(no subject)
Dec. 31st, 2017 09:03 pmJanuary 1st, 2018:
Part of Melanie is sad to miss the New Year's festivities. But she's seen the tree lighting ceremony, and doesn't really think she'll be missing too much. Besides, she doesn't want Newt or James to have to bespell her just so the crowds won't get too overwhelming.
That it's cold makes a difference, too. She doesn't really feel it, but when it gets very cold, like it is now, she's noticed that she starts to slow down a little. She isn't sure what hungries do in regions where it gets this cold, but she knows if anyone saw her slowing down too much, they'd just fret and bring her back inside, anyway.
It's not as if she doesn't like spending time in the Nook. The holiday decorations are still up, and they still look marvelous. She's perfectly happy to just snuggle up with a pile of books.
The books are so absorbing that she completely forgets to mark the official passing of the year. She doesn't watch the clock, she doesn't count down. But midnight still ends up being impossible to miss, because everything changes, all in a rush.
It feels a little like magic, the way her senses are suddenly muted. It's not that she can't smell, or hear, just that she can't smell or hear as much as before. She has to take a few deep breaths just to confirm that she can still smell anything at all, but the sharp pine scent of the tree is still there, and the lingering smells from Newt and James's dinner. To her considerable surprise, those scents, though faint, are more tempting than they've ever been before.
Melanie gets to her feet, frowning as she does so. She feels... heavy. Or heavier, anyway. She shifts her weight experimentally, then takes a few slow steps towards the kitchen. Her body still seems to be working like it should, but it also feels different in myriad ways she finds difficult to place. It isn't until she sets her hand on her own belly, patting herself as if to make sure she's all there, that she realizes she feels warm. Not safe-inside warm, but warmer-than-the-room warm.
She starts to get an inkling, then, of what this might mean, but it's so hard to believe that she shakes her head in automatic denial. Even Newt and James, with all their magic, can't fix her. They can make a broom fly, but they can't make her what she's not.
She's still standing there, bewildered, when someone finally walks into the room. "I think something's wrong with me," she says.
Part of Melanie is sad to miss the New Year's festivities. But she's seen the tree lighting ceremony, and doesn't really think she'll be missing too much. Besides, she doesn't want Newt or James to have to bespell her just so the crowds won't get too overwhelming.
That it's cold makes a difference, too. She doesn't really feel it, but when it gets very cold, like it is now, she's noticed that she starts to slow down a little. She isn't sure what hungries do in regions where it gets this cold, but she knows if anyone saw her slowing down too much, they'd just fret and bring her back inside, anyway.
It's not as if she doesn't like spending time in the Nook. The holiday decorations are still up, and they still look marvelous. She's perfectly happy to just snuggle up with a pile of books.
The books are so absorbing that she completely forgets to mark the official passing of the year. She doesn't watch the clock, she doesn't count down. But midnight still ends up being impossible to miss, because everything changes, all in a rush.
It feels a little like magic, the way her senses are suddenly muted. It's not that she can't smell, or hear, just that she can't smell or hear as much as before. She has to take a few deep breaths just to confirm that she can still smell anything at all, but the sharp pine scent of the tree is still there, and the lingering smells from Newt and James's dinner. To her considerable surprise, those scents, though faint, are more tempting than they've ever been before.
Melanie gets to her feet, frowning as she does so. She feels... heavy. Or heavier, anyway. She shifts her weight experimentally, then takes a few slow steps towards the kitchen. Her body still seems to be working like it should, but it also feels different in myriad ways she finds difficult to place. It isn't until she sets her hand on her own belly, patting herself as if to make sure she's all there, that she realizes she feels warm. Not safe-inside warm, but warmer-than-the-room warm.
She starts to get an inkling, then, of what this might mean, but it's so hard to believe that she shakes her head in automatic denial. Even Newt and James, with all their magic, can't fix her. They can make a broom fly, but they can't make her what she's not.
She's still standing there, bewildered, when someone finally walks into the room. "I think something's wrong with me," she says.
(no subject)
Aug. 21st, 2017 08:21 pmMelanie stays in the woods, because she doesn't know what else to do. Nothing else is safe.
If Darrow has Hungries, she hasn't seen or smelled them. There probably aren't any -- otherwise, Sara wouldn't have been so surprised by her. And she would have been scared of her sooner, when it would have done her more good.
She keeps thinking about how scared Sara looked. She keeps thinking of how stupid it was to think this might just be a dream, or that she might not hurt people here.
Because she doesn't know how she got to Darrow, she can't figure out how to get back to London. She steers clear of houses, but she does try taking sudden, deliberate steps between two tree trunks, or into sunny clearings, to see if that will knock everything sideways again. It doesn't.
