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 even when the sun is shining, -open-
lydia lawford
 Posted: Aug 28 2014, 06:04 PM
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33Humansforensic psychiatrist7 postsapplicationplotting
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lydia lawford


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I can't avoid the lightning...

Camden cafes could be dubious at the best of times, and this was easily one of the worst. It was cramped, it smelled like stale joss sticks and it was raining outside. Lydia was perched on a precarious stool wedged up against the window, her laptop open and her elbow constantly jabbing a stranger in the side. And now, as she absently twirled her spoon in her long empty cup she reflected on the sad truth. It had happened at last and it was dismal; Lydia had become of those pricks typing ostentatiously on a laptop in a coffee shop. She wasn’t particularly proud of her day to day activities over the last few months, but next to deliberately attending a water aerobics class this was probably her crowning moment of shame.

“Sorry?” She raised her hand as though in school at a passing waitress. “Hello, yes, sorry. Can I get another… no?” She might as well have been invisible. This time last year people might have been fighting for the bloody privilege to refresh her drink and now this! Still, at least she had something to be getting along with.

There had been a surprising amount of dead ends in her research and they were really starting to puzzle her. The public records were so irritatingly vague, there was nothing you could read in them that you couldn’t find in any tabloid and even those articles were irritatingly few and few between. From the early 20th century til here, it was like there’d been some sort of odd whitewash. Bethlem Royal should have been her first port of call naturally, before she’d even left Boston shed tried to get in touch. It was privately owned, had been for years but when academics come a-calling most medical institutions open or closed were happy to open their doors for a bit of publicity or a little stipend. She’d called, emailed, written, she’d even sent a fax! No response, save for one letter firmly telling Lydia that they were not open for interview and the records kept were not accessible. She’d thought about trying to get hold of a half-decent solicitor to try and find a loophole, but at the moment there was still lots and lots to do…

That morning for example. A jog, a good breakfast and then a fascinating interview with an old colleague who had written several papers on psychotic illusions. He’d done extensive work on how a person could create an entire reality based around themselves if their psyches were damaged enough, or they suffered from extensive narcissism. It was definitely a chapter in the making on her study on Alice and she’d dashed straight from there to this godforsaken hole to begin transcribing her notes properly. Unfortunately it had started raining, she’d run into the nearest place she’d found and now she was struggling to type out a sentence at a time, all the while waiting for some dozy hippy named ‘Patchouli’ to do her job and bring her a drink!

Sighing, Lydia leaned back to stare at the blank screen and then closed the laptop with a frustrated snap. She did so hate it when good mornings went sour. The coffee wasn’t even that good.

tags;;open, notes;;unrecorded thus far.
by RR of DD

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judas alvarez
 Posted: Sep 26 2014, 02:07 PM
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Chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some are given a chance to climb, but they refuse. They cling to the realm, or the gods, or love. Illusions. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is.
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judas alvarez


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lydia
Hypocrisy. It was a curse of human nature, something everyone at some point in their lives would fall prey to- exacting their ideals onto other people and judging them for their failures, whilst ignoring the flaws in their own actions. It was a very common, very human fault… which was precisely why Judas Alvarez refused to acknowledge when he fell into that same pattern. For he was not human, and he was above their petty shortcomings.

There was not a soul in Wonderland who hadn’t had their lives touched in one way or another by the Cheshire Cat. Most in a negative manner, owing him undisclosed favours for his ‘help’ with their problems and needs, those who’d felt his wrath… or those used as puppets for his meticulous plans. Yet there were still those, such as Alice and the Duchess- who could remember his old, benevolent self and still have a fondness for the feline… though of course, the former was long buried. Judas had tasked himself with knowing every soul in his homeland, and a good number in London- he knew their passions, their fears, their family, their work… everything he could learn about them he would store to memory.

As such, it was indeed hypocritical for him to judge one Lydia Lawford for investigating the life of a woman long since dead.

