sixthiterationlogs | Is this all as strange as it is seeming? Was I dead or was I only dreaming? [OPEN]

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Is this all as strange as it is seeming? Was I dead or was I only dreaming? [OPEN]

WHO: Samantha Moon
WHERE: Around town
WHEN: Post-quake
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Some shell-shock. And because it's Sam, a lot of swearing.

As hard as Sam tried, she couldn't stop thinking about the night of the Rain of Fire. Compared to what had happened to her and the life she knew that night, an earthquake should have seemed like small potatoes. She lived in stupid California, for fuck's sake. This shouldn't have been enough to scratch up memories of the Rain, like a scab being ripped off her elbow. But introspection had never been Sam's greatest talent. So she understood herself less than complex physics or genetic sequencing or the right way to make fun of people who actually liked Walter Keane portraits. And when the memories flooded her brain, she was helpless to stop them, much less understand.

Sam was fast. She’d been fast even before she died. High school track team. Only for a hot minute, it seemed, but it had stuck with her. And it served her well, now, as she raced through the jumbled and ripped up streets of Los Angeles, jumping over steaming craters in the concrete, dodging around debris that was so twisted and mangled that she couldn’t even begin to guess what any of it had originally been. Was that bent metal rod a piece of the international space station? A support beam from a skyscraper? A fender? No way to know, no time to care.

She raced along Vine, her wig tilted to a terrible angle, her clothing ripped and torn. Her shadow stretched out in front of her, illuminated by fires from every direction. No matter which way she turned, she couldn’t erase the image of Sterling Engelhart being sucked down into the earth. “He had a piece of me with him,” Elizabeth kept moaning to Aubrey, before she succumbed to torpor and the hunters opened fire. If Sam believed in miracles, she’d call it one that no one had been shot. She’d separated from Grace and Avery at the Ordo library, then immediately turned tail and started back for home, despite their protestations that she should stay with them.

Even in this state of emergency, Sam was still afraid to reveal her secrets to them. Karen had well-ingrained the notion that no Kindred could really be trusted. The streets were full of the dead, dying, and bewildered. Most of the people that she passed seemed to come to life only when a large chunk of building fell from above. And then there was screaming and running and still more dying, as if they were reliving the first volley of space junk and satellites all over again.

“Joanna!” she heard someone screaming. “Joanna! Where are you?”

Sam did the math in her head. Based on her rough estimates, Los Angeles had probably lost well over one-third of its population tonight. And it was still too soon to make a final call. The looting hadn’t begun yet. And the panic. That too would inevitably raise the death count. And as for the rest of the world? Who knew?

Sam walked to a pile of rubble, leaning over to move a piece. She didn't hear anyone or anything underneath. With a scowl, she kicked it. What had it even been? A shed? A supply store? A fucking outhouse? There was another way this was different from the Rain. The landscape was still alien, whether it was pristine or wrecked. She was an outsider, a foreigner without any landmark to navigate by.

Her walkie crackled from her belt. “Mother to Sleepwalker.” Avery’s voice. He sounded formal. It was the same voice he used when he was in Court. “This is Mother to Sleepwalker. Come in Sleepwalker.”

She yanked it free, bringing it to her mouth. “This is Sleepwalker.” Her voice didn’t tremble too much. That would probably come later.

Avery’s tone softened. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to force herself to believe it.

“I wish you’d stayed.”

“I have to go.”

“Will you at least tell me where you are?”

And there was yet another way this was all different from the Rain. There wasn't anyone around here like Avery, anyone to worry about her whereabouts or even care if she was alive or dead. For all she knew, she was dead and now a fucking ghost, haunting this clown rodeo. Angrily, she pressed the heel of her palm against the side of her head. She wanted to force the memories out. And maybe hide her face a little, as her expression crumpled.