She keeps the mask on all the time, despite her solitude, because she doesn't want to take even the smallest chance of another outbreak. What if someone surprises her? It doesn't seem likely, but it could happen. She'll take it off when she needs to hunt, but that's all.
It feels strange to be taking such care with herself. Like a step backwards. But what she did in London made sense. In many ways, it was already done. Darrow isn't broken down like London, though, and there are people here who weren't born to this. Just because she finished it doesn't mean she wants to start it.
If that's what Darrow wanted her to do, it wouldn't have given her the mask in the first place.
The good news is that there are plenty of animals she can hunt in the woods. And as accustomed as she is to shelter and company, as much as she likes those things, she knows she can live without them. So she keeps on the move, staying as far from the city and its people as she can, killing time until she knows she has to hunt.
Hunting is something she puts off for as long as she can. The only time she lets her guard down is right after she's eaten, when she can't help it. It worries her to think that someone might come across her during that little stretch when she isn't paying attention, but there's not much she can do about it except hunt away from people and try to get her mask back on before she dozes off. At least if someone does find her, they'll find her when she's not hungry. It'll make it easier to get away without hurting them.
She means to hunt at night, to make it even less likely that anyone will find her, but she's never hunted in the woods before, and it's hard. There are more places for animals to run to, and fewer places where she might corner them. None of them are slow city creatures; they see her and they run, and they know how to run through forests better than she does.
By the time morning breaks, Melanie's getting desperate. She's made her way up a mountain, where there are some open slopes that have been cleared of trees. It's on one of these that she finally manages to catch a rabbit. Her hunger is bad enough that it's all she can do to make it to the treeline before crouching and tearing into her prize, finally, finally. Earlier, she had the presence of mind to slide her mask up her arm, where she wouldn't lose it; now, she doesn't remember to put it back on. She just slumps slowly to the ground, blood all down her front, the hunger reassuring her that she's all right, that nothing can harm her, that she has everything she needs and is perfectly safe.
She can rest.
If Darrow has Hungries, she hasn't seen or smelled them. There probably aren't any -- otherwise, Sara wouldn't have been so surprised by her. And she would have been scared of her sooner, when it would have done her more good.
She keeps thinking about how scared Sara looked. She keeps thinking of how stupid it was to think this might just be a dream, or that she might not hurt people here.
Because she doesn't know how she got to Darrow, she can't figure out how to get back to London. She steers clear of houses, but she does try taking sudden, deliberate steps between two tree trunks, or into sunny clearings, to see if that will knock everything sideways again. It doesn't.
She keeps the mask on all the time, despite her solitude, because she doesn't want to take even the smallest chance of another outbreak. What if someone surprises her? It doesn't seem likely, but it could happen. She'll take it off when she needs to hunt, but that's all.
It feels strange to be taking such care with herself. Like a step backwards. But what she did in London made sense. In many ways, it was already done. Darrow isn't broken down like London, though, and there are people here who weren't born to this. Just because she finished it doesn't mean she wants to start it.
If that's what Darrow wanted her to do, it wouldn't have given her the mask in the first place.
The good news is that there are plenty of animals she can hunt in the woods. And as accustomed as she is to shelter and company, as much as she likes those things, she knows she can live without them. So she keeps on the move, staying as far from the city and its people as she can, killing time until she knows she has to hunt.
Hunting is something she puts off for as long as she can. The only time she lets her guard down is right after she's eaten, when she can't help it. It worries her to think that someone might come across her during that little stretch when she isn't paying attention, but there's not much she can do about it except hunt away from people and try to get her mask back on before she dozes off. At least if someone does find her, they'll find her when she's not hungry. It'll make it easier to get away without hurting them.
She means to hunt at night, to make it even less likely that anyone will find her, but she's never hunted in the woods before, and it's hard. There are more places for animals to run to, and fewer places where she might corner them. None of them are slow city creatures; they see her and they run, and they know how to run through forests better than she does.
By the time morning breaks, Melanie's getting desperate. She's made her way up a mountain, where there are some open slopes that have been cleared of trees. It's on one of these that she finally manages to catch a rabbit. Her hunger is bad enough that it's all she can do to make it to the treeline before crouching and tearing into her prize, finally, finally. Earlier, she had the presence of mind to slide her mask up her arm, where she wouldn't lose it; now, she doesn't remember to put it back on. She just slumps slowly to the ground, blood all down her front, the hunger reassuring her that she's all right, that nothing can harm her, that she has everything she needs and is perfectly safe.
She can rest.
