sixthiterationlogs | I'm waving through a window, oh, can anybody see, is anybody waving back at me? [OPEN]

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I'm waving through a window, oh, can anybody see, is anybody waving back at me? [OPEN]

WHO: Samantha Moon
WHERE: Various Locations (see below and put one in your subject!)
WHEN: First week of October
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Will update as needed, but just assume Sam's potty mouth

Kitchen at the Inn
It scared Sam a little bit that she was starting to develop a routine. But she was. And whether that meant she was settling down or giving in, she couldn't really say. And she wasn't sure she wanted to analyze it too much. At any rate, for the time being, she was just sort of going with it. Which meant that the first thing she did in the morning was swing by the kitchen. She always waited until after people had done their breakfast thing, so she wouldn't be in the way. Or, more accurately, so her Rube Goldberg-esque distillery wouldn't be in the way.

She usually made about three batches of potato vodka every day, at this point. As long as there were potatoes. She was always careful to cut out the eyes and save them for the botany freaks. Sometimes, she would experiment, trying to mix in different flavorings.

They usually all tasted vile.

But that was fine, since the vodka was strong enough to burn off a normal person's taste buds, anyway.

There was something calming about sitting on the counter, watching the way the diamond-like bubbles traveled through the tubes. Like one of those glittery stress-relievers on the corner of a professor's desk. Sam played little mind games, counting and following and observing. Anything she could do to avoid thinking.

Didn't help much. She still saw Avery's name, like a fucking neon sign on the inside of her eyelids, every time she blinked.

Spear Fishing
Sam decided it was pretty safe to assume that she'd never go down in history as a singularly spectacular fisher. But there was a gross, morbid satisfaction to spearing fish. Likely, it was a combination of factors, the most obvious being that what she really wanted to spear was the faces of their generous Overlords. At least fishing was more productive than hitting a tree with a lead pipe. Her hands still stung from all of the cuts and bruises she'd inflicted on herself. Not to mention the ones Danny had given her.

She wadded up to her calves in the water. The Overlords had given her a pair of black, short pants with laces up either side that, unfortunately, delighted her little Goth-loving heart. And they were perfect for getting wet. Sometimes she wore them with her scrub tops or some of the shirts she'd collected over the past year and a half, but today, she was just in a sports bra.

One thing she would absolutely never take for granted again was the way the sunlight felt on her skin.

Schoolhouse Library
Of the many gifts she'd received from the Overlords, the one Sam trusted the least was the large set of colored pencils. She'd watched one-too-many horror movies growing up. She kept expecting some bizarre plot twist. Every time she'd draw with red, someone would lose blood. If she drew monsters, they'd come to life. Somehow, drawing a picture of something might whoosh it into the circus. The usual tropes from her life before she was, in fact, the monster at the end of the horror movie.

But there was nothing.

Which wasn't to say she started to trust or anything like that. But she did start to draw.

And out of a desperate need to be useful to someone, she'd taken it upon herself to start decorating the library with headers for each category of books. Science. Sports. Mathematics. All of it. With perfect, neat handwriting, she labeled the sections, then drew little pictures around and through the letters. Spinning planets with rings of fire. The pennant over Wrigley Field (if only...). An elegant Pi, like a rusty shed with a roof curved by the rain.

The project was good for long nights, when Sam couldn't sleep. But sometimes, she'd be in the middle of drawing something that would remind her of...

She blinked and saw it again. Avery's name.

And somehow, on stolen bits of paper and old napkins, his face started to appear, thin and bony and redheaded. Just like she remembered him. Just like he'd been when he...

...no. There was no point in thinking about what he'd done to her any more.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Steph grinned wryly. It was incredibly personal, but the combination of her sheer refusal to feel ashamed by it and the enjoyment she got from making other people uncomfortable meant she was all too happy to share.

"Got pregnant. Then I was just too far behind to go back. It would've been weird, you know?"

If she was hoping to make Sam uncomfortable, she would be deeply disappointed. Sam had dropped out of college for a more uncomfortable reason, so she wasn't exactly one to judge. Which was kind of ironic, because usually, Sam kind of loved to judge.

She just wasn't going to be a fucking hypocrite.

"That sucks," she said instead. "I mean, no offense to babies or anything." But they did have a way of ruining everything.

She could take or leave the discomfort. The important thing was reminding the world that she wasn't ashamed. Which she did now by snorting.

