Send Someone Else


corbin_icon.gif daphne_icon.gif

Scene Title Send Someone Else
Synopsis Daphne wakes up with a head injury in a strange bed after rescuing Corbin from the Nightmare Man's grasp in a strange twist of events.
Date January 2, 2010

Ichihara Bookstore Bookstore Loft

This tiny and cramped apartment looks to double as a storage space for the bookstore's older and more worn texts. Immediately upon entering the narrow loft, the entire left wall is filled with a seemingly disorganized mess of paperback and hardcover titles. This shelf ends at a far wall, where a small mattress and box spring are pushed up and covered with linens. Clippings from newspapers, old photographs and old flyers from the bookstore are pinned up to a cork-board above the bed, while a small, low shelf between the bed and the wall is likewise packed with books.

Opposite from the wall of shelves, a small writing desk is cluttered with loose papers, stacks of books and old magazines. A narrow wooden ladder leaned up against the wall, accessing a skylight that leads out onto the roof. On the wall next to the skylight, an astrological star chart has been pinned up. A small door near the staircase leads into a closet-sized shower with a cramped arrangement of toilet and shower filling up the space entirely, with a small stained-glass window letting in a dim amount of light.

The bed in this part of the bookstore has gotten little use in the last few weeks, unless Corbin has decided to stay in the bookstore to keep the evil cat company. Gabriel doesn't require attention so much as food and warmth and a litterbox that's cleaned somewhat regularly, but he can still be a pain when left alone for the weekend. This time it's not Corbin who's laying in the bed, but a blonde woman with a head injury. He applied some ice, but then left her to her own sleeping devices for a time.

That doesn't mean he didn't doze off too. It's the only way he could let the dreamwalker know he was all right, and attempt to do what he was supposed to be doing. But he did handcuff himself to a heater pipe. Just in case.

It's been a while since then, though. The handcuffs have been undone and he's standing in front of the bed, looking at the newspaper clippings. Each one he remembers fondly. But it also puts him in a perfect position to be one of the first things the poor sleeping blonde rescuer sees.

Daphne's eyes open and then close again as the world she looks at is out of focus. She groans and rubs her eyes, then the back of her head, which brings a hiss of pain. Definite knot back there. She tries the seeing thing again, looking at her surroundings until they come into focus. She glances down at herself to be sure she's still dressed — yup, all articles of clothing accounted for but for her sneakers which Corbin apparently took off.

She'd jump out of the bed and for the door, but she doesn't quite trust her legs to work the way she wants them to — or more likely, her head. So Daphne tries for civility instead. "So is this how you get all women to come home with you? Pretend to jump off bridges so they have to rescue you and get concussions in the process?" she asks. It's a joke, or a sad attempt at one.

"Well when you put it that way, no wonder my wife divorced me," Corbin says with a laugh, ignoring all the real reasons for said divorce, but finding it humorous even then. "But no, it just seemed better than dumping you off at a hospital when you fell asleep in my car before telling me where I could drop you off." In some ways, he wishes he had taken her to a hospital, but the chances are she's Evolved, and doesn't want people to know. And the only other option he had would be to call the people he works for, or another number he has.

This seemed the best option to him. He's never been one for bagging and tagging. Especially not to someone who saved his life.

"You're free to go whenever you want. This is actually a bookstore I'm store sitting while a friend is… gone, so it's not my place."

"That was nice of you," Daphne says, oddly sincere, as she sits up slowly, then holds her hands in her head for a moment. One step at a time. Sit up. Try not to throw up last night's dinner. Then maybe get out of the bed. "So explain again how I saw you in my dream? I vaguely remember waking up and thinking I should go save you where I last saw you…" she trails off there, hoping maybe he'll think the strange timing was just because of the dream. A moment in the dream while he stood teetering on the rail could have been thirty minutes — even if it was only a tenth of that time. "You said some crazy Evolved person is trying to hurt us?" She slides her legs out of the bed and around so she is sitting on the edge, feet finding the floor.

"I think you were in my dream. Or maybe we were in each other's dreams. I'm still not entirely sure how it works yet," Corbin admits, looking up at the clippings on the wall over the bed, as if they might answer a question or two. They likely won't, but he can wish they would, at the very least. "There's an Evolved who controls dreams. I call him the Bad Dream Guy, but for all I know it could be a girl, or a kid, or— something. All I know is he gets off on making people kill themselves in their dreams and real life. Kind of a suicide causing Freddie." If she ever watched those movies.

