[WIP] Lit Trade - Casey
For an art/literature trade. Currently a WIP
[Please note this is a work in progress! It is very rough and incomplete at the moment. Characters might also be OOC until completion as I have not written for any of these characters in a long while; if at all. If you have any corrections for any OOC characters or incorrect information, please comment or shoot me a message~!]
The motel laid in the serene silence of the night; the most sound heard being from a creaking of a bed in a nearby room, or the water running through the pipelines behind the plaster, and the sound of the rain pouring down from the dark and dreary sky.
The yellow-toned lights within the rented room cast a warm and flickering glow from the thinning filament within, spreading out and dispersing among the small room; giving off a welcoming aura in the otherwise unwelcoming motel. Dark lines and cracks ran up parts and corners of the walls where the wallpaper had torn and wilted down, making the room seem less elegant than it had already appeared to be. But to those who were staying, it was somewhat tolerable in the small amounts it was in and for the cheap price for the stay.
The sheets on the assumingly once nice and pristine bed had its seams at the edges coming unraveled, the strings peeking out and could easily be pulled to tear the sheet in two. The couches and other furniture's appearances were worn and old, a mixed style between a country inn and a more modern take on hotels. Luckily, it didn't appear that the small
Although small, the room was surely big enough for the mere two who decided to stay at this place for the night.
Casey flops down onto the tanned couch, air forming around her head in an umber-toned veil, eyes looking and tracing the cracks in the ceiling, mind trying to chase away the shock of what she had done; Done countless times, but always affected her afterward, never during. No matter how many times it happens, it always leaves a feeling within her gut and in the back of her mind; it was something almost reminiscent of guilt. After a few years of doing this, she has learned to numb those deeper feelings of regret, screening a white noise over them, but they never fully disappear into the void so many other things always fell into; for it had a rope tied to the edge, staying on by a thread, a thread strong enough to hold an ox from the bitter edge of what lay at the bottom of a blackened ravine.
The shuffling of the other individual in the rented room could be heard; soft mutters of complaints about how hard it can be to get blood out of clothing; until there is a final sigh, and the sound of more shuffling before the masked man enters the room, and a pang of worry strikes his heart when he sees the poor girl laying in her own guilt-ridden strife. Of course, he tries to put a facade over his paternal instinct and worry towards the girl, taking a breath in through his nose, then back out the way it came.
After a moment of thought, he approaches the other, sitting on the edge of the couch.
"..Hey Casey, you good?" Masky asks, tone only with a light film of concenr over the top.