![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
justnyxie.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
writers_loftI have been a long time lurker on here and finally got up the courage to post.
This is a short extract from my new project (yet to be named). Long story short, it's about a serial killer and his house mate. I won't give away any more because, really, you don't need it.
All I ask is that you glance over this, give me your suggestions (grammer, characters etc) and comment. I am pleased with it but not entirely happy. It is only a draft, and I am determined to finish it, but it would be lovely to get some opinions and advice.
It was the name of her potential house mate that first drew Dana Wilde to the house in Brixton. Eyre. His name was Jason Eyre & Dana couldn't help but imagine that he was some sort of distant relative to Jane Eyre. After all, the governess had been one of her best friends for years, fictional or not.
However Jason was not what the young woman had expected & any pre-existing illusions she had of him quickly vanished upon their first meeting.
He greeted her at the front door full of airs and graces but offered no hand to shake. He did not welcome her in, instead he walked down the hallway and, slightly disorientated, Dana followed him, closing the front door as she went.
Jason Eyre, now standing in the light of a high framed window, looked just as his first impression had confirmed; strange. He towered over her at no less than five foot nine inches but looked scrawny in his boot cut jeans and shirt. Dana studied him long enough to tell that he had been in quite a few fights in his life, his nose had the unmistakeable shape of one which had been broken more than once and his lip had been recently split. Other small details escaped her in those short moments, the swarthy appearance of his skin and his cold, green eyes were hardly important upon first glance.
The interior of the room was, at that time, far more interesting than Jason. It was not entirely disorganized but was certainly not tidy. There hung various Van Gough prints upon the walls, mostly covering the awful patterned wallpaper, the fireplace was antique and beautiful but in need of a good clean and none of the furniture matched. In fact, nothing matched at all.
Dana smiled to her self. This would do just fine.
“Ah yes, do excuse the mess.” Jason said breaking the silence. His voice had a smooth, rich flow and reminded Dana of a history teacher she once admired in high school.
“It's nothing. Don't worry about it.” She answered, the words coming out in a slight squeak.
He handed her a single sheet of paper.
“I have no doubt the landlady has already went over all the details with you, however I feel I should remind you. The room is £59 a week, the details of how exactly this is split are on this piece of paper. There are two bathrooms, one down stairs and one up stairs, there is one reception area, the area you now stand in and a total of three bedrooms, however one is used for a study or storage room. The utility is situated beyond the kitchen and the entrance to the cellar is just outside.” he paused in thought, “That's it, yes, I'm sure of it. Your room is already equip with a single bed, a wardrobe, chest of drawers and bureau and all laundry facilities are available in the cellar.”
Dana stood open mouthed, she was rather taken back by the direct manner in which Jason spoke to her. He very much assumed that she was going to take the room and, as she would soon learn, he was mostly always right.
“Any questions?”
“Um – no, none at present. Most have been answered by Mrs Turner. She suggested I meet you actually, just so I know who I might be living with.”
“Oh. Did she?” he raised arched an eyebrow, “Very well. Take a seat and I'll make tea.”
As Dana opened her mouth to speak he clasped a hand across it, “No, let me guess. Black, no sugar? Yes?” she nodded beneath his hand, “Oh I do love it when I do that.”
He unhanded her and strode off towards what Dana assumed was the kitchen. She sat down upon the two seater still rather dazed by his sudden reaction, and proceeded to summarize her current findings.
The house was fine, there was nothing wrong with it save for it needing a good tidy, and Jason was no doubt an interesting character. He was fascinating, he certainly wasn't considered normal and, for Dana, that suited perfectly. She herself had seldom been considered normal by anyone anyway.
From where she sat Dana could hear Jason muttering to himself. It was the sort of low pitched, beneath breath 'speech' that one might use when they felt the need to talk aloud to themselves. Dana couldn't make out any words, save for a faint 'Tea for two, two for tea, and she secretly rejoiced that this strange man may just share her love of classic literature.
He waltzed into the living room carrying two mugs of tea and a packet of biscuits grasped beneath his left arm.
