birthright_rpg | Second Impressions

Entry tags:

echo,
sabra

Second Impressions

Cian's note had caused Echo to shake off the vestiges of the weird mood she'd been in since the night she'd seen the meteor, and she put the stone he'd left for her where he'd directed her to. Just knowing it was there made her feel more secure.

She'd gotten up at her usual early hour, then had breakfast and did her exercises in the front yard. Sometimes she wondered if her nearest neighbors, the Snyders, ever saw her out there, and if so what they thought of it. Then again, if they thought she was weird, they'd never mentioned anything. That was strangely comforting.

After she did some tidying up, she picked up the keys to the van and locked the trailer up behind her. She wanted to go up the highway to Vegas and catch the Strip before it got crowded. If it was ugly without all the neon, that would make her drawings better, more realistic. She was always looking for ways to expand on her talent, and urban landscapes were good for that in her opinion.

The roads were deserted because of the early hour, and when the hybrid reached the city she parked her vehicle in a metered spot. Dropping coins into the slot, she studied the street. Where was the best vantage point to start from?

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"I remembered your smell..."

It came from up above. A solid whiimp against the street lamp indicating the figure now clutching to it must have leapt from the nearest roof. A long-haired brunette who had been met twice before.

"After the laughter went away, I remembered it. You tried to hurt me. My legs."

It was the woman from the crater impact. And, before that, the shop. The woman-who-wasn't. And one who hadn't forgotten what took place during their first encounter, by the sounds of it. Sabra letting herself drop to the sidewalk, feet-fiirst, in front of her.

"But now I remember your face, too."

She hadn't been prepared for that, and so she didn't have the chance to flinch before the other woman's feet made contact with the sidewalk. The woman who actually wasn't a woman at all. She probably had more in common with the alien from the crater than with other humans. The street was eerily quiet.

There were two choices here. She could retreat, panic the way she had before, or she could square her shoulders and take a breath. Echo inhaled through her nose, pushed the oxygen out through her mouth. Eye contact was difficult, but that wasn't unique for her.

"I recognized you too," she said in a low voice. The only reason she hadn't said anything at the crater was because there were more pressing concerns at the time, and then the giggling and the headache took over. Now, with a clear head, the hybrid could behave reasonably.

"You scared me. Before. I didn't know what you were, and I over-reacted."

There was a tightening of muscles, Sabra tilting her head slowly over to one side, like an animal gaining a slightly different visual perspective to work out the solution to a problem.

"Yes..."

She was walking now. Up to, around and then past her. Eyes keeping track. A small sniff being made.

"I disliked it. Heavily."

An implied threat? A warning? Mere observation? Whatever it was, the woman looked away, then back again.

"You don't smell like the others."

It wasn't necessarily dominating behavior, but Echo held still for it anyway. Papa was an Alpha, and she'd seen him stare down everyone from fellow writers to impertinent waitstaff at restaurants. She was still holding the bag containing her art supplies.

"Not everything is how it seems on the surface," she said evenly. She turned her head to catch the other woman's eyes, then lifted her shoulders in a shrug. Her nose wrinkled as the longer-haired woman's scent carried.

"I don't think you're exactly like everyone else, either."

There was an honest to goodness growl from Sabra, low in the throat. Not overly aggressive and only just audible, like a vampire's, but it was there. Albeit, momentary. The woman's facial expression, though, was remarkably stoic - right up until what looked like a snarl of disdain and sudden looking away, gesturing to the Vegas crowd.

"No... And that I must be, that I must learn their ways... It frustrates me. But you..." Sabra turned back. "You don't have to. And you have strength... Why lower yourself? Why live as they do?"

"Because the other half of me isn't all there is."

She'd thought about it while she was growing up, especially when the teasing at school got really bad. Before she got out of the habit, shifting had been easy, and she could have changed into the Wolf and dealt with her tormentors for good and all if she'd wanted to. It would have been really easy.

But she didn't want to live like an animal. She'd been a half-breed since the day she was born, but that wasn't the same thing as being a monster. Papa had learned to live among humans long before he fell in love with Mama, and she'd learned by his example. Even when it sucked.

"Who were you? Before." She gestured at the new day's sun, then at the other woman. "You're not a vampire, because you'd be a pile of ashes by now if you were. How did you get here?"

"Half..."

Sabra looked at her with a renewed perspective now. Things made more sense, even if they were not to her liking. There was a logical foundation.

But the new question directed her way gave the elder brunette reason to pause. To think. To try and remember, even if she could not.

"Different," she supposed. "In the dark... Another realm. There was a... Lure. I was pulled through. This body... It became my home, but it isn't mine."

She was looking down at her hands when she said it. Forearms. Considering them. The mortal whose life experiences must have shaped them.

