Participants:
| Scene Title | Forked |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Lunchtime begets some light gossip about current dreamer events; Huruma shares her newest with Liza, and Griffin imparts similar. |
| Date | March 29, 2010 |
The room converted into Bannerman's dining hall, although long and narrow, can accommodate up to one hundred people, but despite the amount of use that it sees, it isn't hooked up to the castle's electrical grid, which means that after dark it's lit up by gas lanterns strategically positioned on the wooden tables with bench-style seating that occupy the space. A giant hearth set into one of its walls provides the hall with additional light and warmth, as well as a place for the castle's residents to convene when it isn't in use during the hours when breakfast and dinner are being taken.
The walls themselves are bare stone with no decoration except for the four windows opposite the fireplace, and these are covered with heavy pieces of plain canvas cloth at night to prevent the light from leaking outside, where it might be visible from the shore or the air. During the day the canvas is pulled back to brighten the room and make the gas lanterns unneccessary, but on mornings and afternoons when the sky is overcast, there is very little to combat the gloom and so the fuel is burned anyway.
Even when Huruma had left not terribly long ago, the island had been quite subdued; when she got back in the middle of the night she did not have a chance to gauge a difference, as she went directly to sleep somewhere. When the morning came, so did the news that one of the kids had died in the night. Unfortunately, it was one of Huruma's favorite children, though god forbid she have favorites. Mala, however, was somewhat of a softer spot- she was an empath of sorts, so maybe Huruma felt a tiny kinship. She'll mourn the little girl, but not as badly as some of the other adults will.
It is long after the morning hours, however, almost the middle of the day. A short lunch happened just a quarter of an hour ago, for most people, but of course everyone is free to come and go as they please from meals. Huruma is one of the stragglers this afternoon, and for some reason the usual stern look has been replaced by an almost ill one. She is not sick, per se, more exhausted from Monday morning's dreaming, and the energy it is taking to avoid bumping into anyone from it just yet. She knew dreams are not always as they seem, courtesy of her Grandmother firstly, but when you hear the news that more people are having similarly strange dreams? It is no coincidence, and that is why she avoids running into anyone in particular just yet.
The tall woman is all but leaning fully on the tabletop, tarnished metal fork having plunged into a now mushed potato on the plate of rations a dozen times without picking it up.
There's a somber mood from one Elizabeth Messer. It's a little hard to imagine Liza not being her usual chipper self, but the normally bright-eyed, bright-smiled young woman is replaced with a dull expression and lukewarm smile. She's trying, but it hasn't been this hard for her to deal with things since The Company went down and she lost everything she valued in her life. Now, she'd lost hope once more.
Her eyes aren't red, like they have been for most of the morning, and she shuffles in to the dining room with a plate of food as she moves towards a table. She hasn't eaten, yet, and she figures at the very least she'll need energy to keep going. It can't hurt, even if she has no real appetite. She slumps into a seat, poking her food about as passionately as Huruma was.
There really isn't any noise from Huruma even as she can feel Liza fiddling around down the table; she does manage to stuff a few abrupt bites into her mouth before slapping her fork down angrily. It twangs into a vertical stand, tines embedded in the wood as Huruma glares down at it, swallowing her food and casting an aside look up and down the hall to dare anybody to say something.
She may have been unsettled by Monday morning a bit too much, but Gods be damned, it's not going to ruin her. Huruma has been through far worse than- well- possibly seeing her own death from something she contracts in the future.
Dare she say anything? The sound of the fork hitting the table nearly makes Liza jump a mile into the air, looking visibly startled to the point of nearly spilling her food everywhere. She calms herself, eyes fixing themselves on the woman. She's not sure she can be cheerful, even for Huruma, but she still ventures to attempt speaking anyways. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Yes." Huruma answers, curtly, though she seems to realize that her response is too sharp, and the next part is less so. She even abandons her fork in the table, looking down at it imperiously, like it had just insulted her personally. "But no'with you. No specifics…" There is mild apology there as well. "I'ave t'talk t'Benjamin. Makes it'arder, b'cause at th'same time I am avoiding him." A sigh comes through her nose, as she apparently decides to get up and move over to sit across from Liza. Numbers. Something about numbers.
