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hadriel_logs2017-06-21 11:47 am
circumitus) wrote in hadriel_logs2017-06-21 11:47 am
though my days are done, the waters will always run
Who: Rey and You + Closed Prompt to Nick Valentine (synthedick).
What: As ghosts of the past come to pay a visit, one familiar figure returns to Rey's life. You always hurt the ones you love.
Where: House 1401, Lake, Speakeasy.
When: June 21st-29th, throughout Ghosts That We Know.
Warnings: Heavy subjects of guilt, death, and suicidal ideations are very likely to emerge.
21st; House 1401 [NARRATIVE]
(i know a place where a body can hide.)
It starts with a whisper: Fiona.
An old name. A dead name. The name she had adopted recently in order to protect herself, becoming a shield as it was before. And it speaks to her again, in the same, soft voice:
Fiona. That's who she was supposed to be -- a construct named Fiona. No, not a construct. A girl. A creation born of flesh and blood and bone, melted together out of cells both human and immortal. Out of the blood, a fire grew inside of her, and became who she is today. Fiona is just a concept now, nothing more. A nice dream of who she could have been.
Maybe if things had gone differently, she would still be Fiona. She would wake up to that same voice, whispering softly to her like it is now. Feel the warmth of her fingers as they stroke her hair. Humming a song she knows as she dreams, and dreams, and...
For once, Rey does not wake up with a start, but her heart skips many beats when her eyes flash open to a blurred, blonde figure kneeling before her.
She's in her usual sleeping position, back pressed to the wall and legs curled to her chest. Not in the soft comfort of a bed but on the floor, in the corner of the room. She didn't recall going to sleep with a blanket draped over her, and yet that's exactly what she finds, snug and folded around her.
As her vision clears, the blurred shape becomes a woman. Fair, silky hair cascades over her shoulders. Emerald eyes taper with worry. She brings a hand out to run three fingers down the side of Rey's cheek, over her scars, and then her sleepy mind wakes up.
"Fio--"
"The fuck is this?" Rey's teeth grind. Her hand smacks the blonde's away before those fingers can start to brush the bangs from Rey's forehead. She throws the blanket from over her shoulders, hurrying to her feet. To blink the wake many more times into her eyes before she can discern the shape that's in front of her.
The woman rises, standing close to Rey's own height. The white clothes bear a semblance to the work attire she wore every day when she visited the subject in Glass House. Everything about this thing is the spitting image of that very woman, down to her voice and the quiet hum rumbling from her throat just seconds before Rey had snapped awake.
Her vision blurs, chest aches, throat tightens. She looks around, searching for some indicator that this isn't real. Could be another dream brought by the gods, or an illusion. It couldn't be the Door glitching out, bringing in people like it had brought IV... That can't be possible. How could she have found her way into this room? Someone would have contacted Rey first, whether they knew where she lived or not.
"Fiona." This thing even shares that woman's same voice. Soft, soothing, kind. Concerned. Loving. Rey sees it in her eyes, and finds this to be a figment mimicking the façade that had once been the closest thing to a 'mother' she ever had. The mother whose dying words were 'it's all right' before Rey... before she...
"Stop calling me that!" Rey hisses, pressing herself up against the wall. She struggles to keep her voice down, to slow her breathing although she is on the verge of a panic. "You're not real. You're made up. They're fucking with me, they're fu--"
The woman frowns, concerned expression growing more sincere. "You're correct."
Rey's mouth snaps shut. She wasn't expecting an actual confession. "What?"
"I said, you're correct." The imposter cants her head, imitating a similar body language Rey herself has adopted. "Did you honestly think that I would lie to you? Have I ever lied to you?"
Shoulders slumping, Rey grimaces. She doesn't know what to say. The imposter isn't wrong. "You're getting this information out of my head."
"Perhaps."
"Does Nick know you're here?"
"He does not. I'm afraid he is unable to see me, as are many others."
So she knows who Nick is, and she seems to have processed what is happening better than Rey herself is. Rey shakes her head, dropping her face into her hands. "Why are you here? Do you have any idea why... how this... is..."
