No tomorrow

Red Rock 
White linen dress

26 April 2018

Amelie lied atop of the room, waiting for Beauregard to arrive. She scrolling through her phone, looking at more Tumblr posts. Some of them were interesting, most of them were daft. It was so intriguing how many people voiced (or typed) their opinions. She didn't care for them: opinions. Unless they were backed by facts or evidence.

With a faint huff, Amelie tossed her phone to the side of the bed. Arms folded across her chest, she stared the ceiling. Bored, bored, bored.

A moment later, the woman pushed herself off of the bed and strode across her motel room to the squat dresser a pathetic television sat upon. A backpack was propped against it on the floor. Amelie kneeled down before the dresser and shoved her hand into the side pouch of the backpack and withdrew a pocket knife. After opening the blade, she put her left hand down atop the dresser and started playing the knife game whilst she waited.

Because: bored.

A motel was not a handsome thing, but it was an economical one. He wondered as to Amelie’s financial status. He himself had been living... frugally as of late in terms of residences. But without a vehicle and sheltering in a place only scarcely above a hostel in terms of amenities, one had to question.

He found his way up quickly enough, making a mindful effort not to touch... anything. Beauregard was a happy man to be rid of Red Rock for now.

There was, unfortunately, no avoiding the need to knock at the door. Two sharp raps on the wood would be enough, and he waited with the expectation that she would be out within a few moments.


The knocks on the door caused Amelie to end her little game. She closed the knife and put it back into its pocket. Amelie grabbed her room key and phone and slid them into the pockets of her dress before taking long, quiet strides to the door.

When she opened the door, Beauregard was there wearing what she would call street clothes (for him, at least).

"Hi," she said with a smile as she stepped out. She closed the door behind her.

Amelie was a woman who dressed simply. Beauregard thought she wore the look well.

She appeared at the door quickly enough, and he stepped back to allow her space out. He would lead her toward his car in the parking lot with minimal ceremony, though it would a few moments to reach it.

"Evening," he said warmly enough, offering her a handsome smile in return. "Have you had dinner yet this evening?"

Boredom always drove Beauregard to greed, as much as daily feedings could be greedy.

Amelie nodded as she followed him to his car. She assumed it was the cleaner and fancier looking one.

"Got to meet a new tenant." One of the few pros to staying at a roadside motel. Strangers coming and going, most often only staying the one night.

"You?" Did he have a haunt he planned to stop at?

Beauregard found residential consumption to be a tricky thing. It required an invitation. But Amelie was a pretty and young looking thing. He could only imagine there were humans all too willing to invite her in with little provocation.

"I live near a few bars. They do make for easy pickings," he said, a hum of approval. Clicking the key fob in his pocket to unlock his car doors, he did not believe Amelie to be the type in need of some older looking gentleman to open the car door for her. Chivalry was a mixed bag.

Once they were both safely in and doors closed, he'd bring the car to life with the lazy push of a button. It would not be an exceptionally long drive, but it was enough that it would take time.

"What do you do in your spare hours, Amelie?"

When the car was unlocked, Amelie went over to the passenger side. She pulled the door open and slid in and then closed it after her. The seat was rather comfy.

"Not much," she said. "Some nights I'll try to get a ride to see place new." Amelie had opted not to say "hitch a ride" but that was essentially what she did. She thought it was interesting but — oftentimes — cumbersome. Mostly spending her time standing by the side of a road watching headlights fly past.

No job to speak of. That explained the absence of a vehicle. And something to do in her spare time. Beauregard hardly lived a life of full time employment, but he had enough emails and documents to dig through to keep himself busy.

"That sounds like a very quiet lifestyle," he said gently. "Do you work, currently?"

It was a direct question, something for which he was a tad apologetic. But money ran out for the unemployed, even without the need to buy groceries. He was simply too curious.

And perhaps some sort of arrangement could be made.

It was fitting. She was quiet, so her life was as well. Almost clockwork.

