When Accidents Happen|lucy&henry/COMPLETE

[LUCY "KITTY" HARRIS]

Kitty felt considerably, as the phrase went, “at sea” due to the formidability of Henry’s amity. Attempting to scour the darkest confines of her mind in a vague effort to recollect whether in the span of the two years of memory she’d ever met someone that possessed that endearing quality of his, she was met with only hollow faces and souls to match. The amount of amiability that tinged his words actually unsettled her greatly, resulting in the awareness of how severely damaged her foundations of trust were. That awareness soon gave way to despondence of a critical nature, one that forced her to question her own disposition rather than analyzing anyone else’s.

Stirred from her dark reverie by the jostling of the van itself and the fluster of Henry, she was glad for the opportunity to embrace a morsel of lightheartedness. Laughing outright in good humor, if even a bit wearily, at his botched attempt at poise and his comment following that failure, she cocked a brow in his direction and leveled back, “That’s alright, Henry. Never said this was any recital.” Finishing that statement with the most playful smile she could manage under the circumstances, she lay back against the wall of the van and sighed languidly, shrugging herself back into her torturous thoughts regarding how her views on confidence in other people had gotten so skewed. Evidently, the unfortunate happenstances of her life stuck with her.

She knew it would be easier to forget all of the things that had shaped her jadedness. Though, she was fed up with forgetting, with wrestling with an impregnable barrier that prevented her from comprehending entirely who and why she was. She yearned to remember and if remembering meant willingly rifling and consequently suffering through unwanted thoughts, she would not hesitate to immerse herself in them. Now was not the appropriate time or setting for gloomy thoughts, however. Now, she needed to work logically and not allow her unstable emotions to anchor her down and taint her reasoning.

His ethereal blue orbs met her glazed green ones, but only decipherable to her were his full lips parting to form the one word she had always had trouble accepting. His sweltering gaze asked it of her as well and she very nearly scoffed aloud once the word actually registered in her head. Trust. To trust a total stranger and hope to not have that trust violated was the equivalent of putting out a fire with your bare hands so that it wouldn’t burn you. It was not a matter of establishing trust between Kitty and Henry. It was a matter of establishing just how naïve she was.

Naivety glinted off of her doe-eyes, the soft tinkling of her laughter, and the gentleness with which her lips curled back into the kind smile that oh so rarely graced her mouth. She was the possessor of dainty features, soft eyes, and tenderness-ladled smiles that were ultimately deceptive. Not deceptive in that the sweetness that permeated from her grins might have been false, but deceptive in the sense that that tenderness was sincere and completely contradicted her way of life. Without the harlot-esque face paint and the provocative clothing, Kitty could hardly be discernable as a common prostitute. It was likely that the only reason men paid for her services was because of the delicate features that could not be concealed. Even with the knowledge that she had, in fact, been with an abundance of men, that damning purity that comprised her face betrayed her. Corruption of innocence, it seemed to her clients. She hadn’t been innocent for a long time, but that glaring fact always went disregarded.

The issue was not the naivety of her appearance, however. The issue was relying on her ability to not let that naivety seep into her mind and cloud her judgment. Startled by his proposal and not bothering to mask it, it was a long moment of staring out, seemingly vacantly, at the wall of the van opposite her before she answered him. Inwardly, or so she thought, she began to exhaust both options she had.

If she got out of the van, she’d not only be stepping out into the bitter rain, but she’d also be returning home to Spider. Spider wasn’t exactly a comforting notion. Her foul treatment, usually resulting in his retaliation, could not be revenged this time. There was a code in place amongst pimps in which they respected their rival pimps. They were allowed to try and seduce another pimp’s prostitute utilizing whatever methods they could. The prostitute who was being wooed? She either stuck with her current pimp or left him for another, but she could not be the one to initiate the exchange under the threat of being beaten by her current pimp. It was a ridiculous code, but it existed regardless of what she thought of it. So, even with her battered face, Spider could do nothing about it since her attacker had not been a client. Add on top of that the fact that she hadn’t met her nightly quota and another lashing was likely in her future.

Then there was the option of going with Henry, relying on his word that he meant her no harm and only wanted to see her cleaned up and rested. How much of that she couldn’t possibly know was true, but taking into account his good-will towards her so far, he seemed the better choice. Spider or Henry? As the ominous image of Spider invaded her mind, she very nearly chose to return to him. What changed her previously made-up mind? The remembrance of Henry’s last statement and how he had offered her a choice in the first place.

Having worried her lower lip between her teeth, causing her a rather intense discomfort, and having voiced her inner debate entirely unbeknownst to herself, she spoke softly with a prominent reluctance, “Henry, please don’t make me regret going with you.”

It was an entirely plausible assertion to make that perhaps she was as naïve as she appeared.




(OOC: Yeesh. I seem to have vomited verbiage all up on this post. -_- Seeing Cillian in Inception gave me muse, methinks.

Also, that bit about how changing pimps works is actually true. I did some research on prostitutes before tackling the character of Lucy Harris and found out that they do have a code in place. It's that whole "Bros before hoes" saying, I guess. Jerks. )

[ricketts]

The first awkwardness that resulted from this suggestion was a silence that began to float about. She was thinking it over and weighing facts against doubts to see which one tipped the balance - truth to tell so was Henry. He wished that Kitty did not have such thorough reason to be afraid of him, but he was a man, and to a woman like her a man was either hell waiting to happen or he was a prince on a high horse. No middle course, there was no dealing in half measures. Any sign of timidity in her would have given him an increase of contrition. But her eyes were coldly brilliant, and glanced him with small consideration. Then as she gave him answer, he took refuge in his never-failing remedy, his benevolent smile, a smile that covered a multitude of hypocrisies.

'Okay. It's Pearl Street, d'nt think thats very far.'

He held a steadfast look on her, and spotted that look of slightly ruffled serenity. Again, weighing facts and doubts. Indeed he had arrived at some of his own too. Doubt, Kitty could well have been a threat. She had rightful suspicions of him, but she could very well rob him blind if she wanted to. Not that he kept a lot of valubles around the place. Yet fact, she was no false heart, and undoubtedly she needed some humane attention more than ever. The balance dipping in favour of her, he nodded feebly in a conclusionary way and turned to the front, turning the keys in the ignition and with that, the engine began to purr.

The van broke from the curb with a short bump as Henry circled the wheel. He backed, and a quiet drive it was then, tandem fashion, through the long passages of the rambling streets. With deft, soft fingers he guided the vehicle carefully. It was still poured rain, and it pounded against the windshield reflecting a dull patting sound from the inside. Around fifteen minutes of near unsounded trimmings set them by before the van neatly rounded a corner, and nothing furthur occured than a tall, grey-brick apartment block. It was nothing fanciful, only composed by the element of simplicity as Henry was never a rich man. The block was not elaborate, elegent or luxurious. It was humble and livable, just as he liked it. He drew a sharp breath as he stopped the vehicle, as it liked to stop with a slight jerk, and Henry did not glance back at Kitty. Instead, he rose his eye to the dazzling lightning glory of the skies, the dusk had melted into moonlight long ago, and a sharp crack forked the sky. It took him by surprise, and he rubbed one eye. The strong whiteness of it smarted.

Without word, Henry swiftly jumped from the van. Ascending from one flight to another, he rowed himself to the rear end, the very winds blowing at his hair and shirt - and with a half-breathed heave he slid that door open. The heavy atmosphere rendered him drenched, clothes wet through and his hair moreso wet and disordered. Earnestly he reached one hand of diligence and care into the back of the van, offering it to Kitty as he felt she more than likely could not keep up an ordinary walking state. He looked at her with gentle amusement depicted in his face.

'Y' might want to stick somethin' over your head, its bucketing down out here.' He had to treat his voice a little louder, as the whistling wind may well have drowned him out.

[LUCY "KITTY" HARRIS]

It was that smile, his smile, one that persisted in her mind even after he’d turned his head and her eyes were met by only his disarrayed hair, that rippled across her uncertainties and swept away a great deal of the anxiety that had given her cause to question him. How he had managed to chase away her apprehension with a mere quirking of the mouth and gazing of the eyes, she did not know nor did she care to unearth why at that particular moment.

