Amory Felix (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fatespoken) wrote2011-06-27 02:14 am
fatespoken) wrote2011-06-27 02:14 am
∞ [ memory theater ] || backdated to sunday night
I.
Red vine flowers spiral and weave through hourglass posts of a marble balustrade, strung beneath the belly of the balcony so as to drip down in a verdant canopy of crimson. A pelican nests comfortably on the white railing, the backdrop of illuminated French windows casting its shadow as a monster on the garden below.
Below, in the midnight dark, is Amory Felix. He holds in one hand, an unmarked white bag, and clasped in the other hand, a pebble.
Click is the sound of a pebble thrown against the French window.
“The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright---"
Another click of a pebble.
“That birds would sing and… and--”
“--think it’s not night,” a voice snaps.
Two of the windows crack open with a marked slam. The golden light reveals Elisa Lowell in all her glory: gym shorts, an old white tank top, and braided red hair trailing just above her stomach.
“Are you trying to be romantic, or intentionally humiliating? The difference is pretty negligible.”
“You won’t pick up your phone,” he replies, “I figured I had to do something absurd.”
She picks up a rock and chucks it at him
“I’m sick of you, Amory Felix”
He winces as it pelts him right in the forehead
“I said I’m sorry—“
“Go away. ”
“I told Erin to call you.”
“Call me and what?” she sounds exasperated, a deeper weariness pulling at her words. “Two hours, Amory. You left me waiting two hours. So I come to your apartment, and what do I see? A drunken asshole wasted on the floor of his own bathroom.”
“I don’t have an excuse,” Amory utters beneath a whisper.
“And I can’t keep dealing with you like this. Not, if you’re still refusing to tell me what’s wrong.”
“There’s no story to it, I promise. It’s just…I’m sorry, Elisa.”
“You didn’t just forget. I know you, Amory Felix. You’re not that stupid.” she accuses him sharply.
Silence rests heavily on the midnight air, and Amory finds himself without the proper words.
“Let me take you somewhere now. It’ll be a late anniversary, but an anniversary nonetheless,” he hesitates, speaking softer. “After that, if you’re done with me, then I’ll understand.”
She examines at him for a long minute, day-old anger still simmering beneath the heat of her stare. Fingers curl against the balustrade railing, and as perfect as a refusal sounds, Elisa still finds herself facing uncertainty.
“I’m not getting my hopes up.”
Being with Amory means to be cast adrift by the same headwinds of a misaligned destiny that forces a normal man to face the absurdity of a world with its secrets only half-buried. Doldrums don’t exist when one loves a child of Fate, and Elisa understands this, but she knows Amory even more, enough to realize that he is too weak to be more than human.
Is a life with Amory Felix worth being pulled into that same inescapable self-destructive pit? Elisa continues to pin him down with a searing glare, ambivalence manifest in the nervous tap of her fingers against the balustrade railing. Eventually, after a few tense seconds, her fondness for him supplants uncertainty.
Heading to the side of the balcony, Elisa pulls free an old rope-ladder from a tangle of vines, and climbs down, rung by rung, to plop herself right in front of Amory. He doesn’t approach her right away, giving Elisa her space while he rummages through the unmarked bag.
From the bag, he produces an olive safari hat, and from beneath that hat, a traditional red-checkered, wicker-basket picnic setup. He offers the hat to Elisa, who accepts it suspiciously, her question suggested in the quirk of an eyebrow.
“Close your eyes,” Amory whispers, wrapping Elisa’s right hand in his own as he waits for her.
Amory then shuts his eyes, and the scene blinks out into darkness, only to reappear in the passing of a minute, night suddenly replaced by the warm sunlight of an emerging dawn. In front of them, tall grass stretches far off into a limitless skyline, while the outline of thick forest borders parallel to where they stand. Not too far in the distance is a herd of wild gazelle, prancing into the air like a team of synchronized jumpers.
"You've got to be kidding me," Elisa glares at Amory, while leaning her hips into his, "This is absolutely called cheating. "
II.
Glass mirrors cloud up steamy and hot as shower water falls like the patter of rain. Beneath a white ceramic sink, wedged between cracked a toilet, Amory Felix sits with his knees pulled to his chest, gouging crimson half-moons into his temples with his nails.
