amityville_sweetheart: (Default)
The keys jingle in the lock as Corrine opens the door to her apartment. Kinsey and Ninnyhammer are waiting patiently by the door as she steps inside, and she drops her bag, picking up Ninny and cuddling her as she walks towards the answering machine.

The red blinking light indicating messages is nowhere to be seen, and she unconsciously breathes a sigh of relief. The little kitten curls in her arms, burying her head against Corrine's shirt. "Hey, baby. Missed you, too," she coos, giving the cat a little scritch on the head before putting her down.

It's been a long, long two months. She's not sure where to start putting her life back together... it's like picking up your belongings after a tornado. Some things are salvagable, others aren't, others you just realize you didn't want in the first place. She's used to this by now, though-- story of her life. Pick up the pieces, start anew. Pick up the pieces, start anew. Pick up the pieces, have a good long bender about it all, start anew.

She showers, eats, and tends to the apartment. The cats are fed, the catpan is clean, and there's a box on her couch full of Caleb's clothes and various other belongings he's left at her place.

There was no small feeling of regret as she packed the box. He needed her right now, and she needed to not be around him. There was just too much that had happened, and she wasn't sure how she felt about all of it besides being angry. That would have to pass first before anything else.

Corrine had decided at some point over the last few days that she was going back to Kenton. It was cheaper than the apartment in downtown Metropolis, it was secluded and quiet, and the house had been sitting empty for too long. From there, she'd work out what next.

Humming to herself, she begins to pack boxes.
amityville_sweetheart: (Miss you - Caleb/Corrine)
A plain, sealed white envelope, sitting atop the bed in Corrine's JSA suite. On the front of the envelope in wide, looping cursive it reads: "In case I don't come back... to the care of Ms. Amelia Zukov, Metropolis, DE"

Inside, a neatly thrice-folded letter waits to be found and delivered... or not.

Letters from the damned... )


Jan. 2nd, 2006 04:14 am
amityville_sweetheart: (Default)
Scared of my winamp now. In the middle of a Roy/Donna conversation, and Tara/Corrine as well, with the backing of Descent, in quick succession, I get:

My Chemical Romance The Ghost of You

Audioslave Light my way

Nine Inch Nails We're in this together now

Avril Lavigne Things I'll never say

Little freaked out, now, yeah, since it's my entire playlist of about 300 set to totally random.

OOC Meme!

Dec. 29th, 2005 11:26 pm
amityville_sweetheart: (Default)
Ganked from [ profile] deadmanbrand

Click here.
Take the quiz.
Post your results.
See damage_girl's results. )


Dec. 28th, 2005 09:05 pm
amityville_sweetheart: (Miss you - Caleb/Corrine)
She is looking through a window.

She stands on her tip-toes, looking through it. There’s a parlor, and a little girl and a woman sitting at a fireplace. She squints. The little girl has bandages on her hand. The woman is crying. “Again,” the woman says.

“Outside are the dogs and the sorcerors and the immoral persons and the murderers and the idolators, and everyone who loves and practices lying,” the little girl answers.


“Outside are the dogs and the sorcerors and the immoral persons and the murderers and the idolators, and everyone who loves and practices lying.”

“The -what-?” the woman snaps.

“The sorcerors,” the girl answers. There are tears in her eyes now.

“The who, Therese?”

“The sorcerors,” Corrine finds herself answering.

The woman is now throwing books into the fire. Alice in Wonderland. The Hobbit. The Wizard of Oz. The Silver Chair. The Secret Garden. The fire licks around their pages, consuming them. Corrine is mesmerized.

A noise stirs her from her sleep. She sits up, looking around. The room is dark, then she suddenly remembers. She was at home, after the mess with the Al Koyet-- finally. Upon arrival, she'd collected all the darker-shaded curtains she could find, and almost every blanket got unfolded and was now covering the windows. She'd unplugged all the clocks as well as her home phone and cell phone. Any TV station that covered news got temporarily blocked from the set, and even her JSA communicator was turned off. If it was really tragic and important, they could come drag her back kicking and screaming. But right now, her plan was to just make the entire world go away for a few days.

She hears the familiar sound of Caleb's footfalls approaching the bedroom, and despite the lack of light, she turns towards the door. "Hey, baby." A long, long yawn. "What time is it?" Waving a hand frantically, she cuts him off before he can completely answer. "No, nevermind! Forget I asked. Don't wanna know."

Caleb chuckles, and she can feel him sit down next to her. He leans down and gives her a quick kiss, and then there's a warm mug in her hands. "Drink this. You need the strength."

Sniffing it quizzically, she hesitates to drink. "What is it?" It's not that she doesn't trust him, but, well... she had brothers growing up. You never drink or eat anything asked of you before testing it first.

"Tomato soup," he says simply, and she hears him taking a sip of his own.

Satisfied, Corrine takes a tenative sip. She didn't even know she had tomato soup in her cabinets. "Needs milk," she says tiredly, then sets the mug aside and hugs him around the waist. "So, how long do you think we've been here?"

There's silence for a few moments, then Caleb leans over to set his own mug on the nightstand. "Twenty four hours, at least. I know you slept for about twelve."