Silence follows. Rey sinks back to the floor, covering her face. She can't look at that woman. Can't remember the way it had contorted with pain in her final moments, when all she could do was try to reassure her subject the only way she knew how. She watched herself twist that woman's neck as the flames burned the laboratory all around them, and Dido's aria plays. The stench of burnt chemicals and hair and flesh is overwhelming, as is the smoke in her lungs.
When a hand falls over her shoulder, she shakes. Tries to deflect the imposter's touch, only to let it lay firm on the fabric of her shirt. Allowing Rey to feel this woman's touch, her warmth, her realness in that she is here and living and there is blood in her body and a pulse in her veins. Rey hears it, feels it when the imposter places a gentle kiss over the top of Rey's head. And she doesn't even find herself lashing out this time. Doesn't want to.
Instead, she chokes. Words failing her, and she can't even take action against this offense that exists in her room.
Because this is exactly what Undine Stransky would do...
"I'm aware that this hurts you," Undine whispers softly into the crown of Rey's head, who is unable to speak through the shaky breaths and short inhales that burn under her skin. "Please understand, I'm not here to hurt you."
That's the crux of it, isn't it? That she is the one who could hurt the one who killed her this time, to do what should have been done back then, and yet... selfless, like always. Rey wishes she could be like that woman. Wishes even more that she could be with that woman, missing her presence and voice every day, her memory being the last remaining evidence that a woman named Dr. Undine Stransky ever existed. The first person to ever love someone as unworthy of that love as Rey, and yet here she is, promising not to hurt her, wiping the tears from her eyes before taking her trembling hands into her own. Undine leans in, forcing Rey to meet those same, green eyes that she had first met nearly a century ago behind a wall of glass. The look of something so strange at the time, it didn't seem real.
It was love.
"Do you want to go on a walk?"
Rey swallows, and nods.
I. 26th; Riverside [OPEN]
(everybody hopes that love is like a prairie fire.)
Shadows wiggle and swim from under the darkness of the lake, sometimes jumping up to the surface to make themselves known. The fish that dove and bolted through the water vanish into the flowing current, taking them deeper into the lake. The lapping waves are all Rey hears in her head when, eyes closed, she listens to her own breath.
Nearby the tranquil scene is Rey, shoes off and the hems of her cargo pants rolled up to her knees. Not far from her, a blonde woman is made visible, though not a figure that has emerged through the Door as so many others have. Hell, the sharks that occasionally circle about within the lake are more real than this woman.
But she is visible, even to the naked eye now. No longer translucent and pale, but golden, vibrant, her eyes like shining emeralds when she murmurs into Rey's ear as she concentrates.
"You have control over this, Fiona," the woman whispers.
And she does. As Rey lifts her hand, the air ripples around her. From the palm of her hand, red veins shimmer under her skin, producing a flame. When she exhales, the fire dances around her fingers in more controlled motions, before encircling her forearm. The heat sends a warm gust of air that carries strands of her mahogany hair waving, while the blonde's remains still.
That is when the woman points to the river. The sharp tip of a shark's face emerges from the water. It lingers, waiting -- and a hot burst sends the fire from Rey's hand into the lake, too quick to dodge. The shark immediately sinks back out of sight.
Her skin still warm but returning to its normal shade, Rey looks down at the puffs of smoke rising from her palm. "This something I always could've done?" Her brows furrow. It isn't like she was given a detailed manual on how her body worked, and there's still a lot of things she doesn't know.
If it's anyone who would have answers, it'd be her mother, who smiles before placing a hand on Rey's back. "Of course. It's always been in your blood. All you needed was a little push in the right direction."
"Guess it's better than trial and error." Rey feels her mouth pull back into something that's sort of like a grin. "Good to know, though."
At least this time, it doesn't appear that she is having a one-sided conversation with herself. The woman standing beside Rey is as real as any physical being.
II. 27th; Speakeasy [OPEN]
(sterling silver, natural pearl, you're your mother's little girl.)
"You should see a doctor."
"You are a doctor," Rey snaps, stumbling through the door of the old bar. Her face is pale, skin sallow and malnourished.
"I'm not that kind of doctor and you know it!" Undine follows Rey inside, the woman bringing her hands on Rey's shoulders in order to guide them to one of the booths. "Come on, you should lay down."
Rey just throws Undine off her. "Stop doing that!"
