amityville_sweetheart: (Mage of God Sword)
Someone's trying to kill me again.

I'm bored and I'm tired and I'm a little angry although right now I'm not sure who or what to be angry at. Staring at the TV or the computer is about the only competant thing I can do right now with the blinking.

'Blinking?' you say curiosly. Yes, blinking, I respond. Much more inventive than previous attempts, but I definitely have to come out in favor of a usefully placed single bullet instead.

I don't even know enough about my magic, or its apparent 'history', to even be much use in my own saving. I know that when the magic went away, so did I. But the magic is still there and I'm just... occasionally not. Sand and Trevor have gone back to the city to bash in a few heads to get some answers, Tara's trying to rouse some mages or at least some answers, and the telepath now sitting in my living room has done what he can to get as many answers out of me as there are.

Whatever's going on with me is apparently tied to the house. Or a side-effect. Or just another effect. I don't know. Maybe I should've burned this friggin' place to the ground when I had the chance. The cats feel it, too... they've been sticking by me. Thus far, Trevor's gotten hit in the face with a door but that isn't drawers emptying, furniture on the ceiling, blood from the drains full-scale like it was before mama was forced out.

Sand's being... strong. Brave. Like always. It's that duty-man thing that I could just never get by. I know he'll come back with something. I know this will be okay. We sat on the couch this morning. In silence. I didn't want to say anything. I didn't want to hear anything, and that was exactly it. It's grounded me.

And when I find out who's been screwing with me, I'm going to kick their frickin' kneecaps into their teeth.
amityville_sweetheart: (Nightmare Sleeping)
Here and now, there is fitful sleep. Very boring.

December eighth, two-thousand and five is quite the opposite.

Four days ago, Corrine Bertrand's boyfriend killed a vampire. Brutally. Now so far removed from the incident, she can't help but think that maybe the whole thing wasn't so bad. After all, vampires are minions of evil, right? Does it really matter if they're tortured a smeensy before their imminent doom? And even if it did matter, who on earth would it matter to?

And to complicate matters more, she really couldn't take that stance. If all accounts were to be listened to, Corrine's beloved father was a tyrannical, cold, homicidal psychopath with a disgusting love of power and dark arts. There was a great possibility that her father even sent a demon to kill her.

Possibility?

'The only difference between fiction and fact is something you can put your hands on', her brother Louis was fond of saying. So to Corrine, it was at best only a theory, yet to be proven or disproven. Enough to maim the memory of her papa, but not enough to wound her mortally.

And, beyond that... she still missed her father more than anything in the world. Sometimes she could find him on the battlefield, promising her success in all things if she only wanted it bad enough.  Sometimes she could find him at the bottom of a bottle, his blue eyes faded and restless and tired, torn between desire and obligation. Sometimes she could find him in Caleb's eyes, not the color or the correct shape, but something about the message inside of them... a longing for more than your worth, a fiery intellect, several guarded thoughts before careful words.

The last factor, not the least to be ignored; the demon she shared a bed with most nights of the week. Caleb. And if it was to be believed, Corrine herself was a holy vessel. Oh, it wasn't all like that, although she was sure several individuals probably thought she was kidding herself. But she was the very last person to ask about evil and good. If you asked her, it was a football field's length of gray, with two inches to each side, one for good and one for evil.

No one was asking her, though, and thank kittens for that. Caleb has no real family, few friends, and there's always so much going on at the JSA, it's been easy to keep him under watch. Evil? Not her call to make. But he's definitely crazy. Not the crazy she was used to with him, either, but a stark-raving, paranoid, talking-to-himself absolute nutbar.

Corrine lifts her head from under the blanket, staring blearily out her bedroom window. It's still snowing.

That last thought and the silence is actually what rouses her from half-sleep. It's the first multi-hour sleep she's had in a day or two, and she hadn't even noticed the lack of Caleb's presence beside her.

The Shining does Metropolis, she thinks bitterly as she pulls herself from bed.

There's no sounds of distress, and the cats are curled up on Caleb's side of the bed quietly. No ruckus of Caleb going crazy. Perhaps he passed out from exhaustion finally? Did he wander outside? Maybe he just went home. Which one, though? Oh, there was no use getting herself bent out of shape before she searched the apartment.

For all she knew, and she hoped this was the truth, he could be asleep on the couch. Finally.

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amityville_sweetheart: (Default)
Corrine Bertrand

October 2009

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