2007-07-28: Through the Looking Glass, Brightly

Starring:

Desiree_icon.gif Ramon_icon.gif

Summary:

As promised, Dezi tries hard to see the future through the virtues of alcohol. Ramon promises her some things, too.

Date It Happened:

July 28, 2007

Through the Looking Glass, Brightly


Country Home, Upstate New York

Soooo drunkenness. Ramon pulls out Corona, cause right now that's what he drinks. He chops up lime for his beloved and squeezes them in, and a sudden smirk crosses his features that he doesn't deign to explain. He sets the whole six pack in front of her and says, "You got your book but…here." He goes trundling into a box and gets a whole bunch of Luis' fanboy posters. Perhaps Qui Gon Jinn will have insight.

Desiree stares at the numerous beers and takes the one Ramon got for her, quirking a dark brow at his smirk. It's a silly smirk, and not just because any smirk on his normally grim smirk looks out-of-place. She narrows her eyes. "I'll have you know this's serious business!" she says, and although it's true, she says it with amusement. "Whas all that junk?" She's still hugging her Magic Eye book to her side and she jostles it as she peers at the box of Luis's stuff.

His eye glitters at her. "Nothing dear," he says smoothly, only now he's grinning. Like a fiend. Or…like a man who is thinking a pretty woman is going to get drunk around him, and even if he isn't going to take advantage of her it might be nice to know he'll at least enjoy the sight. As for the posters, he says, "Well…the more you have to look at the more you might see." He then brings out a yellow legal pad…

Camera pans in on it for a second. It lays at the exact same angle as the legal pad he will pull out to ultimately take no notes about the Lancaster deaths 2 years from tomorrow.

And a pencil, prepared to do his duty as a recorder.

"Oh, well. Lay 'em out. They got pretty colours." Desiree, so articulate. This is before she's touched any alcohol. Switching her bottle from hand to hand, she takes one of the posters from the box and shuns what furniture the boys managed to get into the house - instead, she sets up on the floor of the living room, laying out the Magic Eye book opened at a random page (this one is supposed to be a seahorse) and setting the poster down. "What I saw today…" she says, punctuating by a sip of Corona, "It's farther… than I ever saw before. It went all the way up to two years." More Corona.

"Tell me about it," Ramon rumbles. He decides that running his foot alongside her leg beneath the table will not be a help. So he does it for three seconds before dropping it. The man is actually very affectionate when he's in love. It's just only Dezi gets to see it, you see.

"Ain't gonna be much of a city left if someone don't stop the storm and the… I dunno. Everythin' changes." Desiree frowns, zoning out momentarily; when she comes 'to, she smiles at Ramon. With the book laid out, she sits in front of it on her knees and tries to tug Ramon down there despite the perfectly good table. She tips the bottle of beer to look at it. "…this's gonna take a lotta beer."

"Drink up." Ramon says. He pauses and says, "Is this like on the weather channel? They ran that special about a hurricane, level 5, hitting New York City, and I thought it was a little loco because hurricanes generally do not hit New York City, but they did say It Could Happen Tomorrow." As his bed was in front of the television, and lonely, for so many years, he…watched a lot of tv.

"Somethin' like that. Don't forget tornadoes. The artist who could paint the future - he saw that, too. Right in Times Square!" Desiree does, indeed, drink up. She drinks up for a long time and then points at Ramon with the neck of the bottle. "You got anythin' besides beer in that fridge yet?"

"Cold pizza," Ramon announces. He pauses and says, "Do you think it was caused by one of the people with powers?" He writes the following on his legal pad:

1) Freak storms, tear New York apart.
Action: Go to library and research all storm related stories, cross referenced with New York, over the course of the past year.

Desiree grimaces at the apparent contents of the fridge and slumps, propping herself up with one hand on the floor, leaning into her palm. "Maybe," she answers, but she doesn't honestly know. "Is jus' seems like— it was sudden, you know? Everythin' all at once. Just snap! Like God decides to punish everyone with bigass tornadoes and floods and hail." She downs what's left of the Corona. "…what about in the cupboards?" Not all alcohol needs to be refrigerated.

