Queen Elsa of Arendelle (snowglowswhite) wrote in the100, @ 2015-05-31 02:42:00 |
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Elsa landed onto hot asphalt, in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. Shade trees lined the street, over strange, flattish carriages with wide, squat black wheels. Birds called from the trees, and the air weighed heavy and hot with nary a breeze to be found. She pushed herself to her feet, looking around. Houses lined the street, all of them tucked in close together. But one house in particular drew her; she walked toward it, up the steps to the front door. Shouting could be heard from a small building just off of the main house. A large door was open, with another one of the carriages sitting within, the doors open and a lid pointing into the air. Elsa changed her mind about going into the house. Instead she turned to walk up the gravel driveway, stopping just outside the small buildings open door. "Hello?" Her hands were tingling again. Elsa rubbed them together, trying to regain some feeling. She called out again, and this time an angry-looking man strode in through a side door. "What the hell do you want?" He stopped, and looked her over, and spoke again, before she could answer. "Well, look at Miss America here. What you doing around here, so fancy and la-di-da?" Elsa looked down and found that she was wearing the dress that she had made with magic just before she gained control of her powers. "No, I'm sorry, I'm Elsa. Can you tell me where I am?" The man snorted, and opened a can of some sort, and drank from it. From here, it smelled like the beer that the brewers made, but sharper, more bitter. It smelled angry. A boy ran up the driveway, a bike by his side. He gave her a small smile; without thinking, Elsa smiled back. He oozed familiarity. “Go get me another beer, Mikey.” The boy did as he was told, turning to look at Elsa as he went. “You’re in Miami. Where the hell else did you think you were? What other place on earth is as much a hell-hole as here?” The man crushed his beer can and bent over the carriage, tinkering with some part and cursing. Elsa stepped quietly through the sidedoor, letting the boy pass through before her. Uncertainty had her hovering, unsure of where to go, until she heard the boy’s father yelling at him. And then there came the smack of flesh on flesh, and Elsa twirled, her hands stretched before her. The tingling within them intensified, and then eased completely, and Elsa realized that she’d frozen the man in the act of hauling his arm back in preparation of hitting his son once more. Taking a breath, she twitched her hand again, and the man exploded in a shower of ice. The boy stared at her in some awe, and ran from the garage, into the house. Elsa left, determined to find her way home -- to Arendelle -- but found herself instead in a clearing, clear and cold, with snow beneath her feet and a fire only yards away. She felt the cold, but wasn't bothered by it, and looked at the two men, sitting around it. One was older, with a cold, calculating air. The other sat, his back to her. She stepped closer, and listened to their conversation. She learned of their plans, that there are people, and that the situation will be neutralized, and then the older man said a name: Michael, and a certainty settled in Elsa’s stomach. This is her Michael. Michael Westen. She took another step, and time moved around her, more quickly than is possible, and they were standing, all three of them, outside of a factory. A bomb exploded, and screams were heard, screams that are echoed endlessly, and thoughts echo in Elsa’s head. Michael’s voice, telling her that this man was a monster, that they both were. They were both monsters, and that was all Michael Westen would ever be. Elsa stepped forward, flinging magic , encasing the older man in ice, and again the scene changed. Again, and again, the scene changed, with yet another man who thought to make Michael Westen into his image, never understanding that Michael would only ever work to protect not himself, but the people that he loved. She stood on a building, looking over this city of Miami, at all of these people who thought to turn her into the murderous weapon they thought she was. She stood on a ledge, and screamed, “Where do you come from? When will you end?” She lifted her hands, and brought them down, and so brought down an eternal winter in the landscape of Michael Westen’s dreams. |