Inside, not far from the lake window, Moiraine is pacing from her table to the window, with a calculated pause at each.
Outward serenity must be maintained at all costs, and she means to do that-- but the sound of her footsteps and the rustle of her skirts is strangely comforting in the unnatural silence.
Upon finding out that he couldn't go home, Frank decided to get a room -- Cooper wrote out a quick FAQ of the process -- as a base of operations. Cooper's pretty sure he's looking for River right now.
Cooper did the same thing, but he didn't sleep much. It doesn't show; this may be more due to the cup of coffee he has than anything else. The whiteboard and its marker rest on the table next to the empty plate (two eggs, over hard, bacon, and a biscuit with apple butter). He'd missed her when he'd come downstairs.
And there's at least one thing he'd like to talk --
To communicate with her about.
Cup of coffee in one hand, whiteboard and marker in the other, he approaches.
Riley wasn't about to let them hunt him down. He stepped out of the bar after the meeting and looked at the sunset. His look was a little bit worried but he stood out in the open.
It probably wouldn't be unheard of, really, to go a day without speaking, just in the due course of things. Maybe you just sleep a lot, watch TV, read a book, go for a walk on your own. A day to yourself. Veronica's probably spent a dozen days silent in her lifetime.
But it's a different story when it's not self-imposed.
She sits in a booth, feet curled up on the bench beside her, hand supporting her head. Not sleeping, just still; internally restless.
The Tams have a room upstairs -- or, at least, they had one once, and every time they've rented a room since it's been the same one, decorated in the same way. It's very comfortable.
River prefers a couch downstairs. She was sitting there earlier, sipping tea and reading; now the book and the mug are both on the floor, along with her holocube, and she's stretched out on the couch, one hand tucked beneath her chin, face slack with sleep.
River sleeps.
And she dreams.
* * * * *
River is walking down a long, curving hallway. She knows this place, knows it much too well. Knows these stark white(blue)white walls, the closed doors she passes, the too-bright diffuse lighting.
The walls pulse in time with the sound of a soft, regular thudding. Like a heartbeat: Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.
"Hear that, dumpling?" Jubal Early asks, his deep voice warm with secret amusement. She looks up at him; he's next to her, walking in step. His loafers slap the floor; his white cotton socks are pulled up high over the legs of his red pressure suit. "That's the sound of inevitability," he says, and grins at her.
His teeth are very white. See how they shine.
"You're wrong, Jubal Early," she tells him, and he laughs and laughs and laughs, throwing his head back and shaking with mirth. His laughter echoes from the walls: Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.
"Nope," he says, even though he's not there any more; his voice is coming from everywhere, and nowhere, and somehow she knows it's coming from behind those closed doors even though it doesn't sound like it. "You just don't appreciate the mission. Didn't let them cut on you enough. Hold still, darlin'. Then you'll comprehend."
He's gone.
She keeps walking.
A door swings open; a blonde girl is inside, wearing a straitjacket and a mini-skirt and strappy impractical heels that are nailed to the floor. There's a probe in her forehead, and blood trickles down between her eyes. "I am here for a purpose," she tells River, eyes wide and sparkling with laughter, because it's just so funny and even when she chokes on her own blood and screams, choking, she's still laughing. "I remember," she laughs, coughing blood. "I am come back to tell you all, I will show you all," and she collapses into a twitching laughing huddle, and blood pools around her.
The door slams shut. The girl behind it is dead. She died, River knows, a long time ago.
River keeps walking.
Lub-dub, pulse the walls. Lub-dub.
River turns a corner -- there are no corners in this corridor, but she turned one, or maybe the air just Opened -- and Ingress stands in front of her, blue-haired and grinning. She's wearing a tutu and a sparkly tiara. There's an inner tube around her waist, the kind with a cartoonish dragon head, and her blue-gloved hands are tidily folded on top of it.
