Rooms

Has anyone else experienced dreams/nightmares that are more vivid than they normally are?

Who: Wren and Brielle
What: An encounter
Where: Marvel
When: Current to whenever it's finished
Warnings/Rating: Nope

The city was a mess.

That morning, Wren was a sleeveless dress, cream and pale blue and beads at the knee-length hem. Her hair was a brown braid, curls fighting their way loose to frame her face, glitter on her skin that was leftover from the stage the night before. She was flats, quiet ones, ballet shoes, really. She forgot her door key when she went to work the night before, and so she opened the door to Marvel without it, only to find herself in the park; everything around her was destruction, and she thought it might take years to fix it all again. Trees knocked over and grass burnt to nothing and the playground in shreds. She walked toward the swingset, which was a twisted and agonized skeleton that impossibly still held two swings aloft.

She noticed the woman then, blonde and familiar, and she walked toward her. Had she stopped to think, she might have stopped entirely. She knew Luke didn't want her seeing Brielle. Really, maybe she didn't want to see her either. But those ballerina slippers were already treading on dead grass, crinkle and crumple beneath pale pink.

[New York was in chaos, and below ground wasn't much better. The subways were flooded with people hiding from the Marauder violence or trying to escape the city in a wild flood that bottlenecked into gridlock. Those that were lucky enough to board subway cars didn't stay lucky for long. The destruction above ground caused damage to enough of the circuitry and tunnel infrastructure that the trains were ultimately immobile. The conductors promised that everything would be up and running too, but that'd been well over half an hour ago, and Brielle was beginning to doubt the sincerity of the disembodied male voice on the intercom.

The train car was packed like a sardine can. Babies were crying. The air was stale and hot. Claustrophobia was beginning to kick in hard, and Brielle sucked in a deep breath that still tasted like the smoke from the hospital fire. She'd yet to really understand what had happened. She didn't remember the Oscorp pulse, and she didn't remember the hospital. Brielle remembered across the street, barefoot and dazed as she came to and could see firetrucks pulling up to the hospital. Even now she had on a pair of cotton pajamas fully printed over with the words 'property of midtown hospital' in green and blue. She didn't know where she'd gotten tennis shoes, but she had those too.

Brielle paced near the end of the train car. Audible explosions had been going on above ground for some time now, and although they seemed to have recently ceased, she couldn't help feeling like she was trapped. Trapped. She felt uncomfortably warm and pressed her cheek against the little window of the train's emergency exit window.] Just breathe. [She told herself.]

[Hours after this.]

Souer?

[Finally emerging from the chrysalis of her trademark bout of silence.] Coffee, sister? I can bring you back one.