Fenimore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blessingone) wrote2013-01-26 11:16 pm
blessingone) wrote2013-01-26 11:16 pm
(no subject)
[At the south of the village, once a bit farther out of the way before the higher numbered community buildings and the battle dome appeared, is a single-floor house surrounded by way more gardens than any reasonable person could ever need. There, in House 34, an eclectic group from the Legacy reside and raise the child left behind by Senel and Stella.
This is their fourth wall post.]
[Specifically, this is a group post for Norma, Grune, Fenimore, and Walter. Comments inside for each will give more detail on what they're up to.]
This is their fourth wall post.]
[Specifically, this is a group post for Norma, Grune, Fenimore, and Walter. Comments inside for each will give more detail on what they're up to.]
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As Thyra gets to her feet, Fenimore stays on her knees looking up at her, not sure if she trusts her legs just yet. The denial and the scowl strike her heart like an arrow, but, at the same time, she can't stop the smile spreading across her face. The words and the expression, hurtful though they may be, were so very Thyra that she feels an equal rush of joy.
The flood of all emotions is too much for her. She laughs without meaning to, dropping her hand to reveal a smile at the same time as tears leak from her eyes.]
Thyra, no, I -- I know it doesn't make any sense to you right now, but -- it's me. It really -- [She rubs at her eyes with her sleeve. She should try to keep it together better. She's the older sister...sort of. But it's so hard to keep any of this under control after more than three years thinking she'll never see Thyra ever again.] I'm so happy to see you again.
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Trembling hands balled into fists, her expression takes a turn for the worse. She closes her eyes—the illusion might go away if she ignores its face.
Ever since that news, she's been alone and picking up the pieces by herself. She won't let this . . . thing hinder her (admittedly slow) progress.]
Well, I'm not.
[It's hard to get the words out at first. But once she starts, they come easier. She can't turn back now.]
Who do you think you are, parading around like . . . like that, using my sister's face? Her voice? [A mirthless laughter. How did this thing even do it?] You've even got the clothes exactly right!
[Sucking in a sharp, shaky breath, Thyra's eyes narrow. Spurred on by her anger, she steps forward.]
Fenimore is dead. You're not her.
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I -- [She looks down. It's not easy to admit.] I know I'm going to die. I know that there's...there's no way I can explain this without sounding -- weird.
[A sharp intake of breath and she looks up again at her.] But I -- how can you explain where you are now? How else can you explain it? Look at me, Thyra! I am me, and -- I know it doesn't make sense, but here, I am alive! What else could this be?
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[That comes out with the last of her energy from the outburst. She can no longer bear it, so Thyra turns away before settling to staring at the ground and the folds of her dress.]
I don't know. Why are you asking me? You're the . . . [fake.]
[She feels her face beginning to heat up in that familiar way it had when she'd received news of Fenimore's passing ("passing," they called it). Her eyes are watering. She wants this to end. She blinks furiously and doesn't look up despite Fenimore's wishes.
She needs to keep talking.]
All I know is that this can't be real. So you can stop trying.
[But then why was it so hard to have just said that?]
1/2
She's seeing the effect her death has had -- is going to have -- on her sister. Even if Thyra is trying to hide it, she knows Thyra better than anyone, time apart or not. And she knows that she would feel the same if the positions were reversed. They almost were in Luceti, as Fenimore had spent three years separated from Thyra and sure she would never see her again, even if she at least knew her sister was safe. If she were to have encountered something as beyond her understanding as this....
She understands. She understands so well it hurts.]
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Is this how you reward me for helping you collect all those bugs to put in Kendall's desk when you thought you both liked the same person when we were ten? Which was wrong, if you don't remember, but I still spent the whole afternoon crawling around in the field, and I got in trouble with the teacher for it, too, even though it was mostly your idea. And how I never told anyone that you wet the bed when you were --
[If this doesn't prove that she's really Fenimore, she's not sure what will.]
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[A blurt, the flushing of her face, and Thyra snaps her head up to throw Fenimore a look of disbelief. Her response is a low whisper, recalling both of the memories with scary precision.
Really, to talk about the time someone wet her bed in the public; the rudest! Worst! Terrible!
Then reality catches up to her, and she's shocked to silence. Her face scrunching, she stares at that of the person before her with great and extreme scrutiny, most of her previous anxiety forgotten.]
You . . . you're . . .
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[She sighs, but a grin is starting to creep back into her face. This is a most promising sign...and also, despite everything, her reaction is a little funny.]
Now do you believe me? Or do you need me to go on?
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No . . . [Internal sigh.] No one else should know about any of that.
[Her head hanging, Thyra's shoulders slump forward. It seems proof enough. It should be, under normal circumstances, but this isn't normal. Still, so much of her earlier energy has gone off and over a figurative cliff.
Straightening, albeit with some difficulty (she's so numbed by the heat that it's hard for her to tell if she's not shaking visibly), she stares vacantly in front of her.
But this is . . . too kind . . .
Do you need me to go on?]
I don't know.
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