The First Age

"Now try to bend it down till your fingers point to the floor."


The kid -- a boy of about twelve or so -- nodded as Jon gingerly held the boy's forearm. He slowly bent his wrist and winced as his fingers came to about a forty-five degree angle with the floor. "It hurts."

"You did good,"
he said and released the hand. The boy had been unlucky enough to lose his balance when the train stopped and had fallen on his palm. It did not look as if there was any major damage, though, to the best of Jon's knowledge. He did have a doctorate, and absent a medical practitioner at the moment he was the best available. Jon nodded to the kid's mother. "It appears to be a mild sprain. Keep it rested and if there's bad swelling or pain that doesn't seem to be getting better he should definitely see a physician."


All injuries were of this mild sort -- bumps, bruises -- at least on this side of the train car, which was a blessing considering how bad it could have been. He certainly hoped they were not going to be here for too long. Logistics like food could wait, certainly, but other needs might become more urgent for train passengers.

Jon passed by his old seat and noticed Dane was no longer sitting there. He wondered where the man had gone that he had not returned. Something about the man's behavior just touched his senses wrong, like the sensation of just thinking of spiders crawling through his hair.

Something flashed by on the edge of his vision. Jon turned to the window. There was nothing but darkness outside. Maybe it had been a reflection from motion inside the cab? Perhaps he was just imagining things.

Jon walked toward the automated doors. There should be an emergency release somewhere around here in the event of a mechanical failure, but he couldn't find it anywhere near the door. He would think that the emergency track lighting and various signs would point out its location, but being so unfamiliar with the train layout he had to assume it was located elsewhere.

There it was again -- that motion. There was something outside. Oddly enough it didn't seem anyone else had taken notice of the motion. This time it had gone toward the back of the car. Jon started making his way in that direction.

The gentleman didn't look to know exactly what to make of their humour, and actually seemed inclined to ignore it until Katya joined in playfully and he had no escape from the assault. The girl was cute as a button and she had the infectious grin of the innocent, so Thalia doubted he would take the teasing nastily. "Lords" ride the metro now, huh? She sensed the lie but didn't call him out on it. An amused smile fringed the edges of her lips, curious as to why he felt the need to glitter himself up with grandiose titles - especially for the benefit of random strangers. If he was trying to be impressive he needn't have bothered, but as a game to pass the time trapped so far underground? Well, she was happy for the distraction. She chuckled lightly. "It was where we were going. To get a cup of tea," she explained off-handedly, as though both Katya and Dane were more than the briefest of acquaintances and an explanation was owed.

"Your mother is right, Kat," she grinned, but she held out her hand anyway, balanced on her knee, palm up. The cool uneasiness had lapsed again; now she only sat with her legs folded up to her chin because she was damn cold. Beneath the spatters of paint and tendrils of hair that gathered in the crooks of her elbows, her bare arms were goose-pimpled with chill. "Thanks." Though she was slightly dubious about the fact they were both being treated as children, she accepted the sweet without the fear of wolves tempting girls in red off the trusted path. The paper was shiny, but looked a sick shade in the poor lights. She uncrinkled the paper, popped the sweet in her mouth, and listened to the two's conversation about England.

"Great Britain is a very different place than Moscow,"
Dane said. Katya's bright smile did little to ease the sting of her discourteous, and incorrect, assessment of family styles. Her rejection of an obviously kind gift did not chafe, but upon the heels of dismissal followed an obvious insult, and Dane wrapped his palm around the candy until the corners dug painful through the gloves. He returned the sweet to his pocket afterward, having replaced the sensation with imagining the bones in her neck digging jagged when he crushed her throat between his hands.

The truer butterfly accepted his gift, and fondness glazed his expression in return. The way her hair fell, matted and tangled from the crown of her head and smattered with paint like her skull had been split with a blunt forced instrument, like a brick or a shovel, it was as though she were ready to die after months of inescapable captivity. There was a beauty to the otherwise mousy color that made a rat's nest of her head. In fact, with the dim light, a single strand of hair coursed, gleaming a few shades lighter than all the rest. Dane was able to follow it from scalp to tip.

He relaxed in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, and gloved fingers laced gently against his lap. He looked between the two girls, assigning internal comparisons between them. Katya, with her sharp tongue and stubborn immaturity, would likely last double the time in captivity before she broke, but Thalia would be a lovely little waif.

