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Old 01-01-2011, 12:41 PM   #1
Vail_Indigo
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Delirium Of Disorder (closed for Chasnicollette and I)

Security Cam 11537 (location: Food Court, Timestamp: 01:52:08): Girl, unnatural hair, slight stagger, jostling Fine Fruit Smoothies cart. Angry Smoothie jerk. Man grabbing little boy (assumption: son) away as girl nearly tramples him. Girl runs.

I’m not kidding, Ed, those alternative girls are enough to make a guy go to those loser conventions.
Don’t make me add you to the predator watch list, Steve. She’s gotta be in high school still.

Security Cam 11535 (location: Food Court, Timestamp: 01:53:49): Subject reacquired, sprinting At Great Hot Dog Experience, collision with counter. Patrons unmolested. Staff attempting communication, no response.

Can you blame her, Ed? Those are questionable dogs.
All hot dogs are ‘questionable’.
Fine. Particularly questionable dogs.

Hungryhungryhungryhungrythatsnotfoodhungryhungryhungrydonttalktomehungryhungryhungry.


Security Cam 8293 (location: Fire Stairwell 1C, Timestamp: 02:39:17): Subject reacquired. Subject eating an apple. Source unknown.
Steve, who the fuck sells apples at the mall?
No clue. Where did she go for, what, 45 minutes?
Produce ‘R’ Us, apparently. Well, get Ditko over there.
Hey, how come the alarm didn’t sound when she opened the stairwell door?
No clue.

Too noisy out there. Too noisy to eat. Oh! Apples make noise when you bite them! And the echo! NomNom!


Security Cam 903 (Location: Laces And Silks, Timestamp: 04:15:01): Subject browsing. Inappropriate handling of merchandise, possibly.

I see Ditko was on the ball as usual.
Leave him alone. He’s old. I thought he could handle a little girl.
Obviously not.
I approve of her change in behavior though.
I swear to god, Steve, some day your wife is going to bust your skull open.
Jesus thats a big wad of cash.
That place ain’t cheap. You seen some of the leather stuff in back?
Malls aren’t what they used to be. Did I tell you about the chick at Hot Topic?
Shut up, Steve.


Softsoft...need. Wantneed. Just want. Taking. Mine. Money, trade money for things. Don’t walk away or you’ll be bad. Give the money. She has a nice smile but not for long I’m sorry I really am. Thank you have a nice day.

Security Cam 1800 (Location: Fountain A7, Timestamp: 07:01:19): Subject staring into pool. Subject attempting to remove change from pool.

First, why is she trying to get quarters from that disgusting water? That wad of bills would have choked a horse.
No clue. Why is she doing ANY of this?
Second, where’d the Laces bag go?
No clue. Where does she keep going when she vanishes?
Fuck Ditko. Send Martin and Dellosa. Something is really beginning to bother me about this girl.
Let me tell you about...
Shut. Up.

I need a wish. Those are wish. It says so. I need a wish but which one? That one is dirty. That one isn’t right. I have no need for ice cream. Mom won’t get me any anyhow. Maybe this one because sure I’d like to get that job wait what no I don’t I’ll take...OH LOOK TASTY SMELLS!

Security Cam 1901 (Location: Fire Stairwell 6B, Timestamp: 08:22:49): Subject using crayons on stairwell walls. Pictures and words. Language unknown.

I have to say, Martin taking a header into the pool was priceless.
I can’t believe I missed that.
Yeah, she just moved out of the way at the last second, like she’d been planning on heading to the CandleMaker Barn all along.
How many candles did she try and eat?
Only two. How’d you know?
Just a hunch.
How come the alarm didn’t go off again?
We really have to stop asking questions.
Her bag is back.



Nothing tastes right nothing tastes right what is it supposed to taste like I enjoy the juicey things and why did you drop me here is Pandora coming whisper to me please I can’t hear you and oh these are PRETTY I like silky. I have a name I have a name I can write if I can remember it I’ll use the purple it looks good on this disgusting off-tope wall good gravy why do people paint this way maybe I can draw my name instead of writing it but no, it seems I can only draw cabbages and Thralis and neither one of those are my name my name my name. Thats the problem! Crayons suck! I need something deeper. Something to CARVE my name in. Oh, well, diamonds are a girls best friend.

Security Cam 482 (Location: Gold And Ice, Timestamp: 09:04:22): Subject browsing.

