young-angela2_icon.gif s_eve_icon.gif nightmare_icon.gif

Scene Title Volk
Synopsis At the crossroads where two Evolved abilities meet, the Nightmare Man interferes with a prophetic dream.
Date February 1, 2010

Eve's Dreamscape

Snow falling on Staten Island this time of year is nothing unusual. It gathers pristine in the tall branches of trees that would otherwise be naked and bare, swathing them in hoary splendor like willowy old spinsters in mink furs made of silver hair and glittering white diamonds at their gnarled throats. Dusk brings a rolling fog in from the ocean and obscures New York's dark cityscape, robbing Eve's surroundings of their context — if it weren't for the distant cry of a foghorn and the waves lapping against the old Boat Graveyard's jagged shore, she could be anywhere in the world where winter has taken its icy hold.

Dressed in a long and heavy looking black dress along with knee high black boots. The seer looks around with wide eyes, the wind blowing locks of her hair into her face. Shaking the dark strands away, Eve makes her way forward. Not really knowing, where she is going yet.

What the snow does to the rotting ships is not as flattering as what it does to the trees. Although cold weather stifles the smell of decay, the ice that forms in hull cracks splits them wide open and exposes their twisted innards. Frozen rope spills out the belly of an overturned fishing boat like coils of intestine. Nearby, an old barge has been stripped down to little more than a metal ribcage spread wide with dark pieces of bent steel bone that shine black in the light of the dying sun.

As Eve moves through the Graveyard, her booted feet leave distinct prints the snow beneath them and fill the air with a sharp crackling sound that draws the attention of a carrion bird perched on the back of a sagging tugboat, its feet tangled in a piece of netting. Its beak parts into a low croak, sadder and more desperate than any noise the seer can remember a wild animal making, and as she approaches it gives several laborious beats of its wings in an attempt to free itself before she gets too close.

Clutching her arms to herself, she tilts her head and moves forward. Slowly, towards the bird. "Well.. looks like you'll having some trouble." She says softly to the bird as she nears closer and closer, until she is within arms length of the black bird. Eve quickly looks around the Graveyard and raises her eyebrows as she surveys the place, making sure she is committing everything to memory. Not that it matters since she'll wind up painting this when she awakens.

The wind blows slightly stronger and she wraps her arms around herself more, teeth chattering a little, she looks back the way she came to look at the footprints that lead to her. The prints seemingly just disappearing as the fog is so thick, like it's slowly trying to swallow Eve whole.

The fog is thick, but not so thick that Eve can't make out a pair of shadows gliding smoothly through it. Long and low to the ground with black plumes for tails and burning embers for eyes, they circle Eve's periphery. One cuts in between the space that separates a rusty trawler from the rock outcropping it leans against. The other veers off on its own path behind the vessel's stern and can briefly be seen for what it is when it passes through a yawning hole in the hull.

It's a wolf.

The bird, meanwhile, is growing increasingly agitated. Its oily feathers quiver with every harried rise and fall of its chest and shimmer a multitude of iridescent colours from bronze to violet.

The wolf.

An image that Eve has seen many times when it concerns the Vanguard. But the Vanguard is finished.. right? So Eve tilts her head and looks at the newcomers to this area and then she's looking at the bird closely. Reaching down, to help it get away.

She looks over her shoulder at the approaching wolf and then she bares her teeth in a growl.

The bird struggles against Eve's helping hands, its wings snapping back and forth with enough force to blow wisps of hair around her face in an inky halo as it twists away and slashes at her fingers with its beak and claws. Hoarse and rasping, the throaty cries of alarm that it's making are sure to attract attention if the seer's presence hasn't already.

The wolves — because there are two of them — come into view, emerge from the fog as smoke and take corporeal form a moment later, thin wisps of black tendrils burning off their wiry pelts as they close the distance, undeterred by Eve's snarling. The smaller of the pair moves with a limp, favouring its right leg over its left, though its svelteness does not appear to be hampered by the injury. It curls its lips at Eve, mouth all teeth and pale gums gone gray in the cold, steam spilling from its nostrils with every heaving breath that it lets go. "Ribak, ribaka videt izdaleka," it sneers.