"Ahhhhhh.."
Like some mangled doll, Amory appears to crumple into himself. Hands shift to his shoulders, chin to knees, knees to chest. From between his teeth escapes another groan, and like a blind man, he extends a shaky right hand-- feeling about for something in front of him, reaching and grasping until his nails clip the side of a greenglass bottle. BURNETT’S GIN in bold label lettering.
He tosses back the bottle, nearly drowning himself in it, as streams of clear liquor spill from the corners of his mouth. Spirits to allay his pain, spirits to kill him faster, spirits are the only damn thing he cares about in the world. Amory lays his desperation bare, returning to his drink as quickly as he puts it down.
“Amory.”
The owner of the voice – a tall man with a shock of red hair stands by the doorframe. Ignoring invitations, he crosses the room to crouch beside the brunette. Paint-stained fingers gingerly attempt to coerce the bottle form the brunette's unrelenting grasp.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you fucking touch me."
Amory’s bears his teeth, eyes alight with bright animalistic fever as he pulls away, smashing his head against the ceramic toilet bowl. A resounding clang follows as the toilet shakes from the impact of his skull. But the pain seems inconsequential, for weak hands are still intent on batting the intruder away, a motion that allows the red-haired man the leeway to snatch away the bottle.
“Give it back--"
"You can only have one, Amory. It's either one or the other," the main responds, calmly. He doesn't patronize the brunette, only laying out the honest facts. On the other hand, his expression is worry-stained, brown eyes straining against the weight of the unspoken truth.
"None of your business, I swear..." his threat fades out, as Amory shies away in another paroxysm of pain. He's a pathetic man, Amory thinks, as another cry forces its way from his throat. Pathetic, grotesque.
"Amory, give it to me."
Anger bubbles up from the depths of delirium, of an intensity that one could believe would materialize and actually penetrate in Amory's glare. Varicolored light and pain, a bright haze sears his sight. He pulls away defensively, then reaching into his pocket to produce a secret treasure: an orange cylinder of pills cradled between his fingers. But before he can unscrew the cap, stronger hands snatch it away, prying Amory's fingers apart as if a chinese finger trap.
"You don't understand! You can't possibly imagine--" he yells, coming at Erin with his nails. He grabs at Erin's arms, but the taller man pulls away, sending Amory toppling into him. Even on top of him, he still tries to grab for it, unable to reach the bottle raised high above the man's head. "I can make you, you know. All-- All I have to do is say it and it's mine--"
Breath escapes him in short, sharp spurts, and his struggles come to an end. Every motion feels like a knifethrust, to the point where he gives up on moving, laying on top of him in pitiable shame. Forfeit is too easy a word, but ease is always the best route for a coward. It just hurts too much to move.
A hand hovers over his cheek, implying that the owner means to brush the sweat from his face. Amory won't stand for it.
"Don't touch me."
Erin nods and pulls Amory up, gently, leaning him against the tile. He settles there, eyes flickering from a loathing stare to a half-lidded exhaustion. His fingers return to digging half moons into the flesh of his palm.
"I told you not to come in here."
"Right. I'll just be in here when they need me identify the corpse."
"At least spare me the dregs of my pride."
The other man says nothing, though he seems like he'd like to-- opening his mouth, then shutting it into a tight line. In silence, he sits there Indian-style as a sentry. The other man just looks like he's about to fall apart.
"Do you want anything?"
"Fuck you."
Erin nods again, pulling himself off the ground and walking toward the door. Looking back, he seems wary-- indecisive, a nagging thought biting at the edge of his mind, unable to find the words to convey it.
"Good night, then."
Red vine flowers spiral and weave through hourglass posts of a marble balustrade, strung beneath the belly of the balcony so as to drip down in a verdant canopy of crimson. A pelican nests comfortably on the white railing, the backdrop of illuminated French windows casting its shadow as a monster on the garden below.
Below, in the midnight dark, is Amory Felix. He holds in one hand, an unmarked white bag, and clasped in the other hand, a pebble.
Click is the sound of a pebble thrown against the French window.
“The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright---"
Another click of a pebble.
