Post by Koa on Mar 10, 2014 19:25:46 GMT -7
The predawn hours of Earth were quiet here. It was a radical change from her own home city. As soon as 6:00 AM hit she could expect to hear car doors slamming, engines rumbling to life and the low intolerance of children being roused early. Here, it was the sound of wind against sand. The dry lands were waking up on their own, but it was a stealth operation.
The sand might shift as a jackrabbit darted across her horizon, and bird song was ominously absent.
She expected the desert to be full of life. What were all those Discovery channel shows filming, then, if not here? Why did nothing rise to greet her quiet trek?
It was the sort of anticlimactic arrival she had come to expect out of life now. The quiet dread of her approach that she had once relished was growing tiresome. The teens shoulders slumped in acceptance. Her short forays into the world, allowed only by strict observation and control, were designed to dull her.
Even the feeling of accomplishment that should have come with her victory was quashed. She knew the home she made her way back to, furnished with an iron bed and heavy steel. Instead of despair it only encouraged bitter rage. There was no one to help nurse her stinging wounds or offer her a place to rest.
She had no change of clothes, the blood from her forehead had already soaked her shoulder and she would have nothing to wear while she washed it. But one step too many in the wrong direction and her head lit up like the Fourth of July. Nerves fired off with pain from phantom injuries and his voice would invade her peaceful morning.
She allowed herself a small shiver of fear.
Nami wanted to scream her rage at him, but she'd found that her smart mouth remarks slid off of him. There was no weakness to exploit, and every encounter ended with reducing her to childish banter.
She could only damage the targets he gave her, and those who might stand in her way.
It was a long way to get back home, but she had company now. The creature had been effectively buried, and she wasn't sure of his condition. His abdomen was covered in bald spots. She couldn't tell if he had been kicking hairs or suffering repeated bad molts. His swaying walk lilted slightly to the right too much, one of his prominent front legs had cracked. She bound it as best as she could to cover his soft innards from exposure to the sand, but her knowledge in anatomy of the freakish was small. She'd made an easy comfortable spot on the large carapace of his abdomen regardless, saying nothing to her likewise silent companion. He'd given her only a small nod of approval before following her pointing finger. From here she could admire the human aspect of her friend. His mottled, swamp green skin had darker black patches randomly placed around his bare upper body. His hair would have been wiry, she imagined, long ago before tangling together. She wondered if it pulled his scalp. If he was in any pain he took efforts not to show it, despite feeling the tension in his added musculature.
She could appreciate it. She grinned, she'd try to keep her own pain to herself. The puncture in her shoulder screamed with every shift but she had proudly hid every flinch from the doctors prying eyes during their last conversation.
She was pulled away by the sudden realization. Something had changed, the subtle shifting ending.
He seemed to have stopped for a moment, his scarred dull eyes following a flash of movement on the ground. A moment later he caught the scurrying creature, the frightened rabbit squealing. She watched in mild horror as he brought it to his lips, surprising herself when she shouted to catch his attention. It wasn't like her to admit her fondness for little furry creatures, but there was no one to mock her here.
“Hey, HEY.” She swatted the back of his head with an open palm. “Stop being a dick. We don't eat that.”
His thin shoulders shrugged as he dropped it safely to the ground, the only hint of frustration was his head snapping in the direction the rabbit scurried off to.
She shrugged the strap of her backpack off, pulling the heavy article into her lap.
She pointed forwards, her arm extending in front of his face so his gaze would follow. The sign of a gas station glinted in the light of the rising sun.
“I'll get you something there, Phelan. It'll be better than stringy rabbit, so just hold your fucking horses.”
So far, sharing food hadn't been a problem. He had quickly gone through her sleeve of Oreos and finished off the entirety of her Tang. Supplies that were supposed to last weeks had been downed to salvage energy for the starving Dryder.
For once, she didn't mind. Something about his broken, twisted form only increased her kinship. They both shared physical scars, and she'd felt an odd spark at the sight of one in the same location as hers. They both bore them over the heart, and more besides.
Her back was similarly crossed, raised scar tissue discoloring against what used to be fair skin. She made great effort to conceal her right arm for the same reason. For now the welted, marred flesh was bandaged tight.
It was the one quirk her good doctor could not erase. He kept her supplied in bandages and skin concealer, wearing a smug grin every time he watched her fuss over his work.
He reminded her with that same look that the clock had really been to blame. The gears had taken her skin, it was only an unfortunate side effect.
How she wished she could make him take her place. The great poetic justice of it made her heart sing. Someday she would listen to him scream while flesh was torn from muscle and bones broken under merciless grinding.
