A New Place to Call Home

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A New Place to Call Home

Postby moulmein » Fri Nov 04, 2016 9:49 pm

OOC: I decided to give this character some life - I hope some people out there are alive :)

The light flickered for a moment and then sprung to life. Bethany entered in with her usual nonchalant mannerisms. She tossed her green laptop bag that she made herself, with her sister’s help, onto the ground and then softly cursed hoping that she didn’t smash yet another tablet. The entrance to her small two bedroom apartment on the western side of London in Richmond always smelt musky when she first entered. Granted she had only been there for approximately three months, but nonetheless she was hoping by now she would get used to the scent of the previous tenants. The squeaky floor announced her presence to the rather nosy neighbour across the hall from her and she winced a little as she could hear the unique, and yet familiar sound of her creaky door open.
‘Doctor Cooks’, old Mrs Winters called out as she entered into the cold and dank hallway. Bethany saw the reflection of the small and crouched over woman in her mirror that hung on the wall opposite her door. Winters, who rather often poked her business into other people’s letterboxes, quite literally, seemed to be a little more rushed than usual this evening. Bethany spun around on her heel and smiled with the charm that melted the heart of her students at the University of London. ‘Hi Edith how are you this evening?’ she replied with a half-hearted nod of her head. Edith Winters was a seamstress by trade, or so she would tell people. Her claw-like hands illustrated that, with callouses on both her index fingers, punctuated by tell-tale yellow stains of a smoker (though she had given that up for some time). She had lovely blue hair that usually looked pristine in place. Not a strand of hair stuck out and her shape sometimes resembled that of the top half of the mushroom cloud of an atomic bomb. Bethany often joked to herself on the tube that she was indeed just that, a small woman with a nuclear personality. The 5 foot 3 woman shuffled in her slippers that looked as though they had seen many a night. Shaped like puppies, the funny looking eyes and big smiles of the character were faded so that the slippers just looked like big pieces of fluff on her feet.
As she shuffled over to Bethany, she wrapped herself in her satin dressing gown, a weird choice for a woman her age, or so many thought. Huddled she approached and spoke to the floor in her deep Northern English accent having spent most of her life in the harsh winters of Newcastle-on-Tyne. ‘Dr Cooks I heard someth’g today I thought ya would like to hear’. This was not an out of the ordinary for Edith. Bethany had spent many a night at her door trying to persuade her next door neighbour that aliens were not real (though she knew differently), the government was not run by ghostly demons from the underworld, and that there was indeed a moon and not a beamed holograph in the sky. On top of that, Bethany often had to remind Edith that she was a physicist who taught and researched in aerodynamics, not an astrophysicist and certainly not a psychiatrist, which is probably what her elderly neighbour needed.
‘Yes Edith what is it,’ she responded calmly. The lean five foot eight woman with medium length black hair and deep blue eyes was renowned for her patience amongst her colleagues, and for her even temperament with frustrating students. To quote one of her friends, ‘she is nice’, as was overheard at a dinner party when she first arrived at London after a brief stint at Stargate Command. Bethany felt that she didn’t have a choice to not be nice. People, more specifically women, in her position tended to not be taken seriously unless they were just that. Edith however was of a different ilk and she approached with some determination towards her younger, taller neighbour. ‘Ya don’t wanna hear this but I have to tell ya,’ she croaked after choking slightly on her own words, ‘that man was around har’ again t’day lookin for ya, I told him what for an’ he gotta bit angry’.
Edith was referring to a stranger that continued to haunt the building where they lived. Bethany and Mrs Winter lived on the bottom floor of a five story apartment complex and were often aware of visitors, both welcome and unwelcome to the area. ‘Richmond Green’, as the building was called was located in a cul-de-sac behind a shopping complex and so often they would get people going the wrong way, youths hanging around smoking after school (not always tobacco) and quite often the police knocking looking for people.
‘What happened Edith’
The woman who usually confronted Bethany with some significant ‘gusto’ at this time looked far more forlorn. She raised her head gently and looked up with her counterpart with a fearful look that Bethany had never seen in her three months of harassing conversations. ‘He told me, to tell ya, that they know ya here, and tha’ be coming to get ya,’ she spoke softly as if passing on national state secrets. ‘Dr Cooks, are ya in trouble?’ she asked genuinely.
Bethany peered down and placed her hand on Edith’s warm shoulder. ‘I don’t know Mrs Winters, but let’s get you a cup of tea hey?’ she gestured in her apartment.

Ooc: I’ll continue this later – hope it sparks some life here!
'Every Breath An Art, The Dignity To It, Can Strain and Break Your Heart'

Bethany Rebekah-Anne Cooks (PhD)
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moulmein
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