“Thank you,” she smiled, “Tea for two, two for tea.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her before his bow-shaped lips curled slowly upwards into a grin.
“My deductions are correct then.”
“What de-”
“A writer type,” he cut in, “more likely a journalist working on a 'great novel.' Not an editor either, you wouldn't be looking for a house share if you were; most editors these days get the big pay checks. You're not a newspaper journalist, magazines seem more your thing. A woman's magazine no doubt.”
“But before all that you were, are rather, a great reader,” he continued despite Dana objectively raising her hand every-so-often, “You escape with books more so than with writing. Your best friends are on the pages of great novels rather than seated next to you. Fictional characters are easier to get on with, seldom leave you hurt and vulnerable and are always there for you when you feel the need for them. Yes. Yes books are much better and less boring than most people.”
Dana sat in stunned silence. This man, this perfect stranger, had just descried damn near everything about her to a almost fine and angular 'T'. However the magazine she worked for was more or less an alternative magazine aimed at young, intellectual women and men , but it was a minor detail and hardly worth bringing up.
Jason sat back in his armchair, one leg crossed over the other, and sipped at his tea.
“Interesting.” he mumbled into his mug.
“What is?”
“You're doing to me what I have just done to you. Analysing, seeking, pin pointing and then storing it away safely in your mind”
“How could you possibly know that?” it was true however. From the way he dressed and presented himself Dana could tell a great deal, “The landlady told me you were an arrogant sod.”
He chuckled. The mug was deposited onto the table and he towered his fingers in concentration.
“Look at you, “ he began, “ sitting there, observing and storing as much information as your bigger-than-average brain will allow. You're so shy about such a talent. You will get no where being so submissive like that.”
“I don't voice my assumptions.” she began.
“But I was right?”
Dana hesitated.
“I don't work for a woman's magazine.”
“Oh. Well that was a shot in the dark. The clothing put me off. Journalist's tend to have this cross between sophisticated and 'mum' look going on. Hardly an important detail.”
“Mum look -” Dana stuttered, “I'm 29!”
“I had you down as 28 if it helps.”
She chuckled and reached for a biscuit. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the slightest hint of a smile pinching at Jason's lips. He was, so far, an infuriatingly arrogant individual. He appeared to say anything he liked, to anyone he liked and cared little about their feelings or opinions. It was no doubt hurtful to most people but, to Dana, it was highly fascinating and amusing.
The remainder of the conversation was mostly confirming what Dana had already heard from the land lady. Jason made clear some 'ground rules' and proceeded to outline all his, and her, bad habits. By the end of the pre-arranged hour Jason must have known more about Dana than she did herself.
“You'll take the room.” Jason concluded after the tea had run dry.
“Maybe.” Dana answered.
“It wasn't a question.”
“How do you know you're right?”
“You would have left half an hour ago if it weren't the case. You were genuinely interested before but now you're convinced. If you want assistance you can move in tomorrow at the earliest, however if it doesn’t matter then feel free to move in tonight. ” he extended a hand, “ Welcome to the family.”
“Tomorrow's good.” She grinned and shook his hand, “About two o'clock?”
“Excellent. Now if you don't mind I need you to leave; I have an experiment involving colonies of staphylococcus aureus cooking in the cellar.”
**
As always Dana arrived earlier than the pre-arranged time, bringing with her a variety of boxes. Jason did little to help her and opted instead to hold open doors and make tea. The journalist was happy to work on her own and passed no remarks on his lack of assistance.
She spent a good hour hanging pictures and packing away other personal belongings in her assigned room. She retreated downstairs for a mug of tea only to catch Jason poking through an abandoned box. He had a photo album balanced on his knee and was carefully pawing at the pages.
“What are you doing?” Dana asked relaxing back against the door's frame.
“Investigating.”
“These are my personal things.”