Spider may have the ability to lure someone in with a few chosen words that he is exceptionally gifted in searching for, but his cold eyes and grin, the kind of grin that made you feel peculiarly sullied, were recognizable signs of his less-than upstanding intentions. Recognizable, at least, to those who knew of the presence of those signs in the first place. However, with all of his acidic charm and dastardly finesse, he did not possess Henry’s smile. That empathetic-ladled, endearing smile was all Spider needed to fulfill his aspiration of becoming deception personified.

The drive to Henry’s home was silent, minus the ever-present pattering of the rain outside, but she wasn’t grateful for it. Silence tended to ensnare her in her torturously broody musings and allowed for one person in particular to invade her mind. Kitty despised the fact that Spider was a constant figure manifesting in her head, usually instigated by the all-consuming silence and the wallowing of despair. He had, right from the beginning, managed to weave himself into her fragile mind, exploiting that fragility and burrowing himself further until his face was forever etched into her memory. He was always lurking, like a strikingly familiar silhouette peering out from behind the labyrinth of forlorn trees that muddled her mind, whispering his taunts and then sliding back into obscurity with only a small gust of wind to attest to his presence at all. It was too intricate for her to fully grasp and perhaps that was the reason why he never strayed far from her thoughts. Spider, even being the thug that he was, specialized in psychological manipulation. Kitty was just another one of the deluded fallen and oh how swiftly she had fallen.

Absently, she rubbed her hand across her upper lip, noting that the bleeding of her nose was practically nonexistent save for a minimal trickle here and there. Stiffening at the contact, she held back a wince, not wanting to attract any more attention to herself than she already had. Her head lolling back against the wall of the van she was propped up alongside, she sighed drowsily and let her eyes slide closed. Listening to the van weave its way about the streets and the thrumming rhythm of the rainfall, her breathing became noticeably steadier as she was lulled into a state of sound serenity. Kitty was weary, that much was obvious. The sharp pain that had been inflicted upon her was dulled, dulled to the point where she could drift to sleep if she so desired. For the moment, that desire was at the forefront. Before all sound could be drowned out completely and she could waft into total darkness, she felt the van give a small jerk, notifying her that they’d stopped and reached their destination.

Her eyes fluttered open after a brief moment, almost languidly, and she started slightly at the harsh clap of thunder that resonated outside. She switched her attention back to Henry just in time to see him slip out into the wet night and she waited for him to round the van. The door of the van sliding open, she was greeted with the sight of Henry, soaked to the skin, his sopping wet hair framing his chiseled face.

She smiled a lazy smile, volume of her voice rising as his did to ensure she was heard. “It’s fine. Bucketing down or not, I don’t mind the rain much.”

Relinquishing her position, she moved closer to him, taking his hand into hers, too fatigued to acknowledge the significance of its platonic nature. She grit her teeth with the effort and allowed Henry to ease her out into the pouring rain. Standing a bit shakily, Kitty tilted her head upwards, towards the sodden night sky, and permitted the heavy rain to hit her face. While he closed up the van, she let the rain fall and wash away the hideous crimson from her face. Painful as it was considering that her wounds were still raw and fresh, she continued relishing the naturalistic beauty of the temperament of the skies, only roused from that rainy embrace by Henry returning to her side. Casting an ingenuous glance his way paired with a gentle smile of her own, she exhibited a slight hesitation before moving closer to him, hinting at the fact that she would need him to help her inside. Feeling utterly feeble, she shrugged herself back into her natural diffidence and lowered her eyes.

[ricketts]

(Gonna be leading Kitty upto Henry's apartment, if thats all skipper)


A bank of nearly motionless clouds hung behind the dark, sharp peaks of the skyscraping buildings, which lay to the all around, as to be expected in a populous city. Pearl Street was noiseless at this time of night, save for the dash and drip of water that fell. The block was paled among its surrounding multi-storied buildings and annexes. On entering the unlighted street, black in some parts, one could perceive a glow or two from some daintily placed block windows. Presently, at his earnest request, Kitty caught Henry's hand and tensely shifted her form. Wan and frail she was, but fairly she managed to slide out. The next moment she was with him in the rainy scene, and once so Henry let his hand fall away before leaning just a little behind her to close the van door.

'Rain? More like monsoon,' Something of gentle resignation in her tone struck the Irishman's sense of chivalry; and noticing her feebly limp to his side, he lifted his arm and gave the elbow a little tap. 'There if ye' need it, 'kay? Lets get inside.'

The thunder rolled along the sky in angry reverberating echoes, frequent flashes of lightning leaping out like swords drawn from dark scabbards. In a bid to get out of the fierce weather, Henry began toward the entrance door in a quick, shuffling step. That was a habit of his own he considered bad, but not bad enough to stop. Mostly when walking, he would barely lift his feet which caused the ends of his jeans to become scruffed. At present, they were wet through almost upto the ankles. Stepping into the front porch area, veiled by a shadow from Pearl Street dimly illumined by the overclouded moon, and began to tap his verification code into the minute device attached to the sidewall. All tennants were given a code and an apartment number, if a person were only to visit they had to buzz directly into the reception desk. There was a short bleep, and the latter buzzed through, 'Door's open, Jekyll. Who's that with you, does she live here?'

Rembering the porch camera that the receptionist was able to view from her station, he leant to the buzzer and pressed down the speaker button, 'No, she's just comin' up t' mine for a lil' bit.'

'Yeah well .. alright. Just don't tell Grayson I let you take a visitor up past hours, you know how crabby he gets about it.'

'I won't, cheers.'

'Oh, and Jekyll? Shut your dog up. It hasn't stopped yapping since you left.' Hearing the conclusionary buzzer sound, that was the receptionist done.

Heaving a sigh of refreshment, Henry sidelong glanced Kitty and then broke into a small, short laugh. 'You'd think the place was a zoo.' His face kindled a moment, then he pressed his arm into the door. He stepped into the doorway and restrained it from closing until Kitty was inside. Dripping like a squeezed sponge, he shook out his sodden toussles and let one hand play amoungst them, and then he raised his head brightly. In the lobby area, there was soft, invisable music that sounded like it belonged in some supermarket, dim fancies of panelled wooden walls and floorboards, and the choice of the multi-stairs or elevator. By some blessing it was not in use, considering a lot of people - Henry included, were too lazy to clamber up such a flight.

'Come on,' He gently said, instinctive that Kitty would not have willingly laboured the stairs herself. Gathering inside quickly, as though he thought someone might toss them out, he pushed on the button that would take them to the fourth floor. The elevator box rose, and Henry managed to at last lapse into the calm, composed manner which had distinguished him all day, he led the way as before, and the ascent grew slower as they were almost compelled to the second floor. Third, and finally fourth. It came to a soft stop, and the two double pushed apart. with a small ding sound.

Henry pressed on, beginning to fiddle about for his apartment keys while the ground vibrated beneath their feet with the shock of the lowering lift. Careful though, not to stride too far or hold back too long. The girl was in a new environment and probably felt some intimidation, for she had only known Henry the best part of a few feeble hours. But then he paused, in full view of a door labelled 56. He turned his blue eyes, that flashed with an almost phosphorescent lustre, upon Kitty, about to announce he had finally found his keys but then there was a muffled out, whining sound from behind the door. Upon hearing, he shook his head and smiled.

'Looks like someone knows I'm home,' And no sooner had Henry unlocked the door and eased it open, did a gloriously golden dog surprise him with a sudden bounding. With a light laugh, he stooped and greeted the dog who sniffed him excitedly and panted with joy. His liveliness was infectious, and quickly Henry pealed a delighted laugh while taking a moment to properly re-aquaint with his pet. The animal's dear paws padding the ground happily at the recognition of his master, fleeing back into the apartment and wildly running about the place. Then hurrying to claim a place on the couch, which was scattered with disordered cushions.

Raising to fully stand, Henry returned his smiling face to Kitty, already pleased by the beloved creature. 'That there's Colonel, he's friendly and as soft as the inside of me pocket though, so dun' worry.'

Though then, he relapsed into silence and without more words, stepped into his apartment leaving Kitty plenty of following space. Drawing his brows together in puzzled meditation, he looked about the room - coming to realize that it was not exactly spic and span. A sense of embarassment played in his mind, and he stole softly furthur inside, kicking a side cushion or two as he went. The blinds were drawn, the wallpaper was a bland green and unpersuasive tone echoing out with a soft dullness. It was not a total bombsite, but he could not help a strange grimance. There was a small pile of clothes slung on the sofa that still needed pressing, the floor looked like it could have used a vacuum and there was a layer of dust gathering on the top of the television.

