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I know exactly what I want and who I want to be.; Night 7, Private
Topic Started: Apr 26 2017, 11:13 PM (298 Views)
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Who is this sassy lost child
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((Georgia Lee Day continued from Cast in the Name of God))

Georgia Lee leaned heavily against the wall out in the hallway. She hadn't made it far from the staff lounge, but then she didn't need to go far. She just wanted some air, but the air here was stale and stinking just like in the library. She hadn't been able to escape death since leaving the cafeteria.

It was time to go back. She needed to patch herself up, keep an eye on Olivia and Coleen (Coleen who had proven herself a friend even when Georgia Lee doubted her, and who was associated with a confusion of emotion and guilt that Georgia Lee didn't have the power to work through in this state). She turned accordingly and pushed the door open when she reached it, only to find herself staring into the dim confines of an office rather than the staff lounge.

She... she hadn't thought she had gone far. She couldn't have. It was the next door down, then. She was just mixed up because it was dark and she was tired, and of course bleeding. It was deeply unpleasant, the pain and the dampness of her tights. She needed to get back and take care of that right away.

Georgia Lee stumbled before she reached the next door and the movement made her head spin. She pressed herself against the wall to keep from falling, though the muscles in her injured leg protested with a burst of agony that made her whimper. But she hadn't gone that far, right? The door was... it was right there, surely.

She looked up, and a figure melted out of the darkness like a ghost, like a nightmare creature, like a panther stalking though the shadowed jungle.

"Fiyori...?" Georgia Lee whispered at the hallucination.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Fiyori - ghost or flesh, Georgia Lee wasn't entirely sure - laughed at her. Of course she did. She asked who had done this, presumably so that she could go and give them a congratulations later on. Predators and hunters, all of them.

"Blair," Georgia Lee said finally, and she was again surprised at how weak her own voice was.

She leaned against the wall, trying to watch Fiyori warily, but she couldn't quite get her eyes to focus. Or perhaps Fiyori wasn't really there.

Perhaps it was all a bad dream, Georgia Lee thought to herself with a sour sort of amusement. This whole lousy week was a dream, and soon she would wake up in her own boring bed, in her own boring house, with her own boring, terrible older sister and her own boring parents. She had never embraced boredom, but she supposed she might welcome the familiarity for a little while.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Georgia Lee almost could have laughed if she wasn't so out of breath.

"How should I know?" She shot back bitterly. "I n-never... I never did anything to you." Her knees wobbled, but she pressed her back against the wall, forced herself to stay upright. "I never... did anything to anybody. You all just decided I was an easy target."

Fiyori. Vanessa. Her sisters before all of them. Her parents not caring that she suffered. Of course someone would shoot her as soon as she left safety and solitude here. All she had ever been to their kind was prey, despite her best efforts.

She gingerly slid one foot away from the wall to test her strength, but it wasn't promising. She would have to wait for Fiyori, real or hallucination, to tire of her questions game and pass on.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Who is this sassy lost child
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Those words shouldn't have hit her so hard. They shouldn't have felt like a ton of bricks in her chest. Georgia Lee didn't like Fiyori. She had thought often that a life like hers, a life full of boys and drugs and hedonism and tormenting others, wasn't really worth living. But she hadn't thought that Fiyori agreed, and she had certainly never been petty or bitter enough to wish Fiyori dead.

(If she were to be really, brutally honest with herself, Georgia Lee desperately wanted everyone who had ever wronged her alive well into the future, long enough to see her succeeding where they had all failed.)

"Wh-why?" Why did Fiyori want to kill herself? And why was it Georgia Lee's fault she was still around? Because she had awoken Fiyori that first morning, dragged her to safety, talked with her about the future?

The sound of Fiyori's knuckles popping reminded Georgia Lee suddenly that she had left her supplies and all the weapons back in the lounge. Her first instinct was the shrink further back against the wall, but that would do her no good. It never had, where Fiyori was concerned.

Instead, she lifted her chin as steadily as she could and stared at the shape of Fiyori's face in the darkness. Are you real? she wanted to ask, but she kept quiet and waited for Fiyori's next words.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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"It was the cafeteria," Georgia Lee mumbled against Fiyori's poncho. She wasn't sure if Fiyori was hugging her or trying to smother her.

"I had... g-good reasons..."

She always had good reasons, but nobody ever listened. She just had to hold out until they all saw that she was right.

It was funny in a way, the idea of Fiyori considering her a demon. It was a role reversal that Georgia Lee would never have considered.

Fiyori smelled terrible, a metallic tang of dried blood clinging to her along with the scent of going unwashed for a week. She felt terrible, some kind of spider encroaching on Georgia Lee, trapping her.

But she felt familiar.

When Georgia Lee's legs gave out, she slumped against Fiyori, clinging to her to stay upright. She felt solid, real, where Georgia Lee herself was starting to feel so very far away.

She felt like home.

G029 GEORGIA LEE DAY: DECEASED
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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