"There's another Evolved who is trying to fight him. Also controls dreams, but she's pushing people's dreams together so they can help each other. Must have sent you into mine, or me into yours, or— whatever. And when you woke up you… came to rescue me."

The fact people she has never met can get into her brain makes her rather uneasy. "This hurts my head. Or it would if it wasn't already hurt," she says with a chuckle. "I'm glad you didn't die and all, but I usually don't go out of my way to save people, you know? I'm not a hero or anything. So if your friend would maybe send someone else next time, that'd be just great." Daphne manages to stand, holds the position a moment to make sure it will take, and then takes a step. "Thanks for not taking me to the hospital though. Or leaving me to the muggers or something." She moves toward his door, though it's tediously slow by her standards — a slow pace for a normal person is like molasses in winter to her.

"I don't think anyone would consider me the hero type either," Corbin admits, moving to open the door for her even if she doesn't need the assistance. It's more or less stairs from there. "Be careful getting down the stairs. The cat sometimes likes to hang out on them too, so watch your step." The cat is indeed on one of the stairs, stretched out and taking up all of it. The wood is only warmed by the heater nearby, which is exactly why he chose that spot. Warmth. The riches of this store, if it could be said to have any, are limited to old books. Books that would easily be blown in many directions if she upped her speed and made for the front door.

Daphne isn't going to use her speed in front of an eye witness, and it's hard enough to move at normal speed without the world seeming to spin off its axis in some yet unknown direction. She clings to the bannister, taking one careful step at a time until she reaches the one the cat occupies. "Shoo," she whispers, unsure of skipping the step with her compromise balance.

"Merow," the beast says with a stretch and a yawn. It would seem he's heard the warning, stretches out with a slow yawn. For a moment it seems he may drop back down into a stretched position, but then he hops down and looks for his food bowl, flicking a white tail back and forth as he goes. "Do you want me to call you a cab?" She seemed uninterested in telling him where she happened to live, so cab seems the most neutral thing to offer at this point. "I'll even give you enough cash for it."

"Merow back to you," Daphne tells the cat, and manages the rest of the stairs just a touch more speedily, now that she knows she's not going to lose her lunch. "Thanks. Nah, I can walk, now that it's not the middle of the night and all. Good luck with your dream stuff, Carlin." Well, she almost got his name right. The fact she's close is pretty impressive given the fact she has a bruise in her brain!

"Corbin," he corrects with a laugh, following her down the stairs and turning on a light to make navigation around stacks of books a little easier. It is light outside, mid-day by the amount streaming in the windows. The open sign is turned inside, meaning that the store itself is closed. "You're on Roosevelt Island. So it might be a long walk," he adds on helpfully, giving her an idea of exactly what she might be dealing with. The trams are no longer in operation, so in many ways it takes some time to get to and from the former welfare island.

"I don't mind. It might clear my head," Daphne says, a smirk curving her full lips upward at her own witty remark. Or what she thinks is witty anyway. She's still in just the hoodie and yoga pants but then she realizes she left her shoes upstairs. "Ah, hell. Shoes would be useful." She moves back upward, now at a "normal" speed, locates the red and white tennis shoes, pulling them on her feet, and then back down.

"I'm feeling better, see?" Now that her equilibrium is adjusted to "normal," she's pretty sure she can handle "fast," once she's outside. Stooping to pet the cat, she then moves finally to the door. "Have a nice life. Try to stay away from bridges. You might trap your car or something so you don't drive it again when you're not awake," she says helpfully, as she opens the door, then gives another wave and steps outside into the chilly winter air.

"Good advice," Corbin says with a grin, even as he watches her all the way to the door, and continues to hang nearby as if to watch her walk for a moment. Not long, likely, as it's chilly and he doesn't have a coat. But then again… "Hopefully I'll see you again sometime under less dire circumstances." Where neither of them are about to tumble off of a bridge? Perhaps. He'll wait a few moments, before closing the door. Hopefully she'll be as all right as she says she'll be.

Daphne walks to the corner and then turns it, glancing back and raising a hand in farewell. Once she can no longer see the book store or Corbin, she speeds up. The faster she can get home to curl up and be miserable, the better.

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