"To answer your question, as I assume it is an oddity to pair someone like me taking travel arrangements such as this. I am something of a tourist, and have come to grow fond of the cultural appreciations in Moscow. The ballet. The symphony."
Then he fixed his gaze upon Thalia with a sticky smile, "and the art."

A purveyor of the arts, was he? And on the subway train, surely there were better ways for a seemingly well off man to get around. But who was she to judge, Katya supposed, to each their own. Katya kept her tongue in check, despite the first jab, Dane didn't seem to care. She should know better than to let her mouth run rampant. Her mother had always told her so.

His attentions now back on Thalia, Katya looked around the car. People were huddled in their own little groups, families huddled together. A couple in the back of the car were snuggling and giggling together. Katya rolled her eyes but she couldn't blame them.

The man who had been sitting with Dane was moving towards the back of the car, looking and watching out the windows, trying to see something out of it's windows. It was then that the memory of the basement monster hit her. Power cables eaten by the thing in the hole in the wall?

Movement caught her eye and Katya pulled coat around her and the wool hat down over her ears. It felt like it was getting colder, she was getting colder.

Katya watched the man look. There wasn't much else to do on a train with no power. She could work, but the power of her battery was too low, it wouldn't hardly last thirty minutes, and that was barely time to get started at all. Only thing to do was sit and wait and watch.

He cut Kat off, not sharply or rudely, but with the patronisation of someone tolerating naivety, and not particularly happy to have to do so. Thalia didn't expect an explanation for Dane's decision to ride the metro - and frankly, she didn't care to hear his motivations, nor to judge him on it. Though, of course, judge she did anyway. He was snobbish; the prim way he sat, the enunciated way he spoke, his mannerisms. With his hands clasped neatly on his knee, he brought to mind archaic portraits of old gentry. He just needed a hound to lounge at his foot, and a blazing hearth in the backgound. The lighting in here was completely wrong, sallow and washed out, but he had the sort of features that would translate well on canvas; all haughty charm and cool superiority.

"It's a beautiful place," she agreed, pushing the sweet into the hollow of her cheek and fluttering her fingers in front of her lips because it grated to talk with her mouth full. "I'd recommend the Tretyakov Gallery if you haven't been already. I couldn't speak for the rest, I've never been to the ballet or symphony." Her eyes caught on the other good samaritan, the one she had been ignoring - the back of his head anyway, as he moved down to the end of the train car, fixated on the black windows. What's he doing? She glanced quizzically at Kat, then pulled her gaze away, determined not to focus on the way it threatened her with dizzy panic. She'd have given Dane a business card then, but the one floating about with the loose change in her pocket had been the only one in there, so she only offered a smile.

Finally, the other one shut her mouth long enough to let Dane's little butterfly speak. He was completely focused on Thalia's every word. An intent listener, he soaked in every syllable.

Dane's version of relaxed was to stream his arm along the back of the seat. It opened up his chest and invited the conversation in for a warm, welcoming hug. He smiled and crossed his legs toward Thalia. He posed for them, forcing eyes up and down his posture. Until Thalia mentioned the name of a certain gallery. It struck Dane to attention, and he shifted to explore the contents of a pocket.

"If you would say the name of that gallery once more?"
He asked, realizing his hand delved into the pocket with a lock of hair rather than a Wallet. A secret smile took his lips before correcting himself.

Wallet open, he suddenly stopped himself from dictating the recommendation. A light overcame his features. He set about exploring the girl's expression, fishing for a bite from the charming lure he was.

He lowered the device. "Actually, if you are of a mind, I'd like to take you there myself, and perhaps dinner afterward?"
His brows lifted hopeful, and his smile begged for agreement, but he had a feeling there was a bit of magic needed to win her over.

He lifted a finger before she could answer, and delved into the contents of his coat's inner breast pocket. From which he retrieved a silver card case and stylus. Upon the digital paper stored within, he sketched a quick outline of Thalia's face whilst hiding what he was actually doing behind a teasing shake of the head. Her hair bushed whimsically around her shoulders. There was a smile on her face and a flower behind one ear. A cartoon dialogue bubble filled the corner, and as Dane wrote her answer for her, his expression turned coy.