She just needed to withstand his pain for a while longer.
Then she could mourn the loss of the girl she had been. She could say goodbye to her properly.
“Fucking hell, are you kidding me?” She grumbled as the pair arrived at the station. The sign at the top rotated slowly, casting out a sound like creaking hinges. The light inside of flickered uneasily.
“Open 24 hours!”
But everything inside was dark. The heavy chain gate was pulled down over the front doors, and the promise of hot food was dashed. She would have to deal with the glaring reminder of her companions hunger while inside, out of her reach, was a functioning microwave. She curled her hand into a fist, resting it against the flimsy rolled down cage.
“No, I can't risk setting any alarms off today. We can't go into the city together. Not with how you look.” She mumbled, her voice dropping. They'd have to make due.
She made her way to the back, finding the bathroom doors. Experimentally she pulled, expecting to face another lock.
Instead she got her first bit of luck that day, though quickly wishing it away with the rush of piss heavy air that hit her face.
It was clear that this bathroom was not part of an abandoned gas station. It was clearly home to wild animals. Wild animals that somehow managed to hit the ceiling, in a ladies bathroom no less. Two of the stall doors immediately to her left were closed, and common sense told her they should remain that way.
Gingerly she stepped across the tile, afraid to splash the oddly colored puddles that adorned the floor. Phelan remained in the door, for the first time looking unsure of himself. He could squeeze his legs together to fit inside, of course, but his sense of smell was clearly intact.
He hung his head.
“Fine, stay there. I'll bring it to you, oh prince.” She muttered sarcastically, turning on the tap. She couldn't turn her nose up at the ruddy brown that sputtered out. At least within a minute it was running mostly clear, and the steam that rose up reassured her that the hot water worked.
Before she started breakfast, she pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. Wetting them and ignoring the heat she started to scrub the blood off.
Sharp stinging told her which came from her own injuries and what was merely splatter. It didn't matter, it had to come off completely.
She pressed down and scrubbed hard until her skin turned a raw red, and she ignored the mirror's reflection when she tossed the bloodied paper towels away.
An impatient tap of pedipalps reminded her that someone was waiting. She unloaded the two cup noodles from her pack, setting them on either side of the sink. The next minute was spent pulling off plastic and tediously tearing the paper top open, trying desperately to avoid the thin paper leavings when it didn't tear away completely. Nothing frustrated her more than the possibility of paper bits floating in her noodles.
She filled them both and closed the lids, letting them rest on the edge of the sink. Without boiling water, she could expect a partially country entree, at best.
There was no giving them extra time to soak, it ran the risk of something overcooked. She was notoriously picky about over saturated, thick noodles. She was pleased that throwing them away had managed to irk the guard in charge of her meals. He continued to leave them too long, hoping to force her to eat them. Each time she refused, taking the pain of missed meals over bending to his small and petty powers.
With Phelan, maybe she could manage a more elaborate rebellion when she arrived “home”.
“You'll have to get it when it's ready. I'm not waiting all day.” She had to take care of more pressing matters. A whole night and countless bottles of water left her holding in what felt like a gallon.
She picked the final door at the far end, the only one not locked and not filled to the brim with toilet paper. Flushing was out. She did not want to unearth whatever hideous brown creature was tucked beneath those roles of soggy wet warning.
Rather than touch the handle she used her knee to nudge the door open, fumbling with the button of her jeans.
She was surprised to find herself enjoying whatever air freshener was in this particular stall, the musty pee smell had faded and was replaced with something akin to wet grass and summer breeze.
Reaching to grab a seat cover, she felt only air where the stall wall should have been. In confusion, she held her jeans and glanced up.
The toilet had been replaced with some sort of hippie nature carpet. Blue waving grass spread out before her in a soft but lush carpet. The dirty tile had vanished, and despite desperately feeling there were no gaps to show where the wall began. This wall should have been part of an elaborate painting, extending from the stall outward, but then why did it not join up with the cracked plaster of the stall door?
The heat that warmed her skin didn't come from embedded or iridescent lights. She could only spy two gloriously large suns hanging in the sky, greeting her after a cold night in the desert with familiar summer heat.
Her own city could become a sweltering hell, and she welcomed the reminder.
The next breeze even brought her strange ocean air, and she spied green water, more brilliant than any she had ever seen before. It glistened like the edges of a gem, but turned deeper green to prevent a view to the bottom.
She found herself bewildered and awed, and almost invited. To be sure of this miracle she took a step away from the bathroom stall door, kicking off her shoes in the process. There was no sticky, slightly warm floor under her feet. The soft grass was better than any carpet, natural and cooling against the suns.
