Someday, Odessa will learn not to wander off with strange men. If only her philosophy didn't insist that the strange ones make the best company. It's nice to feel wanted, though, nice to be doted upon, and nice to have money spent on her like it's no big deal. Odessa soaks up the attention, thrives on it, and then - as is so often the case with her - she pays for it.
There's a strong sentiment of well, that figures that runs through her mind when her environment suddenly changes, and it's a testament to the sort of life and occurrences that make up her idea of normal. She takes in her new surroundings without hardly missing a beat (though she does take in a panicked gasp, and her heart is pounding), and makes first for the window. Her attempts to focus on home, and teleport herself are met with a numbing nothingness, but not the same sort she experiences when too near Bonetown.
The pane is too covered in grime to see out of, and so she looks around for a cloth to wipe it down with. When she does, she finds that she only gets the briefest of glimpses outside - enough to discern that she may be in Badside, if she recalls her landmarks - and then the glass is too obscured to be seen through again.
How is that even possible?
The whole room is a veritable pit. (In a tower. Hah.) Feverishly, she begins to clean, because she has to do something too keep her mind from racing too much. Does anyone know she's here? People disappear from the city all the time. Who will even care if she's gone? Will anyone bother to even look? Wiping sweat from her brow, Odessa stops for only a moment to look down at the floor, and her shoes.
Those aren't her shoes. While she's maybe fancied a pair of glass slippers in her life, it's one frivolity she's never actually indulged in. She shakes one foot out in front of her, expecting the shoe to drop off and onto the floor. But it doesn't. With the toe of the opposite shoe, she pushes at the back of the heel, to no avail. She quickly sits down on the floor to try and pry the shoes off with her fingers, but both stay stuck fast. Nails dig under the edges of the shoes, scratch over skin and eventually break it, but those shoes won't budge.
In an attempt to reclaim some of her composure, she decides to return to cleaning. -- Why would she decide to do that? Cleaning's never been a bastion of sanity for her before, and while a certain (high) degree of cleanliness is expected as part of her chosen profession, she's never been particularly put off by dirty surroundings. Even excessive mould and decay has never bothered her.
Her rag is too dirty. That's why nothing's getting clean! Of course, of course. Odessa reaches down to tear away a portion of her skirt, and begin using that to scrub at the floor and the walls. And when that becomes filthy, she just rips another piece to start again, until her dress is nothing more than tatters hanging off her slight frame, left discarded in scattered scraps around the room.
How long has she been at this? She's sure she can see sun trying to shine through the dirty window. Why doesn't she want to stop? Why won't she stop? Her muscles ache, and her eyes seem to burn from lack of sleep. She just wants to lay down and rest.
tw: self-harm
There's a strong sentiment of well, that figures that runs through her mind when her environment suddenly changes, and it's a testament to the sort of life and occurrences that make up her idea of normal. She takes in her new surroundings without hardly missing a beat (though she does take in a panicked gasp, and her heart is pounding), and makes first for the window. Her attempts to focus on home, and teleport herself are met with a numbing nothingness, but not the same sort she experiences when too near Bonetown.
The pane is too covered in grime to see out of, and so she looks around for a cloth to wipe it down with. When she does, she finds that she only gets the briefest of glimpses outside - enough to discern that she may be in Badside, if she recalls her landmarks - and then the glass is too obscured to be seen through again.
How is that even possible?
The whole room is a veritable pit. (In a tower. Hah.) Feverishly, she begins to clean, because she has to do something too keep her mind from racing too much. Does anyone know she's here? People disappear from the city all the time. Who will even care if she's gone? Will anyone bother to even look? Wiping sweat from her brow, Odessa stops for only a moment to look down at the floor, and her shoes.
Those aren't her shoes. While she's maybe fancied a pair of glass slippers in her life, it's one frivolity she's never actually indulged in. She shakes one foot out in front of her, expecting the shoe to drop off and onto the floor. But it doesn't. With the toe of the opposite shoe, she pushes at the back of the heel, to no avail. She quickly sits down on the floor to try and pry the shoes off with her fingers, but both stay stuck fast. Nails dig under the edges of the shoes, scratch over skin and eventually break it, but those shoes won't budge.
In an attempt to reclaim some of her composure, she decides to return to cleaning. -- Why would she decide to do that? Cleaning's never been a bastion of sanity for her before, and while a certain (high) degree of cleanliness is expected as part of her chosen profession, she's never been particularly put off by dirty surroundings. Even excessive mould and decay has never bothered her.
Her rag is too dirty. That's why nothing's getting clean! Of course, of course. Odessa reaches down to tear away a portion of her skirt, and begin using that to scrub at the floor and the walls. And when that becomes filthy, she just rips another piece to start again, until her dress is nothing more than tatters hanging off her slight frame, left discarded in scattered scraps around the room.
How long has she been at this? She's sure she can see sun trying to shine through the dirty window. Why doesn't she want to stop? Why won't she stop? Her muscles ache, and her eyes seem to burn from lack of sleep. She just wants to lay down and rest.
Why can't she?