Image saved and imprinted, he offered her the tiny card. The rendition was strangely realistic, like sketching posed women was something he did on a regular basis, but she was lovely in it, far more so than the real version. The cartoon Thalia had said: "I would love to, Dane."

"Please say yes? Art is so much more enjoyable when there is someone else to share the experience."

"Tretyakov," she repeated. "It's sort of south of the Kremlin - you couldn't miss the building. It's very striking, in a fairy-tale-esque way." She leaned forward a little, wrapped her arms around her knees, and idly watched as he retrieved his Wallet. Then stopped himself. When he looked up at her, he really looked; she might have been charmed by the earnestness of his expression if his scrutiny hadn't reminded her she was drenched in paint. Far from making her self-conscious, it beamed a smile that threatened to spill into genuine laughter, though the self-effacing humour cut short when he spoke. She blinked surprise. The way he laced his fingers. The way he crossed his legs. She'd assumed, and even now she wasn't sure; her head tilted, not particularly in consideration of an answer, but in realignment of her perceptions.

She didn't have a great dating history for the same reasons she had no close friends; after a certain stretch of time, things got complicated. It had never stopped her forging relationships, but it did lead them to premature ends. With everyone but Aylin. As such she was disposed to an immediate affability, and as quickly as she had accepted Katya's company for a cup of tea she was inclined to receive Dane's invitation with equally authentic enthusiasm, regardless of context. She flowed through life like that, a petal caught in the smooth rush of a river.

He forestalled an answer and Thalia obliged, legitimately curious. She forgot, for a while, of blood and ashes and fire, of black windows and faces that would unravel her sanity. Those were all very good things to forget, and she was grateful for the diversion. Dane was almost playful in the way he tilted the screen away from her eyes, but she waited patiently, and accepted the card when it was finished. She held his gaze for an inquisitive second before she looked down. His eyes were flat pools of grey.

Thal hummed amused laughter when she realised what he'd done, unfeigned and honest in her reaction. It wasn't a bad sketch, particularly for one so quickly rendered, but she wasn't vain enough to overlook that he'd been overly generous. She knew herself to be delicately featured, a little frayed at the edges, but her face was inoffensive; forgettable. For a moment she fluttered between being flattered at the flamboyant lengths he went to, to unease at the insistence. She erred on the optimistic after only the briefest dip of doubt. She wasn't sure why he'd presumed her answer to be a no - she'd actually been about to shrug and say sure before he'd held up a silencing finger. Though now the nonchalance seemed ill fitting. Fortunately, Dane had provided a storybook script, and if the words weren't exactly her own, the light cadence of sincerity she wrapped them in was genuine. "I'd love to, Dane."

She laid the card on her knees. Tart sherbet bit through the sweet in her mouth. "So you draw?"

The victory of conquest filled Dane's smile. He felt as though he'd smiled so long now that his cheeks would hurt once they returned to their pensive position. Next came the appropriate trading of names and numbers. "Tomorrow, then?"
Unless she was busy elsewhere. Dane hoped not. His blood pumped warm now, and more than several days of waiting would only serve to stew the imagination rather than cool the instinct.

He returned to the previous posture, posed with one arm rested along the edge of the plastic seats. Conversation dwiddled on around them, but so far the mood was thinly veiled patience. The darkness that stretched behind only reminded him of their isolation. One of Mockingbird's events took care and planning, but the score chimed the familiar whistle in the back of his mind nonetheless. A composition all the more highlighted by Thalia's question.

"I doodle,"
he corrected gently, thinking of the mockingbird cards painstakingly hand painted left across the continent. "I've always had the urge to keep my hands busy. Even in my boyhood. I'm a better singer than I am artist, but I do enjoy painting, sometimes. You would likely not find my work in that regard appetizing, most don't."
His eyes were drawn to the red on Thalia's hair.

"Unfair, perhaps, but art is usually the most lovely to the artist that created it."


He swiveled his gaze toward Katya to ascertain her likely useless opinion, but a curious frown overtook him instead. A long limb, like the knobby bend of a branch, swung swiftly past the window over her head. Outside. Like seeing a spider move out of the corner of one's eye. Dane found himself looking upward as though he wondered whether something was on the roof.

