Starring:
and guest starring …
Summary: A day in the life of a woman who exists mainly in dreams now. (Click the hour of the day to see guest star)
Future Date: March 2012
Transmissions from Sanctum Somnus
The Muse's Sanctum Somnus
Sleep brings no surcease, no succor to the woman known only as the Muse to most of the city, the world. Truth be told she's built up so much endurance over the years that sleep is almost something she does as a form of recreation when she does it at all. Five minutes here. Ten there. And she's good for a day; longer. So she's in contact with someone sleeping almost all the time, and so rarely lays her own head down.
When she sleeps, like anyone else, she dreams. Her dreams are not pleasant. With her ability, her gift, she cannot make them pleasant. So they're just memories that replay painfully behind her eyelids. Her family gone, all but Anzeti, and him, she failed; he's an addict now. Boosted into the power that he's wanted for so long. She only sees him when he shows up, laughably enough, to check on her — and try to get money out of her.
Her bodyguard and man Friday always locks him up and out until the withdrawal cripples him and leaves him too weak to do anything but get dropped off at a shelter.
Randall, she failed. He embraced the easiest possible method of getting the power and the world of crime embraced back.
Lee as well. Forced into servitude to the government.
But Peter and Hiro, at least, she hasn't let down.
And a few others. Sophie has stood by her, steadfast, a true friend. Better still, a recovered Leslie, thanks to Sophie's ability, now serves as the Muse's right hand, aforementioned body guard and man Friday. He handles her investments, and makes sure her groceries and garbage are taken care of, so she need not step out into the cold, hurtful world. Yes, it's enabling her agoraphobia, and he knows it. But the Muse is happy this way. She does good this way. He's in her life; he does not speak the other name. He knows she thinks of it enough on her own, and the tears fall.
On the rare occasion she wishes companionship in person, Leslie is there to listen to her talk. With her voice. He sees her as beautiful now as she was then. He sees past the greying hair, and the crow's feet forming at her eyes, the worry lines at her brows and mouth. And for that, she's grateful.
In some distant, dim corridor of her hindbrain, the Muse is still Kory. And Kory knows Leslie would willingly lay down his life for her. She would not ask it of him. And she is aware he hopes that one day the pain of losing Randall will recede and lessen enough that she will turn to him. Even with his rage and madness gone, still he loves her, and she is grateful.
But it is the beginning of another day — well, as other people reckon it — and there are things she must do. People she must see. Dreams to visit. REM sleep occurs for only a few minutes, and a lot can be conveyed in a short time — so it's a full day for the Muse. Situations to monitor, set in motion, and tweak. Operatives and runners to check with. She drifts to one of her battered comfy chairs, and makes herself comfortable, long airy gown floating down around her.
It's almost too late, by the time Niki gets to sleep.
The shelter never stops running. Never stops needing her, people never stop needing someone. Need knows no time — twelve in the afternoon or three in the morning, someone always needs help. And Niki is there to stave off the chaos brought into the center by the world that made this place a necessity. It's past three, when she finally allows herself a break, climbing the cement steps with graffiti on either side of the walls that eventually leads to a room on the top floor, to the bedroom she shares with Peter. She doesn't bother turning on the lights, simply taking a bottle from the bedside table and pouring some of its contents into a nearby glass, which she downs in one go without expression. A second follows in shortt succession, warm and heady. Something to numb her mind enough to let her sleep … in time to meet with the Muse. She curls up on the bed. The dreamscape is a conglomeration of images and places. It's untidy, but to Niki, it's familiar and safe. Half of the room looks like the shelter; cold walls and urban art. Part of it looks like a dressing room, crimson walls and scattered clothes and bits of glitz with a mirrored vanity. One wall cuts away into a house. Innumerable candles of all sizes and colours cast a warm, flickering glow. In front of the mirror, her head cast down, Niki sits on a stool with her legs drawn up. The backless dress her dreaming self wears reveals the stylized black ink bore into the skin of her right shoulder reveals the phoenix, rising from the ash, and it's likely the first image anyone hunting her out will see. Niki's dreamscape is one of the few that the Muse enters without fear or concern of a trap. Something about the construction of her mind is so unique that any change, any deviation, any strangeness on the woman's dreamscape — which is, honestly, already pretty strange — is immediately obvious to her. But, for appearance's sake, Kory sends two of her staffers first — dreamshadows, constructions of Kory's power to make it seem the Muse does not act alone — not that this is known to anyone — into the dreamscape. Niki's met all the Muse staffers, wearing their white Greek-inspired outfits. Icarus. Blythe. Savion. Daedalus. Zervides. Arachne. Hermes. And the handful of others not named here. This time it's Icarus and Daedalus who show first: fraternal twins, like night and day. Icarus, blond and blue-eyed, and Daedalus dark-haired with brown eyes. "Good morning, Ms. Sanders. We're just checking in." As usual, they wander the perimeter of Niki's dreamscape, tidying up gently, doing psychic spackling in the stress fractures that reflect the constant strain and stress Niki's existence places on her mind from day to day. The Muse remembers the mental challenges Niki has faced in her life, and does unasked what she can to minimize them. "The Muse is ready if you need her." The Muse is more than ready. Leslie, now that he's mostly sane, is a wizard with money. He's made her a lot of wise investments that have made her a lot of money. Money that gets donated through dummy corporations to the Shelter. Because helping people has been her raison d'etre for years. And seeking out clues to the cure is the most important part of what she does now. Niki doesn't move. She might as well be a statue from one of the myths just like Icarus and Daedalus, a Greek goddess caught in a thinker's pose, the light and shadow from the candles playing over smooth skin and curve of muscle. There's no difference in this dream image of Niki than in real life, 2012 bringing a more obvious physical strength to her athletic form. Appearances can be deceiving. Dark-rimmed eyes simply shoot to the mirror, addressing the twins in its reflection. They're her favourite Muse staffers, though she's never said as much. They bring with them a familiarity that's just as comforting as it is disturbing, but she strangely doesn't mind the reminders. "Any time." "Very well, Ms. Sanders," the twins tell her with their warm smiles. "Call us if you need us for any more maintenance." The twins turn together and walk out into the candlelit room, vanishing. Kory, because Niki's known her way longer as Kory than as 'the Muse', arrives from the Shelter fragment of the dream. "Hello, old friend. Another long day. You're going to run yourself into the ground," she chides, equal parts proud of Niki's dedication and worried for her pushing herself so hard on behalf of others. Not everybody is naturally indefatigable. Niki unfurls herself from her drawn-in pose, toes touching the floor, sitting up in a strong pose that lets long hair, black and blonde, hang straight over her shoulders. She has no smile for Kory, not on her red-painted lips, but it's in her eyes. "You know I always get back up off the ground," she replies. "What's new?" "Nothing especial," Kory tells her friend with a shrug. "You know how it is." For Kory? Pretty much same stuff, different day, at a macro level. Standing appointments with certain dreamers. Following leads from one dream to another, chasing the cure, or the formula, so it can be reverse engineered. Watching over those who need to be watched; connecting people separated, or putting together those who can help each other and others. "You received my latest donation all right?" It wasn't straight up money this time, but nonperishables that could be used to feed the hungry mouths she'll undoubtedly encounter. Kory mixes up the methods of donation, the better to avoid patterns someone might try to use against her or Niki. "A-OK. We're going through it like crazy. It's like there's never enough for everyone. You know, we're getting more people in every week? More than even a few months ago. Sometimes I wonder if we're even making a difference." Except Niki knows they're making a difference. It's person to person, she knows that. It's what she does. But on the grand scale, she has to wonder if they're making a dent. "And those freaking dealers…" "I know. But you have to believe we're making a difference, Niki," Kory says, a note of something akin to pleading entering her voice. There's so little hope already. Hearing it waver and falter from her friend is something she does not easily abide. "Every person who comes here is trying to kick it. Every person who kicks it understands how hard a fight it is. I know it seems like a drop in the bucket, but every flood was raindrops once, right?" On cue, soft rain falls somewhere outside the dreamscape. A soothing sound, courtesy of the Muse. "The dealers are being dealt with as well." She has operatives working the streets. Normal citizens by day, and avengers by night. Or rescuers. Or asskickers. Whatever is needed of the street and the sitch and their abilities. "You know how I feel about the dealers." The man she loves is one such, and has been for at least two years. Not just a dealer but a user, a walking advertisement for the product. "We'll find the way. We'll stop them." "I know." Niki tips her head down, rigid features softening as she listens to the distant rain. Somewhere in the solid world she must relax in bed. "It's just like trying to stop a flood sometimes," she says after a needed pause, frustrated. "'Til someone stops the river, our dam is too frigging flimsy." They've been over this a million times. Until the formula, the drug, is wiped out, they're helping the symptom, not the cause. "Hold it," she says suddenly, giving Kory a perceptive eyeing. "Dealt with how?" Kory allows herself a faint smile as Niki relaxes slightly, knowing that her physical body is probably likewise untensing. "We are the little Dutch kids, plugging the hole until help comes. If it's all we can do, it's all we can do." Kory arches a brow and lowers her chin in response to Niki's suspicion. "Cam is working to keep addicts off the streets, and to get between the dealers and the normals. Nothing deadly. I promise." There's no mistaking the sincerity. She would, even three years after their terrible falling out, Kory would still take him back if he were clean and rang her doorbell. Killing dealers could hurt Randall. Kill Randall. She will never condone lethal force. "Cam's one kid. He can only do so much. They're coming around the shelter again. They don't have the right." Niki stands up and moves in front of the vanity, but turns a determined glare over a bare shoulder at Kory rather than facing the mirror. "I don't care if you promise nothing deadly, 'cause I'm not makin' any promises." "Did I ask you to?" is Kory's response. "We all do what we must. No one has made any noise about a raid on your place lately. They'd rather go for the easy pickings, than try to seduce back. Plus — you are a fearsome person. The Alpha female. The Mama Bear. And they know you're connected." Sophie working there. Ian watching the place. Other people with abilities, even Boosted, but on the side of the angels. The Muse shrugs helplessly. "I know you're angry. I can't afford that luxury. Be angry for us both." Fair enough. Niki's definitely got enough anger for two. Sometimes, she feels like she has enough for the whole damn world. She grabs onto the edge of the vanity counter, something solid in a land of dream artifacts. "I just want them to pay." "I know you do," the Muse sighs, conjuring a loveseat out of nothing to perch on. "My concern is helping those hurt by them, rather than hurting them back. My concern is in stopping them from hurting anyone else. For me, revenge is wasted. It will not bring my mother back. Nor my grandmothers. I'd rather build than tear down. "Your decision is yours. It's okay. Between the two of us, what needs doing …gets done." "It's not even the dealers that I'm mad at," Niki admits with that hot anger in her voice. In the waking world, it's not likely that she'd go in-depth; but this is her mind they're in. She's allowed to be a little more open. "I've been in their shoes — at least some of them, the ones who think they have to do whatever it takes to get through another day, not the scum who just… exploit people," she says, her voice low in disgust. "It's the people who let this happen in the first place." Years ago. "I was practically there, I could have— " She shoves the vanity, the trinkets and cosmetics on it rattling in time with her spike in rage. The attempt to calm down cues right away as Niki hangs her head and quiets down. "Some day. Keep telling me it'll all change some day. You're the wise Muse. Maybe I'll believe you." "That's sweet, Niki," Kory says, "But you know me. I'm just a clever girl who reads a lot and doesn't need to sleep." It's practically her catch phrase. "The more people we have working, the likelier it is we can undo this nightmare. And if not — it isn't as though Pinehearst will last long. The Bosoters are going to turn on them, sooner or later, for not keeping production up. Or some imagined reason as someone unstable gets Boosted. We just have to protect people from the inevitable destruction and fallout that will come from that." Or so Kory hopes. She's the hopeful one. Not so wise, but always hopeful. Hope is practically all she has left. "Stupid conspiracy theorists. You ask me, Pinehearst's not even in the drug game. I've heard some things." Niki has connections, Kory definitely got that right. "Rumours. You'd think the government woulda tracked down who's churning this crap out but they keep moving." She turns around, leans against the vanity; her tattoo reflects in the mirror where Jessica's symbol would have been once upon a time. A long time ago. "Anyway." Niki manages to smile ever-so-slightly at Kory. "I'll get more people out on the street hunting the dealers down, too." "Of course they do. We can't be aware of what they're doing. We can't hold them accountable. Not if we're so busy at each other's throats. It's all a stupid game to them, and we're just little pieces on a board. Not people with hearts…and lives…and families." She takes a deep breath, but smiles as Niki does. "Excellent, Niki. And I'll keep people coming to you. And the donations." Niki gives a barely there nod to Kory; the acknowledgement is more in her world-worn blue eyes. Sensing the dream is near its end — the surroundings distort and shimmer for an instant as some real world sound interjects, a shout, footsteps, nothing out of the ordinary — Niki steps away from the mirror. "Thanks." "Anytime. Always." Part of the Muse's job is to inspire. And sometimes, the best inspiration is only support. She gathers her tall, muscular friend into a warm embrace, and changes the dream into something simpler, something peaceful. For a time, Niki can rest and ignore there's a dark, horrifying world outside where she only makes a tiny difference when she'd rather make an immense one. After this dream, her sleep will be as restful as possible before she must open her eyes and face a bleak reality once more. |
Lying in his bed, seventeen-year-old Cam closes his eyes, concentrating as he's practiced so many times. Running the thoughts threw his head so he can enter a lucid dream as soon as he falls back asleep. Sure enough, it works, and in his dream, a snowy landscape like Antartica, he calls out, "Kory! Um.. I mean, Muse?"
The Muse is awake. Is she ever asleep anymore? There's no telling. She shimmers, corruscates, and finally appears, wound in furs, because Cam's dreamscape isn't particularly hospitable to anyone but him. "I am here. Good morning." She inclines her head to him, and although she's wrapped up behind scarves, she somehow manages to convey the sense that she's smiling affectionately at him. "Are you well?"
Cam smiles back and says, "Hey. You really need all that even in a dream?" Then he shrugs and says, "Yeah, I'm fine. Found a junkie almost ready to blow a building down last night. I managed to calm him down, gave him ice walls to blow apart until he got control, then got them to Niki's clinic. Anything you need me to do today?"
"You dream vividly," The muse says, but in deference to his remark, she shimmers again and a little ice station appears with her standing in the window, in her regular flowing white Grecian-styled gown. He can still hear her, though, as if she were still standing outside. "Well done, as always. You have likely saved a number of lives doing that." Her eyes glow with pride. "Yes. I've got word there's to be an attempt to rescue your old teacher from where he's being held. Interested?"
Cam smiles at the praise, though a little weakly. He's a bit tired, it seems. But he seems to perk right up again at the talk of rescuing a teacher, though he pauses. "What teacher needs rescuing?" Then he blinks, "You mean, Mr. Jones?" Yep, even after all these years, it's still 'Mr. Jones'. Of course, he's still in high school, referring to teachers by their given name would seem weird.
Kory notices Cam's fatigue; but her ability does not extend to much more than helping people dreaam, or occasionally gifting them with a version of her own insomnia. "Indeed, from our old stomping grounds," she tells him, shrugging. "He's being forced to teach kids your age to read. When they're not being turned into violent stormtroopers. He's all but given up on everything except what little he can teach them. He does not wish me to intervene beyond what I can do to ease their nightmares. But if he is taken…" she trails off, allowing the possibilities to drift through Cam's mind.
Cam nods quickly to that and says, "Yeah, I'm in. Just let me know when and where." The teen grins and says, "Well, he's not my teacher anymore. So, going to help rescue him whether he wants me to or not."
"He'll fight you," the Muse tells Cam, with a quirked smile. "But you won't be alone. You remember our other dear friend from the Lair. The one with the rather shocking habits? I'm hoping he'll join you. And you remember your teacher's dear friend? The one I called Crumpet Lass? She is assuredly joining you, though I understand she looks very little as we remember her." Kory touches the dream window and an image of a woman who looks very asian, with straight hair, green eyes, and a scar on her face, appears. If Cam studies the image for a bit, the woman will look familiar to him as someone he knew well before everything went to hell.
Cam looks at the image a few moments, stepping up to it, and then he blinks, "Joule? Wow, she has changed." He nods, "'Course. That sounds good. Where and when do I meet up with them? Or should I check back with you a bit later? Do I have time for some proper sleep first?"
"Some of it is disguise, of a purpose, I think," The Muse tells Cam. "She does not even go by that name anymore. She answers to Jade now. My understanding was she escaped from Pinehearst, or someone like them, and now means to take back what was taken from her." Clearly Kory approves. "You have time for sleeping, dear Iceman," she tells Cam. "Lee's students will need to be drugged or distracted, the better to make your way easier. And I still have to get in touch with Ian, if he's of a mind to help."
Cam grins, "Ice Knight. Fits better with my armour. Still need to figure out how to do joints properly, if it's even possible." Then he nods again and says, "Thanks. I'll check back when I wake up, then."
"Ice Knight, then." The Muse beams at Cam. He's been thinking smart. Armoring up. "You will work something out. I'll have Leslie leave you a message on that phone I gave you if you still have it. Just a time and a place." Leslie? Yes, that Leslie. Word amongst the resistance is that Leslie's a special too. With Sophie's help, his sanity was rebuilt. He's stayed clean of the Boost, and works for Kory as Alfred to her Bruce Wayne. He's still a bit skittish and weird, but no longer a demented threat, except perhaps where Randall would be concerned.
