Post by Brenna Gordon on Jan 10, 2017 5:12:47 GMT -5
I'm going to miss this place.
A sigh, faint as a baby's breath, escapes her as she ambles along one of the numerous corridors of a shopping mall in Florida-- she can't remember what it was called. Something to do with palm trees, maybe. The impressively high windowed ceilings are letting in so much sunlight that she can get away with keeping her sunglasses on, gold-framed 'vintage' Ray Bans that she's had since her freshman year of high school shielding her gaze from the sun while also hiding how bloodshot her eyes have become from the people that walk past her. As pale as she is, Olivia still sticks out as a tourist... but with the lazy way she's just ran a comb through her hair a few times and thrown on a red maxi dress that she bought as a whim the day before? She looks in touch with the surroundings, a frequent flier that can shift her appearance like a chameleon to blend into whatever city she callshome that night. Of course that illusion would be shattered were it not for those glasses, but that's why she keeps them on. Pretending to be something she's not is like riding a bike, she's discovering, although assuming a role once again has her nervous in a way that words can't ever quite articulate. There's only so far that she can step from herself, after all, before she--
Fingers enfold around her upper arm, and she feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Even though it only takes her a moment to turn to regard the man that has seen fit to stop her, it feels like far longer in her mind. The seconds stretch like taffy to feel like minutes even as she glances over him through those tinted lenses. He's overweight, but not morbidly so-- and he really, desperately needs someone to tell him that horizontal stripes aren't a flattering look for him. Judging by how he eyes her like a steak in a butcher's case, Olivia has the feeling that he doesn't have a woman in his life to tell him such things... or to tell him anything at all. Past the pink flush that tinges his cheeks, he's smiling almost desperately. That near-anxiety tinges his words, heightening his pitch to a near-feminine falsetto.
"Sierra? Sierra, is that-- oh my God, it is! Hi!"
No sooner does that six-word name leave his lips does her expression go wooden, almost vacant in that way that only an unpleasant surprise can cause. Time snapping back into joint feels like being dunked in ice water, a shock to the system that has her mind reeling and leaves her all but paralyzed and unable to respond. A second's flashback, vivid as ever--
--and she's finding herself able to move, no longer being flash-frozen in the moment. The redhead pulls her arm free of the stranger's sweat-slick grip firmly, having to fight against the urge to scream at him like his hand landed upon her bust instead-- not to mention the urge to slap the ever-loving shit out of him for touching her with the same sort of familiarity, of entitlement as he would public property when she doesn't know him from Adam. Olivia is suddenly angry at that realization, absolutely furious that he'd presume her to be nothing more than an object as she glares daggers at him that don't quite reach their mark. The absolute zero chill of her voice, though?
"Excuse me? I don't know what you're talking about. That's not my name." That doesn't need to get past sunglasses to be known. It's his turn to go wide-eyed, that manic-obsessed sort of smile threatening to tip off of his features to shatter on the tile beneath their feet... and for a moment, she hopes for that and the stream of expletives and misogynistic bullshit that she's long since learned to roll her eyes at as a coping mechanism. It's hard to tell if it's unfortunate or not when his mind happens upon a way of keeping his fantasy intact. He laughs awkwardly, the sound unsettling to her ears.
"O-Oh, right. I get it. You're incognito." As he leans in close and drops his voice to what he obviously hopes to be a seductive whisper, Olivia is nearly sent reeling by the sour-sweet smell of his breath. "Your secret's safe with me, sweetheart. I won't tell a soul it's you, Sierra. Honest I won't."
The shudder of disgust that runs along her spine also serves in arching it a bit, her head leaning itself back as she fights the urge to gag. Exhaling hard through her nostrils, she does her damndest to ignore how his eyes have inevitably dropped to try to get an idea at what her bust looks like beneath the cotton of her dress. At this point? She just wants him to go away, preferably in such a fashion so as to not further create a scene. It's early enough to not be too horribly crowded, at least, something she thanks every last lucky star for. Crossing her arms in front of herself to obscure the view as best she can, her tone steels itself further.
