Write A Song Named After Me


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Scene Title Write A Song Named After Me
Synopsis It may not be a song, but a dream brings a moment to life.
Date March 25, 2011

In Dreams

The walls and ceiling shake.

Dust breaks off and falls in small fine particles, catching the dim light in a cloud, obscuring the tunnel that the small group has ducked into. The tunnel runs off in both directions, the dust covered tracks showing it to be an abandoned subway tunnel that disappears out of the small range of minor illumination produced by the older woman in the middle.

Another shaking rocks the walls and floor, the sound rumbling deep into their skins. It seems both familiar, and not, all at the same time.

There's no sound to announce the sudden arrival from one direction, just a shadow and displacement of the soft light. Some people don't make any sound until they want to. And Lance has always been one of them. "We have to move, we're the last group down and FRONTLINE is right behind us. No bots, though, so there's some good news," the young man says, blue eyes still carrying the spark of mischevious youth, even if he's no longer even a teenager, though not out of that definition by much. The dirt smudged across his face gives him even more of the appearance of his youth.

The shaking makes Robyn Quinn stumble as she moves forward, not catching the sound of Lance's voice at first as she attempts to prevent herself from falling on face and slowing them down even more. There's already one long cut across the side of her face as it is, no need to make things worse if she can help it. "Shit shit shit shit!" spills out of her mouth as she pull herself upright, arms thrust out to the side to help her regain that precious balance - a bit of red flinging off her hand as it snaps into place, funning down her arm from somewhere hidden under the black jacket she wears that doens't quite seem to fit, a wince of pain crossing her face..

Which allows her eyes to settle on Lance ahead of them, a bit of a sigh coming from her as her arms lower.

"Oh thank God." There is no shortage of relief in her voice, a bit of a smile crossing her face. "That's it, then? Just us?" She can't resist looking over her shoulder, as if that might give her some insight into the FRONTLINE soliders supposedly coming along just after them.

Covered in plenty of cuts and bruises himself, Magnes briefly runs a hand over his stubble, wearing a long sleeveless black coat over a black tie and a white buttoned up shirt, with some black cargo pants full of pockets and laced up black military boots. He's following behind the others, closing his eyes a few times as gravity harmlessly reaches out around them, keeping his feelers ready for potential invisible people on the enemy's side.

Concentrating and in deep thought, he doesn't speak yet, he only contemplates.

Age does not temper, nor time erode when your character is made of a certain stuff, and a certain way of thinking can keep you together, even when the world is falling apart.

And so the hammer blows of ordinance above create a brutal percussion that rattles the earth itself. The drummer of General War's brigade sets a goosestepping march - chaotic, cacaphonic, and relentless. That's some serious instrument destruction. Quite a display of showmanship.

Sable has always been dressed for the apocalypse. Cargo pants are back in fashion, judging from Magne's attire, but she's been doing this for ages. Once-white tanktop is shadowed by a leather jacket that have some serious scuffs. Some amount of grit has settled into her hair, and dusted her features, settling in and more clearly defining the very first signs of crowsfeet at the corners of her yellow eyes. Luck of the devil, maybe - she doesn't look hurt. Just dirty.

"Y'all okay, gal?" Sable asks, reaching out to brace Quinn's shoulder, "y'all take it easy." Which is one thing to say and another to do when you're on the run from the military.

"Let's not keep no one waitin' 'n' worryin'," Sable suggests, lifting a hand to her face, thumb digging at something that worries the corner of her eye. Some minute piece of debris. "Much as I'd like t' give th' fascist pricks a real fine sendoff b'fore we go."

"As long as no one's come back that way, then we should be good," Lance says, reaching up to touch at his dark brown hair that tries to hang into his eyes even when he's doing his best to push it aside. He too has a few snags of injuries, though his are fairly minor. A bandage torn out of a jacket to wrap around one of his arms.

"Though this is the last time I play rear guard," he adds, with a glance around at the adults. It likely won't be, though— there's few people who can double back as well as him.

Another explosion from above shakes the ground, this one louder, closer, a good chunk of concrete falling from the ceiling to impact the ground near them.