"I haven't drank much, Dezi," Ramon says in worried fashion as he looks through it. He finds a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream someone gave him for Christmas one year, unopened. "I'll make you a Quelude," he decides, as he digs around and locates the other ingredients. "If that don't make you drunk I don't know what will." He gets a big glass out and puts ice in it. Then milk, and then baileys, and then kaluha, and then some chocolate sauce.

"A Quewhat?" More importantly, "Is that chocolate sauce? I think I love you even more now I saw that," Desiree states with a grin. She leans back on both of her palms now, her legs tucked under her cheerfully green dress, and idly gazes at the Magic Eye while Ramon plays bartender. She squints. "…don't see a seahorse…" she mumbles— then rocks ahead, peering down more intently at the aquatically coloured pages all of a sudden.

Ramon smirks and kisses the top of her head as he sets this down before her, then sits back down at his legal pad. He then shuts up, poised and ready to take notes. The afternoon sun shifts as Dezi watches the pictures, concealing the bad half of his face for the most part and outlining the good, which is relaxed. Yes, they're talking about some dark stuff, Dezi is drinking herself silly to find out more dark stuff, but he's still relaxed, and happy, for the first time in years. He's going to savor it whatever the circumstances.

Shuffling about on the floor and planting one hand on either side of the book, Desiree stares down at the illusion intently. The afternoon sun reveals more than half of Ramon's face; it gives the picture Dezi is focused on a certain glow. She pushes it this way and that around the beam of afternoon sunlight and traces shapes in the ink. "Is that… a duck?" She sinks her face down toward the paper, almost nose-to-nose with it before she comes back up, squinting. "….It's Peter," she decides. "I mean he— he ain't a duck, he has…" She waves a hand as she sits back. "I saw Peter. With one a' them origami paper birds… and a bunch a'…" The woman's forehead scrunches up, creasing. "…Japanese writin'?" Well, that's monumentally unhelpful. "I can't read Japanese. What good is that if I can't read Japanese?!"

"Shhh. It's enough to know that it is Japanese." Ramon murmurs. He reaches over to take a Corona for himself, almost knocking a poster of J'onn J'onzz off the table as he does. He sets it back to rights and jots down: 2) Peter: Oragami paper bird and Japanese lettering. "Don't panic about what you see, Desiree. Just look."

"Yeah, I know," Desiree says through a sigh. She scooches to get closer to Ramon, taking her fancy new drink with her. Leaning against his shoulder, she twirls the Magic Eye about to face them. "…oh, hey. There's the seahorse." The unexpected seahorse makes her smile. She takes a sip of the Quewhateveritwas. "This is real good, Ramon." Stretching out her legs, she kicks her shoes off and turns the book's page with her toes. Full of pink, red and gold, this Magic Eye illusion is meant to transform into a princess in a tower.

Ramon can't see it at all, but he will stroke Dezi's hair for her and put an arm around her. He takes a sip of his beer before he'll have to jot anything down again, but settles into companionable silence while she works. After all, he never found distractions that helpful when trying to do something with his telepathy.

Desiree takes another drink of the concoction; she hesitates and has another. As she's lowering the glass, a hint of yet another vision seems to catch in the corner of her eye and she looks sharply at the book. This time, whatever she sees is so sudden or so surprising that her eyes squeeze shut, flinching, as if blinded. "I—!" She curls against Ramon, turning her face away from the image.

Ramon's eye widens in alarm, and he tightens his grip on Desiree. "Shh," he whispers, putting his cheek down on her head. "Shhhhhhh. It's okay. It's okay. Whatever it is, we're going to stop it, aren't we? What was it, sweetheart?" He draws her closer, and wraps his other arm around her, awkwardly putting his beer aside.

