and now, libations and germs, we present..., open, :>

The morning started off the way is usually did. Consciousness came to her in a rush of air through her nostrils, deeper and more purposeful than all those other breaths that she had taken in the night. Her eyes were still lidded, her face was forcibly blank. There was no emotion, none at all. It was not peace, it was not disturbance or annoyance. It was simply vacant, as a cadaver might be at an open-casket. But...Without the sickly pale, the loss of colour in the lips, of which hers were a full red. Then--as she was used to doing--her arm snaked out; long, lithe and laced with lean, almost unnoticable muscle. It thudded softly onto the empty space beside her, patted it up and down, and she rolled. In her nightdress she went, eyes still closed (but tight now, with strain showing at the sides) she tumbled to the very egde of her large, plushy mattress. The woman's face tautened for a moment before her lids pushed her face into an expression of an indeciferable nature, revealing the pair of brown eyes that took on such a clear quality when she first woke. As she lie there, rolled to the very edge of the bed, she let it all sink in, carefully and with soothing breaths aiding her surprisingly fast heart beat to slow. It did, and with time, the also expected emotion of disappointment was set in her eyes. Every time she woke, she wished she hadn't, wishing to lose herself again in sleep, drown herself in the off-white sheets. Life didn't let you do these things though, and a quick scan about the room showed her exactly why. It was not exactly clean, but to say it was messy would be wrong. Simple, though not bare, it was clearly lived in; everything from her choice in rugs to the soft, wafting smell of her perfume made it hers. The entire living space had the appearance of a place that was normally very tidy, but had only recently been ruffled or frisked through. Well...We may banish any suggestive thoughts in your mind now, because Sileree had not had a ‘guest’ in her quarters for a very long time. It was the white envelope that lay on her dresser—with the crinkly piece of plastic on the front, a sort of window into the horror within—that had caught her attention. Bills, bills, and more bills; the taxes, the rent, the subtle whisper of slow death was in her post, being shoved through her mail slot every morning without fail. In fact, as if this wasn't enough, when she got up and went to check it, there would be more bills. Lucky her. A groan escaped between her lips, and she let her muscles relax as she wriggled into a ball under her covers. Yes life didn't let you do these things, life made you get up, get out of bed, and suffocate your past with what should be your future and what is your present. A hand, donned with clean, long nails, scuttled across the bed, and she sighed. A chest lifting sigh that seemed to wrack her whole body, grabbing every muscle and causing it to convulse in a melodramatic note. It was time to move on, get up, drive herself with what little will she posessed in the mornings. In one swift movement, her mood changed. Languid became precise, regretfully sorrowful became coldly formal. The world preyed on such vulnerable emotions, and she had been most right to correct them before they got out of hand. Her legs slid out of bed, loosely covered from exposure by a smooth silk nighty, warm and welcome against her tanned flesh. She was alone, there was no need to dress up, or dress down particularly carefully. It was comfort she needed, not allure (she had plenty of that without wearing anything special...or was that the whole point?), and it was her soft, baggy night-trousers and night-blouse that she wore.

They were slipped off in a matter of moments as she crossed from her large--too large really, it hadn't been shared in over five years--bed on it's tatami mat to her bathroom, filled with surprisingly few items, when you knew what her business was. Sure, she had her small stock of coloured dirt, but not as much as some women did. Her feet gripped the frigid floor, the tips of her digits going pale as she curled them in discomfort, but she walked normally despite this. Moving nimbly, she trailed a pant leg, still caught (rather childishly) on her foot as she attempted to flick it off, grabbing her toothbrush in a sullen way, and sticking it into her mouth. Brush brush brush, the way of the future! The way of someone who had to look fantastic when she smiled, and who couldn't afford to bleach her little pearls. Though 'little' was not the way to put it, as her front teeth had been a point of embarrassment to her in her young age. Young age...As if she was old. A crease formed on her brow as she grinned ferally at her mirror, and then spat visciously into her sink, almost repulsed as she saw a slightly pinkish tinge to them. 'Gums...Need to floss more.' Though she did it once every day, in the evening. It was mostly always like this. Mostly always. She never said 'always' because it gave her the feeling she was frumpy, predictable. Which, if you had known her, you would've been able to disagree with her on. If there was one thing which she couldn't become, it was a predictable woman. Although... Strands of hair were pushed away from her face as she rinsed out her mouth and thought not for the first time of her planned 'vacation' to Vermont that had never happened. Jeff said he could buy her more time, but she had told him not to bother. Her trip had been delayed for a reason, there was no use trying to escape the fact that she needed to put in more hours. It seemed she didn't work enough but...She couldn't remember doing anything she really liked in a long time. Seconds became minutes, as she sped up her movements, the toothbrush thrust back into its holder, and she returned to her bedroom. There is was, precisely as she had laid it out the day before. She wasn’t to be bothered to pick out clothes early in the morning, it messed up her head, said her stage-hands. Einstein had had seven suits, and he wore them in the same routine every week, washing them when they grew too odorous. In a similar fashion, she laid garments out for herself in the evenings, leaving them on the squat sofa in her room. With an intensity that was at odds with the situation, she picked up what she had chosen to wear. It turned out to be an elegant enough black dress, something she had been given to wear for a fancy corporate party she was supposed to accompany with her brother, Augustine. But...She had refused to go, and he had taken his violin instead. How would it look if he took his own sister out, eh? That was what Lucy had told him, but he had asked Sileree anyway. 'Not sure why he's so damn concerned with the way I live...It's my life, not his! He should stop sticking his nose in my own affairs...' The dress would have to do, as she hadn't the patience to find something else. It came with a pair of smooth black gloves, made of satin, and some heels had been roughly tied to the ripped price tag. A raised eyebrow followed her searching fingers as she noticed the half-ripped but still legible price on it. Three top-less zeros and a dashed out something that looked like a two...Or was it a four? Hmm. Auggie seemed to have more cash than he was letting on. But she would never ask him for money. He knew that, and he also knew that last time he had paid her bills, she had raged at him for babying her. He said it wasn't babying if she was an adult, and that only made her angrier. Of course Ms Sileree with her brother is one thing...Ms Sileree to the world was another. To the world, little Ms Perfect Fen would never explode like that. Never show her true feelings, never let on more than a delicately dangerous smile...Never.

I anticipate this will take some time...So bear with me >.<

SILEREE POST COMIN' SOON.

xo Her siggy! <333 LOVETHATPOEM. xo (/random)

I KNOW <333 -diesforrespondingtorandomness- it'soneofmahfavorites. -/randomnessbackatrandom-