The blonde woman stops, a crease forming over her brow. "What do you mean? Stop what?" She squints, standing awkwardly as Rey keeps staggering into the bar on her own.
She doesn't get an immediate response, as Rey gasps and her face burns up. She feels sick, if she ever knew what being sick felt like, and she doesn't. But she wants to puke. She's disgusted, and not with this imposter that keeps bearing the identity of someone who has been long dead for nearly one hundred years.
No, she's disgusted with herself. With how easy she has let herself fall into this nice dream. Spending time with this woman in ways that they never got to when she was alive. Being happy in ways that she has no right to be. As Fiona, Undine's precious little girl and creation, she killed the one she loved. Undine's reassuring murmurs and hand stroking her face as Fiona carried out the task she had been programmed to finish sends rocks rolling in the pit of her stomach. A feeling that the Rey of now has allowed herself to so grossly forget.
Dammit. How do people live with themselves like this? How is she supposed to live with herself, and keep pretending to play this game?
"Stop caring. You know what I did! You know--!" Her words are abruptly cut off when her vision goes dark.
Legs tripping, Rey reels forward. All three hundred twenty pounds of her topples forward, hitting the floor of the Speakeasy with a thunderous crack. Out like a light, and unresponsive to Undine's pleas after the blonde stoops to Rey's side, attempting to shake her awake, calling out for Fiona, Fiona, FIONA!
All she hears are echoes.
III. 29th; House 1401 [CLOSED TO NICK VALENTINEsynthedick]
(she's alive, she's alive, a stone floating upstream.)
This time, she doesn't wake up.
It's been several hours since Rey returned home, laid down on her bed, and stayed there. Now Undine is alone, sitting quiet beside her bed, hand over Rey's head as she sleeps -- but she isn't asleep. Not really. Her eyes move irregularly under her lids, her body not responding when shaken or spoken to.
Undine is educated enough to know an imminent coma when she sees one. It doesn't take much for her to pin the cause, either. She's noticed how the more she became clear to others, she more listless Rey grew. How she stumbled and fell, sometimes falling asleep during their many conversations. When Undine started noticing that Rey wasn't eating, she tried to present her with easier to digest meals and liquid diets. Rey was having none of it.
And now she's here, sunken into the mattress with the blanket over her, color drained from her complexion. If not for her shallow breathing and faint pulse, one could very well mistake her for a corpse. Even her skin is cold, which is highly unusual for a human, and even more so for her. If nothing happens, if she doesn't do what needs to be done, then chances are it'll be too late.
For the last time, as she sits next to her daughter's side, fingers over her hair and lips to her forehead, Undine releases a shuddering sigh. "I'm sorry, but I can't keep my promise."
She had given Rey her word -- don't die. Determined to fight the affliction that was overtaking her, every attempt Undine had made to convince Rey that there's only one way to resolve her condition was met with extreme reproach. It was obvious that Rey had no desire to hear Undine's theory, growing more agitated with every endeavor she made.
There's no room for dispute now, not when the other party is falling deeper into unconsciousness. The longer they wait, the more difficult it will be for Rey to recover from a coma, if she ever could. Perhaps these 'gods' could help her, but would she be the same person? It's a fear of Rey's that Undine shares.
After a long, agonizing moment, Undine slides off the bed. With a final glance to the pale, scar-faced woman lying lonely and lifeless in that bed, she turns and enters the living area at the first sign of Rey's roommate entering the home.
Nick Valentine. Somehow, she knows who this man is. He is special, means something to Rey. And yet Undine was scolded not to speak to him once she became seen to others, once it also became obvious that, the more alive Undine became, the more Rey was dying. Knowing the relationship that the two housemates share, Undine didn't need to ask what reason Rey had for making such a demand -- Nick would, without a doubt, have sided with Undine on her theory.
"Mr. Valentine," Undine says softly, slipping out of Rey's room. "I'm afraid I need to ask for your help."
How funny to think of the many noir stories that started out like this, where a dame walks into that weathered old detective's office, bringing trouble along with her.
IV. 21st-30th; Wildcard [OPEN]
(it will never die; it can only go on.)