"The exit tunnel should be on the right up that way," he adds, gesturing into the darkness, and they all start going.

No sign of any invisible trackers, but they don't have to be invisible. There's a shuffle of noise in the darkness behind, not attributed to the shaking of the ground, or the bombings up above.

Something much smaller.

There's no sound of the grunt that Lance makes, until he reaches out and grasps Quinn's arm, pulling her into his blanket of silence so she can hear him. "They were closer than I thought. Grab Magnes and tell him to grab Sable. Less noise we make the better." Four's pushing his limit, but desperate times…

"Probably as good as I will be," The Irishwoman replies in a bit grumble, jerking her arm back from the shorter woman when she touches - more because her hand almost lands on the long gash that winds down her arm. That really doesn't doesn't help the pain, though, teth clenched together as she tries not to let out a squeek of pain.

But once she passes, she offers a smile back over to Sable, and look back towards Magnes. "Okay, Lance, lead the way t' freedom," she remarks once she's taken a long breath. "Sable's right, we shouldn't keep anyone waitin', an' I've got t' check on-"

She doesn't get to complete the sentence or the thought. Thank goodness Lance grabs her uninjured arm, otherwise the silence might not have helped. It doesn't keep her from wincing again when she's pulled over, eyes sliding to look at him with a worried expression. It takes a precious moment for her to process the request, before she nods, and takes a step back out, grabbing Magnes by the arm and jerking. "Grab Sable!" she hisses out, tugging as she moves back beside Lance. A dim expression is offered back the way she came, then down at the silence child (at least, she'll call him that forever). "How do you feel about being blind for a little bit? Trust me, it's a good thing."

Magnes immediately raises a hand in an attempt to pull Sable into his grab with a gravitational shift, looking back as if to somehow find some new enemy they should be taking notice of. "This is the least zenful situation I've experienced in at least ten hours." he states rather calmly, even if he is on full alert, beginning to pick up his pace.

The world's orientation tilts as Sable falls sideways towards Magnes, thumping into him and then regaining her now silent footing. She gives Magnes a sideways look - not quite a glower, but an eye - but spends most of her attention on the perimeter, odd eyes sliding back and forth, looking for ghosts of movement, the familiar angles and vectors of human bodies. No robots is good. She has a harder time getting the hang of the way they move, and at times like this every moment counts.

"Y'all havin' fun on yer goddamn chakra lilypad?" Sable shoots at Magnes, "y'all gonna lay out Oriental style wisdom, 't least be playin' a sitar. Only fuckin' excuse."

Within moments, all of them lose the ability to see— but at the same time they become invisible to the world around them. It's a disadvantage, certainly, but they do have one advantage over the group coming up toward them—

They can still hear them.

There's a few shuffles of feet, quiet movements of a small group of people in suits. Even unable to see, Lance uses his free hand to try and lead the way, taking the tunnel by memory, and avoiding more conversation under than a soft grumble of, "If Paul were here we could just go through the wall. But there should be a gate— if we can close it between us maybe we'll be able to buy some time."

A close explosion sends dust down once again— dust that disappears as soon as it hits them, but bends around their invisible forms. The plan won't save them too long, as an unseen beam of light sweeps down the tunnel they've gone into.

But Magnes knows that just because one is blind, doesn't mean they can't see. Two figures, both rather small built, creeping up behind them, armed with weapons they have little defense against.

"You don't have to be on edge to be alert, it makes you more functional." Magnes finally stops, continuing to hold Sable's arm. "You go on ahead, and just in case, no regrets." He leans in to peck Sable on the lips, then releases her arm and cracks his knuckles. "These guys are seriously harshing my zen. Go and run."

"Running's kind of hard like this, Magnes," Quinn remarks, ehr head looking in his direction despite the futileness of the gesture. And Quinn has no intention of lifting the effect until she absolutely has to, "With any luck they'll move on before this starts t' hurt." But Robyn Quinn is patient. She can wait here for a while, if she feels she needs to. "Or we can shuffle against the wall, if we want." She doesn't say it, but she has no intention of "going on ahead" without Magnes.

