#the loch

holy fuckjng shit

law & order : criminal intent.

Been living my best life in Colorado this last week. I promise I will live here someday.

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Recently Laura has been in the BBC series The Pact, about  an unexplained death - and five friends bound together by a fragile pact of silence. She has also starred in the Scottish drama series Traces, created and written by Val McDermid alongside Martin Compston, Laura also turned up in the excellent Irvine Welsh penned series Crime.

Circling the bottom of the holding pool, his elongated Caudal Fin rippled lightly in the gentle lapping of the pool. It had no toys, or debris in it. Just a thick, white-tiled surface. It was as deep as his handler's waist, if not slightly above. And he hated every second of swimming in it. Terrible memories swum in these waters with him, filling the inky darkness of his consciousness with spots of sickly light. The light was terrible. Whether it was the beam of the flashlight from the Night Guard, the surgical lamp from the Vet, or the damned flickering industrial lights above, he hated every bit of the light. The Anguilla hovered a few centimetres above the bottom, watching the tail end of his... well, tail, out of his peripheral vision. It was the only entertainment he could provide himself with. The Anguilla opened his mouth, letting the water rush into the gaping cavity. Had he been in the wild, the huge Mer would have tasted the intoxicating scent of life. Plankton would have lit up on his chemoreceptors like neon lights, he would have tasted the scent of all the living creatures that swum around him in the Loch. The bitter scent of motor oil, the tang of pollen on the surface of the black water. He would have drank the darkness in, like he was meant to do. But there was no freezing water here, no infinite dark to swim down into. And there was no progenitor either. The melancholy that filled his primitive mind went back to perhaps the most primal craving: the longing for his mother. The larger. The matriarch. He didn't think of her in an endearing way, not recognizing her in any way that a human being would. He saw her as part of him, a good half. She made up half his genetic code, and that was only the most primitive, root understanding of the way he was constructed. And the Mer missed her. His reputation was foul, not like the others. He knew there were at least 3 other Mers in captivity with him, though he had only caught a few glimpses of them. His eyesight was so terrible, especially with the searing light. He couldn't taste them anymore. Their scent was scrubbed clean from the holding pool, each time they were taken back to their enclosures. As far as he was aware, the Anguilla hated everyone here, despite not meeting them. The creature didn't recognize their species, each was from a very, very different place. But he knew... Something about their taste was similar to his. On the first occasion he had been introduced to another, the glass barrier between them had saved its life. The monstrous hunger that lurked within the predatory Mer made his stomach rumble, thinking about feeding once more. After the first time he bit a handler, he was never fed by hand again. Nor did he feel the man's presence again. But part of him felt something similar to regret. A loneliness filled the Mer, it hurt more than the scars that ran along his spine, the pain was so much deeper. The clicking of boots on the hallway floor above alerted the Anguilla to the presence of the approaching humans. The Mer hadn't an idea of what he was being held in here for, but he would fight them every step of the way. Despite the raging predatory instinct that coursed through his mind like a burning fever, the Anguilla felt frightened. And the cold returned, but not the kind he wished for.