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Wanda wouldn’t press or force anything from Sam. Something haunted the other woman, like a shadow looming behind her. They all had their shadows, their darkness, but it was how they faced those weaknesses that showed the world who they were. There were those who crumpled under the weight and those who didn’t.

In Wanda’s mind it was that simple.

Her statement had been specifically phrased, like everything that Wanda said. It will be okay. That didn’t mean that it was okay now or that it had to be okay now. Just that there was a promise of tomorrow and the day after and then after that. As long as you didn’t stop fighting, there would always be more days.

Wanda wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse but it was something.

"Do you need help finding anything?" She stepped forward and then faltered. Wanda knew that she’d hurt her ankle but she hadn’t realized how bad it had been injured. When she put her weight on it she felt her body almost buckle, barely catching herself before she hit the ground.

So much for comforting words.

Sam shook her head. "I didn't have anything to lose. I guess that's one of the advantages of--"

Socially inept though Sam could sometimes be--and make no mistake, she was a fucking trainwreck--she wasn't stupid enough to miss important details. For instance, the way Wanda was favoring her leg.

"Hey," she said, a line forming between her eyes, "you should probably get off of that."

It was a small thing, really. And what was a sprained ankle or whatever, compared to the devastation around them? But for some sick and twisted reason, it helped Sam. It helped her banish the trembling memories of her past--like shaky images of a video-recorded Bigfoot encounter--from the forefront of her mind.

That was the thing. Give her a problem she could solve. She'd solve it.

Wanda didn’t know what it was like to have nothing to lose. She thought she did but there were things that were important to her, even if she didn’t realized it at the time. Her brother had been one of those things and losing him had been more painful than she could have imagined.

She had never thought she’d loose him. That it would be her and her brother forever.

She clenched her teeth before speaking though the words sounded stressed and forced. "Im fine." It was a lie and a very bad one. Wanda could hear it in her tone and before Sam could call her out on it she continued.

"I don’t want to do nothing." She admitted as her green eyes looked over the devastated village.

It was a lie. Sam knew it was a lie. Wanda knew that Sam knew it was a lie. And Sam knew that Wanda knew that Sam knew it was a lie. Between the two of them, they were a very knowledgeable pair.

The thought threatened to make Sam smile.

Only just.

"Of course you don't," she said, walking over to Wanda's side and kneeling down by the bad ankle. "It's not really in human nature to sit still." Herself included in that category, strange though it seemed. "We probably have more in common with sharks than with apes. If we stop swimming, we'll die."

The situation was one that Wanda was familiar with. She constantly surrounded herself by people who pushed themselves past their points of endurance. It was the sort of trait that she didn't hate, even when it was frustrating.

She watched as Sam knelt to look at her ankle and decided it was unavoidable.

"It's just sprained." Wanda assured the other woman though if Sam really looked she'd notice that it was also a little swollen and turning the skin red. It'd get worse if Wanda continued to use it.

Her lips twitched at Sam's comparison. Wanda liked sharks.

High school had been pretty much one hot mess after another for Sam, but at least her time on the track team had taught her how to deal with a bad ankle. "It needs to be wrapped," she said, carefully probing it with her fingertips, gentle enough not to hurt Wanda. "You should probably keep it elevated." And before Wanda could object, she added, "And maybe rip bandages or something. We're gonna need a lot of those after all the ones we used up."

It was a lame offering, but it was the best she could do.

Sam wasn't really a fucking people person.

"C'mon," she said, nodding her head toward the inn. "I'll fix it up for you."

Wanda never went to high school. At the age of ten she was on the streets with her brother, staying at community houses or in abandoned buildings. Her home had been torn by war and it had forever left a mark on her.

No amount of prodding would force Wanda to show that she was in pain. It hurt but it wasn’t as bad as other injuries that she’d sustained in the past. It would heal in time.

"Do you have bandages?"

Wanda wasn’t much of a people person either but she’d take the offer, if only to curb any worry that same might have had about the injury.

