Summary:Illyana informs Sam he's her new housemate and moves them into a house with some paranormal 'features'. One of which sends Sam back to see his 'Dream Woman'. Log Info:Storyteller: Illyana Rasputina |
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Obviously, Illyana likes Sam, because she's riding in his 'I think it's old enough to buy alcohol' pickup truck instead of just teleporting straight here.
Sam obviously likes Illyana because he hasn't strangled her with her backseat driving. Passenger seat. Whatever. She keeps pulling at the seat belt, which invokes the friction lock, which starts to try to strangle her and then she's got to undo it, and refasten it… Not to mention since she's never driven, and rarely ridden in a car, she doesn't have a great sense of how fast things move and how quickly they stop. If she wasn't seatbelted in, she'd likely be clinging to the ceiling like some freaked-out cat. The number of times she's flailed about thinking they were going to get into an accident… It's unlikely Sam will Ever. Do this. Again.
"THERE!" Illyana points out Sam's window, nearly clocking him in the face as she does so. "That one!" 'That one' is a run down, creepy looking building wedged in tight between a pair of remodeled, expensive looking ones over in Brooklyn. The sorceress said she was moving and asked Sam to come by and see the place with her.
Sam Guthrie pulls off the road and finds something resembling a parking place. He can see the holes where there used to be parking meters, but no sign of the actual moneytakers. Guess that'll save a few coins anyhow.
"Huh. Well. Guessin' you didn't find this one listed in the Wall Street Journal, huh?" he says. He puts his hands on his hips and tries to assess the condition of the building although, really, he only knows the little bit he'd overheard his contractor uncle talk about. Like his father, Sam had mostly just nodded along as if he knew what the guy was talking about.
Illyana Rasputina gives a soft snort of amusement, unbuckling her seatbelt and hopping out. "Yeah, no. I'd buy it with what money? Unlike you, I don't have a nine-to-five." She points out.
There's a big tree in the strip of land between the sidewalk and the front of the house, the branches of which seem to be clawing at the faded blue three-story house, but that's probably not why the paint is peeling. It looks like it hasn't been lived in for close to a decade but that doesn't seem to dim Illyana's spirits. Heading up to the porch, she pulls out a key on a tag to unlock the door and let them in. At least it opens easily, and the hardware looks fairly new.
Inside, there's dust covers on all the furniutre, and it could really use some cleaning. There's a small foyer that opens into a generous main room with a wide staircase that goes up and then T's out to go to the second floor. The blonde looks over at Sam and flashes him a grin. "So? What do you think?"
Sam Guthrie raises an eyebrow, "I ain't precisely clear on how you make ends meet as it is, but I ain't the nosy type. Your business is your business. An' I probably don't really wanna know," he smiles.
He takes a look around slowly, being careful as he can. Taps on the walls here and there. Runs the taps to make sure the water works and the plumbing doesn't explode. Stomps his feet a few times on the stairs. That sort of thing.
"I seen worse. That said, I grew up around a lot of poor white trash, so me havin' seen worse ain't exactly a great testament."
Illyana Rasputina worries one of her fingernails as she watches Sam poke about. It is *not* a usual habit for her. She heads over to the stairs, tromping her way up to the landing before turning back to look at him with her hands on hips. "There's a bunch of bedrooms upstairs. I can take the one over there, but you can have your pick of any of the others."
Because it never occurs to Illyana to *ask* someone if they'd like to move in with her. In a creepy, run-down house.
At least the utilities seem to all work? Most of the house is sound, just in dire need of a facelift and a hell of a lot of cleaning.
Sam Guthrie raises an eyebrow, "I can, huh?" he says with a crook of a smile at the corner of his mouth, "Anybody else going to help pay the rent? I assume it's rent, I don't figure you've got the credit rating for a mortgage," he says.
Unless she cheated with magic, of course. Which she might have. Technically, he should frown on that, but…eh. Like he said, he came from poor folks, hillbillies. Banks and revenuers could go blow.
"It's definitely closer to work," he admits. "And it would be nice not to live in a damn school."
Illyana Rasputina grins broadly as Sam seems to acquiesce. She holds up the key, letting the little tag dangle where he can see the WAND logo. "So, rent and utilities are covered. And in return we, well mostly me, keep an eye on the dimensional weak spot in the basement." Notice how she didn't lead with that part?