“This has to be where Carmen Sandiego went.”
WC: 2045
The sand might shift as a jackrabbit darted across her horizon, and bird song was ominously absent.
She expected the desert to be full of life. What were all those Discovery channel shows filming, then, if not here? Why did nothing rise to greet her quiet trek?
It was the sort of anticlimactic arrival she had come to expect out of life now. The quiet dread of her approach that she had once relished was growing tiresome. The teens shoulders slumped in acceptance. Her short forays into the world, allowed only by strict observation and control, were designed to dull her.
Even the feeling of accomplishment that should have come with her victory was quashed. She knew the home she made her way back to, furnished with an iron bed and heavy steel. Instead of despair it only encouraged bitter rage. There was no one to help nurse her stinging wounds or offer her a place to rest.
She had no change of clothes, the blood from her forehead had already soaked her shoulder and she would have nothing to wear while she washed it. But one step too many in the wrong direction and her head lit up like the Fourth of July. Nerves fired off with pain from phantom injuries and his voice would invade her peaceful morning.
She allowed herself a small shiver of fear.
Nami wanted to scream her rage at him, but she'd found that her smart mouth remarks slid off of him. There was no weakness to exploit, and every encounter ended with reducing her to childish banter.
She could only damage the targets he gave her, and those who might stand in her way.
It was a long way to get back home, but she had company now. The creature had been effectively buried, and she wasn't sure of his condition. His abdomen was covered in bald spots. She couldn't tell if he had been kicking hairs or suffering repeated bad molts. His swaying walk lilted slightly to the right too much, one of his prominent front legs had cracked. She bound it as best as she could to cover his soft innards from exposure to the sand, but her knowledge in anatomy of the freakish was small. She'd made an easy comfortable spot on the large carapace of his abdomen regardless, saying nothing to her likewise silent companion. He'd given her only a small nod of approval before following her pointing finger. From here she could admire the human aspect of her friend. His mottled, swamp green skin had darker black patches randomly placed around his bare upper body. His hair would have been wiry, she imagined, long ago before tangling together. She wondered if it pulled his scalp. If he was in any pain he took efforts not to show it, despite feeling the tension in his added musculature.
She could appreciate it. She grinned, she'd try to keep her own pain to herself. The puncture in her shoulder screamed with every shift but she had proudly hid every flinch from the doctors prying eyes during their last conversation.
She was pulled away by the sudden realization. Something had changed, the subtle shifting ending.
He seemed to have stopped for a moment, his scarred dull eyes following a flash of movement on the ground. A moment later he caught the scurrying creature, the frightened rabbit squealing. She watched in mild horror as he brought it to his lips, surprising herself when she shouted to catch his attention. It wasn't like her to admit her fondness for little furry creatures, but there was no one to mock her here.
“Hey, HEY.” She swatted the back of his head with an open palm. “Stop being a dick. We don't eat that.”
His thin shoulders shrugged as he dropped it safely to the ground, the only hint of frustration was his head snapping in the direction the rabbit scurried off to.
She shrugged the strap of her backpack off, pulling the heavy article into her lap.
She pointed forwards, her arm extending in front of his face so his gaze would follow. The sign of a gas station glinted in the light of the rising sun.
“I'll get you something there, Phelan. It'll be better than stringy rabbit, so just hold your fucking horses.”
So far, sharing food hadn't been a problem. He had quickly gone through her sleeve of Oreos and finished off the entirety of her Tang. Supplies that were supposed to last weeks had been downed to salvage energy for the starving Dryder.
For once, she didn't mind. Something about his broken, twisted form only increased her kinship. They both shared physical scars, and she'd felt an odd spark at the sight of one in the same location as hers. They both bore them over the heart, and more besides.
Her back was similarly crossed, raised scar tissue discoloring against what used to be fair skin. She made great effort to conceal her right arm for the same reason. For now the welted, marred flesh was bandaged tight.
It was the one quirk her good doctor could not erase. He kept her supplied in bandages and skin concealer, wearing a smug grin every time he watched her fuss over his work.
He reminded her with that same look that the clock had really been to blame. The gears had taken her skin, it was only an unfortunate side effect.
How she wished she could make him take her place. The great poetic justice of it made her heart sing. Someday she would listen to him scream while flesh was torn from muscle and bones broken under merciless grinding.
She just needed to withstand his pain for a while longer.
Then she could mourn the loss of the girl she had been. She could say goodbye to her properly.