"Do you wan't'talk about it?"
"I don't mind," Liza says. Well, mostly. She might be a little disappointed that Huruma wants to talk to someone else, though in this case, it was more for the sake of Liza yearning to feel helpful. "It's kind of hard to talk to someone if you're avoiding them, though, yes. You should probably just be tough about it and talk with him. You'll only feel bad keeping it in and avoiding him." She pokes at her food, but ventures to take a bite. Success! "I don't know. I feel stupid trying to talk about it."
Huruma gives Liza a small smile when she does take a bite. Maybe she is goading with her being there? Hard to tell. "Yes, I know. It was one of those dreams going around- it- if he had it too-" Her hand lifts to her forehead, and for a few seconds she hides under the dusky shadow of her fingers, peering out at Liza. "Then we are both as unsettled by it as I am now. I suspect it, in any case." Not wanting to share it, Huruma is actually being quite open. Turns out it didn't matter much.
Liza takes another bite, looking down at her food. "I would wager a guess that he has had it. I've heard a lot of talk about dreams lately and people having the same ones. I believe it was Kaylee who was looking into them but I haven't had any dreams myself so I can't say I really know what is going on." She looks back up at Huruma.
Huruma's nails find the tabletop, and they click, drumming over the wood grain. She purses her lips at Liza, though she also knows that the girl is probably right. She wasn't in the Company because she was dumb. She is as familiar as anyone with what is relevant. "I was dying. In th'dream." Which, as things go, may well be all that Huruma feels comfortable in saying. Her voice is somewhat sullen, the echo somber. Her tongue brushes up over her teeth, thoughtfully glancing around before she looks back down to Liza.
Meh.
Griffin has been in a bit of a mood lately. A baby on the way, strange shared dreams plaguing his sleep, the threat of H5N10 plaguing the island he's brought his family to for safety…not to mention the fact that he knows that the government is just waiting for him to make a misstep so they can come swooping in to capture him and incarcerate him. Or perhaps make a public display of killing him.
The man quietly makes his way into the dining hall, wearing a pair of worn jeans and a zip-up hooded sweatshirt, with a tired look on his face. As sweet as he can be with Nadira, life is stressful right now. A glance is cast toward the two women, followed by a slow nod cast their way as he makes toward the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway, however, leaning against its frame as his vectors go to work procuring some food.
The petite blonde at the table nods at Griffin's appearance and hunt for food, but her eyes shoot back to Huruma after only a moment. "I'm sorry," Liza says. After all, what can you say to something like that? "In any case… if you were dying, then perhaps it is better that you knew. Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise—you can find a way to stop it."
Huruma's eyes travel after Griffin, only as long as it takes him to stop at the kitchen door and let his invisible arms do his work for him. She does offer him a small nod, before her attention goes back to Liza. "It sounded as if something made m'sick in between now and- if it is real- then." With Griffin in earshot, Huruma does hush a little, but she has nothing to hide from him.
"I know what sickness it was, which I don'ave now. I can only hope that it was not real. I do no'want m'friends t'watch me die." The dark woman tenses her jaw, resolute.
Storylines> The Lion, The Dome, and the War Room> Ryans has joined this channel.
Really, it's impossible not to eavesdrop just a little, in a place like this. The walls don't absorb sound so well, and it in turn travels a bit more than it would in a place with drywall. Brows raise at the words spoken, Griffin inclining his head toward the pair, though his white eyes are on the kitchen, where his plate is starting to float toward him.
The telekinetic doesn't say anything yet, as he reaches out and plucks his plate and glass of orange juice from the air.
Liza hunches down a little, somewhat conspiratorially. "Well, if you don't have it now… is it something you can take preventative measures against? You have time for vaccinations, tests… some things can be stopped like that. And… I don't think anyone wants their friends to watch them die. I think that's universal. It shows a lot that you are worried about them, though, and not yourself."
Griffin's allowed to do it- if Huruma did not want him to hear, she would have stopped talking about it. She is much too self-aware to not have noted it. Her gaze on Liza flickers darkly, the expression one that she has very rarely given to the most kind of people here on Pollepel. A look that she does reserve for her moments within a shadowy state of mind. "Apparently- I'ave been taking preventative measures for as long as I'ave not tasted flesh."