There's a flash of distaste on Cam's face at the mention of Leslie. But, it's just a moment and then he nods again and says, "I still got it, yep. Thanks. I'll talk to you later?"
"If not me, Ian. Sleep well, Ice Knight." She steps free of the Ice Station, and it turns transparent and vanishes. She braves the frozen tundra of Cam's dreamscape to press a kiss to his forehead. Her lips come away blue, but she does not stop smiling until she vanishes. His dreams, thanks to her, will be untroubled and peaceful, the better to allow him to rest as long as he can.
The Muse has an hour free. So that hour is spent in Bed-Stuy, easing the dreams of a teacher who is still braving the war zone that is Brooklyn so he can be alert and rested for his day. She smiles, knowing Lee will protest and resist her plans, both of them, but that he'll also be caught off guard by the one she's built with Cam and the woman called Jade. A shower. A bite of breakfast — if she doesn't eat, Leslie worries — and then she settles into a comfortable spot to visit the dreams of an old friend.
The Shelter
Sophie visits regularly, in person, and, well, in other ways. Indeed, each morning, she makes a point, and has an appointment with 'the Muse' in that period right before she has to face the day, in her own dreams.
Sophie is one of a scant few people allowed into the Muse's sanctum, these days. Leslie is her bridge to the outside world, and it's because they both owe much to Sophie that she is allowed inside. But this morning, as most mornings, Kory steps into Sophie's dreams, in her true face, rather than one of the facades she uses with most of her 'clients' and 'patients'. "Good morning, Sophie. Sleeping well? Anything you need me to know about — work on, for you?" She's floating gently as Sophie's dreamscape resolves around her. By now, Sophie probably can pick the setting since this happens so often; Kory just waits to see what her friend selects for their meetin this time.
Sophie knows that Kory, as the song goes, doesn't get around much anymore. So, able to lucid dream, she chooses something outdoors. A starkly beautiful desert vista from her time at the Sonoran desert. Red sand, bright blue sky, golden sand and the splashes of surprisingly bright low growing flowers and cacti. She is seated on a rock brushed smooth from ages of sand and wind, wearing a white pantsuit, long turquiose scarf over her dark hair, but no sunglasses. "Well, good morning." with a smile. It is always good to see her, "Let's see, the shelter is booming, I'm afraid to say." she sighs. "But we got a visit.. from an old friend. I'm afraid.." she sighs, smile fading, "Time, or the times, haven't been kind to her."
Kory takes a moment to rotate in a lazy 360, smiling approvingly at her friend's show of generosity. She inclines her head and drops into a Lotus position, floating evenly across from Sophie. "Has there been any news on something that will wean them off it?" She lets the question sit, frowning as Sophie speaks of an old friend. "Did we, now?" Her calm demeanor is nothing unusual, but under the placid surface, someone like Sophie, an old friend, would know that she hopes it's one old friend in particular.
Sophie shakes her head. "So far, only time and a great deal of suffering." she sighs. "I really wish we could make some form of 'methadone' for this plague." she sighs, then she pauses, taking a breath, continuing on, "From the comic shop. Ke'Lyssa. You remember her? No, no.. " forstalling that worry, at least, "She's not a new admission. Worse.. she's dealing it. I think she's worried that my business cuts into /her/ business." eyes grow grim, "Like there's any lack of customers for her."
"I'm sorry to hear there's no progress on that front," the Muse says solemnly. And then the sky darkens for a moment as Sophie shares that bad news. "What?" It's only a whisper, but it seems to take the temperature in the desert down to arctic levels. "Dealing? Betraying her own kind? Enslaving innocents?" Kory deresolves like a bad hologram, so angered is she by this development. But she masters the emotion. The sky clears. The sun returns. She returns to being a sharp image. "I'll have Leslie see if he can't assist her so that's not a concern for her. Anything else?" The Muse never lingers long. So much, too much, to do. She's not impatient with her friend, but she also doesn't generally dawdle with so much on her plate.
Sophie shivers a monent, but only from the cold, not fear. She nods, "She claimed to have no choice. If we can remove that reason from her.." she says, "I know, its only one of an army, but I still would like to know someone I know won't be doing that." she sighs. "Hmm.. Leslie is still doing well, if you can't see that during your visits." she smiles. "Strong, still, and we introduce his old memories slowly, prepared to remove them if he can't handle them yet. He processes, with the new experiences he's had, so he doesn't generalize from them."
"I see how much better he's doing, yes, thank you. I'm sure without you, his progress would not have been this quick. His lawyer was astonished when I told him that his therapy had given him such progress that I wanted him to work for me. He's been handling my household, and my finances." Which explains how Kory needs not step outside the lavish apartment, and why she hasn't since the day after Randall left her. "We'll see about helping KeLyssa as well." She begins to lose solidity, becoming translucent as an indicator she's about to move on to her next 'client' or 'patient'. "And you're all right? Sleeping enough, eating well, fighting the good fight?"
Sophie smiles, maybe a touch wearily. "I am doing alright. I know I can't help them if I'm collapsed in a corner somewhere. So I try to take care of myself."
"I know. But I also know how generous your heart is, dear friend." Kory, barely visible now, wraps her friend in an embrace. "You can contact Leslie by phone if you need anything urgently. I'll see you have it." And then she fades to a single starpoint that twinkles in Sophie's sight before the motion of the sun across the sky swallows it up; the Muse has moved on.
Kory texts Leslie's PDA to advise him that Sophie says hello, and to work on finding a financial strategy to help KeLyssa so that she need not deal Boost. She pads barefoot to the refrigerator, helps herself to a bottled beverage, then settles in her window seat, mind already seeking her next client as she drinks…
6:00 am
A meadow of flowers. The sun is high in the sky and the wind blows through the plants, bringing the sweet scent of them to the woman standing amongst all the flowers. She wears a long white dress, barefoot.
Her long brown hair blows in the wind and her light brown eyes look up towards the sky. It's the Seer, waiting for the woman she is meeting here in this beautiful place in her dreams. Her eyes close and Kitty breathes in deep the smell of the flowers, her shoulder relax and her head dips towards her chest. "Ahhh, very nice." The voice of the Muse is audible even before she turns up. She knows this dream well. Like Sophie, Kitty always picks beautiful places to dream for the reclusive homebody Muse. "Good morning, Seer," she greets the other woman with mild amusement. The Muse and the Seer. Together again. "Mornin' Muse." She replies with a soft smile, the women have grown close over the years. "Charlie hadn't been sleeping very well, just put her to bed not to long ago." The Seer looks at the Muse, there's something in her eyes.. something sad in a sense. "How are things?" the woman tilts her head and runs a hand through her hair, regarding the other woman with a questioning look. "No? Why didn't you call?" Kory sounds almost offended that her friend hasn't called on her for this. She does still answer the phone. Kory finishes materializing, plants her feet, and tilts her head, eyes going distant. "Oh. Poor love, she's dreaming of all the bright lights from when she was born. No wonder she's fussy." She tilts her head the other way, and smiles. "There. Kisses from Mummy and Daddy, for the next few hours." "Things for me? They are what they are. Every day is a little different than the last. Yet also the same." She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "I do what I do, because I must. And because there is no one else who can do it like I can." "I didn't want to bother you." Though she knows that is a stupid reason. Kitty grins at Kory in thanks for the sweet dreams for Charlie. Then her expression turns somber. "Visions.. a few of them have struck me." The mother looks at one of the flowers, a red one and plays with it petals. "We have things to talk about." "To make sure an innocent child, born in love, with two wonderful parents who adore her, sleeps well is no bother. Never a bother. Please, don't hesitate to call, IM, text, whatever, if you need Charlie to sleep well. Her dreams are the simplest joy." Kory's expression is quite serious. And it grows more somber still as Kitty speaks of visions. "Of course, Seer. What do you have for me?" The Muse straightens as the subject turns from simple joy to serious business. "There are things.. for example.. rescuing Lee soon. I'm going to be offering my services to save him from where he is." Kitty takes a deep breath. "Be careful when you slip into a dream.. there will be a time soon when you won't mean to do it." "And.. Kor." The use of the nickname that Kitty uses for the Muse makes her close her eyes briefly. "Unless something is done.. you won't survive long. You die." Kitty speaks of her visions, and Kory, knowing their accuraccy, listens. "Slip?" she repeats. "I've been doing this over half my life To the second warning, Kory simply arches a brow. "Hm. Well, there are provisions in place for that. All my data has been set up to send to certain trusted operatives and then self destruct if I don't check in periodically." She seems to take that warning with a sort of stoic calmness. "I'd rather not, don't get me wrong. But despite my good work — I haven't much of a life. I envy you yours." "Keep your heart guarded too.. will ya? Someone is going to try and hurt you again." Kit warns and then sighs. "You envy the life of a woman who is married to a man who is too busy saving the world that he can't save his marriage and family?" She shakes her head. "No, if there is a way to prevent you dying.. then it will be prevented. By me." "My heart?" Kory laughs, but it's a hollow sound, with no humor. It has a slightly ragged edge, before she swallows it. "My heart's been broken a long time now. Nothing left to guard." She tugs low the neckline of her Grecian gown. There's a visible fissure that starts between her breasts and vanishes beneath the material. "Kitty," Kory says gently. "Hiro wants to save the world because he wants a world his daughter can grow up in and live happily. That is the same thing you want, isn't it?" She tilts her head, surprised that her friend doesn't see it that way. "Dreams die, and people stop believing," Kory says of her own death, expression calm, tone philosophical. "If it is my time, it's my time. There are other dreamwalkers out there. I have one chosen as successor. You have a husband and child to tend to." "I understand perfectly the need to want to have a better world for your daughter but.. it's hard." Kitty looks off to the side. "It's like he wants to relive the glory days sometimes." The woman looks down to the scar on Kory's chest. "Yes.. just remember what I said." She warns again and shakes her head. "Who will dream walk like you?" Kitty tilts her head, this is the first Kory has ever told her of this. "Do I know them?" "He wants you to be proud of him," Kory elaborates to Kitty. "He feels every failure ten times harder than every success. And this world makes him feel failure more often than not," she explains. "He does not mean to be neglectful. He is only trying to make things better for you, for Charlie, for all of us — in the only way he believes he can." Kory shakes her head. "My successor will remain a secret until the time comes for the new Muse to step up and take my place. And of course you don't know them. They're a member of the network I use when I visit dreamers further than I can reach alone." Which Kitty has heard of before. Mention of the scar over her heart, Kory ignores. The pain it causes her has been a constant for years, now. She barely even notices it anymore. The other woman merely nods, "I'll have to think on Hiro and I's relationship more later." Kit sighs and looks across the meadow. "When is the rescuing of Lee taking place?" On to other topics, though the topics don't get any lighter, just darker and darker. It reflects what the world today has become. "When everyone involved can get away," Kory says with a shrug, manifesting a porch swing and settling easily into it. "It doesn't "I'll be all too careful." Kitty agrees and settles into the swing next to the woman. "My visions, they've gotten darker and darker. But I know though things look bleak as of now, soon.. very soon the path will change and our trip of darkness will lead to light." Kit smiles at Kory and lays her hand on the side of the armrest. "It's been a hard few years girl." "It isn't just you," Kory tells Kitty, though it's not a reassuring tone because it's not reassuring news. "Peter, he's stopped sleeping. I can't visit him if he isn't dreaming." And she tries. Every night. But finds no sleeping mind to touch. Peter is distant. He's one of her "Your Sight is always accurate, my Seer. May it be accurate now. That this darkness heralds a dawn." She reaches to wrap an arm around her friend's shoulder. "You're understating. It's been a hellish few years." "I hope it does as well." She says and lays her head on Kory's shoulder, "Too much depends on this.. the turning of tides is coming soon." When Peter is mentioned. "I haven't heard from Peter either.. he has been distancing himself. I'll probably go visit him soon, he hasn't seen Charlie in awhile." "No one's seen him," Kory murmurs. She would know. She's in so many heads. So many minds. So many dreams. Collecting information people don't even realize they're giving. "He's dropped off the grid for the moment. He'll surface again when he's ready." Kory hasn't seen Charlie at all except in vidwindows. Even her friends and neighbors in the building jokingly nicknamed Evolved Arms can't get her to step outside her door. "I look forward to this ending, Kitty. One way or the other. But I am tired of this existence. It isn't a life." "That's why I wish you would just come out. Your death is approaching, come to visit me. Get out, live a little bit before it's over." Kitty urges her friend. "You're right, this is not life. This is prison, or hell whichever you prefer." "No," Kory says. "You know I can't." They've gone over and over it. There are too many powers out there, now. Boosters and Evolved alike. "Someone with telescopic vision. Someone with enhanced hearing. Or clairvoyance. Someone with pheromonic sensing, or spatial awareness." The comic book geekiness has served her well. "I'd put a crosshair on your home if I stepped foot into it. I will not endanger my friends and loved ones for a moment of 'living a little'." She shakes her head, and rises. As usual, she's about to depart, backing away from any attempt to draw her out into the world once again. "Fine. Ok." Kitty says in response and stands as well. "I'll talk to you soon, it was good seeing you." She says and goes to hug the other woman tight. "Be safe." Though there is not much danger a person can get into if they just physically stay inside. Kory strokes Kitty's hair, and her face, in a gesture of affection. "That you keep trying means much to me, Kitty. I do appreciate it." She returns the hug at length, and then vanishes, leaving Kitty holding a Kory shaped bundle of apple and cherry blossoms, which an errant breeze picks up and swirls away from her. |
1:00 pm
Randall's Apartment
The business of distributing the Boost drug has been rough lately - highly profitable, still, but definitely rough. Some have bailed in recent months, deciding that the risk now outweighs the reward; others stay in, heedless of risk, or in Randall's case simply convinced that it really is a good thing for his work to continue. This past week, he and some of his associates have gone to the mattresses against a nascent vigilante group; relieved of his watch shift, he tosses his favorite jacket across the back of a couch and flops down across it.
The woman who is known mostly to the world now as The Muse hasn't been seen in public since …well, the last time she was seen in public. With the addict whose existence is fraught with risk, reward, and fatigue, which eventually puts him in her realm.
She knows of the Vigilante group, but she didn't send them. Neither did she warn Randall. She's tried to leave well enough alone until she has a reason.
She doesn't have one now. Maybe it's because Leslie is out running his errands and she's forgotten to eat. Low blood sugar making her distracted and unfocused. More likely, it's some subconscious niggling thing in the back of her head drawing her into Randall's dreamscape…
March first.
Kory is always invisible on a dreamscape these days, because there's always the danger of a trap waiting for her in someone's head. And even now, she hasn't realized she's ended up someplace other than she consciously intended. One of the doctors she intended to speak to will sleep with ordinary dreams — or nightmares — without her.
The past few years have imposed more focus on Randall's thoughts, even as the effects of the drug have subtly warped them in new directions. His dreamscape is a stylized but recognizable representation of the entirety of New York City, fuzzing into white noise only a few miles past the borders. Hovering above it, Randall - fully dressed once again - gestures at a whiteboard covered with barely-legible figures, adding a line and then crossing it out in annoyance. Below, the people of the city ebb and flow, seemingly in time with the writing.
Much of the symbology has to do with the day-to-day activity of the present, but there's one line he hasn't told anyone else about. He will, someday - to those he trusts the most - but he has to work it out himself first.
Someone may be working on a cure. On a way to make artificial powers work without the drug. He has no objection to the idea - his present course is contingent on its absence - but he has to be ready to shift gears immediately if that ever changes.
…the connection between them has not been completely obliterated. That's what drew her, Kory realizes, still silent, still invisible, as she watches Randall scribble on the whiteboard. He's thinking of the cure. She's spent years attuning her mind to reach for hopeful threads, thoughts and dreams of the cure, that she responded to it on conditioned reflex. Rationalization? Maybe. But it's less painful than admitting the truth.
"You forgot to carry the one," she offers, voice a distorted whisper buffeted by the high winds atop the skyscrapers over which he stands.
Randall only knows of two people who can do that, and that isn't Peter's voice he just heard. Which leaves—
"That's a diacritic mark," he replies, turning to face the place where he heard Kory, even if he still can't see her. "And since when did you start caring again?"
"I'm a very busy man," he continues, turning back to face the board. Lending truth to his words, he abandons the more complex gestures in favor of a quick series of simpler ones, little changes coming and going all over the thing at once.
In Queens, a traffic light turns green in both directions at once. In the Bronx, a warehouse starts to smoke, only to be snuffed out again as the sprinkler system kicks in.
There are more than two now, some thanks to Boost, some Evolving on their own. But it stands to reason that he wouldn't keep tabs on anyone who could do that. "Since when did I ever stop?" she asks, remaining invisible. "And yes. Busy trying to share your pain with others under the guise of showing them the pleasure that comes with a gift that keeps on taking."
Randall does not turn around again. "I'm well aware of your opinions on the subject," he mutters under his breath. Some of Lee's snarkiness may have rubbed off on him at some point. "Regardless, I don't spend my every waking moment seeking out new customers. I hardly need to."
Some of those who work for him, not content to rest on their laurels, are doing just that. It really does make a small enough difference, though, that he has yet to assemble the scant few blips into a pattern.
