Life Update + Lydia Grey Blurb (Patreon)

SO I went into a sort of fever pitch and wrote out 3 pages just to see what it felt like to write from Lydia's perspective and actually like... Write.

I write all the time with Chase but it's in a way where we already understand a lot of the lore + we are writing with the idea of drawing things in mind so we don't have to rely on describing things. So I was trying to ... be better at that HAHA

So it's kind of rusty, but I hope you find it at least a little bit enjoyable :)
I have a meeting with an agent later this month so fingers crossed on that. I am feeling like a printed version of Muted might end up being Kickstarter funded. Which is fine! It is just..... more work HAHA vs working with people to help get it out into the world. But I'm still figuring that out. I promise its still on my list!!

In life ... Uh. Well. I don't have a kitchen right now LOL one of the pipes burst and it caused a lot of damage we had to tear out. So that's been fun to deal with lol, luckily insurance is covering it so I'll have to pay just the deductible versus the 5k that the contractors quoted me. That being said my desk for the moment is still available so I should be able to update Patreon stuff as usual! Just probs more towards the end of the month.

LYDIA GREY PROSE INTRO BLURB. 

Lydia Grey felt her hand reach out to turn down the volume of the music that she’d been blasting while driving cross country. The volume had made sense when she was going well over the ‘recommended’ speed limit, but now that the road wasn’t skimming under her bald tires at 90 miles an hour it was mind-numbingly loud .

Her ears were ringing in the silence that followed as she crossed her arms over the steering wheel. She inspected the dimly lit motel while having to dip her head to look under the crack that went across the glass.

Quaint. Then again that’s how she’d describe everything in this town. If she was still in California it would probably have themed rooms going for over 500 a night. A Bread and Breakfast straight out of a story book that you’d go to in order to ‘get away from it all’.

But here - just on the edge of Noel, Montana, it was just an average motel. Slightly more banal than the other dollhouses that had been built up in the late 1860’s.

Lydia felt her lip curl. This place should be a ghost town, like all the rest of them. Washed away when the gem mines ran out. But here it stood… Like she’d never left. Like nothing had changed.

Except…

Her hands slammed sharply against the top of the steering wheel, before gripping at 10 and 2 for dear life as she jerked her whole body back and forth like she was being electrocuted. She let a scream roll up and tear at her throat while she thrashed - a couple more slams against the wheel for good measure before she slumped back against her seat cover. This time her eyes focused on the crack in her windshield… Shitty piece of shit car… She thought. At least it made the whole trip without falling apart at the seams.

She supposed it wasn’t the car that was shitty… Just that she hadn’t really put in the effort to take care of it. It certainly held out well… In spite of all that.

Maybe she could just sleep in here… In this neglected car filled with the scattered remains of half crunched energy drink cans, candy boxes and gas station taquito wrappers… Ugh. She felt her arm once again move - one pull the key out of her car, the other to push open the door. She felt like her body was under water, and her feet dragged out a couple bits of trash along with her.

She slammed the door with another unconscious motion of her arm. The sound muffled in her head like she’d just thrown two pillows together. She left the trash there.

The clock inside of the guest reception said that it was 3 am, so she had to tap the little bell at the front desk repeatedly in order to get the owner to waddle out. An older woman mumbled as she pushed up her glasses and lightly patted at her hair to tidy it up while trying to get her wits about her. She was still in day clothes which told Lydia she’d likely fallen asleep in the patchwork recliner she could see through the threshold the old woman had just walked out of. Lydia could also see the flickering light cast on the furniture from the 3AM infomercials. This woman was as quaint and doll-like as the motel she owned, with short curled hair that had long since faded to a gentle white. Almost as short as she was… since she had to stand on a stool once she got to the counter and even then was still a couple inches under Lydia’s eyeline.

“I’d like the key to my room. I called ahead. Left a voicemail with my info.” Lydia abruptly reported, hoping that the unusual time would make the woman less likely to attempt to make small talk…

It didn’t.

“Mmm…” She continued to mutter as she opened her book to scan the names she had written down for reservations, but there was only one name on the list since there weren’t exactly many people coming all the way off the interstate for this place. “Oohh!” Her eyes lit up as she looked at her, “Lydia Grey- Oh my goodness! Look at you! You’re so tall and… Oh your hair is…such a unique color!” She decided to say with her voice going even higher to force the pleasantry.

Lydia glanced down at what she could see of the lavender color, a couple of mint strands mixing in. Though the fading green was mostly underneath and visible only when she had her hair up like it was now - which also exposed about an inch of tawny brown that had grown in since she’d dyed it last. “Thank you. Key please.” She said quietly to maintain an illusion of calm instead of the growing annoyance.

“I wrote your name down after the voicemail - “ the motel owner said as she started to gather everything together, picking a gold key off the wall with the number 3 embossed on the grip. “I was going to ask you why you wanted to stay here instead of just going to stay at your parents house. It’s your house.” She told her evenly as she looked over her half-moon glasses at her.

Lydia forced a smile that she was hoping didn’t look too much like a sneer. But the bags under her reddened eyes certainly didn’t help. “That depends… Do you know for certain if anyone has cleaned up the blood?” She asked as her eyebrows raised.

“Oh!!” The old woman gasped as if Lydia had just kicked a dog. And Lydia reached across the desk, further than she’d like to, in order to pinch the top of the key between her fingers before giving a sharp tug to pull it free.

“Then in that case… I would like to sleep off over 15 hours worth of driving before I need to think about it.” she told her lowly- pulling out her wallet from her side bag to toss a card and ID onto the counter and waited while the woman continued to mutter.

She was pretty sure she heard her say something about how the brown hair in her photo suited her much better. Scanning it for her records and swiping her card. “... My deepest condolences to your family.” The woman said as Lydia scribbled out something that resembled a signature.

“What family?” She asked her dryly as she put the pen down and put her cards back in her wallet before lifting pale green eyes to observe the woman one last time. “I’m the only one left.”

“Mm… ah- Breakfast is included but it ends at -”

Lydia shut the door before she could hear her. Paint splattered sneakers shuffling across the sidewalk until she got to the door that had the number 6 to match her key. She was vaguely aware of the feeling of her hand flicking the door shut and tracing over the deadbolt for it to snap into place before she took two heavy steps and flopped down face first into the vintage flower print duvet.

She turned her head to the side just in time to keep herself from suffocating, taking in a sharp breath that she held at its peak in the hopes that she’d finally be able to pull out some tears. Lydia could feel them buried deep behind her eyes, they'd been there since she’d gotten the news that brought her back to Montana in the first place. Instead she turned her head back into the fabric and let out another outraged scream, but this time she was too tired to thrash along with it.

“Miss Grey?” The memory of the man's voice on the phone echoed like she was hearing it for the first time. It'd been on repeat like the verse of an annoying song stuck in one's head. “I am calling to inform you of some unfortunate news. Your father and step-mother have passed. I am terribly sorry for your loss. The estate is left in your care in their absence.”

“What?” She had asked, voice still heavy with sleep but quick to sit up as the news absorbed into her mind and drained all the warmth from her skin, “How…? When??” The news stole her ability to breathe properly too.

“They were found last night, and preliminary investigations and autopsies have concluded that… your father shot your mother before shooting himself.”