Delia Don't


delia2_icon.gif emily5_icon.gif huruma3_icon.gif

Scene Title Delia Don't
Synopsis Delia makes a mess inside Emily's head, for a good cause.
Date October 1, 2018

In Dreams

Nants ingonyama bagithi baba

Sithi uhhmm ingonyama


The horizon is black against the red glow of the sky as the deep yellow sun sinks to sleep. Far off in the east pinpoints of white light begin to dot the endless deep blue sky. Night is falling on the plains and while the gazelles, gnus, and zebras bed down in the tall grass other things are stirring from slumber.

The smell of blood is faint in the air, a fresh kill. It makes the warm summer wind taste like copper. Tawny big cats stretch lazily before dropping into puddles of fur, draping over each other for safety as much as comfort. Even the flies are sleepy tonight. Scavenging birds stretch out their wings and tucks them in again, letting their heads droop as with their eyes while the last sliver of sunlight disappears in the distance.

The panther stretched across a thick branch is content.

Siyo Nqoba


Ingonyama nengw' enamabala

Everything is still.

Everything is peaceful.

Everything is just how it should be.

Until it’s not.

Ingonyama nengw' enamabala

Ingonyama nengw' enamabala

A shriek in the night disturbs the rest that the pride might have gotten. It starts out as a small sound, high up in the air. Gradually, it gets louder, and louder, until the shape of a blonde woman can bee seen falling from the sky.

With the night moving onto the savanna, with it comes the stirring of the creatures that move in the dusk. The faraway call of a big cat, a chuff in the wind. A pitchy response soon after, a whine of platitude followed by others before they fall quiet again.

Meditative, the dark cat dozes laid out in the spiny arms of an acacia, tail flicking and whiskers idle. The light that seems to reflect off of the grass and leaves takes on the blue of moonlight, rustling softly. Everything is—


Ears swivel on their bases, cupping upward with the lift of muzzle; the panther lifts delicately on the branch, toeing forward to peer into the fading horizon. Hm. That's not… a bird.

Emily's neither sure how long she's been screaming or how long she's been falling, just that that's her state of being. At some point, she becomes enamored with the stars and her panic tapers off, just barely, until she goes streaking through a cloud. It's a cold rush that reminds her she's still, in fact, falling.

She knows better than to look at the ground, yet she does. There's a gutwrenching lurch as it feels like she plummets toward the earth even faster, the dark grasses threatening to swallow her up …

… But the collision never comes.

When Emily opens her eyes again, she's upright on the ground, no hint of her entry to this night noticeable save for some thoroughly wind-tossed hair. She's barefoot, the ground warm under her toes. Her fingers swim through the air beside her for something to assist her with her balance, a usually useful habit, but nothing is of course around to support her.

She's curiously aloof to the other animals, predator and prey alike. A little too busy trying to get her bearings otherwise, tonight.

What Emily finds is that she doesn’t need support and the panther finds that a new scent has arrived on the plain. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows the stranger. She’s met her somewhere before, whether friend or foe to her habitat… that’s another matter.

Both feel a presence, a prickle at the nape of the neck. As though something is lurking. Something is watching. Something in the dark, beyond sight, is readying itself.

As the figure falls, Huruma leaves the shelter of the tree; ivory claws grasp into bark in a silent descent into the grass. The smell of the other on the wind seems to tickle more at an invisible sense than the cycle of breath. It feels familiar.

The brush shields her shape when Emily lands, and while the young woman gathers her own senses to her.

The sensation of other eyes on her come on examination of the arrival, and the prickle brings out an irritated swash of tail. Ears forward, the panther starts through the grass, slinking closer to Emily with pale eyes in the dark.

Emily's swishing hands have curled into fists by her side at the sensation of being watched. Little does she know just how much she's being watched by, but she doesn't intend to wait and find out whatever it is entirely on its terms.

So, she swings herself on a perpendicular course to where she was facing before, rotating gracefully on the balls of her feet and taking off that-a-ways. It happens to have her heading almost directly into Huruma, though she still hasn't noticed the prowling panther hidden in the tall grass just yet. She walks with a confident posture and a thousand-yard stare, balled hands still swishing by her side with each step. As far as she's concerned, she's -confident- this will take her away from the ominous feeling.

