[ victoria has never seen the ghost when she hasn't been indoors. nowhere near beaches or in the rain, despite the water imagery the woman conjured. she's never learned the ghost's name - only ever heard her speak four words in the timespan that she's "known her." and every time she materializes with an echoing "help me," it's a remainder of maggie evans that stirs inside of victoria, that follows the specter down dark corridors like something out of a gothic novel.
it won't happen today. it's a simple resolution that victoria's surprised took so long to come to her. spend the day out. out of the house, out by the docks, by the waves, downtown: anywhere. she's been cooped up too long to let herself fall into any reclusive habits. and as long as there are no ghosts plunging from chandeliers or strange voices coming down the hallways, maybe she can actually let her guard down. for once, maybe she can let herself be victoria.
she doesn't even know how far she's walked before she winds up on one of the docks on the far side of town. if she turns her head, she can see the spires of collinwood in the trees on that looming hill, but she chooses not to look. instead, after a moment's hesitation, she sits down on the edge of the dock, feet dangling inches from the water. ]
[ Much to Nigel's disappointment, what comes after dying is simply death — no more and no less. There is no ascension, no heavenly host and silver city; no angels, no cherubs, no harkening of trumpets. There is no hellfire either, no damnation for what he had done (father dead, mother dead, their bodies buried under the floorboards and mother's head cleanly severed at the neck). There is simply more life, insubstantial now but as tedious as ever — the sound muted as if through cottoned ears and all the color drained out of it, like back of Nigel's skull bleeding out all over the train tracks and Jack's clean cotton pants.
It is, needless to say, endlessly disappointing and so Nigel spends a great deal of time neither here nor there. The banality of his worldly limbo begins to smother him if he pays too close attention, but there is nothing else to hold his focus now that his fingers slip through anything they hope to grasp.
He leaves England and spends a long time under the sea, walking the abysmal ocean floor — a palely glowing wisp illuminating all the dark places, only passingly taken by the strange fauna of the deep. When he finally emerges (months? years later?) he has no concept of where he has made landfall. ]
Pardon. [ He's still wearing the clothes that he died in: pajamas and bare feet, blood staining his shirt and the pale rise of his shoulder, indelible now in his death. Nigel would take note of this as he peers over the young woman's shoulder down to the waters below, but being a thing only half-there, he casts no reflection. ] Might I ask where this is?
[ she doesn't hear footsteps behind her. she isn't lost in any thoughts in particular, perhaps only in the peacefulness, but she jolts when she hears him speak. victoria is quick to recover; there's no gasp and no nervous laughter afterward. just a jolt, and then a quick look over her shoulder.
instantly, her sight is drawn to the bloodstains which decorate him. she tries not to stare, but it's something that can't be helped. her eyes flick to his face before she looks away. ]
Collinsport.
[ victoria's gone tense, her fingers wrapped around each other so tight that they're turning pale. she doesn't look back at the man. she keeps her face blank and tells herself that she's gotten out of worse before - that he could be in trouble, not a danger to her - to just be polite and keep to herself and just don't give him a reason to give you any trouble.
she doesn't pay any mind to his lack of reflection, eyes stuck on her lap as her fingers twitch, the only thing betraying her nerves. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
it won't happen today. it's a simple resolution that victoria's surprised took so long to come to her. spend the day out. out of the house, out by the docks, by the waves, downtown: anywhere. she's been cooped up too long to let herself fall into any reclusive habits. and as long as there are no ghosts plunging from chandeliers or strange voices coming down the hallways, maybe she can actually let her guard down. for once, maybe she can let herself be victoria.
she doesn't even know how far she's walked before she winds up on one of the docks on the far side of town. if she turns her head, she can see the spires of collinwood in the trees on that looming hill, but she chooses not to look. instead, after a moment's hesitation, she sits down on the edge of the dock, feet dangling inches from the water. ]
no subject
It is, needless to say, endlessly disappointing and so Nigel spends a great deal of time neither here nor there. The banality of his worldly limbo begins to smother him if he pays too close attention, but there is nothing else to hold his focus now that his fingers slip through anything they hope to grasp.
He leaves England and spends a long time under the sea, walking the abysmal ocean floor — a palely glowing wisp illuminating all the dark places, only passingly taken by the strange fauna of the deep. When he finally emerges (months? years later?) he has no concept of where he has made landfall. ]
Pardon. [ He's still wearing the clothes that he died in: pajamas and bare feet, blood staining his shirt and the pale rise of his shoulder, indelible now in his death. Nigel would take note of this as he peers over the young woman's shoulder down to the waters below, but being a thing only half-there, he casts no reflection. ] Might I ask where this is?
no subject
instantly, her sight is drawn to the bloodstains which decorate him. she tries not to stare, but it's something that can't be helped. her eyes flick to his face before she looks away. ]
Collinsport.
[ victoria's gone tense, her fingers wrapped around each other so tight that they're turning pale. she doesn't look back at the man. she keeps her face blank and tells herself that she's gotten out of worse before - that he could be in trouble, not a danger to her - to just be polite and keep to herself and just don't give him a reason to give you any trouble.
she doesn't pay any mind to his lack of reflection, eyes stuck on her lap as her fingers twitch, the only thing betraying her nerves. ]
Did you miss the sign?