She saw that shit coming a mile away. The impromptu kiss is a physical trope, and the moment Magnes goes for it, Sable turns her head, giving him only cheek - at the very same time, her fist juts out for his arm, knuckles digging in - aiming to cause some pain. She knows how to lay a punch, and sombitch is gonna hurt he thinks he can just kiss whoever.

"Boy," Sable states, giving Magnes a level look - though they don't quite stand eye to eye, "I'ma make sure you get outta here, jus' t' make sure y' do live t' regret," she gives a snort, "y'all are too old for that bullshit. 'N' too young t' die a hero, so let's creep th' fuck on outta here. Get t' th' gate, then run like hell."

"Hailey will sick her dogs on me if I don't bring you back," the youngest grumbles into the blindness.

Due to their state, they don't see the weapon leveled in their direction, but they hear the rifle report that rings through the confinded space. The bullet rips through the air and hits flesh, ripping through a jacket and further disturbing Magnes' zen, sending pain shooting up from the wound.

A moment later there's a distinct pop followed by a hiss.

The blindness fades, taken over by a haze of sickened air illuminated only by a light coming down the escape tunnel.

Lance curses lightly under his breath, hand releasing them as he darts toward the gate he couldn't find before, but a shot from the second of the FRONTLINE soldiers draws his hand back to avoid the ricochet.

Space seems to bend around him by proxy of the gas being pushed away from him long enough so he can thrust both hands out. "Go, write a song named after me, be rockstars!" is the last thing Magnes leaves them with, gravity starting to push and drive them all through the gate before it slams behind them, gravity holding it in place.

Then the air stops bending around him as the gas washes over his body, and he reaches into the jacket with both hands to pull out two metallic poles, screwing them together to form one long blunt weapon.

The invisibility fading means that Quinn's already gotten her share of gas washed over her, despite how she narrows her eyes and tries to make the room light up like a sun. It doesn't come though, and the next thing she knows, she's being pushed away, eyes widening as she reaches back and flails towards Magnes. "You dick!" she proclaims, instead of the normal praise or words of thanks one might say when their ass is being saved. How she doesn't have a hold in her side from gunfire already is amazing, but it doesn't prevent her from trying to fight the gravatic push. "You get y're arse over here right now!"

Really, she should be more worried about FRONTLINE soliders with guns, particularly why negated. But her priorities never really did put herself before others. She's been told it'll be the death of her. Hopefully, today isn't the day that that's proven true.

The gas always makes her feel sick, as if thick prescription lenses were being placed over her eyes, a strain in the eyes and a whirl to equilibrium, as Sable can no longer see as she's spent so much of her life seeing. The disorientation gives Magnes the perfect opportunity to usher her past the gate. Sable grips the metal grating first to steady herself, then to shake as she barks out at Magnes.

"What th' fuck is this? You get back here right now you sorry son of a bitch! Y'all don't dare pull this shit. Not on my watch, you rat fuckin' bastard!" The fury in her voice seethes, bubbling up past the boiling point, her rough voice all the rougher. The chatter of bullet fire does not dissuade her. Fools all, but loyal.

Through the closed gate, the small group can see the rifle get lowered from the shoulder of one of the FRONTLINE soldiers. The armor gives the distinct impression of a female. "Magnes," a voice says though a com system, cold and familiar. "Long time no see." Too familiar.

Though through the cold black helmet he can't meet her eyes. He doesn't have to.

Claire Bennet always held a special place in his heart. Even as she switches her rifle out for the weapon on her back. One of her old favorites.

A shotgun.

Another explosion rocks the tunnel, this one seeming to be right above where they stand, because large chunks of concrete come crashing down beyond the gate.

"God damnit. We have to go!" Lance yells, reaching for Sable's arm, but knowing in the end he's not going to be strong enough to pull her away.

But the tunnel collapsing may do the rest.

"Things could have been different, but more than me you've always wanted to save the world." Magnes begins to approach her, taking a deep breath as the wound on his side bleeds down and begins to trail behind his steps. He doesn't look back nor say anything to the others when he approaches the woman. "Being negated has always put everything into perspective for me. I never truly have to feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, and whenever I do, every step is a struggle."

