Post by Elle on Jul 22, 2008 22:51:05 GMT
Continued from Baggage Reclaim.
Once she had her bag in hand it was actually completely painless getting out of the terminal and picking up her cat from short term parking. Élodie shoved her suitcase into the trunk - it was small, she hadn't been gone long, so it wasn't too difficult a task even for her tired limbs - and then all but collapsed into her front set, head rocking back against the headrest. It was completely ridiculous how exhausted she really was, right into her bones. Not lethargic or sleepy exactly, just generally tired. For a moment as she sat with her eyes closed and her hands on the steering wheel, relaxed, doors locked, she wondered if she really did work herself too hard. As usual though, whenever that thought entered her mind she reminded herself that she had to make the most of the time she had. That heart beating in her chest wasn't hers, she had no right to waste the life someone else had died to give her.
That thought always sobered her up. Invigorated her.
Élodie turned the key in the ignition, eyes on the rear view mirror as the engine roared to life and she began to reverse out of her spot. Of course she worked hard, she worked hard because she enjoyed it, it made her feel good, it got her blood pumping in the morning; how many people got to create art like she did on such a massive scale for a living? God, she was so lucky.
With that in mind, she flipped the radio to life, the blue glow illuminating the interior of the Chrysler as she pulled smoothly through the parking lot, winding her way out into the streets of Los Angeles. Right now she was going home to relax, she was doing the responsible thing and tomorrow was another day, one she could attack with as much vigour as she liked after she had allowed herself to unwind tonight.
Continued in Élodie's Home; Beverly Hills.
Once she had her bag in hand it was actually completely painless getting out of the terminal and picking up her cat from short term parking. Élodie shoved her suitcase into the trunk - it was small, she hadn't been gone long, so it wasn't too difficult a task even for her tired limbs - and then all but collapsed into her front set, head rocking back against the headrest. It was completely ridiculous how exhausted she really was, right into her bones. Not lethargic or sleepy exactly, just generally tired. For a moment as she sat with her eyes closed and her hands on the steering wheel, relaxed, doors locked, she wondered if she really did work herself too hard. As usual though, whenever that thought entered her mind she reminded herself that she had to make the most of the time she had. That heart beating in her chest wasn't hers, she had no right to waste the life someone else had died to give her.
That thought always sobered her up. Invigorated her.
Élodie turned the key in the ignition, eyes on the rear view mirror as the engine roared to life and she began to reverse out of her spot. Of course she worked hard, she worked hard because she enjoyed it, it made her feel good, it got her blood pumping in the morning; how many people got to create art like she did on such a massive scale for a living? God, she was so lucky.
With that in mind, she flipped the radio to life, the blue glow illuminating the interior of the Chrysler as she pulled smoothly through the parking lot, winding her way out into the streets of Los Angeles. Right now she was going home to relax, she was doing the responsible thing and tomorrow was another day, one she could attack with as much vigour as she liked after she had allowed herself to unwind tonight.
Continued in Élodie's Home; Beverly Hills.