- - - hold me like it's easy; axel/marie

WORDS; 575 TAG; axel/marie OUTFIT; here

Clouded, busy, distracted; these were words to describe Emmaline’s everyday life. Though quite quickly she was growing bored as everything had become so routine. There had been internal strife, swirling inside of her. For the past few weeks she had been debating going back to school, and not to regular community college or anything; Medical school. Emma mulled over a career of medical examination. The same things were done everyday at the asylum; She would call families and discuss funeral arrangements in the morning, then she’d eat lunch in the staff lounge, then she’d get to embalming and grooming. Cleaning up the bodies to make them look presentable was her favorite part. Truly there was a science to it. The head had to be tilted at the right angle, and the hands in the perfect position. She immensely enjoyed the gluing of the eyelids and the mouth. Everyone that she had encountered as a mortician informed her that she fit the part without a hitch. Her words were cold, precise, yet there was a certain way about her speech that was drawn out and comforting. There was a high probability that it had something to do with where she was born. New Orleans was an odd town, and as a child she spent a lot of time in graveyards and in the French Quarter. Her parents loved going there. To this day, her slight southern accent remained though usually only audible to a trained ear.

With nail clippers gripped by her skeletal fingers, Miss Bristow held the hand of a young man as she carefully she manicured his nails. He was a handsome young man, with a crooked nose most likely due to a lifetime of rebellious fighting and crime. Even in death, she was able to tell a lot about someone just by their body language. Yes, the deceased still had body language. The young man, who’s name was Christopher, had been in jail for murder. He pleaded insanity, and after a guilty conviction was received, he was admitted to Caulton. Whether he was actually mentally ill or just a very good actor didn’t matter. His death had still happened, and there was no changing it. That was all that really mattered. Obviously he didn’t cope with what happened, and his own demons got the best of him. He still had an angry look on his face, and the tattooed blonde mused to herself. Pressing pause on the manicure, she smoothed out his furrowed brow and nearly instantaneously he appeared at peace. She didn’t like when her patients were unhappy. That’s the only thing that bothered her about her job, was when the deceased came in looking angry. It was creepy.

“I’m not sure what to do,” She spoke out loud to Christopher, his hand back in the comforts of hers as she removed all hangnails from his fingers. “Do I go back to school? Do you think I’d be able to do it?” One thing was obvious about her, she didn’t have many friends. The deceased were much easier to talk to; they didn’t chastise you, or make you feel inferior, which was nice after a lifetime of judgmental fucks and bullying. She felt comfortable in the confines of her dank basement, enveloped with the stench of death and formaldehyde. Needless to say, she didn’t receive many visitors, and she counted herself lucky if she didn’t receive any for days at a time.