Had that woman not been Alice Liddell, perhaps things would have been different- he may have even congratulated her on her tenacity, on her steadfast determination to see her task through to the bitter end. She’d chased leads, called all the right people… he’d had Jenna shadowing her where possible, cutting off links where she could and for the rest… well, he’d done his part. Now the time felt right to meet the woman in person, connect with the mind that had managed to ruffle his feathers where so many had failed before her. Touch Alice Liddell and you got the attention of the Cheshire Cat. Lydia Lawford was well overdue in a visit.

“The service is abysmal, is it not?”

He spoke finally, as the woman seated between them took her leave. For a little while now he’d been silently observing Lydia, noting her habits and her demeanour- how she spoke to others, how she composed herself in public. While he’d heard the details before from others, it was different when experienced first-hand and he was not disappointed… she was a very intriguing woman. Carrying herself with confidence and yet, as the frustrated close of the laptop had demonstrated- she had her shortcomings.

“Writers block perhaps? Or a disappointing email?”

He kept his tone conversational, as though the answer didn’t matter- he was just a stranger making bored small talk to pass the time. With his suit and slicked back hair he fit in rather well with the commuters, and he’d use that to his advantage.


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lydia lawford
 Posted: Dec 7 2014, 02:10 PM
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33Humansforensic psychiatrist7 postsapplicationplotting
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lydia lawford


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I can't avoid the lightning...

Well this was intolerable, it'd been 20 minutes now and no-one had done as much as throw a coffee bean at her face. Lydia was mulling the prospect of just braving the storm and finding a more reassuringly corperate enviornment. It was sheer stubbornness keeping her in her seat, stubbornness and a voice to her right hand side that popped up when his predecessor left, giving them all a tad more breathing space. At first Lydia did not even glance up, didn’t he know that people weren’t supposed to talk to people? The only possible loophole in Camden was if you were attempting to sell weed, even she knew that. In fact, part of the allure of being back in London was the restoration of her anonymity. No more constant trills of ‘good morning’ following her to and from the grocery store. No need to do that smile anymore. The one she shoved on her face for photos and small talk. Her husband said it made her look cute, she knew it made her look constipated. Just another of thousands of little details that she now knew should have acted as red flags in her marriage.

Nonetheless she WAS being talked to. And she couldn’t really ignore him like she would any random disturbed or impoverished individual who started a conversation with her on the tube. For starters he didn’t look like either. A generalisation yes, but all her accolades would have been useless if she weren’t able to make one or two assumptions at first glance from time to time. He was too well put together. Broker probably, that or he might work for a hedge fund. Secondly she was still wedged up against a window and short of crawling under the table there was no way to excuse herself without some seriously awkward clambering. And thirdly, well… he spoke the truth!

Quirking an eyebrow, Lydia glanced from side to side. “Service?” She asked quizzically, as though she’d only just noticed she was in a café at all.

She relaxed a little more when he spoke again (though she did place a subconsciously protective hand over the top of her laptop). Ah, it was just small talk he was after. He hadn’t brought a book along, it was raining outside and he was out of his mind with boredom. Just saying words for the sake of saying words. That wasn’t so terrible.

“Work.” She said by way of explanation, with a small grimace. “It’s not really the right atmosphere to crack on, is it? Think there might be something to be said for Starbucks occasionally.” No damp, no joss sticks and the baristas were sort of forced to serve you, even if they wrote your name wrong on the cup. Then as if to mock her, the same dozy waitress drifted past their table like she was in the throes of sleepwalking. This time Lydia was ready though. She reached around her new neighbour and caught the woman by the elbow. Not a strong grip, but insistent. Frustrated. She wasn't going to let go until she had been heard.

“Hi. Yes, me again. So sorry.” That it had to come to physical contact. The waitress was regarding her with a mixture of surprise and hostility, but at least she was paying attention.“Americano please. Oh… and one of those biscotti things I suppose.” She’d probably starve to death before she got the bill back otherwise.

“I’d order now, while you still can.” She added over her shoulder at her new suited and booted companion. There, that was her public service for the day.

tags;;open, notes;;unrecorded thus far.
by RR of DD
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