Sheepishly, he turned to Kitty, still wearing that strange grimace. Half of pain, half of a smile. 'Yeah .. sorry. I wasn't 'xactly expecting anyone over.'



(Phew. Sorry that got a little dry towards the end, and double sorry but handing you such a monster post >>)

[LUCY "KITTY" HARRIS]

To say that Kitty was out of her element, if she even possessed one, was a glaring understatement rendered even more so by the acknowledgment that she was quite literally walking into the clutches of startling unfamiliarity.

The night had settled in with a customary rendezvous that evoked the sort of nonchalance one with past experiences of it would habitually assume. In that same monotonous fashion, she had approached the car that would be the setting for her next act of desecration. What had actually been awaiting her, however, was the steely gaze of an aspiring pimp whose ambitions were as fervently cemented in him as the cracks that webbed her soul were. Upon refusal of his falsely generous proposal, her actions under the involuntary hex of Spider, she had been struck by the dreadfully creeping sentiment that usually gave way to retaliating fury. She hadn’t been wrong, as the man’s assault clearly demonstrated. It was a searing pain, that she couldn’t deny, but was it entirely unexpected? Not in the slightest. Men, or at least the ones she was privy to, had long since ceased to be bewildering anymore. Violence and repugnant lust composed their flesh, strung together by wretched smiles and sullied eyes. Kitty always regarded them with a skillfully veiled countenance of disdain; disdain that stemmed from their brutalization and dehumanization of her. To alter her firmly rooted stance on men, cynical and unjust as it was, was a feat in and of itself. She knew it was an unhealthy belief to convince herself of, but since no one had yet to challenge that viewpoint, firmly rooted it stayed.

Then Henry came along, the soft-spoken Irishman with a smile laced with tenderness and spellbinding eyes that bled compassion. No sooner had she accepted her fate, lying piteously on the consuming pavement under the clouded-over luster of the moon and the bitterness of the glittering rain, did darling Henry claim her from the beckoning oblivion she’d been willingly ensnaring herself in. Granted, she had been overwhelming apprehensive at first, reasonably of course. A woman as jaded as her had to shield herself from the worrisome anonymity of strangers. As far as she knew, her supposed ‘savior’ could have very well been a modernization of the terror that had been ‘Jack the Ripper’. As time dragged on and words were exchanged, however, that notion which had been implanted by her earlier apprehension withered away like the last licks of a dying fire. Maybe it was her damning hope that there was at least one man out there that defied the mold she had cast for men that had caused her to trust him, if even minutely. It could very well be a foolish hope to cling onto, but cling onto it she did with the ardor of a devout follower of God clinging to a cross and a flimsy string of rosary beads.

Shuffling about feebly behind him, her mind was racked by the aforementioned thoughts. How her night had come to be shared with a stranger, one whose intentions she believed to be far dissimilar to those of other men had they been placed in that same situation, she contemplated with intensity. Thinking it better to make no comments at the risk of attracting attention, she remained silent as she continued her ascent with Henry. Jekyll was his last name, she’d heard the receptionist say. Henry Jekyll, a name that somehow suited him. It was a complete name, at least. Kitty lamented over the truth that she was nameless. A nameless, faceless body to stack onto the amassing pile of those who shared that same misfortune. She was incomplete, in every sense of the word. She always felt this vague ache when assumed trivialities such as the understated significance of names, went largely ignored. A name, her name, was all that the struggling harlot coveted. Possible family and friends from her past life be damned. All she wanted was her name and she’d go about her miserable way, mildly content about no longer possessing a nick-name that existed for the sole purpose of reminding her of her enslavement to Spider.

The ding that alerted them of the elevator doors sliding open shook her from her melancholy reverie and she followed after Henry, struggling to keep in pace. Various times during their venture to his apartment, Kitty had very nearly reached out and grabbed a hold of Henry, taking up his earlier offer for assistance. Her stubborn and admittedly smeared pride forbade her, though. In her mind, she had already exhibited enough weakness and fragility. Yet, there she was, blindly following him much as a sheep would a shepherd. Wasn’t that a display of weakness as well, implicit as it was? Shooing away any thoughts that might cause her to tarnish her image of Henry as her unofficial gallant savior, she leaned against the wall adjacent to his door, utilizing it to steady herself.

The interaction between the dog and Henry managed to chase all incriminating notions of him away. She watched on, giving a soft laugh at the liveliness of the dog and the evident elation that Henry had adopted from him. Surely the delightful picture she had the pleasure of viewing at the moment was not cause for further campaigns to taint Henry’s name with her routine suspicions. Attempting some semblance of a compliment, she softly spoke, “Kind of like his owner, huh?” Before a smile could claim her mouth, she was struck with the realization that she had just compared him to a dog and the inside of a pocket.

Wincing at the failed compliment, she hastily added, “W-wait, that didn’t come out right. I meant . . .” Scouring her brain for some sort of valid explanation and being met with none, she sighed with defeat, “. . . I don’t know what I meant.”

Flushing with embarrassment, she scribbled a mental note reminding her to never make any attempts at compliments again and continued on inside. In all honesty, she was far too accustomed to seedy hotels and backseats of vehicles to be in any way put off by the slightly unkempt apartment.

Her eyes landing on the couch that Colonel had situated himself in, she smiled a friendly smile at him, watching as his eyes landed on her and perked up at the sudden entrance of a strange woman. Wanting to acquaint herself with him, she almost called out to him, but relented at the last minute. With a name like Kitty and the inadvertent appearance of a drowned cat, paired with the fact that she was likely to tumble over with a simple nudge, she thought it better to refrain from calling out to him.

Shaking her head and faintly smiling at the ridiculousness of it, she turned her attention back to Henry who offered her a sheepish apology for the disarray of the place. Although she was flattered that he’d think of sprucing it up a bit even for her company, she scoffed aloud and responded, “Henry, it’s fine. I don’t exactly live in Upper East Side Manhattan, ya’ know. Why would you think of all people, that I would mind?”

A slight lightheartedness managed to creep into her tone, synchronizing with her broad grin in an attempt to ease his fluster. Not bothering to wait for a response, she trudged further into the apartment, seeking somewhere to sit and rest for the time being. She was noticeably fatigued and just short of keeling over, but a sight that probably shouldn’t have captured her attention did so regardless.

Losing all sense of manners, not that she had been rife with them before, she slowly approached one of the windows with the blinds drawn. In her vague stupor, she’d no inkling of why she felt a peculiar pull to the window. Twisting the tilt wand of the blinds and unveiling the sight of the city awash with rain and lightning, her mind was suddenly assailed by a sharp pang. A hazy vision bombarded her, one of a house with steel shutters, encased in the dreariness of pounding rain and violent, whipping winds.

Doubling over with the sensory overload, Kitty let out a low wail, squeezing her eyes shut and sliding her hands harshly down the blinds themselves, likely damaging them. The more that she tried to clear out the ever-lingering fog that made her memory so indistinct, the more it felt like someone was drilling into her brain. It pained to remember and that disconcerting truth that Kitty had realized long ago devastated her. Attempting to claw herself through the anguish in order to grasp a more lucid memory of what could have possibly been her childhood home, she gripped her head tightly, nails biting at the flesh of her scalp. It was futile, however. The moment had passed and with it, so did the elusive memory.

Kitty’s body slumping against the wall contiguous to that window, she slid down it in a manner that exhibited some shred of internal defeat that only she felt. So rare were those fleeting flashes of memory that they almost mimicked an assault on her brain when they did come forward, usually instigated by something as benign as a window overlooking the rain had just been. Her hands drooped down in that same conquered fashion and another hot flash of embarrassment overcame her at the remembrance that she wasn’t alone. She raised her eyes to Henry’s, noting the puzzlement and comingled horror. Even Colonel had seemed to have been roused from his snug position on the couch, watching her with as equal bewilderment as his master.

Breathing a tad tremulously, she took a moment to compose herself before answering his questioning gaze. Gesturing noncommittally to her head, she breathed, “It’s the memories . . . or at least memories trying to break through.”

