Waiting For Rain IC: Spring Slowly Comes

[the_druid_droid]

“Hey, that wasn’t bad!” Jon ran to recover the ball and smoothy integrated Charlene into the turn order.

Although both his friends had seen glimpses of Jon’s competitive streak, he mostly seemed content to shoot and goof around for the time being. His good mood was still firmly in place and the game served almost like meditation to draw his mind away from some of the things he’d rather not remember for the moment.

[Deadly]

Charlene remained largely quiet as they played. Not gloomily silent, merely content to not say a lot. The casual throwing of the ball gave her mind and senses the freedom to just roam at random and she welcomed the opportunity.

[BlasTech]

Isabelle found herself getting more and more into the competition of the game as the shootout progressed. While she could be competitive at times, like Jon, she instead found herself competing against herself. Each time she missed was a challenge thrown down by her poor muscle memory and time.

But that only made the successes all the more sweet.

"Yes!!! Hah!!" she cried, punching the air as she beat the statistics and slotted on in with nothing but net.

[the_druid_droid]

Jon continued shooting, taking things fairly easy, and occasionally offering advice on form and technique to his friends. Basketball hadn’t been his primary sport in the old days, but it had given him an excuse to sprint around the court in winter, when it was too cold for the cross country team to get much done.

Throughout the game, Jon’s shots were mostly on target, though he still missed his share. Anyone paying attention might notice that he seemed to prefer layups and similar maneuvers over static shooting around the goal.

[Deadly]

As the game progresses, Charlene began to become more adventurous with her throws, trying different, sometimes rather experimental techniques. Probably as a result some of them didn't quite make it through the hoop. Still, she always gave a satisfied smirk every time she made a score, especially if it was one of the more difficult ones, as well as offering a supportive smile when her friends scored.

[BlasTech]

Isabelle found her memory of games played long ago returning, the weight of the ball in her hands, the feel and sound as it bounced. Moving and dribbling soon became more natural to her unpracticed reflexes, but the precision needed for shooting reliably still eluded her.

It was somewhat frustrating, but she still found herself enjoying regaining the simple ability to dribble while not looking at the ball.

[the_druid_droid]

When he sensed his friends’ interest starting to flag, Jon excused himself to shower off and round up some dinner. He trusted that Felix would see to the equipment breakdown, and had a hunch the butler was already closing in.

As he headed back to his room, Jon reflected that changing into his old jogging clothes had been a good idea; he had started to sweat, and the formal outfit he’d been given would have been unbearably hot.

[Deadly]

Charlene spent the rest of the evening reading a book, some fairly ordinary mystery novel, in a quiet corner before eventually heading off to get some sleep. She crept in under the blankets and closed her eyes, wondering where her plans for tomorrow would take her.

[BlasTech]

After the game and a quick meal, Isabelle retired to her room for a shower and a change. She emerged from the shower, got dressed and promptly .... did absolutely nothing.

There was nothing left to do that day; no games to play, no conversations, no planning, nothing on TV. In short, there were no more distractions available to her.

Just her, alone in her room with her thoughts. Her memories.

Dammit.

She pulled up a chair by the window of the room she shared with Charlene, as if in one last desperate hope that something exciting would be happening outside. Frustratingly, the only thing that happened was that the sun set, the stars came out, and it eventually got too dark for her to see anything besides a speckled blue-black blur beyond the window pane.

Sighing, she dragged herself to bed and shut off the lights. She was still awake when her roomate returned, and it wasn't until much later that weariness finally overcame the insomnia brought on by a too active mind.

[BlasTech]

"Will that be all, Mistress?"

"Yes, thank you Isabelle. Please feel free to retire for the night"

"Of course, mistress. Good evening." She replied with a smile, replacing the teapot on the silver platter from whence it had come. She turned to leave for her room when a quiet alarm sounded in her mind.

She turned, trying to see what might have caused it. Behind her, studious as always, the Lady Tanda bent over her ledgers, her long, golden hair held back by an antique ivory haircomb. It had been a gift from the Lady's grandmother.

Everything was fine. So why did it feel so wrong?

She adjusted the slim golden necklace that hung about her neck as she left the room.

========


"And thankyou again for all you've done M'lady"

Isabelle stood silently as she watched her mistress talking with the mayor. It wasn't her place to make noise, not while the dedication ceremony was underway. Maybe later when the m-

What.

When the ceremony finished and the or-

This was wrong

========

Very wrong. No person should have that kind of ...