Seriously, we can’t let her wander in a jewelry store. Thats expensive stuff.


Now with THESE, I can damn well write my damn well name!
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A couple solo threads:
Rebecca Garrote, P.I.: For hire. Mysteries, the lost, the missing, facilitation and all manners of unique services.
Everything Is Personal: Tales From Intersect City
The Unders: Darkness beneath Intersect City

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Old 01-01-2011, 02:02 PM   #2
ChasNicollette
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Christa. "Sometimes it takes a good fall to really know where you stand."

At a self-assured nineteen years of age, Christa had always been something of a tomboy. The first to climb every tree, the first to take every dare, the first to jump off of tall things with no idea how she'd land.

A-shirts and leather pants were her first stop in the wardrobe. Or had been, for years.

Only now she was starting to appreciate a little bit of frill, a little bit of glitter. She'd never be able to afford that stuff, not at the moment. But just for a touch of cheering up, she'd sometimes peer through shop windows at mannequins clad in finery and bejeweled baubles aplenty. Just to tickle her fancy.

Her fancy needed tickling now.

She slammed down the payphone with a stunned kind of bitterness, checking her voicemail because she'd lost her cellphone for the umphundredth time. Even the prepaid ones, she couldn't keep track of. Not that it'd ever rung with good news.

The friend she'd been staying with had kicked her out. Asked her to go. Tired of her not having a job, tired of her not making rent, tired of her using all his cologne, tired of her freeloading. She'd just needed a way station and that was gone.

Turning away from the bank of phones, she threw up the hood on her tattered orange sweatshirt, muting the bright scarlet-saffron of her hair with the faded colour of her clothing, huddling her black jacket around herself, she slapped the floor with her battered red Chuck Taylors and propelled herself in a stalking walk down the tiled floor of the mall corridor.

Glancing around, she saw an inordinate number of rent-a-cops dotting the landscape. Customers were reacting to oddities. Crayons on the wall, a puddle by the fountain getting hurriedly mopped, the guys at Manchu Wok were yelling at each other in Mandarin.

(She wasn't a thief-- well, just that one time because she'd liked a painting --but something about her cried out to security personnel, a little bit of desperation in the face of dreams unrealised, a little bit of baggy overworn clothing on a frame not-quite fed, she tugged the hood a little bit more over her face. If they were gathering to chase her down, she'd give 'em a chase all right. But no sense making a break for it if they weren't there for her.)

Christa knew she should leave. She should just... go.

But she just wanted a little bit of peace. A little bit of hope. Before she went.

And she hated herself a little bit for getting peace and hope from material things, but she couldn't deny herself a little bit of daydream about "making it" in a world where you're really not supposed to "make it."

She slowed to a stop at the Gold and Ice place, slowed and touched her fingers to the glass, touched her forehead, gazed with hazel eyes at all the different gleaming facets of light and--

--there was a girl-- a lady-- she had fantastic hair Christa instantly burned with a megaton of jealousy-- she was in the store and she was looking at the shiny things with some kind of ravenous hunger, like she was on the verge of a kleptomaniacal orgasm, some kind of Winona Ryder thing--

Hazels flicked to the right. Guards. Hazels flicked to the left. More guards.

Oh, God, you're gonna get pinched.

You're off your meds and you're gonna get pinched--

I can't get into this. I can't get pinched.

Don't want Dad to get a call, come bail me out, come find me.


Christa took a step back from the glass.

Another flickering gaze. Side-to-side.

Guards looked apprehensive. Guards looked pissed off.

She bit her lip, willing the lady with the gorgeous hair, the demon-girl eyes, the next-level-pretty sorta face, willing her to hear her thoughts without having to call out loud:

They're gonna get you. You need to go!

Don't get pinched.


She remembered the sheer hysterical panic, the primal surge she'd felt when she'd first felt a big strong man grab her wrist, her upper arm, the first time she'd seen the gleam of handcuffs, the lengths to which she'd gone to get away...

Her slender fingers clawed at her goldenrod-goldenred hair and.

Fuck it.

She was in the door before she could stop herself and her hand was on the magic-hair-lady's shoulder.

"Hey, uh, dude?" she murmured to the lady, offering as sweet a smile, real-quick, to the alarmed-looking clerk behind the counter, before returning her attention to the lady. "The van's waiting for us, we need to get you back to day program. C'mon. Aren't we doing Fine Motor next? You love Fine Motor."