She isn't really behind him, anyway. The Muse can be anywhere — everywhere — on a dreamscape. And when she resolves, she's sitting crosslegged like Tinkerbell on the top of his whiteboard. Tiny, too, since he's the giant in this dreamscape. "I suppose you don't," she muses, looking up at his curls rather than into his eyes. "Turning friends into dealers, though. I never would've thought it of you. " Another common thread between them, damn it all. And almost unbidden, her power changes the dreamscape below. New York is now above and around them, and they're by a chilled pond, with ducks, in Central Park.
She pauses, catching her breath, and steps out on that limb. "I didn't just show up. You called me," she tells him, glancing up at his whiteboard.
Did he? She presumably means KeLyssa, but whatever set her on that path was long enough ago that he's no longer certain about it. In any case, he passes over that topic in favor of the other. "Called you?" he asks, incredulously— except his tone of voice changes not a bit, and the movement of his hands ceases only after he realizes that the ducks aren't responding. He really should have anticipated that her ability would be that thorough by now.
"Yes." She's still looking up at him, having left him towering over the 'scape. "For two years and some, this is what I do. All day. Every day." She shrugs, stepping out to the water, which obligingly ices beneath her feet. "I inspire people. I get people who are strong in front of people who are weak. And above all…" She turns back to gaze up at him again with too-bright eyes. "…anyone looking for the cure. A few people have almost got it, I think." She's always been a reader; a clever girl. But she's no chemist and she knows it. But she lifts a hand, and the cloudbank overhead fills with symbols she's learned and memorized. Bits and bobs of formulae, or counter-formulae, perhaps. "Some are blind alleys. But when it's not, I have to be there." To link Sophie's mind so the cure isn't lost when the inevitable occurs.
Randall is no chemist either, but it's obvious enough from context what these new symbols are trying to get at. "Suit yourself. I won't stop you." He's not helping, either - it doesn't seem the sort of thing that will be helped by throwing more money at it than already has been. "In fact, if you do still care, then drop me a line when it happens, would you?"
As he reflects on their separation, another image forms within his thoughts - a mere translucent outline, as her mind is not actually present - but still recognizable as that of the young singer. The one who (for good or ill) accepted and even embraced him after he set out on his present path, something that Kory refused to do.
Portia's image is like a brutal slap in the face, but Kory clenches her teeth on the reflexive response, because it would do more harm than good, even if the reformed Leslie has cared for her with unwavering, platonic devotion.
"That was always the plan, Randall," she says quietly, as the dreamscape shifts enough to allow their heights to equalize to their real-life analogues.
"I'm surprised at you. That you would believe I'd give up. Even if …" no, she can't put voice to that, even in a dream. "…The world is only one people are alive in. Not one worth living in. How could I do anything but focus my ability toward helping, finding the cure?" She cared enough to try to save Sylar once…that Randall doubted she still cared enough to help him is a conundrum she doesn't try to unravel. "You made your choice. I made mine…and hopefully mine will help undo the consequences of yours. And for what it's worth? I've missed you." She says it simply, with no expectations. "Think about the cure again, and you'll draw me here again." She whistles, and a dream-image of Ares the poodle gallops, the size of a horse, out of the trees. She steps up onto nothing and onto his back, side-saddle. "Be well."
To that, Randall has nothing to say. His change of heart could have been more drastic - there are several facts of brutality that he's never approached, though the occasional withdrawal pain may have driven him to at least think real hard about some of them - but there's still a wide gap between his feelings and hers.
Taking her at her word, he turns his thoughts back to the world as it is today, letting them flow in that direction in his still-unconscious state. He'll have to save future contingency planning for his waking hours.
If he can. The subconscious goes for what it will, when it will. Kory rides the horse-sized poodle out of the park, and her departure is obvious. The dreamscape returns to Randall's original configuration and the pressure of her presence dissipates from his mind.
A devastated Muse, head full of recriminations for things said and things left unsaid, stumbles from the spot where she'd let her mind wander in the winter sunlight. Bare feet smack against the parquet floor. Fist balled against her mouth to muffle a sob, she smacks a palm against the stereo, turning it up loudly. She huddles in a ball in her shower, sobbing under the hot water until it runs out. She can't even allow herself the luxury of going to pieces. Too many people need her, or she'd just ask Leslie if he still remembers the recipe for that tea…
2:00 pm
No knock on the door, no call ahead, no sound of warning, just a sudden shift. A solidification of someone in this section of time and space. It could be one of two people. Dressed in dark clothes, it could still be those two people, but the scar slashing across a distinct face marks the guest as Peter Petrelli. There are so many ways he could have entered the room, but he chose that one, this time. "Kory?" he calls out, using her real name in a raspy voice as opposed to the title that he sometimes has given her.
It's the title the world knows her by now, too. The name people murmur in their dreams. The name attached to the woman people pray to see when their eyes closed. But to Peter — she has always been Kory first, Muse second. "Just a minute, Peter," she calls, her own voice a bit hoarse.
She steps out of the room he knows to be her bedchamber, dripping wet, and wrapping herself in a thick robe of the sort they provide in four star hotels. She's trembling — or is that shivering? Her feet leave wet footprints on the floor as she pads toward him. "Welcome back. Are you hungry?" Something isn't right; she's normally so glad to see him, anytime he shows, that it's like old times. Her smile brings back the innocence of her twenty five year old face. And she reaches to embrace him. Now, though, she's huddling inside her robe like the little girl lost he sometimes sees when her own mask slips.
One of the few people still glad to see him, too. Peter's changed a lot in recent years, growing more and more distant. So much happened to him since he got locked away into Level Five that she's one of the few people he can let his own mask slide around. With her mask up, though, he doesn't smile, or look more open. For a time, it's like visiting just about anyone else, instead of one of his closest friends. There's a shake of his head. "No, I'm not hungry." Simple response to a question that seems out of place in this situation, perhaps because there's some kind of distance not usually there between them.
Recognizing that distance, he tilts his head upwards. "What's wrong?"
Kory lifts her chin and through the lost expression, her eyes light, and a faint smile returns to her lips. "I just lost track of what date it was. Let the keywording I've been using to track the cure pull me someplace I didn't need to go. I'm fine." She's not fine, but she's putting an honest effort toward it, because there's too much going on. Too much at stake. Too much she still has to do. "Well. I'm working on it." And now she does offer him an embrace. Because they both need one. It's a cold and broken world they live in.
"Sometimes it's difficult to control your ability, even for you," Peter says quietly, though the worry hasn't faded as much as he might like. The hug lets some of it slip away, moving towards something quieter and more friendly as his arms go up and touch her damp hair. The tension can still be felt from him, though, all tightness and frustration at the world they live in. Between the two of them, they still haven't found any sign of his persumed dead girlfriend, for one. And he's got more than dreamwalking that's unable to make contact, too. Presumed dead is about the only thing he has… To the point he's pretty much accepted it as the reality. "I just stopped in to see how you were. It's been a while since I could visit." And on some occassions, like this one, he doesn't have a job to ask of her.
"It shouldn't be," Kory says, though she holds a tone of regret in her voice. "I have so much to do. Too many people to look after. Too much research —" she flails a hand out at the bookshelves. One is nothing but medical books. Neuroscience, chemistry, biology. When the Muse doesn't sleep, she reads.
"I'm glad to see you. I'm always glad to see you. And I'm glad you've found the time to catch your breath." For the moment, it's just the two of them. Leslie's off doing as his mistress bids. Shopping. Managing money. Leaving clues and messages for people on her behalf. She reaches up and gently massages his neck. By her silence, he knows she has no news of Elena. And by his, she realizes he has nothing to ask of her. They're just two friends, catching their breath.
"I know you're working hard," Peter says quietly, watching her for a long moment as he takes a step away from her. Grateful for the physical contact, he has to lower his hands to pick something out of his pocket. With his unwillingness to dream anymore, there's few times she sees what he's really up to, but for the moment it would seem like he's finally ready to tell her. Things have been strained since March, especially. The worst of his masks came up around then. And the source of those masks would be a pocket watch that he pulls out. "I've been building this," he suddenly says. "I need to do some more research myself, but if my plan works… I think I have another way to stop this from happening. All of it."
Kory looks back, unflinchingly. The worry is a circle that spins perpetually; he for her, she for him. She knows he doesn't sleep. Anytime she reaches for his dream, she gets consciousness. She knows that's not healthy — not even for Peter. It is some relief to know that he's trying to trust. And with some tentative hope she listens to him. "…a …pocket watch? As if in the movie…?" She frowns at it. "A time machine?" That makes no sense to her. Hiro can do it without a watch.
On the surface, it does look like a normal pocket watch. Until Peter turns it so that it opens up. The inside is far more complex than any watch has a reason to be, with multiple symbols instead of numbers, and multiple dials in various places. "I'm setting the dials to track known events in time. Shifting one hand, shifts all of them, and changes everything. Time is delicate and everything I do has the potential to change everything else— and doing something completely wrong could destroy all the dials." In a way, it's a symbol more than an actual necessity. A warning more than a guide. "I don't know when everything went wrong, or where, but this is helping me figure out when I need to go to. The best time to nudge events in the right direction…" And it's using a power that's far more dangerous than he'd probably like to admit.
"You're going to try being the Butterfly of Doom," Kory realizes, wide eyed. "I'd …" she pauses, tries to collect her thoughts, then continues. "I'd say 'no, don't, stop'…because we don't know what this could do." Her smile is wry. "But how much worse than where we stand now can things get? Just be careful," she asks, with the tone of a command. "And seek me out if you can. You know I'll help any way I can." If he even ends up in the right past. If he doesn't get lost in some kind of chronal tempest. If. If. If.
"You wouldn't be the first one to tell me not to do it," Peter admits softly, letting the watch click closed before he drops it back into his pocket. Intricate beyond belief, he's spent almost the whole year building it, even before he sought out the one thing that would make him understand how it worked even more. It had come at a price, that, but some prices are worth paying. "I will seek you out. But I'll probably need to observe for a while first, figure out what movement will fix things without making the clock stop." Or the gears go off track. Fix things without destroying them at the same time. "I would ask you not tell anyone what I'm planning to do— We can keep trying to save this world, but every time I paint… Things aren't going to get better. If I'm right— if the paintings are right… we may not have a world to save in a year."
Kory gasps as Peter speaks of the dire truth. "It's going to escalate," she figures, just from what he's said. "Pinehearst is going to try something drastic, aren't they, to wipe out all the Boosters. And any Evolved caught in the crossfire. And if they don't try it, one of the other countries, knowing we're barely containing the chaos, will do it instead, right?" When the Muse doesn't sleep, the muse reads. Human nature is very predictable in certain circumstances. "Or the wrong kind of power will turn up when someone takes Boost and set off a chain reaction." She reaches up and drags wet curls out of her face. "Hmmmm," she murmurs, pretending to think it over. "Tell you to go back to the past to try and fix it or wait to see the flash and know everyone left in the world I love and care about will die because of other people's powertripping?!
"Let me think — of course, go back, Peter. It's worth a try, at least."
"I don't know exactly how it happens, or what causes it," Peter admits, looking away from her for a moment, though at the same time seeming grateful that she's understanding the situation, even if it's a lot more hopeless than they might want it to be. If he'd allow himself to dream, he might be able to get more clues, but the dreams he had before he stopped sleeping weren't anything he wants to get again. There's reasons for it. "But I do have an idea when it starts— when it will be too late. I'll keep trying to fix this until that happens, but then I'm going back and changing all of this." And what happens to them, then? That's something he's not really willing to think about right now. "Before I go, do you need anything?"
Kory reaches up and takes Peter's chin in her hands. I need you to succeed, she thinks, knowing if he wants to he can hear her. "Do what you need to. I will hold it all together here." With Cam. And Ian. And anyone else who wants the world to survive. If they can. Once, a lifetime ago, she begged him not to abandon her for his mission. Peter made her a promise to return to her when he could. And he has kept that promise as best he can.
Now Kory knows that she may have to consider this a release from his promise — anything could happen as he steps into the sands of time to try to erase the world they exist in now. Whether he intends to return or not, he may not be able to come back. Inside, that little girl lost that no one gets to see but Peter tries to be brave with tear-filled eyes. This may be goodbye. Forever. So the question remains…
"Do I need anything?" She nods, and steps close. His woman is dead; her man the next best thing to it. And tomorrow, they may not exist.
So the Muse sees no harm in giving Peter a kiss goodbye. A real one, full of loss and longing, brimming over with what might have been, and what may never need to be should he succeed.
"For luck," she says, smiling that just-between-us smile they've shared for years. Losing this existence is no loss as far as she's concerned, and if she must carry a memory into oblivion, she prefers this brief, tender, hopeful moment between them.
The hugs, the kisses on the cheek. All of these have been politely taken as friendship, in the past because one or the other had been taken. Even now, technically, Peter's in a kind of relationship, even strained. The fact that part of him still longs to save the woman he lost makes things difficult, though he's just about given up on it. Maybe soon, if he hadn't given up on this time entirely, he could have fully moved on and found the love he thinks he might have. But the kiss, the real kiss, couldn't have had worse— or better? — timing.
There's too much surprise for him to fully return it except for a few moments, and she's already parting, giving that smile. He never did tell her how much she reminded him of a woman he lost even before he met the most recent woman he's lost.
The surprise may well have shattered the mask, an unsteady breath as he starts to move away again. "I…" Luck. A small moment between them… "Kory…" he hesitates a moment, and then is moving closer, touching her face. The kiss is returned, in much the same way, though a little more forceful…
And then, without the usual transition, she'll feel a breath exhaled against her lips, and suddenly he's not there anymore. The pressure only lingering as a memory. Maybe one moment wasn't enough, but two had been too much.
Kory can only stand there, still as a statue, for a long moment, as the enormity of what her dear friend has undertaken settles into the recesses of her mind…as well as the enormity of what just transpired between them emotionally. "Good luck. May we all wake tomorrow into a world worth living in," she whispers with the air of a fervent prayer. Back to work, then, the better to push matters of the heart out of her thoughts.
3pm in the afternoon. Micah eyes the clock and then glances back to his laptop. The device is still scanning blocks of data that were previously provided to him. Dealer information. But it's heavily encoded and he's having to spend substantial time breaking the code. In the corner of the screen, a small picture of an eclipsed sun sits, rotating every now and then. A communications program of Micah's own design and connnected to Micah's own network built from controlled systems he has overtaken.