"The ones who did this... Who summoned... They did not expect me. They had the minds of children, to try what they did," she observed with distaste. "And now I am trapped."

A slow shake of head.

"I remember... Little of the time before. But I know I am different. That the dark things in this world are tainted in ways I am not... That I have a purity of blackness they do not. That this body houses me - it does not become me."

Echo didn't know what 'purity of blackness' meant, but what the older woman was describing sounded like an experiment gone wrong. She shuffled her feet, watched a random sheet of newspaper blow past her. Her expression was troubled.

"I didn't know places like that were real," she said, gesturing with the hand not holding her bag. "Laboratories where they do...things...to people. That's part of why I'm so careful. I don't want to end up on a dissection table."

She looked down at the toes of her shoes, which were dusty. If she felt like an alien no matter how human she looked, how must the other woman feel? Especially if she'd been dragged from another plane of existence to occupy a form she considered lesser?

"Are they after you?"

"No. They won't be doing that."

The way Sabra looked at the girl as she said those words... There was something ominous about the way she phrased it. The self-assured confidence which which she felt safe enough to make that declaration. Either those responsible had been scared off or Sabra had ended their curiosity in a more permanent way.

"I appointed myself a guide. Slayer of the undead... She calls herself a Valerie. She advised me... Said I should learn more of these mortals' ways before making this place my kingdom. It was wise... But I am unsure what further lessons there are."

Echo smiled, but the expression was a little grim. There were always lessons to be learned when your nature wouldn't allow you to fit in. If the other woman's dim memories were true, she came from an otherworldly combat zone. No wonder she was having such difficulty adjusting.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you before. You were in my space, and I thought you were going to bite me or something. When strangers get too close, it makes me get weird. Bit I shouldn't have done what I did."

The words were difficult for the hybrid to say. This woman was clearly Other, and she wasn't a known Other. For all Echo knew, she'd been a god of some sort, at least until some fool had yanked her through a keyhole in the universe. Some things were better left undisturbed.

"I hadn't decided," the primordial visitor openly declared in what could almost have been a purr of contemplation. "Things are different here... Confusing. Light, like... Hissing feathers. The heaviness is gone."

Had she been of a more scientific mind, there would have been an allusion to a lower frequency of atomic vibrations. The eighties brought with them increased use of microchips and other technologies in medical hardware and near-death experiences were being more commonly reported to researchers. Not all of them, however, were positive. Those which spoke of darker places infested with horrifying entities, often also gave testimony to a much heavier atmospheric pressure and of loneliness being a horridly tangible sensation - save for the things which could be sensed stirring in the darkness or screams of sheer agony from... Other places.

For those who had truly visited hell, it was a genuinely terrifying place and those lost souls who found themselves there were to be pitied.

And this was a denizen of it. A creature used to thriving in a climate of the damned, than the streets of Vegas.

What kind of mentality could be homesick for a place like that?

"But the undead and others of your world are nutritious enough."

That made some of the tension leak out of Echo's posture, but it was just barely noticeable. Maybe it was just her species bias talking, but if the longer-haired woman ate vampires, that somehow made her less threatening.She wasn't sure she wanted to know what 'others' she'd been dining on, though.

"Where do you, um, live?"

The hybrid had only asked because she couldn't imagine the older brunette residing in an apartment somewhere. Even for a city like Las Vegas, that would be noticeable. How would she get money to pay rent? Did this Slayer help her?

"It's a place..." Brow furrowed. Sabra attempting to remember the informal name Valerie had given for it; 'motel'. Not quite able to. It wasn't a really phrase she had reason to use. "For those who travel - a collection of dwellings. I shall need somewhere bigger. It restricts me."

As did the body. Even human vocal chords were still taking some getting used to. It sometimes led to a feeling of needing to... Not lash out, exactly, but a desire to test physical limitations, like a cat which had been cooped up inside a small box for too long.

And shoulders reflexed with discomfort, externalising that very quality.

"Sabra," the woman stated with disdain. "Even my name is lost to me... I must use the one who owned this body. It offends me to be forced to do these things."

The hybrid's mouth quirked. It was ironic in a way. She and Sabra had certain things in common, even if their kinship might be limited. Learning to get along with others was inherently difficult when you felt as if you belonged nowhere.

"I'm Echo. If I had been a boy, I would have been Orion."

She tentatively put out her hand, but she wasn't even sure the other woman would know that a handshake was just something people did. But the expression on her face was benign, not agitated. "Sometimes it's not so bad here. There's books, and takeout pizza, and...and Star Wars."

"The stars have not warred since ages past," Sabra replied, incredulously. Her head instantly looking above, searching the heavens. Deciding she may have missed the signs of intermittent cosmic battle and that this was, indeed, worth seeing. A few paces forward didn't seem to change the panorama much.