The woman cries out and backs away from the bird. Nursing a few scratches on her hands, she looks at the bird and then to the wolves. In her mind, they are after the bird. Or both the bird and herself. "You can't have it." She says softly to the wolves and stands in front of the bird, as if too shield the animal with her own body. Eve's light grey eyes narrow on the wolves as she studies them, their features and when they speak, in that language.. it sounds familiar.

"Nyet," says the wolf. "Izvinite, Holden," and there's something almost apologetic about its grating tone. Eve has had enough prophetic dreams to know when something is about to go wrong, and when the dreamscape changes — however subtly — it does not escape her notice. The sky darkens, clouds growing viscous, black and thick, and a breeze whips through the Graveyard, kicking up a flurry of snow so fine it resembles grains of ash white sand that sting at the seer's eyes and clot in her nose.

This is usually the part where she wakes up. The smaller of the two wolves launches itself at Eve, slamming its paws into her chest with enough force to knock the wind from the lungs when she hits the ground, impact absorbed by the snow. Its companion circles around, no longer interested in the cawing bird, waiting for an opening of its own.

This isn't how the dream is supposed to end.

Eve gasps as she hits the ground and she tries to roll with the wolf, so that she can push herself off. Eyes go wide as she realizes what is happening, "What the.." she begins to say, she looks around, though it's hard since her eyes are watering and her nose is filled with the substance.

She begins to panic and she pulls a gun from her ankle holster. Prepared, though she knows that she doesn't usually.. have to carry guns in her dreams.

Rank breath unfurls across Eve's neck, spreading warmth and the smell of decay across her face and the soft, bared skin of her throat. The wolf atop her is impossibly heavy — the barrel of its chest bears down, pinning her to the snow, and although it does not drag its tongue across her cheek, she can feel wet strings of saliva dripping like sap into her mouth.

She gropes for her weapon, finds none, so perhaps it comes as something of a surprise when a gunshot splits the air with a sound that's comparable to a crack of thunder. Blood spatters the left side of her face, hot and sticky, and a moment later the wolf's weight is shifting sharply sideways as its body slumps off of hers.

There's a young woman standing at the stern of the barge, a rifle in her arms and a wolf-skin coat drawn up around her slender body. She isn't someone Eve recognizes, but with her dark hair and eyes, she resembles someone that she does:

Peter Petrelli.

"Get up!" she commands, her voice a terse bark, and swings the weapon around to level it at the remaining animal, finger tensing around the rifle trigger. "Run!"

When the voice is heard, Eve looks over in the direction and notices the woman, she runs towards the woman. All the while, her light clothing, becoming more appropriate. Dress covered by a long dark and warm coat and dark heavy black boots. Her hair swings in the wind as she barrels through the elements and takes a running leap and lands on the surface next to the woman and looks at her. "What the hell is going on, who are you?" she asks with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

Another gunshot shatters the pristine stillness of the snow-choked Graveyard. This time, the stranger misses her mark and tosses up chunks of ice where the wolf had been standing with ears pricked an instant ago. Now, it's loping toward the women at a full-out sprint that rapidly closes the distance between them in the time it takes Eve's rescuer to reload her weapon. "Evelyn," she says, and her voice is exceedingly calm — if tight — for someone who has a man-eater bearing down on her at speeds she can't outrun, "you need to wake up. Now."

Instead of being foolish and trying to stay and help, Eve nods her head and looks around the dreamscape. Her eyes close and she folds her arms, "Fine, thanks for helping me." She says softly and then like black smoke, she vanishes from the dream. Using all her willpower to wake up, to return to the living world.

The last thing Eve hears before careening back into wakefulness is the sound of a final shot, punctuated by a strangled scream that could either be human or animal.

She has no way of finding out.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License