Participants:
| Scene Title | Will You Recognize Me? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Part 2 |
| Date | November 13, 2018 |
????
At first, the dream feels like a memory, only it’s hazy, and wrong. This room is not familiar, but Lucille has been in rooms like it before. Concrete, pipes filled with steam. The shadows clinging to all corners and sides. It all feels out of focus, ephemeral. Like if she touched the wall it might turn to mist in her hands, but there was one thing in the room that looked solid.
Red hair, curls, pulled back into a thick tail that did very little to actually keep those curls out of her eyes. They poked out in various directions. Even the dank air, the humidity, didn’t keep her hair under control. If anything it made the curls frizz even more out of control. Young, barely into her twenties, she looks much as she had at the start of the war.
“We’re going into battle tomorrow,” she comments, shaking her head and sending those frizzes dancing.
The battle mentioned feels like it should be familiar, but it’s not.
"Whose the target?" Lucille asks with a tilt of her head, something doesn't feel right but she can't put her finger on it. There she is, checking the magazine of her Uzi and sliding a blade across a sharpening tool. That frizz, so familiar. She knew that redhead. "Don't fall on your ass." A quirk of her lips, though inside her mind is raging with something. Trying to get her to take notice of something. Something she couldn't quite place.
Long limbs settled over a bench as she works, she is methodical with her preparing of weapons, there isn't a time where she isn't preparing.
“We’re seeing the kids off,” the redhead responds, sounding sad and tired. It sounds so innocuous, sending the kids off. Like how could this be defined as a battle. But there’s a hint of dread to her voice, as if something is inevitable. Is predetermined. “They’re going to kill us, you know. Both of us. Even if we had survived this, they would have killed us one day. Cause of what we can do.” Her eyes flash reddish for a moment, much as Lucille’s often flash gold. For a moment it doesn’t feel like a dream, or a nightmare.
But then it must be, because all of a sudden the room fills with mist, fog, smoke. Smoke that seems to move about as if it had a mind of its own, wisps and ropes of quivering air.
“She’s here. For you. That gun won’t do anything to stop her.”
The kids?
Before Lucille can answer there's the mist, fog and smoke lapping over her feet, moves around here as it's alive, eyes widen momentarily and the brunette takes a step back. Looking down at the gun in her hands, she holsters it and holds out her hands, "She won't have me." She echoes before she's dashing to the right, hoping to get away from the smoke, from that voice, but that red hair…
With the coming of the smoke and the leaving of Lucille the tendrils of vapor curl as she moves swiftly through them. The overwhelming urge to Get Out rings through her and she pumps her arms hard at her side as she tries to gain distance.
Attempting to flee proves futile. The mist forms around her, solidifying just enough to grab at her clothes, her hair, her body. Even with the adrenaline rising in her veins, she can’t grasp anything her ability recognizes as biological about the thing grasping at her. Each time she slips out, it forms back up. A knife solidifies, curved and nasty and reaching for her neck.
But then a hand intercepts the blade, grasping it. Blood drips down the hand. It’s Delia, suddenly. Appearing out of nowhere. “I should have saved you. I would have, if I had been there. We should have fought together. Maybe we could have saved each other.” The knife digs into palm toward bone, and then it’s the red haired woman’s eyes that flash. Almost the same yellow that Lucille’s does. And the mist crumples. An Asian woman lays on the ground, seemingly asleep.
“I could have saved you,” she repeats, though with the smallest change in words. Should to could. “You know I love you, right? I didn’t say it much, but I did. And I do.”
Blinking, Lucille tries to jerk away but finds herself unable to sending her into panic eyes widening and those yellowed irises take in the smoke and the knife that's stopped by her sister. But.. "Deli what are you—"
An Asian woman lying on the floor causes Lucille to pause and she rears back as Delia recites her regrets, her death. "Saved me? D, I'm alive. Why are you.. have you lost control of your ability?" Reaching her hand out, there was something wrong with her sister. "I can help you, it's okay. I love you too, we're stronger together. Always." That's something she had learned later in life, she didn't take Delia for granted anymore.
“We were. We always were,” Delia responds with a sigh, looking down at the body at her feet. The world seems to twist, like paint running on a canvas, but the body and the sisters remain whole. “I wish I could stay. I could. I think I could. I might win.”
Whatever that meant. “He gave me my name, you know. We had joked for over a year that we should have one, a good name for both of us and one for father. They kept saying we would need to earn it. You never did. But I earned mine.”
The lightning changes, darkening, reddening, like the cast of blood over her face as she raised her eyes away. “Do you want to know what it was? The name he gave me?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer, before she can hear a voice. One that almost sounds familiar, but not. A man’s voice. In the background see almost can make out the flash of a wolf-head cane, the same cane that Hana carried around. That voice feels connected.
“You will be Njörun.”
Njörun continues quietly, “Who waits in the night. Who would dream alone in a world of death.”
With that echoing in Lucille’s mind, she suddenly feels something latch onto her from behind, like a string stretching out around her spine. It pulls her back, through the darkness…
And she wakes up in a cold sweat, the glowing aurora visible in the clear sky out her window, casting the room in colors and dim light.