"Some at the inn, I think," Sam said. It seemed to be the place where every extra anything was converging. "If not, I'll find some fabric and you can rip it for me. Won't look pretty, but who cares? And anyway, it'll help me check off something from my bucket list. My parents always wanted me to go into medicine."

She was rambling. Sam recognized it instantly. And she knew why. But knowing why meant it was already too late. The flashes came back to her:

Almost immediately, she found a hand sticking up from the debris. She cleared what she could away and discovered the remains of what had once been Tina’s friend Joshua. A stitcher. He used to bring Tina’s costume designs to life. He loved to tell jokes, and he would conjure up different accents that only made them funnier. Sometimes, Sam would laugh so hard that she’d forget that she wasn’t alive. He’d come to LA after his ultra-conservative parents threw him out. He’d come looking for a home, a place to belong, a family.

She found Robyn a short while later. Well, she found Robyn’s head. The rest of her body was too deep in the ruins of the house for Sam to see. Robyn had taken such pride in her long, flowing blond hair. Now it was matted and hard with blood. She used to tease Sam, promising that, one day, she’d find out what color was hiding under the blue wig. She’d been friends with Tina in college. The two of them hoped to work on movies together someday. Costuming and hair. No competition between them, which is why they were such great friends.

All of Tina’s friends. They’d been so vibrant, so full of life and creativity and energy. They had been more to her than just a…what was that word the Kindred used? Herd? More than a herd. They’d been her friends. Her final tether to the human world. Now they were scattered in pieces, like something that Sam would paint. In a way, that made it all easier to take in. To imagine herself inside of one of her paintings. Instead of inside of her own life.

She would always live in that night. No matter how hard she tried to forget or to move on or to exist outside of it. It held her like a prisoner. In her own mind. Her body frozen on an event horizon.

Wanda could tell that Sam was rambling. She understood the desire though Wanda didn’t act on it. Listening to Sam’s thought process made Wanda wonder, what is it that Sam is trying not to think about? She looked down at the rubble as they slowly made their way to the inn, feeling a knot twist uncomfortably in her stomach. Erik already knew her reservations about collapsing buildings but that had been circumstantial. She hadn’t been able to deny her tension. Now she had a choice, to continue with Sam’s ramblings or to really say what was on her mind.

She thought back to when she’d been ten. That fear and helplessness, the anger and hate that grew from it. It wasn’t the sort of thing that anyone should keep to themselves.

Wanda didn’t look at Sam as they walked and when she spoke her voice was quieter. "When I was ten-" She began, clarity reflecting in the light green hue of her eyes. "My brother and I were trapped beneath our home. It’d collapsed on top of us." They had been eating dinner at the time. "It’d been a missile that didn’t detonate. My brother and I were trapped for days. When they tried to dig us out we thought the missile would go off. We waited, with each shift in the rubble to be killed." She paused feeling her anger crawl uncomfortably beneath her skin.

"I thought if it happened again I could do more-" Wanda shook her head. "-but I couldn’t."

Even after joining the Avengers, Wanda never forgot that day. She knew Tony Stark, his fears and worries. He would destroy himself; she wouldn’t have to do anything. She never felt completely comfortable around him, more so during the Accords. After everything that happened, Wanda couldn’t trust him. She did trust Steve and Clint and to an extent Vision.

Sam looked over, along the line of her shoulder, at Wanda. It was a pretty terrifying story. But that wasn't what widened her eyes. The fact that Wanda would tell her a story like that was a little...startling. It wasn't like she knew Sam or cared about Sam or anything. So what gave?

She let out some air between her teeth. She was thinking like a Kindred. She would always be thinking that way, wouldn't she? Searching for ulterior motives and gameplans and strategies. Her trust had been shattered into a million pieces, some of them small enough to pass through the eye of a needle.

It was no way to live.

"That blows," she said softly, poetic as ever.