Catching onto the fact that she might be coming off as a complete lunatic, she sighed instead and fixed her gaze onto the pile of rumpled clothes that lay neglected on the couch. “It’s a long story,” she admitted, a sizeable amount of exhaustion slipping into her voice.




(EDITED: Okay, about half-way through reading this thread I noticed that Lucy had barely contributed to the over-all action of the thread. Merely acquiescing to Henry's offers and having him lead her about town. After an extremely epic headdesk, I went back and added some more to this post and tried my hand at actually involving Lucy and not just have her skirt along on Henry's coattails. My deepest apologies for not having given you much to work with, action-wise. I FAIL, that's been established. -.-)

[ricketts]

Having descended furthur into the apartment, Henry had come to stoop to a humble, crouching posture with two arms half-inside an airing closet. He was looking to get Kitty a towel, and as she showed him some ease, concerning the barely kempt state of his home, he smiled - the expression of his face was almost divine in its rapture, and in wordless appreciation set back to his task. Plainly he moved aside clothes - some he hadn't worn in a while, socks and some foreign objects he though he had lost, all the while thinking what would happen after the woman had brought herself to a state of self standing. It would be wrong and cruel to force her back to her street corner, but he knew it was not his decision to make. All he could do for now, was restore her in some small way, and from there let her do as she wanted.

Then, with an off-white towel in hand, he rose in an attitude of attention, as though he had been called by some one at a distance, and with a grave, preoccupied air Henry saw that she was shrank back against a wall. Her eyes full of speechless despair. Smoothing back his tangled locks, he looked down upon her in startled perplexity. Her face grew grey with the sickening pallor of fear, and after grasping at her own head through whatever mental agony was claiming her, her hands fell in conclusionary submission. The vibrating bewilderment of Henry's expression, and the cloud over his brow, were clearly visable and Kitty was quick to spot. She gushed through a frazzled explaination, and turned her eye away.

Gradually, plainly at least, Henry slowly moved from his standing toward a kitchen cupboard. Trying to preserve his wonted, well-kept calm. What he had witnessed brought to float the hard edges of memories he had no like or want to remember - truly cutting, and intensely painful. Looking up into the cupboard, his eyes narrowed and his lips stiffened, reminding himself humbly that those memories were of a past life. A life that ended three years ago. Now, he had to preserve himself, and lapse into his normal attitude in his errand of mercy. He removed a tin from the cupboard, and planted himself at Kitty's side. Slumping onto carpet-level and letting his legs lie straight.

Before responding to Kitty, he waved Colonel over - who had been staring at him in waiting since the tin was taken from the cupboard. The dog rested with them on the floor, nestling his head on his masters lap and better relaxed for it. 'They say ye' shouldn't feed a dog biscuits,' He uttered, head down as he parted the tin from its lid and hovered a cookie just before Colonel's mouth, who accepted with an attitude that was polite for a dog. 'But 'e does love them.'

Lying his hand lightly on Colonel's head, he caressed his soft ear and offered the cookie tin to Kitty. Knowing to be gentle with her, as a spirit was so easily broken in a state of memory. 'We got time, y'know. Enough time for a long story if ye' feel like it.'

[LUCY "KITTY" HARRIS]

*cue word vomit* :3


The fleetingness with which that sought after memory had dissipated served to dishearten Kitty further. Even now, lamenting in the aftermath of its complimentary agony, she struggled to retain the few shreds she was able to retrieve. Brows furrowed in deep concentration, she attempted to dismiss the dizzying fog that had enveloped her mind, cleverly shrouding the fragments of a memory that could have been vital to her self-discovery. Trying to will away the blaring distractions, she succeeded in only intensifying that blossoming throbbing of her head. Another aspirin would have been welcome at that point.

Finally, after agonizing over trying to store the vision of the steel-shuttered house and violent weather into her recollection for later scrutiny, she let out an audible sigh. It was her hope that the memory would stick, but she could never be too reliant on her own mind. It was riddled with gaping holes that must have once held the answers she sought, but now only harbored dark nothingness. It struck her as cruelly ironic that in the world there existed so many people wrought with tragedies and experiences best left forgotten. It struck her as ironic because although she was fairly certain that her past was not composed of pleasing recollections that could help rid her unease, she longed for nothing more than to remember them. It was entirely possible that she may not like what she’d find, but simply finding herself, unpleasant as it might turn out, was cause enough for her to safeguard that want.

Slumped resignedly against the wall, she fixed her eyes on her twiddling thumbs, trying not to give the impression of being too acknowledging of Henry claiming an equally slumped position at her side. Kitty loathed that she appeared to have taken on the role of a bashful school girl in front of Henry, but conceded that it wasn’t entirely her fault for letting her carefully constructed façade slip. Taking into account her earlier beating and her memory retrieval failure, it was acceptable to say that she was not in the right frame of mind for putting on that convincing of a show.

Listening as Henry muttered something or other about the advisement of not feeding biscuits to dogs, she smiled faintly and politely refused his offering of the cookie tin, taking in the sight of the apparent bonding that looked to be taking place between a dog and his master. Without any say in the matter, her wretched mind unwelcomingly cultivated parallels of the relationship between a dog and his master and her own relationship with Spider. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Spider deemed himself her master and she a dog, a stray taken in only to be forced violently into submission. It was completely possible, actually, since Spider liked to bandy about the threat of grave agony if any of his “bitches”, as he 'affectionately' referred to them as, tried to burrow out of his backyard. It was a depressing thought and she shook it away with the fervor equaling her extreme abhorrence of her own inclination to conjure up thoughts of that nature in the first place.

Henry having given her the ‘go-ahead’ in terms of venting her story, she gave a soft chuckle, shrugging herself back into her comfortable and fictitious insouciance. “I suppose it’s only fair to explain why the roughed up prostitute whom you helped suddenly went bonkers in your apartment as repayment. Who knows? Might even convince you to rid yourself of me for good,” she half-teased, mustering a small grin to enhance her slightly easy-going manner. She found that with Jane, it had been easier to reveal her affliction if she acted like there wasn’t one. With Henry, considering that he’d witnessed one of her rare episodes, she was not certain if she could pull off that same nonchalance.

Hesitantly and with great care, as she knew suddenness tended to startle animals, she reached a cautious hand over to Colonel, scratching at the dog’s head affectionately, looking to distract herself temporarily. Pleased that he made no move to saunter away at her touch, a smile of contentment seized her mouth. Alternating between scratches and caresses, all three occupants of the apartment seemed to silently share a moment, one of mutual harmony. That was until Kitty’s fingers brushed Henry’s, the unintentional contact causing her to move her hand away, albeit with somewhat less subtlety than what she intended. She was well aware that this wasn’t the first time they’d touched, what with him carrying her and helping her about. That was just to aid her, though, and had come off as platonic. The touch that she had just shied away from somehow seemed more intimate in the sense that it had been careless and gentle, stemming from a moment that had been comprised of affection, at least when it came to the collective adoration of the dog.

Choosing not to draw any more attention to that incident, she instead plowed ahead with her story, making an effort to shorten it as much as possible, for his sake. Pinning her dampened locks behind her ears, she shot a glance his way before resting her gaze on her bare legs, nicks and scrapes scattered here and there. “As you have probably guessed already, my name isn’t actually Kitty. What is my name, then? Your guess is as good as mine, Henry.” Shrugging unenthusiastically, she managed a countenance of stoicism that she knew was false. Kitty always felt like she was betraying the person she was talking to with her put-on indifference, but when it came to the topic of herself, she’d cast aside her convictions about honesty and lie with her actions, not with her words.

She brought a hand up to rake through her hair in an effort to untangle the messy tresses and force herself and her tone to remain detached to the subject matter. “Two years ago, I was in a car accident. Must’ve knocked my head something awful because when I woke up in the hospital, I had no idea who I was. All of my memories were gone just like that,” she spoke, disturbing her hand’s placement in her hair to add a snap for effect.

Smiling sadly, her mind posed another question. Why was she revealing her marred history to a complete stranger? Even more unsettling was the rebutting question of why didn’t she care more about revealing her history to a complete stranger? She answered both with the mute realization that although she was sure some unfortunate soul would hear her story, Henry would be the only one to truly listen.