"It is avoidable…" She knows Liza probably already knows about that part of her- The Company was thorough- but if Griff didn't, he sure does now.
Brows raise as Griffin moves to sit nearby, digging in to his meal. After a moment, he pauses, glancing toward Huruma with raised brows. "Strange dreams?" He offers an inquisitive look toward the two women, taking a bite of his food and leaning against the table. He's got his own strange dream problem. First a funeral, then a dream about his son's death.
It seems that Griffin is drifting in and out of his own thoughts, even as he peers over at the pair.
"Then you do your best to keep on preventing it," Liza suggests. "Your friends do not have to suffer that way." She looks to Griffin, eyebrows lifting a little as she pokes at her food. "Seems everyone's having them." She pauses. "Not me, though."
"Yes." Huruma says, and Liza backs it up. "I suppose that everyone has heard of them happening, by now, hm?" She clears her throat and looks more fully to Griffin, half-expecting him to have a ready explanation for what feels like personal curiosity. "Are they real? Or is that still t'be found out? It had best not b'someone messing around, I am certainly not in the mood." When is she ever?
A slow nod is returned to Liza, Griffin turning now green eyes up toward the ceiling for a moment. Then, he glances over toward Huruma, his head tilted to one side. "I've had two so far." He takes a bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully, a frown betraying his discontent at both of the dreams. They weren't happy dreams. "First one was a funeral. For Joseph Sumter. Second one…" He pauses, a pang of sorrow for something that has yet to happen. "In the second one, a man named Aric Gibbs came to tell me that my son, Owain, had died trying to fight. Trying to be a hero. Trying to be like me…"
The telekinetic returns to his meal, frowning.
"Th'one thing w'probably cannot change is just that." This may not be what Griffin wants to hear; Huruma is infamous for her ability to state the obvious. "Our children are what w'make them." A hand goes to rub along the side of her jaw, fingers curling together. "That is probably why m'son is a warrior and m'daughter is simple." She technically made them that way. Abandonment, injury, what have you. "If there is a purpose t'all of these things, I hope t'find out. Being shown them otherwise is a manner of …torture."
There's a tiny nod from Liza in agreement, looking down at her food. She moves to take another bite of her food. "I don't think someone would just mess around with this, would they? I am sure there must be a reason for it. I wish I could study them more myself, but… there's nothing really for me to study. It would be a nice break from the infirmary…"
The lanky fellow offers a slow nod, rubbing his hand over his forehead as he stares down at his food. "It feels like they're trying to say something. What, I have no idea." A shrug rolls over his shoulders, the man resuming his food consumption. "I hope it's not some practical joke…" He shakes his head slowly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
"If someone is, they are doing it in a very odd manner. You used t'be an agent, Liza, I am sure that if y'went t'Kaylee she would appreciate experienced input." Huruma folds her hands on the table only to stand herself up, hands roaming to her back pockets, looking between the two. "Hopefully we don'find out what it is about when it is too late. But there are too many minds between us, t'miss something."
Liza nods, eagerly, seeming a bit more focused at the suggestion. "If I can help her, I will, though it's hard for me to come up with ideas without having experienced a dream myself. Perhaps she needs someone to take notes and organize the information." She looks between the two. "I think we'll figure it out, it may just take some time. And I suppose people just need to be aware and try and remember their dreams when they wake up."
"And with that, I must either go find th'fellow in mine, or decide t'prepare more." Huruma is not looking forward to talking to Ryans. Even though technically he is her best friend at this point- there are always some things you can never be ready for. Not totally. "Penye nia ipo njia." The dark woman lifts her hand in a slight salute, canting her head as she swaggers away to leave the dining hall. Yeah, she left the fork in the table.
"Good luck with Ryans," Liza offers, a helpful tone in her voice. She sounds, at least, a little better than she was. At least she seems to have forgotten about one set of troubles in lieu of another. Maybe it's just good to switch what is stressing you for a while. She watches Huruma leave, looking down at her food. She pokes at it before she moves, stabbing her own fork into the table.
It promptly falls over.