"I'm sure babies everywhere are deeply offended. No, pregnancy completely sucks. I do not recommend it, zero out of five stars."

The snort felt like enough of an invitation for Sam to sit down on the grass. Not close to make Steph uncomfortable or crowded. But not exactly far away, in ten-foot-pole territory. "It's not really an option for me. I mean, it could be, but it would involve murder and magic and some surgeries that are better left to the imagination."

After all, that's how Sam had been born.

"It would also require someone wanting to have sex with me, which is, you know, not on the table."

Steph raised an eyebrow, shifting so they can chat more comfortably.

“What makes you say that?”

She made a broad gesture to her body, to her flat chest, her bony elbows, her wig, of course. "Just this," she said. The high school mean girls once told Sam that she had the sex appeal of a barbecue fork. She'd decided to believe them. Hadn't even kissed a guy until college and that had been her very, very not-into-girls best friend Chad. They'd mostly fooled around just to check the box, as it were.

"And, I mean, have you seen the people the Overlords whoosh in here? Like, ninety percent underwear models. Especially the dudes. Even the bald ones have some kind of sex appeal."

If it weren't for Sam's presence, she'd be halfway convinced that it was a breeding experiment, to create the most beautiful offspring possible.

Steph sighed dreamily, mostly for effect. She’d seen some of the guys alright.

“There are a lot of babes, yeah. Though I could wish some of them were younger...” Now that she was almost certainly single it would have been nice to have a boy toy to distract her from her problems. She shook her head and returned to the matter at hand.

“Boys can be dumber than a sack of bricks, but you are definitely do-able. Trust me, it’s on the table.”

Sam burst out laughing. It wasn't a mean laugh. But the idea of being 'do-able' was just a little silly.

"Well," she drawled, "as long as we're failing the Bechdel test miserably, is there a certain someone around here you have your eye on?"

There had to be. The men were just so utterly...

...fireman-calendar-worthy.

Steph screwed her face up, only now feeling disgruntled about the lack of viable prospects.

"I haven't really been in the market. And all the real hotties are like, twice my age." What she wouldn't give to be old enough for Steve Rogers...

"I'm from LA," Sam sighed. "That's kind of the norm." Which wasn't to say she approved or appreciated it. But then again, who was she to judge? Anyway, her favorite vampire in the whole world looked about a third his age.

Fucking Avery...

"Fucky Darns is cute, but he's super old."

“Yes, I’m sure that’ll be a really convincing argument the next time somebody asks if I’m legal.” She huffed. She wasn’t exactly in a hurry for a rebound, but it would have been something to do.

“Who the heck is ‘Fucky Darns?”

Sam groaned, mostly at herself. "Sorry. Bucky Barnes." She really, really needed to stop calling him that. "Long story on the nickname. It involves copious amounts of alcohol." As most 'long stories' did. "Dude with the metal arm."

She leaned back on her palms, examining the scenery. For a prison, it was pretty, she would have to admit. In that sort of pre-Industrial, primitive sort of way. She was still a city girl at heart. A Chicago girl, if she was honest. But she reluctantly had to admit she could see the appeal.

"Hey," she said suddenly, as the thought--and manners--popped into her head. "Where are you from, anyway?"

"Oh," she said, searching her memory for a face to go with the description. "Yeah, I guess he's pretty cute. Could use a haircut, though." He was just a little too unkempt to be incredibly hot.

She let the silence sit for a moment. She was a city girl too, but after the way she left Gotham she doesn't want to see another skyscraper for at least a year.

"Hm? Oh, I'm from Gotham. New Jersey," she added, in case Sam had never heard of it.

Gotham meant nothing to her, but she tended to conflate most of the larger cities out on the east coast, anyway. Aside from New York City, of course. Where, once upon a time, she'd thought about living.

She wondered if it had survived the Rain of Fire.

Probably only marginally better than LA.

"I grew up outside of Chicago," she volunteered listlessly. "Moved to LA when I was eighteen. Not fantastic, but it's better than here."

"Gotham's the worst," she offered with exaggerated cheer. "Death rate's absurd. There's a reason it's called the crime capital of the world." She doubted other cities were a fantastic improvement, but at least they didn't have the supervillains that Gotham boasted.

"I like it here, honestly." Now she was being sincere. She knew it wasn't the most popular opinion.

"The air doesn't smell like garbage, there's plant life everywhere that isn't trying to kill you mostly, it's really pretty peaceful."