"You didn't sleep?" Corrine remarks curiously, snuggling back into her pillows and blankets. She'd noticed him stirring shortly after she'd fallen asleep, but she didn't think much of it. She'd been too tired to think much of anything. Unconsciously, she'd reached over and patted his back reassuringly, but that was the last thing she could remember before sleep overcame her.

"There's a lot on my mind," he says, and he sounds tired. Her brow creases as he continues. "The past few days have been... harrowing. I just need time to wind down, that's all." A kiss on her forehead, and then Caleb's next to her, his head against her shoulder. "Nothing to worry about, I'm sure."

There's a little giggle from her in the darkness, and then the feel of her hand running down his side. "You seemed to take your mind off it all for a couple hours there, at least."

Corrine can see the smile on his face as he looks up at her, a hand slowly trailing down her jaw. "You have that effect on me. Besides, I'm enjoying that I was, uh... pleasantly surprised at you not being dead." Then, in a slightly sadder tone, "And myself, if not for the... state of affairs which established that."

She doesn't really much want to think of that right now, so instead she shifts on the bed to face him. "How long do you think it'll be before someone comes looking for us?"

Another chuckle from Caleb. There could be worse things than this. "Let's just hope it's not angels this time. I, uh... I don't think I'll be happy to be seeing that shrew again anytime soon."

"Haha. You called an angel a shrew," she mocks, beeping his nose. "Guess you're gonna have to go to confession now and everything."

"Or you," he says quietly.

She sits up on an elbow, creasing her brow at him. "What?"

He turns to her, smiling-- crazed, not quite there. "I'm not the one sleeping with demons."

Corrine startles up, finding herself wrapped in sheets and blankets on the floor. She's next to her bed in the JSA Brownstone, staring wildly around. Light is coming through the windows. She rubs her head, feeling the hangover already.

She pulls herself to her feet shakily, looking about the room. In seconds she's running around the suite, gathering the alcohol and pouring it down the drain in the bathroom sink. For several minutes she stands at the sink, empty bottles on all sides, staring blearily into the mirror.

The tears start again, and she sinks to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest.
amityville_sweetheart: (Miss you - Caleb/Corrine)
Caleb got away.

I don't know where he is. I don't know what he's doing. I think that's the worst part about this.

It's going to sound demented and twisted, but I loved it when he first started getting sick. Maybe that's why I didn't say anything. I could account for every hour of his day in the beginning. Work, and then he'd come straight home to me. Days and days where it was just him and me. We'd cook dinner together or make love or sit around on the couch watching a movie or I'd show him my father's card tricks or he'd talk about his college days. The talking... hours and hours we'd just sit curled up in bed and talk about everything, moving from one topic to the next and we never got sick of it. I never got sick of hearing about his life, and he never got sick of hearing about mine.

Oh, God. All those times with him... with that bastard in his head... was he watching us? Watching me, through Caleb's eyes? Our first date together, and the weekend at the beach house, and Thanksgiving at my sister's... did he see all that? Has he seen my life, me, for the past eight months?

It makes me nauseous. I can't even know if this is really him, if the person I've known for over nine months is the man he really is. I'd only even met him a month or so before the incident at Shadowcrest, I can't even say... please, don't let that be the truth. Please, please, please.

Damnit, how could I have been so stupid? For all we know he's out there right now bleeding internally in a slow death, or having a heart attack, or the DEO's trying to track his movements intent on putting a bullet in his brain. I should've said something, to someone... anyone. Something.

I had to be fucking stupid and selfish and childish and want his full fucking attention. I had to be somebody's whole world and I didn't realize the rest of the world was fading away for him, and I was... Jesus, I don't want to cry again. I'm so tired of crying.

It feels like I've been crying for years now, and I sob and I sob and the tears won't come anymore. It's just this bottomless aching, sitting in the dark and holding myself and wishing I hadn't been so stupid. Kicking myself over and over again for being so fucking stupid. He's gonna die. I know it, I know he's gonna die. I feel it. Neron's going to kill him, and he's going to laugh about it, and I didn't say a goddamn word to anyone for almost a month. It's papa and Casey all over again, and I can't do anything about it, I can't turn back the clock and fix everything I did wrong.

I can't go back and make it all right, make it so he never went to Shadowcrest with us, so I never made that phone call. I'm an agent of God, and I can't take back two stupid fucking seconds that it took to dial his number and maybe he wouldn't be trying to kill everybody or going crazy or fucking dying somewhere out of his mind and alone. It would've been our first Christmas together and his presents are sitting wrapped in the hall closet and he may never open them. I was going to make a big dinner with ham and turkey and even let the veggie thing slide because it's fucking Christmas but it's days away now and I don't know where he is or if he's already dead what if we never even find a body oh God I'm crying again.

I don't want this I don't want this I want him back and I'm so so sorry and I wish I'd never even met him because I don't even know if I love him anymore I don't know if he even is the same man I met and I hate that I hate it more than anything I've ever hated in my life the not knowing the sitting up at night and wondering and waiting for him to come back to me to crawl back in bed beside me and this was all a bad dream and he'd be right there and everything would be okay again but even if he comes back I'll never really know if that was him or if it's ever safe with him again or if he's going to stab me in my sleep or strangle me and I can't fix that.