The psychic, accosted by her own vision, clings to Ramon, holding tightly onto his shirt and his shoulder. When Desiree tilts her head up to look at Ramon, the lids that open are briefly devoid of the warm hazel eyes he's come to know well. Her stare is devoid of everything. It's white. Completely white. She blinks slowly and they're back to normal - bit wide, alarmed, and most of all, confused. "I don't even know. It was jus' all these colours and funny shapes. Everythin' was so harsh and… like… vivid, Ramon. I couldn't hardly look at it. I jus' know that it scared me. It was overwhelming, the pictures."

That's a little freaky, the eye thing, but Ramon is too intent on comforting her to get too freaked out about it. Okay. Her eyes go white. "Maybe it's working correctly," he suggests. "Your eyes did this thing…nevermind. Do you want to stop?"

"Hm?" Desiree voices casually. Eyes, what? She shakes her head, the gold, dangling tiers of her earring swinging. She lifts the glass to her mouth, this time more for comfort than to blur the lines of reality… or… wait, maybe that's the same thing. She looks back to the book, but— "Close it," she tells Ramon, shutting her eyes tight. "Close it, I'll try somethin' else." Like Luis's poster of— of whatever that is. She's focusing to the point where she must be getting something, but nothing ultimately happens this time.

He closes it. And there's one of Qui Gon Jinn and one of J'onn J'onzz and that says: JESUS SAVES. EVERYONE ELSE TAKES FULL DAMAGE, a poster that Ramon frankly abhors under under circumstances. He writes, 3) Very disturbing. Vivid.

"… That's a weird poster," Desiree says after approximately two minutes of staring at it. "The Magic Eye…works… better," she declares decisively with the slightest hint of starting to get tipsy. "Somethin' about it— the patterns. It's like, it's already made to look like somethin' it ain't. It's meant to show hidden pictures already." Despite her accolades for the book, she lets it stay shut, where it is, right there on the floor. Instead, she just flops over Ramon's lap, looking up at the ceiling. The lofty ceiling. Maybe she'll get a vision in the skylight, or Ramon's eyepatch. Or maybe she'll just lay here because it's comfortable.

Ramon sifts his fingers through her dark curls, but says nothing to encourage her to keep at it. If she wants to stop or is too drunk or headachy to continue, then she is. "Have you ever tried drawing your own pictures? Not like Peter does it. But just doodling or letting your pencil roam around. Like those…automatic writers."

"Mm-mmm," Desiree answers with a little shake of her head. "Sometimes I doodle, but they don't… tell me anythin'. I guess I never tried it like that before 'cause I gotta see the pieces first, to see how they fit … together. I dunno if I can make the pattern. I dunno what it's supposed to be first. Did that make any sense?" She reaches for Ramon's notepad. "Gimmie a piece of paper."

"No," Ramon says, but she gets her paper, and a pen of her very own. "Do you ever hear things in music? Have you tried that, instead of having to /see/ it? Words make more sense than images anyway." To him, but he's a creature of logic.

"I like pictures." And good thing, too. "All's I hear in music is notes and chords and … soul. But not the future." Desiree sets her glass aside on the floor - along with the pen. Automatic drawing is a test for another day, it seems, even as the gloomy future looms in the distance. She starts to fold corners of the notepaper, bending it this way and that. It crumples. She should really have a flat surface, and maybe a how-to book. She's going by memories. "It's a duck." It's as good as an origami bird made in a few seconds improperly by a slightly drunk woman can, which is to say it looks like a llama had relations with a spaceship. She gives it to Ramon. "I think it's broken."

Ramon dutifully jots down Broken Duck. "A broken origami duck," he repeats. "The problem is," he says, "You're seeing a bunch of things about the future that we don't want to have happen. What we need to be focusing on is the key points right now where we can do a damn thing about it."

"It's like Peter's. In the future," Desiree says, watching the origami creation thoughtfully. "… I don't think you hafta write that one down." She stares up at the afternoon sky. The grey day broke after all. Almost like the clouds came just for her, so she could see the storm coming. "Yeah, but how d'we know what's a key point?"