If Wanda was telling the truth. If she didn't have a motive all her own...what was Sam supposed to do? How did normal people interact? She honestly didn't remember any more. But she had the sense it involved...opening up?

That didn't sound right.

Taking a deep breath, Sam made a first attempt. "I was...with my brother. Too. When...something bad happened." Okay, it wasn't a great start. But she was trying. "His name's Avery. He's the smartest person I know. Probably also completely batshit crazy but...smart."

Wanda felt the weight and pain of her past and it was clearly marked in her features. That was until Sam mentioned her brother. The sadness was still there but also something else: love. No matter how much time had past, Wanda still loved her brother.

"He sounds like a good brother. Mine was..." She released a huff of air, shaking her head slowly. "Amazing but always in a rush. A little crazy." She admitted with a sad smile. Her gaze turned up towards Sam, broken and lost. She'd never ask Sam for anything but it was nice to be able to talk about her brother. Even if it was only a little bit.

"My brothers name was Pietro." Wanda didn't mean to talk in past tense but it slipped out.

Sam caught the tense. And she understood. As pissed as she was at Avery for what had happened right before they were unceremoniously separated, at least she could rest easy in the knowledge that he was still alive. In theory. Obviously, Wanda wasn't so lucky.

Which was yet another thing that blew.

She was proud of herself when she didn't say so aloud.

With a grimace, Sam nodded. "Sorry," she said. It was very matter-of-fact. There was nothing worse than pity.

Wanda shook her head. "It isn't your fault." She hadn't told Sam with the intent of getting an apology. It was something that Wanda noticed since living in the United States; people insisted on apologizing for things that they had no control over.

She was sorry about her brothers death. She should have been there.

"He died, saving someone's life." If he had to die, then it wasn't the worst way or reason.

With the door to the inn approaching, Wanda shifted the conversation. "I don't think anyone wants to feel helpless." She looked over at Sam briefly.

There were worse ways to go, she supposed. Sam and Avery had fully intended to go out saving the world. Or, at least, that's what Sam had been going for. Avery, apparently, had plans of his own.

She'd never know how that story ended.

It was hard to describe the way it felt. The best she could come up with was a sense of tiny, invisible fish hooks shooting out of his eyes and going directly into hers, latching onto the tissue of her brain. It was more than just her brain. It was her Self. It didn't hurt. But it wasn't pleasant either. And she couldn't squirm free.

Vaguely, she was aware of Avery talking again. His voice sounded far-away and cottony. "If I die in this attempt, I need you to drop everything and run for that truck to save yourself. Don't look back. Don't try to save me or anyone else. Just escape."

For some reason, that sounded like a very good idea. She nodded absently.

Damn it, Avery. Fuck you.

Sam grunted a little, trying to shake off her own memories of helplessness. "Yeah," she agreed. "I don't think so."

Wanda pushed into the inn, feeling as if more didn't have to be said on the subject. She looked around the common area before nodding her head towards the back door. She remembered there was a small first aid kit near the kitchen for small injuries.

"There." She nodded with her head.

Her ankle was beginning to actually hurt and the thought of wrapping it up started to sound appealing.

"I think there is a first-aid kit."

A project. Focus. An opportunity of be of fucking use, for a change. Sam forced her mind to snap back to the present. Wanda was here, Avery wasn't. Wanda actually could benefit from her help, Avery...well. That didn't matter.

"Sit down," she said. "I'll go grab it."

The ankle was probably starting to hurt like a motherfucker. Sam could speak from ample experience. She'd walked on more than one bad ankle before.

"I’ll be over there." She pointed to where she was heading before turning to go.

Wanda could relate to the desire to be useful. It was something she wrestled with daily while living in the small lackluster village. They had their abilities and strengths stripped from them and were forced through hardship after hardship. Wanda had attempted to find comfort in small things but that didn’t change the fact of where they were and what they faced daily.