And all the while her hazel eyes begged this woman. Come on. Just figure out what I'm getting at, whatever Purple Haze you're in the thick of, come on.

Because if they don't buy my line of shit we're going to have to run like Hell.

...please.

...my neck's on the block beside yours now and don't make me stick my neck out just for it to get lopped...

...please.
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Old 01-01-2011, 03:00 PM   #3
Vail_Indigo
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One hand on the display glass, the sleeve of her black hoodie revealing only the tips of her fingers and multi-colored nails that crowned them, the other dragging at the confusing, skin tight fabric on her thigh. She liked the texturemixture. She liked the cold glass, the warmth of her leg, but didn’t understand the tiny skirt if she was already wrapped in stuff.

Stuff.

Mostly she thought about stuff.

The shiney, sparkly stuff.

The very, very, very hard stuff that she knew she could make very very very sharp.

And then she’d remember her name because if she could write it in the wall then she’d have to be able to remember it and if she could make the hard into sharp then she could write it in the wall and then she’d have to be able to remember it and so the little why were they so little things had to be hers and it would only be a little bit of blood.



Skinbreathtouchneckwhat.

She turned.

Dude?
Fine Motor?
What?



But eyes met eyes and that hair was hypnotic and eyes eyes eyes greeeeeeen and what flashed?


Knowitknowitknowit...Worry! WhyWhy? I can do it, I can do it, you can help if you want but I can do it.


She smiled at the girl, dressed not so much unlike herself. But she could use a cookie or something. She tilted her head to one side.

So much worry, but it was okokok. Don't worry.

“I like going places,” came dancing out, “Very much. Can we go places?”

She wasn’t sure what a van was, but she was pretty sure it would go places. Places with fine motors that, maybe, would help grind the hard into sharp.

She almost squealed when LittleBrightGirl’s eyes lit up.

She wants to take me places! Knew it knew it knew it!

“OK, just lemme...”

The sound of a hand with several rings breaking display glass

There was rather more blood than anticipated.


New substance. Unforseen structural physics. Liquid not solid. LIAR!

The big one the big one the big one

She grabbed the biggest sparklething.

Which wasn’t very big at all but it would have to do.


Diamonds. Called diamonds.

“OK, lets go places! And then I’ll write you my name. One of them. Not all. Never all.”

Her eyes darted everywhere as the loud sounds finally pierced their way into her attention sphere and self-preservation routines kicked on. Authority was coming and that would not do.

"Authority is coming and that will not do," she turned to LittleBrightGirl , "We gotta go, we gotta go right now."

Grab hand run thataway its always thataway or it will be but it HAS to be better than here


"Come on!"

She dragged LittleBrightGirl by the hand...thataway...as fast as she could. LittleBrightGirl was, obviously, not as good at going places as she was, no no no.

Droplets of red left a trail no one would follow.


I wonder if I'll need that.
__________________

Kissing isn't prelude.


You are my liar, so I will be your thief

Language Of Angels 2


Earth 3

A couple solo threads:
Rebecca Garrote, P.I.: For hire. Mysteries, the lost, the missing, facilitation and all manners of unique services.
Everything Is Personal: Tales From Intersect City
The Unders: Darkness beneath Intersect City

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My SRP Profile

The Vortex Of Silk And Teeth
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Old 09-29-2012, 05:18 PM   #4
ChasNicollette
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Christa. "Let The Flames Begin."

Two pretty girls in hoodies. Both with hair whose colors wouldn't be out of place in a Monet sunset. (Christa liked paintings.) Both with other places to be.

Then: she wanted to go places! Oh, this was progress, Christa couldn't help but go up like a firework at that, yes, yes, they were going to go places, places that weren't here.

And then: further complications. Shattered glass and shattered hopes.

Skin was broken glass was broken this girl's brain was broken.

Well, shit.

So much for posing as her DSP.


“OK, lets go places! And then I’ll write you my name. One of them. Not all. Never all.”

"Woman," Christa informed her, "you had me at 'let's go.'"

And then the schizo-affective lady with the shards in her skin and the ice in her fist dragged her off--

--and Christa, being Christa, actually had to respect the lady's footspeed. Christa could run like a mojo-farmer when she wanted to, but the lady wasn't a slowpoke.

