The dull ache in her lower back was unceasing in its torture now. No matter which way she sat, or leaned, or lay, or placed her hands on it; nothing relieved its constant attack on her. Vivian had never been so terrified in all her life, the baby was coming and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Alone now, since Frost'd had her moved from the shared cell, here in this concrete prison, her baby would be born. And after that...
She tried to focus on the now, to somehow get through this hell first. The periodic sharp invasions of contraction pain were the easiest times, oddly. Then
she could focus on nothing but them, so entirely consuming in their cruelty, they gave little window of opportunity for darker thoughts and fears to break through the pain. Although they pressed at her temples, a slow thud of the threat of how this would end, making the pain unbearable. She was suffering this pain for a child she'd never have the chance to love. For a child who would never know love. A child that would be born into a life of... It didn't bear thinking about.
"Oh god, Wolfie. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please..." She cried desperately, willing him to somehow hear her and take her away.
As the pain started its gradual crescendo once more, she leaned against the cold grey stone, pressing her forehead to its cool surface in an attempt to take away the heat of panic. Her head hung low, staring at the floor beneath, hands clenched so tight that her nails drew blood from her palms as she rode the pain with a stiff jaw. She felt nothing, so intent in her will for this not to be happening now, even as a single drop of blood rolled down her wrist.
And then it happened. At first she thought she'd wet herself in fear, but the streams of warm fluid continued to trickle down her legs, soaking her underwear and pooling beneath on the cell floor. She thrust a hand down there urgently, as if by placing her hand over the source it would make it stop. But the liquid kept coming, unstoppable, dripping from between trembling fingers, splashing on the ground beneath in an unyielding pitter-patter of a doomed destiny.
"NO!" Vivian pleaded as she watched the pool beneath her spread.
"STOP! Not now, just wait. You can wait. Someone's coming for us, I know they will, just wait! Please!" Her voice was hysterical in its desperation, her own fingers clamping harder against herself to end this. Stall it. Anything.Muse: Vivian Ward
Fandom: Pretty Woman
Word Count: 465
Notes: Continued as roleplay here at tenebrae_nostro
I can't handle this anymore. It's driving me crazy. "Elevator music." I need to know, but...
...what if he's bad news, but what if he was wonderful? What if I got in with the wrong guys, but what if I found the right man?
"Ummm three." What kinda guy does a hooker like me meet, but what if he was one in a million? And those kinda guys, they don't marry you, they don't fork out a small fortune on a ring, but what if I got lucky? They just screw you and pay you, but what if he didn't? He's not gonna be what I want him to be, but what if he is?
"Yes marriages. Wait... You're kidding! 'Bridge over troubled waters' again." It was him, he gave me these scars. It's bound to be, guys like that, girls like me, it's what happens, but what if he didn't?
"Come ooooon, running out of quarters here." What kinda guy wouldn't have bothered to come and find me, but what if he tried? What if it was him that put me there, what if he did it to me, but what if he didn't even know?
"Yes, New York." What if that was him, that... that thing, that monster, but what if it wasn't, what if he'd have killed it?
"Finally. Vivian Ward." He's not going to love you Viv, you're dreaming, but what if he does? There's no happy ending to be found here.
"No, I don't know. I had an accident, lost my memory." Drop it, don't chase it, don't set yourself up. I don't need this, those memories, these dreams, they're never going to stop. I'm so scared, but what if he can take them away?
What if... he loves me.
"No, no I.D."
What if I fucking can't find out anyway, because I don't exist anymore.
"Thanks for nothing pal. Now I'm four bucks down."
Muse: Vivian Ward
Fandom: Pretty Woman
Word Count: 310
When dreams come true: We've all had dreams that we would swear were real, this is your muse's dream. Tell us about it. Will they remember it when they wake? If so, show us it's affect on them.
At first, Vivian didn't wake to her cries. Choosing to bury her head beneath the crisp white cotton of the pillow, airy light feathers crunched in their luxurious egyptian casing as they moulded to the nape of her neck. Shrill impatient cries rapidly escalated into relentless distress though, and the comforting caress of dreams no longer offered sanctuary from her daughter's insistent calling.
Unexpectedly cool floorboards chilled her naked foot as she forced herself from her goose-down refuge, the retraction of her foot bringing her one step closer to unwelcome consciousness. Wearily she pulled on the white robe, tying a lazy knot at her waist and slid into the nearby slippers. In the half light of approaching dawn the room was swathed in deep blue shadow, only its edges and peaks tinged with hints of pink where the promise of a glorious day slowly cut through the darkness.( Vivian turned to place a hand on his shoulder and kiss the sleeping man beside her )Muse: Vivian Ward
Fandom: Pretty Woman
Word Count: 751
How important is love to your muse? Are they the type of person who uses and abuses only to cast others away like toys when they are tired of them? Are they looking for their soulmate in life, or have they already found them? It's your turn to talk about love.
Firstly, one of the reasons that I've chosen this particular prompt, is because anyone reading Vivian's prompts is understandably not going to know what the hell is going on with her. I have been roleplaying Vivian for nearly four years, and for that period have kept her on a real time linear journey, regardless of community changes. As you can imagine, four years of pan fandom roleplay is a long time and she has inevitably come a long way from canon. Her initial canon incidentally was from the beginning of the movie Pretty Woman (there was no Richard Gere millionaire to sweep her off her feet in Vivian's storyline) and as such she was a nineteen year old hooker working Hollywood Boulevard with her best friend and roomie Kit de Luca. Given, that she is new to 'writers muses', this is the perfect opportunity to provide some backstory, both pre-canon improvisations and post-canon events.( Vivian, from the very beginning was a romantic, albeit a cynical one... )Muse: Vivian Ward
Fandom: Pretty Woman
Word Count: 1652
A fairytale in ruins.
It should have been a fairytale. Countless childhood dreams had long since been discarded, but not this. This she had clung to through everything, her one remaining innocence. If it were to happen, there would be swans, champagne and decadence. Of this, she was certain, for she had promised herself.
A silk train would glide effortlessly behind her, a rainbow mosaic of ever shifting reflections dancing in its wake as the sun filtered through magnificent stained glass. Towering floral arrangements would flood the room with their opulence and scent. This would be her moment. That magical moment where not a soul in the room would fix their gaze anywhere but on her.
And once, just once, no matter how fleeting, it would be they who wished for her life.
Yet here she stood, at his agitated insistence, amidst a morbid flurry of chaotic activity wearing torn silk and clutching a battered spray of crimson rose and stained bent lilies.
The rainbow had been shattered by vengeance. Tiny splinters and cruel shards of glass glistened on the empty seats, toppled floral arrangements sparkled on the floor with their murderous confetti. Pillars had fallen, crushed limbs lay trapped. The violins had ceased, and in their place a cacophony of pain and barked orders as salvage commenced. Death and destruction surrounded them.
"I do." She whispered somberly, then blood stained lips kissed her. A kiss so passionate, so en-flamed, so roused that she could not match it and barely felt it.