“And yet you left them here in our living room. You knew there was a possibility that I would open the box, you are not rushing forward to stop me looking within the box and instead you are opting to stand leisurely watching me as I 'snoop',” Jason explained without so much as looking up from the album, “Also, these aren't photos. Their a collection of book clippings.”
“Photos are all digital now-a-days.”
“That and I'm sensing you're slightly camera shy. Me too.”
Dana sighed and pushed herself from the wooden frame. She snatched the book from his hands, threw it back into the box and hauled the whole lot back to her room.
“You have no sense of personal space or belongings.” Dana noted once back downstairs.
“Maybe I don't.”
“That wasn't a question; it was a statement.”
Jason followed his new house mate into the kitchen. He watched as she prepared tea for them both and smiled politely as he was offered sugar. Dana knew he was assessing her and analysing every move she made.
She sat across from him at the kitchen table and watched as he dipped his little finger into the tea.
“Jason, what is it exactly that you do?”
“Is it important?”
“Well yes. We're living together and you appear to have me all sussed out. I assume it's only fair that you tell me how you make a living.” Dana cocked an eyebrow, “Unless you're a drug dealer or some sort of sugar daddy. If that's the case I don't want to know.”
“What do you think I do for a living?”
“I would say biologist but that's only based on the colonies of microbes you were growing in the cellar. The numerous glass ware and test tubes would imply a job involving chemistry experiments but that isn't right either. You don't seem like a people person so teaching is out of the question. You have literature books on the coffee table and bookshelves but you also have psychology books as well as others meant for study. You appear to be a jack of all trades so, I really am at a loss.”
Jason grinned.
“I like you.”he laughed, “You are very observant. That's so very unlike most people these days, most see what they want to see. How very intriguing.”
“That's wonderful but you still haven't told me what you do.”
“I'm a psychological profiler. I work with the police and many special units within the country. It's not as busy a profession as it once was but every so often you get an interesting killer or criminal and it makes my job worth while.”
“You're not a people person and yet you are a psychological profiler? Do you naturally get on with killers or was this something you had to build up to?” Dana laughed.
“They're fascinating most of the time.”
“Do you get a lot of serial killers then?”
“No, not any more. Nothing original anyway, most are copy cats or domestic murders. Every once and a while a good old fashioned homicide will come up, killer on the run, leaving calling cards; the whole works. But they're a dying breed.” he shook his head, “Sad really.”
“Yep. Sad.” Dana sipped at her tea and avoided all eye contact with the man.
“I've confused you.” he uttered.
“Yes, a bit. How exactly is it sad that there are less serial murders and, if you are a psychological profiler, shouldn't you be at work? Also,” she began to wave her spoon in his direction, “you guys get a pretty large salary, more than I get in fact, shouldn't you be living in some high scale London flat rather than house sharing with a lowly individual such as myself?”
“Should I answer alphabetically?” he chuckled, “Firstly more serial murders means more serial killers which, incidentally, is more interesting than an open and suit domestic. Secondly I'm not required to be at an office at all times and do most of my 'write ups' at home. When the police need me they know how to contact me. And finally I happen to like the suburbs opposed to the big city and no one ever said you were 'a lowly individual'. In fact I hold you in much higher regards than I hold most.”
“Why am I so special?” Dana questioned.
“I didn't have the urge to close the door in your face.”
“Do you do that with a lot of people? Close the door in people's faces?”
“Oh yes. Most people never have a chance to make it by the threshold.” he smirked.
“Delightful. I suppose I owe you a thank you for not turning me away?”
“I'm not much accustomed to gratitude. It's not necessary.”
“Um – right.” Dana made an awkward attempt to smile, “Well, look, I'd love to sit and chat some more but I have unpacking to do and stuff.”
“Oh good. I was waiting for you to say such a thing, I hate cutting off conversations; good way to gain insight, you know? I have a variety of leather bound books awaiting me in my study and I am so looking forward to studying them. Good evening.”
Jason swiftly stood and disappeared down the hall. Dana frowned at his abandoned mug of tea but, as much as it annoyed her, stopped herself from calling out to him. She washed the dishes herself, his included, and retreated to her room.