"Isabelle, can you fetch me the notes on the new bridge?"

"Yes mistress." she found herself saying. But it wasn't right.

=============

This was a dream. It felt fake, everything was slightly off. But something bothered her more deeply than the vague sense of imbalance. There was something unusual about this dream, something that made her pause, even as she felt her hands move to finish buttoning up the Lady's ball gown.

"Thankyou Isabelle, please make sure the carriage is ready. I don't want to be late to the bank, you know how the queues get after ten, and that money needs to be put somewhere useful"

"Yes ma'am"

She fingered the collar she wore. Let's see where this goes.

======================

Time passed, Isabelle watched ... and acted her part.

She saw herself and her mistress continue the dance of hypocrisy. She felt the bite of the metal as she finally tore the collar from her neck. Saw the uncertainty in the lady's eyes as she entered her bedchamber that night.

"Isabelle? You've removed your collar. You know I do-"

"Yes, I know." She cut her off, sharply. "No cruelty, no demands, no price ... save one"

The dreamscape began to haze as she reached for the other woman.

========================

"Let me GO!"

"No. No until you learn what you did wrong."

"But I did nothing to deserve this! What about the charities, the orphanages? This city would be hell without me!"

"You still don't understand then, do you." She finished, shutting the door without leaving the food behind. Maybe a few days would educate her.

Isabelle felt her own stomach begin to turn.

============================

She knew, consciously, that this was not her doing these things. This was something that the dream was making her do, something that it was trying to tell her.

That didn't make it much easier for her to watch, to feel 'Isabelle' strike the Lady Tanda across the face so hard that the older woman dropped unconscious.

===========================

'Isabelle' was getting tired. She dragged the Lady Tanda, kicking and screaming. Long days with little food had stripped the strength from the woman, and her blows barely phased her as they went deeper into the mansion.

============================

No

"Sing for me, Tanda"

NO!

She was better than this.

"Bleed for me. I want you to feel the pain before you ..."

That was it!.

The dream warped around her. Stretching, fighting, bursting.

She sat up, gasping for air, as she woke.

[Deadly]

[Rolled 6, 7, 1, 9, 5, 5, 9, 3, 1 ... 2 successes

Hope the following is adequate, and not too graphic. I'm letting Charlene's vice get some use here, because frankly she's been doing way too well since her return. Can't have her be entirely sane ]



Today she was miss Mao. Exotic, beautiful, and always popular with the customers.

She lay down on the bed and beckoned seductively. The man smirked and crawled up on the bed, pinning her beneath him. She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over his chest as it slipped off his shoulders. "Mmm, you so very strong, mista," she complimented him in a perfectly fake accent. It had to sound fake, for some reason. It was a carefully maintained play. The customer paid for the illusion, and she delivered.

The man leaned down and kissed her neck hungrily while his hands searched her body. Charlene gasped, delighted ...

This was so wrong ... so why did she go along with it? She should have turned away from the dream, but she didn't.

Oh lord, it felt so good!

... and anyway, it was just a dream. So why shouldn't she?

Charlene relaxed and gave herself over to the fantasy. She could be anything he wanted her to be. Any girl he desired.

***

"Your share of the payment, Charlene."

"Thank you, mistress," said Charlene quietly as she took the money. Her waking mind wondered where most of the share had gone. She was given a place to live, a job of a sort, and none of the customers were allowed to hurt her, but the money she got only covered basic necessities. None of the riches she wore for the job were strictly hers. It all belonged to her mistress, including herself. It was an illusion of freedom.

The mistress was rich. She made a fortune from her girls. And she was beautiful. Charlene could be beautiful - and she loved the compliments she received from men, the sincere ones at least - but never as beautiful as the mistress. She had a style and presence that left you humbled.

The mistress nodded in satisfaction and returned to her work. "Very good."

That was all.

***

Charlene watched herself go through this life of ever changing faces and casual sex with complete strangers. She knew it was a dream, and she didn't know what but there was something she had to see. She would have turned away from it by now otherwise. At first she had guiltily enjoyed the sensual pleasure, allowing herself that dream, but the unpleasant side of the fantasy was taking over.

Her dream-self was having enough.

***

"What are you doing, Charlene?"

