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Anastasia still doesn't know how to feel when they return to their suite in a Fulcrum City hotel. It's too early for relief. No matter how pleased the others were at dinner, no matter how well things technically went, a stopgap isn't a solution. She's still standing there with her finger in the dyke, stalling for time.
But they have time. And she'd be lying if she said it wasn't just a little bit satisfying to imagine Goddard stomping home to sulk. He'll probably get right down to making everyone around him miserable, but at least that's the worst he can do. He doesn't have the entire Midamerican Scythedom under his influence, yet -- and if things go well on Endura, he never will.
She lets her focus drift as she heads toward the en-suite bathroom, wondering what Endura will be like. She's heard stories, and figured she'd visit it sooner or later, but not this soon. And definitely not under these circumstances. 'Bringing an inquest before the Grandslayers' is a far cry from 'going on vacation with Marie.' She wonders if they'll be able to actually enjoy the visit, or if she'll be too busy worrying about the inquest to take in the sights.
Probably the latter, if she's being honest with herself.
As she steps into the bathroom, everything shifts in an eyeblink, the space before her blowing out to encompass an entire city street. Anastasia reels, trying to set her hand on a door frame that no longer exists and instead just batting at the empty air.
"What--?" is the only word that escapes her before she catches herself. She is a Scythe. Scythes don't panic in the middle of a public thoroughfare. She takes a slow breath, then steps back out of the flow of foot traffic, where she can look around without being in the way.
This isn't Fulcrum City. Everything looks too... old-fashioned. The cars are all being driven by actual people, and there's no sign of the Thunderhead's ubiquitous array of cameras. The road has holes in it, as if someone dug up chunks of the pavement with a spoon, a bizarre detail that occupies a full five seconds of her attention. Where on earth would something like that be allowed to exist without being repaired?
Is... is this Texas?
But they have time. And she'd be lying if she said it wasn't just a little bit satisfying to imagine Goddard stomping home to sulk. He'll probably get right down to making everyone around him miserable, but at least that's the worst he can do. He doesn't have the entire Midamerican Scythedom under his influence, yet -- and if things go well on Endura, he never will.
She lets her focus drift as she heads toward the en-suite bathroom, wondering what Endura will be like. She's heard stories, and figured she'd visit it sooner or later, but not this soon. And definitely not under these circumstances. 'Bringing an inquest before the Grandslayers' is a far cry from 'going on vacation with Marie.' She wonders if they'll be able to actually enjoy the visit, or if she'll be too busy worrying about the inquest to take in the sights.
Probably the latter, if she's being honest with herself.
As she steps into the bathroom, everything shifts in an eyeblink, the space before her blowing out to encompass an entire city street. Anastasia reels, trying to set her hand on a door frame that no longer exists and instead just batting at the empty air.
"What--?" is the only word that escapes her before she catches herself. She is a Scythe. Scythes don't panic in the middle of a public thoroughfare. She takes a slow breath, then steps back out of the flow of foot traffic, where she can look around without being in the way.
This isn't Fulcrum City. Everything looks too... old-fashioned. The cars are all being driven by actual people, and there's no sign of the Thunderhead's ubiquitous array of cameras. The road has holes in it, as if someone dug up chunks of the pavement with a spoon, a bizarre detail that occupies a full five seconds of her attention. Where on earth would something like that be allowed to exist without being repaired?
Is... is this Texas?
no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 04:15 am (UTC)From:"Stranger than pulling random people from other dimensions into this one?" she asks. Presuming it's random. It's grabbed both Rowan and her, so maybe it isn't. "None of this is normal." She sounds sharper than she means to, the shock of her own arrival mingling with her frustration over what Rowan's not telling her and her uneasiness over the fact that he's been here long enough to know what Darrow's 'normal' looks like in the first place. None of this should be normal for either of them.
no subject
Date: 2019-04-08 10:28 pm (UTC)From:"Somewhere along the line, that gets normal," he admits. It's strange to admit, perhaps, but it's true. Just like it gets somewhat normal to be the only (or near only) immortal in a sea of mortals.
"Just like being a scythe got normal. Didn't it?"
Being treated differently. Being the only one with immunity, with ability, in a sea of people who moved like sheep through their lives.
"Until... weird things happen." Like Goddard. Like them being pitted against each other. Like her skirting the rules so beautifully, so masterfully. And him choosing the path that he did.
"But in this case, it's... okay." He sighs and gives her another look, brows arched in emphasis. Believe him, Citra, because he's not playing with you. Promise.
"On New Year's Eve? The gingerbread cookies came to life and tried to kill everyone."
no subject
Date: 2019-04-11 01:03 am (UTC)From:She remembers Marie's warning about how being Goddards apprentice would change him. She wonders if she's reading too much into it.
"I think 'normal' is a stretch," she says, a part of her noting that it's a more diplomatic response than what Rowan might consider usual. A more Anastasia response. "It makes it sound easy, or routine, and it's not. Or it wasn't the way I did it."
She gives him a more openly dubious look as he braces himself to explain Darrow's brand of weird, just because his tone and his please-believe-me expression invite a little preemptive skepticism. But what he describes is so absurd that she doesn't think he could make it up, and she barks out a startled laugh.
"Cookies?" she repeats, diplomacy heaved out the window for the time being. "Come on."
no subject
Date: 2019-04-11 11:09 pm (UTC)From:Except...
He spins on his heel and looks at the stream of people moving around them. He nods at someone up ahead, someone who's come into that cafe Rowan likes more than a few times. He knows his name, knows what he does, but they're not friends. Still, he gives him a greeting like he would any other day.
"Hey, man, my friend's new." Mild discomfort flashes across the other man's face, but Rowan continues on so quickly that it disappears easily.
"Tell her what happened at Kagura. On New Year's."
"Aw, man." He chuckles as though this is old news (it is) and nothing to be concerned about (it is). "Killer cookies. Crazy, right?"
"Right," Rowan says with his own matching chuckle. Totally normal stuff here.
"See you around."
no subject
Date: 2019-04-16 12:26 am (UTC)From:But it's not as if she has to befriend this guy, or even speak to him. He just confirms what Rowan said about killer cookies, and then he's on his way. Citra stares after him for a second or two, mouth slightly open. Then, pressing her lips together, she turns back to Rowan.
"I hate it here," she deadpans, mostly for a lack of any other rejoinder.
no subject
Date: 2019-04-16 07:47 pm (UTC)From:"You'll get used to it," he promises. Maybe he's only so sanguine because she's here, her presence filling him with glee. But it's true that, in the end, she will find a way to adapt. She's Citra. Of course she will.