[ooc: Got something you'd like to do with Rey and/or Undine? Feel free to contact me or hit up my plotting comment for details! I can write a super special starter just for you or you can tag in with whatever! Just be sure to specify the day of the event.]
synthedick).What: As ghosts of the past come to pay a visit, one familiar figure returns to Rey's life. You always hurt the ones you love.
Where: House 1401, Lake, Speakeasy.
When: June 21st-29th, throughout Ghosts That We Know.
Warnings: Heavy subjects of guilt, death, and suicidal ideations are very likely to emerge.
21st; House 1401 [NARRATIVE]
(i know a place where a body can hide.)
It starts with a whisper: Fiona.
An old name. A dead name. The name she had adopted recently in order to protect herself, becoming a shield as it was before. And it speaks to her again, in the same, soft voice:
Fiona. That's who she was supposed to be -- a construct named Fiona. No, not a construct. A girl. A creation born of flesh and blood and bone, melted together out of cells both human and immortal. Out of the blood, a fire grew inside of her, and became who she is today. Fiona is just a concept now, nothing more. A nice dream of who she could have been.
Maybe if things had gone differently, she would still be Fiona. She would wake up to that same voice, whispering softly to her like it is now. Feel the warmth of her fingers as they stroke her hair. Humming a song she knows as she dreams, and dreams, and...
For once, Rey does not wake up with a start, but her heart skips many beats when her eyes flash open to a blurred, blonde figure kneeling before her.
She's in her usual sleeping position, back pressed to the wall and legs curled to her chest. Not in the soft comfort of a bed but on the floor, in the corner of the room. She didn't recall going to sleep with a blanket draped over her, and yet that's exactly what she finds, snug and folded around her.
As her vision clears, the blurred shape becomes a woman. Fair, silky hair cascades over her shoulders. Emerald eyes taper with worry. She brings a hand out to run three fingers down the side of Rey's cheek, over her scars, and then her sleepy mind wakes up.
"Fio--"
"The fuck is this?" Rey's teeth grind. Her hand smacks the blonde's away before those fingers can start to brush the bangs from Rey's forehead. She throws the blanket from over her shoulders, hurrying to her feet. To blink the wake many more times into her eyes before she can discern the shape that's in front of her.
The woman rises, standing close to Rey's own height. The white clothes bear a semblance to the work attire she wore every day when she visited the subject in Glass House. Everything about this thing is the spitting image of that very woman, down to her voice and the quiet hum rumbling from her throat just seconds before Rey had snapped awake.
Her vision blurs, chest aches, throat tightens. She looks around, searching for some indicator that this isn't real. Could be another dream brought by the gods, or an illusion. It couldn't be the Door glitching out, bringing in people like it had brought IV... That can't be possible. How could she have found her way into this room? Someone would have contacted Rey first, whether they knew where she lived or not.
"Fiona." This thing even shares that woman's same voice. Soft, soothing, kind. Concerned. Loving. Rey sees it in her eyes, and finds this to be a figment mimicking the façade that had once been the closest thing to a 'mother' she ever had. The mother whose dying words were 'it's all right' before Rey... before she...
"Stop calling me that!" Rey hisses, pressing herself up against the wall. She struggles to keep her voice down, to slow her breathing although she is on the verge of a panic. "You're not real. You're made up. They're fucking with me, they're fu--"
The woman frowns, concerned expression growing more sincere. "You're correct."
Rey's mouth snaps shut. She wasn't expecting an actual confession. "What?"
"I said, you're correct." The imposter cants her head, imitating a similar body language Rey herself has adopted. "Did you honestly think that I would lie to you? Have I ever lied to you?"
Shoulders slumping, Rey grimaces. She doesn't know what to say. The imposter isn't wrong. "You're getting this information out of my head."
"Perhaps."
"Does Nick know you're here?"
"He does not. I'm afraid he is unable to see me, as are many others."
So she knows who Nick is, and she seems to have processed what is happening better than Rey herself is. Rey shakes her head, dropping her face into her hands. "Why are you here? Do you have any idea why... how this... is..."
Silence follows. Rey sinks back to the floor, covering her face. She can't look at that woman. Can't remember the way it had contorted with pain in her final moments, when all she could do was try to reassure her subject the only way she knew how. She watched herself twist that woman's neck as the flames burned the laboratory all around them, and Dido's aria plays. The stench of burnt chemicals and hair and flesh is overwhelming, as is the smoke in her lungs.