Idly, a flicker of Christa's hazels noticed that as the blood dripped from The Lady's hand as they ran, it seemed to have an orange tinge to it-- almost like a redder version of Christa's hair.

Girl, you're sauced on some kinda thing if even your blood is making with the hue-shift.

"Authority" was coming.

(She called them "Authority.")

'I fight Authority, Authority always wins.'

'...put my last quarter on.'

The rent-a-cops were closing in on them, they looked pissed as Hell, alarms were screaming behind them and the rent-a-cops (2.5s, because they were only half Five-O) were spitting blue murder with every cuss.

The thataway that The Lady was dragging 'em led upstairs.

Good! Upstairs was good. Not the escalator, not the elevator, the stairs...

Tubby flabby 2.5s fed on Food Court pretzels, there's no way they could haul tubby flabby ass as fast up stairs as Christa and The Lady could haul their asses.

Except: they were about to hit the bottom of those steps and up at the top of the steps a lard ass was waiting for them with a uniform and a nightstick and he did not look like he was messing around.

Christa gunned it, accelerating past the not-at-all slow Lady.

Her fingers slipped from The Lady's uninjured hand.

And without the slightest hint of heavy breath, she bellowed: "Up! Keep going!"

And didn't look back. Didn't look down. Didn't think about it.

She just blew full speed for the silver metal banister railing leading up the middle of the two-lane staircase and she-- jumped-- tucked her Chuck Taylors up--

--and then she. Light on her feet. Ran up that railing like the world's spideriest funambulist. Ran up it. Accelerating against gravity.

Air blew in her cheeks, her arms pumped at her sides, her balance never erred, her kinesthetics kinetic, her proprioception preternatural...

And I don't care how cynical and sluggardly a 2.5 you are, seeing a runaway run away like that has got to draw you up short.

Lardass at the top of the stairs skidded right to a halt, his nightstick half-cocked and sheer flabbergastery on his flabby-gastric face. "What the f--"

And then Christa rocketed off the top end of that rail, never slowing down...

...a flying fireball with orange hoodie and goldenrod-goldenred hair and red Chucks tucked...

...and hit Lardass in the chest with both rubber soles, he was her crash-mat, her landing pad, she knocked him right over, knocked the wind right out of him, and she was tucking and rolling and she was back on her feet and whirling to make sure The Lady hadn't fallen behind.

"More Authority where that came from, dude, let's go."
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Old 10-06-2012, 10:25 AM   #5
Vail_Indigo
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Security Cam 0284 (Location Public Stairs 9, Timestamp 09:34)
What the fuck was that? Thats simply not possible. Not at all.
I dunno. Haven't you seen that Cirque Du SoWhat? They do some fucked up things.
Are you telling me you think these two brats are famous, theater redefining artists when they aren't creating the kind of chaos that gets security teams fired?
If you have a better explanation, please, let me know. Anyhow, fucking Mitchell deserved it. I hate him.



Oooooooo! Note to self: LittleBrightGirl much better at going places than previous believed. I gotta learn me that trick!
LeapToeOnTubbyTubbyTubBOUNCE!

Air rushed from Authority’s lungs as a single tip of an agile girl’s sneaker poked his stomach and seemed to send her flying far further than reasonable.

“Sorrrrrrrrrrrry! HEY! WAITFORME!”

Pretty sharp things went into a pocket as it became more and more clear that this was, in fact, an obstacle course requiring full attentions and Where is it I know its somewhere around here and thats a good place to go maybe maybe maybe maybe not.

“JUST STOP YOU BRATS!!!”

The call of AUTHORITY.

‘ScusemePardonmeScusemeYup, this is mine, sorrymaddash girl making it through a crowd to grab LittleBrightGirl’s hand.
“Yes, this is mine. I know a place!”

Authority closes in like a clumsy shark.
“Nogoodnogoodnogood!”
Pretty-pictures-glossy-horrible-hair-and-facepaint-Throw-under-strange-person-foot-slip-fall-into-cart-owned-by-man-in-anachronistic-helmet-obviously-not-viking-cart-spill-MANY-DICES-EVERYWHERE!