(ARG! I’m sorry! I swear, I didn’t mean to serve up another monster post! Funny what runnin’ on no sleep will produce. -.-)

[ricketts]

(No need to apologise, really I however, typed this while in desperate need of a nap, so apologies -.-)


A sort of air of sweet and simple company pervaded the room, and Henry was unexpectedly pleased - as was Colonel. Being an animal that adored fuss in all forms, the dog became content and gladly lapped up the attention. The slight coolness of his acknowledgement quickly gave place to grateful fervour as he realised Kitty was beginning to feel more or less at her own ease. He could read it, in her face and words an implication that the tense guard, so intense when they had met, was falling off her narrow shoulders.

However there was an immediate silence, after Kitty's fingers accidentally slipped into contact. Regretting this act, she snatched that hand back and seemed to shrink with some sort of guilt, face flamed. Henry, meanwhile, sidelong glanced a patch of floor and with soft but firm persistence rubbed his lips together, slow in the rather uncomfortable silence. It felt such a silly thing to become shifty about, but in the natural and proper way, it just happened. Neither of them said anything, in word or manner. He thought maybe he should apologise - though for what he wasn't sure yet. Already he had done the duty of carrying her little body off the pavement and weaned her from the back of a van, a finger brush was nothing compared. They stayed in position until Henry decided to help himself to a biscuit, and meekly bit on it. At this point, Kitty had taken the opportunity to break in. Thankfully.

Through characteristic propriety, Henry was prepared to be very sympathetic. But, as she amounted her story, a serious energy applied him and he worked the bit of biscuit in his mouth more slowly, agreeably surprised and bewildered. Accoplished in the art of listening, and feeling the background of the story, his eyes fixed on her. Glowing in the evening light. By look and no word, one could tell he was already thinking. Their meeting had been so rushed, that in lightness of hand Henry hadn't even thought to question the genuity of her name. He raised no protest, only stretched his palm to Colonel to let him lick away the crumbs. Henry, himself, had been carelessly named. His heart thumped faster than was necessary as he managed to somehow bond with Kitty's story. Having only been named after some boy - a boy to whom he owed his life, in the shallow, muffled days of babyhood, and never knowing the name his mother might have intended. If she had ever intended to name her son at all. Uncertain whether he was pleased or not with this connection, Henry broke awake from his meditative solitude and leaned his broad shoulders flat against the wall behind, lamely tilting his head in Kitty's direction.

'I'm sorry,' He said, with gentle resignation. 'I suppose thats what y'meant earlier, when I asked if I could take ye' to someone. I get it .. and, again, sorry.'

A strange emotion of admiring tenderness stirred Henry, and he wore an impressionable, innocent smile for her. He rose his stare upto the blinds, gesturingly, then let it fall back to her. 'What was it ye' saw? Up there?'


(Song to add to the HxL list; Snow Patrol ft. Martha Wainwright - Set The Fire To The Third Bar ^u^)

[LUCY "KITTY" HARRIS]

(*cue verbal diarrhea* :3 Pfft, no apologies necessary on your part. Apologies are, however, necessary for my post. My brain is about to completely give out on me so if it doesn’t make any sense in several parts, it’s due to my sleep deprivation. I really have to stop doing that to myself.)


The brief, but seemingly endless, silence that followed her revelation was stifling. Her eyes hesitantly met his own, attempting to gauge exactly what was simmering in his mind. Somewhere amidst the evident bewilderment and initial shock that created a dense miasmic layer that swathed his translucent eyes of startling blue, a wisp of understanding was visibly brimming. At least that was what Kitty chose to interpret from his wistful gaze. That could very well not be the case and there she’d be, discovering another failure, a failure of interpretations, to lament about.

Grateful was she, however, that Henry hadn’t commented on that inadvertent brushing of their fingers. She hadn’t missed the uneasiness that had transpired from said touch, further enhanced by the suffocating silence that had permeated throughout the room. It was all the more possible that she had exaggerated the significance of that momentary contact and had exaggerated it in a manner that served to unsettle him. Inwardly, she chastised herself for being so explicit with her disquieting actions. The only plausible explanation for that discomfort was the simple fact that light touches were peculiar to her. Rough, calloused hands were strikingly familiar, as were the brusqueness and lust that propelled them. The accidental soft caress of gentle fingers, so engrossed in the distraction of soft fur that they carelessly met, was immediately recognized as foreign and had therefore set her nerves on high alert.

Once Henry shattered the silence with his condolences, it was Kitty’s turn to regard him with a look that read of bafflement and incredulity. At first, the word "sorry" simply would not register. Being gut-wrenchingly honest with herself, she acknowledged that he was the first man to, as far as she could recall, have ever uttered that word to her and meant it. Granted, her history she only revealed sparingly, but there was no veiling the significance of that to her. Momentarily allowing her façade to slip, she was certain that the fondness that had been blossoming the whole night was clearly evident in her smoldering stare. She thought of voicing even just a shred of that fondness to him and what it meant to her, but the mere idea of it shook her and turned her heart into Judas. Vaguely clutching at the jacket that covered her chest, she turned faintly pale at the thought of it betraying her—of it failing, and forcing her into eternal torments of sullied trust and silenced affection’s unsynchronized duo. And if he knew just how easily a little compassion affected her, what would he think? She felt the weight of the question, heard the rain reveal her secret in the form of pattering against the window, and closed her eyes briefly as if expecting her heart to take a gasp and stop.

Willing herself back into restoring her guard, she let wretched thoughts invade her mind and attempt to sabotage the pristine perception she had of darling Henry. It was much safer to be wary of him than to show such open consideration. It was safer to ruin his displays of empathy by cheapening them with snide notions nurtured from unfavorable experiences. Much as she tried, however, she couldn’t force herself to believe any of the malicious accusations her mind cultivated. The damage had already been done. Kitty had been ensnared by his compassion and was now a victim of unadulterated trust.

Conceding not to comment on his statement, considering she already had albeit rather mutely, with the look she had given him, she instead focused on answering his question. That would serve as a fitting diversion from niggling and unwanted thoughts, she supposed. Adopting a countenance of extreme concentration, she toiled through a labyrinth of unpleasant and fairly new memories, working her way through those to reach those hazy memories that she could not make any sense of.

Rubbing her temples absently, careful to avoid grazing any nicks, she furrowed her brows and spoke like it physically strained her to remember. “Umm, it was a house?” she asked, as if she expected Henry to know the correct response. Snapping her eyes open at the remembrance that it had been a house, she halted her rubbing and with a hint of satisfaction tinting her voice, she answered her own question, “Yeah. Yeah, it was a house. Kind of dingy looking thing. There was something about its windows, though. Something that stood out . . .” Trailing off, she snapped her fingers repeatedly in close proximity of her head, in a vague attempt to force the gears to start turning.

However silly it appeared, it seemed to work and she nearly burst with the answer, gesturing wildly and the volume of her voice rising slightly, “Steel shutters! That’s what it was. Steel shutters or storm panels or whatever it is that they’re called. The type that are used for hurricane protection. Makes sense since my memory also involved violent weather,” she finished, letting out a weary breath to conclude that her mental exhaustion now likely leveled out with her physical one.

Mimicking Henry’s posture, she let her head loll back, an audible thump resounding as it connected with the wall a bit harder than she’d intended. Chuckling feebly, she reached a hand to her head and soothed it, an afterthought voicing itself. “I’m not sure if it was my childhood home or whose house it was, actually. I have no memories of a family, you see, so I can’t really make any connections to any family members, if I ever even had any, with that home.”

Not entirely certain why she’d added that last bit, she shuffled a tad awkwardly, again coming to the realization that she was sharing more with than she originally meant to. A testament to the damning trust that had been established and Kitty cringed in acknowledgement, opting to take up Henry’s offer of a biscuit to distract her and reaching for one in the tin, smiling in gratitude. Taking a tentative bite, she curled a hand up against her jaw, the chewing causing slight pain to her still sore jaw. She’d forgotten to some extent about her earlier beating. Luckily for her, she had the ache to serve as lovely reminders.