Both of Sam's eyebrows went up slightly. It was hard for her to comprehend anyone actually liking it here. Although she had to admit, she could understand not wanting...plants?...murderous plant life.

Even so. A pretty prison was still a prison.

And this one didn't even have wifi.

"Well," she drawled, "if I ever find the flashing neon sign that says 'Exit' that leads to my world, you're welcome to come with me. But you will have to deal with rubble and destruction and pieces of space station all over the street."

Steph shrugged defensively. Nobody ever seemed to get how she could be happy here. But she was far, far away from Gotham, and the people who hurt her, and the people she hurt. Just about anywhere would be a vacation.

"Sounds a lot like home, aside from the space station. What happened there?"

One would think it would get easier to talk about the Rain of Fire, given the distance and time. But it was never easy. And Sam supposed she should be grateful for that. Somehow, she decided, it made her feel more human that way. And she liked feeling human. Every single reminder of pain and helplessness made her feel one step removed from being a Predator. And most Kindred, really.

She spoke slowly. Haltingly. "There were some really, really bad people," she said. It seemed generous to even call them 'people.' "And they found out that the vampires had...had decided to 'come out.' To reveal themselves to the world. And these people...they had once been vampires too, but they'd taken a step up the predatory ladder...they didn't want that. And so...they decided to remind vampires of their place."

Sam hated that figure of speech. 'Know your place.' 'Remember your place.' All that crap they'd said to Avery, before consenting to release the hostages they'd mutilated.

"So they contributed to a worldwide blackout and...one timezone at a time, they caused every satellite orbiting the earth to drop. LA got hit the worst, we think. We don't know because they're still no communication but...we got hit by the International Space Station. Took out almost every building taller than seven stories. And about a third of the population."

"Jesus," about summed up Steph's feelings on the matter. She was amazed buildings under seven stories survived that kind of massive attack. It sounded like exactly the kind of thing the Justice League could have stopped.

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll just hitchhike to Metropolis. Being homeless in Delaware won't be much fun but at least Superman can keep the sky from falling." Literally, in some cases.

"I have...no idea what that means," Sam said. Although it certainly sounded...colorful. "But I don't blame you. My world is kind of a train wreck. Minus all the functioning trains, at this point."

She was pretty sure some helicopters might have survived. But by and large, the entire human race--and Kindred too--had been put to a complete stop.

Bikes. They had fucking bikes.

"Superman," she repeated, as though that would explain everything.

"Wears a red cape, faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, literally shoots laser beams out his eyes?"

Sam stared at her blankly. Her mind went to the ubermensch, but she decided that Steph probably wasn't talking about Nietzsche, since she doubted his superman would wear a red fucking cape.

Just as well. Sam had only taken that philosophy class because it was a required distro and she hated every single second of it.

"You're not...from that superhero world?" she asked. "With the...Avengers or whatever the fuck they call themselves?" That world was driving her absolutely bananas. It was so hard to keep track of all the fucking drama. It was worse than the Star Wars EU.

"Oh no," she insisted, "definitely not." Then she paused, for dramatic effect.

"I'm from the superhero world with the Justice League. Way cooler."

The Justice League?

"Way cornier," Sam said, although there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. She'd been a pretty big comic book groupie as a kid. They were easy to transfer from foster home to foster home. It still gave her a little laugh to think that she was actually hanging out in the multiverse with real-life superheroes.

It also put the whole Nietzsche shit to rest.

"Okay," she said. "I'm gonna have to hear this story."

Steph snickered, accepting that statement for the lovable truth that it was. Then she shifted into a cross-legged position and leaned forward, excited about the story she was about to tell. She adored Superman.

"Okay, so, alien planet, light-years away, blows up. Like, the whole thing. But before it blows one baby gets sent away to the nearest safe planet- Earth. Only on our planet he can fly, punch through tanks, see through walls, move way faster than a bullet, and, naturally, shoot lasers out of his eyes. And one day in Metropolis this random dude in a blue suit and red cape starts saving people from car wrecks, putting out fires by blowing on them, stopping bank robberies, you name it.

"Of course, this was like 30 years ago or something. By the time I'm old enough to understand a few words from the news broadcasts he's giving speeches, talking about how much people owe each other, and we all need to take care of each other, and keeping the peace is a universal responsibility, stuff like that."

She sat back, satisfied thinking back to happier days. Or... less awful days, at least.

"He is the hero of our time. When I grew up, I wanted to be him."

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