City of IF

[scissorkitty]

ChapterThree


Steam billowed around the crown molding of the apartment, driving out of the bathroom door like so many rainclouds intent on escape. The windows fogged over on the inside, and a faint tide line began to form around the ceiling vent. Finally, just when it seemed like even the ever-steady pilot light in the wall furnace would bite the biscuit, a squeal of protesting copper pipes rattled through the walls, and a lobster-shaded hand gingerly parted the hanging shower curtains to turn the knobs quickly to the left.

"Ahhhhh. OOP! Damnit! COLD COLD COLD MOTHERFUCKER!!!"
Leah leapt from the steamy embrace of the shower as a final trickle of icy water dribbled out of the showerhead and onto her previously super-heated skin. She stood on the fluffy floor mat, swathed in enough terrycloth to house a Home Decor store, and shivered herself dry. Her hair, shorter on one side than the other anyway, stuck up from her soaking scalp like a matt of little brown feathers.

"OOh, damn. I love a good cookin' " Smiling with contentment, she escorted her roasted self back into the bedroom, and set about rounding an outfit up from the assorted articles in the closet, dresser, and ambiguous floor pile. The windows showed a foot of new snow on the ground outside, so on went a thigh length wool sweater, several tanktops, some skinny jeans, and a pair of clodhopper Doc Martens fit to do Gene Simmons proud. A fabric belt embroidered with vines and stars completed the outfit.

Leah stomped her way into the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of the tattoo gun still laying on the table.
"Ooh. Right." Her hand snaked into the fridge to grab the Neosporin, kept cold for ultimate relief. As she stripped and began to slather it over her new decorations, she slowed and stood motionless. The dream from earlier plummeted into her brain.

She poked at her stomach. She prodded her shoulders, stretched her arms this way and that, bent as far over as she could and tried to jump while hunched over.

No wings.

"Heh. Idiot. Satisfied at her lack of feathered appendages, Leah finished up, tidied away the tattoo inks and gun into the pantry- top shelf, tattoo supplies; second shelf, canned beans and tuna- and skittered back into the bedroom to sort through some of the mayhem.

Again she stopped short, boots dragging against the carpeting.

"The fuck?

Her bedside table lay askew, alarm clock and assorted gew-gaws scattered around. As the steam from her shower settled, the cold window revealed a weird smudgey pattern pressed tightly over the pane. Her futon lay a mess of tangled blankets, pillows and duvet scrunched into a warm cave of bedtime retreat. The sheets were still warm from her recent excavation, smelling of sleep and something warm.. like a furry animal safe in her den. Leah furrowed her brow, and threw the bed together into something resembling a normal configuration. She dug through the hall closet for her coat, a scarf, some mitts and a hat, and also pulled out her haversack. Wrapped up like a wintertime mummy, she hesitated, then ran back to the kitchen and stuffed the gun into her purse as well.

Moments later, all that remained were snowy bootprints on the steps outside, and the lingering scents of bodywash and steam.

[TruePurple]

"she was surprised to feel herself being to slip into sleep."

...begin to slip..

[Chinaren]

Gah. I turn my back for two seconds, and several more chapters are suddenly posted. What sort of crazy writes so fast. Oh. Wait...

Enjoying so far old Skit. :D

[Crowkiller]

Beautiful.

[scissorkitty]

oops! Good catch, True! thanks!

Cren.. heh.. and you should talk? Blasphemous?

[D-Lotus]

Ingenious. I can't say I was surprised, though, I knew you were a canny one. I'm glad that Leah isn't yet aware of her new wings, and that she still thinks it is a dream, because I was worried that you were speeding things too much. Thankfully, the story is deliberate in its exposition, and I think we should get to know a couple more things about Leah before she transforms (after all, its not really a transformation if we, the readers, aren't aware of what she was like in the first place).

I'm likin' it.

EDIT:
By the way, 30 minutes after reading this, I came across this quote in Hamlet which I feel could give you some sort of inspiration.

Queen: O Hamlet, speak no more!/ Thou turn'st my eyes into my very soul,/ And there I see such black and grained spots/ As will not leave their tinct.

The editor has a note on what 'grained' means: fast-dyed, indelible.

[scissorkitty]

Wicked quote, D! Thankyou! :) I believe that will show up in the tagline, should this story warrant it's own forum.