She looked back down at the hybrid, seemingly dissatisfied.

"They seem tired of battle," concluded the entrapped demoness. "You would rather have been male?" A pause. "Too many things here are not changeable... Gender often seems one of them."

"No, it's, uh, Star Wars is a movie. The greatest movie ever. Han Solo? Um..."

Echo trailed off, having watched Sabra's face for recognition only to find none. Maybe the TV at her motel didn't work? She tried to imagine the other brunette going to a theater. That just seemed weird.

"Gender is complicated," she said. She had never felt like she was in the wrong body, even when it became clear that she liked girls. Mama sometimes said she had a masculine temperament, whatever that meant, but she was happy being a woman. "Sometimes, before babies are born, they do this test to see if it's a boy or a girl. When people get older, every now and then they turn out to like their own gender. Um..."

She was dissatisfied with the explanation and it showed in her expression. How did you explain being gay to a being who was probably a million years old? Maybe they didn't have that in Sabra's home world either.

Did Sabra understand the concept of a film? She just stared at the girl for a good few moments and it was difficult to tell if she was mentally processing or finding the suggestion somehow offensive. After a moment, though, there was an, "Oh... The spidercrabs and beasts from many fathoms down. I've seen these... Village-dwellers and their pitchforks."

Creature features from the fifties? There were probably more. Weird to imagine, maybe, but late-night 'junk food' TV like that would be regarded with a sense of nostalgia in years to come - and here was a demonic woman who seemed to be incorporating it into her entertainment diet. Or possibly education, which would be even stranger. This was the era of increasing media hysteria about 'video nasties', yet Sabra was the proverbial real deal.

"Restrictive," she observed, upon being informed about human society's expectations of gender. "And confusing... That you cannot achieve what you desire. That your lives are fraught with dissatisfaction: The noble years for the freedom of farming, the peasant craves the life of a merchant, the merchant..." A slow shake of head. "Yet, when one reaches out and takes what is yearned for, your culture judges them in disgrace. This is not how it is in my realm."

"No, I guess not. There are rules here. Sometimes there are even laws. Society keeps people in line, most of the time anyway. Keeps things from sliding into chaos."

Echo knew that part of what Sabra was saying was true, but not everyone was miserable. Even she was content in her own way, and now that she was trying to work on her issues things would likely improve. It would be slow going, but that was the point.

"I'm sorry you're unhappy," she said carefully. Would Sabra understand the concept of being unhappy? She seemed extremely discontent, but that wasn't precisely the same thing. "Do you like anything about being here?"

"There's already chaos," Sabra had countered. "Some just like to disguise it better..."

Chaos, itself, was a matter which could actually be debated with a being like this. Sabra might no longer have full recollection of her time before, but the amnesia wasn't total. She knew a good few things - some accidental, some not.

When Echo said she was sorry, however, that produced quite the facial reaction. It seemed to veer somewhere between surprise and confusion. "'Sorry'...?" She repeated, as if the word were an alien concept. Sabra's eyes narrowing as she spoke it aloud. "Apologies should be..."

It was quite the unexpected response. Sabra seeming to completely ignore the question asked of her, for she appeared on the verge of saying 'forbidden', 'banned' or 'punished'.

"Your kind's constant exhibition of weakness is..."

At that, Sabra turned, silently fuming. She seemed... Frustrated. Angrily so. Had a completely different set of cultural interpretations. Paced in one direction and then the other, growling a little. then stormed back to Echo, proverbial fury in her eyes.

"I should..."

Head tilted, quickly, to one side, like a giant insect. Sabra balling a fist. The apology seemed to have set off a feeling of offence within her. Of being insulted. Or at least, that was how she was externalising it.

She needed to think of something else. Probably more than was realised... This was an actual demonic being getting fired up with anger. Something like that had severe, alarming consequences. Still, though, Sabra seemed to comprehend at least the need for thinking more clearly.

"Sugar," she decided. "Upon flesh... I like that. And the coyote who chases the bird in moving pictures... He hungers, but cannot die. I think he is cursed."

Echo flinched backwards, and the bag containing her sketchbooks and pencils made a noise as she dropped it onto the sidewalk as she lifted her hands to possibly protect herself. The Tiger's Eye around her neck caught the sun, and tiny prisms of light were reflected onto her shirt. Inside her head, the Wolf growled.

But when Sabra paused, her instinct to flee subsided the tiniest bit. Her expression had become cautious rather than apologetic, and she kept her eyes on the other woman's face as if she'd run across a potentially rabid dog. More irony....

"Cartoons?" she asked when the silence had stretched out a bit. "The Road Runner? I watch those sometimes on Saturday mornings. I don't really think the coyote's cursed, I think he's just dumb."

