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Old 07-22-2011 at 08:27 AM
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OOC: Chianna/Santiago continued! BIC:


Santiago Ortiz

As Santiago tried to calm Mimieux down, he wondered where the blood and the bottle fragment had come from. Mimieux was thrashing violently, shaking and clawing at him. Santiago’s grip remained steady. She was out of her mind—perhaps a lost cause—but she was his employee. What was he supposed to do about that? Walk away? Old Santiago would have. Diego Ortiz would have left her to scream and rave to herself; otherwise, she’d already be just another dead whore on the wrong side of town. But he was a grown up now. One with the very real possibility of a police investigation at his opera house should any of his chorus girls die under suspicious circumstances. And it didn’t help that this budding sense of chivalry told him not to harm a woman—even a madwoman. Whether it was something he’d learned from Mama or Gisele or Cam or Rachel, he didn’t know. He just knew that there was something staying his hand, even as she screamed for him to leave her alone and swore at him. Even as she shook violently. Perhaps especially as she shook. She looked like a wounded animal that needed tending. Scared, unaware of why she was in pain, defiant. She moved, as though to kick him, but slid down towards the ground. Santiago looked down, trying to catch her, but instead saw more red—more blood. Blood everywhere. Blood on Mimieux and on the ground and on his boots. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough. Mimieux fell from Santiago’s grasp and screamed—in horror or in agony, Santiago couldn’t be sure. And then the screaming stopped. Everything went eerily quiet. Mimieux was alive; her chest heaved up and down up and down. But she wasn’t awake and she wasn’t moving. Santiago could have left her there.

He didn’t.

He scooped her up into his arms and cradled her with surprising tenderness before absconding with her in his sidecar. He thought, at first, to take her to the motel and clean her up there. But he kept driving, past the seedy bars and neon lights. Past the closed shops and shoddy tenements. He drove straight out of La Zone Fonecee and back into the civilized world. He drove all the way to Le Marais and to his apartment complex. He scooped her into his arms and carried her up to his flat. Either way, Mimieux would have woken in a strange place. At least here, Santiago had the home team advantage of medical supplies and privacy. Stretching Mimieux’s limp body onto the dining table, Santiago was taken back to another memory—one of Reese lying spread out and unconscious here. Rachel flitting about, telling him in minute—almost irrelevant detail—how the ballerina had been assaulted by American thugs on the hunt for her. Cleaning shallow wounds, bandaging her up. Reese was now what Santiago would consider one of his dearest friends. Sometimes, the strangest things drew people together. It would have been foolish, though, to think that when Mimieux woke, she’d be fluttering her eyelashes at her savior. The only thing really connecting the two memories was an unconscious girl on Santiago’s table. He used it more like an emergency room than a dining room. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten at the table.

He washed his hands thoroughly and retrieved his first aid kit. Then, gently, he rolled up Miimeux’s skirt to check the damage. She’d lost blood—lots of it—but the wound was half scabbed. It still seeped out blood. Santiago grabbed a dish cloth to staunch the bleeding and held her leg with firm, steady pressure. It had been a long time—several months, anyways—since Santiago last brought home a girl. This wasn’t who he would have imagined his first overnight houseguest to be after his break up with Rachel. This certainly wasn’t how he envisioned a night going down since breaking off from the gang. But here he was, his hand up Chianna Mimieux’s skirt, trying to keep her from bleeding to death.

Life was funny, if you had a sick sense of humor.
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Old 07-26-2011 at 03:50 AM
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 Post [162] »


Chianna Mimieux

Here. Here. Up. Now.

L'araignée...

Yellow, black, orange, white. One two three skip flower light car.

L'araignée du soir
s'est tissé un paradis
Tout là-haut
Entre le mur et le plafond
de ma chambre


Not warm. Not cold. A slam. Hair caught. Door. No.

L'araignée espoir.

Piano under fingers. Foot just reaches pedals. Tinkering tinkering afternoon. Songs with names, but no names in her head. Tinkering in her head, flying around. Fly across black and white to make music.

L'araignée du matin
A déserté son logis
Elle a repris la route
et m'a mise en déroute
L'araignée chagrin


Adrienne points. Closer. One two three four on one side. Five six seven eight on other side. Runs away. The spider runs away.