Security Cam 1945 (Location Open Market, Timestamp 09:37)
AND NOW THIS??? Really? She grabs a Cosmo, throws it, some guy slips on it, falls into that stupid D&D cart and sends the dice everywhere making our boys fall on their asses? What, are these two super-spies or something?
Who cares? Thats over 13k in diamonds they have, and I fucking hate McNand so he can fall on his ass anytime as far as I’m concerned.
Who don't you ha...Hey! Where’d they go?
Motion detectors have nothing, manual scanning for last zone, nothing. Fuck. Blind spot!


Girlhands grip each other, holding on, hoping one knows the way away from here.

Place? Yes? Maybe? Scary. LittleBrightGirl might not want to go. Dunno dunno dunno. Oh...right. Talking asking hoping alone alone alone and no but hard and she might or it could happen and HE does this and I shouldn't and please it is empty in there and scary for me is me is me. Should be alone don't ask her should be alone don't ask her wrong wrong wrong BAD! Ask. Please ask. Alone.

Topazbluehair lead firehair around a corner, a wide open space, carts and stalls and chaos even more chaos, and then behind a thing just for a moment peace and shhhh. Eyes grow dark and stormy and serious and the maelstrom in them is not madness not this madness that has been set loose. It is a different thing that speaks of secrets and travels not wisely taken and thoughts that are not for any but the most...most...

“I have a place. I know a place we can go no cops no authority no stupid fountains with crappy wishes and candles that smell delicious but taste like chemo treatments but. But. But. Is not always good. Is not always safe. I can try, and protect, but not always and LittleBrightGirl needs to know these things. Is strange, and wonderful, and dangerous, and confusing.”

Corner of lips twitch sad-scared. Eyes drop. Softly.

“Is like me.”





“Sorry.”
__________________

Kissing isn't prelude.


You are my liar, so I will be your thief

Language Of Angels 2


Earth 3

A couple solo threads:
Rebecca Garrote, P.I.: For hire. Mysteries, the lost, the missing, facilitation and all manners of unique services.
Everything Is Personal: Tales From Intersect City
The Unders: Darkness beneath Intersect City

All My SRP Information (Current and older SRPs, Notebook/Braindump, SRP Profile)
My SRP Profile

The Vortex Of Silk And Teeth
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Old 10-07-2012, 07:28 PM   #6
ChasNicollette
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Christa. "Just don't stop running. Ever."

“JUST STOP YOU BRATS!!!”

Her hand held out awaiting The Lady's as she approached, Christa couldn't help but roll her eyes.

(Who the Hell says 'brats' anymore? Scooby-Doo villains?

...wait, do even Scooby-Doo villains say that anymore?
)

‘ScusemePardonmeScusemeYup, this is mine, sorrymaddash girl making it through a crowd to grab LittleBrightGirl’s hand.
“Yes, this is mine. I know a place!”


(Wait, what's yours? What place? Damn, girl, for all you don't have much of a grip on reality, your hand sure closes tight.)

But Christa ran with The Lady nevertheless, putting the pell to the mell.

(Go baby go.)

Authority closes in like a clumsy shark.
“Nogoodnogoodnogood!”
Pretty-pictures-glossy-horrible-hair-and-facepaint-Throw-under-strange-person-foot-slip-fall-into-cart-owned-by-man-in-anachronistic-helmet-obviously-not-viking-cart-spill-MANY-DICES-EVERYWHERE!


Christa's hazels went wide as could be.

Of late, she'd had opportunity to compare herself to a character named Cameron Hicks. The comparison was not inaccurate.

But if she was the light-on-her-feet spacial awareness queen of the ricochet, then The Lady was... who?

The one from the second episode who could Rube Goldberg complex chains of events with the toss of a seemingly random projectile?

(Cool.

'Course, super-neuro-awareness of cause an' effect didn't keep you from punching a hole in a glass counter, but I guess we all have our blind-spots.
)

Girlhands grip each other, holding on, hoping one knows the way away from here.

...and they found respite, breather, an alcove in a shadow between the eyes that watched the world.

Christa peeked back to see from where they'd come, but The Lady was talking, and Christa's hazels whipped back to look at her.

“I have a place. I know a place we can go no cops no authority no stupid fountains with crappy wishes and candles that smell delicious but taste like chemo treatments but. But. But. Is not always good. Is not always safe. I can try, and protect, but not always and LittleBrightGirl needs to know these things. Is strange, and wonderful, and dangerous, and confusing.”

Corner of lips twitch sad-scared. Eyes drop. Softly.

“Is like me.”





“Sorry.”


Christa's face crinkled a bit, her eyes scrunched.