The Muse has spent a good part of the afternoon checking in on the afternoon nappers. Police, overworked and exhausted, spending their lunchbreaks asleep. Easy dreams for them. Boost junkies in withdrawal; their dreams are guided and plucked for any information about the drug, particularly through the users who still have their intelligence and science knowledge. Randall's people, nightmares. Always nightmares. Every day. Every night. To make them weak. To make them slip. But the Seer swung through the dreamscape this morning and warned the Muse she's about to fall from the mountaintop. To her death. And that means she has to visit a friend in the waking, without using her abilities. Deft fingers hit the keyboard of her laptop. It too is firewalled to a fare-thee-well, and the communication she opens bounces through a few secure network hoop jumps, just in case, before she makes her connection to the secure Micah.net and opens a chat window to him. Muse: Hermes, how goes? A codename, an inside joke. The God of Communication. "I wonder if they'll come out with new X-Men…" Micah ponders, as he starts to move towards his bed with a comic. But then….*chime*…it's the sound he's got set up to notify him of a connection to Micah.net. Oh yes, he monitors every access port for possible intrustion. However, this connection comes through an authorized access method. And when the chat window comes up, he's already back at the machine. Hermes: Muse. Good to see you again. It is going. Lots of encoding on the last stuff you sent me. How goes with you? Once certain the connection is secure by the response, Kory pops open the webcam window so he can have a look at her and genuinely see her. She looks as she always does, fatigued if not tired, hair way too grey for a woman of her years, expression politely blank. Though for Micah, a smile warms her face briefly. Muse: Of course. They know we're trying to undo this nightmare in waking. I'm no hacker or I'd help more. As for me? It goes. The days and nights are pretty much the same. Friday has suggested the following tweaks for your investment portfolio. Sending. Kory insisted on helping Micah fund his activities because state of the art computer equipment and the power to run it can't be cheap. And the financial acumen of her assistant has been invaluable over the years. Micah's own webcam pops online, and his own smile matches Kory's. However, it's clear that he's not gotten much sleep in the past few days. A fact he was hoping to hide if she didn't go visual. Hermes: It's ok. I enjoy the challenge. I'll review the tweaks later today. Right now I'm running some rather intense decoding algorithms on the dealer data. One of my other contacts has a team waiting to raid the dealers as soon as I have the information broken. Kory looks worriedly at Micah's face. He's so young and he's so tired. It's not a concern for her. She doesn't need sleep, and hasn't in years. But him. She doesn't comment, though. She just makes a mental note to make certain his dreams are peaceful, and when he wakes, to impart a tiny fragment of her wakefulness to him so it's a little easier. Muse: Excellent. The usual precautions have been taken with every dealer you named for me. They'll all be underslept. Off their games. Except for the usual one. The one who she never mentions by name, but who is always the one left off limits. The reason she cares so much about stopping Boost. The man she hopes to take back from the adamantine grip of addiction. There's a silent prayer of thanks as she doesn't mention Micah's tiredness. On camera, his eyes dart to another screen and a beep is clearly heard. Hermes: Block 1 or 4 decoded. Looks like we have our first target. I'll route the data to my contact. And copy you on it. Kory gives Micah a smile in response to the news. He's so clever. He deserves a better world, but he's working so hard to better the one they're in, playing the awful hand they've been dealt. Muse: Excellent. I'll disseminate through secure Muse.net to the operatives. Naturally, that'd be "in their sleep". Even telepaths can't hack that — waking minds and sleeping minds are two separate things, it would appear. Or she has someone helping and remaining as secret as she and Micah have been. She wouldn't put it past Matt and she hasn't seen much of him. Micah's always been a survivor. Not to mention one to aid his fellow man, or woman, whenever he can. And with Kory's help, and his mom's strength and determination, he's doing it. Hermes: Just keep an eye open when you do. It seems that the government keeps trying to take back a few of the systems I've acquired from them. Something tells me they might have someone with similar skills working from their side. I spent four hours last night blocking port attacks from Homeland Security. Kory knows Micah's a survivor. He's had to be. Everyone has had to be of late. She nods in response to his most recent indication. Muse: Of course. I change my algorithms pretty frequently. Friday says there's been some IP sniffing going on. If I can find out who they have working it, I'll take them out. Yeah, the Muse is normally very gentle. And very sad. But she is capable of doing great harm when she's angry. And people trying to stop them from saving the world? That makes her angry. People allowing the exploitation of innocents, the propagation of Boost — that makes her extremely angry. If she finds the counter-hacker, they may very well wake a vegetable in the morning. It's good to know that Micah's not the only one seeing the abnormal activity. Hermes: Forward me the IP information if you have time. I'll send you the IP of the one that tried to hit Micah.net. Maybe we can figure it out together. And yeah, I've since employed a rotating algorithm on Micah.net. Every 24 hours it changes. Kory's smile is taut, tense. Time is one thing she may not have much of anymore if her Seer is to be believed, and her Seer isn't usually wrong. To tell Micah or not? She considers a moment and decides best he should know. Muse: Time is short. I'll have it to you momentarily. The next time you hear from the Muse it may not be me. Cassandra indicates my life is in danger. Another codename, but Micah's probably familiar with her thematic now. Kory isn't talking about Cass. Oh, Micah figured she probably wasn't talking about Cass. As is customary on Micah.net, everyone has codenames. Even his programs have their own codenames. But at her message, he frowns. Hermes: Anything I can do? I'll put a tag on your system. So I can track you should anything happen. He taps a few buttons on his keyboard, issuing a few commands to the machine Kory lifts her shoulders in a shrug. She hasn't really considered her existence worth much except the effort, and another dreamwalker is already groomed and poised to take her place if she does find that the warning was inevitable, incontrovertible and unchangeable. Muse: I don't know. This building has always been well guarded, but people keep making attempts. I heard gunfire not too long ago upstairs. The penthouse. I've already scanned the neighborhood dreamers, and they know nothing. But as you will. And thank you. I should initiate another backup to one of your servers, just in case, hmm? Micah smiles and nods as he taps a few more buttons. Somewhere, in a secured location, several servers fire up to life. Hermes: I've brought the two new backup servers online for you. They're better protected and in a more secure location. I'm sending the connection string to you now. Kory waits, and on receiving the string, sends the proper code in response. Her drives light up, and the information begins transmitting, once she's got the OK from her Friday to proceed. Muse: Connection established. Secure session initiated. Transmitting. I should let you get back to what you're doing. You'll ping me with any updates on the cure, yes? And on one of the other screens, Micah confirms the established connection. And even makes a few tweaks so the data transfers faster than most. Hermes: If any of the other data blocks contain information, absolutely. There hasn't been many hits out there on recent searches. Kory smiles, and it's warm again. She nods into the camera. Muse: With any luck, dear, that means they're scared and moving a little more carefully. With any luck at all, that means we're hitting them where they hurt. Returning said smile, Micah nods. Hermes: Either that, or they've learned to hide it better. Either way, I think we're making an impact on them. Kory nods again, touching the screen affectionately in lieu of giving Micah a more personal and tangible sign of affection. Muse: Good for us, Hermes. Good for us. Also, I looked in on Atalanta for you. She sends her love. Shame you're both so busy you hardly see anything of each other anymore. Micah bows his head in a silent token of thanks at the news. When it rises, there's a slight glistening to his eyes. Hermes: Thank you. Tell her I send my love back to her. And if you happen to hear anything about Mapquest, please, let me know. Kory nods, touched by Micah's affection for the people who matter most to him. It's something she understands well. Muse: Of course, I will. I haven't given up looking for Mapqust. And I won't. As long as I draw breath. Her friends are devoted, and she's grateful, but she's also pragmatic. Her chosen successor also knows the missions the Muse considers most important and worth following beyond the main mission of Eradicate Boost. Maybe they'll save her, maybe they won't, but she'll make sure what they need continues even after she does. As the conversation continues, Micah can't stifle the yawn that comes up suddenly. She already knew he was tired, and this was only a matter of time. Hermes: I appreciated it greatly. I haven't heard from her in a while and I'm a bit worried. Kory smiles affectionately. Okay, clearly the genius hacker kid needs some downtime. Time to let him go. Muse: We're all worried. All the time, Hermes. But you need rest. The download's about done. I'll nudge you awake in an hour or two if you want. If anyone were to run an uptime on Micah it might read something like 'Up for 3 day, 16 hours, 41 minutes…'. Yeah, he's in need of a reboot. Or even slight power down. Hermes: Make it three and you've got a deal. Hopefully by then the other blocks will have finished. Kory smiles affectionately and gives him a blowing-a-kiss gesture. Muse: Three hours it is. Sleep well. Muse out. [CONNECTION TERMINATED] |
It's another day, another in which Ophelia doesn't know where she'll end up sleeping. It's been a long time since she's had somewhere to call /home/, exactly, and she's run out of friends with couches to crash on. Mostly because she doesn't remember her friends, or if she even had them. Thankfully, though, someone had been throwing out a couch. The dumpster was in an alley, and the couch shoved up next to it in such a way that she felt confident she at least wouldn't be disturbed for a quick nap. Settling down, and trying to get comfortable, she hugs her arms and shuts her eyes.
Darkness, a grey, stormy night and the colors faded, like a black and white film. People walk by, blurred, as if their faces are entirely hidden from the world. The dream is one Ophelia's familiar with, it is the one she sees almost every night, but this time is different. This time, she sees a face she knows she's seen before. Tyson. While she can't remember the name, she whirls in the street, looking around quickly. Was he here?
The Muse wasn't expecting anyone just now, but yet she feels a pull. A little tug at her consciousness. She tilts her mind this way and that, feeling for the keywords that she has placed in her own subconscious.
Is someone thinking on the way to sleep of The Cure? No. Is it Boost? No. She mentally thumbs her way through the list. Finally she stops on a name: 'Tyson'. And the resonance grows stronger. "Tyson," she says to herself, then allows herself to enter the dreamscape, tentatively, lest it's some sort of Muse-snare in some poor mind-controlled Booster or person snatched off the street.
"Where are you?" Ophelia calls out, eyes shifting about to the blurred figures. Not a single face she can see, and it's impossible to recognize someone with no face. Hugging her arms reflectively, Phi bites down on her lip. "Come back! Please!" She searches eagerly from the people who walk down the street, trying to find a distinct face, but none of them even seem to notice she's standing there.
"Is this who you are looking for?" the Muse asks, invisible herself, but a random passerby slows down. The blurring of features stops, reverses, clarifies like an artist clearing away digital noise. Eyes become visible. Then lips. His chin. Even his clothes begin morphing to an outfit Kory has seen Tyson wear in the past. His cheekbones, the shape of his ears. The definition of his shoulders and body. And that hair — that marvellous dark cloud of hair. The face of Tyson, revealed. "He's been looking for you, you know, Ophelia."
Ophelia suddenly hugs her arms tighter, mostly in surprise at the figure. It's his face again. She knows she's seen it before. Once or twice in passing, she swears, on the streets, but it never leaves her. "He's.. looking for me?" She glances around for the moment, wondering where the voice is, before she fixes her gaze on Tyson's image. "Why? Why would someone look for me?"
"Oh, dear girl, why do you think?" the muse asks, coming into shimmery view beside the Tyson figure. It's only an image of him, though. She's already tried to find the real one, but he's not asleep right now — so she can't get to him except to have her outside man contact him if he can. "You mean something to each other."
A shiver, though Ophelia's not cold, runs through her. "I know. I can feel it. I can't find him, though. I.." She trails off for a moment. "I can't find anyone, or anything. Not anymore. I don't know why. I can't remember any of it. So I've been hiding. I don't know what he knows."
"Don't worry about what he knows," the muse says, gently, lifting a hand to the sky. "If he is on the right side, you have nothing to fear. If he is not — I can find out for you. Warn you. And tell him nothing, so you remain safe." The clouds begin to break up, rays of sun beginning to peep through. "But I believe in the power of love, Ophelia. And if he is not involved in something good — finding you may very well be what he needs to give him the strength to walk into the light."
Ophelia lets out a slow breath, letting one arm drop, then the other, out from across her chest. "I don't know that I care so much what side he's on. I don't know that I care about much of anything.. I can't go on with this, with not knowing anything." She looks up at the sky, slowly, before looking back over at the muse. "I'm scared of finding him. I'm scared it will happen again.. that I can't control it."
"Controlling your evolved ability?" the Muse guesses. "If you don't care, then when I contact him, I will let him know where to find you. Where and when, even. A time and place of your choosing. So that if you feel spooked, or smell something dirty — you need not expose yourself. Does that sound like a workable plan for you?"
After a moment, she smiles warmly at Ophelia. "I am about certain that Tyson would not care what side he's on either. One has to be pretty desperate to seek out the Muse, you know. Sleep is a valuable commodity these days — particularly peaceful sleep."
Ophelia smiles very faintly at that, agreeing. "Safe sleep.." She murmurs, studying Tyson's image again. "I.. I want to see him. I have to see him. Even if I can't control it.." She lets out another breath. "I can't do this alone anymore. I can't. I won't. It's so empty.."
"shhh…." The Muse reaches to touch Ophelia's face, and because the province of dreams is hers, the terror and anxiety recede a little. Not completely, because she cannot affect the body chemistry, only the brainwaves. "Then tell me when you would want to see him. What time. Where. Under what conditions. If he agrees, I will contact you again to let you know. If you do not hear from me again without having to seek me out — you will know he has not."
Ophelia relaxes a little more, though the thought of Tyson not agreeing to see her causes a small frown. "Two days from now? Sundown…" She swallows, then continues. "Kirby Plaza. The plaza.. it means something, I think. Tell him I will see him there."
Kory shifts her weight to one hip and gestures. The blank alley wall before them turns into an image of Kirby Plaza, to make certain she has the meeting place right. The sun crosses the sky and dimishes toward the west, to confirm the time. "Kirby Plaza. Sundown. I am to tell him you will see him there. And I will bring you his answer."
There's the faint shadow of a real smile for a moment on the woman's face. "I'll see him there." Ophelia nods slowly, the image of the plaza transfixing her for the moment. Tyson and Kirby Plaza. There was something there, something with that.
"I would suggest, before your meeting, two days hence, you go to this shelter." The Muse gestures again, and leaving the Kirby Plaza hologram alone, a new one springs up beside it. Niki's shelter. "Ask to see Sophie. You may tell her the Muse sent you. If you need any memory back, she is the one to help you retrieve it."
The woman perks up a little more. "Sophie.." Ophelia nods at the idea. And a shelter? That sounds like progress. "I'll find her. I.. could use any help I can get.." She murmurs again. "Thank you."
"Sophie," The Muse confirms. "And a shelter. Be careful. There are those recovering from addiction in that neighborhood. And if you wake up unable to remember us, do not worry. The next time you see a splash of water, this dream will come back to you. I promise." A splash of water could come from anywhere. Rain. A puddle. A drinking fountain. A shower. Something easily run across, so Ophelia does not lose this conversation. "It is why I am here, dear girl. I am very happy to be able to help you." At least some lovers' stars can be uncrossed.
Ophelia smiles again. "I'll find her. And the shelter. I'll be okay, though.. addiction or not, I've taken care of myself this long on the streets.. addicts are the least of my worries…" She nods. "But thank you. I really, really mean it.. thank you."
The Muse cups Ophelia's face in her hands. "Good. I will make sure Tyson knows what you need him to. I know he will be anxious to see you. Rest now, Ophelia. Rest well. And walk into your future." The pair of them are powerful, and better together, she thinks. And gratitude will make them willing to help others less fortunate, she believes. "I must go. Your dreams will be peaceful ones until you wake." The Muse bows her head, spreads her arms, and fades away to nothing. The image of the Shelter follows.
But the figure of Tyson, superimposed on Kirby Plaza?
That image stays with Ophelia for the rest of the night, a gesture of comfort and hope.
7:00 pm:
Cookies were not the way that Portia really expected to get in contact with someone that she wasn't even sure she wanted to contact. Still, rumors were rumors and it couldn't hurt. If it went wrong, she had nothing to lose. She'd been pacing her apartment before she slept, wearing herself down in the anxiety. That, at least, was enough to bring the sleep as she flopped down on the mattress.