But it doesn't.

As Emily walks, Huruma watches and it occurs to the panther that something is just not right about this picture. But there's something else, something familiar about all of this. Though, she can't put her finger on what.

The smell of blood is coming from the direction that Emily is walking toward and there's something that way that's dangerous. Not just the pride that the young Epstein is in danger of stumbling over with every step she takes. The panther can see one of the lions stretching, a female with enough scars to tell the story of her longevity as a huntress. A huntress almost as accomplished as the panther herself. Through the darkness, Huruma can make out the dark sanguine stains on her claws and toebeans.

Weight settles onto paws and gravity keeps Huruma's frame close to the ground. Eyes remain unblinking as the girl virtually passes right by her in the grass, an invisible barrier of a couple dozen feet. The sounds of the pride touch her own ears easily, though it still seems as if Emily has no inkling. Danger in the form of cat on two sides, something else lurking in the night on another.

The panther knows better than to get too close to the pride- she may be an oversized blot of ink and death but lions have numbers first. So before Emily's path takes her upwind, the grass shifts on an arcing path; the faintness of the black cat's step becomes a bolder rustle of brush as Huruma steps out from behind the thorns and yellow of a shrub.

Hot breath comes in a chuff, nostrils flaring black on black. The rest is still and silent, eyes like twin moons looking through Emily, rather than at her.

The rustle draws her attention finally, stopping her midstride. One foot still in the air, Emily holds the position momentarily as she meets the eyes of the panther.

Her head tilts, foot slowly coming back to the ground. In a delayed reaction, she realizes the panther is probably dangerous. By that time, she's already crouched, almost kneeling.
Hand outstretched with curled knuckles upface, eyes on the moonlike eyes of the midnight cat.

The glassy-eyed look on her face is gradually dissipating into better awareness, blue eyes sharpening like crystal.

The unfamiliar copper smell filters into her senses, that smell of blood— her hair raising up on the back of her neck further. "Do you know what's out there?" she asks the cat in a whisper.

The panther has smelled death on the wind before. If there’s one thing she knows is out there, it’s death.

In the distance, she can see the pride clustered around their rock. The king laying on his side, the females down below, hidden by the tall grass. She’s not up on her perch anymore, but she knows they’re there. Ears twitching and tails flicking to shake away the flies. To no avail. They’re just as drawn to the smell as everything else here.

The binoculars hang heaver around Emily’s neck. Heavy, but they feel as though they belong there. Like they’ve always been there. As with the yellow ducky boots on her feet, the safari helmet on her head, and the elephant gun strapped to her back. She certainly didn’t fall with them, no, but she can’t remember a time that she’s ever been without them.

As Emily hunkers down, the big cat is unmoving, save for the flare of nose at the extension of folded hand. She seems- - right- - but the rest, not so much. Something passingly familiar, like the scent of birds. Mingled with the smell of the dead on the wind, it makes for an impression of carrion eaters.

A twitch moves down along the length of tail, the end curling in a short thrash of movement. The fur at her ruff bristles, the muscle underneath flexing with the dig of claws into dirt. Ears pin back, and the rankle of nose precedes the warning of lips pulled over long white teeth.

« Of course I know what is out there. Do you? »

The voice comes from nowhere and everywhere, though only for Emily. A low drawl that echoes in her head with the visual of fangs and pinning of whiskers, eyes on her- - and her gun.

« We are drawn to the dead and dying. The bitterness of blood. »

There's a long wait while Emily patiently leaves her hand in the air, hoping to show she doesn't meant any harm. At least not to anything that doesn't mean to harm her. And the panther didn't leap from the bushes, after all. "I'm Emily." she supplies to the talking predator cat, as if that will somehow help in earning its trust. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Truth be told, she loves cats. Being face to face with one this big is new, though.

And honestly? No, no Emily does not know what's out there. To that point, she comes back to her feet and lifts the binoculars to her face to get a better look at what everything is being inexplicably drawn toward.