“That birds would sing and… and--”
“--think it’s not night,” a voice snaps.
Two of the windows crack open with a marked slam. The golden light reveals Elisa Lowell in all her glory: gym shorts, an old white tank top, and braided red hair trailing just above her stomach.
“Are you trying to be romantic, or intentionally humiliating? The difference is pretty negligible.”
“You won’t pick up your phone,” he replies, “I figured I had to do something absurd.”
She picks up a rock and chucks it at him
“I’m sick of you, Amory Felix”
He winces as it pelts him right in the forehead
“I said I’m sorry—“
“Go away. ”
“I told Erin to call you.”
“Call me and what?” she sounds exasperated, a deeper weariness pulling at her words. “Two hours, Amory. You left me waiting two hours. So I come to your apartment, and what do I see? A drunken asshole wasted on the floor of his own bathroom.”
“I don’t have an excuse,” Amory utters beneath a whisper.
“And I can’t keep dealing with you like this. Not, if you’re still refusing to tell me what’s wrong.”
“There’s no story to it, I promise. It’s just…I’m sorry, Elisa.”
“You didn’t just forget. I know you, Amory Felix. You’re not that stupid.” she accuses him sharply.
Silence rests heavily on the midnight air, and Amory finds himself without the proper words.
“Let me take you somewhere now. It’ll be a late anniversary, but an anniversary nonetheless,” he hesitates, speaking softer. “After that, if you’re done with me, then I’ll understand.”
She examines at him for a long minute, day-old anger still simmering beneath the heat of her stare. Fingers curl against the balustrade railing, and as perfect as a refusal sounds, Elisa still finds herself facing uncertainty.
“I’m not getting my hopes up.”
Being with Amory means to be cast adrift by the same headwinds of a misaligned destiny that forces a normal man to face the absurdity of a world with its secrets only half-buried. Doldrums don’t exist when one loves a child of Fate, and Elisa understands this, but she knows Amory even more, enough to realize that he is too weak to be more than human.
Is a life with Amory Felix worth being pulled into that same inescapable self-destructive pit? Elisa continues to pin him down with a searing glare, ambivalence manifest in the nervous tap of her fingers against the balustrade railing. Eventually, after a few tense seconds, her fondness for him supplants uncertainty.
Heading to the side of the balcony, Elisa pulls free an old rope-ladder from a tangle of vines, and climbs down, rung by rung, to plop herself right in front of Amory. He doesn’t approach her right away, giving Elisa her space while he rummages through the unmarked bag.
From the bag, he produces an olive safari hat, and from beneath that hat, a traditional red-checkered, wicker-basket picnic setup. He offers the hat to Elisa, who accepts it suspiciously, her question suggested in the quirk of an eyebrow.
“Close your eyes,” Amory whispers, wrapping Elisa’s right hand in his own as he waits for her.
Amory then shuts his eyes, and the scene blinks out into darkness, only to reappear in the passing of a minute, night suddenly replaced by the warm sunlight of an emerging dawn. In front of them, tall grass stretches far off into a limitless skyline, while the outline of thick forest borders parallel to where they stand. Not too far in the distance is a herd of wild gazelle, prancing into the air like a team of synchronized jumpers.
"You've got to be kidding me," Elisa glares at Amory, while leaning her hips into his, "This is absolutely called cheating. "
II.
Glass mirrors cloud up steamy and hot as shower water falls like the patter of rain. Beneath a white ceramic sink, wedged between cracked a toilet, Amory Felix sits with his knees pulled to his chest, gouging crimson half-moons into his temples with his nails.
"Ahhhhhh.."
Like some mangled doll, Amory appears to crumple into himself. Hands shift to his shoulders, chin to knees, knees to chest. From between his teeth escapes another groan, and like a blind man, he extends a shaky right hand-- feeling about for something in front of him, reaching and grasping until his nails clip the side of a greenglass bottle. BURNETT’S GIN in bold label lettering.
He tosses back the bottle, nearly drowning himself in it, as streams of clear liquor spill from the corners of his mouth. Spirits to allay his pain, spirits to kill him faster, spirits are the only damn thing he cares about in the world. Amory lays his desperation bare, returning to his drink as quickly as he puts it down.
