Participants:
| Scene Title | Good & Bad |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Zelda receives an image of what life could have been… |
| Date | October 24, 2018 |
Cresting Wave Apartments - Zelda's Balcony
The Matsuri has begun and all appears to be going well; with Zelda’s part mostly finished, she has finally gotten to enjoy a bit more downtime than she has over the past month and a half or so. So much, in fact, that she’s even had a bit of time to get in some exercise — she’s been more than happy to set up her yoga mat on her balcony, and is quietly going through a morning routine, all while enjoying the scene below of the festival workers preparing themselves for yet another long and busy day.
Life is good.
A mug of tea rests on a nearby table next to a delicately tended potted plant, steaming in the chilly fall air. Zelda quietly goes into a lunging pose, her hands pressed together high above her head, breathing in the crisp morning air. She’s only about five minutes into her routine, and she already feels better — she makes a small mental note to herself to never get too busy for at least a morning yoga routine ever again.
This is what she has worked for. She’s free from the oppressive reign of her homeland, an especially fortunate thing when her newfound ability is taken into consideration. Back in England, she would become a hot commodity, she’s sure, someone to be thrown about by government officials like an object to be used to their advantage. She’s free from her brother and his troubles. Here at Yamagato, she has freedom, both in terms of her rights as an SLC-Expressive Human, and financial freedoms as well.
The woman raises into a standing pose, before lifting one leg up, catching it with her hand and stretching it back, while her other hand raises in front of her to balance herself. She pushes the stretch a bit, exhaling slowly—
A cloud escapes Wilhelmina’s mouth as she stares intently up at the grand architecture of London Parliament, the cold air of the morning biting at her along with the drizzle of rain that sticks to her hair and helps the cold get into her bones, her heels clicking along the sidewalk as she makes her way inside.
On the Tube riding into work this morning, a pair of teenagers were talking about how wonderful it is over in America, how they’re going to flee the country and go to the land where people are truly free. It put a rueful smile on the woman’s face, the thought of escape — something she’ll surely never see a chance of. Sure, she could hop a boat and be done with this horrible place — but she knows for a fact that they weren’t lying when they told her that she would either work for them, or they would do something horrible to her family.
Shaking her head, the lie detector place her bag and jacket into a bin, before pushing it through to be checked over by the x-ray machine; meanwhile, she slips through the metal detector, stopping at the other side to pick up her things. She lifts her phone to check her schedule — Conference room A. Evolved screenings today.
With a sigh, the woman trudges toward her destination. More betrayals of her own kind, just what she always wanted! Through a maze of hallways and corridors, she finally arrives, slipping in — right in time for the first line of questioning.
She slips to the back of the room, frowning at the scene before her: Two guards at the door. A blonde haired young man sits, sweating, at the table in the middle of the room; on the opposite side, a middle-aged man, much more confident. Randy, he liked her to call him. He was always a little too loose, a little too handsy, and that smarmy look on his face right now makes her want to vomit.
After a brief glance back toward the woman, Randy turns his gaze back toward the nervous man, a smirk glimmering in his eyes. “So you say you haven’t manifested yet, Mister Hamilton?” The tall man shakes his head quickly. “N-nno, sir, I haven’t.”
She’s learned to keep herself from flinching most of the time, but having barely had a chance to get to her seat, Wilhelmina can’t help but flinch, much to Randy’s delight. She frowns as the two security guards step forward, lifting young Mr. Hamilton to his feet. “You’re lying.”
Life is horrible.
The woman closes her eyes, placing her bag on the table, jacket on the back of the chair as she settles into her seat. They'll bring more — she'll probably be used on a good twenty people today. Trying to tune out the panicked shouts of the young man as he’s carried off, Wilhelmina sucks in a deep breath—
With a gasp, Zelda sits up from where she fell on her yoga mat, reaching out and holding tight to the railing of her balcony. The festival-goers are still getting ready for the day, the birds are still singing, her tea is still steaming next to the potted plant that she should really bring in for the winter soon. Everything is as it should be.
So why did that feel so real?
Shaking her head, the woman rises to her feet, taking up her tea cup and taking a slow sip, breathing quietly and attempting to ground herself once more, so she can get back into her yoga routine — at this point, she’ll probably have to start over.