A stage. Who knows what sort of room it is, but there's a stage, a large stage, and a spotlight. She sits, resting on a stool with her guitar placed on her lap. Her fingers move, playing on the strings, playing songs she hasn't played in years. Ones she'd rather have forgotten about. The spotlight, while shining above her, makes it even more obvious that no one else is around. She's alone, on stage, with no audience. The texts came through Leslie. Who conveyed them to the Muse. Who responded in kind and arrived at the appionted time, seeking the one mind seeking hers from the thousands, millions, sleeping in the city. Invisible, she sizes up the place. A stage. And a guitar. Jane? But as she drifts closer to the lone figure, she spots who it is. Portia. The Muse does not abandon clients who seek her out, but neither does she, herself, necessarily appear directly. One of her dreamshadows appears instead. A young man with thick blond curls and bright blue eyes, in a Grecian toga sort of outfit. A nametag reads 'Icarus'. "You seek the Muse. What message do you desire conveyed to her, or in what other way may I be of assistance to you?" Looking up from the guitar, Portia stops playing, her fingers drifting from the strings. "Right then. I figured she wouldn't show up herself. Too personal, I guess." She clears her throat. "I don't think you could tell her that I'd like to talk to her, could you?" "I can tell her," 'Icarus' tells Portia. "Whether she is inclined to make an appearance herself will depend on what it is you are asking of her. She does have many dreams to touch." He raises a hand to his earpiece and murmurs something without actually using his voice. "The channel is open, miss. The Muse is listening." It's like she's the President and the strange dream-people are her Secret Service. Portia wrinkles her nose, distractedly looking back down at the guitar strings. Just knowing that the Muse is listening, somewhere, makes her uncomfortable. She's the invisible, the unseen one, and not seeing someone who is listening makes her quite out of her comfort zone. Especially because she doesn't know where to focus, and she is not about to look up like the Muse is God. Portia clears her throat. "I.." She swallows, mouth annoyingly dry, even in her dreams. "If you're busy, you don't have to talk to me. I just.. I wanted to talk. I can't really talk about things with him." She wants to talk. She wants to talk. 'Icarus' listens at his earpiece for a moment, and nods. "Stand by. The Muse will be joining you in a moment." He gives her a polite bow, hands at his sides, and turns to leave the auditorium or venue the stage occupies. It's a solid minute before the Muse herself appears, sitting in the front row with a drink and popcorn. "Hello, Portia," she says politely. "What can my humble organization and I do for you?" Her tone and voice and face are polite but the cordiality falls just short of her eyes. It's a little uncomfortable for Portia to do it, but she manages to stay on the stage in the spotlight for the moment, fingers still slowly playing over the strings, going back to one of the songs she wrote when she was younger. Half of her wants to move off the stage and sit down next to the Muse, and half of her wants to just stay where she's at. "I don't want you and your organization to do anything. I want to talk. With you. If you have a moment." She does pause, but makes the assumption that the Muse would have never showed up if she hadn't wanted to at least hear what the young woman had to say. "What was it like, when you were with him?" She swallows hard. "How did you feel? Emotionally?" She quickly adds on, "You don't have to answer." The Muse rises, leaving her popcorn and drink in the holders on the seat arms. "That is not a question whose answer you are entitled to," she says, drifting slowly toward the aisle up which her employee has already vanished. So no, she's not answering that question. "Did you steal this timeframe from another dreamer simply to waste my time?" The indifference in her eyes is something harder now. She came at Portia's request, only to have Portia throw a dagger into an old scar that yas yet to heal — after three years. But the Muse is not the only one who has scars. Portia's fingers stop playing the guitar, clutching the neck of it tightly as she slides down from the stool. "Did he make you feel like you were important? Special? Like he needed you?" She knows the questions are not ones that will fall comfortably on scarred ears. But she needs to ask them in order to force the words that follow from her lips. "He doesn't for me." The Muse revolves slowly on an invisible axis, and turns once more to face Portia. It is a long moment of silence that follows — the Muse extends her dreamsense outward. Are there other dreamers closing in on them? Is her body safe? Is this some trap to exploit her greatest vulnerability? After a short time examining the dreamplane and confirming with a moment's awareness that her physical body remains safe and unharmed, she returns her attention to the slip of a girl. "I will answer your question if you answer one for me," she says quietly. She waits to see if Portia considers the answer she wants is worth the answer the Muse will ask of her. The young singer nods, slowly, the guitar carefully propped now against the stool before she moves to the edge of the stage, sitting down on it, legs over the edge. "I'll answer anything you ask, Kory." "Does he celebrate Valentine's Day with you — and if not, what does he do?" is the question she asks Portia. She returns to her previous seat, and lifts her drink. Instead of the sort of soda you'd get in a movie, it's now a mug of cocoa. The Muse doesn't do tea anymore. She gives the other woman a polite 'go ahead' gesture, eyes returning to indifference from their previous hardness. Whatever her reason for asking Kory here, it was not a trap, and that has earned a little respect for Portia. "He celebrates with me when he feels like celebrating. I can never tell if he'll want to. But no, never Valentines. I don't know what he does. I'm not usually with him unless he wants me to be." Portia watches the cup of cocoa for a moment, before she glances back at the guitar. "All these years, wanting the same thing and when I think I've finally got it, I realize that I'm in exactly the same position I was in when I was fourteen, wanting exactly the same things and never getting them." Kory listens. And twirls idly at a grayed lock of hair that's fallen loose from her Grecian updo. "I see." She closes her eyes, listening to Portia speak. "When we were together," she says, halting so that even her dream voice does not hitch, "I felt emotionally …like I'd been kept in the dark until he came along and warmed me like the sun." The dreamscape itself responds to the emotion she is not allowing in her voice. A single beam of golden light comes through the roof and lands on her, like a spotlight. "He…" because she can't bring herself to say his name to Portia, "…was gentle. And funny. Even when this — " she gestures around to the stage, and suddenly the backdrop behind Portia is a flat map of the planet with dancing points of light on it — illustrating her dreamers, her job as the Muse, " — frightened him, he tried to swallow that fear. For me. So to answer your question, I felt loved. And in a life as empty and odd as mine had been before meeting him, it was as important to me as oxygen." The old Secret Lair crew knows the story. The day the store finally shut down because Nima stopped caring and so did the geeks when Boost could give them powers they no longer needed to read about… Randall and Kory had a very quiet discussion that became a screaming match, and then a very quiet discussion once more. Kory walked away and returned to her apartment in Devereaux tower. And has not stepped foot outside it since. Not for her brother. Not for Lee. Not for anyone. "So what is it you do want, if what you want is not with him?" The girl, for she is still a girl in many ways, shakes her head a little. "I'm only second best, to him. I made him feel alright, and I still do, but it's all I am. It's a bandaid on his life. I'm a bandaid." She looks back over. "I've just wanted to be noticed, to feel wanted and needed. I don't like being invisible. The irony's always been there." Kory knows that feeling. Her own growing up was not painless. She was the weird girl who never fell asleep in class. Was always bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in class, no matter how early. She was the one who got straight As no matter what she wasted time doing after school. And it made her an outcast. "I'm …sorry you feel invisible," Kory says genuinely, eyes softening to a sympathetic expression. "What do you propose to do about it? I take it telling him this has fallen upon deaf ears?" She's kept an eye on him. Even when some of her dreamers come into conflict with his people, she places suggestions that will keep him safe. But she knows the Boost has become everything to him. It was the fissure that split them up. "You have choices. Options." Randall has not become such a monster, has he, that he would send someone after her, vindictively…? "I can't even talk to him about it." Portia admits, shaking her head. "I don't talk to him. We really don't talk. I'm just there when he needs someone and it's all I really have at this point. Even if I'm just a bandaid.. bandaids still have a purpose until they're thrown away. I.. just wanted to talk to you because you know him well. I.. din't know what else to do." "Why can't you?" Kory asks simply. Between the first and third words, she has vanished from the audience to sit beside Portia on the stage. Portia looks down, shaking her head again. "Because we don't talk. We just don't. It's not how we do things. He never seems to want to. I don't know what's wrong." "He's an addict, Portia. That's what's wrong," Kory says quietly. "His power. The one the Boost gives him, and the one his position gives him. He has embraced those as the only meaningful things in his life now." She wanted to hate Portia. And now she simply pities her. No woman should ever be third place in the heart of a man. "So what is it you want?" There's no way Kory can turn Randall's heart. He scoffed at her tiniest, unconscious effort on today, the anniversary of a day that once was significant to them both. "I can help you how? I can get you a bodyguard of sorts." That wouldn't work. Kory's eyes widen. Portia would have to go invisible all the time. Permanently. To escape reprisals from a Randall who, even now, would be interested more in saving face than saving this imitation of a relationship. "Or I can help you get safely out of the city." Her arms move to draw her knees up and hug them. "I honestly don't know. I don't even know why I wanted to talk to you like this, what I expected." Portia glances back over. "I don't have options. I do care.. there are times where I can pretend that it's alright. I like when others react to me because of him. They notice me. It's something." Kory slips an arm around the young woman's shoulders. "If they are noticing you because of him, they are treating you like an accessory. Some sort of decoration. You are a person, Portia. If you want something different, you do not have to settle for anything less. You can go out and take it." Of course, the effectiveness of this statement may be diminished slightly, given that this is a dream, and it's the only way the reclusive Kory Alexander ever speaks to anyone these days. Then again — she tried going for what she wanted, and look where it got her. "Or at least walk away from a situation that makes you unhappy. It isn't complicated." "I can go out and do what? I can't make people notice me. It's not as if it's a bad thing.. I get to have something." Portia smiles a little. "Sometimes people notice when I sing, especially because they know about him. They notice me more. They do.." She sighs. "I can't just walk away from him and leave him alone." "Why is it so important to you to be noticed, is a better question," Kory says quietly, rising to float beside Portia rather than sitting beside her. "And is being noticed so important to you that you are willing to take it however it comes, than to get it honestly? Are you truly willing to tell yourself you're happy as a criminal's arm candy? Are you truly willing to have that be your existence? Because you can't really call it a life, can you?" Kory shrugs, and floats back down to the audience. "You are the only person who can change things so that you are happy." This effort has cost her — talking to the woman who shares a bed with the man who pretty much tore her heart out. It's beginning to show in how flickery Kory's beginning to appear. "I can't make him care for you, treat you the way you want to be treated…and apparently this is beyond you as well. All I can do is suggest you care for yourself." She begins to float toward the aisle again, out of sympathy and out of advice. Portia watches the floating Kory. "Because it's what I've wanted my whole life. To be noticed.. to be wanted. I want to feel as if there's more to me than just me, that I mean something.. and I've had so little of it that I'm willing to accept what comes.. because it's better than not having a life." She sighs. "For the record.. I'm sorry he hurt you. I wish it had been different, even if I have no idea where I'd be then.." Kory spins slowly toward Portia. "If it is what you want, then go out and get it. You don't need him to make you feel special." Inwardly, Kory winces, because there's a certain ring of similarity to how Kory felt about Randall. But she continues. "I nearly lost him once before…I truly lost him." She glances away, the way one does when a memory is in their sight rather than the here and now. "I doubt it would work for you now. He isn't afraid anymore of things being beyond him." "If you want to mean something, Portia, you are the only person who can make that happen. I can invite you to join my organization, and you can see if that makes you feel better." She really has little left to offer. As for the apology…? "Thank you. I'm sorry too, because now we're both hurt, and neither of us has what we want." Portia smiles weakly. "Thanks. I'll figure something out. I've already gotten a few things sorted out now, I just have to figure out how much it's going to change. I.. I hope things get better. Maybe one day he'll change." She rubs her arms. "I'll.. try and contact you again, maybe. If things change." "He isn't going to change, Portia," Kory says, sadly. "He isn't the man he once was. Boost is in his blood, and in his mind. And he won't give that up. I'm not even sure he'd survive the withdrawal. I've been trying to find the antidote. A way to free him from the addiction. Because that might at least remind him who he was. But without the Boost, his power is gone too. I don't think he'll willingly give that up." It was, after all, what broke them up. That Kory knew what price Boost exacted from its users and Randall refused to stop using. "If there's going to be some sort of change, you have to be the one who makes it. If you need me again, think of Icarus while you're falling asleep. I'll hear you." "I'll be in touch." Portia's reply is simple. Releasing her legs, she slowly moves to fetch the guitar again. There are still some old songs she wants to play. |
8:00 pm:
Kory has a light dinner with Leslie, letting him tell her of the world outside. She listens, and nods in the right places, and thanks him politely for the repast, and the companionship. She dismisses him for the night, knowing full well he'll stick around for at least a couple hours, just in case she needs him. But when darkness falls, and her PDA softly tings a reminder of a standing appointment, she settles on an antique fainting couch and reaches out for an old, familiar mind, hoping she can get through…
Lee's Quarters
Lee doesn't quite 'drink himself to sleep.' He isn't sure that his masters wouldn't call alcoholism an attempted suicide, just another way to escape the trap he's in. Still, his dreams have the alternating globular haze and sudden over-clarity of alcohol percolating through his brainstem, the restless disturbance of sleep every night. He dreams he is on the beach in California, on a chaise lounge, wearing swim trunks, the sun far too bright in the sky for how cold he feels. A pile of books sits next to the lounge, dream-French too indistinct to really read. It's beautiful, all around he can hear the sound of kids laughing, playing in the sand, and if he could just stand up and turn around he'd see them, but he can't, he feels lethargic, heavy, almost paralyzed. The waves roll in with the sound of cellphone static. It's an empty dream. Isolated.
A person appears on the beach, slowly resolving into place. She's a cute, pert redhead. Big eyes. Luscious lips. She looks a bit, a good bit, like Nima. Except she's a bit too tall, a bit too thin, a bit too busty. There's an instant of her standing nude just at the periphery of Lee's vision before the sand and wind swirl around her, leaving her in a classic Grecian outfit, hair done in the appropriate style — a representative, clearly, of The Muse. If they appear in your dream, the rumor goes, she's been watching. And pulling strings. Inspiring minds. In this case, though, the represntative is here to give Lee an update on something they've been working on for a while. "Good evening, Mr. Jones," she says in a voice that pierces through the sound of waves without signal repeaters. Lee turns his head, baffled. "Yeah?" he says confusedly. "It's…daytime…" he mutters, disoriented. Eventually he grasps what is happening - this is a dream - but the meeting is actually happening. He tries, clumsily, to focus on her. "…I mean…hello." The representative, whose nametag reads 'Blythe' sighs faintly, face kept in a placid expression. "Mr. Jones, you do know that drinking makes it difficult to establish and maintain the connection. Shall we come back at another time when you're not under the influence?" Her voice is polite. And calm. She hovers, waiting. Lee says, snarkily, like the old Lee, "You're the one that came here, I don't come over to your imagination and complain that it's too much like an 18th century absinthe drinker's clapped-out fanfic about ancient Greece…Blythe." He had to squint a little to make out the name - he still can't find the strength to move his body. "Are you saying you wish to terminate your agreement with the Muse?" Blythe asks, expression immobile and serene. Unflapped by snark. Not like Kory; she'd roll her eyes and change the subject — at least, years ago she would've. But her minion must be prepared for Lee's snippishness, or she must simply not care. In this world, there are worse ways to hurt a person than barbed words, after all. "I thought you were pleased with our organization's progress." Other dreamwalkers, or just Kory spreading herself thin and pretending? Who knows? It could be a bit of both. "The Muse was under the impression you cared about these children." Lee pauses a long time, is he dreaming of silence? Finally he says: "Of course I do. Just look around." It might be a bit hard to tell his point. "It's the last place I didn't have to think about them. Symbolism is a bit heavy-handed." he adds. "It's like whoever is writing it really wants to hit you over the head about how isolated I am." "Is that what it is, indeed?" asks Blythe, voice as smooth and serene as before. "Are you saying you'd prefer the reports delivered in person? It can be arranged." She tilts her head and smiles at him, though. The smile is polite. But it's also somewhat derisive. Tangible evidence of the Muse's work? Where people could find it, see it, undo it, use it against Lee? Against his charges? She touches her ear as if listening to something in it. "You never did learn to do anything more than deflect anything that makes you uncomfortable so you didn't have to look it in the face," she says, with the air of having had it dictated to her. "Those children. You could lead them. Turn them into your team. They'd follow you. And you could turn your captors' barracks inside out." That sounds like Kory's idealism. But the mockery of Lee for disdaining his powers and actually using them for a good purpose? That doesn't. Lee says, "Is that what the Muse wants me to do?" idly. Thinking out loud in a dream is hard to avoid. "And what about Nima? They've demonstrated they can get to her any time they want. Demonstrated. And they haven't gotten weaker since then." He shrugs slightly. "Besides. Just because they say I'm training them to be soldiers doesn't mean I am. They can barely read. And forget about mathematics. Without being citizens, they have no reason to be soldiers." That last is almost a quote from somewhere? Maybe a paraphrase, it's clear he doesn't mean it literally. "The answer's no. No deflection there, is there? No, I can't do it." "The Muse wants you to do something other than what you're doing now," Blythe replies, after another tilt of her head. "Do you think the Muse would allow Nima to come to harm? Do you think that we could not have your sister in a safehouse in a breath? Do you have any idea — any idea at all — of the resources my employer commands? Do you think she confines her efforts to her own abilities and nothing else?" Blythe floats serenely in front of Lee, but her calm expression is starting to show hairline fractures. Lee's propensity to get under a person's skin is starting to wear on her. Lee looks at the Muse with some energy coming to his face for the first time: "Nima's a Boost addict. She's not going to stay in a quote safe house unquote." he snaps. "She's going to get out and go for a hit and end up in another hospital. What happened to…" He stops, breathing heavy with fear and grief. "….This is already over. We already lost." he says. "Pick someone else to be your hero." Blythe just stares at Lee. Stares at him. And then she vanishes. And so does the beach. The sun. The surf that sounds like static. The entire dreamscape gets remade on The Muse's terms. New York City with thousands of pinpoints of light. Of life. "You really don't think things through very well, do you?" It's not Blythe's voice anymore. It's Kory's. "She may be your sister, you coward, but she's my best friend. She's not the only person I love addicted to Boost. And I have been searching high and low, through every mind I can find, to find a way to break the formula. Beat the addiction. Free her. Free everyone." Despite the fact that her voice is booming at him from everywhere, as if from the rooftops above him, she does not deign to show herself to him. Lee is shuddering with cold now, his breath coming in clouds, his arms wrapped around his bare chest as his feet fidget on the rooftop. "You know Nima as well as I do, she's wanted superpowers her whole life. Her whole life. Every second of every day she's wanted it. You think you're going to erase that? Nobody can erase that." he says. "That hunger to be more than you are. It's in everyone, in some way. And that's her way. I've tried being brave, Kory, I have. And it just ended up in death and madness." "Excuses, excuses, excuses," Kory's voice says, beginning to fade, and then coming in strong again, a whisper warm at his ear. The chill of New York's night backs off. Kory's angry, but she's still soft-hearted and doesn't want him freezing to death in his own dream. "I'm surprised you can sleep at night at all. Oh, right. Jack and Ginger help you get to sleep at night. We will continue as before with your charges, then. Perhaps they miss their families. Perhaps those powers they're trained to use for hurting can be turned on their tormentors even without you." Lee says, achingly, "Don't. If you care about them at all, if you care about their families, or think they do, don't. After what happened, I wanted revenge worse than anything in the world, I thought, but it would have meant doing just what you're thinking. And I can't do that to them, not to the kids, not even for revenge…." he trails off, the train of thought going somewhere too dark for him to even imagine in a dream, eyes blank. "Are you asking me not to for their sake — or yours?" is the question that hangs in the air. Kory still hasn't made an appearance. She's just a voice hanging somewhere around Lee's head. Lee half-smirks, but his voice comes distant, quiet, "I don't ask anything for my sake anymore." Now Kory appears, arms around him. "You are really willing to simply be alive in this world, rather than fight for a world worth living in?" she asks, voice shaking with unshed tears. Lee hugs her back almost reflexively. "Sometimes living is all you can hope for." he says, in a voice devoid of that very self-same hope. "It's never all you can hope for," Kory insists. "Do you think if I'd abandoned hope I would be doing this? Existing in the dreamtime more than the realtime, connecting people, inspiring? Hope can be powerful if you let it, Leto." She uses his hated full name, but in the gentlest of whispers. "I have to go. I'll send the runner to check on you in the waking. If you change your mind, you can signal him." Lee says, "I won't." But he can't help from having just a bit wrung out of him by her sincerity. She always could. He says. "Not yet." And he doesn't. Not yet. |
10:00 pm
Quinn's Apartment
Quinn walks into her dive apartment.. since she can't really do her showstopper act anymore, she makes what little living she does doing those street corner performances. But that's alrght, she just needs a place to lay her head in order to do what she now considers her real work. She has a thoughtful look on her face, having heard from Joule about Lee's situation, and knowing that something has to be done. But, to do what needs to be done, she needs intel first. And she knows one sure place to get it. It is late evening, and she is exhausted anyway, so it isn't hard to put herself into the state that the Muse taught her, concentrating on the words that are supposed to, hopefully, gain her attention.
