†CHARACTER† nick
†TAG† [open]
†LOCATION† madbirds lodge††††††††††††††Nick sat on her four-poster bed in the top floor of the Lodge. She had the building plan memorised. Every inch of the shelter, she knew like a drumbeat. She and Kamikaze Kate had designed the Lodge, and made sure that everything was to their specifications. Nick's own bedroom was the fourth biggest room, after the main lounge, the music room, and Kate's room. It was a sanctuary. She'd made sure that it was soundproofed, so that she could play drums in peace, even while others were sleeping. And her entire five kits, taped together as they were when Nick started playing multiple kits, stood proudly in the corner. No fancy makes, just what she loved playing best.
She thought about playing some drums, but for the first time in years, she didn't feel like playing. She just walked around her bedroom, subdued, mourning.
"Sýkn," she said to herself, the name echoing around the large room. It seemed like forever ago that she'd been attacked in his name and been pissed about it - well, you would be, if you were attacked by people weaker than yourself and still lost the fight, even if you almost killed them in the process - but it seemed like only minutes ago that he killed himself. Not saying a word, she mouthed his suicide note. She could say it in her sleep. Like Kaethe Jenkins had done for Kaeli van Mouschi, she had written a song based on it. Not with the other Madbirds, just drums and words, all alone. Nick's singing voice sucked - maybe she could get someone like Kitena Dale, Raven Comatose or Kaethe Jenkins to help out with the vocals - and they could release it as a duet single, for charity, for Britney Kerry Bereavement Care.
As she walked down the stairs outside her room to the floor where Mayhem, Kitena and other 'birds sometimes stayed, she could still hear his voice. (She knew that it would go away, she wasn't going to turn into Chris.) She could still taste his blood on the tip of her tongue. She felt like it was in the tears dripping down her face - Nick didn't cry loudly, or even noticeably. She wasn't a baby, she was a 38-year-old, and a tough one at that. But death had never been so hard on her. Nick was a morbid psycho, after all. She didn't give a damn about anyone. Never had, never would. Why should the death of a guy upset such a woman?
She caught sight of herself in the window outside Kitena's room, and saw that her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep.
"Arrrses," she said out loud. She ran to Daphne "what's a lock?" May Hemingway's room and sneakily picked out a lipstick, red like her eyes, but brighter. After colouring her lips, she carried on looking through Mayhem's make-up box. She found some scissors. (Why Mayhem was trusted with scissors, Nick didn't know. She probably ran with them.) Hmm ....
Nick sat on the bed and started methodically cutting away at her waist-length black hair. Though it had always been fun to headbang with, the bounce of the hair as she smashed her head into her drumkit, she suddenly felt like it wasn't needed. She didn't even know why this was, or if she'd regret it later. When it was neck-length, she stopped cutting - she wanted SOME hair - and pocketed the scissors. Promising to clean Mayhem's floor later, she walked back out into the hallway, to the window.
"Be'errr," she exclaimed. Why Nick had to look good for no companion but a window that looked out only onto the Lodge's garden, when she had never bothered to look good for any show or party or date, she didn't quite understand. She just did. Or maybe putting on lipstick and cutting her hair were just things to do.
†††††††††††††††CREDIT† bikki
†NOTES† Gotta love showy-offy roleplay pages. They rawk. <3