What sort of place was this? Was this-- like a happy place? Inside her head?

Paper flowers and purple sky, like in that Evanescence song?

Ed Norton chilling with a penguin?

"Look," Christa declared, firmly. "I'm in this for a penny, and I'm in this pound for pound. I joined up out of sympathy so's you didn't get nabbed, but Christ-- I'm in as trouble as much as you."

"Whatever this place is, your little-- hideaway hidey-hole--"

"--I'm not letting you out of my sight. Whatever's fucked up your wiring has me thinking you can't be by yourself anyway."

"So-- whatever that means. This place is 'like you,' dunno what that means."

"Let's get under your Wonderland before these dunders do a number, huh?"
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Old 10-11-2012, 07:00 PM   #7
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LittleBrightGirl is foolish. Thank god. Keepings!


The strange girl sighed, a mix of relief, resignation and a hint of sadness. No. Not sadness. A world-weariness that belies her age.

They run across the wide open space, feet pounding a nearly-but-not-quite matching rhythm, the beats a fraction of a second off, as if barely split into a future and past echo.

A photobooth draws closer and closer.

Their speed increases.

The barest moment before collision, blue hair opens her lips.

For a song.
Three notes, high and pure.
A true name.



And they are inside.

Blue feels a hand slipping from hers, and grips tighter, keeping Red grounded as best she can.

There is a crystalline elegance in places, spiderwebs of glitter that connect strange technologies to walls of complex patters.

A lever the size of a baseball bat juts out from the floor in a corner.

The corner makes no sense.

To the left, perspective slams down on eyes and inner ear and squirms like a thing trapped and screaming.

Blue can not see much of this. She tries to imagine what it must be like to be in this place, this thing bigger on the inside.

She knows this place is not right.

Even others like herself know this.

Please welcome her. She is bright and fast and glitters in the darkness. I bring her her to you. To us. For a while.

.......

I know. I am still broken inside. Shattered. I should not have done this. But she helps. Needed help. As I did.

"Shh...shh...I know, I'm sorry. It will fix itself. Shh. You just have to let it. Then it'll just be confusing. Not a knife in your mind."

Blue faces Red. Very close very close.

"She wants to fit inside you, but she is too big. She will find a way. Open all your eyes. Let her inside and she will fit as best she can. I know. She won't hurt you. Think with me. Think of blue and red and going places. You are good at going places. Think with me."

Brows touch.

"I can help. A little."

A tear rolls down a cheek.

"A little."
__________________

Kissing isn't prelude.


You are my liar, so I will be your thief

Language Of Angels 2


Earth 3

A couple solo threads:
Rebecca Garrote, P.I.: For hire. Mysteries, the lost, the missing, facilitation and all manners of unique services.
Everything Is Personal: Tales From Intersect City
The Unders: Darkness beneath Intersect City

All My SRP Information (Current and older SRPs, Notebook/Braindump, SRP Profile)
My SRP Profile

The Vortex Of Silk And Teeth
  Reply With Quote

Old 11-12-2012, 10:04 PM   #8
ChasNicollette
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Christa. "You've hit your one wall. Now find your way around."

The photo-booth itself didn't strike Christa as any weirder than anything else that had happened today.

Playing chicken with the photo-booth was not unlike par for the course.

The musical "Open Sesame," two notes shy of "Close Encounters," was even kinda pretty.

But then they were in.

And the world was not what Christa thought it was.

It had been demonstrated that some people were... more... than others. Just a little bit. Here and there.

Some were attuned to what they thought were ghosts. Some could hear the thoughts of others like whispers on the wind. Some could see spectra of color that eluded the average human eye. Extra-synaptic engrams.

Christa, subtly, profoundly, was like these.

But she conversed not with the dead, nor eavesdropped on minds, nor watched invisible things stalking by.

She could see the math of movement, the arithmetic of architecture, she saw it not on a quantified numerical level but as instinct, as inevitability. Angles and trajectories and velocities and footholds and allez-oup and allons-y, oh my.

It was intrinsic, inextricable, inexplicable. It was her and it was part of her.

This was how she could run up walls and funambulize uphill and use 2.5s as trampolines.

This was how.

And this was how this strange new world-not-what-she-thought-it-was was killing her, like an icepick to the frontal lobe, like an icicle to the cerebellum, it killed her with everywhere she looked it didn't fit it didn't go it didn't match it didn't math.