“Fucking hell, are you kidding me?” She grumbled as the pair arrived at the station. The sign at the top rotated slowly, casting out a sound like creaking hinges. The light inside of flickered uneasily.
“Open 24 hours!”
But everything inside was dark. The heavy chain gate was pulled down over the front doors, and the promise of hot food was dashed. She would have to deal with the glaring reminder of her companions hunger while inside, out of her reach, was a functioning microwave. She curled her hand into a fist, resting it against the flimsy rolled down cage.
“No, I can't risk setting any alarms off today. We can't go into the city together. Not with how you look.” She mumbled, her voice dropping. They'd have to make due.
She made her way to the back, finding the bathroom doors. Experimentally she pulled, expecting to face another lock.
Instead she got her first bit of luck that day, though quickly wishing it away with the rush of piss heavy air that hit her face.
It was clear that this bathroom was not part of an abandoned gas station. It was clearly home to wild animals. Wild animals that somehow managed to hit the ceiling, in a ladies bathroom no less. Two of the stall doors immediately to her left were closed, and common sense told her they should remain that way.
Gingerly she stepped across the tile, afraid to splash the oddly colored puddles that adorned the floor. Phelan remained in the door, for the first time looking unsure of himself. He could squeeze his legs together to fit inside, of course, but his sense of smell was clearly intact.
He hung his head.
“Fine, stay there. I'll bring it to you, oh prince.” She muttered sarcastically, turning on the tap. She couldn't turn her nose up at the ruddy brown that sputtered out. At least within a minute it was running mostly clear, and the steam that rose up reassured her that the hot water worked.
Before she started breakfast, she pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. Wetting them and ignoring the heat she started to scrub the blood off.
Sharp stinging told her which came from her own injuries and what was merely splatter. It didn't matter, it had to come off completely.
She pressed down and scrubbed hard until her skin turned a raw red, and she ignored the mirror's reflection when she tossed the bloodied paper towels away.
An impatient tap of pedipalps reminded her that someone was waiting. She unloaded the two cup noodles from her pack, setting them on either side of the sink. The next minute was spent pulling off plastic and tediously tearing the paper top open, trying desperately to avoid the thin paper leavings when it didn't tear away completely. Nothing frustrated her more than the possibility of paper bits floating in her noodles.
She filled them both and closed the lids, letting them rest on the edge of the sink. Without boiling water, she could expect a partially country entree, at best.
There was no giving them extra time to soak, it ran the risk of something overcooked. She was notoriously picky about over saturated, thick noodles. She was pleased that throwing them away had managed to irk the guard in charge of her meals. He continued to leave them too long, hoping to force her to eat them. Each time she refused, taking the pain of missed meals over bending to his small and petty powers.
With Phelan, maybe she could manage a more elaborate rebellion when she arrived “home”.
“You'll have to get it when it's ready. I'm not waiting all day.” She had to take care of more pressing matters. A whole night and countless bottles of water left her holding in what felt like a gallon.
She picked the final door at the far end, the only one not locked and not filled to the brim with toilet paper. Flushing was out. She did not want to unearth whatever hideous brown creature was tucked beneath those roles of soggy wet warning.
Rather than touch the handle she used her knee to nudge the door open, fumbling with the button of her jeans.
She was surprised to find herself enjoying whatever air freshener was in this particular stall, the musty pee smell had faded and was replaced with something akin to wet grass and summer breeze.
Reaching to grab a seat cover, she felt only air where the stall wall should have been. In confusion, she held her jeans and glanced up.
The toilet had been replaced with some sort of hippie nature carpet. Blue waving grass spread out before her in a soft but lush carpet. The dirty tile had vanished, and despite desperately feeling there were no gaps to show where the wall began. This wall should have been part of an elaborate painting, extending from the stall outward, but then why did it not join up with the cracked plaster of the stall door?
The heat that warmed her skin didn't come from embedded or iridescent lights. She could only spy two gloriously large suns hanging in the sky, greeting her after a cold night in the desert with familiar summer heat.
Her own city could become a sweltering hell, and she welcomed the reminder.
The next breeze even brought her strange ocean air, and she spied green water, more brilliant than any she had ever seen before. It glistened like the edges of a gem, but turned deeper green to prevent a view to the bottom.
She found herself bewildered and awed, and almost invited. To be sure of this miracle she took a step away from the bathroom stall door, kicking off her shoes in the process. There was no sticky, slightly warm floor under her feet. The soft grass was better than any carpet, natural and cooling against the suns.
“This has to be where Carmen Sandiego went.”
WC: 2045