elegance of the walking dead.
George raised his head. He was a Neapolitan Mastiff -- far too big, to be an apartment dog, even in an apartment as large as Adrienne's, and his wrinkly face always looked judgemental in the morning.
"Don't," Ade said hoarsely, as she crossed to rake in the fridge for the milk. "Not a word."
George never said a word. He just watched in scrutinous silence. Adrienne didn't know how the dog managed to make her feel guilty. She supposed it wasn't the dog at all. Nor was it really guilt, either. The feeling in her stomach was an odd sort of emptiness, the type of feeling that there wasn't a proper word for. It was something like loss, and something like regret, and it definitely had elements in common with shame, but there wasn't a single defining word for it, and she allowed herself to be bothered by that.
It was far easier to be bothered by the lack of definition than it was to honestly face this nameless feeling. Her anonymous nightmare.
She was already composing a callous, frank article on the etiquette of the one night stand. Don't leave if she's asleep, she thought bitterly. At least make coffee before you go.
She took another swig of coffee and then went into the bathroom, and paused, as she found her toothpaste with the cap twisted off, a drip of it squeezed from the tube, and her toothbrush, wet.
Don't use her goddamn toothbrush. Don't leave her to sleep in and be late for work.
She sighed and rinsed the brush. Her blue hair in the mirror was no longer appealing. She would bleach it that night. Red, maybe. A warning sign, to tell everybody to leave her the fuck alone. She'd feel better, then. She would go to work. She would have to go to work.
The morning routine was spent largely convincing herself to leave the apartment and actually go in to the office. It was like a tower of misery, these days -- if people weren't sneering at her they were only doing a better job of hiding it than the others. And Frank. Frank was an asshole.
At least throw the condom away, she thought, as she wandered back into her bedroom, to get dressed. Her thoughts were always fragmented, half writing and half elsewhere. She plucked the offending item with her thumb and forefinger and dropped it prissily into the bin.
She turned to look at herself in the mirror again, then. The full length mirror in the bedroom. She turned sideways and smoothed her fingers over her stomach, biting her lip. She always felt as though her reflection was an alien, she didn't feel as though she was really in there. Is that who I am? Is this it? Seriously?
She sighed heavily, through her nose, and flipped the radio on, cranking the volume up in a vain attempt to drown her thoughts. Her bedroom was littered with dirty laundry, and she had to pick her way across it to find clothes to wear.
Comfortable trainers and a pair of combats were in order. An old t-shirt. She was tired of waking up feeling as though her sexuality -- her sensuality -- was a mistake. She dressed down as if to counteract it.
She finished dressing with her mind kept deliberately blank, and when she stepped outside with George at her heels, she felt marginally more ready to face the day. Her sunglasses kept the light from hurting her eyes, and did an admirable job of concealing her obvious, pounding hangover. It would be long after twelve by the time she had taken the dog to the park, and she would take her lunch break before she waltzed into the office and told Frank to fuck himself, if he complained.
That was just the ticket. She raked in her bag for her cigarettes and set off in the direction of Central Park, her half-finished cup of coffee left to mould on the sideboard upstairs.