Thank you - Nyx.
This is a short extract from my new project (yet to be named). Long story short, it's about a serial killer and his house mate. I won't give away any more because, really, you don't need it.
All I ask is that you glance over this, give me your suggestions (grammer, characters etc) and comment. I am pleased with it but not entirely happy. It is only a draft, and I am determined to finish it, but it would be lovely to get some opinions and advice.
It was the name of her potential house mate that first drew Dana Wilde to the house in Brixton. Eyre. His name was Jason Eyre & Dana couldn't help but imagine that he was some sort of distant relative to Jane Eyre. After all, the governess had been one of her best friends for years, fictional or not.
However Jason was not what the young woman had expected & any pre-existing illusions she had of him quickly vanished upon their first meeting.
He greeted her at the front door full of airs and graces but offered no hand to shake. He did not welcome her in, instead he walked down the hallway and, slightly disorientated, Dana followed him, closing the front door as she went.
Jason Eyre, now standing in the light of a high framed window, looked just as his first impression had confirmed; strange. He towered over her at no less than five foot nine inches but looked scrawny in his boot cut jeans and shirt. Dana studied him long enough to tell that he had been in quite a few fights in his life, his nose had the unmistakeable shape of one which had been broken more than once and his lip had been recently split. Other small details escaped her in those short moments, the swarthy appearance of his skin and his cold, green eyes were hardly important upon first glance.
The interior of the room was, at that time, far more interesting than Jason. It was not entirely disorganized but was certainly not tidy. There hung various Van Gough prints upon the walls, mostly covering the awful patterned wallpaper, the fireplace was antique and beautiful but in need of a good clean and none of the furniture matched. In fact, nothing matched at all.
Dana smiled to her self. This would do just fine.
“Ah yes, do excuse the mess.” Jason said breaking the silence. His voice had a smooth, rich flow and reminded Dana of a history teacher she once admired in high school.
“It's nothing. Don't worry about it.” She answered, the words coming out in a slight squeak.
He handed her a single sheet of paper.
“I have no doubt the landlady has already went over all the details with you, however I feel I should remind you. The room is £59 a week, the details of how exactly this is split are on this piece of paper. There are two bathrooms, one down stairs and one up stairs, there is one reception area, the area you now stand in and a total of three bedrooms, however one is used for a study or storage room. The utility is situated beyond the kitchen and the entrance to the cellar is just outside.” he paused in thought, “That's it, yes, I'm sure of it. Your room is already equip with a single bed, a wardrobe, chest of drawers and bureau and all laundry facilities are available in the cellar.”
Dana stood open mouthed, she was rather taken back by the direct manner in which Jason spoke to her. He very much assumed that she was going to take the room and, as she would soon learn, he was mostly always right.
“Any questions?”
“Um – no, none at present. Most have been answered by Mrs Turner. She suggested I meet you actually, just so I know who I might be living with.”
“Oh. Did she?” he raised arched an eyebrow, “Very well. Take a seat and I'll make tea.”
As Dana opened her mouth to speak he clasped a hand across it, “No, let me guess. Black, no sugar? Yes?” she nodded beneath his hand, “Oh I do love it when I do that.”
He unhanded her and strode off towards what Dana assumed was the kitchen. She sat down upon the two seater still rather dazed by his sudden reaction, and proceeded to summarize her current findings.
The house was fine, there was nothing wrong with it save for it needing a good tidy, and Jason was no doubt an interesting character. He was fascinating, he certainly wasn't considered normal and, for Dana, that suited perfectly. She herself had seldom been considered normal by anyone anyway.
From where she sat Dana could hear Jason muttering to himself. It was the sort of low pitched, beneath breath 'speech' that one might use when they felt the need to talk aloud to themselves. Dana couldn't make out any words, save for a faint 'Tea for two, two for tea, and she secretly rejoiced that this strange man may just share her love of classic literature.
He waltzed into the living room carrying two mugs of tea and a packet of biscuits grasped beneath his left arm.