In point of fact, the Muse is attentive already. Because letting her mind wander taught her an extremely painful lesson earlier. Lee is asleep, having drunk himself there, and so the time, as Jade hoped, is right. So when she feels the familiar ping of one of the ones she stays in frequent touch with, she turns her attention at once. As usual, because of potential traps involving telepaths, she turns up as an invisible, silent presence, until she can see clearly whose dream it is — and what kind. Quinn keeps herself very clearly her. Given her ability to change appearances, it is important to keep a very clear image of her real self… She sits there, wearing her sharp black tailored suit, slicked back red hair, and she's in a nightclub setting, tapping idly at the keys. The melody that comes out is, ironically, 'Life is a Masquerade.' The song isn't familiar, but the hairdo is. The form at the piano is. Kory could use a bit of lightheartedness after the day she's had, so she turns up stretched out, in a torch singer dress and killer heels, atop the piano. "I don't know that one, but if you hum a few bars, I could probably fake it," she tells her friend and operative. "Hello, Quinn. How goes?" Quinn smiles as she does just that, only singing, in a smooth, sweet alto, "Thoughts of leaving disappear ev'ry time I see your eyes… No matter how hard I try. To understand the reasons that we carry on this way.. We're lost in this masquerade." Her fingers still on the keys and she smiles, as she turns to talk to you, "I guess the best answer is as well as can be expected." she chuckles, "Which isn't all that well, given the level of expectations. But…" her gaze gets more somber as she says, "Have you heard about Lee?" The voice is sweet and the song bittersweet — so much the way of the world these days. "Of course," The Muse answers. "He's my oldest friend left in this world. I've known where he's been since they took him. And I've been working on getting him out of there before he gets himself killed. We're moving this evening, in fact. I'm glad you called." A wry twist of her lips. "I have one, perhaps two other people joining you and Jade. Er. Joule." Quinn is probably one of the few people left who knows the neurokinetic by her original name. "A quick extraction. Snatch, grab, get the hell out. Lee himself will pose no trouble. He's already asleep and likely to remain so for at least several hours more." Quinn nods to that. "Exactly." she smiles, "Making this very easy. Do you have any sense of the kind of security we're talking about? Both people and the facility? You know what I can do, of course." "I do know," Kory beams, and the dreamscape shifts to a number of giant projector TV screens. "You're going to love this." The screens begin to light around the piano and bench, one by one, with the blueprints. There are an unfortunate and potentially disconcerting number of grey spots and blanks, and a few places with question marks that would be strategically sensible for someone to put cameras. But when all the screens are lit, there are ten or eleven floors of the facility mapped out, and probably no more than 50% of any given floor shown. "Well, perhaps love was a bit strong." Quinn hmms as she watches, and she nods. She smiles, "I do love it. Believe me, this is more than most people probably have, without someone on the inside." she watches it, trying her best to remember everything, especially the important areas. "Do you know anything the people there, like if anyone there I can imitate? Are there cards? I can copy those too, if needed." "I do have someone on the inside. Lee. And his students. The problem is, there are areas they're not allowed to go. So there are holes." She smiles. "Watch this." The screens light with little yellow 'person' shapes. Where the guards are. "Key cards, you mean? Yes. Like this." This, the Muse has had to pull little by little out of every dreaming mind she could find on the installation. So there are two or three, the better to give Quinn multiple chances. "Don't worry about remembering it. Even if you're distracted and tired while awake, just say 'Uncle Albert, we're so sorry to have caused you any pain' and this dream will come right back to you. In exacting detail." The muse is now sitting up at the piano. "There are the teacher's barracks. Lee's in this one." The dream screen flashes blue and white for Quinn. Quinn grins at that, "Wings, I never thought many people would remember most of those songs. Then that'll be easy for me to remember." she offers. "Ohh, that will help alot. I can be.. less than detectible, if we can find a way to avoid triggering the alarms." she watches the screens intently. The Muse inclines her head. "I do know what works for my dreamers," she says, but not with the air of one offended. She's pleased and proud of her abilities. "It's hard to get much out of Lee or the boys," she confirms. "Lee hates it there so much. So very much. He tries not to think of anything but the boys, their families, and what he must teach. And the boys are so focused with their discipline, they cannot think of much else. So there may be changes, differences, in what I've pulled from their dreams. Just so you know." Quinn nods to that. "I understand. He'll be asleep, like drugged asleep, when we retrieve him?" "Alcoholic haze," Kory says, with a little disdain and disapointment mingling in her expression and making the age show in her face. She's twenty nine, and already showing wrinkles. Grey hair. Frown lines. Crow's feet. Twenty nine, and this broken existence is turning her old before her time. "We've already spoken. I focused his attention on the boys. So he doesn't suspect." Quinn nods, wincing, "I can understand the urge, though. But.. hopefully getting out of there will help him to dry out." "If it doesn't, I'm sure Jade will help him herself. In a more direct fashion. She isn't quite good enough to cure Boost addiction, but she's great with aversion therapy and positive reinforcement therapy," the Muse says, smirking a bit. "I almost feel sorry for Lee, except I know how happy this will make him. Perhaps he'll remember he was once an arroogant bastard no one could tell anything to, and decide that it's worth standing and fighting once he has someone on his side." The Muse concentrates, imprinting Quinn's mind with the dream memory and the codeword, then steps off the piano into the darkness, leaving her friend to get some rest before she goes to work. |
Pieces are falling into place, even as pieces are falling apart. Peter said there's no hope, and Kory tries so hard to ignore that desolation. But she hopes. It exudes practically from her pores. Touching him, kissing him — she imparted him just a little, even as she revealed a vulnerable heart, and feelings for him she'd believed she'd mastered. But he has feelings for her as well. No one knows more than she of the strength of love. Combined with hope, Kory believes it a tiny bit of protection from the misfortunate circumstance into which he willingly throws himself. Into which he willingly sacrifices himself for the better of … well, everyone. The Muse does her part — she keeps on keepin' on — the better to hold this world together until there's nothing else left to do.
11:00 pm
In her waking hours, KeLyssa finds little solace any more. Her mind races, her classes get tougher and tougher, and with the opening of that clinic, it's harder for her to make the money she believes she needs to make in order to make her way through school. In her dreams, though, she is constantly brought back to a certain place and time. Her grandmother's home down in Denham Springs, Louisiana. A quaint home, much as one would imagine their grandmother's home to be. She goes there whenever she's troubled, as she did as a child and teenager, in the hopes that her Grandmother might give her some advice. Though her Grandmother still lives, though at an elderly age, back in her home town, she is never seen in KeLyssa's dreams. She always hopes, though. She always mutters her requests for her grandmother to appear with a couple slices of cake and milk and tell her that it will, in no uncertain times, 'Be like crocodile tears in summer, the a sign of happiness and joy for all'. But those assurances are not there.
The Muse knows this dreamscape well, even though it's been awhile since she's seen it personally, since she's visited. KeLyssa's been busy with school. That's what Kory was told. Given to believe. That's the lie that has been revealed. Well, partial lie. But enough of one that the Muse is incensed. Angry. Furious. The afternoon grows dark, the sort of ominous, forboding, miscolored dark that usually implies tornado weather. The Muse hasn't said a word yet. The dreamscape is responding to her mood as she moves to approach KeLyssa, invisible and silent. KeLyssa sits on the couch in the living room, still waiting that Grandmother who never, ever arrives. While the weather changes, it's not realized for a few moments before she actually takes the time to peer out the window. Dark skies…leaves and branches thrashing in the wind. That doesn't forebode well in a dreamscape or reality. No. She's seen that type of weather before. She shudders. It's not fun weather. In fact, she has half a mind to run to the cellar of her grandmother's home in which she hid so many times during games of hide-and-go-seek with her twin brother. The road leading up to her grandmother's house poses no obstacle to the Muse. Nor the front door. So if KeLyssa is running, the Muse is inexorably following. "You," she says, anger making her voice the roar of the wind, amplified beyond comfortable listening volume, an accusatory shriek that sounds human if one is being very creative and loose with the definition of 'sounding human'. "How…could…you…" KeLyssa hasn't left the couch. Not yet. The voice just makes her even more scared. She pulls a pillow up to herself. "Wh…who are you?" She asks, voice intoned with fear and uncertainty. "How could I do what?" It has been a while since she's been visited in her dreams, so if she were in the state of mind to consider it, she probably wouldn't. Syringes of the Boost drug appear in the living room and fling themselves at her like dart. "Look FAMILIAR?!" the raging wind voice demands. "How could you do THIS?!" The darts keep coming, missing KeLyssa by tiny millimeters, no matter how she dodges. "Peddle this…this…GARBAGE…turn people into addicts…knowing what it DOES…! Knowing what it DID!" The windscream voice dies down with every word, until the last sentence is a genuinely human scream that ends in a breathless sob. "I thought you were my friend. I thought you'd have tried to…help people. Not this. For money?" By now the voice should sound familiar. It's Kory's voice. A voice she hasn't heard in person in years, of a certainty. Even though Kory hasn't showed her face yet. KeLyssa is actually on the verge of tears by this point. In the real world, she'd put on an act of being the 'strong' girl. Ice Blonde. Giving icy attitude to all that she meets and who give her bad attitude for what she does, much like Sophie or Niki. "K…k…k…Kory? Is that you?" She can't believe it. "It's been so long. I just…oh, Kory. Please don't hurt me none! Please don't hate me!" She cowers once more as the windows bang loudly. "Education is important to me, Kory. Ya should know that! I ain't doin' this 'cause I want to any. I didn't know what to do. Student loans are already wracked up. My family don't got too much money. I was pulled into it." "Hell, yes, it's me," Kory says, voice broken and hoarse from screaming, even as she shimmers into view. She shows in the form most people see as the Muse. All flowing white gown, greying brown hair done in a Greek style updo. But her eyes are red-rimmed from crying. Obviously, she feels betrayed. "If you needed money, why didn't you come to me? How could you consign people to living hell on earth just for your education? I don't even know how I got here. HOW THE HELL DO YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" Sympathy? Oh, sorry; fresh out. Lightning cracks outside the house. Thunder follows, shaking the house to its foundations. "Hurt you? Hurt you? Do you know how many people you've hurt? I should let you feel what it feels like for them. I should show you their nightmares." KeLyssa is surprised, to say the least, at Kory's appearance. "What excuse could I give you that'd be satisfactory to ya, Kory? What excuse? That I was brought up not to ask for money 'less I worked for it somehow? That I work numerous jobs and still can't afford school, and that I'd guilt trip m'self for borrowin' from someone who helped me transition to New York?" She shakes her head. "Nah. There'd be nothin' that I could say to ya that would make up for all I've done!" She jumps at the lighting, the shaking of the house. "I wish that I could be like you, Kory. Always helpin' people out an' all that. The strong woman. I occasionally go by 'Ice Blonde' now, ya know, not just 'cause what I can do, but because I seem ta not care no more, an' I'm icy cold to those I talk to and in regards to what I do. Now, I don't expect no sympathy. I don't. But just 'cause I'd hurt people, don't mean I should be hurt. Let he or she who has done no harm, cast the first stone. That's what Jesus says in that there Bible." She points to a Bible that is sitting on a small table nearby. Kory glances at the Bible, then at KeLyssa. "You want to point to the harm I've done before I find a stone to cast at you?" she asks, with a smile that lacks anything like humor. Kory hasn't stepped foot outside in three years. She shows only in dreams, and she shows to help. Not harm. The reminder is what stays her hand, although a rock the size of KeLyssa's head had materialized, and now falls to land heavily at her feet. "If you want to finish school and make something of yourself, you can work for me, 'Ice Blonde'. You could have always worked for me. You had a choice and you chose Boost. You chose what turned my man into a monster. And you want my sympathy? You want to quote the Bible at me?!" Tears of rage stream down the Muse's face as she regards KeLyssa. "Your pride was worth the sanity of others? Your education worth the lives you ruined by getting people hooked on it?!" KeLyssa is silent for a good little while, sorting through her thoughts and awaiting to make sure that Kory has no more to say just yet. "I…" There's an obvious sigh. She doesn't even pay much attention to the rock, wanting to look away, trying to avoid it. "How can I even try to work for ya, when ya've not had contact with me in years? I don't even know how ta get in contact with ya no more. No more'n this way, that is." She chokes on her words, and some visible tears form on her face. She looks Kory in the eye. "Ya think I like doin' what I do?" She scoffs. "I'm goin' to school to be a biologist, ya know." She wipes her tears away with a sleeve. "I actually wanna help these people. But there's nothin' I can do unless I get through school, an' get to work for a lab. I don't want yer sympathy, Kory." She snorts. "And ya know, the last couple years, Randall has actually shown more concern fer me than you have. Leastways he does while I'm still makin' money for 'im an' lookin' all pretty like." "This is the only way to get in touch with me," Kory says, floating like a wraith, staring with empty eyes at KeLyssa. She listens, and then KeLyssa invokes the name. Lightning strikes again. The house rattles again, hard enough that the windows clatter in their frames. "That's all the regard he has for anyone. For Portia. You're just something pretty to look good near him. The moment you stop making him money, then what? You know what he can do. Even without invoking his own Boosted ability. How're you gonna finish school, become a biologist, help people, when you're in a hospital room. Or at the bottom of the Hudson with cement shoes, huh?" KeLyssa scoffs. "I'm a tough girl, Kory. More so than you remember me. I can care of myself." She looks away. "Ice has served me better than most these days." She leans her head against the back of the couch. "Why're you really here, Kory? To tell me how much Randall could hurt me, or ta chew me out fer sellin' Boost? Pick one." She laughs, a quite humourless laugh. "Ya know why I come here, Boss Lady?" She asks the woman, using her old name of affection for Kory. "I come here with the hopes my Grandma will gimme some advice." She looks over to the other woman. "Remember that time we talked 'bout both our Grandma's, Boss Lady?" She takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. "I miss those days." "Who says I have to pick one?" asks the Muse, coldly. She doesn't buy the tough Ice Blonde act. KeLyssa was near tears only moments ago. And Kory knows it was her wrath that put KeLyssa in that place…and could easily, so easily, do it again. The desire to do as she suggested and flay her old employee's mind with other people's nightmares is so difficult to resist. She's collected so many. Private, irrational, unspeakable terrors so dark and vile that even the light of day wouldn't completely banish them from the mind's inner eye. "He…" because she almost never speaks his name anymore, since he dumped her, "…could hurt you. And will if you cross him. And hell, yes, you deserve to be chewed out for selling Boost." "I miss those days as well," Kory admits, expression softening, painfully. "Quit what you're doing, and I'll have my runner draft you a loan. A real one. On paper. With interest you pay back. But stop. Selling it, KeLyssa. This world is already a nightmare from which there's no waking. You don't need to make it any worse. It gets worse every day on its own." The unspoken hangs between them: continue, and risk the Muse being less kind in her response. KeLyssa shakes her head. "He may very well hurt me if I try to leave, too." She lays down on the couch. "It's loans that got me this problem in the first place. Too many of them. Too much money. If I take a loan from you, that would just add on to it. I don't know if I can pay back the ones I have now." She turns around, and faces downward, face in a pillow, just wanting to scream. Here comes the real tears. The tears that are inaudible. Part of the reason she turned away, she didn't want Kory to see. "I miss those days too, Kory. All too much. I wish we could go back to them. They were better." She sniffles only lightly. There's a long pause as she lets everything hang in the air as well. Finally she speaks again. "I don't know if I'm going back to school, Kory. I might move back to Louisiana. Work as a grocer and attempt to pay off the loans I already have." Kory sighs. "Then fine, consider it a gift if you don't want to feel beholden. I can spare it." She must be able to. She lives in the Deveaux building, according to rumor. She has a fabulous library, and computers with which she can keep track of searching for the antidote to Boost, and keeping tabs on dreamers all over the city and the world. And all of this without a day job. "The point is to get you out from under your debt, without leaving you selling that poison. And are you telling me the fearsome Ice Blond cannot stand against him?" She still won't say his name. "Are you telling me you think I couldn't give you an edge in the waking? Are you saying you think I couldn't have support to assist you, protect you? Or are you saying you're simply too afraid of making a bad decision again to try making another, so you just stay where you are because it's easier than facing the scary unknown?" KeLyssa doesn't bother to look up. "Look, I appreciate it, Kory. But I'd feel bad, you know? I have a hard time taking money from anybody. It was hard for me to even apply for the loans." She pauses still, almost wishing herself awake at this point. She hates facing the truth of the matter, when the truth is hard to see. "For all my talk, for as strong and as confident as I appear, there's still a weak little girl inside of me, trying to let itself out, even for an instant. It's cryin' out, tellin' me that none o' this is right, that it's okay to be 'fraid. It's tellin' me, more'n anythin', that I should drop everthin' I'm doin' an' run. Run until I can't run no more. Get away from all of this. Get away from the pain an' the sufferin' an' the hurtin'." The sky clears. The thunder stops. Kory is still so angry, so hurt, by what this woman she once called friend has done. And her refusal is just another barb in an already wounded heart. "As you wish, then. I would advise you to do so when you wake, then." She turns to leave. "If you continue dealing Boost, I will not get between you and the consequences of that decision." Niki qualifies as such, and that's not even counting the Muse's own wrath. "Should you change your mind, tell Sophie and I will have Leslie arrange for the transfer of money for you." KeLyssa looks up finally, the apparent redness of her eyes and the streams of tears down her face. She didn't expect forgiveness. Not really. That would have been too much to ask. "I wish you could see me now for who I really am, as you once did. We were friends, back in the day. I ain't really a bad gal. I wanna do good." She pauses. "I'm sorry." She whispers to Kory. "I hope that you'll be able to forgive me…someday." She stands up. "Kory? Please, don't let your anger cause ya to forget…there is still good in the world. Even in us lowly people who sell such horrible things." There's a deep breath in. "An' Kory?" She seems hesitant. "Thank you. I…never got ta tell ya that. Not for real. Thank ya. You don't know how much you really effected me. Don't take what I do now as an indication of that." She smiles softly. "I'll always love you for all you've done for me in the past." She wipes away some tears and looks away to the sun that her appears in this dream of hers. Kory turns one more time to look at KeLyssa. "If you were the good person you say is inside you somewhere," she murmurs quietly, "You would not have struck at me where you know my deepest pain lies. You have nothing to thank me for. If I had any effect on you at all, it is long since covered under layers of tarnish and rationalization. "You do not want to see me again while you still deal." Normally, Kory would depart to leave the dreamer with peace. But she can't bring herself to do it. Not now. Not for this dreamer. The most the Muse can manage now is to leave the dreamscape as she found it. |
**11:45 pm*
Gabriel Gray has come a long way in four years.