(Dude. I swear that it isn’t my intention to write so damn much. It’s a bit unsettling to find that I write more when I’m working on no sleep whatsoever. Well, that’s a lie. I slept for like three hours over the span of two days. -.- Also, Lucy is such a Debbie Downer it’s not even funny. Heh, I guess that’s the point of being a ‘downer’. )

[ricketts]

In all his new and varied experiences, perhaps Henry was most completely fascinated by the women he met. Yet the word was used very loosely, as it was joined by many different meanings. Kitty certainly had that power, that pleasing characteristic in her. Unmentioned too, that behind the bruising and the part-dried blood Henry had definately seen shreds of a pretty face. But what made her cast that shadow of interest was not just her tarnished beauty, her sweet sincerity - but also that she did not understand herself.

The more Kitty explained, the more similar ideas Henry was having. This was the unexpected happening, with a vengeance. He hadn't imagined such a notion on the part of this sweet and staid person. The purities and gentleness of womanhood were startled and outraged by what she did to make her pennies, but he met them with easy indifference. She was not bad, so far he knew, she was just .. lost. With such curiosity, such gravity, Kitty practiced the inexplicable phenomenon, and Henry with a very ordinary expression, listened. He did not deny her acknowledgement, lips pressed inward and the occasional intelligent flicker of the eye. Colonel, interested in something more than dainty cookies, left Henry's lap for the other side of the room and bent his head to his dog dish. Concluding by dipping her hand into the bisucit tin, Henry slowly nodded like he was trying to absorb and understand, his far-away stare was perplexing.

'.. Well,' Henry said, his voice low and a few lines of care forming on his forehead. 'Thats ... nothin' like I've heard before. You don't remember anythin'? Not your mam, your pappy?'

And when he did look at her again, he gave not the smallest sign of what had happened - what memories were passing through his head at that moment, so that even he almost grew to feel that it must have been dreamed. 'I've only ever had me pap, but, jus' recently he died.'

An abstracted manner fell over him, and his sudden self-change into self pity was only brief. Not a moment went by when he didn't miss Hank, regardless that the man was in no way the same blood pool. He thumbed under his eye with his sleeve at that moment, head bent - evidently he was tired and the gloomy afterthought of those media rumours began setting in. Had Kitty even read the last few additions of the New York Times? His name had made a few appearances in the distant ranges of the Wall Street murder, and a tear glistened in his eye as he thought of the bad opinions and the lying images the press were setting about him. The tear never fell - Henry didn't let it, rather, he rubbed it away with the sleeve of his fist. He dropped the saddest smile at her, with some warm impulsiveness.

'Ey, I think we'd better start gettin' you cleaned.' He said, glowing. Wriggling away from such cold, engaging meditations. 'What do ye' need? I got a basin an' some towels through there, and if ye' need another painkiller I've pretty much got the whole of Duane Reade in me cabinet.'

Though he rounded off with a carefully placed underchuckle, he wished he hadn't said that.

[LUCY "KITTY" HARRIS]

(baaaaaarrrrrrffffffff . . . uuungghhh . . . b . . . :3)


Reluctant to admit to anything that she considered posed a threat to her self-imposed skepticism, it was of chief significance that Henry had succeeded in gaining a fraction of her trust. It was debatable whether a fraction was even as noteworthy as her trust in its entirety, but taking into account that the granting of her trust was as rare as fleeting stars crashing down upon the dark, velvety blanket of night, it was especially momentous.

What had prompted this revival of trust? It would have been painless to attribute that developing trust to the nobility of his actions and the sincerity of his compassion. Simple enough to warrant anyone’s confidence in him. However, it was iniquitous to whittle her convictions about him down to merely those two reasons. The real substantiality stemmed from his indifference to the aspects of her that nearly everyone else found too glaring and consequently turned away from. His response to her revelations, ones complete with flailing hand gestures to enhance her overall appearance of peculiarity, lacked the scrutiny she initially expected. He had not judged her, only inquired more about her absence of memory and family. No judgment of her character fostered a deeper connection to Henry. Quick with internal admittance that night, she acknowledged the paired fear that sprang forward from that admission.

Shaking her head, a shadow of forlorn concession cast about her dainty and damaged features, she explained, “I have no solid memories from before the accident. If I had a family, then the memories of them were lost along with everything else. The only memories that I have now are the ones that I’ve gathered in the past two years and the very few snippets of recollections before the accident. As you witnessed, though, those snippets make very little sense.” Kitty sighed jadedly, almost as if even conversing about her mental affliction seemed to drain her of the minimal energy she still possessed after the night’s ordeal.

Just as she was about to drift into another unsolicited reverie, he leveled her revelation with one of his own and promptly startled her back into their conversation. It hadn’t been lost on her that throughout the time they’d spent together, she had been the only one participating in the sharing of identities. Granted, her identity was not her own and was fragmented beyond recognition, but she had even made the effort to make that known to him. What he had just revealed was something intensely personal. It occurred to her that him contributing to the conversation the way he had had not been at all necessary. He could have easily avoided drawing attention to himself in that manner by simply keeping the focus on her and her woes. He had not, however, and Kitty felt a mixture of fondness and sadness for him blossom.

Henry had, from what she had observed and from what he’d divulged, experienced a version of solitude as well. The loss of the only connection he ever possessed, or so she surmised, and the effect of that loss were as clear to her now as if he’d plastered blinking neon signs to his forehead. The loss of her past life had killed something inside of her as well. For the first time that night, she understood. They were familiar strangers. Strangers fated to meet in the blessed embrace of rain and the menacing clutch of violence, both beyond their control. As her wistful eyes took notice of the lingering gloom of his voice and the faint glimmer of emotion in his meditative eyes of blue, it suddenly dawned on her that there were two lonely souls rife with grief in the room. She could now say, without customary pause, that she trusted Henry. Whether she would ever voice that trust was still undecided.

He seemed adamant to change the subject, however, when he offered the notion to get her cleaned up. Not willing to leave the conversation well enough alone just yet, she battled her reservations on how to express her condolences. Still reeling from the accidental contact of earlier, she found it difficult to venture to repeat said contact, even if it was for tender intentions. Eventually, though, her anxiety regarding that subsided just enough to allow her to reach a hand across and rest it on Henry’s shoulder. With sincerity characteristic of her, she softly spoke, “I’m sorry to hear about your dad, Henry. If it’s any consolation, so far I'm thinking he raised a fine boy.”

Finishing with a genuine smile that reached her eyes, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze as a final act of comfort, before moving her hand away. So much tenderness in the span of a couple of hours was a heady tonic. Disorienting, even.

Flitting back to his propositions, she let another friendly smile tinged with vague amusement grace her mouth before responding, “If Duane Reade carries tranquilizers, then you’re looking at one happy soon-to-be drugged up girl.” She chuckled softly, too weary from the night’s events to question why he was so stocked-up on medication. It had registered, of course, but the tumblers hadn’t all clicked into place.

Refusing to deject herself to Henry’s chivalry again, she made to stand up without his assistance. Bending her knees first and laying her palms flat against the wall on either side of her, she used the sturdiness of the wall to push herself forward. Bending her knees accordingly and utilizing what little upper-strength she had, she managed to get herself into a standing position, ridiculously proud of her success. Not without a slight surge of pain, however. Still a bit unsteady on her feet, she tilted her head in the direction of Henry, seemingly ever-present grin still nestled on her face. “So, lead the way to the sink, towels, and drugs, Henry.”

Kitty’s constant apprehension and suspicions had almost completely dissipated into nonexistence. Henry was no longer a possible enemy. He was the first of his kind to have traversed the fortress that Kitty had spent the past years of her life perfecting.



(I let the post run away from me again. Sorry. -.-)

[ricketts]

Very slowly, and with seeming reluctance, Henry turned his head towards Kitty, and there were tears in his eyes - real tears. Bright, large tears that welled up and fell through his long lashes in the most becoming manner. He was not quick to realise, but when he felt the warm lines down his cheeks an expression fell over his face, one of conscious self-hindrance. In a most self-conscious act, he lowered his head and drew the sleeve of his arm over his face. Henry was a man with losses, and Hank's death was still fresh - so raw still, that it was difficult tolerating himself. Especially in the night, when he was forced to think through nothing else none too graciously. The tragic disproportion between fair and unfair in this world.