I thought I could fix everything. With mama gone I could make like none of it ever happened, I could just pretend everything was normal and okay and I'd be okay, I'd lead a normal life and nobody would ever know. I'd never be a victim again, I'd never have to be a statistic, another body in the morgue, another college psych class number of the people who fell between the cracks. And now it's all fucked up and I don't know who I am or if I even want to be her anymore, if I'm even capable of being her anymore.

When I stabbed him I finally saw it, finally saw that last bit of him slip away and he looked at me like he didn't know me anymore. I realize we can't ever go back to what we had, not ever. I wasn't trying to kill him, I wasn't, and no one fucking believes me. No one says that but I can see it in their eyes. I lost control, I just wanted to stop him and I was so angry. I didn't mean to...

At night I turn to embrace him and there's no one there. Trevor brought me some things from home, my second pillow that still smells like Caleb, still smells like his hair. I keep waking up, finding myself all wrapped around it and knowing it isn't him and just wishing it was. If he was dead I could deal with that, I could handle that, I've been to enough funerals, done enough signs of the cross for the dead. Dead I can cope with, dead means it's the end.

But he isn't dead and it couldn't be that fucking simple. I can't just say goodbye and mourn and let it be.

It was so easy to think everything would always be the same, that he would always be there. That we'd have this sugary-sweet fairy tale ending, and now I know it's not right. It's fucked up, all fucked up.

I fucked it all up again.
amityville_sweetheart: (Unsaid)
Locked against Caleb.

Something’s wrong.

I can feel this sort of thing in my blood. I don’t know how, I’ve just always had this… this sixth sense. No, it’s not that complex, I guess. It’s just a tense feeling, like something’s out of place and I won’t know what it is until it happens.

I hate this.

Black Canary gets kidnapped, then Sand just gets zapped off into blackness in the middle of the fight, and we get attacked at Thanksgiving dinner (and I manage to knock my own dumb butt out, don’t need any help from the bad guys, thanks). I’m just barely holding onto my job by the skin of my teeth, trying my damnest to stay focused.

Then there’s Caleb. He never sleeps anymore, and then we both spend all day arguing over dumb things that don’t really mean anything because of it. It’s gotten to the point where I’m finding excuses not to be around, and I don’t want things to be like that, but I have absolutely no idea what’s gotten into him. I mean, yeah, sleep deprivation, stress, yadda yadda. But it’s not any of those things.

It’s like… merciful kitten, I can’t believe I’m saying this, it’s like he’s going mad. One minute he’ll be perfectly fine, and the next he’s just… just… it’s not even the angry outbursts. I could handle that.

It’s the way he looks at me anymore, like he’s studying me. And at first, it was just bad dreams, where he’d talk or stir in his sleep. Last night I got kicked, and he was screaming. Just… screaming.

Date someone for six months and you notice little things about them, like the fact that Caleb doesn’t drink coffee. I actually caught him this morning downing two No Dozes and a cup of coffee. He hates the stuff. Hates it.

And I called Louis, and he says I’m making something out of nothing. I mean, I know our jobs require a lot of time, energy, and, well, blood and sleep loss, quite frankly. Is it finally catching up to him? Am I making something out of nothing? I don’t want to be the naggy, over-protective girlfriend, but I feel like if something isn’t done soon he’s going to crash, hard. And this whole mess with me restoring Amelia’s soul hasn’t helped things at all. If anything, he’s become more obsessed with finding a “cure”, and I really don’t have the heart to tell him a second time that there probably isn’t one.

Okay, I’m gonna slow down. One step at a time, right? We’re taking him to a neurologist later this week, and then if that doesn’t do anything, a sleep center. Next is investigating magical causes, and then… then… I don’t know what.

…Maybe thorazine shakes.
amityville_sweetheart: (Default)
Ah, Florida. Warm weather all year long, even in late November. Home of beautiful palm trees, the Mouse, warm, sandy beaches... and bugs big enough to count as the state bird. Ew.

Glancing at the clock, Corrine makes a left at the last light before her sister's house. She'd turned off the heat to the rental car hours ago, and only an hour after that the windows had gone down. It was nice to feel the cool breeze through her hair and not be shivering, but the farther and farther they drove into the warmth of Florida, the more anxious she got. This would be her family's first time meeting Caleb, and his first time meeting them.

If at all possible, she wanted to avoid screaming matches or fist fights, but she had a feeling by the end of the day it'd be inevitable. Just for safety's sake, Corrine had insisted that they stay at the hotel only 20 minutes away. Angela's house was more than big enough to accomodate her and Caleb, but she had a feeling her older sister would probably try and offer them seperate rooms. Not to mention it gave them a place to escape if the family got too unbearable.

Corrine waits patiently at a stop sign before turning into a residential neighborhood. The yards are spacious, every house has two car garages, and there are children playing football in a yard. The driveways are either packed with cars or completely empty, and with a nervous sigh, Corrine pulls the car into the third house on the right.