“Amory.”
The owner of the voice – a tall man with a shock of red hair stands by the doorframe. Ignoring invitations, he crosses the room to crouch beside the brunette. Paint-stained fingers gingerly attempt to coerce the bottle form the brunette's unrelenting grasp.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you fucking touch me."
Amory’s bears his teeth, eyes alight with bright animalistic fever as he pulls away, smashing his head against the ceramic toilet bowl. A resounding clang follows as the toilet shakes from the impact of his skull. But the pain seems inconsequential, for weak hands are still intent on batting the intruder away, a motion that allows the red-haired man the leeway to snatch away the bottle.
“Give it back--"
"You can only have one, Amory. It's either one or the other," the main responds, calmly. He doesn't patronize the brunette, only laying out the honest facts. On the other hand, his expression is worry-stained, brown eyes straining against the weight of the unspoken truth.
"None of your business, I swear..." his threat fades out, as Amory shies away in another paroxysm of pain. He's a pathetic man, Amory thinks, as another cry forces its way from his throat. Pathetic, grotesque.
"Amory, give it to me."
Anger bubbles up from the depths of delirium, of an intensity that one could believe would materialize and actually penetrate in Amory's glare. Varicolored light and pain, a bright haze sears his sight. He pulls away defensively, then reaching into his pocket to produce a secret treasure: an orange cylinder of pills cradled between his fingers. But before he can unscrew the cap, stronger hands snatch it away, prying Amory's fingers apart as if a chinese finger trap.
"You don't understand! You can't possibly imagine--" he yells, coming at Erin with his nails. He grabs at Erin's arms, but the taller man pulls away, sending Amory toppling into him. Even on top of him, he still tries to grab for it, unable to reach the bottle raised high above the man's head. "I can make you, you know. All-- All I have to do is say it and it's mine--"
Breath escapes him in short, sharp spurts, and his struggles come to an end. Every motion feels like a knifethrust, to the point where he gives up on moving, laying on top of him in pitiable shame. Forfeit is too easy a word, but ease is always the best route for a coward. It just hurts too much to move.
A hand hovers over his cheek, implying that the owner means to brush the sweat from his face. Amory won't stand for it.
"Don't touch me."
Erin nods and pulls Amory up, gently, leaning him against the tile. He settles there, eyes flickering from a loathing stare to a half-lidded exhaustion. His fingers return to digging half moons into the flesh of his palm.
"I told you not to come in here."
"Right. I'll just be in here when they need me identify the corpse."
"At least spare me the dregs of my pride."
The other man says nothing, though he seems like he'd like to-- opening his mouth, then shutting it into a tight line. In silence, he sits there Indian-style as a sentry. The other man just looks like he's about to fall apart.
"Do you want anything?"
"Fuck you."
Erin nods again, pulling himself off the ground and walking toward the door. Looking back, he seems wary-- indecisive, a nagging thought biting at the edge of his mind, unable to find the words to convey it.
"Good night, then."
audio
audio
I'm not. I just wanted to check on you. I'm allowed to do that, right?
audio
audio
audio
audio; 1/2
[She could lie and say she didn't see the memories. She could bite down on her tongue and keep the questions to herself. She's always left with more questions than answers in this bloody place, what makes this moment any different?]
I'm sorry, though. Out of all the curses, this one's... [She stops herself again. Telling him things he already knows all too well doesn't help. Maybe she should go.]
audio
She's really pretty, Amory.
audio; | 1/2
It isn't my first.
audio; | 2/2
audio; 1/2
I'll pretend I didn't see anything, if you'd rather.
audio;
audio;
You? [ Genuine surprise. ] What would she say to you?
audio;
[Ginny pauses, trying to recall the brief conversation from a year ago. Last summer was full of... so many things, mostly bad, so remembering one good day out of the rest isn't too difficult.]
Arnold—my pygmy puff. She thought he was cute. And something about liking spiders, though I could be making that up.
audio;
She kept a box full of tarantulas in grade school.
audio; | 2/2
I don't really want to talk, Ginny.
audio;
Alright.
[Pause.]
I know we aren't, you know. Close. But if you need anything.