She walked over to the nearest chair, attempting to look as if the injury wasn’t hurting. She didn’t want to appear weak.

She waited for Sam to return, her chin resting in the palm of her hand.

Sam flounced off to the kitchen. She'd actually spent a fair amount of time in the inn, before the earthquake left her too shell-shocked to venture indoors. Now that she thought about it, it was the first time she'd willingly set foot inside for awhile. Apparently, errands were magic.

Or something.

Anyway, she fetched the kit, returning to Wanda.

"I ran track in high school for a hot minute," she said, kneeling down on the floor to start rifling through the supplies. "Pretty useless, but at least I know how to handle a bum ankle."

Wanda was silently grateful to see Sam returning with the small med kit that was kept in the kitchen. She hadn't been gone long but it was long enough for Wanda to ask herself what she'd do if Sam didn't find it or if the other woman didn't return at all. She could still walk but it was horribly uncomfortable and she could only hide that discomfort for so long.

"Track?" She had to remember what that was. "You mean running?"

Wanda never had a high school experiance and a few words were still unfamiliar to her.

"You hurt yourself a lot?"

"Pretty much constantly," Sam said, pulling out a bandage and unwinding it from its neat, little coil. "Although, to be real, I probably hurt myself more often sneaking out of my window than running. My room was right over the garage. I could crawl out onto the roof and take a drainpipe down."

The funny thing was, she wasn't entirely sure it had been necessary. She could probably have waltzed right out the front door and no one would have stopped her. Teenage rebellion. Mostly just a rite of passage she'd felt the need to go through.

She set to work wrapping Wanda's ankle. Sense memory immediately took over and she felt like she was back in Lake Forest again.

Sneaking out at night sounded like such a normal memory that Wanda was surprised to hear Sam mention it. She didn't know what that was like. After losing her parents at a young age her life had been turbulent and at times harsh. Wanda wondered what it would have felt like to be able to experience that feeling.

Was it similar to fighting? Where your adrenaline pulsed through your body and your heartbeat could be heard like a drum sounding in your ear.

Probably not exactly the same but it made Wanda curious.

"Why did you sneak out?" She asked as Sam wrapped up her ankle. The touch of he fabric worked like a placebo against Wanda's skin, causing the ache to dull.

Sam pursed her lips for a second. The fake answer would make her sound like a shallow, North Shore teen. The real one would not only make her sound crazy, but fracture the Masquerade. Even if there wasn't a Masquerade here, undoing that kind of conditioning was...complicated.

She decided to go for something in between.

"My uncle died when I was sixteen," she said. "It was...I had a lot of unanswered questions. And I guess I went looking for answers in a somewhat self-destructive way. I was just a dumb kid."

Wanda nodded softly, her eyes focused on her ankle as Sam continued to circle it in medical tape. She knew what it was like losing people close to you and what it could do to your behavior. She wasn't proud of a lot of the things she did after loosing her parents or the people that she'd hurt along the way.

It had been about surviving and fighting back then.

"We're all dumb kids at some point." It was the sort of thing that Clint would say and it brought a small smile to Wanda's lips.

"I guess," Sam replied, thinking it the sort of thing she'd say to Grace. Of course, Grace probably hadn't been a kid since the Stone Age. But whatever.

She finished winding the bandage around Wanda's ankle and split the end down the middle, pulling the parts in opposite directions, then wrapping them around the ankle in a knot. It wasn't the prettiest job she'd ever done, but it was satisfying to be able to do something.

Anything.

"My shit was pretty dumb, though," she sighed. It had basically killed her. "Epic levels of fail."

Wanda looked down at her ankle and then wiggled her toes. It ached a bit but she knew that it'd be fine after a few days. She grabbed her boot and slipped her foot back inside, not bothering to mess with her sock.

"What was it?"

She didn't know why she asked but Wanda didn't want to part just yet.

Is this all as strange as it is seeming? Was I dead or was I only dreaming? [OPEN]

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