"Yes," Sabra answered, a corner of her mouth flexing back a little, as if in the beginnings of a sheepish grin. It wasn't, though. Sabra may or may not have the capacity for some variety of humour, as evidenced at the crater, but it would probably be a different one, if so, to what Echo might recognise. It was just... Muscular reconfiguration, like someone who had been yelling in an argument and was taking a breather, relaxing their aggravated posture. "He's 'dumb'... And does not deserve our support."

Eyes quickly glanced over the surrendered bag.

"They are your possessions?"

"Yeah, that's my stuff. It's art supplies. I don't know if you had art in your world. But I draw."

Echo crouched down slowly and picked up the bag, then opened the flap and pulled out her sketch pad. She'd just bought it, so the pages were still pristine and unused. She pointed at the still-quiet street, then at the buildings. "I was going to draw what this looks like without people and cars crowding the space. It's for a new series."

It was hard to tell if the other brunette could grasp any of the concepts she was trying to impart. Was being from another dimension similar to being from another planet? The hybrid's mind flashed back to the alien from the crater. Such weirdness for such a quiet space.

"Did you have, uh, leisure time where you came from?"

"There is art. Not like yours, but there is art."

It was probably for the best that Sabra wasn't pressed for clarification on that point.

"We have strength and dominance. There is enslavement of the weak. Pleasure can be taken from them... It is where conflict, oppression and suffering are given form. Do you pleasure yourself with slaves, Echo?"

A perfectly acceptable question. If, that was, you didn't come from contemporary Western culture. Technically, there were still a number of places around the globe where slavery still existed - and would continue to do so for a very long time to come.

"I miss it," the demoness admitted. "And then I remember... Here, I am strong. Here, I could change this place... Remake this world as once it was."

Echo stared. Slaves? Seriously? Yeah. she knew enough history to know that it existed, but it wasn't happening in America anymore. There'd been a war over it, and after that it was made illegal. If Sabra was talking about sex...

"People look for companionship here," she said with a slightly uncomfortable shrug. She knew she was looking for it. Yearned for it, in fact. But she doubted that an explanation of that would compute for the other woman. She put her sketchpad away, closed her bag.

"Marriage is a thing we do here. Weddings are a really big deal."

Echo's assumption about sex was understandable, but where entities like that came from, there were a whole host of ways to gain pleasure from another without sexuality ever coming into it. Then again, Sabra hadn't exactly spelt it out. It was quite possible that was exactly what she was referring to. The thing was, most of those other varieties of pleasure would likely sound a whole lot more horrific than she was prepared for.

And a few, a lot more amusing, too.

"Yes. Your weddings are spoken about. They're... Different."

A look of what seemed genuine puzzlement settled over Sabra's features when she said that. 'Different' was probably the best compromise of verbal distinction.

"It depends on the species..."

Edited 2013-12-24 02:20 (UTC)

"You don't have to tell me."

'Species' was an interesting way to put it, but in Echo's case it was also accurate. Mama said that when she decided to be with Papa and have a child with him, she'd known he was a were, but not that he might pass it on to their offspring. She'd seen the pictures during the pregnancy. It was why she was always torn between her love of kids and her uncertainty about whether or not she could pass it on too.

"I should probably...go," she told Sabra slowly. "The light changes really early because it's winter, and I want to get some drawing done before a lot of people are around. I hope you adjust to this place soon."

"No... You don't."

It was spoken as brutal common sense. Either Echo was being polite for the sake of it or, if genuinely friendly, she would likely still reverse course on that expressed sentiment after she had time to think about it. To hope an entity like this would easily adapt to Earth? At best, it was something expressed without fully thinking of the consequences. Especially in light of Sabra's repeated assurance that she was inclined to reshape Vegas as the start of some kind of netherworldly kingdom.

Whether or not something would happen to make Sabra reconsider or even throw her lot in with the mortals, was another question. So far, she was at least helping to rid the streets of its vampiric population.

"You should take slaves," the parting Sabra observed. "They could undertake such works for you."

But with that advice, she was already turning, stepping away. With Echo having declared the need to go, Sabra's cultural inclination was to do just that in an almost robotic fashion. The day she exhibited anything close to genuine warmth, let alone prospective friendship, would be a... Very interesting time.

It made Echo think as she went to find a good spot for drawing. Was adapting even possible for someone like Sabra? She certainly wasn't expressing much desire to want to, and you had to want to fit in first. Still, there was that whole killing vampires thing, and hybrid or not, she just couldn't see that as a bad thing.

Maybe she would add the other brunette to one of her sketches, doing something really random like running through an open meadow. With flowers in her hair. Just to complete the weirdness. It wouldn't be any more odd than everything else she'd been drawing lately.

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Second Impressions

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