canon; frankenstein. type; modern au.

[lurched]

[ his hands move inside his dark jacket pockets, long fingers searching for a fag. he finds one and places the slender, white stick in between his lips. a lighter flicks open, and the low flame eats at the end of the cigarette. the end burns a bright orange as he sucks in a puff, and smoke slowly flows from his lips, like a smoke machine or a bellowing dragon, as he tastes the tobacco on his tongue. his throat burns as the sharp smoke moves down into his lungs; it feels like his insides are on fire, like there's a forest fire inside him. he's never smoked before, but since his father had troubles quitting it, starting it feels like a silent rebellion. a strike against a ghost and against a figure that's possibly one as well.

a hand moves through his black locks -- a nervous tick copied from his older brother -- as the cigarette moves along his fingers. ]

How many more do you think you'll play? Just a rough guess. No need to be accurate here. [ he makes a vague gesture with his cigarette. ]

You play my brother, Victor, and that captain. Walton, right? [ a pause as he takes another drag. ] I'm curious as to whether or not I'll be the last. Do you think you'll have anymore two AM epiphanies as you procrastinate on your homework? Perhaps Henry deserves an account? Or my mother? Oh, she wasn't in the story for long, but she did greatly influence it. [ the hard, sharp angles of his face take on a dark, pensive quality as his tongue clacked against the roof of his mouth. ]

In any case, please do play with me for longer than a second, will you? I've already been abandoned once. I would prefer to skip that this time, thanks.

Comments

[thinkagain]

[ Oh dear -- not good. not good.

Elizabeth frowns, mouth a thin line. ]

Ernie...

[lurched]

[ his mouth twists into a grimace as he flicks the cigarette away. as much as he thinks he's a lone bad boy, something familiar happens and he immediately reverts back to that little kid. ] yes?

[ ernest tries to play it innocent as his lips puckers into a small smile.]

[thinkagain]

[ Elizabeth gives a small smile in return. ] You should not take smoke. It does not smell good afterwards and it clings to your clothes.

[lurched]

[ he gives a careless shrug, gaze dropping from her face to the ground. ] true. but i care little for that right now.

[lurched]

[ whether he's twelve or seventeen, he's way too young to experience this kind of heartbreak and sorrow. and he totally deserves a smoke for it.

he barks out a fake laugh before he takes another suck. ] very funny. you must be a comedian.

[lurched]

[ it makes him feel older and cooler. when you're alone and there's no one there with you, even grabbing a small aesthetics victory helps soften the blow and emptiness. ]

do you work in the cancer ward of hospitals? i'm sure they could use your wit and charm.

[ sarcasm again. ]

[lurched]

[ he loudly snorts, then puts out his cigarette. ] i cannot think of something i'd rather do than that.

[ and, pray, what joke is that? will it make him want to follow his brother to the arctic. ]

[lurched]

yes. i can tell. you got modesty written all over you.

[ he doesn't expect to live long enough to get cancer. while he doesn't really believe it himself, there's whispers around the village about how unlucky the name "frankenstein" is and that anyone that comes into association with it will die. after hearing it enough times, anyone would believe it. ]