L'araignée du midi
m'a prise dans sa toile
M'a caché les étoiles
M'a ravi mes amis


Chair squeaks. Doctor voice head window. Birds outside. Can’t hear them. Doctor snaps fingers. Scribbles words. Shiny blue pen that leaks. There is no spider.

L'araignée ennui

Arm. There is an arm? No, can’t have arm anymore. Black. Only black. No arms. No legs. No body. Nobody. No body? Smell. Sharp. Door opens closes. Head pain. Should be no pain. Why pain?

À trop guetter les araignées
j'ai oublié de courir les papillons
et de poursuivre les demoiselles


In leg. Pain in leg. Now. Yes no pain. No yes pain. Pain. Pain. Leg. God…

et j'ai maintenant
des fourmis dans les jambs.


Chianna squinted through the pain and tossed her head to the side. She shut her eyes and opened them, then shut, then opened again. Blinking quickly. She turned her face upward again and blinked her eyes wide. What? What was this? She made to move her leg, but felt a pull.

She shot up and saw his face. What? What was this? Him? Who- who was it? Her head was turning black, struggling to keep her up and awake. She wouldn’t fall under. What was this? Chianna looked at the man’s arm and felt it on her leg. Under her skirt.

Chianna let out a shriek and fumbled her arms behind her, trying to pull away. Her flailing fingers met the edge and she pulled, tried to pull away. But pulling away was hard. It was like moving her arms through syrup. “What the f-ck are you doing?” Her eyes were wild, but they weren’t working right. It kept going to black and fading back and forth. She couldn’t focus right. The Manager. What was he doing?! “Get- ” Chianna gasped for breath. “Get away.” She couldn’t muster more than a hoarse plea as she tried to scramble away, tried to ignore the pain in her leg, which Manager was holding, which she didn’t like. “No. No!”


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Name: Cassie | Gender: Señorita | Posts: 4,083 | Roses: 185
Old 07-28-2011 at 02:08 AM
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 Post [163] »


Santiago Ortiz

Cleaning the cut wasn’t as nasty a business as Santiago thought it would have been. He expected ground shards of glass to burrow in Mimieux’s skin; the cut was surprisingly clean. The antiseptic must’ve stung her; she stirred slightly. Santiago ignored it. Mimieux would wake up slowly, groggily. That had to be how she did it; she’d lost blood and she was drained of energy. Surely she wasn’t going to snap awake and tap dance on the table… Santiago pressed cotton gauze to the injured leg and reached around for the bandages with his other hand. Mimieux thrashed a little.

“Easy mija,” he murmured, half to soothe her, half to sooth himself, “Easy…”

Her leg yanked one way; Santiago held it firm. He wasn’t done fixing her up yet and he’d be damned if Mimeux’s thrashing undid his first aid handiwork. He didn’t want her bleeding to death on his kitchen table. She resisted him and sat bolt upright. White faced and wide eyed, they looked at each other. The breadth of a second seemed incredibly long to Santiago; thick and dense and impossible to act or talk through. Her gaze turned to his hand and Santiago couldn’t quite brace himself for her reaction. Mimieux shrieked at a volume Santiago’s neighbors would later question and she wriggled around, trying to pry herself from his grasp.

“What the f-ck are you doing?” she asked. Her eyes, terrified and large, were as focused as a broken camera lens. Mostly, Santiago could see the whites of her eyes, flashing madly. “Get- ” she gasped. “Get away. No. No!”

“Fine!” Santiago released her roughly. “Go ahead; bleed to death! Don’t let me try to save your life.”

He pushed away from the table and into the kitchen.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, sarcasm lacing itself into his voice. “At least let me make your last moments comfortable, senorita.”

God knows I'll need one with you screaming like that.
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Old 08-03-2011 at 06:51 AM
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Chianna Mimieux

The table was small. Her feet were slipping off the side as she tried to push and pull herself away. Chianna closed her eyes hard and gasped for air. She was empty. There was nothing there to hold her, to keep her from shaking. Where am I? I don't know. I don't know! Your leg... Where is your leg? She could feel it, but it was partially numb. A trickle on the skin of her thigh. It was warm. And so were his hands. Get them off. Get them off me! Why was he touching her? What was he doing? He was getting revenge. He was ruining her because she kicked his shin, called him names, insulted him, assaulted him. Her memory was grays and whites and blacks. Why was she here? How? The Manager. He stole her. Took her from La Zone. Why? Revenge. She needed to leave. To go. To run. But her leg didn't want to listen.