Charlene looked up in a panic and dropped the keys she had fished out of the broken desk drawer. She had meant to break open the drawer, grab the keys and sneak out while the mistress slept, and then ... just disappear, never to return. She had meant to do this, but now the mistress was standing there in the door, looking at her.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. She wasn't thinking. Her hand closed around something else in the desk drawer. She lifted the small handgun, and pointed it at her mistress. "I'm leaving," she said, voice trembling with the rush of adrenalin.

The mistress seemed unfazed as she strode towards Charlene. "What has gotten into your head, young lady? Put down that gun right this instant."

Charlene panicked. She pulled the trigger, it made a little click and that was all. She looked down at the gun in horror. Of course it wasn't loaded. She looked up into the face of the mistress, and snapped. The gun hit the mistress on the side of the head and Charlene threw herself forward with a cry. The mistress fell backwards, hitting the floor with Charlene on top.

A storm of blood was raging through her body and mind as she struck again, and again. The rage blocked out everything else, every conscious thought. Charlene watched her dream-self strike again and again as if in slow motion.

She stopped, her fist left hanging in mid air, her shoulders sagging and her chest heaving with the effort to breathe. The mistress was lying on the floor beneath her, her beautiful face bloody and broken.

Why was she doing this? Why? Charlene was watching the dream in horror, and yet ...

She stood up and walked into the back room. The mistress had come to and was struggling to pull herself up when Charlene returned, holding one of the whips the girls sometimes used. She kicked her mistress back down and let the whip snap across her back. The mistress cried.

The blood pumped, the mind was blank. She was the hunter, now.

She hit again, and again.

It felt good. Raw lust burning within ... she wanted to continue.

Charlene watched. It just went on and on and on. The mistress had long ago given up her last feeble breath, her face and body a mess of wounds, and yet she just kept going until she was crying so hard she couldn't breathe. The body was no longer beautiful, it was no longer even human. She looked down at the broken, beaten shape and lifted a shaking hand to her own face, letting her fingers feel the old scars.

She could be anything, but never herself.

***

Charlene awoke, sobbing and rolled up in a tight ball.

She was a monster, a demon out of hell, feared and despised by the world! Was the real Charlene out there somewhere, beautiful and innocent and ... human?

She couldn't face that. She had to keep herself away from that. The world knew what she might do if she met herself.

"Oh God please help me," she sobbed.

[the_druid_droid]

She is eating, delicately, immaculately. He is standing in his place, close but not too close. The hall is beautiful, with huge tapestries and gleaming silver revealed in the shattered light from thousand-faceted chandeliers.

Here is wealth, here is taste, and yet She is more beautiful than all. The scene is enough to ignite envy and desire in the heart of anyone, but he mustn’t let himself be distracted. Any time the wine grows low, or a new dish is required, he acts quickly. In return, once She has finished he is permitted to help himself to the remnants of the meal; there are always enough untouched plates to make for a second feast, even if they have grown a little cold with time.

***

Now She is walking through the gardens and he is also there, making sure to keep a pace behind. Her movements are graceful, and Her conversation is charming and enlightened, even if it is not directed at him. It is enough to be permitted to listen and bask in her rapier wit and keen insight, like the sun that stains their path green through the early Spring leaves.

It is his job to keep the path clear, to offer refreshments and to carry the shade along which fends off the heat of the bright day.

***

She keeps him as the only other in the great house, and so at dawn, as the sun rises slowly behind enormous glass-and-silver windows he assists Her in dressing and preparation for the day. The task is not easy; She is lithe, with clear skin and chestnut hair and the temptation for eyes to wander is always present.

But he is obedient, if nothing else, and so his gaze remains averted and Her modesty is intact. When She is clothed and the risk is past, he brings Her brush and toiletries and helps Her prepare for the day before going to attend at breakfast.

***

He is in the library, after an evening of waiting on Her as She reads. He has never read any of the books here, and tonight at last, his curiosity gets the better of him. He requests to see one of the tomes bound with dark leather.

For the span of a breath, a mocking smile twists Her face.

He will never understand Her.

He will never understand the books.

He will never be wise enough.

He will never be good enough.

Something cracks inside him. Before he realizes that he’s moved, Jon has struck Her. The shock on her face is a mirror of his own, but he doesn’t stop; he can’t stop.

He remembers now - how he was a captive held beyond the Hedge; this is like that, and the realization is a fury. They took his home from him! They took his friends from him! They took his family and his soul from him!

Each thought is a blow, with fists and feet, and he is aiming for the soft spots and the bony spots; places it will hurt. An alien rage is in his chest, hate mixed with hurt, and it drives him onward even as it terrifies him.