"What part of 'You are mistaken.' are you failing to understand or comprehend? Now please, sir-- leave me alone." For a moment, there is blessed silence as his lower lip faintly trembles. His hopes of finding and procuring this woman for himself on the verge of falling apart, Olivia is sadly unsurprised when instead of accepting responsibility? He's reaching out for her anew, attempting to take hold of her by her shoulders. It's as he's reaching for her that a thought surfaces in the back of her mind, one that chills her to her very core.
He couldn't have seen it... could he?
His fingertips skate over her skin, begin curling closed possessively around her anew.
"B-But I... I know I'm right! You've got to be Sierra--" This time? There's no stopping her hand from lashing out, her fingers only stopped from curling into a fist by what remains of a public relations survival instinct. Even without the added momentum of a fist, his head snaps back in a way that she cannot help but be pleased by on some dim level. Perhaps it's just her imagination but, as her voice raises into a shout that shatters the tranquility of the spacious hallway? There's just a touch of triumph in her words, that crazed sort of adrenaline pumping into her veins as wild as her hair becomes when she sharply turns her head to one side in the name of trying to spot a familiar shade of uniform blue.
"SECURITY! SECURITY! HELP!" No sooner do those words leave her lips is his eyes going as wide as saucers anew, shock overtaking his expression wholly before that fight or flight response is kicking in. He's never going to know how fortunate he is that the latter reaction is what his reptilian mind chooses, scrambling backward as if he'd been scalded-- or perhaps if he'd been on the receiving end of the sort of treatment he'd given her from another man. Continuing to glare after his retreating figure even long after he's free of her sight, her entire body trembles like a bowstring drawn taut before she's slumping forward, her breath leaving her in a trembling exhale. There's no one in uniform coming to save her, not that she can see.
...which is the biggest relief of all, she finds.
A sigh, faint as a baby's breath, escapes her as she ambles along one of the numerous corridors of a shopping mall in Florida-- she can't remember what it was called. Something to do with palm trees, maybe. The impressively high windowed ceilings are letting in so much sunlight that she can get away with keeping her sunglasses on, gold-framed 'vintage' Ray Bans that she's had since her freshman year of high school shielding her gaze from the sun while also hiding how bloodshot her eyes have become from the people that walk past her. As pale as she is, Olivia still sticks out as a tourist... but with the lazy way she's just ran a comb through her hair a few times and thrown on a red maxi dress that she bought as a whim the day before? She looks in touch with the surroundings, a frequent flier that can shift her appearance like a chameleon to blend into whatever city she callshome that night. Of course that illusion would be shattered were it not for those glasses, but that's why she keeps them on. Pretending to be something she's not is like riding a bike, she's discovering, although assuming a role once again has her nervous in a way that words can't ever quite articulate. There's only so far that she can step from herself, after all, before she--
Fingers enfold around her upper arm, and she feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Even though it only takes her a moment to turn to regard the man that has seen fit to stop her, it feels like far longer in her mind. The seconds stretch like taffy to feel like minutes even as she glances over him through those tinted lenses. He's overweight, but not morbidly so-- and he really, desperately needs someone to tell him that horizontal stripes aren't a flattering look for him. Judging by how he eyes her like a steak in a butcher's case, Olivia has the feeling that he doesn't have a woman in his life to tell him such things... or to tell him anything at all. Past the pink flush that tinges his cheeks, he's smiling almost desperately. That near-anxiety tinges his words, heightening his pitch to a near-feminine falsetto.
"Sierra? Sierra, is that-- oh my God, it is! Hi!"
No sooner does that six-word name leave his lips does her expression go wooden, almost vacant in that way that only an unpleasant surprise can cause. Time snapping back into joint feels like being dunked in ice water, a shock to the system that has her mind reeling and leaves her all but paralyzed and unable to respond. A second's flashback, vivid as ever--
Eyes so green just like her own, wide as saucers as the metal hooked into her skin while Olivia could only watch the video as it played, could only watch and do nothing to help her.