"Can't even shout," Ingress sings-songs, in her unruffled child's soprano. River stands transfixed, listening. "Can't even cry The Gentlemen are coming by Looking in windows Knocking on doors They need to take seven, and they might take yours."
* * * * *
River is
(screaming)
awake.
And in the dream she wasn't scared, but she's awake now, and she shrieked as she jerked upright, and there are tears springing to her eyes, and she's scared now.
Door comes tumbling through the wall of the bar, covered in cobwebs. She stands slowly, turning to shoot a hateful glare at the back door, or what lies beyond.
...Okay, so seeing someone come through the wall of the bar is new.
Sheppard heads over, his frown deepening as he glances towards the back door, wondering what the look his directed at. He looks back to her, raising an eyebrow.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Sheppard has finally gotten ahold of a pen and some paper-but on the whole, he'd much rather be able to speak again. And so he sits at a booth, frowning to himself and idly tapping the pen against the tabletop.
Darkness comes. But light remains in at least one room, flickering.
Rand is hunched at a desk, writing. He hasn't left his room for days, having his food delivered. It's about time for the food to arrive again.
Then his stomach growls. He pauses, placing the quill carefully aside so as not to drip ink. Looking up, he walks to the door and opens it, poking his head out and looking for a nearby waitrat that's usually scurring down the cooridor at this time of night.
There are none to be found.
The source comes alight around him, bringing with it pain, but oh so much sweetness. His hightened senses don't hear...anything. Usually there are people talking at this time of night, the ruckus of the noise from the bar, or the muffled cry of lovers.
Cautiously, he makes his way through the hallway toward the bar, weaves around his fingertips ready to entrap, and thereafter shred anything that might come at him.
Finding no one, and still no sounds in the hall, Rand pauses. He looks behind him, checking, then resolutely makes his way down the hall further. The eeriness of the whole situation begins to edge under his skin.
they've finally left you. to die. as all of them will die.
Wards immediatly shoot up about him, shields of thick air and spirit against whatever might be out there. This is highly unnatural, even for Milliways. The hair rises on the back of his neck. Frowning, he strains to listen harder. The sounds of something down the stairs finally reach his ears, and he moves to the stairwell.
It's been a whole TWO HOURS since they ate last, and the stock of candy and bugs is fastly depleting. So, Halloween's best Trick or Treaters have decided that catching a whole new batch of critters is a very good idea.
Shock commands Tub to march toward the door being held open by Barrel by slapping Tub's sides and cracking a whip she made.
Lock, for his part, is sitting in Tub behind Shock, moaning silently.
Once outside, Barrel and Shock set to their task, unknowingly allowing Lock to eat half of what they catch.
There is one good thing about all this enforced silence.
Not one person can hear Ace sing, no matter how hard she tries. Thus, as she sits by the fire in the fireplace that she feeds little twigs to now and again, she's belting out something that's probably quite rude and violent and would be most assuredly off key, but it doesn't matter. There isn't one person that's going to call her on it.
She might even share the store of marshmallows, hershey's bars, and graham crackers she's convinced Bar to let her have.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=91.7){kind=small}
revelations15_1) wrote,
August 13 2006, 00:39:49 UTC 5 years ago
Outward serenity must be maintained at all costs, and she means to do that-- but the sound of her footsteps and the rustle of her skirts is strangely comforting in the unnatural silence.
August 13 2006, 00:47:14 UTC 5 years ago
Cooper did the same thing, but he didn't sleep much. It doesn't show; this may be more due to the cup of coffee he has than anything else. The whiteboard and its marker rest on the table next to the empty plate (two eggs, over hard, bacon, and a biscuit with apple butter). He'd missed her when he'd come downstairs.
And there's at least one thing he'd like to talk --
To communicate with her about.
Cup of coffee in one hand, whiteboard and marker in the other, he approaches.
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August 13 2006, 01:02:31 UTC 5 years ago
August 13 2006, 01:46:00 UTC 5 years ago
But she does, however, step up, beside him, her hand lightly brushing his.