“Thank you,” she smiled, “Tea for two, two for tea.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her before his bow-shaped lips curled slowly upwards into a grin.
“My deductions are correct then.”
“What de-”
“A writer type,” he cut in, “more likely a journalist working on a 'great novel.' Not an editor either, you wouldn't be looking for a house share if you were; most editors these days get the big pay checks. You're not a newspaper journalist, magazines seem more your thing. A woman's magazine no doubt.”
“But before all that you were, are rather, a great reader,” he continued despite Dana objectively raising her hand every-so-often, “You escape with books more so than with writing. Your best friends are on the pages of great novels rather than seated next to you. Fictional characters are easier to get on with, seldom leave you hurt and vulnerable and are always there for you when you feel the need for them. Yes. Yes books are much better and less boring than most people.”
Dana sat in stunned silence. This man, this perfect stranger, had just descried damn near everything about her to a almost fine and angular 'T'. However the magazine she worked for was more or less an alternative magazine aimed at young, intellectual women and men , but it was a minor detail and hardly worth bringing up.
Jason sat back in his armchair, one leg crossed over the other, and sipped at his tea.
“Interesting.” he mumbled into his mug.
“What is?”
“You're doing to me what I have just done to you. Analysing, seeking, pin pointing and then storing it away safely in your mind”
“How could you possibly know that?” it was true however. From the way he dressed and presented himself Dana could tell a great deal, “The landlady told me you were an arrogant sod.”
He chuckled. The mug was deposited onto the table and he towered his fingers in concentration.
“Look at you, “ he began, “ sitting there, observing and storing as much information as your bigger-than-average brain will allow. You're so shy about such a talent. You will get no where being so submissive like that.”
“I don't voice my assumptions.” she began.
“But I was right?”
Dana hesitated.
“I don't work for a woman's magazine.”
“Oh. Well that was a shot in the dark. The clothing put me off. Journalist's tend to have this cross between sophisticated and 'mum' look going on. Hardly an important detail.”
“Mum look -” Dana stuttered, “I'm 29!”
“I had you down as 28 if it helps.”
She chuckled and reached for a biscuit. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the slightest hint of a smile pinching at Jason's lips. He was, so far, an infuriatingly arrogant individual. He appeared to say anything he liked, to anyone he liked and cared little about their feelings or opinions. It was no doubt hurtful to most people but, to Dana, it was highly fascinating and amusing.
The remainder of the conversation was mostly confirming what Dana had already heard from the land lady. Jason made clear some 'ground rules' and proceeded to outline all his, and her, bad habits. By the end of the pre-arranged hour Jason must have known more about Dana than she did herself.
“You'll take the room.” Jason concluded after the tea had run dry.
“Maybe.” Dana answered.
“It wasn't a question.”
“How do you know you're right?”
“You would have left half an hour ago if it weren't the case. You were genuinely interested before but now you're convinced. If you want assistance you can move in tomorrow at the earliest, however if it doesn’t matter then feel free to move in tonight. ” he extended a hand, “ Welcome to the family.”
“Tomorrow's good.” She grinned and shook his hand, “About two o'clock?”
“Excellent. Now if you don't mind I need you to leave; I have an experiment involving colonies of staphylococcus aureus cooking in the cellar.”
**
As always Dana arrived earlier than the pre-arranged time, bringing with her a variety of boxes. Jason did little to help her and opted instead to hold open doors and make tea. The journalist was happy to work on her own and passed no remarks on his lack of assistance.
She spent a good hour hanging pictures and packing away other personal belongings in her assigned room. She retreated downstairs for a mug of tea only to catch Jason poking through an abandoned box. He had a photo album balanced on his knee and was carefully pawing at the pages.
“What are you doing?” Dana asked relaxing back against the door's frame.
“Investigating.”
“These are my personal things.”
“And yet you left them here in our living room. You knew there was a possibility that I would open the box, you are not rushing forward to stop me looking within the box and instead you are opting to stand leisurely watching me as I 'snoop',” Jason explained without so much as looking up from the album, “Also, these aren't photos. Their a collection of book clippings.”