She staggered.

She fell to her knees.

She curled, fetal, fatal, on the floor.

That corner made no sense IT MADE NO SENSE AT ALL.

She rolled onto her back and clutched her hands to her head and she made noises like crying but the tears wouldn't come.

And then.

Blue.

Blue faces Red. Very close very close.

"She wants to fit inside you, but she is too big. She will find a way. Open all your eyes. Let her inside and she will fit as best she can. I know. She won't hurt you. Think with me. Think of blue and red and going places. You are good at going places. Think with me."

Brows touch.

"I can help. A little."

A tear rolls down a cheek.

"A little."


Blue made no sense.

The Lady.

Made no sense at all.

But compared to that corner she made all the sense in The Universe.

The Lady's forehead felt blue and cool against Christa's. She was burning up.

Christa's hands clutched the sides of The Blue Lady's head, pressing her hot forehead against The Blue Lady's cool one.

Now the tears came. Well, one. Just one. A tear rolled down Christa's cheek, mirroring The Lady's.

"What..."

--she rasped, she gasped, then tried again--

"...what must I do to be saved?"

And with that, her mind opened.

And she let The Blue Lady help.
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Old 11-24-2012, 12:07 PM   #9
Vail_Indigo
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Romana: Angel Of Incidence

"Shhh....shhhh....its ok. I'm more here now."

Brow to brow.
Sweat mingled as thoughts tangled.
Minds looked deep.
And with delight.

"Math! Lines! Vectors! BEAUTIFUL!"

The strange girl nearly squealed with amazement.

"You see things, numbers and angles, thats how it works! KEEPING!"

The world of normal, of 180 degree triangles, or 360 degree circles, of incidence matching reflection, superimposed over the...otherness...that they found themselves in. It was wrong, and it would soon break the poor mind that clung to it all, that used these shapes as the interface to the world.

"No. No good. Not right for here. Too limited. New math! Yes, new math. See? Just like this. It bounces like this! And there, that works still, unless you are spinning. Then you shift...uh...leftish...yes! Yes! Just like that! Now draw. Draw me a house and I'll fix it so it stands. YAY! Now stairs! Stairs are hard. But you like stairs. Draw stairs. Thats it. No. Yes. Like that. New lines. New gravities. New dances."

Not enough. It would not be enough once they slipped apart.
And so Blue did a thing.
Made a tiny, tiny change in the pretty Red.
Left a tiny, tiny part of herself in there.
They only way to keep her safe.


"Now. Hold on to that. Open your eyes. But only look in that corner. Start there. Start small. Tiny changes. Grow. Yes. Just like that. Expand the crytals in your mind. The math and numbers. Make yourself more amazing. More beautiful. More."

Guiding, caressing, shifting.
Until.
Finally.
The Bright Girl simply...fit.

"Better? Thats better, right?" Blue whispered, and kept close.

"I'm sorry about that. I knew, but not really. And I wasn't, um, quite at my best. But now I do. You have a complicated crystal in you. It is amazing. But needed, you know, to be realigned. But it'll be OK now."


Blue's left eye twitched twice, three times. A sliver of pain, but then brushed aside.

"It'll be OK. And I'm getting better too. This place will help us, She always does. Can you stand?"


She guided the visitor to her feet without waiting for an answer, and then moved to a column-table-console thing in what might be called the middle of the room, if one were simply looking at the curvature of space, light, and gravity, and not using a ruler. The altar? obelisk? carving? looked as if it had grown there, from living, liquid metals and light pulsed soothingly from the central column. Everything was slick, frictionless, touch only, no movement. Movement was for other places. Here, this thing, was the center of it all. Knobs seemed silly. Switches? Pathetic. This was the eye of the storm.

Blue whispered, "I've missed you. It happens. Yes. She has to come now. No. Never like what he does. Yes. For a while. You'll like her. She's...formal...gravital...spacial. You'll like."
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Language Of Angels 2


Earth 3

A couple solo threads:
Rebecca Garrote, P.I.: For hire. Mysteries, the lost, the missing, facilitation and all manners of unique services.
Everything Is Personal: Tales From Intersect City
The Unders: Darkness beneath Intersect City

All My SRP Information (Current and older SRPs, Notebook/Braindump, SRP Profile)
My SRP Profile

The Vortex Of Silk And Teeth
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