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August 13 2006, 01:08:58 UTC 5 years ago
Something's wrong.
Obviously.August 13 2006, 03:03:36 UTC 5 years ago
He hears hers.
She gets a big smile.
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August 13 2006, 01:22:54 UTC 5 years ago
It's too strange.
And so, when no one is much paying attention, she slips out the back door and outside.
Surely if she stays near the bar it will be safe enough? She's learned to be very good at running.
August 13 2006, 01:28:58 UTC 5 years ago
There's no sign of them, at least. The only sound is the quiet lapping of water against the rocks that line the lake.
And maybe a faint rustling.
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August 13 2006, 01:37:48 UTC 5 years ago
He can't sleep, and there's no way in hell he was going back to Vegas without a voice.
And so he's sitting in the main bar by the fire and playing with a yo-yo, sipping a mug of Blue Hawaiian, and trying not to look ill.
Or afraid.
August 13 2006, 01:47:39 UTC 5 years ago
It's nice to know that there's still noise even if there aren't any voices.
But she's a Slayer. She doesn't know fear.
Or, well, she did. But she smooshed it under her tennis shoe.
August 13 2006, 01:56:30 UTC 5 years ago
But it's a different story when it's not self-imposed.
She sits in a booth, feet curled up on the bench beside her, hand supporting her head. Not sleeping, just still; internally restless.
August 13 2006, 02:11:38 UTC 5 years ago
River prefers a couch downstairs. She was sitting there earlier, sipping tea and reading; now the book and the mug are both on the floor, along with her holocube, and she's stretched out on the couch, one hand tucked beneath her chin, face slack with sleep.
River sleeps.
And she dreams.
River is walking down a long, curving hallway. She knows this place, knows it much too well. Knows these stark white(blue)white walls, the closed doors she passes, the too-bright diffuse lighting.
The walls pulse in time with the sound of a soft, regular thudding. Like a heartbeat: Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.
"Hear that, dumpling?" Jubal Early asks, his deep voice warm with secret amusement. She looks up at him; he's next to her, walking in step. His loafers slap the floor; his white cotton socks are pulled up high over the legs of his red pressure suit. "That's the sound of inevitability," he says, and grins at her.
His teeth are very white. See how they shine.
"You're wrong, Jubal Early," she tells him, and he laughs and laughs and laughs, throwing his head back and shaking with mirth. His laughter echoes from the walls: Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.
"Nope," he says, even though he's not there any more; his voice is coming from everywhere, and nowhere, and somehow she knows it's coming from behind those closed doors even though it doesn't sound like it. "You just don't appreciate the mission. Didn't let them cut on you enough. Hold still, darlin'. Then you'll comprehend."
He's gone.
She keeps walking.
A door swings open; a blonde girl is inside, wearing a straitjacket and a mini-skirt and strappy impractical heels that are nailed to the floor. There's a probe in her forehead, and blood trickles down between her eyes. "I am here for a purpose," she tells River, eyes wide and sparkling with laughter, because it's just so funny and even when she chokes on her own blood and screams, choking, she's still laughing. "I remember," she laughs, coughing blood. "I am come back to tell you all, I will show you all," and she collapses into a twitching laughing huddle, and blood pools around her.
The door slams shut. The girl behind it is dead. She died, River knows, a long time ago.
River keeps walking.
Lub-dub, pulse the walls. Lub-dub.
River turns a corner -- there are no corners in this corridor, but she turned one, or maybe the air just Opened -- and Ingress stands in front of her, blue-haired and grinning. She's wearing a tutu and a sparkly tiara. There's an inner tube around her waist, the kind with a cartoonish dragon head, and her blue-gloved hands are tidily folded on top of it.
"Can't even shout," Ingress sings-songs, in her unruffled child's soprano. River stands transfixed, listening.