--and she's finding herself able to move, no longer being flash-frozen in the moment. The redhead pulls her arm free of the stranger's sweat-slick grip firmly, having to fight against the urge to scream at him like his hand landed upon her bust instead-- not to mention the urge to slap the ever-loving shit out of him for touching her with the same sort of familiarity, of entitlement as he would public property when she doesn't know him from Adam. Olivia is suddenly angry at that realization, absolutely furious that he'd presume her to be nothing more than an object as she glares daggers at him that don't quite reach their mark. The absolute zero chill of her voice, though?
"Excuse me? I don't know what you're talking about. That's not my name." That doesn't need to get past sunglasses to be known. It's his turn to go wide-eyed, that manic-obsessed sort of smile threatening to tip off of his features to shatter on the tile beneath their feet... and for a moment, she hopes for that and the stream of expletives and misogynistic bullshit that she's long since learned to roll her eyes at as a coping mechanism. It's hard to tell if it's unfortunate or not when his mind happens upon a way of keeping his fantasy intact. He laughs awkwardly, the sound unsettling to her ears.
"O-Oh, right. I get it. You're incognito." As he leans in close and drops his voice to what he obviously hopes to be a seductive whisper, Olivia is nearly sent reeling by the sour-sweet smell of his breath. "Your secret's safe with me, sweetheart. I won't tell a soul it's you, Sierra. Honest I won't."
The shudder of disgust that runs along her spine also serves in arching it a bit, her head leaning itself back as she fights the urge to gag. Exhaling hard through her nostrils, she does her damndest to ignore how his eyes have inevitably dropped to try to get an idea at what her bust looks like beneath the cotton of her dress. At this point? She just wants him to go away, preferably in such a fashion so as to not further create a scene. It's early enough to not be too horribly crowded, at least, something she thanks every last lucky star for. Crossing her arms in front of herself to obscure the view as best she can, her tone steels itself further.
"What part of 'You are mistaken.' are you failing to understand or comprehend? Now please, sir-- leave me alone." For a moment, there is blessed silence as his lower lip faintly trembles. His hopes of finding and procuring this woman for himself on the verge of falling apart, Olivia is sadly unsurprised when instead of accepting responsibility? He's reaching out for her anew, attempting to take hold of her by her shoulders. It's as he's reaching for her that a thought surfaces in the back of her mind, one that chills her to her very core.
He couldn't have seen it... could he?
His fingertips skate over her skin, begin curling closed possessively around her anew.
"B-But I... I know I'm right! You've got to be Sierra--" This time? There's no stopping her hand from lashing out, her fingers only stopped from curling into a fist by what remains of a public relations survival instinct. Even without the added momentum of a fist, his head snaps back in a way that she cannot help but be pleased by on some dim level. Perhaps it's just her imagination but, as her voice raises into a shout that shatters the tranquility of the spacious hallway? There's just a touch of triumph in her words, that crazed sort of adrenaline pumping into her veins as wild as her hair becomes when she sharply turns her head to one side in the name of trying to spot a familiar shade of uniform blue.
"SECURITY! SECURITY! HELP!" No sooner do those words leave her lips is his eyes going as wide as saucers anew, shock overtaking his expression wholly before that fight or flight response is kicking in. He's never going to know how fortunate he is that the latter reaction is what his reptilian mind chooses, scrambling backward as if he'd been scalded-- or perhaps if he'd been on the receiving end of the sort of treatment he'd given her from another man. Continuing to glare after his retreating figure even long after he's free of her sight, her entire body trembles like a bowstring drawn taut before she's slumping forward, her breath leaving her in a trembling exhale. There's no one in uniform coming to save her, not that she can see.
...which is the biggest relief of all, she finds.
