Participants:
| Scene Title | Out Of Her Hands |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | For some, the visions borne of the blackouts a week ago made it feel like the future had been ripped out of their hands - and now, Ling Chao aims to take hers back |
| Date | June 17, 2010 |
The Corinthian, Ling's Room
"For a moment, the grey concrete is the only thing that fills her blurry vision is the only thing she sees, the only sensation she experiences. Chaos rings off in the background, long forgotten as Ling Chao chokes on something lodged in her throat, begging her body to caught, to force it out, something it seems so unwilling to do.
Red fills her vision as it spills from her mouth to the pavement, the Chinese woman continuing to hack violently afterwards. The scuff of shoes draws her eyes upward, to a man; a man with blonde hair and a gun pointed at her, smoke rising from the barrel. A man she doesn't even know had just shot her. Sometimes, the universe has a sense of humor - after all, it's impossible to be prepared for the assassination you never see coming. And Ling knew that lesson better than most.
She shifts her weight and tries to sit out, but instead just cries out as a stabbing pain shoots through her body, the sticky red puddle underneath growing every second. The man says something, but it's lost in the mix of the numbing throbbing in her head and the oppressive chaotic noise permeating the air. She reaches out, clawing at the pavement, desperate to get enough of a grip to pull herself up, but her fingers just won't move like their supposed to, cold and deadlocked as they are.
A bloody cough forces its way up again, a small billowing of smoke following after it. It's too late for that, Ling knows; by the time she could muster the concentration to go through with the process it would be too later. Still, wisps of smoke begin to raise her from body as she slowly begins to lose control, swirling and dissipating as they extend up into the open air. Her vision blurs further, and as she gives up and slides down to the ground, she looks up and tilts her head to the man, smirking.
"Business as usual, I guess. Funny how these things go…"
And then the blur fades to black.
Scritch scritch scritch. The sound of pen on paper, echoing over an otherwise silent room. It had been like this for days now, a week even. Ling Chaos sits at the desk in her room at the Corinthian, eyes half lidded as she scribbles on paper, even now still trying to make senses of it all. The memory was burned into her mind, the nightmare she had experienced hasn’t left the forefront of her mind yet.
Some people called them “visions” now, claimed it more than just some sort of mass hallucination. And that bode even more ominously every time she heard it. She’d been trying to accurately recreate it on paper, make some poor attempt at figuring out who it had been who had did what they did, where she had been. But even now, it still hadn’t come out to anything recognizable at all.
But what it meant, most importantly, was that Ling’s future was now out of her hands, and in the control of forces unknown to her. This was entirely unacceptable. It was like the steering wheel had been ripped from her life, being guided to a foregone conclusion. It was a feeling of helplessness like she had never felt before, like she hoped she would never feel again. Her entire life, she had been taught to see life by the throat, and make it her own. And for the first time, she couldn’t.
Another piece of paper is balled up, tossed to the floor – it’s littered with them, a stark contrast to the normally pristine condition of the room. Ling herself is immensely dressed down, not even in her usual business casual outfit – a t-shirt and sweat pants, something she’d never get caught dead in. Something she’d never wear under normal circumstances, she only had them for the rare event she was exercising or at a gym. The last week had not been normal circumstances.
She hadn’t even left her room, instead relying on room service. She’d been too paranoid, too scared at first. The unsettling feeling that creates only compounds the problem – fear is not something Ling is used to, not something she handles very well at all. She’d been a bit on edge every since November to begin with, ever since everything with the Triad came to a head. She had been puzzling over this vision alone for far too long now.
A fist slams down on the desk. «Damnit!» The pen is set down, and Ling head hangs over the desk, eyes narrow and hair fallen and framing the next blank piece of paper, giving away to thin tendrils of smoke at the tips, a sure sign of her anxiety as her grip on her ability slips just the slightest bit.
A long sigh, and the closing of eyes. Composure must be gained. Normalcy must be restored. She leans back, back against the chair, holding up a hand and watching a thin trail of smoke stream lose for a few moments before finally ceasing. Hair is treaded out of eyes, and she stares at the desk in front of her. The only remaining piece of paper has the most coherent version of her blackout that she has put together, between her initial disbelief, the panic attack that followed, and her subsequent coming down.
«What am I forgetting…» She was so sure there was something. Whoever she had seen in her vision had elicited no memories, no recognition. And yet, there was something about that person that resonated, like she should know. And that was what was eating her up the most inside. If these were visions, someone she didn’t even know, that she hadn’t burned yet, was getting the best of her.
How could she ever let someone get the best of her?
The most obvious conclusion she’d reached was that it had to be someone attached to the Triads. Her work and been reduced to more businesslike manner in the recent months, and even with a vision of a wholly unrecognizable future, she couldn’t imagine pissing anyone off as much as she had the Triads.
But who was left? Liu Ye was dead, she knew as much for sure. Song Ye was dead, or so she still hoped. Johnny Wong might still be in town, or any of ther other evolved taht worked under Liu. Bao-Wei was likely still kicking around, if Liu death hadn’t killed him. And at that, Ling scoffs. Doctor Cong. It had almost been too easy, working as his aide.
Hmm.
Bao-Wei. Perhaps he might know. If who she saw in her vision had been someone from the Triad, Bao-Wei was certainly someone who would know. He was a loose end that needed revisiting, one of the few people who knew her role in the fall of the Triads, most assuredly. And the matter that there was no way in hell he’d willing even look at her, much less talk with her without trying to kill her wasn’t even something that registered with her. She had her defences, her means of coercion..
And more importantly, there was one side effect to seeing a vision of yourself dying in the future that worked in her favour. And that was confidence. Confidence that until that time came, there was no need to worry. A kind of confidence that breeds recklessness. And certainly, wandering back into the lion’s den was reckless indeed.
She had one other lead to follow up first, but she had a feeling. A feeling that she’d be seeing an old “friend” sooner, rather than later.
The pen is lifted back up into her hand and twirled in between her fingers. A malicious grin spreads across her face, and she rises up, posture straight and eyes trained on her room. Confidence restored upon a resolution made.
She was going to get to the bottom of this, and if something was going to kill her, at least she was going to know what. She had business to attend to, and people to see. And hopefully once she was done, she would have the entire matter set behind her, never to bother her again.
Perhaps when she was done,, she would have her future back within her own firm grasp.