The blonde hops down the steps, yes, literally hops and then bounces her way over to him. She… kind of looks more like the seven year old that was kidnapped than the twenty-something year old woman he knows. Maybe that's because that was the last time she had much in the way of gleeful reactions, and so she hasn't developed any more age-appropriate ones. "It'll be fine! If anything sticks its' head out we can clobber it. You're pretty much untouchable when your blast field is up, so you shouldn't be in any danger!"
Riiiiiight.
Sam Guthrie isn't sure seeing her as a little girl is particularly a helpful image for him, but he's glad to see her happy at any rate. He grins and even offers an embrace, "Dimensional weak spot in the basement. Knew there had to be a catch. Beyond the paint job. But I can fix the paint job. The dimensional weak spot is at little beyond my pay grade."
"You know that only works if I have time to put up the blast field, right? And it ain't gonna work on…ghosts? Is that what you're tellin' me? We got ghosts?"
Illyana Rasputina throws her arms around Sam as he offers the hug, squeezing him tight and leaning back enough to lift the tall man off his feet a moment. Guess she's excited.
As to the question of ghosts? "Maybe? Depends what manages to push through the Wards I put up. Demons, alien entities, ghosts, maybe even aliens. I should be able to keep it pretty quiet though. I'm not bad at the magic stuff."
Stepping back, Illyana grabs Sam's hands and tugs him towards the stairs. "C'mon! Pick out a room!" And try not to sneeze.
He lets her lead him up the stairs, his long legs letting him keep up easily enough even as she rushes along ahead. He walks up and down the hall as she leads the way and, yeah, he manages not to sneeze although he does feel an urge to dust already starting to hit him.
Eventually, he finds a room that's relatively modest but has a nice view and, most importantly, a little balcony just outside the window, "Always good to have an easy takeoff point that doesn't require me to bust through a wall," he smiles.
The next few days are… interesting. Illyana doesn't have much to move, and with her helping Sam, getting his bulky items there are pretty easy.
The cleaning *should* be boring. Except that unsurprisingly, Illyana's not much of a cleaner. So she brings some critters to help do so. They're not very good at cleaning either, and it's likely the first time Sam's really seen Illyana's… servants. She really should have introduced them to him before putting them to work, too. One might say those introductions were 'explosive'. The utilities work, though the wiring could use some work and the pipes rattle and shake ominously. Supposedly WAND is sending a handyman by to take care of those things, though.
Sam wanted something to keep him busy, right?
Well, between his job and cleaning, it's not a surprise that Sam is wiped at the end of the day and asleep almost before his head hits the pillow. And finds himself elsewhere. But also, somewhere familiar.
It's the too-colorful plants, as though drawn from some child's fanciful imaginings of a tropical jungle that was also challenged to use every crayon in the 128 pack. At the base of a large tree, similar in scale to a redwood, but with blue-grey bark and bright pink leaves, huddles the dark-haired woman with the all-black eyes. Her clothing is ripped and torn, blood staining it with ugly scratches gouged into her skin. And she's weeping.
Sam clenches his fists together, prepared to be attacked again as he finds himself drawn anew into this strange realm. He'd almost forgotten about what he'd been through in the dream before, but being back here makes it all return in vivid detail. Too vivid, even, amost making his head hurt, as if the world itself was trying to make him remember. But that would be…
He doesn't want to think about it.
He kneels down, "Miss? I'm sorry, Miss, do you remember me? I…I was here before, I think. I don't know how I'm here, if it's a real place. It seems to me like I'm dreamin'."
Chimere lifts her head in a jerk, tears leaving tracks down her cheeks as she scrambles backwards towards the trunk of the tree. Those dark eyes are so wide, fear painted on every line of her. Under the bleeding scratches, Sam can see bruises. Some new, and some old. As she finally seems to recognize him, she bursts into even stronger sobs but the line of her shoulders relaxes and slumps. The fear at least, fades. She drops her face into her hands, muffling her sobs.
A rush of wind moves through the thick undergrowth around them, making trees sway and smaller plans bow their heads in a slow nod. Despite the tropical jungle feel, there are patches of what looks like mature wheat growing amidst it, though some of the grains are dark and elongated and almost purplish in color. Chimere finally lifts her head and sniffles. "You aren't here to save me." She says sadly.
Sam Guthrie takes a seat slowly, his face stricken with the sorrow and the pity he feels in the moment. He folds his legs under him, sitting across from her as he takes in the strange scents of the foliage, foriegn and familiar all at once, perhaps because they're drawing from his memory - or memories of things he can't even remember.
