sandandwater: (NYC)

Saturday Night, The Circe





These are the four things that Pippa knows and feels. They are what she’s surrounded by, encased in, trapped under. Severe and intense, her small world is relentless. Everything can be described with those few, simple words: the light in the bathroom, the surface of the tub, the water pummeling her and the throbbing in her hand.

Bright, cold, hard pain.
sandandwater: (pmanhattan sunrise)
Friday, dies Veneris

" ... Ro?"

Deprivation does strange and varied things to the human mind, body and soul. Pippa Kerr has been deprived of a great many things in the last few days: food, water, cleanliness, dignity, compassion, love, mercy. She's been left with no perception of the passing of time, no exposure to daylight or warmth. To anything familiar.

Reality bent, distorted, broken. Where she is physically isn't the place she's dwelling mentally. She has turned inward, sifting through memories and thoughts that are so far removed from her current predicament that she no longer feels the cold air on bare skin, the tightness of abused muscles, the agony of wounds incurred. She's stopped reacting to the abuse. Stopped crying, no longer screams or moans. Sometimes she doesn't even blink for long, long minutes.

She's gone. She's resigned. She's going to die. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, that realization keeps her company. She's going to die and this is all going to end. But until then she has places to hide. One person she thinks of. And then she feels safe.

"Ro ... ?"
sandandwater: (sleeping)
Thursday, three days in…

Larch had never bothered to release her from the leather restraints keeping her arms tied down. In fact, he really hadn’t bothered with Pippa at all since relieving her of the pinky finger on her left hand. It was if he was content to simply let her become part of the room’s décor. She was an object. A thing.

She was in shock.

Pippa stared blankly at her hand, unable to connect the bloody wound and missing digit to anything relating to herself. She saw it, but it wasn’t real. Not to her, not any more. She’d stare, she’d drift off into unconsciousness, she’d dream.

Pippa would wake up screaming.

This process continued for hours, until she was too weak to manage the screams. It was full-body shuddering as her head lay on the table. She ignored the pain in her ribs as her torso pressed into the hard edge of the flat surface. She didn’t realize that her feet were numb. Had no way of knowing that her hand wasn’t hurting due largely to tendon and nerve damage.

Occasionally, she would close her eyes and whisper one word: Ro.
sandandwater: (distraught)
ooc: This was written with [ profile] badass_charger. Same warnings apply. Seriously icky ew in this one. Follows this post here.

Wednesday Night/Thursday Morning...

She was at a table. She kept trying to focus on the wood grain pattern in front of her, the one slightly darkened knot on center plank. She couldn’t, not for long, not with her vision swimming. He’d drugged her again. The side of her neck was becoming ugly and bruised from the repeated unskilled and unkind injections. Holding her head up was becoming more difficult as well. It felt so heavy and she was so tired.

He was still there. She hadn’t realized it until now. Thought he’d left her alone again. But she could hear him behind her. He was at his sound board again, at the computer. And the music that was playing—familiar but wrong.

She couldn’t stay awake any longer...

Read more... )
sandandwater: (secrets)
ooc: Takes place hours after this post and concurrently with this post here. Same warning for content applies.

Tuesday Evening, The Circe

She was tied to wooden chair, hands bound behind her back. The way he had pulled her arms over the backrest rungs of had been intentionally painful—her muscles forced into a state of constant strain. Her ankles had also been secured, rough corded rope digging into her skin and tied tight enough that her bare feet were beginning to lose circulation. And she was cold, her skin clammy.

Read more... )

[For Rory]

Aug. 25th, 2008 10:01 pm
sandandwater: (NYC)
When Pippa didn't show up for her Tuesday night shift at Last Call, the owner came in to make sure set up and opening was completed. Then he started making phone calls. No answer on her cell phone. No answer on her home phone. Mike left messages on both voicemail systems: Pippa, where are you? You're on the schedule for tonight in case you forgot. Call me, dollface.

She didn't return his calls or even show up at the bar. By the time the musical act of the night started their second set, Mike was getting worried. Not agitated. Pippa wasn't the irresponsible type. Where some of the other girls might simply pull a no-show for a shift, Phillipa Kerr had never once done that in the almost three years that he'd known her. Not once.

A thought occurred to him and he went back into the storeroom/office and pulled out the binder that held contact information for the bar's bookings. Pippa was dating one of the musicians that played at the Call regularly. Rory, wasn't it? The Irish guy...Stone. Finding the cell phone number for the man, Miked dialed. Maybe she'd been whisked off somewhere. Or maybe Rory knew where she was...hopefully.
sandandwater: (long night)
ooc: Takes place after this conversation and was co-written with [ profile] badass_charger and is going to be an ongoing storyline that will affect far more than just Pippa. The bulk of it will play out in this journal but may likely be referenced by some of my other muses as well as [ profile] fey_fire and his family members. WARNING: At times this story will be graphic and grisly. John Larch is a serial killer and he means business. This is not going to be a nice story, feel free to skip over these posts. All of them will be cut for content.

I've done ugly things and I have made mistakes
(Garbage – ‘Why Do You Love Me?’)

Monday night, late and she was tired. Last Call had the usual end of summer crowd as local college kids sought out one more hurrah before getting back to the grind of studying and the routine of a new semester. Pippa had been kept busy right through to closing with orders, placating customers and dealing with a minor snafu with the band. She loved the work, enjoyed the usually great music but there were times when the act booked happened to be people she didn’t care for off the stage. Small-time divas were exhausting.

It was with that thought the redhead pulled the heavy doors to the establishment closed, put the key into the lock and turned until she heard the tumblers click. Oh, finally…now to go home. Her car was parked at just a few feet from where she stood as she considered home. Her dog. A hot shower. Call Ro. Bed. What she didn’t consider was the man leaning against the hood of the Volkswagen Beetle. Pippa didn’t notice the dark haired, bright-eyed man until she reached out a hand to open the passenger side door, put her purse inside.

Read more... )


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October 2009

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