She can no longer defend herself, barely able to choke out sobs and half-screams, while his clothes are spattered with blood and flesh. Jon knows it is a dream now, but it feels like an accident that he can’t look away from. He needs to see this through, to see if this is truly all that’s left of him.

At last as even the sobs begin to fade, he crosses to the fireplace and takes hold of the heavy iron poker. A few more calculated blows, and it is finally over. The thought doesn’t please him; his heart still aches and he hates the prison walls he sees all around. He is beginning to hate himself. So he takes the bloodied poker and begins to swing - smashing vases, puncturing books - because it is a dream the house itself gives under his blows like flesh and even it seems to be screaming at him.

Jon has tears running down his face as he continues swinging; all the pain he hasn’t allowed himself to really feel yet is nearing the surface, and his loneliness and hatred threaten to choke him as he destroys everything in sight. A red haze is obscuring his vision, and it grows heavier as he strikes down all he sees, and when at last it grows opaque, his eyes mercifully open.

***

It was very late or very early, and Jon awoke clutching the bedsheets, with a scream caught in his throat. His face was wet, and he shakily reached up a hand to find the wetness was tears and not blood, for which he was profoundly thankful.

Everything had seemed so real. He had felt all that hatred and that pain, as though it were his waking life, and that fact scared him more than he could say...

Did it mean that Talmage was wrong? Was he really a creature of rage? Or something even worse, like Cludge?

In a post-sleep daze, his plan to visit his sister whirled up at him from mental depths, and his stomach threatened to flip. He couldn’t see her like this!

Not until he knew if he was a monster...

With nothing else to do or think, Jon laid in bed, sleepless until dawn came peeking in through the windows. Then he stood up mechanically and crept toward the bathroom, hoping to wash the memories of his dream away before he met anyone else in the house.

[BlasTech]

Isabelle slowly became aware of the noises coming from the second bed. Still blinking her own tears from her eyes, she half rose to see what was wrong.

The sight of Charlene, curled up and weeping, pulled her the rest of the way out of bed.

"Hey." She said reassuringly. Placing a comforting hand on the other woman's shoulder she gave her a gentle shake. "Hey. Charlene. It's okay."

[Deadly]

"I'm a monster," Charlene cried softly. "I ... killed her, in cold blood, and it seemed so real. Only monsters do that. Just look at me," she said, feeling the scars on her hands and face. "Somewhere out there might be the real me, how do I know I'm not just a demon with delusions? What if we ever meet? I might ... I don't know what I might do."

[BlasTech]

"What?" Isabelle asked before she could stop herself. That had almost been what she had ...

"It's okay." She went on, hoping the hesitation hadn't been noticed. "Don't worry. It was just a dream. Just a dream Charlene. It wasn't really you."

[Deadly]

The surprise and hesitation hadn't passed Charlene by. She hesitated herself. Had she said too much? What would Isabelle think? What was she already thinking, that she wasn't saying?

But maybe she did need help. If this was what she was, deep down ... she had to control it, keep it down and overcome it, before she ended up like Cludge or worse. But how many could she trust? She recalled what she had been thinking before, you needed to know people to help them, and sometimes people needed to know you.

She turned to look at Isabelle. "Don't hide what you're thinking just to make me feel better," she said, having misunderstood why Isabelle had hesitated like she did. "I want you to tell me what you honestly think. I could have stopped the dream, couldn't I? But I didn't," she looked away in shame. "I think it was trying to tell me something. Was it showing me the monster that I am?"

[the_druid_droid]

Jon managed to creep to the bathroom, and he breathed a little sigh of relief as he locked the heavy wooden door. His dream still felt too real, and what scared him more than anything was that he couldn’t seem to remember what the woman from his dream looked like.

Although he couldn’t quite put words to it, he was haunted by the fear that something in the woman's face might have been borrowed from one of his friends... or even his sister...

As far as he was concerned, it wasn't safe to see any of them until he could make sure he wasn’t going crazy.

So Jon hid in the bathroom, taking a long shower and dressing painfully slowly, before trying to sneak back down the hall to his room. He would worry about breakfast later, and try to see if he could make something himself once the kitchen emptied, or else have Felix carry something up.

[BlasTech]

Isabelle made herself meet Charlene's eyes. It was difficult, both due to the uncertainty brought on by her dream and, she was ashamed to admit, a discomfort at looking at the woman's scars.