While the conversation was not overly inclusive, Katya kept an ear to what Dane and Thalia were talking about and she was thankful for not being included, until Dane turned to her and then frowned.

Katya wasn't sure what that was about, she hadn't said anything, hadn't done anything. A scream from across the way made Katya jump. The woman who screamed was in a panic, "I saw something. Something is out there.

The train car was a buzz with activity now. People were peering out the windows trying to see what was going on. That wasn't Katya's instincts. She had already seen a monster, and blaze of glory that scared it away. Katya stood up and moved to the center of the car away from the doors and as far away as she could from the windows. In a narrow car, the fruit of her efforts were probably not good enough.

Katya pulled her wallet from her pocket and tried for signal. Unable to reach out however didn't stop Katya from tinkering. She started going through the motions of boosting the power. She'd done it before, many times.

The world grew clear, the possibilities felt endless. The wallet beeped, "Message waiting." Katya flipped through the screens. Aria had sent her a message. "What does she want?
Before she could do anything else her wallet popped and sparked. Katya dropped it. The wallet crashed to the floor and shattered, but that wasn't what Katya stared at. Upon her hand what looked like electricity flowed from the tips of her fingers. The moment of recognition and they were gone. The world was normal. Her only thought before collapsing to the floor was what the hell was that?

Thankfully she hadn't hit her head, but she didn't feel well, why now, she'd been fine, like the other times it had happened, it just hit. Katya grew cold and she knew it had nothing to do with the temperature. Hopefully the train started moving soon.

"Tomorrow," she agreed with a smile. Her schedule was self-dictated, and she was whimsical enough to go with the flow even if it had meant re-organising her obligations. As it was, she'd probably have to check her Wallet to really know if her day was free, but she was only a self-employed artist: it was not life or death work, and there was nothing that couldn't be filtered into other hours of other days instead. She glanced at the rust coloured coating splotching her hands and arms. After the fiasco of today, she'd be glad to spend some time away from her studio. Plus, she had recommended the gallery for a reason; she did enjoy it there, and now that she paused to think about it the prospect was pleasing.

Funnily enough, the word doodle captured her attention more thoroughly than Dane's elaborate and flamboyant drawing of her. Thalia's childhood was littered with scribbles in margins, sketches on napkins - and even her own skin had proved a canvas. She identified with the need to keep one's hands busy, the itch and desire so deep into her very bones that it almost proved a physical pain to ignore. When she blinked, the red painting blazed on the back of her eyelids, and a shiver prickled her flesh. It was getting really cold in here.

"Hmm." She gave his words due consideration - and she would try to remember that he liked music - but she couldn't agree with the last sentiment. How many artists were truly satisfied with the approximation they managed to create of their own vision? Satisfied artists were usually poor, self indulgent ones, at least in Thalia's experience, and for her own part she had even less reason to be enamoured of some of the images that poured involuntary from her fingertips. Her smile faded a little from what had been genuine enthusiasm; took on a more pensive cast. "I'm not sure how true that is for everyone."

She missed Dane's frown, her own gaze unfocussed at some point passed her own knees, but the scream poured ice into her core. Thalia blinked back into the present as chaos erupted in the train car, and people plastered their faces to the darkened windows. For long moments, Thalia didn't move, only watched, folding her arms about her legs. Eventually it occurred to her to glance quizzically at Dane. By then Katya had scooted from her seat, and was apparently trying to coax a signal from her Wallet. And something - she felt something, something that froze her skin far more than whatever was outside. A haze of memory fuzzed the outside of her brain, fighting for entry, and Thal felt the first swell of panic.

Then Kat fell.

She slid Dane's drawing into her pocket - she was not so mindless as to discard care for a gift - and stood. Two swift steps brought her close, and she knelt, one hand on Katya's shoulder. Somewhere in the back of her mind, somewhere she bluntly refused to acknowledge, she recognised the symptoms of what lay in front of her. And she was afraid. Not exactly for Katya, though she was in a dangerous position, but for the understanding which hovered so close and Thalia was desperate to avoid. "Hey." The words were soft, but she was leaning in, her long hair coiling on the floor, blanketing the profile of her face; Katya would hear, if she wasn't already consumed by the ice and fire in her veins. "Hey, you okay? You didn't hit your head?"


Edited by Thalia, Apr 27 2014, 05:29 AM.