"Can't even cry
The Gentlemen are coming by
Looking in windows
Knocking on doors
They need to take seven, and they might take yours."
River is
(screaming)
awake.
And in the dream she wasn't scared, but she's awake now, and she shrieked as she jerked upright, and there are tears springing to her eyes, and she's scared now.
Nobody heard her scream. Of course not.
August 13 2006, 02:25:46 UTC 5 years ago
He's already up and halfway to her; his mouth moves, River?, and he's reaching out for her hands.
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August 13 2006, 03:01:27 UTC 5 years ago
She might also be bleeding. Just a little.
It might have been worse.
August 13 2006, 03:15:35 UTC 5 years ago
Sheppard heads over, his frown deepening as he glances towards the back door, wondering what the look his directed at. He looks back to her, raising an eyebrow.
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August 13 2006, 03:28:46 UTC 5 years ago
This whole folklore-driven voice loss thing has her twitchy.
August 13 2006, 03:36:27 UTC 5 years ago
She smiles at Clarice, though, and writes a short message:
Hello, my name is Cora.
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August 13 2006, 03:39:56 UTC 5 years ago
Rand is hunched at a desk, writing. He hasn't left his room for days, having his food delivered. It's about time for the food to arrive again.
Then his stomach growls. He pauses, placing the quill carefully aside so as not to drip ink. Looking up, he walks to the door and opens it, poking his head out and looking for a nearby waitrat that's usually scurring down the cooridor at this time of night.
There are none to be found.
The source comes alight around him, bringing with it pain, but oh so much sweetness. His hightened senses don't hear...anything. Usually there are people talking at this time of night, the ruckus of the noise from the bar, or the muffled cry of lovers.
Cautiously, he makes his way through the hallway toward the bar, weaves around his fingertips ready to entrap, and thereafter shred anything that might come at him.
August 13 2006, 04:21:01 UTC 5 years ago
they've finally left you. to die. as all of them will die.
Wards immediatly shoot up about him, shields of thick air and spirit against whatever might be out there. This is highly unnatural, even for Milliways. The hair rises on the back of his neck. Frowning, he strains to listen harder. The sounds of something down the stairs finally reach his ears, and he moves to the stairwell.
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August 13 2006, 03:52:49 UTC 5 years ago
Shock commands Tub to march toward the door being held open by Barrel by slapping Tub's sides and cracking a whip she made.
Lock, for his part, is sitting in Tub behind Shock, moaning silently.
Once outside, Barrel and Shock set to their task, unknowingly allowing Lock to eat half of what they catch.
August 13 2006, 04:10:19 UTC 5 years ago
A girl with fine, strong lungs. For where there are fine, strong lungs, there is a fine, strong heart.
They knock on Nanami's door. Courtesy is key.
August 13 2006, 04:19:17 UTC 5 years ago
And then Nanami is no longer sleepy.
She screams.
Where is the sound that was grating?
Where is the sparkly that was implied?
It has passed like natto on the mountain,
Like mongeese in Anthy's desk.
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August 13 2006, 04:22:11 UTC 5 years ago
Not one person can hear Ace sing, no matter how hard she tries. Thus, as she sits by the fire in the fireplace that she feeds little twigs to now and again, she's belting out something that's probably quite rude and violent and would be most assuredly off key, but it doesn't matter. There isn't one person that's going to call her on it.
She might even share the store of marshmallows, hershey's bars, and graham crackers she's convinced Bar to let her have.
August 13 2006, 05:22:07 UTC 5 years ago
Well. Her version of "armed and ready," anyway.
MP3 player, check. Speakers, check. Remote control, check.
The laptop goes without saying.
August 13 2006, 05:24:17 UTC 5 years ago
Problem, it says.
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August 13 2006, 08:48:34 UTC 5 years ago
She looks lonely, and taut with the tension (dontwanttobelikeprometheusohgodohgodno).
Her face is pale, and her arms are crossed tightly against the shivers.