Binoculars lifted, Emily stares through them toward the rock. Huruma points her gaze in that direction as well. The old lion is still asleep but one of the females below is stirring. In shades of green, she can see an old man lying across the rock at the top, no blanket. Down below in the grass, there's three -no four.. women, and a small child. All sleeping together with arms curls around each other protectively.

She recognizes some of the faces, just people she's seen around the safe zone. The lady that sells flowers, the lady that owns the funeral parlor, Lucille… what's she doing with them, and a little blonde girl that she doesn't recognize.

Huruma sees the lions. The proud male solitary on his rock, three females down below with a cub…. but one is missing. Somehow, she knows that one is missing.

« As if you could. »

The cat wrinkles its nose one more time in response to Emily’s assurances, slinking past her with a swing of tail in her wake. Her gaze is ahead, and she pauses on the edge of the tallest grass, still behind that barrier of brush. One, two, three, four- -

Hackles fluff once more at the panther’s shoulders, shivering along the spine as she tenses. There is an anxiety that takes a grip next, and Emily can see it in the way that the cat’s eyes skim the grass, rocks, horizon, ears swiveling like small dishes.

A growl, low in the throat.

The next sound that comes from the black cat is another from the top of the throat, the growl easing into a series of low-pitched chuffing through the grass. It is loud enough to possibly stir the lions, but it isn’t meant for them.

Where are you? Come here- -

There's something she can't place about the panther. The confidence and the power in the way she carries herself… up until she sees something Emily doesn't know to. She trusts the cat's instincts more than her own. If she was offput by the air and what was lurking just beyond sight, Emily felt way more justified in the bad feeling still prickling at the back of her neck. The rifle is swung off her shoulder and and checked to make sure it's loaded, her ridiculously clad feet shifting in a turn as she scans the grasses on either side of them.

She lifts the butt of the rifle against her shoulder, tense.

What if whatever was out there was going to hurt that sleeping … family?

Whatever Huruma is calling, it doesn’t come out but the scent of blood does get a bit stronger. Mouthwateringly so.

The wind shifts

The largest of the lions, the scarred female with bloody claws and toe beans, flares her nostrils as a new scent fills her nostrils. Slowly, her eyes open to slits and one of her blue grey eyes rolls toward where Emily and Huruma are sitting in the tall grass. In languid fashion, she rolls onto her feet and stretches her long, lean body out. Starting with the spine, she reaches her front paws out and leans all the way back. Then she leans forward and extends her back legs in the air, one at a time.

Her nostrils flare again and Huruma locks eyes with her.

Through the binoculars, Emily sees Lucille getting up stretching out and looking around.

The call for the missing goes unanswered, in the traditional sense. As for the smell of blood, Huruma angles towards it, one eye lingering on the lioness that stretched awake. Her tail curls at the end, piqued.

« Come. »

Emily gets very little warning before Huruma’s frame tenses, crouches, and lunges into the brush at speed. The whip of grass against fur is muffled, and the footfalls of large paws dissipate quickly the further Huruma darts from Emily.

The panther follows the scent of blood, stronger than ever.

"Go?" is the surprised echo that escapes Emily before the panther is GONE. She's heard the call to follow, and her duck-booted feet even stumble a few steps after her, head rushing with the decision. To follow, or not to follow? Okay, go see Lucille, she guesses. Sure, why not.

Hopefully the panther wasn't about to pounce the woman. "Wait, wait." she calls ahead, a whispered shout as she breaks into a run to try and catch up. Should she warn Lucille? Fuck it, the woman can look after herself. Emily sticks with her pursuit of the panther.

There is a crack as Lucille flexes her fingers, joints popping after her long rest she has just awoken from. Among the lions, she yawns and stretches her arms out wide, another pop and crack as eyelids flutter open to reveal eyes in constant motion between pale blue and gold, her hair loose and free, falls over and covers her breasts though the rest of her is completely naked. She doesn't see Huruma or Emily but she does peer over at the lions near her and tilt her head before she's stretching forward and rolling her body in the dirt, covering parts of herself before she slides upwards in a single fluid movement.