His mind, once troubled, hurt, and twisted, is much cleaner these days. Even with the world around him ending, he still finds solace in the same place he always has. The watchshop. Over the years, the watchshop in his head has sorted itself out. His mother's apartment gone, thoughts of the woman drifting away as Gabriel has asserted himself. Made himself into who he wants to be. Thoughts of his overbearing mother wanting the world for him are now gone. His own apartment, something he was attached to for a multitude of reasons, is now gone as well. All that remains is the watchshop. Pure. Clean. Pristine. Perfect. Gabriel sits at a table directly in the middle, an intense, harsh light focused on the table in front of him to blot out the glare from the setting sun outside. He's working on a watch, much like the first dream Kory entered so many years ago, but there are no other watches to be found. Off and behind him, to the right, a large, wooden door stands closed. There are no words on it, and it must lead off to some other part of the watchshop. As for Gabriel, all of his focus is on the watch in front of him, carefully guiding the tolls around the moving pieces to bring the clock into perfect condition. It's running two seconds fast for every eight hours. Given enough time, the watch will no longer tell the correct time of the day. He doesn't intend for that to happen. Kory has, with great respect and pride, watched the chosen landscape for Gabriel's dreaming psyche make its slow and gradual change. Shedding old pains and foibles, growing into himself out of the expectations of the people who had burdened him with them, or who had tried to place new ones on him. She shows up looking — unusually — like herself. She has the sort of mundane clothing she doesn't bother with anymore in real life or in anyone else's dreams. She's his therapist (thanks to online courses to get her official license), and she dresses the part. A simple sweater and black slacks. The bell jingles, an affectation she always adds to his dreams as a gesture of respect from when she made herself known to him beyond the strange little facade she wore for him so long ago. "Gabriel, hello." She could have come in person, down to his apartment. But no. She doesn't leave the apartment. At all. Not for any reason. It's a good thing there haven't been any fires. At the sound of the bell, Gabriel looks up from his work, setting the watch and tools down onto the table in front of him. "Kory," he says, offering her a smile as he stands. "Hi." He brings a hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes gently to relieve some of the stress from starting so long at a watch. Stress he most likely doesn't feel in the real world, but the dream makes it seem real enough. "How are you?" "I …" Kory pauses, to consider the right words with which to properly and accurately answer his query. Honesty has always been important with her; particularly so with Gabriel. "Endure. And persist." She shrugs. "I have my work." Over the years, she's opened up to him just a little. And of course, he knows that she has become a recluse with a puppy in a man's body. And that she simply wanders the halls of her immense domicile, like a lost ghost. Touching dreams. Putting people together. Uncrossing stars. Making matches. Helping. Healing. Healing everything but herself, that is. "And you?" "Don't we all," Gabriel says, a small frown flitting across his face. There's no doubt that he's come to call Kory a friend over these past years, even since their first true meeting in his apartment over breakfast, and with everything she's doing for those around here, he's more than a little worried. He steps forward, extending his arms to offer the woman a hug. "I'm… fine. Doing the best I can in these times." Kory accepts the embrace and returns it. For all that she's so withdrawn from the world, she remains a warm and affectionate person. And in the dream world, the gesture of affection is just as real for her as it would be in the waking. So she basks in the embrace as long as Gabriel is inclined to allow it. "As are we all." She doesn't even use it to take her obligatory glance at That Door. She just keeps her eyes closed and enjoys the closeness with a friend. "All is well in the waking for you?" she finally asks. Gabriel, for all his abilities, still looks like an unassuming ordinary person whom the junkies, the Boosters, the gangs, and anyone else might mistake for an easy mark. "It is," Gabriel says, pulling away only when he thinks Kory has been hugged long enough to make her feel better. "I get the occasional thug in the watchshop looking for a quick fight or some cash, but once I show them a few of the things I can do, they get out of there pretty quick." He gives her a small shrug. "I had a… thing with Peter, but it's nothing. Most days I spend with Cass trying to help her." "A …thing?" Kory wrinkles her brow in concern. Peter's already hurt so much. It seems ironic — as Gabriel grows stronger and surer, Peter finds himself struggling and uncertain. Something Peter said to her…or maybe just a nuance of his expression when she saw him last…? It seems to resonate oddly with the turn of phrase… Kory regards Gabriel curiously for a moment, but trusts him at his word. If he said it's nothing, and doesn't want to get into it, she won't pry. He can talk about it when he's ready. Besides, this is Gabriel's time. "How has Cass been? I don't see her much." Occasionally she visits the woman's dreams to say hello, but she has so much of that to do, she can never stay long enough to catch up. "Peter is… having some trouble, I think, dealing with some things…" Everything around them? Gabriel can't blame him. The world is slowly falling apart at the seams, and eventually it's going to break if something can't be done about the horrible things going on around them. Gabriel believes they need to work from the present, not from the past like Peter. Even though the man attacked them, and they fought, he doesn't want to worry Kory about it. It's better to lie to her than tell her the truth in Gabriel's eyes. "Don't worry about him, though. We'll make sure everything works out." He takes a breath, letting it out slowly. "Cass is doing fine. Her power is.. something that she's struggling with, but she's making progress. I wish there were more I could do for her." "He is," Kory has to confirm. "He feels …" It's too difficult to explain it all; he feels hurt? Like he's failed? Like he's failed everyone who matters and ever did matter to him? Probably all true, but not really her place to get into it. And besides, Peter asked her not to discuss what he means to do. "We will," Kory confirms, including herself in the 'we'. Because she's been working in her way toward making the world better as well." "If she wants me to help her work through it, she has only to ask. You know that. So should she." Kory settles against the table, careful not to dislodge any of Gabriel's work. "I am still seeking the cure. Or the undoing or whatever will stop Boost. Though Peter seems convinced things are going to escalate. He's been painting." "Things don't look good, and I can agree with Peter on that," Gabriel says, following Kory to the table and sitting down in the seat across from her. "I don't know if we'll find a cure. Most of these abilities seem to stick.. unless you stop taking the formula. But it's a horrible thing to stop taking it." Gabriel can say that he's thankful his ability was natural. It has definitely come with the downsides, of which most people are aware (at least those that talk to and know him). "I'll talk to Cass next time I see her, tell her you want to help." A slight smirk, and he gives Kory a nod. "You'll come Gabriel recommended." "I know." Kory is, as always, in control of her dreamform. But talking about the cure always brings up the old pain that drove her to be a reclusive information broker. She has to take a moment to turn away, close her eyes, and catch her breath. It's closer to the surface now, more than usual. "I know." She has to smile, though, in response to Gabriel's smirk. "You know me. Helping has always been my thing." There's a frown from Gabriel, directed at Kory's back as she turns away from him. "We'll find something," he says, trying to give her words of comfort, as small as they may be. "Helping is a good thing," he says, leaning back in his chair slightly. A piece of the watch's movement on the table is toyed with, Gabriel spinning it slightly on the wooden surface. "The world could use more people like you. Maybe we wouldn't have ended up here." Kory turns back to glance at Gabriel. It wasn't she was turning away from him as such; she was just making sure her composure wasn't going to fracture in front of him. They're old friends, but she tries not to let the old, deep fissure that shows when she thinks of her own loss show in dreams. Particularly when she's supposed to be helping someone else. "That's really nice of you to say. I know I'm strange, even for an Evolved. What can I tell you — my dad, he taught me this when I was little, and it stuck." She gives a bashful smile, knowing it sounds a touch corny. "What makes a person normal?" Gabriel says, another soft shrug of the shoulders offered. "You're not strange, Kory. You're just…" He pauses for a moment, considering what words to use. "You're a very nice, caring, wonderful person who wants to help others. There's nothing strange about that." Kory actually blushes at the compliment this time. "And in this world, nice is a liability." Which explains why she doesn't come out anymore. Even if there's a fixit job in her apartment, she is usually hidden away somewhere. Leslie greets Gabriel, makes sure he's paid. "Maybe I just feel strange because by my lights — dreamers like me are pretty rare." Even though she almost never sleeps, so how can she dream? "You're rare for many reasons, Kory," the ex-killer says, smiling at her. "We'll figure all of this out. Peter, Pinehearst, Cass, the world… we'll make it right. We have to." Somehow, that was just the right thing to say. Kory suddenly becomes more her old self, and flings herself at Gabriel to hug him again, eyes squeezed closed tight. "When did we switch roles? Here you are helping me keep body and soul together," she whispers, muffled against his chest. (He's so tall). When Kory flings herself at him, Gabriel is a little more than surprised, caught offguard with a small 'oof!' as she comes up against him. He returns the hug, a hand moving up to her head. "I… don't know," he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Sometimes crazy things happen." Kory lets go after a moment, eyes wet. "Maybe they do. But thank you." She reaches up to stroke his face gently. "Sometimes I forget I have friends strong enough to hold me up when being the Muse gets a little too heavy for me…and that they're willing to be there for me when it is." She brushes her hair back from her face, composing herself again. "You'll keep me in the loop? If you need my help with more than Cass? Or if you hear anything about the counterformula?" Back to work, it seems. "You're welcome," Gabriel says, smiling down at Kory. When she pulls away, he gives her a nod, moving back to his seat at the table. "I will. I'll see her soon, I'm sure, and I'll mention it to her. The more help any of us can get, and I mean any of us, we should take it. We all need to stick together if we're going to make it through this." "We're never alone as long as I draw breath, and you have to sleep," Kory reminds him, bending to kiss his temple. "Every day is a long day, so I'll let you get some rest. You need me, you still know the way to reach me." There's another smile at the kiss, and Gabriel gives Kory another nod. "If I need you, I'll come calling. And you know that the same is true for you. I'm here if you need me." "I know. And that means more to me than I can put words to, old friend," Kory says, smile lingering Cheshire Cat-like even after the rest of her has already moved onto someone else's dreamscape. "Sleep well, Gabriel." |
12:00 am
Lockdown time. Leslie's delivered what he's been instructed to. And now, he walks the perimeter. Downstairs, the lobby. The doorman is exchanged for a security guard. And Leslie retreats into the elevator. It rises to Kory's floor and locks there. His power has had years to grow better, grow strong. The car won't move without his willing it so. The doors on the hallway. All locked. And tight. No way out of them if anyone meaning his Muse harm comes in. The doors to the stairs. Locked. Beyond use of a key. And finally, Sanctom Somnius. The door closed and locked. And then the antechamber. Then her windows. Her balcony.
Kory waits for Leslie to fall asleep. She has a few hours to herself before she begins the cycle again, with different people. Checking on Randall, to make sure he's safe — even with his power. And, despite the odd mingling of pain and sympathy it invokes in her — Portia. Who isn't really Randall's woman as much as Kory believed. One moment of weakness has reminded her of what once was, and she has …an agreement of sorts, now. With both of them. Checking on Cam and Ian, to make sure they haven't given into temptation given the odds. Checking in on Lee. And Nima. Checking in on Benjamin Winters. On her brother. On KeLyssa's brother. And KeLyssa herself. On Quinn. And the other hundreds, thousands, millions, of minds that sleep and dream in the naked city.
Unless Peter succeeds.
She takes a slow, deep breath, and curls up on the window seat with some of the copious, copious notes, hoping to find a pattern someone might have missed. Just in case.
It was the grand reopening of the building once called hailed for the fights held therein. Now, called 'The HQ', the brawl hall now intends to entice crowds with dancing, food, and on special nights, live music. With all the festivities going on, confetti falling and lights flashing, it is pretty hard to imagine anyone not having a good time.
This was Tyson, sitting at a desk in his office half a mile under the dancing feet on the dance floor. He hadn't been up top for some time now, leaving that up to the others, and he doubted he ever would. Even though it was his idea to turn the place in to a club, for him, there was no reason to dance. Now holding a vial of the Boost drug in his hand, he seriously contemplated its usage, not quite ready to administer what he hoped might lead him one step closer… The decision itself was very weighted. Making him tired. Drifting off to sleep… Tyson finds himself in a dream. The dream itself is of the HQ still as it is, but empty and dark. In his conscious state, it might as well have been. Yet, there does seem to be a storm cloud hovering in one corner of the room. Tyson sees this from where he stands almost directly under it and does not move. The cloud, it seems, is about to tear itself open into a flood. This place again. The boy's obsessed with brawling like Speed Racer's obsessed with racing. But Kory recognizes it immediately. And that's a good thing. Because it means it's Tyson's mind. Unadulterated, uncompromised. Safe. If a little gloomed. Kory's arrival is heralded by the stacatto sounds of her footfalls, as if in high heels, as she approaches the center of the floor, where the ring used to be. When the sound stops, a spotlight swings from nowhere to center on Tyson, heat burning away the water vapor. A similar one swings from nowhere to center on The Muse. "Hello, Tyson. It has been some time. But you gave me a difficult task. And its success was too important to trust to mere technology." An explanation for why she didn't text him. Call him. IM him. Oddly, despite having sounded on approach like she was wearing high heels — the Muse hovers, barefoot, six inches above the floor, gown and Hearing the voice and feeling the warmth of the spotlights shining through the storm cloud, Tyson's attention was drawn out from himself towards that of the source that had appeared. She was familiar, not blocked out, not repressed… and her hair… it wasn't his mom… and- "Yeah, you're… Carly? Coreen? I'm terrible with names. We saved you though, didn't we? Drowning in Kentucky? Flying girl, right?" He begins to smile, but freezes and reverses it into a frown, "No… we didn't get there in time…" The feeling of Deja Vu was setting in and he looked around again, something was off. "This isn't the first time we've done this, but… I don't know. Am I dreaming? I know we opened tonight. There was a lot of hype at the ceremony. You're floating too… this has got to be…" "I'm the Muse," Kory says, content to let him have and use her nickname. She can see from the dream in which she finds him that despite the gala opening of his club — yes, she heard about it. She hears everything — he's troubled. And hurting. "Yes, it is a dream," she confirms, gesturing slightly by opening her fingers at shoulder height. As she does so, the spotlights come on around them, one by one. But what they cast light on and reveal is not the old HQ, nor the club it has become. It's Kirby Plaza. At sunset. With the sun's fading rays painting the concrete in gold, sienna, orange, and red. "But we are having a conversation just the same. I have been sent to deliver you a message." A pause, the Muse regarding the young man cautiously. "From Ophelia." "Okay, Muse." Tyson nods slowly, finding the name oddly fitting for some reason. However, it is not at her name that Tyson remembers and at it quite obvious that is the case when his eyes light up, further recalling his new location as the first time he heard the girl introduce herself. "Phi…?" Really? You're not… messing with me are you? My associates know I'm looking for somebody by that name… but you come to me in my dreams, how do I know you're not just picking my subconscious?" Messing with him? Picking his subconscious? The Muse lifts her chin, offended. "You haven't been paying much attention," she says, coolly. "I am the one who inspires. Who makes dreams come true," she says, lower lip sticking out petulantly. "My reputation is impeccable. I do not mess with anyone who doesn't deserve it." Oh, and they who deserve it do not know peaceful night's sleep. They who deserve it sometimes develop phobias of sleeping that even the powers granted by Boost do nothing to alleviate. "And even if I were, I found her. And she asked me to find you. And given her situation, I would not play fast and loose with her heart and her thoughts." The muse steps away from her spot, walking on air. The spotlight now shines on an image of Ophelia as she is today — lost, alone, homeless, and surrounded by faceless people who mean nothing to her. Except Tyson. His face is clear, and she reaches for it, with hopeful eyes, and shaking hands. "She said she would meet you. Here. At Kirby Plaza. In two days. At sunset." Tyson gets the impression that he has irritated the Muse and subconsciously, here actually, starts making his way towards her to try and make ammends. The tone in her voice was annoyed even when she started talking about the girl he had not seen in four years. When shown an image of her, Tyson halts himself and simply stares at the girl, reaching out for her in kind. It was her, older but her, and she looked- "Two days at Sunset?" He asked, looking back at Muse to make sure he got the information right. The irked reaction of the Muse softens as Tyson stops, gazing at the image of Ophelia. "Yes," she confirms. "I asked twice, to make certain. She knows you mean something to each other. She wants to see you, no matter what." It might be telling that Kory uses the present tense, not the past tense. In the eyes of the Muse, they still mean something to each other, even now. "And you wanted to see her, once. Three years ago, you asked me to find her. It has taken me this long to locate her. One mind among millions, dreaming of you, was not so simple a task." He's good looking. He has a lot of fans. Especially since the club opened. "And now I have done as you both asked," she says, inclining her head toward Tyson. "Take her hand…and get out of this hellhole of a city. Find yourselves some quiet place and build your lives together away from the crime and the suffering. Away from the pain and wrongness that eats this island." Tyson is blank after hearing all that it took for the Muse to find the girl and he did not even remember asking for it. It did not matter now, she had been found. In the city. Had she always been here? "Thanks." Yet despite the fact that he was in a dream, he was not bounding off the walls in excitement. There was something else going on. Almost preventing him from immediately waking up to find her. "I just… Thanks." The Muse opens her mouth to give the colloquially accepted correct response to Tyson's thanks, but she frowns thoughtfully at Tyson. "Something isn't right with you. I think before you see Ophelia, you perhaps need to see Sophie." Kirby Plaza vanishes in watery ripples around them, to be replaced by the scene of Niki's shelter for Boost addicts and the homeless. The image continues to move, as if Tyson were the lens of a camera, and the camera were being carried into the shelter. Sad faces, lonely people, addicts in the throes of Boost's unspeakable withdrawal pass by him, until one person stands out. Sophie Petrov. "Sophie is one of mine. If there are things you need to remember…she can help you." The Muse smiles, though. There is a certain comedic/tragic irony to each of them having memory damage where the other is concerned. "And you're welcome." She gestures, and the shelter melts away, to restore the dream to what it was when she arrived. The HQ, dark after a night of partying. "Was there anything else you needed?" she asks, turning to walk back up the way she came, bare feet once more making that disquieting clicking even though they're not touching the floor. Watching the image shift from Ophelia to a shelter where another girl is shown, Tyson almost cringes at his unmade decision, before realizing that even if this was a dream he couldn't let himself show it around the Muse. Though, he figured she might already have guessed about it. "You think I need my memories-?" The very thought of it concerns him. But to see her… "Yeah, okay." Nodding slowly, Tyson tries to think of something he needs from her, "Maybe… but I think it might take some time to get going. Do you mind if we meet again?" The new idea in mind, brightened his mind, but not by much. "You have two days in which to prepare to see her," The Muse says, lifting one shoulder. "You seem uncertain. Conflicted. A bit downplayed of emotion for a woman you were so desperate to find when last we spoke. And I know a bit about locking away painful memories in order to function even at a basic level," she tells him. "There is something there, but it is dulled. Muffled. Muted. Not a bright passion flame like it once was." "I don't mind." The muse raises her hand and a five digit text number lights in the air over her head. "Text that number when you have need of the Muse again." She begins to walk away once more, but now her bare feet are silent as her footfalls land on nothing. Spying the numbers, Tyson doesn't find them too significant in themselves, but he does his best to remember them. There were only five of them and that boded well, but actually texting it would prove something else. Tyson had been in some stuff before, but usually on his own, this was indeed something else. She was trying to help him though and that meant she there should at least be an attempt to trust her. Waking up some time later, Tyson immediately scribbled down the digits as to remember them later. He would text them. After, he saw Sophie… and Opehlia… both events, worried him. For now though, he did feel more lively. He would go upstairs and join in the party. He won't have any trouble remembering them. That's part of the Muse's ability. This dream will have the clarity of a conversation had in the waking, in broad daylight. |
He's matured, a bit. But remains more or less irrepressible. Ian's hideyhole is a walkup in Greenwich Village, essentially a shoebox in size. All his toys and geeky collectibles are hidden safely away in California - what remains there is spartan, almost military. His bed is a loft in the little room. And now he disposes himself on the worn foam mattress and settles his cropped head on the pillow, lying on his back with one hand curled loosely over his solar plexus. It only takes him a few deep breaths to settle into that dim state on the border of sleep, and go -looking- for Kory.