Ramon thinks about this for a moment. "When I go into someone's mind after a specific piece of information, I have to focus on what I want to do exactly, or I'm just as likely to end up listening to that stupid 'I've seen better days' song run through someone's head again for the 47th time as I am to end up delving deep into a subconscious to pull out a specific set of information." He keeps his voice as a low, quiet rumble as he adds, "It's got to be the same with the time stream. You've got masses and masses and masses of information. Theoretically you could see stuff from all over the world from any point forward from sixty seconds from now all the way to six thousand years. You're just letting your mind and talent go wherever it wants, instead of telling it what you want. What you want is to see some key decision points and maybe a bit about what needs to change in them, not broken ducks and Japanese writing and stuff that scares you out of your trance."

"…" Whoa whoa whoa whoa. Ramon has a lot of words. Delving into the subconscious, six thousand years, timestream! Desiree clambers to sit up, beside him again, brushing a few curls off of her forehead. "Well… yeah…" she says softly, uncertain. "…theoretically. I'm tryin'. I'm tryin' to see somethin' good that'll help." Dezi frowns and looks down at her lap, fussing momentarily with a crease in her skirt. "You got— you got good at your mind-readin' so fast. You got so much focus."

Well sure he does. Just then he had something to say. He shuts up when he doesn't, which is most of the time, and gives it all out when he does, like now. He says, "It was either that or keep fainting every time I got around my relatives. They come in packs, you know." Ramon says. "And Elena kept making up crazy exercises for me to try that I'd have never figured out on my own." And he's an obsessive personality. He tangles a curl around her fingers and says, "Your powers work differently. But you were invaluable in taking down Carter, and you focused then. Maybe, bonita, you're just feeling overwhelmed. You weren't feeling overwhelmed then. It was a smaller problem. This is a very big problem. And maybe alcohol isn't the way there." He leans over to kiss her gently on the lips and looks her straight in the eye. "You were perfectly sober then."

"And I wasn't tryin' much as it just happened when it wanted," Desiree points out. That's how she saw the storm; that's how she's seen almost everything she's ever seen, save for with Elena's help and the Magic Eye. Reflective, she smiles softly at Ramon. "I'm kinda tired. Feels like night time." Might have something to do with seeing a flashforward to a world so dark, not to mention drinking in the afternoon.

That decides Ramon. "I have the bed set up," he says. He scoops her up like she's a little doll and carries her there. "Try not to worry," he whispers softly. "I've found something to do with what you've seen already. We'll start from there. Maybe powers have something to do with personality, too. Maybe you have to learn to let go in order to make yours work, and control /isn't/ your goal. But try not to worry. I won't let anything happen to you."

(2009, 2 years from today. Ramon wakes up to those words: 'Try not to worry. I won't let anything happen to you.' He lets out a snarl and picks up a half empty bottle of scotch. He hurls it at the mirror he'd been staring blankly at. It shatters. He lets out a strangled cry.)

He brings her up to the bed and pulls back the covers. He bought a new one, and a green and white flowered comforter that he thought looked like something Dezi might possibly like. It's got fresh, crisp, very unimaginative white sheets on it. He lays her down and pulls off her shoes for her, then tucks her in. "There will be water by the bed when you wake up," he whispers. "Be sure to drink it."

Desiree is surprised, but not unpleasantly, by Ramon's sudden picking up of her and putting her to bed. She snuggles down into the new bedsheets, but breaks the comfortably tucked-in seal by pushing up ever-so-slightly on her elbows at the last minute to give Ramon a kiss. "Even if the storm comes," she says afterward with a heartfelt sort of urgency, "Even if we can't stop it and our world changes, I know we'll be okay. We'll get through it. We'll look out for each other, and the kids. Our families are strong, ya know…?"

Ramon strokes her hair back from her face, feeling in this moment like he could take on anything with that vote of confidence. "I know," he says. "We'll be okay." Family. Family, single. But he hasn't decided the best place and time to present her with the ring. It has to be perfect. "I love you, Desiree." He steps back. "Now get some rest, bonita." He steps out of the room, and gently closes the door.

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