"No." There was a subtle frown. More noticeable in her voice than on her face. Unemployment wasn't usually something that would be flaunted around. While she liked how casual it was, the underlying unpredictability, she knew others only saw laziness.

Amelie wondered if he might give her one of those lectures she'd see on TV. When the parents got so annoyed or frustrated that they would force their lazy-ass kid to find work. She had an inkling that he would have some form of opinion.

A simple answer offered without explanation.

Beauregard found that he did like Amelie, but she gave every indication of being painfully unambitious. That was a disappointing thing. He pondered how far he wanted to push it, and push her. They had some time trapped in a car together if it went poorly.

But what was life without offering his opinion.

"By choice, or by necessity?"

He hoped for more than a two word answer but did not have his expectations terribly high.

He seemed pretty curious about it. It was kind of obvious he had money. Not many cars started with a push of a button. The question made it clear that he didn't understand. Because the answer was neither.

"It's a bit difficult for an eighteen year old to get a nighttime job in America." Nothing legal, anyway. Or respectable. They weren't allowed to drink, how could she work at a bar? Her youthful look caught every bouncer's eye. Amelie couldn't even taste anything without having to spit it out or vomit it up later, how could she wait food? Other options weren't even considerable to her.

Oh, woe.

Eighteen answered the question to what age she was turned, and he wondered if it was by choice or force. She was not an adventurous young woman, but Beauregard could assist.

"It is not impossible to become older," he said, glancing to her briefly as they moved from the parking lot into the road. Streetlights bathed them on and off in pale, yellowish glow. "You have your powers of suggestion. There is no office clerk you cannot, with multiple attempts if needed, convince to change the birth date on your driver's license to whatever it is suits your fancy."

He managed it without scolding, but she was hardly using her abilities to suit her.

"I don't have a license." She had never needed one. Amelie had never even been given any formal driving lessons.

"If I need one I can figure something out." Maybe she should have said "when", for his sake since he was so concerned for some reason. It did seem as simple as he was making it, but that could also be her overthinking things. What if too many people asked questions about her age? What if she had to use her suggestion ability to every person she saw? What if she actually sucked at the job so none of that stuff mattered?

She was perfectly fine with suggesting to strangers they give her money or make a motel room free just for her.

Amelie thought about asking what he did, just to get the attention off of her. But she had his card and it said what he did. She turned her head to look at him.

"Why are you interested?"

"Driver's license. State ID card. The tricks are the same for both," he said, one hand waving slightly against the steering wheel to dismiss her distinction. She clearly had something, had earned something, in order to stay in a motel. Unless she truly was living as a vagrant, an existence that likely contributed greatly to her boredom. It was less work to fake an identification once than to suggest everyone who asked for it afterwards.

She asked the question that so many did when he expressed even the slightest interest in their situation. Everyone wanted to be told that they were special, that someone cared for them in a unique and pointed way that drove them to help.

"Monotony does not inspire greatness in anyone," he began, looking to her again for a moment before taking his gaze back to the road. "I have played the mentor role for many decades. You strike me as intelligent and capable, qualities that inherently offer potential. But if your hours are spent simply waiting for the sun to rise, and life passes you without challenge, that sharpness can fade. It is difficult to acquire again."

Oh, right, did she still have that? Amelie remembered getting her ID but not much afterward. It had meant very little to her, frankly.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me," she said with a hum. The small smile on her face was a mixture of both amusement and delight.

"I'll be thinking about it, though." More of a promise to him than anything else. Amelie was still waiting to see if the city was worth her time or if she would eventually take her leave. The prospect of an interesting clutch was really the only thing keeping her around.

Beauregard was interesting, too.

He found some frustration in her response. Beauregard was merely implying she ought to take care of herself. A man with comfortable wealth, he was certainly capable of caring for another were he to put the effort in.

But a simple drive to cure boredom with useful scoping of new territory was no great act of generosity.

"As you should be," he said, faintly scolding, but he managed to put a smile on his face as well, some warmth in the sentiment.

Those who died young stayed young, Beauregard believed.

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)