Turning off the car, she turns to Caleb. "Well, we're here." A nervous smile. "Ready?"
amityville_sweetheart: (Default)
Locked entry:

That's... pretty much what it's been like for me recently.

I have never been so exhausted in my life. Why, exactly, do these things happen to me? Am I just a magnet for bad things?

I feel like I'm in some sort of limbo right now. After mama and the house, and then... I still can't really wrap my brain around it. Someone wants me dead, over something I don't even want in the first place. Dark mage, holy mage, does it really matter?

And it seems everytime Caleb goes to bat he comes back this far from death. I'm wondering just how long it's going to be until I get a rather dramatic "We're very sorry..." talk concerning him. I don't want to think about that, but it seems inevitable eventually. And with this apparent hit out on me now, how am I supposed to feel safe?

I know the JSA would back me up, I know I'd be protected, but you can't protect people all the time. How many heroes have died in the line of duty? Too many to count, I'm sure. These days I'm starting to think I didn't really consider what I was signing up for.

Memories are slowly coming back to me from the other night in the medical lab. I can see Caleb's face in my sleep, I can see his broken body, the look on Mid-Nite's face when he started to get readings. I don't ever want to see that again.

There's also the issue to deal with of all my... secrets. I know Caleb's upset with me for keeping things from him, and while there's still parts of me that love papa and can never really bring myself to hate him for the things he did and the way things happened growing up, there's also a part of me that still knows you have to protect yourself. I'm not sure whether it's become a convenient excuse for my actions anymore or if it's a legitimate feeling, and I hate that. I always felt like I was doing what I had to do, but now I feel like maybe I didn't have to.

I hate doubting myself. I hate that his logic is infalliable, and I hate that I don't really know what I'm doing anymore. Life was simple before all of this. There was no explaining anything to anyone, or having to defend myself. I'm always on the defensive anymore, and while Caleb tries to understand, he really, really doesn't. The argument in the study proved that.

And I don't want this stupid mantle. I don't want it. I didn't want the helm when I had it, and I don't want this. I'm tired of having to pick sides, some stupid war I never wanted to be part of anyway. Caleb can say this holy mage thing is true and factual, but to me it sounds like a real nice story.

What did he think I was going to say, honestly? Gee, thanks for telling me. I'll get right on that battling evil thing, God.

I also haven't said much in the way of how this entire prophecy thing affects Caleb and I. Does this mean we were supposed to meet? Made obvious by its omission, it apparently says nothing about where this leaves us. Us being together is supposed to 'redeem' the line, or some stupid crap like that. Great. Thanks. Really. Stuff like this never ends well, for either party.

Have faith, right? It'll all work out in the end, right? I'm tired of that. Faith in this, faith in that, it didn't save Casey's life. Or papa's. Didn't stop mama from turning us all into fruit baskets with her lies and manipulation and abuse. Where was God when I needed him for all that? Wasn't time yet? Oh, so sorry to have asked, should've known better. God's the friend that only has time for you when he wants something, it seems.

One petty, bitter little man changed the entire history of my family. He did something stupid God didn't like, and now we've all suffered? How does that work? Ten shades of original sin, thanks but no thanks, can I have my childhood back now?

I want this bitterness and anger over everything to end. Heaven's champion. Phft. In case you freaks behind the pearly gates haven't noticed, I'm dating a demon. Oh, wait, you designed it that way. So much for my security in something.

Is it in your plans that I walk away from it all? Would you see it coming if I left the JSA, renounced this stupid title and went on about persuing a normal life? Of course, I wouldn't do that. Not because I don't want to, because lemme tell you, to never have to watch him dying again... No, no, it's because at this point they may be the only people who can protect me. And eventually, I'll have to learn how to protect myself if I want to continue this fine parade.

So, really, I'm pretty fucked.

Thanks, God. Thanks a lot.
amityville_sweetheart: (Default)
Magical supplies, check. Called Trevor. Have contact information for others. Damn, better check your book and make sure... yep. Done. Okay.

Cats are taken care of, got the hired help to be down in Florida when the van gets to Angela. Hopefully I didn't miss anything. Troia and her friend can make free use of the furniture, but the personals had to go. Not that I wanted them myself, anyway. Better than Angela gets them, I'd burn most of it.

Corrine's running off a mental checklist in her mind. She's always been known as one to worry, and this occasion is no different. Everything had to be perfect. Just right. No room for error.

At least Trevor's done. Wish there could've been a way to do it without telling him, but there wasn't. I need him too much on this.

She rushes past the kitchen counter, suddenly stopping and taking a few steps back to scarf down a forkful of her salad. She made it twenty minutes ago, and it's spent most of the time sitting on the counter untouched. Running around like a chicken with your head cut off isn't going to get anything done. You should stop and eat... yeah, right, should.


Sep. 24th, 2005 02:46 am
amityville_sweetheart: (OOC)
[ profile] kielle lost her battle with cancer. I only found out she even had cancer a week ago, because I've been too swamped to check email/journals with any regularlity. And now she's gone.