Luminous eyes flick to the pride and center on the female lion, crouching down the eldest Ryans daughter leaps to a nearby boulder that she perches on.

She had just hit a good groove in her nap and was cranky at being woken up by Well the naturalness of waking, curse the day. More sleep, less to remember then. Less to experience. The mud splattered lady squats in the red light.

Following the scent of blood, Huruma and Emily meet Lucille. To the panther, the lion looks as it always has, tawny with a streak of auburn down its back. That streak has changed since the lion was a cub, it used to be brown and at a different time, gold. To the young woman, the lion’s yawn is disconcerting… the long, sharp teeth are intimidating on their own. Without the binoculars, she looks like every other female in the sleeping pack except her paws are covered in blood. It leaves her with the question, where is the family that was there just moments ago?

Littered amongst the pride are the bodies of several fresh kills. Some are people she knows, some are just animals. Huruma’s keen senses allow her to pick out the different smells. None of these are the same as the blood on the wind.


Something feels prickly and the hair at the back of Emily’s neck stands up. Things here, are just not right.


While there is a disparity in color, somehow the panther and lioness are matched in size; as they reach the pride Huruma's presence swells with an aura of purpose. The lioness atop the rock gets a low sound, tail hanging easy as Huruma comes to a stop. Her nose wrinkles one more time to catch the smells, picking out prey and otherwise. The pride's own little boneyard.

« Someone is missing. »

White eyes angle towards the flush of Lucille's blue-golds in her tawny face.

« What is on the wind? »

Emily is privy to the words but only because they seem to thrum around the cat, not tethered to lips or tongue but impression.

Emily's chill degrades rapidly as she sees the blood, the bodies… corpses. She doesn't understand, can't understand.

Her hands come up before her, one hand about the grip, the other supporting the bottom of the handgun. Just like Devon taught her.

Can't abide.

She's standing some 20 yards away, weapon pointed at the blood-stained lioness-Lucille. "What the fuck, Tetris? What is this?" Everything's screaming at her this is wrong, all wrong, and she needs to do something about it.

The sphinx like lioness bristles as the sight of Emily in such a private place makes her feel unease, muscle rippling through her hide. The panther is registered and Lucille’s tail switches and relaxes as she tilts her head. Oh she knows her.

Yes she does.

The blood at the ground and the blood on her paws and maul drip still fresh, blue-gold eyes roll as if she's bored. Bored with the whole affair. «Coward.» Her voice a growl that sounds familiar to Huruma’s ears but it's not one usually associated with the young lioness, until now. Though those words are not aimed at them but something else. «Coward.» With the presence of her father she pads with power onto the rest of the bloodstained ground, lips curling back at the sky and then the sky and then back again before there's a savage shake of her head, mane wild in the wind. Red light shining behind her. The click of a handgun makes Lucille stiffen and before she or Emily can react much more, the lioness is lunging at Emily’s throat with a terrifying bellow of pain.


A white flag pops out of the end of the handgun and unfurls in Lucille's face. The word 'BANG!' emblazoned across it diagonally, in blood. It's still wet.

As the lioness reaches for the young woman's throat, she passes directly through it and all three can hear a click of tongue against teeth. Three times.

tsk tsk tsk

The source of the blood.

Up on the top of the rock, a blue eyed rabbit with its throat ripped out crawls out from under the paw of the male. Blood has stained its white fur, giving it a red ascot. It sits on top, judgmentally staring down at the trio. “Seriously Lucille, shame on you…”

The panther is circling the rock and the boundaries of where the pride rests, an inky blot against the backdrop, watching as the lioness decides to lunge for the young woman. ‘BANG!’ earns a tired look, but definitely a wave of amusement. Lucille, as she is, does nothing to Emily that cannot be waved away. Phantoms versus the wind.

Ears turn at the small response, followed by the angling of head on neck after it. Huruma’s eyes blink slowly in their feline way, whiskers flicking.

Rather than dignify the judgement from the rabbit, the panther turns and alights up onto the edge of one of the other rocks, hopping expertly over carrion with silent pads. The big cat’s face tilts to gauge the jump distance between herself and the topmost perch, eyes on the rabbit. Then, she leaps that distance as well, a coil and spring to land there, very nearly effortless.