Head still unraised, he uttered a glum laugh. 'A fine boy, I know jus' what he'd say t' that.' Squeezing sundry confidences into his shoulder, Kitty let her little hand fall away, and as she did Henry released a shaky sigh. He did not know that many sweet, guileless American girls - or Irish girls for that matter, and humbly, he placed how graceful Kitty was being with him. A root of partiality to be nourished by much thinking about it, and by the circumstance Henry had yet to ratify. Against his own judgement he lifted his head, his eyes had been firmly dried, leaving red rub-patches about his face.

'Sorry, I'm not usually .. ' Sinking his ordinary tone to an almost sweet diffidence, he sniffed, sighed, then finished his sentence with a mingled shrug. ' .. not usually, like this. Y'know. And .. thanks.'

Again, he smiled sadly. Then there, obedient to his suggestion, the woman began to wander to her feet. At first, Henry's glance followed up at her in tones of entreaty and alarm like he thought she would crack and shatter like he thinnest pane of glass. Much ado to stop himself, Henry shifted to his knees then rose to a hunched-standing. Surveying her in some perplexity with his arms crookedly raised in a way of catching fallen apples from a tree, in case she dropped herself through having the leg-strength of a piece of paper. Though, she managed to stand up without assistance, and sure that she was supported enough, Henry endevoured to smile.

'Alright, well um, follow me then,' He said, stooping to pick up the towel he had taken from the airing closet and then turning into a open door close to the kitchen. It was a typical bachelor bathroom - clothes on the floor, a state of disorder about the sink - razors and colognes and such - and tiles that needed a mop. There was compact mirror above the sink, attached to the wall. It was not where Henry kept his more clandestine medications, but it had a pod or two of pain pills and anodynes for some of those crippling headaches.

'Now, I don't have any o' those pretty smellin' lady soaps, but theres a sink 'ere and a newish soap bar just on it.' Folding her towel over the basin, he waved his hand at it with a gesture of indication before moving to the wall-mirror. He opened and closed it to demonstrate. 'See this here? Some aspirins in there, but I'm hopin' I won't come back to find a, how did ye' put it? Happy drugged-up girl.'

Quite calm and very palely, he gave her a final smile of touching sweetness. He certainly could have told her not to go rooting too far into the cabinet mirror, but with almost feverish earnestness he remained silent and told himself, if he expected her to trust him she must be honoured in the same respect. His eyes brightened slowly, before he said polite and servile, 'I'll leave ye' to it.' Parting from the bathroom, he closed the door for her benefit and the moment he knew he was alone, he sniffed loudly and pinched his lips to stop another wailing sigh. Pleading with himself not to become further bothered by Hank's death and the continued change of views, he sank onto the couch and blinked. And from blinking, new tears lapsed and shattered, broken with the weight of the responsibility of his own misfortunes. Too overwhelmed to rise bravely from it, he noiselessly cried alone.

[LUCY "KITTY" HARRIS]

(Bad mood = serious monster post of FAIL. I don’t like writing when I’m in a bad mood since it affects it severely, but I’ve already flaked enough. Sorry.)



Torment. An unsteady mixture of torment and despair shone luminously in those eyes of tortured blue, manifesting as droplets of grief and cascading down his cheeks with equal sorrow. No doubt the tears scalded for he was quick in wiping them away with a swift passing of his sleeve. Traces still glistened under the light of the apartment and even with his head bowed in an act of self-consciousness and repression, she had clearly witnessed it.

Duly, however, she dismissed that impromptu exhibition of emotion by letting it go without much comment or much acknowledgement. The pained glance that she had directed his way paired with the endeavored comfort her hand had squeezed into his shoulder were enough acknowledgements than she thought he cared for, what with him edging his way from speaking at length about his affliction. Kitty couldn’t blame him. If she were toiling through day and night in his shoes, having to live with the recent loss of someone so close, she doubted she would be any more talkative than he.

Then came the apology for the inadvertent display of vulnerability that she had been a spectator to and his humble thanks for her small condolences. So reserved was he and so endearing was his tone of voice that she very nearly commented again, but was dissuaded by that melancholy smile of his. Instead, she just resorted to leveling a smile at him, one with a more contented implication. Sad smiles were almost painful to view. Such a distressing emotion paired with the curling back of the lips that was meant to be puppeteered by some shred of happiness was a contradiction that unsettled her, though she was known for partaking now and again.

Acquiescing to his instruction, she followed, shuffling along, the heels of her shoes dragging across the carpet somewhat. Clandestinely, she surveyed the apartment and found that the rest of it was just as unkempt as the living room had been. Not that she could complain. It was certainly an improvement over her residence, gaudy and sleazy as Spider’s home was. Once they reached the bathroom, he started rattling off the necessities and indicating where they were located, all the while her eyes followed. Kitty rallied a genuine smile at his vague quip and offered up one of her own.

“Hey, right now, happy would be preferred over miserable, regardless of whether or not it takes drugs to get there,” Kitty countered, flashing him one last saccharine smile before he turned away and disappeared back into the living room, closing the door behind him. The subtle click of the door being shut synchronized with the collapsing of her smile and a troubled sigh. Her entire upper body seemed to crumple with the intensity of the weariness of her sigh, almost as if she’d breathed out a significant amount of energy along with it. The fatigue had long since set in, but it was only now in her solitude that Kitty felt comfortable enough to exhibit it completely. Henry’s presence was no longer accounted for so there was no need to visually perform. Kitty hunched over the sink, her hands clutching at either sides, and her head bowed meditatively. What was she doing there, in a stranger’s home, invading a stranger’s life? Granted, prostitution ensured that your own life revolved around strangers. Henry was poles apart from them. It was unjust to call him a stranger; especially after everything he had troubled himself with for her. However unjust it might have seemed, though, she implemented that title when thinking about him because it was familiar and familiarity in an unfamiliar situation was something to be doted upon.

Eschewing her own persistent inquires for the time being, Kitty settled on utilizing her time to make herself at least semi-presentable. Harping at herself could wait until she found some semblance of a sanctuary to partake in that insidious act.

Shrugging herself out of her stupor and out of his jacket, she hung it over on the coat rack situated on the door, noting with vague amusement that all of the clothes lying about somehow seemed to be blissfully unaware of the presence of the rack itself. Sidling back over to the mirror located above the sink, she leaned in and examined the extent of her injuries. The array of grazes that flawed her skin would heal rather quickly, she surmised. The main concern at that particular juncture was her nose. Upon further inspection, she concluded that it was fractured, but not terribly so. Setting it back in its place was required and she cringed at the thought of attempting it herself. Luckily, or perhaps not, this was not her first experience with a damaged nose. Kitty had been at the receiving end of one of Spider’s assaults and he had delivered to her exactly that. According to him, he compensated by fixing it himself, although she knew he probably thrilled at the notion of causing her more pain while simultaneously fixing her.

Steadfastly conceding to fixing it as swiftly as possible so as to avoid mulling it over excessively and end up reneging, she grabbed the towel Henry had given her and stuffed a sizeable amount of the cloth into her mouth to muffle her impending wail. Positioning her thumbs on both sides of her nose, she took in one heavy breath, holding it, before pressing her thumbs against the bridge of it. As expected, the pain shot through her nerves and caused her to screw her eyes shut and wail in agony, the sound significantly hushed by her biting down into the cloth. Letting the towel fall from her mouth, she sucked in pained breaths, her hands gripping the sink tightly as she waited for the ache to subside somewhat.

Once it had degenerated into a dull throbbing, she ventured to see if she’d set it correctly. A wave of relief surged through her as Kitty noted the newly repaired nose, having missed the signature cracking noise resetting it had emitted through a haze of pain. Taking up Henry’s offer of painkillers, despite her own wariness towards them, she flipped open the medicine cabinet and quickly scanned the pill pods for a familiar name, her hand reaching in to pick up one in particular. Prescription Ibuprofen.

Fumbling with the cap for a frustrating moment, she finally managed to pry it open and slide one tablet into her hand. Neglecting factoring in water to ease the pill down her throat, she swallowed it dryly, the tartness of the taste conquering the copper-tang that had previously claimed her taste buds. After screwing the cap for the pills back on and returning them back to their place inside the cabinet, she closed it and focused on the task of wiping away the residual blood speckled thereabout her face and legs.