His dreamworld, funnily enough, is something of his beloved northern California. At the moment, he stands on a sandy beach, wind trying to ruffle hair too short to do so. The sea breezes rustle softly through the immense redwoods on the cliffs above, and the last lowering gleams of the westering sun make him squint.
Kory has to be wary of traps. Her people, her operatives, the Evolved, could be compromised by the government. Or a crazed Booster. So she has to be sure the dreamscape is safe before she appears. It's a moment or two before she shimmers into existence beside Ian. "Good morning," she greets him. "How was your day?" She gives him a little shrug and smiles. It could be the beginning of his day now in this topsy-turvy world of insuficient illumination.
Ian turns to grin at her. He's filled out a little in the intervening years, but not too much. Still a wiry little creature. "Good. You?" His smile is warm, but he doesn't waste words. "When you gonna come out of your cave again, Amaterasu?" He's still persistent on the subject. "Visit me in my hobbithole."
Kory smiles back. "As good as ever," she tells him, ever honest. "I can't, Ian. You know that. I can't. Before…it was just …" She can't say it. Grief. Over Randall. The one man who has ever loved her besides her own father and brother. It was true at first. And to a degree, a painful degree, it still is. But it's no longer the only reason. "But now — I serve a purpose here. I help people. I put people together. If I step outside, and someone makes me as the Muse…" So much would be lost. "The research for the cure for Boost. The connections of the resistance. I'd love to visit you, but now? It's not safe. For anyone."
Ian's lips pull into what can only be a pout. It's only half-serious. He pats her on the shoulder, lightly. "I know, I know," he says, with a sigh. "Next year in Jerusalem. How's tricks?"
Kory actually laughs. It's an odd sound, because she almost never does anymore. But Ian's alway had that gift for tickling her. "The same. You wanna be a hero again? Cam and Quinn could use your help getting my old friend out of trouble."
He's pleased, clearly, and he gets that look that makes him look like a faun contemplating mischief. "Of course," he says, puffing up his chest and striking the appropriate pose. "What's up?'
"It's Lee. While I've been helping keep the nightmares away from his charges…and him? I've also been pulling data out of their dreams. We have a map of the installation they're being held. We're getting him out." Kory pauses, pulls a moue, and sighs, adding, "Well. You are."
His face lights up at that. Oh, the commando stuff is always fun. At least by Ian's funny sense of fun. "Sure," he says, like she's proposing a walk in the park.
"I've given Quinn the maps. Locked them in her head with a code phrase she has. If she has trouble remembering it, tell her 'Paul McCartney's uncle'. Kory whistles the whistling bars of the very old, so old Ian may never have heard it, "We're So Sorry Uncle Albert". "She knows a good chunk of the layout. Where the guards are. And she can replicate keycards. But we have holes in the intel, so be careful, all right?"
He crouches down, settling comfortably on his heels to scoop up a handful of sand, let it run down between his fingers. "Quinn, then. The chanteuse?" he wonders, flicking up a dark brow.
The Muse nods, and gestures. The wind comes, blowing sand around in a small column. When it is done, there's a statue of her built of sand. Yes, she still knows how to have fun with her powers. She builds one of how Cam looks now as well. And Lee. Who is, alas and alack, an emaciated, bearded drunk with basset hound eyes. "That's her. She's one of the Gifted." Yes, some call it an ability. Some say Evolved. But to the Muse it's a gift. She need not sleep. She has time to read to her heart's content. To research. Thanks to Micah, her firewall is impenetrable. And she can put people together in ways that help everyone. So yes, for her, it's a gift. But enough woolgathering.
"If Lee's students are awake — you will have trouble. They're gifted, and in shock trooper training."
Ian's lip curls. "Man. Time has not been kind to one Leto Jones," Ian says, but his tone is regretful, rather than snide, as he gently pushes his palm through the little sculptures, once he's done eyeing them. "What's her trick?"
Lee's the snide one. He's always been the snide one. Well, he used to be. The muse shoves curls out of her face. "No. It hasn't. His sister, in Philadelphia, is on Boost. His woman is dead." A pause. "Or so he believes. She lives, and plans to take him to see his sister, to help break the addiction."
But he's asked her a question. "Quinn? She's an…imagemaker, if you will. She can trick even machines. She can disguise herself. Or you. I advised her middle-evening is the best time for your undertaking. Lee will be the least trouble to you then."
His chuckle is delighted. "Great. I shoulda known - why else would you be in showbiz. You think Lee himself will be the trouble?"
"He's given up, Ian," Kory says, and as she does, the Lee-sand-statue begins to crumble. "He believes all he can do is what they want him to do. They've threatened Nima, and he believes they've killed Joule. He wants to do right by these kids, even though he's hanging onto the hope that they'll make terrible shock troops for the government." She shakes her head. "So yes. I think he will try to fight you if he's awake or conscious. But he drinks himself to sleep, so you'll be able to just toss him over your shoulder and punch your way out."
"If I have to, I'll punch -him- out," Ian says, blithely, rising to his feet again, scuffing his booted toes in the sand. "We'll see him right," As if fighting their way out of a government installation with an unconscious Evolved will be easy.
"I don't even know if he has access to his ability anymore," Kory warns. "It failed him when he was still trying to fight. He never thought much of it to begin with. But he may still try to deflect you if he feels you're trying to take him away." She gestures again. The Lee statue has stopped crumbling. Inside the horrible wreck of Leto Jones is the man he was in 2008. The smirky, hipster with the arrogant expression. "He's in there somewhere. We're going to get him out, so we can get him out."
Ian nods to that, folding his arms over his chest, and attempting to look sage. Not that he succeeds in looking much more than a boy trying to feign a man's gravity. Ian never will properly grow up.
Oh, but that's one of the things that Kory finds most endearing about him. This dark world cannot extinguish his life. This grim life cannot dampen his natural joie de vivre. "I know you will, Ian. You've never failed an operation I've asked you to undertake. No matter how crazy or dangerous. You're so brave." And that's not just Kory's idea of inspiration. "Braver than I."
After all. She's an acrophobe now. A recluse. Who hides behind the truth of why she can't step outside to support her terror of an outside world that has turned too cruel for her to handle.
"We all do what we can. When're you gonna let me come see you, huh?" he wonders, the impish gleam finally dying away, as he looks at her, puppyishly earnest.
"You know I can't do that either, sweet," Kory says quietly. "It's dangerous enough having my one waking world staff member. If someone were to track him back to Sanctum Somnius, all that we've worked for? It would be lost, ruined. The same would be true for you. Anyone watching would use you to get through to me. If not in person, they might compromise your mind. And your dreams wouldn't even be safe, Ian." She turns to gaze out over the ocean, eyes genuinely regretful. She misses him, but the danger for them both is too great. "I'm sorry. I can't."
The sun bronzes the back of the waves, leaving the front a deep, deep blue. His brow furrows as if he intended to argue, but he visibly resists the temptation, and merely nods to her. "I know. I don't like it, but I do understand."
A light of gratitude brightens in Kory's eyes at his words. "Someday," she promises. "You know how many irons I have in the fire. How many threads I'm shaking. Something will work out. It has to." She gives a little laugh, half-sob. "Listen to me. I sound like a cliche. If I say anything about 'darkest before the dawn,' feel free to shock me."
"Cliches become cliches because they're -true-," Ian says, with a little rumble of laughter in return. "And it's either that or lie down and die, and neither you nor I is really interested, eh?" He takes her hand in his, whirls her around the flat sand where the tide has already smoothed it out, nearly like concrete - almost as if he'd begin a waltz.
"If we could only bottle your optimism, Ian. Bottle it and share it with the world." Before she can say whatever else she meant to say, Kory squeaks, and giggles as he sweeps her into a whirling motion. She can't help it. Ian greeted her like this in person every time he saw her, and it never failed to bring happiness and affection bubbling up out of her. "You help me keep the lights on."
"I'll leave the light on for ya," Ian says, in a perfect mockery of those old Motel 6 ads. "I'm American, a young white protestant man, and from California. I've got the shares of optimism from entire small South American countries," he says, stopping, but still holding her hands.
Kory continues to chuckle, grateful for the laughter. "What else are you doing with yourself, aside from kicking ass when I need you?" The Evolved she knows are already on the move, or she's seen them already, so she takes a little time to simply enjoy his company. She does not generally allow herself peaceful time, but it's been a tempestuous day, full of ups and downs. Her emotions have been dragged from high to low, and even a brief vacation in Ian's psyche is a welcome change.
Ian says, amued, "I wait tables. That's my day job. At night, I sneak around, do what I can. Commando, resistance, occasionally pointless vandalism," He looks up and down the coastline. To the north, a colony of seals lazes upon the rocks.
"And you probably get flirted with by your customers, because you're adorable," Kory teases. "And you make their days brighter for twenty minutes, an hour." She smiles at the mental image of Ian, bright, shiny, sparkly-spriited Ian, skulking through the dark, unnoticed. "I still don't know how you manage it. How the whole world doesn't see you glowing in the dark like a beacon."
Ian tickles her chin. "Most of the world isn't as perceptive as you, oneironaut. In this day and age, it's easier not to see, isn't it?" He beams at her. "And I turn off the Bambi-eyed charm when I'm pretending I'm special forces."
"Unfortunately, that's true," Kory admits, blushing at the term of affection. "In this day and age, what there is to see is often not worth seeing." She takes a deep breath, unnecessary in the dream, but almost a reflex. "Peter says there's a chance we can fix it and make none of this ever have happened. But we don't stop fighting in case that's just …" oh, irony, wryly twisting her face as she speaks another cliche, "…a pipe dream."
Ian blinks at her, disingenuously. "If Petrelli the multitalented figures out how to fire up the time machine, lemme know. If we can change this, we should,"
"He's working on it," Kory assures Ian. "I will let you know if he needs us, but I have the feeling this is one of those things he must do alone. Partly in case he doesn't succeed. Partly because he doesn't want to endanger anyone but himself." Probably the only person in the city, despite the rumors of him being a hardcase no one wants around, who is more altruistic than the Muse of Manhattan herself.
"He is," Kory agrees, walking to the water's edge. "He doesn't want his fight to cost anything more than this world has already cost us all."
"He should let others help him." Ian insists, tone adamant.
Kory is up to her knees in the water now. "If you find the way to convince him, dear, by all means, you're welcome to try. You think I haven't? He's Gibraltar. He's immovable."
The tide is coming in, making Ian caper back before the advancing wavelets, before he gives it up as a bad job and lets them lap around him. "I know. But even water and wind can wear down stone."
"Then the job is yours. If you can find him." Kory shrugs. "I have no way of reaching him. He does not sleep anymore. Ever. At all." For anybody else, that'd mean insanity. For Peter Petrelli? It still might. And now she's up to her shoulders, only her neck, face and upswept hair visible. "I only see him when he wants to be seen."
Ian pulls a face at that, uneasy. "That's no good. Gotta be a way to put out an APB on him. Somehow," HE lets the Pacific envelop his ankles.
"Niki might know how to find him," Kory supposes, showing Ian an image of her built from a waterspout she geysers for just that purpose. "They are quite close, I understand." Her eyes become shadowed at that statement, but her face remains placid.
Ian cocks a dark eye at her, beyond the water sculpture. "Unh," he says, intelligently.
The Niki watersculpture turns back into a waterspout, one which splashes playfully at Ian. "I should go. Let you get some deeper sleep. I'll be in contact to let you know when we're ready to move on Lee, hmm?" The Muse submerges, before returning from the water the way she came, but looking like she never got wet in the first place.
3:00 am:
The locks hold. Because they're down at a molecular level now. Even asleep, since Leslie gave no command to unlock them. His Muse is safe.
But she's not.
Because there are people…with powers…that make their own doors.
Leslie is startled out of bed by the series of thunderous booms. "Muse!" he calls, alarmed, and uselessly. She's not asleep. She took micro-naps in moments between. She's already out of her bedroom and into the living room, dressed. "Muse, you have to go."
"No. You have to go," the Muse says. "There's too much information here." Every possible lead she's ever been able to find about the formula, the possible cure to Boost. The way back from the edge. Every safe house. Every place a pocket of resistance is. "I can't leave. Get yourself safe."
"I'm not leaving you," Leslie snaps. "Ever."
Ever comes too soon. Leslie gasps, claws at his throat, and goes down, even as the steel security door turns to ricepaper and is exploded through by two people The Muse hasn't seen since she was Kory.
"Nequebaard," she breathes, staring down blankly and without surprise at the bulky man and the skinny geek beside him. The irony is palpable in the air; that the old gang from the Secret Lair would have not only embraced powers but become Boost junkies, willing to do anything to keep the feeling of power geeks usually only experience after college brings success.
"Kory—" the man breathes, dragging a hand through his thinned grey hair. His bloodshot, baggy eyes are widened in guilt and shock. Obviously he expected the Muse to be some faceless person, someone he didn't know, and could kill with impunity for more hits of Boost. He didn't expect a woman he'd had feelings for himself, and who he'd hurt in trying to help a friend; said friend now lying dead at his feet.
Nequebaard's companion is not so crippled with conflict. The room rumbles as if the building were put in an earthquake. Bookshelves fall forward, and the Muse stands and stares down the other man. "Sorry, nothing personal," he tells her. "But we've been promised, set for life, power forever, if we take you out."
His hand flashes out and the Muse is swept up in a wave of invisible force, thrown through the plate glass window and out onto her balcony amonst an infinite rain of glass shards.