The bang is a hollow click, unsatisfying. She has only a split second to note the white flag and the half-Lucille flying in for the kill.

Emily reels back in anticipation of the strike, waiting for the jolt and pain her senses SCREAM should happen… but doesn't. She gasps loudly, stumbling back as she sees what shouldn't be possible.

Her attention turns then to the gun in her hand, blood dripping from the flag. She tilts her wrist, letting it fall to the ground. She staggers for a moment under a realization that should have been clear much earlier, now that she thinks about it.

"This… isn't real." The gun at her feet is simply gone. She turns about, looking between Lucille, then to the panther. Then to the goddamned rabbit.

There's a squint reserved for the rabbit housing all the exasperation in her body. She's outwardly calm as she tilts her head slightly to the woman who just tried to kill her, eyes never leaving the suspiciously arrogant bunny. "Seriously, what the fuck is going on?"


Lucille sails through Emily and snarls, duh. Rounding quickly she looks towards Huruma and there's a whine in the back of the sphinx’s throat. Argh.

Then the rabbit is back and Lucille is twisting her shape to regard the animal with the torn out neck perched on the rock, eyes narrow and her body lowers to the ground, blood and drool dripping from the corners of her mouth. «Coward.» The lone word echoes through the place and the minds of the three others assembled here, the growl is in the “physical” world though and she stalks forward, she's not done with the rabbit yet, Emily all but forgotten.

Tut tut tut Delia admonishes as she leaps away from the sphinx, hanging in the air like she has little fluttershy wings. "Lucille, you want to wake up Daddy? Really?" This isn't a game they've played before.

Then she looks down to Emily, her blue eyes blazing with anger. "Don't take that tone with me, kid," she chides, her jaw gaping to show off her long teeth. "You are a mistake, but I've seen your dreams. You should thank me for the excitement."


Then, all four of them are in a dimly lit bedroom, dressed as they would be out on the street… Emily still not needing crutches. "Or is this more your speed?"

Through the door, to the living room there’s a figure in plain view, covered in blankets and snoring loudly on the sofa. He's familiar to all of the people gathered in the room.

Delia turns to Huruma and the empath can feel the hurt, anger, and fear streaming off the dreamwalker in literal waves. "We need you," she says, reaching to grab Lucille's hand to pull her forward to face the tall woman with her.

The panther's nose follows the flutter of the rabbit, folding her haunches into a sit atop the stone. She watches, eyes narrowed down to watch the sisters, giving Emily but a glance. Mistake would explain it… not everything can be an exact science all the time.


Huruma's next blink remains feline, a slow assessment of the new environment. At least now, Emily knows the people she is actually dealing with. Not animals, or ferals.

The dark woman's gaze rests lastly on Delia, a downward tip of her chin to follow. Despairing people have a certain taste, and the emotions that roll off of her hostess seem to fit such a bill. This, and she knows Delia inside and out by now. Huruma's intent, scanning features soften at the edges.

“It is almost impossible for the two of you to ask too much of me.” A roundabout way of asking what she needs, and a straightforward reassurance that she's at their backs as well.

There's a slow, admonishing tilt to Emily's head as she considers Delia, some biting reply on its way before everything is different and human again. What she wants to say is far from forgotten, just lost as she looks between the sisters. Of course these two were related. And now they were bringing their fucked-up family dynamic into other people's dreams, apparently. Who cared if it was by accident.

Huruma, though … there was a shock. Around them, the room is still as dim, but the bed is a well-worn sofa, and a painting of a bright Lady Liberty adorns the living room wall behind the woman who had given the painting to Emily in the first place.

Something is clearly going on, and it's something she's neither party to or desires to be, so she heads for the kitchen, back still to the couch. When the fridge opens, light pleasantly spills out. At least in her dreams the power was on. She starts to reach for something inside when a thought hits her like a freight train, her eyes slowly lifting to the top half of the fridge — to the freezer that's hardly seen use lately.

She tugs it open gingerly, and while the lightbulb inside dead as always, her eyes are shining as though the item inside was glowing. Her hands come out of the freezer bracing a quart of ice cream.

