Re: dreamland: becky/crane
He watched her muse, watched her think, black lines shifting on her skin, thick to thin, and Jonathan had to wonder what those meant. Another time, another place, he might have asked, but for now, it was simply acceptance.
At least, it was, until the name came.
It wasn't him that really remembered it, but some facet of his memories that was his/not his in the same breath, a confusing mixture of this and that until it all blended together into something he could neither own or deny. Him, not him, another him, someone else who had been here, and he was well aware that he had been here before. Different, yet the same.
The room around them shifted rapidly, changing, morphing, flashing through memories that were his (not his), from Gotham to New York, from shabby apartments and university lecture halls, and then it settled, sharply and suddenly, to an old bedroom with a single twin bed. It was sparsely decorated, but it was clear that it belonged to a child. A young boy. And Jonathan sat there on the edge of it, his brow furrowed together.
"I knew a Becky. He knew a Becky." A pause, thoughts gathered. "We knew a Becky."