She's the reason I still read comics.
She's the reason I got into the fandoms.
She's the reason I have friends in so many countries, the reason I've been so many places, met so many people, done so many things.
Without the support of the communities she created and nurtured, I wouldn't be RPing today.
Because of her, I met Paul, and we two met Joe.
Without Paul in my life, there'd be no Harris. My sunshine, my life, my baby.

She started it all for me, with Subreality.

I'm feeling very... I don't even know the word. Stunned. Betrayed. Hurt. Angry. Saddened.

She meant a lot to a lot of people, and I'm saddened to say that I didn't know her as well as some. I'd only met her once or twice, but in my first few years in the fandom, we talked on IRC and AIM a lot. As I got older, we didn't see eye to eye anymore, which can be said for me and a lot of folks. We drifted apart, which makes me sad.

I'll always remember fondly her inviting Paul and I to her east coast wedding reception. Being fifteen years old, and getting my first email from the legendary Kielle telling me how much she enjoyed my fic on OTL. Being greeted by her whenever I entered chat by the endearing name of "Kalbeanie".

Maybe this doesn't belong here, but I just felt like I had to say it here. Without Kielle, there'd be no RP for me. It sounds stupid and overly dramatic to say, but Subreality changed my life. I don't know where I'd be right now without it. The people, communities, experiences and memories have changed me and shaped me so much I can't even describe it. For almost a decade now, it's been an integral part of my life.

My heart goes out to [ profile] laersyn, her husband, and anyone here on my friendslist who knew her.

Rest in peace, dear lady.


Sep. 4th, 2005 09:36 pm
amityville_sweetheart: (Default)
Corrine’s packing. She’s not sure she’s ready to do this, especially with the help of others, but she knows she’s going to need the help. In a way, she resents it. It was her problem to begin with, and even though it’s one of the things she’s learned her mother was wrong about, she still feels it in her gut: keep it in the family.

Keep it all in the family. No one talks about it, no one else gets involved, it’s no one else’s concern.

She stares at the picture on her dresser, the picture of her and Caleb smiling together on the beach in Cape May. They’ve spoken since their training session. He knows now. She’s not sure whether that was a good idea or a bad one, but regardless, it’s done. She’s spent long enough creeping around in the shadows of the past, and she won’t sacrifice anymore. It’s not fair.

Corrine moves to her bedroom, sliding a small wooden box from under her bed. A quick incantation and the lid opens, the overpowering scent of winter rain filling the room. The box carries much more than it would seem, and she carefully searches around inside until she finds what she’s looking for; eight connection stones, nine small bags of sealing powders, fourteen pouches of mystic fire.

She sets them aside, and then with a sigh, thrusts her entire arm inside, the tips of her fingers feeling around. She brushes across the switch and flicks it upward, pulling her hand back out as quickly as possible. She’s got the blanket ready when, seconds later, there’s a whirring sound, and several vials of red liquid pop out of the box.

She catches them, setting the blanket down carefully and examining the vials. Most of them are dated for six months from now, but two are dangerously close to expiration. They’ll have to do. She doesn’t have time to make more. At the very least, she’ll have to use the two herself, and give the rest to the others. She won’t risk someone getting hurt because she has to cut it close.

Retrieving her bag, she begins loading the supplies into it. In the next room is her full length mirror, and with a final sigh of resignation, she slides through it.

On the other side is a dark room, and with a flick of her hand, candles about the room sprout flames. There’s a multi-tiered metal table in the center, and she sets her bag down before beginning around the room to gather supplies. Several short glass jars with lids, a stack of glass mixing bowls, and an old book, the cover made of leather, the pages a thick, yellowed parchment.

A quick incantation for cleansing, and then she opens the book, flipping to a page towards the back. I _hate_ blood magic, she thinks to herself, pulling the vials and bags of sealing powder from her bag.

Corrine empties a bag and a half of powder into each bowl, and removes the corks from the vials, pouring two each over the powders.

“Veneficus compingo, retineo,” she incants, using a finger to mix the contents of each of the bowls until they’re a thick, blue mud. She does this with each bowl, moving right down the line from one to the other.

Now comes the tricky part.

From her left pocket, she pulls a cross on a long chain. It’s an antique, a family heirloom really, and it shows. She sets it onto the table, rolling up her left sleeve and taking a deep breath. If this works, this will be the last time she’ll ever have to do this, and she’s quite glad for it.

She takes what is left of the mixture sticking to her finger and lines the back of the cross with it, gripping it tightly in her hand.

“Iugo,” she says as confidently as possible, and immediately there’s an almost unbearable burning in her palm. For several minutes, she stands that way, holding on as tightly as she can as she feels the magic beginning to work, the spell binding itself to her very essence, the blood beginning to pool in her closed palm.

And then, without warning, the pain is gone along with the blood. With shaking fingers, she drops the cross onto the table, immediately cradling her hand under her other arm. It’s more out of instinct, a psychological comfort. She knows the danger has passed. If one tiny detail had been off, though, she’d be one hand less. Just because that had never happened doesn’t mean she wasn’t still afraid of it.