But when she reached those eyes; those scared, hurting ... human eyes, Isabelle felt a swell of emotion. Before she was really aware of what she was doing, she folded the other woman into a hug.

"What I really think ..." Isabelle went on, her voice thick "is that you're an idiot. Feeling like that because of a dream? Because of something that wasn't real?"

Taking a deep breath, she released Charlene and sat back. "I- maybe. Okay, well maybe the dream was trying to tell you something. But if that's the case, then it was the dream that made you do those things. Not you. Not m- .. not ever."

There was a few moments of silence before Isabelle asked quietly.

"Were you a slave again too?"

[Deadly]

"Thank you," Charlene said, returning the hug. It helped a little, even if she still had her doubts about it all. She wiped her eyes and tried to look a bit more alive. "A ... kind of slave, yes," she said before noticing the little detail in Isabelle's words. "Wait, too?"

[the_druid_droid]

When Jon arrived back in his room, he noticed the dreamcatcher lying broken on the floor. Slowly, he bent over to collect the pieces, then sat on the edge of his still-rumpled bed and considered the shattered mess in his hands.

The sight gave him a tiny bit of comfort - it was external proof that something nasty had been there, and that there might just be a chance he wouldn’t have to carry it around all in his own head. He resolved to show the dreamcatcher to Talmage and relay as much of his nightmare as he could once he finally found the drive to go out into the main house.

Jon closed his hands and turned to look out the window as the sun slowly climbed into the sky.

[BlasTech]

"Yeah, you weren't the only one who had a rough night." Isabelle replied, rubbing her eyes. "It was ... terrible. It made me do things, I was a slave to the dream as well as in the dream ... it was like acting out a script, like I was back with my kee- "

She broke off with a shudder. "I knew there was something it was trying to show me, but I just couldn't stand it. I broke it. I wasn't ... strong enough, to see it through to the end." Isabelle finished, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

[Deadly]

"Or you were strong enough to end it," Charlene said, her voice sincere as she looked at Isabelle. "You helped me back in the Hedge too. I don't know if I would have been strong enough to find my way back on my own. I might have been lost there still. I don't think I ever thanked you."

[the_druid_droid]

Jon’s memory of the dream and its horror faded slowly; more slowly than he would have liked. Eventually, as the sun rode higher in the sky and his hunger grew more insistent, he was forced to admit that he would have to leave at some point. It was probably better to get things over with now, and hope he could meet Talmage or even Felix first.

With a heavy sigh, Jon levered himself up from the bed, still clutching the remains of the dreamcatcher. He crossed slowly to the door and unlocked it, before stepping out quietly into the hall.

[BlasTech]

"Well you're welcome." Isabelle replied, smiling. "We couldn't leave you behind, not after finding you in the brambels like that."

"That might have been strength I guess" she shrugged "but I don't know if it was strength that made me break the dream, it felt more like fear. Or panic."

She frowned. "I still find it hard to believe we could both have had the same kind of dream at the same time ..."

[Deadly]

Charlene nodded silently, then looked up. "Do you think Jon had one too? We should make sure he is alright," she said as she got up. She quickly dressed, not worrying for now about anything more than that.

[BlasTech]

"Agreed."

Isabelle changed quickly, pulling on the light green dress and jacket combo that Talmage had given her yesterday. She waited until Charlene joined her before the two set off to Jon's room.

They reached the corridor just as Jon's bedroom door unlocked.

[Thanqol]

Felix came down the corridor in the opposite direction, looking exactly the same as he always did, holding his customary tray of drinks with a slant towards coffee.

[the_druid_droid]

Jon saw his friends coming down the hall and visibly flinched. He still wasn’t sure he was ready to face them and looked for a way to escape, but Felix was headed toward him from the other direction.

Squaring his shoulders, Jon let out the breath he’d been holding unconsciously and said - a little shakily, “Hi girls. Want some coffee? I could really use it.”

[BlasTech]

Isabelle exchanged a worried glance with Charlene.

"Let me guess, a rough night for you too?"

[Deadly]

Charlene gave Jon a sympathetic look. "Coffee sounds good." Normally Charlene preferred tea, but the night's events had given her a thirst for something stronger. And that was another thing ... she could really use a smoke. Charlene was surprised, she hadn't smoked in five years - or what felt like five years, she wasn't sure - and yet right now she would trade in all the coffee for just one cigarette. She looked at Felix and wondered. It was worth a shot. "I don't suppose anyone in this house smokes?"