"Some part of me has always loved you, no matter how cold your heart becomes." He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small tab with a Cheshire Cat on it, then places it on to his tongue. "So, if I have to die here, then at least I know that someone I love will never forget me. If you kill me, maybe it'll change your life for the better. But then, I always was a bit too optimistic sometimes."

Even with the explosion above, and the signs of a cave in about to seperate them from their pursuers, and the danger that staying represents, Quinn finds ehrself reluctant to let go of the bars of the gate as she watches Magnes confront the FRONTLINEr in front of him. She can't hear him, though, which makes this whole thing that much worse.

"Magnes!" she shrieks out, voice cracking a bit. While Lance pulls on Sable, Quinn feels her hands tighten on bar, before a mixture of sweat and defeat causes them to slip down, dalling limpy to her side. She doesn't even wince at the pain that shoots through ehr arm from teh movement, still just watching for a moment as a tear slips down her cheek.

She told herself years ago she'd never cry for Magnes. Funny how that works out.

"And even now, she's not going to let it known that she is, rubbing her face as she turns away. "What an asshole," she mutters half hearted, before reachign with her good arm to join Lance in tugging at Sable, wordlessly hoping the woman comes on.

She'll give it to him, he certainly can do theater. In time, perhaps, Sable will say this when she recounts this story. In time it will be told in fondness and memory and commemoration. In time there may just be a rock song, raucous and celebratory, denying death because rock never dies.

For now, no distance, no closure, just words overheard, and then the thunder of earth falling, an instant, anonymous entombment, and then desolation. Sable's eyes look hollow, the crows feet seeming to disappear in favor of highlighting to the way time and worry has touched her cheeks and forehead. The twin tug, on each arm, is met with the most passive of resistance, a sort of postural inertia. In a few moments, the strain becomes to much, and Sable's fingers slip free. She takes unsteady steps backward, yellow eyes still fixed upon the mass of earth and rubble that is now the unmarked grave of her friend.

She's silent. Still.

"Then you'll be glad I'm the last thing you'll see," the immortal woman in body armor says as the rubble blinds most of her sensors. It's really not so much seeing as it is hearing. There's light from the armor, light from the end of the other solider's gun, shooting a beam into the rubble. He'd try to follow— if he could.

But that last explosion insured he doesn't.

Colors wash over Magnes' mind, sound triggering tastes and phantom lights.

And through the settling rubble as the two women and young man move away, they hear a distinct sound of a shotgun firing.

And then…

The Verb: Quinn and Elaine's Apartment

There is a loud, sudden gasp and Quinn jolts awake in her bed, eyes wide. It's with a similar suddenness that she sits up, uncaring of the arm that had been draped across her. There may actually be the hint of a tear running down her cheek, a hint of what she just dreamed brought into the real world.

She'd never admit it, though.

Breathing slow and heavy, a hand balls up in the sheets. "Jesus," she mutters. "No…" Eyes close for a moment, before she reaches over, shaking the slumbering form next to her.

She probably isn't getting back to sleep any time soon.

Siann Hall: Magnes' Apartment

Magnes opens his eyes, quickly lowering down to the bed with his blanket after his floating slumber. He sits up and looks around, then reaches back to rub the back of his head. "I guess my mind wants me to talk to the band…" he mutters to himself, laying back with his head sinking into a pillow.

There's a few seconds of quiet before he casually adds, "I made out with Claire more times than I can possibly count, there's no way she'd ever shoot me…" Another pause. "On purpose."

The Octagon: Delilah's Apartment

When Sable awakens, it's like rising out of inky black, cold water. Consciousness presses down on her in a cold breath that brings her to in a chilly sweat. She rakes a pale hand through dark locks - no grit. No tunnel, no war, no death. Time was here, and she was safe in bed and-

It's a fervent belief in portents that brought her to this bed in the first place. Interpretations of signs, a fierce dedication to what she reasoned should be. A dream such as this is too portentious, too vivid, too grim, to be ignored. Carefully, so as not to disturb, she slips off the mattress and pads into the bathroom, closing the door and staring into the dark glass of the mirror until her features slowly resolve, eyes adjusting. She leans in, turns her head, draws the skin at the corner of her eyes tight.

Not yet that time. But in how long?

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