(no subject)
Aug. 20th, 2017 07:44 pmMelanie likes to explore the suburbs. Sometimes she looks for food for Miss Justineau; sometimes she looks for books for everyone. And sometimes, she just looks: at the furniture, at the family photos, at all the pieces of the way things used to be.
Clean, mostly. That's how it looks in the pictures. It makes her remember the bunker, and how tidy things were there. Messy is more interesting, but the value of tidiness hasn't been entirely drummed out of her. She thinks it would be good to have a safe, dry place to keep all the books she's been collecting. And though none of the houses are hers, none of them are anyone else's either. There is no one else to claim them.
She likes staying close to Miss Justineau, but maybe later, she should pick a house and make it tidy -- a place to keep the things she needs.
There's no hurry, and these are idle thoughts. Melanie's only half-thinking them when she steps out of someone's house and into their overgrown back garden. That's when everything shifts: the angle of the sun in the sky, the pitch of the droning insects. Melanie goes still as the world resettles around her into something new, and different, and wrong.
She's in a field. There are a few distant houses in one direction. She pivots on unsteady legs, feeling that same dizziness she did when she bolted out of the truck and the whole world was out there, stretching out to distances her eyes had never measured before. But this isn't all new: she knows forest and trees and field. She knows building and skyscraper, though the skyline doesn't look like any part of London she's seen before.
"Greater London has thirty-two boroughs," she reminds herself, "and an area of 1,572 square kilometers." She remembers that from her lessons. It means that London is big, and she might not be as lost as she feels.
... How did she get here, though? Sometimes she loses herself a little when she's hunting, but she's never run so far without realizing it. And if she was hunting, she didn't catch anything. Her chin is clean and dry, and she doesn't feel that sleepy-satisfied way she does after she's eaten.
She looks back to the houses. Houses have carports, and carport have cars, and cars have maps. Maps are important, and Miss Justineau has already taught her how to find where Rosie is parked. If Melanie can find a map, maybe she can figure out which borough she's in, and how to get back. Melanie doesn't see any Hungries, but she starts toward the nearest house slowly, anyway, not wanting to wake any that she might come across.
It's because she's moving carefully that she sees the mask before she steps on it. It's just like hers: elastic straps and plastic buckles clinging to a piece of clear plastic, with holes at eyes, nose, and mouth. Enough to breathe, not enough to bite through. Melanie picks it up, turning it over and wondering how it got out here. It looks the way nothing else really looks anymore: clean. Like it just fell out of a convoy, except those shouldn't be happening anymore.
Melanie frowns, then continues toward the house even more cautiously, the mask clutched in her hands.
Clean, mostly. That's how it looks in the pictures. It makes her remember the bunker, and how tidy things were there. Messy is more interesting, but the value of tidiness hasn't been entirely drummed out of her. She thinks it would be good to have a safe, dry place to keep all the books she's been collecting. And though none of the houses are hers, none of them are anyone else's either. There is no one else to claim them.
She likes staying close to Miss Justineau, but maybe later, she should pick a house and make it tidy -- a place to keep the things she needs.
There's no hurry, and these are idle thoughts. Melanie's only half-thinking them when she steps out of someone's house and into their overgrown back garden. That's when everything shifts: the angle of the sun in the sky, the pitch of the droning insects. Melanie goes still as the world resettles around her into something new, and different, and wrong.
She's in a field. There are a few distant houses in one direction. She pivots on unsteady legs, feeling that same dizziness she did when she bolted out of the truck and the whole world was out there, stretching out to distances her eyes had never measured before. But this isn't all new: she knows forest and trees and field. She knows building and skyscraper, though the skyline doesn't look like any part of London she's seen before.
"Greater London has thirty-two boroughs," she reminds herself, "and an area of 1,572 square kilometers." She remembers that from her lessons. It means that London is big, and she might not be as lost as she feels.
... How did she get here, though? Sometimes she loses herself a little when she's hunting, but she's never run so far without realizing it. And if she was hunting, she didn't catch anything. Her chin is clean and dry, and she doesn't feel that sleepy-satisfied way she does after she's eaten.
She looks back to the houses. Houses have carports, and carport have cars, and cars have maps. Maps are important, and Miss Justineau has already taught her how to find where Rosie is parked. If Melanie can find a map, maybe she can figure out which borough she's in, and how to get back. Melanie doesn't see any Hungries, but she starts toward the nearest house slowly, anyway, not wanting to wake any that she might come across.
It's because she's moving carefully that she sees the mask before she steps on it. It's just like hers: elastic straps and plastic buckles clinging to a piece of clear plastic, with holes at eyes, nose, and mouth. Enough to breathe, not enough to bite through. Melanie picks it up, turning it over and wondering how it got out here. It looks the way nothing else really looks anymore: clean. Like it just fell out of a convoy, except those shouldn't be happening anymore.