Weak and tired now, she knows she must hurry to finish this. Hastily, she pulls the cross around her neck, beginning to divide the mixtures into the glass jars. Minutes later, the task is done, and she reloads the jars into her bag.

She barely has the energy to lift it, and the world spins underneath of her as she slides back through the mirror to the other side.

Back in her apartment, the room tilts, her bag hitting the floor with a thud. She scolds herself for not using a strengthening spell, as she always does, but she knows that might endanger the magic now trapped in the jars.

She forces herself to remain upright, retrieving a long, blue velvet cover from beside the mirror. She throws it over the top, hearing the heavy, old wood of the mirror creak against the weight of the cover, and then it and the cover are gone.

Corrine reaches a hand out, tentatively, feeling for the edge of the mirror, and rest assured, it is still there. Even after having it in her possession these past eight years, she still second-guesses its existence, and its nature.

With some effort, she makes her way over to the couch, slumping onto the soft cushions. The last few moments of consciousness are spent considering what exactly Caleb would think of her moderate collection of magical artifacts, and then she’s asleep.
amityville_sweetheart: (DarkMage)
...When they said you can never go home again; whoever 'they' are.

Not that she wants to. The days of broom handles over the back and scalding hot water in the middle of the night are over, and she's quite glad. While some people dream of yester-years, when things were simpler at home with mom, dad, and Fluffy, Corrine tries to look forward to the future. Tomorrow can't be as bad as yesterday, after all.

She sits now at her computer, eight different windows open and an instant messenger to NotUrAngelFL. There's a book balancing on the edge of the desk, a cat curled up and purring in her lap, and another curled around her feet.

You have a message from... )
amityville_sweetheart: (DarkMage)
She's dreaming again. The same one.

"Gene?" she says, shirt still pulled up over her mouth.

"Uhh," he answers, still bent over in the grass, holding his stomach.

"Can you breath?" She's not even looking at him. She's looking at the barn. The fire sounds like war, crackling and splintering wood, pops and bangs. She's got ash in her hair, and her lungs burn and feel tight and she can't get her eyes to water.

"...Yeah," he finally says after a moment, staggering to his feet.

"Go get Pamela Denni. Call 911," his sister's voice says calmly, almost numbly.

"But Casey--"

"Go," she insists. Then, after a moment, she shoves at him. "RUN!"

He does run. He's going as fast as he can, but she knows it isn't very fast at all.

She stares up at the house. She can hear things clanging and breaking and something running around at break-neck speed. It's rushed. It's frenzied. It's not thinking about her, or Genie. It doesn't hear them. It doesn't even know.

She sits down on the grass, staring down in front of her.

She remembers when she was just a little girl, and she used to fall asleep on her papa's lap in church. She'd lean around the edge of the pew to get the cool air coming in through the open front doors. It was a tiny church. No air conditioning. Her mother would always slap her hand, and she would pretend she was still asleep.

She could remember the licorice candy-- the Cin-Cins in her papa's coat pocket. She would sneak into her parents' closet, and close the doors behind her. She'd sit on the floor under all of the good sunday clothing, and reach her hands inside the coat pockets, digging for a stash of the candy. One time she'd found an entire pack, and eaten all of them. She was very sick the next day, and mama gave her a lashing she still hasn't forgotten.

And finally she remembers accompanying her father to the hardware store. He always picked her to go over the boys. She'd wander around and screw nuts onto bolts, and ask what that does, and can I get one of these?, and papa, look, lookit what it does! And he'd say yeah pumpkin-head, 'm busy right now. Or your mother'd never let you play with that, but maybe when she goes shopping next week I'll show you how to use it, huh? and a wink.

And sometimes she'd stop to look at something, and get distracted, and he'd call from three aisles over where are you, Roary Corri? And she'd come skidding down the aisle, standing beside him while he spoke to an employee, looking as if she'd been there all along. And he'd say you went invisible, Roary Corri! And sometimes the helper would smile and say what a sweet little girl. So quiet.

That's what papa always called her-- Roarin' Corrine, usually added with a sarcastic note from mama the little girl who never said a word.

And she thinks, pretty indignantly, that she did say something from time to time, but no one ever really listened. She thought maybe the less and less she said, the more people would pay attention when she did speak. But no one ever really did. No one even really noticed when she started talking again, except for papa. And then he left.

She stares up at the house. Everything's gotten very quiet. There are sirens in the distance. How long has she been here? Not sure.

She stands, staring down at her father's blank stare. He looks almost like a gaping fish she realizes with some horror, and she pulls his shirt up to cover his face.

There are people walking towards her now. Gene is next to Jake, the volunteer firefighter from the hill. They're both staring at the house, at the busting windows and the popping and banging aluminum siding. Then the roof comes down in a puff of smoke and ash and red, and Corrine finds herself jumping back just as Gene is jumping forward.

Jake and Officer Paits and the Denni boy are all trying to pull him back, and he's screaming, screaming worst than in the barn, and Jake says not now not now too late boy you're gonna die no one'd be in there. And Corrine thinks of how wrong he is when the EMTs pull her away.

She watches from the stretcher as the fire begins to die out minutes later; as the firemen stand there watching quietly, bewildered; as Gene gives her long, numb looks.