"I wish that I were. I would, if I knew how. But I don't know how I got here. I don't…this isn't something that's normally within my power. My friend, she travels between worlds, but I just…that's not my gift. Maybe she could help me find you. If I could prove to her that you're real and not just…something I dreamed."
Chimere brings one hand up, wiping at her tears with the back of one hand and sniffling. At least her pale skin doesn't get all splotchy like when some women cry. She draws her knees up towards her chest, trying to make herself small and hide the torn clothing. The weeping cuts. The bruising. Her face, perhaps surprisingly, is free of injury. Her expression shifts, breath held a moment as Sam mentions he has someone that can travel between worlds and there's a flash of hope that is then ripped away when he talks about proving that she's real. When she speaks, her voice is very small. "Do… you believe I'm real?"
The place smells real, of the scent of decaying undergrowth and fresh pine, sweet flowers and something… something more cloying, but familiar.
He considers for a moment. He could just lie and say yes, but he's never been a liar, "I ain't sure," he said. "I feel like you are. This feels real. But I also know that, first time I met you, I was sleepin' in a world o' magic. An' the place I fell asleep last…well…I guess it's a place where the walls are sorta thin, if you get my meanin'. So that makes sense. But it also means…somebody could be doin' somethin' to me. Wouldn't be the first time I seen an illusion in my life.
He thinks for a moment, "But…yeah. For what it's worth, I believe you're real, somehow, in some way."
As Chimere's gaze moves back and forth between Sam's eyes, searching, it's hard to tell with the lack of sclera or pupil. But the play of light over that shiny darkness gives a clue. She dips her head, thinking. Then she leans forward, uncurling and coming up onto her knees. She tries to hold the tattered remains of her clothing in place, but the white material was flimsy to start with. She holds out her hands for his. "Give me your hand."
When Sam does as she asks, she casts her gaze about and picks up a rock. It's dark and a bit shiny with a sharp edge. It's likely to remind Sam of flint. Chimere brings it to his hand and starts to cut into Sam's palm. The rock is a poor cutting edge, and pain blooms bright as the blood that wells up from his hand.
Sam Guthrie cries out in surprise. He had thought she was maybe going to give him a shred of her clothing, some tatter that he could somehow bridge across the veil. Instead, she rewards his trust with pain, crying out as he feels the impact in his flesh. His blood starts to flow steadily, filling the pool of his palm quickly and running along the creases of his lifeline.
"We could've tried startin' with a note," he mutters.
Chimere glances up at him at that, giving an unladylike snort of amusement. "If you're slipping through a weak point, then maybe a message will work, yes. But anything your holding will get left behind." Reaching up, she pulls a pin from her mussed hair that has a little star charm dangling from it. Fingers stained with blood she pinches it free and then pushes it into the open wound. "But if it's 'part' of you? Maybe…" She turns her face up to look at him, hope almost painfully etched onto her face. "Maybe it will go through."
Sam Guthrie frowns and realizes that, whatever it may be, this woman may be desperate. Who knows how often someone ever finds their way to this realm where she's trapped? "How did you come to be trapped here?" he asks. "Who are you?"
He clenches his hand around the charm, his fist squeezing until blood seeps out between his fingers. It hurts, but he's been hurt before.
"*He* wanted me." Chimere says, voice tinged with a roiling mix of fear and anger that trickles out into anxiety. Sam can tell in the way her hands worry at her clothing, twisting at it and clenching, spreading his blood over the white, gossamer fabric. "He stole me, so long ago." As he asks who she is, she gives him her name again. Perhaps not thinking he might not be looking for anything else. "Chimere."
She leans forward, one of her hands covering his to give her leverage and leans in to brush her lips against his. Sam catches that familiar scent again as the wind blows, bringing with it the scent of wheat ripening in the sun tinged with the slightly sickly-sweet scent of ergot. "Please." A sob hiccups her words. "Please save m—"
And Sam jerks awake. Alone in his new room. There's a sharp pain in his hand and as he looks down, there's a trickle of blood and a cut across his palm that's half-healed. There's the twinkle of silver, and it takes a bit of digging for Sam to pull it free from his flesh. It's a tiny silver charm, in the shape of a star.
Sam looks at it for a long moment, almost unable to believe it's real. The pain is real. The charm is real. And the woman is real. Whoever she is. A name is nothing. Nothing he can make sense of.
But maybe someone he knows can…
"Illyana!" he calls.