Participants:
| Scene Title | One Big, Hideous Lie |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Owain takes a moment to react to the truth. |
| Date | May 26, 2018 |
Ruins of Queens - Fort Totten
After the little bird gave him the news that the past eight years has been one big, hideous lie, Owain started walking, first heading north, then heading east. He went into an almost fugue-like state, walking along without really having a destination in mind.
For nearly 11 miles he went like this, walking under cover of night, his mind racing as he pored over every bit of the past eight years, overanalyzing what was a lie and what wasn’t — or was it all a lie?
His father betrayed the Ferry. He cut a deal with the man who killed Marjorie Mihangle — his mother for the first ten years of his life. He was responsible for so many deaths. So many lives were snuffed out because of the man who brought him into this world.
In the wee hours of the morning, the sun slowly rising, Owain finds himself in the overgrown ruins of Fort Totten, a former army base on the shores of Little Neck Bay on the East River. He stands in the middle of the playground, backpack still draped over his shoulder, copper balls still clenched in his fist.
A glance at his watch reveals that he’s been meandering through what’s left of New York City for about eight hours now, meandering his way from right next to the old Prospect Park to this shitty little playground in the middle of a shitty old army base.
But finally, standing in the soft glow of the early dawn, in this empty place that nobody cares about any more, Owain starts to feel the effects of what the birds told him. Up until now, he hasn’t really let himself feel much of anything, but now…now that he is really and truly alone, it sinks in.
His father did a horrible thing that resulted in so many deaths…he possibly was a catalyst in the start of the war, even. His father was responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of deaths…and then he went home and let his son believe that he was a war hero. So many times, Owain expressed his admiration for what he thought were his father’s good deeds, and his father never stopped him.
His backpack is dropped to the ground, ball bearings shoved into his pockets as the teenager begins to pace frantically, his hands raising to tangle in his unkempt hair as tears begin to spring to his eyes.
Did Nadira know? Did she keep him in the dark too? Surely she wouldn’t have stayed with dad if she knew what he had done — he loves Nadira just as strongly as he has loved any maternal figure in his life, there’s no way she could have lived with this. She would have left, Owain would like to think.
His upset starts to show a bit more, in the form of airy, strangled sobs. This is the legacy he gets to contend with — a war criminal who is just as bad, if not worse, than the people that the New York Times ran that article on. His father, a murderer. A traitor, to both the Ferrymen and the people who turned to them for help, and to his entire race.
He stumbles, landing with his hand on one of the supports of the playground set, eyes wide and jaw clenched. He can talk, but will anyone believe him? A little bird told him that his late father was a war criminal, responsible for the downfall of the Ferry. His friends had to leave Pollepel because of his dad.
And knowing his father, he did everything that he did in Owain’s name.
Those brown eyes, so graciously given to him by his birth mother, the woman his father murdered when his powers came about, cloud over, becoming two mirrors reflecting the early morning light. He reaches out, using that power of his to take hold of the playground set, letting that mysterious part of him envelop the metal parts of the structure and taking a firm grip of it.
And then, Owain lets out a rage-filled scream, lifting his hands up by his face and slowly clenching them into fists. As he does so, the playground, a fusion of metal and plastic, begins to crumple, as if those two fists of the metallokinetic’s were squeezing it into oblivion. Owain screams, tears streaming down his cheeks, as the playground equipment crumples like paper, the weather-worn plastic slides and play equipment splintering under the force of the metal they are connected to being destroyed.
And then he drops to his knees, punching the wood chip covered ground as hard as he can, splinters embedding themselves in his knuckles. He screams again, punching at the crumpled remains of the support beam he leaned on moments ago, splitting the skin on those same splinter-filled knuckles.
Finally, the son of a war criminal drops to the ground, rolling onto his back to stare up at the sky with tears streaming down his cheeks. There he remains for a long while, before finally gathering his wits about him. His backpack is gathered up, then Owain trudges the short distance to a church less than a block away.
After ensuring that the place is empty, the metallokinetic crawls tiredly into a pew and, using some old linens found scattered throughout the church as a makeshift pillow, falls into a fitful slumber, plagued by dreams…no, nightmares.
All of the monsters are wearing his father’s face.