|★ ☆ ✰ (vespertine) wrote in bellumlogs,|
@ 2010-06-23 13:29:00
|Entry tags:||lucy westenra, plot: tempus, plot: xi|
Who: Lily & Open to anyone in Group Xi not preoccupied elsewhere.
What: Time to rest that weary head of hers in her new apartment. Oh wait, no it isn't. Surprise, you're actually in a Russian village. P.S., it's really cold.
Where: The village in which Georgy Lvov and Pavel Milyukov are scouting for volunteers to participate in the formal dinner.
When: The morning of Day 3. March 20, 1917.
Had she cuddled up to the wrong monster in a nightmare? No sooner had she begun to review the poignant events of the past month, that the lightning lash of a bat of the eye jabbed her in the ribs with a one, unfailing phantasmagoria that wouldn't let up its fast grip. It felt as real as life--cold, wet, alone--smelled of burning wood from a fire not far off. The village was a straight line before her, like a hallway of horrors. It was not that the place itself was terrifying or even difficult to behold, it was that she was thrown here against what she thought was her own will, and was drowning in a disorienting pool designed specifically to woo those who barely know how to swim, to lay back and let go. She shivered, cradling herself. The chilly breath of the wind lightly pestering against any exposition of her bare skin.
The shock, which set her heart to galloping like a wild horse avoiding a bridle, jolted her from the sort of soft meditation one has when they've only first moved into a new place of residence; she looked forward to getting to know the neighborhood and the community, the bakeries (if there were any.) the boutiques (which she hoped there was!) and even the parks. She considered getting a pet that she could watch grow and love--what was the pet policy?--they'd grow together in their new life. She'd name it ... what was she going to name it? All her thoughts swirled and swarmed, and her hot breath dusted the icy air before her a lingering gray. It suddenly felt as if the world itself was taking too many twists and turns. Throttling her sense of serenity, poking holes in it, squeezing. Overwhelmed, she'd lost the ability to stand proudly against what she'd disbelieved, and sunk to the ground knees first with a breath bursting through to part her chattering teeth and quivering lip had made prior.
It wasn't possible to be in one place and then instantaneously be in another, she resolved. The building itself had been so empty that it echoed like a cave in an Arthurian legend. Perhaps she'd fallen asleep, forgotten who she was, and roamed the dream worlds haunted places. Even if that were so, the reality was so abrupt that the surprise of the frozen ground against even the partly covered skin of her knees made her gasp, releasing a very muted though elevated whimper, and entirely overlook the fact that she was dressed for bed in a place where it was morning and icy as a fairy tale's witch. She was understandably in black yoga capris, mismatched socks (for the record, one was black and white striped, and one had gray kittens on it with pink noses.), and a red t-shirt that read: "I scream" while it boasted a very pleasant, grinning, happy-looking ice cream cone topped with sprinkles. Had she known this was all going to happen, she might have brought a jacket, or perhaps something a bit less humiliating. However, the fact that this all seemed to be happening anyway was more than enough to make her not even notice or think twice about her clothes. Except when she'd spotted a villager much warmer shuffling to their deeds of the day... and then more appeared.
The energy of the village itself could fill any open heart with awe, with its affectionate smoke flirting toward the orange morning sun, which coyly hid away behind cottony clouds. The little houses. The dirty faces. The clean ones. For Lily, it reigned her heart with fear. Nothing like this had ever happened to her. Was she sleep walking? She was beginning to feel very dizzy...
That's when she spotted a man, through her blurring vision, dressed in what seemed to be a military uniform, addressing a group of people and using his index to gesticulate. His back was to her. Was it safe to talk to him? Or should she just wait to wake up...