When a hand falls over her shoulder, she shakes. Tries to deflect the imposter's touch, only to let it lay firm on the fabric of her shirt. Allowing Rey to feel this woman's touch, her warmth, her realness in that she is here and living and there is blood in her body and a pulse in her veins. Rey hears it, feels it when the imposter places a gentle kiss over the top of Rey's head. And she doesn't even find herself lashing out this time. Doesn't want to.
Instead, she chokes. Words failing her, and she can't even take action against this offense that exists in her room.
Because this is exactly what Undine Stransky would do...
"I'm aware that this hurts you," Undine whispers softly into the crown of Rey's head, who is unable to speak through the shaky breaths and short inhales that burn under her skin. "Please understand, I'm not here to hurt you."
That's the crux of it, isn't it? That she is the one who could hurt the one who killed her this time, to do what should have been done back then, and yet... selfless, like always. Rey wishes she could be like that woman. Wishes even more that she could be with that woman, missing her presence and voice every day, her memory being the last remaining evidence that a woman named Dr. Undine Stransky ever existed. The first person to ever love someone as unworthy of that love as Rey, and yet here she is, promising not to hurt her, wiping the tears from her eyes before taking her trembling hands into her own. Undine leans in, forcing Rey to meet those same, green eyes that she had first met nearly a century ago behind a wall of glass. The look of something so strange at the time, it didn't seem real.
It was love.
"Do you want to go on a walk?"
Rey swallows, and nods.
I. 26th; Riverside [OPEN]
(everybody hopes that love is like a prairie fire.)
Shadows wiggle and swim from under the darkness of the lake, sometimes jumping up to the surface to make themselves known. The fish that dove and bolted through the water vanish into the flowing current, taking them deeper into the lake. The lapping waves are all Rey hears in her head when, eyes closed, she listens to her own breath.
Nearby the tranquil scene is Rey, shoes off and the hems of her cargo pants rolled up to her knees. Not far from her, a blonde woman is made visible, though not a figure that has emerged through the Door as so many others have. Hell, the sharks that occasionally circle about within the lake are more real than this woman.
But she is visible, even to the naked eye now. No longer translucent and pale, but golden, vibrant, her eyes like shining emeralds when she murmurs into Rey's ear as she concentrates.
"You have control over this, Fiona," the woman whispers.
And she does. As Rey lifts her hand, the air ripples around her. From the palm of her hand, red veins shimmer under her skin, producing a flame. When she exhales, the fire dances around her fingers in more controlled motions, before encircling her forearm. The heat sends a warm gust of air that carries strands of her mahogany hair waving, while the blonde's remains still.
That is when the woman points to the river. The sharp tip of a shark's face emerges from the water. It lingers, waiting -- and a hot burst sends the fire from Rey's hand into the lake, too quick to dodge. The shark immediately sinks back out of sight.
Her skin still warm but returning to its normal shade, Rey looks down at the puffs of smoke rising from her palm. "This something I always could've done?" Her brows furrow. It isn't like she was given a detailed manual on how her body worked, and there's still a lot of things she doesn't know.
If it's anyone who would have answers, it'd be her mother, who smiles before placing a hand on Rey's back. "Of course. It's always been in your blood. All you needed was a little push in the right direction."
"Guess it's better than trial and error." Rey feels her mouth pull back into something that's sort of like a grin. "Good to know, though."
At least this time, it doesn't appear that she is having a one-sided conversation with herself. The woman standing beside Rey is as real as any physical being.
II. 27th; Speakeasy [OPEN]
(sterling silver, natural pearl, you're your mother's little girl.)
"You should see a doctor."
"You are a doctor," Rey snaps, stumbling through the door of the old bar. Her face is pale, skin sallow and malnourished.
"I'm not that kind of doctor and you know it!" Undine follows Rey inside, the woman bringing her hands on Rey's shoulders in order to guide them to one of the booths. "Come on, you should lay down."
Rey just throws Undine off her. "Stop doing that!"
The blonde woman stops, a crease forming over her brow. "What do you mean? Stop what?" She squints, standing awkwardly as Rey keeps staggering into the bar on her own.