For the first time she realizes how much pain she's in. She can't feel her arm. The air isn't coming. Something's pressing down around her skull, squeezing it like a vice.

It all goes black.

Corrine Bertrand wakes up, staring around at her empty apartment. There's nothing but the sound of her cat purring at her feet. She pulls the blanket over her head, and listens carefully.
amityville_sweetheart: (Head Hurts)
Well, not physically anyway.

Things have been very busy at the school. The girls are fresh and green, and it's obvious some of them are part of Metropolis' elite. I don't like being mean, and I have an inefficiency when it comes to being stern, to say the least. I think I've made it clear to them that I'm not going to be one of those teachers that passes you for her own sanity. You have to _work_ for it.

Caleb and I had our first argument. It's over with now, but... I don't know. I can't exactly explain to him how I feel about all this. The JSA, him, finding out he's a demon. It's a lot to take in, and I have trouble sorting out in my head how it all fits together.

Maybe it doesn't.

Angela called and left a message yesterday. The house is acting up again. She wants me to go out to Kenton and settle things down, since the locals and the cops are starting to get antsy. I told her I'd do my best, which is true. But I won't be going out there unless I must.


Jul. 5th, 2005 10:13 pm
amityville_sweetheart: (Yay!)
I'm back from Cape May, which is, incidentally, where Caleb dragged me this weekend.

It was... a very good weekend (I'll no doubt elaborate more later. Well. Some of it). I think I'll have to stay away from the brownstone until I can say that _without_ grinning and blushing like an idiot.

Let's hope the next week is really, really slow.
amityville_sweetheart: (Default)
Corrine's been pacing back and forth for several minutes now.

Caleb called a few hours ago, leaving only a cryptic message. "We're going out. I'll be there in a bit."

She'd attempted to ask what he meant, but it'd been so quick, she hadn't had a chance. So, with the prospect of 'going out', Corrine had spent an hour and a half getting ready. She wasn't sure what to expect, and she didn't have many 'night out' clothes. Finally, she'd settled for a jean skirt and nice, dark green blouse, along with her strappy, heeled sandals.

So now she was pacing, waiting for him to arrive. She'd pulled her hair up and applied just a bit of eyeliner. Looking at herself in the mirror now, she was more nervous than ever.
amityville_sweetheart: (Yay!)
Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman are singing ‘Something Stupid’ on her CD player. Corrine likes hearing the classics redone, and it’s got to be said that Nicole Kidman’s lead in the song gives it a bit of a different tune. Not that she was a worthy replacement for Ol’ Blue Eyes, but then, who was?

Corrine grimaces as she does her bends, keeping track in her head. Plié, plié, demi-plié, grand plié, cambré. She’s still hurting from yesterday, moreso now than this morning, thanks to her interview.

She’d arrived fifteen minutes early to prepare. The Arts Director had liked her references, her style, and her short demonstration. She hadn’t toed-in once on her turns, but she’d been slightly off with her arm position in second at the barre. The AD seemed to buy the lie that she’d been away at her family’s farm over the weekend, and had cut her arm open on a nail in the barn. There was even a brief discussion about the AD’s horses, but Corrine didn’t have the heart to tell her she hated horses. They were beautiful creatures, to be sure, but they didn’t seem to like her nervous nature. Which was quite all right with Corrine, as she didn’t like their easily excitable nature.

There had been a lot of strange looks in her direction at the metro stop, as she’d been twirling in happiness. She was employed again, which had the obvious benefits, but now she was employed doing something she loved. She’d gotten the chance to meet some of the girls. They were green, yes, but with some shaping up, they’d be wonderful. So, now, two days a week—at least until September—she’d be helping these girls hone their skills.

She’d stopped into Cereality for breakfast. There was certainly some appeal to a restaurant that served nothing but cold cereal and had Cartoon Network on all the time. She’d caught the episode of Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends that she’d missed last week.

On her return home she’d called Angela, since it had been a while. Her sister was doing well. Her husband Dave was with yet another contracting company, and the kids were out of school for the summer. Corrine’s brother Louis had just returned from England after two years with his partner, Jack. They were looking at adopting a child from Brazil.

The CD player changed to Miles Davis Prelude to a Kiss, and it made Corrine think of Caleb. She’d told Angela about him, and her sister had been her usual nosy self.

“What an interesting name, Caleb. Where’s he from?” she’d asked.
“Metropolis?” Corrine had responded, trying to dissuade this line of questioning.
“Oh, you know what I mean! Where’s his _family_ from?”
“Hell,” Corrine had answered without thinking. There was a silence on the other end. “…Sinki, I think.”
“Oh, Scandinavian,” Angela said, thinking it a joke. She wouldn’t get the _real_ joke, of course, but it was okay to let her believe it. “Dave and I visited his aunt there a few years back, do you remember? Finland’s an awful place, the food is so bland.”
“Yes,” she said, laughing to herself. “But he’s mostly Russian, I think.”
“Alcoholics, a lot of them. Not very business-saavy, either. What does he do?”
“He manages a Metro Java.”
“Never heard of them,” the disdain was rising in Angela’s voice.
“It’s a chain here in Metropolis.” She waited a beat, then added. “He’s also a… crime consultant.”
“Oh, wow, a cop.”
“No, not really.”
“But an investigator.”
“Sort of.”
“I still don’t understand why you stay in that crazy city. The weather here is so much nicer, and we’re not too far from Miami, you remember.”