It's frozen. It's fabulous. It's settled on the counter, pried open, and has several spoons stuck into it. It'd be rude not to share. "Maybe you all ought to cool off." she suggests, not helpfully, after savoring a delicious bite. Her brow furrows deeply as she barely restrains herself from passing comment on the ice cream, or on the behavior of the Ryans sisters. Only after the bite does she notice the blanket-covered figure on the couch, squinting as she tries to figure out who it is. It's not bright enough to immediately tell. But it's definitely not Julie. "Who else did you bring with you?"

Just as soon as the sphinx was ready to charge back towards her sister in rabbit form the setting shifts and Delia has pulled her sister and the other two into a place with a familiar shape. The sphinx's roar echoes in the space. “Delia…” Muscles in her neck tighten, no longer a creature from myth and legend and instead the tall, leggy woman stands in loose clothing of dark grey colors. Auburn hair flowing freely and a ghost of wind shifts tendrils out of her eyes, one blue, one gold. Lucille’s growl is a warning, for her taunting Emily much in the way that Lucille had taunted the young woman in the waking world, for dragging her here.

Mismatched eyes flick and hold onto Huruma, their aunt is given a sheepish look. Forgive her. Delia was grieving, they all were. Lucille can't begrudge her for this dreaming but drawing people who aren't involved into family business has the older sister’s feathers ruffled.

Huruma’s presence is a familiar weight that Lucille mentally leans into, there is safety in numbers. Safety in the arms of Auntie Huruma. Emily on the other hand has caught Lucille in a most vulnerable place and that in itself has her rage building for her younger sister still, the blonde didn't belong here. “I'm sorry you had to witness family drama,” Her voice barely contains the emotion choking her. Turning her head towards the woman she's addressing, Lucille’s eyebrow arches before calling over her shoulder, “She doesn't belong in this. Send her away.” Or drag them somewhere else, Lucille wasn't comfortable.

Delia's blue eyes flit from Emily's face, to the spoons, to the ice cream.


It's the sound Delia makes when she's trying to suppress a laugh. "Uncle Joke," she comments with a straight face, "good one, kid." She looks beyond Emily to the lump on the couch and lifts her chin a little to indicate, “That’s dad… don’t wake him up. He can be a bear in here and none of us want that.”

To Huruma and Emily, a thought: He’s dying.

Lucille is side eyed and to her older sister, Delia just shakes her head. "Nope, can't send her out of her own head. Sorry Loosewheel, you’re going to have to do this without liquid courage." #notsorry, because she isn't. She grips her sister’s arm a little tighter and keeps her facing Huruma. “She gets dangerous and I need her to not be, because she’s the one that has to be strong for all of us. Brad’s off, who knows where… So Lucille is going to be the head of the family soon.” She turns to Lucille and frowns, “I know you’re mad, but … this isn’t a joke and we can’t drink our way through it. Please Lucille.”

Huruma’s observation of Emily’s apparent familiarity with the place, and the spying of the painting, both give her a clue even before Delia admits they’re in the wrong place. But they’re here now, so there’s that. Her eyes move back to Lucille briefly, a glimmer of amusement for Delia at her remark on waking her father.

“Bear, lion, same thing.” Huruma says this at all of them with a measure of experience.

Still, they aren’t here to talk about that. Delia calls her attention back to the apparent reason, though there remains a touch of dubiousness as she listens.

“Bradley is quite married to his career.” Is all that Huruma can offer there, as she imagines that Benjamin has not told the girls about what Eve told them. A bend moves across Huruma’s brow, jaw tense and eyes averted briefly. “She is not wrong. After him, you are the eldest. The others will look to you, whether you want it or not…” She’s never had to deal with such things herself, yet she has seen it enough. A shade moves behind Huruma’s eyes as she glances to Emily, frowning and looking back to the sisters; her voice is thick, and a rare shimmer slicks over her eyes, threatening at the borders below.

It doesn’t help, the preparation. It still hurts. And in the real world, there are more mental barriers between Huruma and her own emotions, the cushioning of an empath.