“Fine!” It remained warm where his hands were, but then cold. Her leg was cold again. She yanked her leg away once he let her go. “Go ahead; bleed to death! Don’t let me try to save your life.”

It was hard staying awake. It was hard keeping her head up enough to even see the Manager. You need to leave. I know. But how? I- I can't. Just go. Now. Chianna's arm collapsed under her and her shoulder hit the table's surface, followed by her head. She shut her eyes tightly again and saw a blanket of red, then blue, purple, black. Her other hand squeezed into a fist, grappling with the pain. She hurt. She hurt all over, like she was rolled between two steel cylinders and then spit back out. There was shuffling and feet. “Can I get you a drink?”

Chianna rolled her head to the side and tried to lift it again. She got it up an inch and then let it fall back down with a thud. Her legs were hanging off the edge, disconnected. Where were they? Were they her? They were gone. Her legs had left her, hanging off the table. Maybe they fell off. And they were floating, standing by themselves in the air. Chianna groaned and bit down on her lip. “At least let me make your last moments comfortable, senorita.” It was hard listening. Understanding. Several moments passed before she understood what he was saying. She still didn't understand. It was words, but it was blah blah blah. They passed through her head and she felt them in her fingers. So she clenched them and she threw them up in her gasps and groans and gritting teeth.

She managed to turn on her side, which almost made her pass out. It was black and then clear and then black and then fuzz. The edges were soft and hazy. Chianna reached out to the chair, leaning toward it, but missed. Her body continued forward and all was up and down and down was up and side was diagonal. The impact of the chair hit her side and she couldn't grab anything fast enough to keep her from falling. Her knee hit hard. Her stomach hit the seat. Knee slid against the hard. What... The ground? The hard was the ground? She opened her eyes - took a lot of energy - and found herself looking up. No, down. Looking down. Brown squares. White outlines. Brown squares under her face. Fell on the chair. Half on the chair, half off. Her hair hanging from the sides of her face. She coughed. Sputter.

"Help," she croaked. "Let go." She pushed herself, no balance, fell to the ground. "Where... where am I?" She mumbled, coughed and wheezed. She was angry, but she had no energy. Black and gray and blur and soft and light and dark. No focus. Chianna lay on her side, fighting her eyelids open. Arm outstretched. Other arm on top of arm. Legs. Where is my leg? She reached her arm above her head and tried to pull herself away. No energy. Getting nowhere.


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Name: Cassie | Gender: Señorita | Posts: 4,083 | Roses: 185
Old 08-07-2011 at 12:09 AM
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 Post [165] »


Santiago Ortiz

Santiago pulled the refrigerator open and he debated washing an aspirin down with a beer. He was pretty sure the combination would help more than harm, but his liver would probably disagree. His head was already pounding and just sitting with his face in the cool air felt good. He shut his eyes and rummaged around for something nonalcoholic. Just in case. He wanted to have his wits about him if Mimieux did something completely stupid. Like cause the thud in the kitchen. Santiago groaned, stood up, and kicked his refrigerator closed. He looked into the dining room to see the blonde tangled in a knocked-over chair on the floor. Santiago snorted in dark amusement and shuffled into the dining room.

"Help," Mimieux croaked. Santiago reached to move the chair off of her, to help her up. “Let go."

He backed away and watched as Mimieux tried again, struggling and failing to clamber to her feet.

"Where... where am I?" She mumbled, coughed and wheezed.

“My apartment,” Santiago said, crouching down. “I brought you here after you passed out; see if I could bandage you up. Clearly, that was a mistake.”

He offered her his hand again, seeing if maybe he could help her get to her feet. She probably needed water and something to eat; maybe some painkillers. He didn’t know if she’d accept any of that from him, but Santiago was sure if she took his hand, they could make some progress…
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