Gillian

November 8, 2006
noon (NYC time)


"No, I'm not going to Thanksgiving. I already fucking told mom," Gillian growls into the phone, wishing her family would stop bothering her about her choices. Her younger sister, Jenny, let out a quiet sigh as if she were used to dealing with her upstart big baby of a sister. Used to it, and possibly tired of it.

Jenny's voice came over the line, nice and clear, "You really should go. Victor's even coming and he lives on the other side of the country. You haven't even moved away."

"Well, it's not as if I'm their favorite kid or anything," the twenty-year-old grumbles, leaning back in her desk chair as she spins it around.

"Oh stop that, Gilly. No mom has a favorite kid," says the favorite, causing Gillian to roll her eyes in disgust, but she chose not to bother correcting her. This time.

Opening her mouth to make a rude retort, she suddenly feels… something. A rumble in the room, knocking down books on a shelf, a glass breaking. The electricity flickered and went out.

"I think there was just a fucking earthquake," she says into the phone instead. She's met with silence.

Someone in the building screams. She could hear them well. Her apartment had thin walls. It wasn't the 'I'm angry at my TV' kind of screaming, either. Turning the phone over in her hand, she sees that the call dropped.

"What else is going to fucking go wrong today?" she mutters, tossing the phone onto the bed as she goes over to the window—

And that's when she sees the cloud in the distance.


November 8, 2011
3 pm (NYC time)


"I hope nothing else goes wrong today," Gillian mutters to herself as she peers down the hallway. There's been security. Turrets— there's been so much going on that she's already wondering if they're going to manage to get out. She casts a glance down the hall, catching the eye of her daughter briefly.

She should never have let Jolene come along, some part of her says.

With a shake of her head, she rubs one hand over her wrist— over the black handprint that stood there, almost as if it had started to itch. A nervous gesture. "Come on. We got people who need saving."

She's saying it more to herself than anyone else. And she's got a kid to make sure gets to have a holiday with family this year.

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