“So you need my help to, what…? Tame Lucille so that when your father passes, she doesn’t drown herself…?” Metaphorically, literally, either way.

“I will remain,” Dangerous, ready. That is what the family needs but they also deserved a head of the family that knew when to indulge in member's.. dramatics. Lucille looks to her mentor beside the redhead and she listens, they are right. Drinking your problems away wasn't going to work but that wasn't how she was managing. Lucille’s pale form withers and reshapes itself, bruises and cuts decorating her body her subconscious bringing forth what she rather not say. Turning her back to reveal an angry red bruise on her right shoulder, it is unfortunate for the family that Lucille is not yet ready for the mantle of being at the Head. There was still time for her to learn.

Ripping Delia to shreds for running away from her own problems when Lucille has done that very thing on many a occasion over the years is not in Lucille’s style but where her father would indulge and console for Delia’s antics Lucille has only a pointed, narrow eyed stare.

“Come talk to me when you're ready to face this in person.”

Lucille doesn't fade and she doesn't slowly dissolve, she's just not there anymore. The lingering feeling of embarrassment for having an outsider witness this exchange wraps itself around Huruma’s mind. Elsewhere, in her room at the Bunker… Lucille sits up with a start eyes wide and staring at the ceiling above her. Fuck.

Spoon down on her tongue with a fresh dollop of ice cream, Emily's brought to silence as the conversation unfolds. It's hard to not listen, after all. And for once, she hesitates on throwing her two cents in, attention drifting back to the older, apparently dying man sleeping on her couch.

… Yeah. Yeah, that's a lot of shit to take in.

When Lucille vanishes, she licks the spoon clean and gestures with it over to where the bruised woman had been standing. "As fun as it was to see her being the one to squirm for once, that's pretty shitty what you just did." It's her head that's hosting this catastrophe, apparently, she'll say what she wants to.

"You can't just put it all on her. Try being strong your goddamned self, maybe." Her attention shifts to the tall woman at that point, brow furrowing. It doesn't take an empath to tell that Emily's frustrated that Huruma's apparently been shoved in the middle of that family drama because the remaining Ryans sister couldn't face her problems. She doesn't understand the relationship between them all, but she does have an impression that what was being asked was incredibly selfish, and didn't stand to harm just Lucille.

Emily looks back toward Delia then, and slams the ice cream on the island-wall separating the kitchen from the living room. The additional spoons are still sticking out, waiting.

"Anyway. Hi; I'm Emily. Welcome to our home." she offers drily, still stern and bristling, but apparently willing to be helpful… in a way. "I'd recommend you try actually being there for your sister instead of just trying to force her to be what you want her to be. Might be a good first step to fixing your shit."

A curt nod to the spoon. "Have some ice cream." Just in case everything implodes on itself in the next few seconds, she peels away another spoonful for herself to enjoy the memory of the taste at least one more time before she has to go back to reality.

"Sassy," Delia replies, mimicking the sarcasm in Emily's voice, "says the kid without a clue. Here's a tip kid, when a secret agent doesn't want to talk, they just disappear."

Emily probably knows that tip all too well. And might be able to relate.

Then the dreamwalker turns to Huruma and takes a deep breath, only to release it in a long sigh. She snaps her fingers, she and Huruma are gone, and Emily's apartment is suddenly bright and the man on the couch isn't there anymore. Looking outside, all she can make out is a field of daisies the likes that hasn't seen since before the war.

It's been a long night.

Emily blinks, looking up at the ceiling with a dazed expression. Sunlight is pouring through the window, just like it had in the dream. How long has she been awake? "Julie?" she hollers to the air. Groggy, confused, determined. Still sprawled on her back, legs tangled in blankets. She waits to hear a call back from across the apartment before she shouts again.

"You won't believe the dream I just had. We had ice cream in the freezer."

At the sound of a groan from the other room, Emily smirks at the ceiling, eyes closing. "I know, right?"

Her hands cup together around either side of her nose, muting the long exhale that comes from it as she tries her best to hold onto the watery memory of the rest of the dream. Eyes still closed, she swings one arm out to paw for her phone to check for any new messages.

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