“Photos are all digital now-a-days.”
“That and I'm sensing you're slightly camera shy. Me too.”
Dana sighed and pushed herself from the wooden frame. She snatched the book from his hands, threw it back into the box and hauled the whole lot back to her room.
“You have no sense of personal space or belongings.” Dana noted once back downstairs.
“Maybe I don't.”
“That wasn't a question; it was a statement.”
Jason followed his new house mate into the kitchen. He watched as she prepared tea for them both and smiled politely as he was offered sugar. Dana knew he was assessing her and analysing every move she made.
She sat across from him at the kitchen table and watched as he dipped his little finger into the tea.
“Jason, what is it exactly that you do?”
“Is it important?”
“Well yes. We're living together and you appear to have me all sussed out. I assume it's only fair that you tell me how you make a living.” Dana cocked an eyebrow, “Unless you're a drug dealer or some sort of sugar daddy. If that's the case I don't want to know.”
“What do you think I do for a living?”
“I would say biologist but that's only based on the colonies of microbes you were growing in the cellar. The numerous glass ware and test tubes would imply a job involving chemistry experiments but that isn't right either. You don't seem like a people person so teaching is out of the question. You have literature books on the coffee table and bookshelves but you also have psychology books as well as others meant for study. You appear to be a jack of all trades so, I really am at a loss.”
Jason grinned.
“I like you.”he laughed, “You are very observant. That's so very unlike most people these days, most see what they want to see. How very intriguing.”
“That's wonderful but you still haven't told me what you do.”
“I'm a psychological profiler. I work with the police and many special units within the country. It's not as busy a profession as it once was but every so often you get an interesting killer or criminal and it makes my job worth while.”
“You're not a people person and yet you are a psychological profiler? Do you naturally get on with killers or was this something you had to build up to?” Dana laughed.
“They're fascinating most of the time.”
“Do you get a lot of serial killers then?”
“No, not any more. Nothing original anyway, most are copy cats or domestic murders. Every once and a while a good old fashioned homicide will come up, killer on the run, leaving calling cards; the whole works. But they're a dying breed.” he shook his head, “Sad really.”
“Yep. Sad.” Dana sipped at her tea and avoided all eye contact with the man.
“I've confused you.” he uttered.
“Yes, a bit. How exactly is it sad that there are less serial murders and, if you are a psychological profiler, shouldn't you be at work? Also,” she began to wave her spoon in his direction, “you guys get a pretty large salary, more than I get in fact, shouldn't you be living in some high scale London flat rather than house sharing with a lowly individual such as myself?”
“Should I answer alphabetically?” he chuckled, “Firstly more serial murders means more serial killers which, incidentally, is more interesting than an open and suit domestic. Secondly I'm not required to be at an office at all times and do most of my 'write ups' at home. When the police need me they know how to contact me. And finally I happen to like the suburbs opposed to the big city and no one ever said you were 'a lowly individual'. In fact I hold you in much higher regards than I hold most.”
“Why am I so special?” Dana questioned.
“I didn't have the urge to close the door in your face.”
“Do you do that with a lot of people? Close the door in people's faces?”
“Oh yes. Most people never have a chance to make it by the threshold.” he smirked.
“Delightful. I suppose I owe you a thank you for not turning me away?”
“I'm not much accustomed to gratitude. It's not necessary.”
“Um – right.” Dana made an awkward attempt to smile, “Well, look, I'd love to sit and chat some more but I have unpacking to do and stuff.”
“Oh good. I was waiting for you to say such a thing, I hate cutting off conversations; good way to gain insight, you know? I have a variety of leather bound books awaiting me in my study and I am so looking forward to studying them. Good evening.”
Jason swiftly stood and disappeared down the hall. Dana frowned at his abandoned mug of tea but, as much as it annoyed her, stopped herself from calling out to him. She washed the dishes herself, his included, and retreated to her room.
Thank you - Nyx.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}