Melanie frowns, then continues toward the house even more cautiously, the mask clutched in her hands.
Postscript
Nov. 11th, 2014 09:44 pmMelanie wakes with a start, feeling anxious and bereft. Her hand gropes blindly for fur or feathers, convinced there ought to be something - someone - there with her, but she only finds empty sheets. Sitting up slowly, she takes in the predictably empty apartment with a little frown. It's not uncommon for Aziraphale to be out when she wakes in the morning, but she wishes he was here. Not quite badly enough to call to him, but enough so that rather than get up, she stays in bed, curling back up under the covers and clutching onto her pillow.
Big Applesauce Application
Oct. 10th, 2014 07:51 pmThe Player
Name/nickname: Carrie/Platy
Age: older than the hills
Pronouns: female
Contact: AIM, PM, email, what have you
Experience: I am all over this business.
Currently played characters: Daine, Sunshine, Jodie/Aiden, Jennifer, and a host of dream-crashers.
The Character
DW account:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
all_the_gifts
Name: Melanie
Alias: none
Age/Birthdate: approximately ten years old, birthdate unknown
Species: generally human with a fair amount of Ophiocordyceps thrown in for laughs. In her world's terms, a 'hungry.'
Canon: The Girl With All The Gifts by M.R. Carey
Canon point: post-novel
Played By: Dakota Fanning
Icon:
( cut for length )
Anything else?
Name/nickname: Carrie/Platy
Age: older than the hills
Pronouns: female
Contact: AIM, PM, email, what have you
Experience: I am all over this business.
Currently played characters: Daine, Sunshine, Jodie/Aiden, Jennifer, and a host of dream-crashers.
The Character
DW account:
all_the_giftsName: Melanie
Alias: none
Age/Birthdate: approximately ten years old, birthdate unknown
Species: generally human with a fair amount of Ophiocordyceps thrown in for laughs. In her world's terms, a 'hungry.'
Canon: The Girl With All The Gifts by M.R. Carey
Canon point: post-novel
Played By: Dakota Fanning
Icon:
( cut for length )
Anything else?
Permissions Post
Oct. 10th, 2014 05:09 pmHow to reach player?
PM: this one, or just pick one of the ladies at random and there's like a 20% chance it's me. And I live within shouting distance of three other players so just do the twilight bark or something. I'm super reachable.
AIM: Platy121
email: cariva02@smumn.edu
[Out Of Character]
Backtagging with this character: Backtag into infinity!
Threadhopping with this character: probably fine, but discuss first
Fourthwalling: Sure.
Canon puncture: Psh no one knows who she is.
Offensive subjects: none that I can think of.
[In Character]
Sexual/romantic orientation: she's ten.
Hugging this character: probably fine unless it's really, really not; she'll keep you posted.
Flirting with this character: she's ten.
Giving this character a kiss: she's ten.
Something more intimate: SHE'S TEN.
Relationships: SHEEEEE'S TENNNN.
Dub-con/non-con/sexual assault: TENNNNNNNNNNN!
Fighting with this character: she is super scrappy, be warned. And also bitey. You really don't want to get bitten by this child.
Injuring this character: she can take a fair amount of damage, but her blood is a hell of a biohazard, so we'd want to discuss the particulars.
Killing this character: nuuuuuu
Using telepathy/mind reading abilities on this character: her brain is WEIRD but go for it.
PM: this one, or just pick one of the ladies at random and there's like a 20% chance it's me. And I live within shouting distance of three other players so just do the twilight bark or something. I'm super reachable.
AIM: Platy121
email: cariva02@smumn.edu
[Out Of Character]
Backtagging with this character: Backtag into infinity!
Threadhopping with this character: probably fine, but discuss first
Fourthwalling: Sure.
Canon puncture: Psh no one knows who she is.
Offensive subjects: none that I can think of.
[In Character]
Sexual/romantic orientation: she's ten.
Hugging this character: probably fine unless it's really, really not; she'll keep you posted.
Flirting with this character: she's ten.
Giving this character a kiss: she's ten.
Something more intimate: SHE'S TEN.
Relationships: SHEEEEE'S TENNNN.
Dub-con/non-con/sexual assault: TENNNNNNNNNNN!
Fighting with this character: she is super scrappy, be warned. And also bitey. You really don't want to get bitten by this child.
Injuring this character: she can take a fair amount of damage, but her blood is a hell of a biohazard, so we'd want to discuss the particulars.
Killing this character: nuuuuuu
Using telepathy/mind reading abilities on this character: her brain is WEIRD but go for it.