Running the sink tap, she cupped her hands into it and splashed some water onto her face, the cooling feeling satisfactory compared to the slight stinging of her cuts. Grabbing a hold of the soap bar, not without it nearly sliding out of her grip numerous times, she lathered her hands until they foamed, set the bar back down, and worked the soap onto her face circumspectly. Hissing lightly as minimal traces of soap seeped into her cuts and her fingers grazed them faintly, she splashed more water onto her face, washing away the crimson stains and consequently her harlot make-up as well. Repeating the same process with the scuffs that riddled her knees, she thoroughly cleansed herself of the night’s violence.

Shutting the water off, she dipped down to retrieve the discarded towel from the heaps of clothing strewn about, deciding that while she was down there she might as well remove the punishing peep-toed pumps that she’d been sporting. Once she’d finished patting the towel against her damp flesh and adequately drying herself, she tossed the used towel into the not-surprisingly-unused laundry hamper. Scooping up her shoes from the tiled floor, she bothered with one glance at the mirror. Bare of make-up, nicks pronounced, hair slightly disheveled and clad in a body-hugging black slip of a dress that was still moist, Kitty looked the epitome of vulnerability. Or so she thought until she stepped back into the living room and was met by the sight of Henry crying once more.

She fixed an empathetic stare, envisioning two drop-shaped scars on his cheeks which she imagined had been molded by countless suicidal tears disillusioned with the thought of never joining the ocean waves. His skin like polished porcelain glistened while tears burned a trail down high cheek bones, the vision of him tragic. Were she a person of lesser character and a biting sense of ingratitude, she would have paid his suffering no mind and asked him to take her straight home. Instead, she approached him charily. Understandably, it might have been courteous of her to announce her coming rather than intruding upon a personal moment, but now that she had intruded, her gentile nature obligated her to attempt to comfort Henry by whatever means she could.

Setting her shoes on the carpet and seating herself on the couch, wet clothes and all, she placed major emphasis on the distance she had put between them with the intention of not having him feel as if she were cornering him. Turning her head in his direction, she watched as he fought against tears, rendering an expression of sincere compassion on her own face.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here for you. I might not be the most desirable company in situations like these, but I’ve got a shoulder here that might not mind some tears,” she offered and mustered an accommodating smile, lighthearted humor softening her tone.

Kitty was not well-versed in the art of consolation, as made evident by her failed attempts so far, but that could all be attributed to her lack of sentimental interaction with anyone. She herself had not cried since Spider had broken her spirit, so relating was an impossibility. Yet, here she was, yearning for a smile of Henry’s that was not tainted by consuming sadness.

Adjusting herself on the couch so that she faced him more directly, she smiled and said, “Besides, you listened to me and my grocery list of issues earlier. Seems a bit disrespectful for me to not give that same courtesy in return.”

If he could weave a story with his tears, he could certainly weave one with his words. Whether he wanted to or not was a different matter altogether.

[ricketts]

This man had never understood the mystery of death; this child would never understand it. God forbid that he should think it superior to the people which were subject to it, or that they have moments of rapturous insight that soothe their toil and lull their cares to sleep. Heaven, hell - it seemed so far away to any person born to earth, and dies, unexpectedly, under the arms of vagueness and uncertain meanings. The proof of feeling like this rolled down Henry's cheek, and fell onto the knee he hunched over. Hank's grave, with its flowers watered by Henry's tears, remained mysterious. It eluded all comprehension, a good man had met his end in a way that challenged the very social code. He could not understand death. Let alone Hank's death.

He lacked the consciousness that Kitty had entered his presence, so could not hide his unbroken upset. There was no sobbing, no destroying himself with the homesickness - as much as he wanted to, there was only a half-lost stare and a rain of tears. Those pure delights, he missed them. He lacked the consciousness of his sentiment - the real feeling that glowed in his glistening eye - and for the first time in so long, he felt condemned. Condemned to have found the body of the only father he had ever had, condemned to misery from his mother's womb. Yet even that could not remove his powers of reflection.

'Oh - oh god,' Henry softly exclaimed, even flinching as he learned she was watching him. Feeling the most blindest, and incomplete of men, he drew his knuckles over both eyes and with stifled feelings, he let out a trembling breath. 'Sorry I-I di'nt mean .. y'just caught me out is all.'

Sentenced to what felt like an eternal childhood, he sniffled and took a moment out to gather his mind, destroyed by his heart. As tender and touching as it was, he was far too exiled within his own state of grievience to narrate any story to her. 'You're a diamond lass, Kitty ... but, theres not much I can be sayin'. He died, and I got noone else.' Wearily, he shrugged. 'Tha's about it, really.'

The Irishman's voice, which once made of terrible effect, was as sweet as his angelic face. He found the whole scene better already. Kitty, in her grace and strength; and in spite of the mighty struggle by which the girl was subdued, a deep feeling of peace blanked over his controlling sadness. A short, teary smile came over his rather calm face. One that bared the simplcity of his soul, with no false lights.

[LUCY "KITTY" HARRIS]

(Yay for the absence of vomit! No more unnecessarily long and tedious posts! ;D Well, tediousness might be a bit harder to dispel, as evidenced below. )

Disturbing someone in their most human of moments was not a proclivity of Kitty’s. She deemed it best to leave said person be and let them indulge in whatever sorrow or woe they were miserably captivated by. Reason being that she was not very apt at consoling those who were stricken with grief and the vicissitudes of whatever life had wrought. Her memory only stretched back as far as two years, two years of an overwhelming array of cruelties and brutalities, and in that short span she found the task of recollecting genuine consolation in relation to herself exceedingly difficult.

No one ever troubled themselves with her troubles because they were not in pursuit of that unsolicited sentimentality. They sought carnal pleasures and sinful vices, instant gratification and the like. If they wished for emotional attachment, then they would pay her for it, but since no one had ever sunk so low as to venture that with a prostitute, she naturally assumed her role as the sex object and nothing more. When they were spent and their presence was no longer looming, Kitty was the one left behind sullied and pitifully alone. The girl with silky auburn locks and sad green eyes that had darkened as she’d aged. Darkened with what exactly? They were filled with secrets, secrets that even she knew not of, and anguish that blossomed in her irises. Tragedy had chipped away at her and strategically molded her, much like a sculptor did a block of marble. Difference was that she was nothing to be marveled over.

Seeing this as both an opportunity to indulge in unfamiliar tenderness she had been so deprived of and a chance to ease some solace into Henry’s abyss, she seemed visibly more animated than he had seen her before. A chance to be of some vague use in matters that far exceeded her expertise, but she longed to partake in nonetheless. His lack of elucidation discouraged her, however, and her affable smile noticeably faltered, despite her extreme appreciation of his casual compliment. Plausibly, she was not one to receive compliments in any form, genuine or not. Enraptured by the possibility of providing comfort, she had not taken into account that while she was on the desolate and abandoned path towards trust, Henry might not be quite so keen to reciprocate. Granted, they were still strangers, notwithstanding Lucy’s own reservations regarding that title, and expecting him to unload a personal affliction such as the one he was currently suffering through was rather presumptuous and thoughtless of her.

That comment about his situation not warranting much to say was a lie. Not so much a lie, really, but more of a deflection. It was recognizable because she, under certain circumstances, practiced deflection almost as if it were her religion. Fixing her contemplative eyes on his, she conceded that she had seen a glimpse into his soul through his tears, but she was not allowed to dwell there.

“There’s plenty to say, Henry, but I get it,” she finally spoke, understanding and consideration lacing her delicate voice. “It’s still a sore subject for you and unloading on some strange girl you just met isn’t exactly appealing. Never mind the fact that you’re probably not in the right frame of mind or mood to take part in story-time. It’s fine, really,” she assured, a small smile added for emphasis.

When a genuine smile flashed briefly from Henry, her own broadened and her eyes gleamed with the gentle humanity she had convinced herself she’d lost. For someone with such a stunningly tender smile, it seemed a shame he had very few reasons to display it.

Gesturing towards his slightly kindled face, she commented, “See? There’s a lovely smile to counter the tears. Now if we could only find a way to keep it there.” Chuckling softly, Kitty disregarded the fact that she appeared to be making it her unofficial duty to raise Henry’s spirits. However possibly ill-fated, that was not factored into consideration. Neither was the obscure reasoning behind involving herself at all in the first place.