Corrine didn’t like that her sister was still trying to convince her to move, but it was better than talking about Caleb. She didn’t like lying to Angela, but if the elder girl had pushed anymore, she might have had to.

She sighed. It was getting towards evening. She wanted to call Caleb and get some laundry done, and then perhaps she’d go downtown for some writing tablets. It had been a good day.
amityville_sweetheart: (Default)
Battle's over. Heroes: Yet Another 1. Villians: 0. Or at least that's what they want us to believe, right?

I got to meet Wonder Woman, which... is somewhat disarming in real life. You see her on TV or in magazines articles or whatever, and you really can't get the full grasp of her. Seeing her in action is amazing. She never goes down, never gives up. It's awe-inspiring.

Marvel's back, though. Safe. Wildcat kinda died for a minute there, which was super-scary. We all took pretty serious hits, but we all came out of it in-tact, which is the important part. I've got a nice little bullet-graze on my arm.

Anyway. Plans for the rest of the day include relaxing, and more relaxing. I've got my interview tomorrow with Isabella Grieg's, so I should probably get some practice in tonight. Honestly, though, my entire body aches. I just don't have the energy for it.

I have to call Caleb at some point, too. I promised him we'd talk about whatever was bothering him at the brownstone. He'd decided not to go along, I'm guessing because of whatever was getting to him.

There's nothing up on his journal about it, though, so I'm hoping it's not too bad. Two crises in one day is a little too much for me to handle.

Maybe we can get around to that 'training' we've been talking so much about. I know Deadman said magic is finicky, and I know it to be true myself. Still, it was a little alarming to have my powers cut back today. I was pushing myself at full steam and I wasn't getting nearly what I was hoping for.

Either way, it'd be good to touch base... with... him...

All right, either Trevor's got a sick sense of humor, or all that hoping about it not being too bad can go right out the window.
amityville_sweetheart: (Default)
I know, I'm infatuated with The Wizard of Oz.

We're a little closer to finding Captain Marvel than before, I think. There's no real assurance, though, as a lot of what we have is theories. I hope we find him soon. It's no secret time is of the essence.

My stomach is tied in knots. I'm nauseous and anxious. Something's going on with Caleb, but there hasn't been a moment to ask what.

I linked with him telepathically for a moment this morning to alert him of the situation with Captain Marvel. The thought had come into my head before I even realized I was linking with him, which I know I should be careful of. Not everyone is comfortable with that. To tell the truth, I haven't met anyone besides Caleb yet who is.

He didn't seem to mind, but I glanced something off the top. It's still strange, linking with someone. I always wind up with a little headache, like allergy pressure behind my eyes. It doesn't make my head feel like it's going to explode anymore, and I think I can thank the helm of Nabu for that. After linking minds with some of the JSA during the fight with Lyta, I seem to have gained some experience in that direction.

Oh, Merciful Kitten, I'm getting off-topic. Yes, I glanced something off the top of Caleb's thoughts. He found something out when he went to that bar with the mages. I don't know what-- it was so quick, it took me a moment to even realize that the thought wasn't my own. It _is_ obvious, however, that whatever it is is upsetting him.

Anyway, I'm taking a moment between 'action'. I found a really awesome tomato in the kitchen that I'm eating as we... er, I... type. Yes. I hope no one minds me digging through the fridge.

Speaking of, I believe I have a room somewhere in this monstrosity. (I have realized in recent days that this place must be comprised of various pocket dimensions, because if I walk around too long, I still get lost.) I've spent a lot of time here recently, so it might be a good idea to find out just where said room is, and have some of my things there. I've spent more time here than at my apartment recently.

Perhaps I'll think about asking if it'd be okay for Kinsey and Ninnyhammer to come along. They missed me terribly the last time I was there.

Which also reminds me about something else, something Superman briefed us on. I don't think I should talk about it, even if I'm pretty sure my journal is beyond notice even to the heroes that have access to it. You never know who might be watching, as mama always said... and was most often followed by, 'Nothing is secret in the eyes of God', which gave me terrible anxiety everytime I got into the tub for two years when I was five.

My lack of attention span is showing again. Please forgive.

This information Superman gave us has got me thinking about a 'secret identity'. Everyone seems to have one, with good reason, obviously. I'm not sure I need one, as the only people involved in my life that might get hurt aren't really people. They're manic little fuzz balls.

That may change one day, though. Oh, but my insecurity shows again when I think about the fact that I'm really not worth notice. For all intents and purposes, I'm a 'consultant' for the JSA. If the people I've been in battle with alongside the JSA recently are any indication, if someone wanted to get at me, secret identity or not, there wouldn't be much I could do.

I'm waffling on the subject, so I'm gonna finish my tomato and let it swim around in my head a bit more.
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