She doesn't get an immediate response, as Rey gasps and her face burns up. She feels sick, if she ever knew what being sick felt like, and she doesn't. But she wants to puke. She's disgusted, and not with this imposter that keeps bearing the identity of someone who has been long dead for nearly one hundred years.
No, she's disgusted with herself. With how easy she has let herself fall into this nice dream. Spending time with this woman in ways that they never got to when she was alive. Being happy in ways that she has no right to be. As Fiona, Undine's precious little girl and creation, she killed the one she loved. Undine's reassuring murmurs and hand stroking her face as Fiona carried out the task she had been programmed to finish sends rocks rolling in the pit of her stomach. A feeling that the Rey of now has allowed herself to so grossly forget.
Dammit. How do people live with themselves like this? How is she supposed to live with herself, and keep pretending to play this game?
"Stop caring. You know what I did! You know--!" Her words are abruptly cut off when her vision goes dark.
Legs tripping, Rey reels forward. All three hundred twenty pounds of her topples forward, hitting the floor of the Speakeasy with a thunderous crack. Out like a light, and unresponsive to Undine's pleas after the blonde stoops to Rey's side, attempting to shake her awake, calling out for Fiona, Fiona, FIONA!
All she hears are echoes.
III. 29th; House 1401 [CLOSED TO NICK VALENTINE
synthedick](she's alive, she's alive, a stone floating upstream.)
This time, she doesn't wake up.
It's been several hours since Rey returned home, laid down on her bed, and stayed there. Now Undine is alone, sitting quiet beside her bed, hand over Rey's head as she sleeps -- but she isn't asleep. Not really. Her eyes move irregularly under her lids, her body not responding when shaken or spoken to.
Undine is educated enough to know an imminent coma when she sees one. It doesn't take much for her to pin the cause, either. She's noticed how the more she became clear to others, she more listless Rey grew. How she stumbled and fell, sometimes falling asleep during their many conversations. When Undine started noticing that Rey wasn't eating, she tried to present her with easier to digest meals and liquid diets. Rey was having none of it.
And now she's here, sunken into the mattress with the blanket over her, color drained from her complexion. If not for her shallow breathing and faint pulse, one could very well mistake her for a corpse. Even her skin is cold, which is highly unusual for a human, and even more so for her. If nothing happens, if she doesn't do what needs to be done, then chances are it'll be too late.
For the last time, as she sits next to her daughter's side, fingers over her hair and lips to her forehead, Undine releases a shuddering sigh. "I'm sorry, but I can't keep my promise."
She had given Rey her word -- don't die. Determined to fight the affliction that was overtaking her, every attempt Undine had made to convince Rey that there's only one way to resolve her condition was met with extreme reproach. It was obvious that Rey had no desire to hear Undine's theory, growing more agitated with every endeavor she made.
There's no room for dispute now, not when the other party is falling deeper into unconsciousness. The longer they wait, the more difficult it will be for Rey to recover from a coma, if she ever could. Perhaps these 'gods' could help her, but would she be the same person? It's a fear of Rey's that Undine shares.
After a long, agonizing moment, Undine slides off the bed. With a final glance to the pale, scar-faced woman lying lonely and lifeless in that bed, she turns and enters the living area at the first sign of Rey's roommate entering the home.
Nick Valentine. Somehow, she knows who this man is. He is special, means something to Rey. And yet Undine was scolded not to speak to him once she became seen to others, once it also became obvious that, the more alive Undine became, the more Rey was dying. Knowing the relationship that the two housemates share, Undine didn't need to ask what reason Rey had for making such a demand -- Nick would, without a doubt, have sided with Undine on her theory.
"Mr. Valentine," Undine says softly, slipping out of Rey's room. "I'm afraid I need to ask for your help."
How funny to think of the many noir stories that started out like this, where a dame walks into that weathered old detective's office, bringing trouble along with her.
IV. 21st-30th; Wildcard [OPEN]
(it will never die; it can only go on.)
[ooc: Got something you'd like to do with Rey and/or Undine? Feel free to contact me or hit up my plotting comment for details! I can write a super special starter just for you or you can tag in with whatever! Just be sure to specify the day of the event.]